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NZ Herald
March 7 2005
'Cop's cop' ready for showdown
by Carroll du Chateau
The
commissioner, who earns more than $410,000 a year, has tempered his famously
easy-going manner with a new wariness as he counters bad press over the New
Zealand police. Picture / Brett Phibbs
It
was Helen Clark who described Rob Robinson, her newly appointed Commissioner
of Police, as a down-to-Earth man. A good communicator, "a cop's
cop".
That was nearly five years ago. Since then the commissioner, now 54, has lost
some of his easy-going spontaneity. He's still approachable, with a smile
lurking under the moustache. He still occasionally talks about
"cops" rather than the New Zealand Police, in that broad New Zealand
accent. He still answers the questions too.
What's new is a wariness, a fear of putting his foot in it, probably not
helped by the two tape recorders - mine and the bulky police model - on the
table between us.
Robinson's strategy is to answer with long, jargon-laced, repetitive
explanations. For example, when asked about the outcome of the $6 million
criminal inquiry into Louise Nicholas' claims she was raped and sexually
violated in 1986 by policemen Clint Rickards (who is still in the force), Brad
Shipton and Bob Schollum, he replies carefully: "All criminal inquiries
must run their course."
"But the result's due now," I remind him.
"Was
it?" he says with raised eyebrows and the hint of a twinkle. "As
with any criminal inquiry these things run their course and when those things
are at an end decisions are taken about them.
"It's like any other serious crime. These are serious allegations and
they will be investigated appropriately and when that investigation is
complete then decisions will be taken as to whether there's a case to answer
or not and umm ... yeah, I'm not prepared to put a timeline on that because
that would unnecessarily limit what the investigators are doing for me."
This is an especially tricky case for Robinson. During the late 90s he
promoted Clint Rickards several times, ultimately to the rank of assistant
commissioner.
This was despite the fact that Prime Minister Helen Clark passed Rickards
over for the deputy commissioner's role in 2000 because of the allegations.
All of which means that the outcome of the case, despite all the fine legal
minds working on it, will boomerang back to the commissioner. And you can see
it in his eyes: he's ready.
"These decisions fall to the commissioner and this is one of those challenging
situations. The fortunate thing is you have the best advice."
The commissioner is the country's highest-paid public servant, earning
between $410,000 and $419,000 a year. His job is to head the country's
7552-strong force. The work his cops do is tough, often brutal. His own role
is hugely political.
At Auckland district headquarters, Robinson's blue standard-issue shirt
bristles with the trappings of his rank: the dark blue epaulets adorned with
a crown and the gleaming silver crossed sword and baton of commissioner, and
the bar and stars denoting length of service (28 years).
Robinson's chest is barrel-thick, his shoulders broad, forearms muscled, big
hands constantly clasping and reclasping as he talks about how proud he is of
the NZ police and the fact that this is still one of the safest countries in
the world.
As he says, he can put on his commissioner's hat and walk through the streets
of any town in NZ and the hat stays on. "People do approach me and share
their thoughts with me ... It's often a point of view I should hear - but not
necessarily supportive, often critical."
But can the rest of us walk so safely? What about the unanswered 111 calls?
What about those cases in Ponsonby of people arriving home to find burglars
ransacking their houses and are told "not to go in on any account - that
the cops will be over directly". Then don't turn up for days, if ever?
"It's plain there have been tragic shortfalls of our response and we
regret that," says Robinson, who still believes that the call-centre
system - concept and staffing - is "very good". On the other hand,
when the inquiry set up last month into the system is completed, he will act
on its report. "It may be challenging, but whatever it is we'll respond
to it."
The 2369 complaints against police accepted for investigation last year are
partly due to a societal change, he points out. Twenty years ago we put up
with things like bad restaurant meals. Now we don't. We don't put up with
violent or substandard cops either.
Although the numbers of cases that lead to criminal action each year is
merely "unfortunate", "there's one thing the police will not
condone - that we're easy on our own. I would refute that absolutely,"
he says, hazel eyes glinting.
And what about the huge numbers of police diverted to traffic duty at the
expense of front-line policing. Why not use cameras?
"Our roads could be completely monitored by cameras," replies
Robinson. But the New Zealand public is not keen on Big Brother - on the
state watching over us. "I don't think that's what New Zealand
wants."
Robinson, the only son of a Timaru-based Power Board employee and a
"caring, loving" stay-at-home mother, remembers a carefree
childhood. At 17 he left home for Massey University in Palmerston North to be
a vet, ably distracted by rugby, rowing and what he calls "social".
In 1971, at 20, he married Isabel, "who has worked right through our
married life."
After graduating with a BSc in animal physiology, and milking 120 cows a day
on his in-laws' dairy farm, he applied to join the police. He was turned down
after a malignant melanoma with secondaries was found.
"I spent the first two years of marriage in surgery and oncology
wards," he says. "That gave me a special view of life."
Part of that special view was the drive to enjoy "each and every day,
whatever life chucked up at you", and to make a difference. At 25, he
made another application. This time he was in.
Apart from a few "lumps and bumps that needed to be cut out",
Robinson's cancer stayed in remission. But in the early 80s his knee
"blew up", prompting him to take advantage of the Perf scheme,
designed to help police who could no longer carry on, get out of the force.
He, Isabel, Simon, then 11, and Kate 8, had already moved to Taupo when a Dr
Bohm arrived back from overseas and performed the miracle operation that made
Robinson's knee "as good as new". "Again I had a second
chance."
This time he seized it. "You do the work, get noticed, it leads to other
opportunities". By 1991 he had made senior management level, by 1999
deputy commissioner (operations). A year later, after several months as
acting commissioner, Robinson stepped into the top job.
It was a controversial transition. Robinson, as deputy commissioner, had been
obliged to speak out at what he said was the "inappropriate"
behaviour of his predecessor, Peter Doone, who had spoken to a rookie
constable who had stopped a car driven by Doone's partner. Doone subsequently
resigned, leaving the top slot open for Robinson himself.
At 50, he was the country's darling. Police Minister George Hawkins
introduced him as "Robby", Helen Clark was so enthusiastic she made
him blush.
For Robinson, things changed. Suddenly he was heading a police force that had
been in tumult through the 90s, culminating in the Martin Report of 1998.
"I had to restore stability," he says. "Police needed a sense
of pride, confidence in the organisation ... We were at a point where the
biggest critics of the New Zealand police were the police themselves."
But "the golden thread" through it all "was the public
expectation that New Zealand is a safe place".
For him that meant lifting the police game in terms of crime and crash
reduction.
"It's a real mantra in the organisation. It's all about the ability to
influence your environment - there aren't many occupations where you have
that opportunity."
He talks about young cops going through stages in attitude: from "lock
the bad guys up", to "victims have to have justice", which all
flows through to "doing your best and keeping New Zealand as safe as it
is".
Towards the end of the interview, when we switch off our respective tape
recorders, Robinson loosens up. At last he throws his arms open in one of the
spontaneous gestures of enthusiasm from gentler days.
"Every time I go out alongside my staff who work on the street they just
impress the heck out of me - because of their patience, their ability to
defuse situations and their judgment to intervene in a minimalist way."
But how hard is it to keep that sense of judgment when you're the most
powerful cop in the country and your every word is recorded and debated - and
that word is law?
We shall see when the Louise Nicholas case finally is decided
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