About Myself and This Site

There are many subjective truths about policing, just as there are in many aspects of life. Over time, I came to understand that I could not ignore the negative impact policing has had on some communities simply because others have not experienced those same outcomes. My understanding of policing—and of myself—has been shaped by intersecting social norms, power structures, and systems that often contrasted with my own social and cultural origins.

To understand my perspective and the purpose of this blog, it is important to first understand where I come from.

Three of my grandparents were White settlers whose family histories began in England and Scotland. My father’s mother, however, had roots on Turtle Island (Canada) with Ojibwe lineage. That lineage remains unclear in my family tree due to generations of assimilation and lost history. I know that my grandmother came from Thessalon, Ontario, and I have heard stories connecting our family to Ojibwe heritage. Yet, I still do not know exactly who or where in my family line that connection originates.

My grandmother also carried Irish heritage and, based on research I have done so far, possibly German-Jewish ancestry as well. Because so much of this lineage was lost or obscured, I have even hired a researcher to help identify the missing pieces of my family history.

Growing up, I was raised to conform to the dominant settler culture and to accept the expectations of a patriarchal household. I was the third of four children and the only daughter in my family. I identify as being shaped by all four of my grandparents, yet I also recognize that I have benefited from being perceived as White.

That perception has afforded me privileges others do not experience. I am fortunate to have a home—a privilege that comes with acknowledging a deeper truth. My home sits on traditional lands of the Odawa, Pottawatomi, and Ojibwe Nations, known collectively as the Three Fires Confederacy. Before the 17th century, the Wendat (Huron) Nation also lived on the land where my home now stands.

These truths matter.

For two decades, I served as a police officer in Toronto, Canada. Holding a position of authority shaped my understanding of power and responsibility. My experience in that role was also influenced by my identity as a woman. At the same time, the negative impact of my Indigenous heritage caused due to racism, affected me far less than it does for many people who do not appear White. But, my family's lessons growing up, provided me personal insight and awareness of racism. I was personally connected and alert to the hurt caused by racism toward Indigenous Peoples. I also have deeply felt compassion for many people who experience racism and the generational impacts of systemic racism.

Even so, my awareness of racism—particularly racism directed toward Indigenous peoples—remained ever present.

When I began planning my research on policing and human rights, I realized something important: I had become disconnected from my inner spirit, from my ancestors, and from my relationship with the natural world.

My family history contains stories of violence, genocide, and war(s). As a child, I witnessed violence and heard stories of violence that predated my life—stories that made my own experiences seem mild in comparison. Those early experiences shaped my desire to seek peaceful resolutions to conflict. Becoming a peace officer felt like a natural extension of that desire.

Yet some of the violence I witnessed growing up seemed rooted in the clashing worldviews. I remember hearing my grandmother belittled in her own home because of her connection to the Ojibwe community. I do not understand what her connections were (nor where in our family tree/history she was introduced to Indigenous ways of understanding the Earth and people). I did not understand why words were used that diminished her value and identity. I felt drawn to my grandmother's spirit and strength and saw her quiet rise from those oppressive attitudes. To me, she was my Nan.

As I progressed through my academic research, another turning point occurred. I was formally diagnosed with a serious autoimmune disease that had been affecting my body for decades—a condition in which the body attacks its own healthy tissue.

It felt symbolic.

My genes, much like my ancestors’ histories, seemed to be battling within me.

That realization reframed my work. I began to see my research not just as academic inquiry, but as part of a deeper healing journey. I also believed the research could contribute to improving police training and human rights awareness.

At my core, I am a peace-centered person. I believe that peace requires balance.

From my experience, police training often lacks that balance. Some people benefit greatly from the system as it exists, while others are harmed by it.

Through my research, I came to understand that my own humanity had been shaped by many forces—both internal and external. I now see myself very differently than I did when I first began my journey as a student, researcher, and participant in that research.

The Promise Education Corp was born from a promise I made to my father: that I would protect people and the Earth.

That promise has stayed with me throughout my life.

The research I completed in university was one step toward honoring that promise. There are many ways to strengthen the relationship between communities and the police agencies that serve them—ways that reflect the changing needs, diversity, and cultural realities of our world.

I explore some of those possibilities through my work.

Today, we live in a time of social crisis. The concepts of safety, connection, and unity between communities and the institutions meant to protect them are under intense strain. Wars and global instability affect many people’s sense of safety.

While I stay informed about these realities, I try to focus my energy on solutions rather than becoming consumed by the endless cycle of troubling news.

My research shows that meaningful change can begin with smaller initiatives—actions that unite people and rebuild trust. These smaller efforts can grow into larger systemic changes when communities work together with intention.

Sometimes the best place to begin is much simpler.

It begins with reconnecting to the Earth—and reconnecting to yourself.

I remember clearly the day I found a feather while walking with my father in nature. I was five years old. The feather curved downward toward the Earth. I reached out with excitement to pick it up, thinking I had found a great treasure.

My father gently stopped my hand.

He told me that if I wanted to take the feather, I first needed to ask permission. He explained that the feather carried meaning and that I should offer something of myself in return if I wished to receive it.

In that moment, I learned something profound. I understood that I had responsibilities—not just to myself, but to the Earth and to other people.

Years later, I became a police officer. Carrying that lesson in my heart, I believed deeply in the mission to serve and protect. Perhaps that belief was naïve, but it was sincere. I also met many officers who believed in those words with the same honesty.

As my career progressed, however, I began to see a dual system within policing.

In the training college, officers were taught rules, ethics, and procedures with integrity. But once in the field, the reality sometimes changed. On the job, corners were occasionally cut, and the unwritten rules sometimes seemed to come from what could be called the “means and ways act” rather than the law itself.

During my career, I encountered some of the very best people I have ever known—kind, compassionate individuals who joined policing because they genuinely wanted to help others. I also worked alongside highly competent professionals who upheld their responsibilities with integrity and never betrayed the trust of their colleagues or the communities they served.

I wish I could stop my story there.

Unfortunately, I also encountered individuals whose behavior contributed to the divisions between police and the public—people who expressed overt sexism or racism.

I discuss many of these experiences in my book.

My purpose in sharing those stories is not to shame anyone or expose individuals out of resentment. Rather, it is to examine the truth honestly so that we can move forward without repeating the harmful behaviors—and sometimes harmful leadership—that create these divides.

I offer these reflections from an insider’s perspective in the hope that they might help answer an important question:

How do we change the system so that these harms stop?

As my career continued, I noticed another change within myself.

I had become disconnected—from the Earth, from people, and from the lessons I had once learned from nature. In order to survive field training and the realities of policing culture, I had learned to be quiet, isolated, and cautious.

Fear-based learning became part of the environment.

This was not the formal teaching of the police college. It was a culture that sometimes emerged in field training—one that relied on obedience and hierarchy.

Not obedience to fairness or the rule of law.

Obedience to authority.

That dynamic continues to challenge the effectiveness of human rights training in policing today. It is one of the issues I am trying to bring attention to through this work.

In future posts, I will explore this topic further and examine how the field training model can perpetuate these patterns.

For now, I encourage you to take a moment to care for yourself.

Consider taking a walk near water, in a park with trees, or anywhere outdoors where you can reconnect with nature.

Pause.

Breathe deeply.

Close your eyes and listen to the sounds around you. Feel the breeze on your face. Inhale slowly and notice the scent of the air.

Sit for a few moments and observe the world around you—the movement of the wind, the quiet activity of animals, the flight of birds overhead.

In our busy lives, we often become disconnected from the natural environment that sustains us.

Sometimes a simple moment of reconnection can help us recalibrate.

Until we meet again.