Police suicide a cause for concern
Opinion
Police are taught survival skills for the job — but rarely for life after the uniform comes off. Training on emotional resilience, role transition, and mental health should be mandatory.
Image: File
IN his address The Changing Nature of the Police: Approaching the 21st Century, William L Tapoya quotes the renowned American social critic and futurist Alvin Toffler, who, during a speech at the FBI Academy, warned: “Because change is taking place so rapidly, tremendous social pressures are occurring and will continue to ferment and explode unless opportunities are created to relieve those pressures.”
Toffler suggested that, in such a turbulent environment, police, like society, face two choices: either cling to the status quo or become facilitators of social change. That choice remains urgent today, especially as we confront one of the most pressing, yet often overlooked, crises in law enforcement: police suicide.
The nature of police work is inherently negative. Citizens do not call the police when things are going well — they call when things are falling apart. As Orlando Ramos highlights in his powerful address, Police Suicide: Are You at Risk?, over the course of an officer’s career, memories of the job are often dominated by trauma, tragedy, and conflict, with few positive experiences to balance the scale. While officers dedicate their lives to helping others, the critical question remains: Who takes care of the police?
This is not merely a question about salaries, though that is part of the issue. It is a question about holistic well-being: mental, emotional, and psychological health. Tragically, as Ramos notes, suicide has become a disturbingly common way for officers to cope with the cumulative weight of trauma, workplace stress, and personal struggles.
Recent events underscore this crisis. Just last week, a police officer shot and killed a female colleague with whom he had recently ended a relationship — a heartbreaking example of how personal turmoil, when compounded by emotional distress and access to firearms, can lead to irreversible tragedy. Add to this the prevalence of alcohol abuse, the normalisation of emotional suppression, and the ever-present burden of carrying a weapon, and the result is a dangerous cocktail for officers already on the edge.
Many officers, particularly men, avoid seeking help due to fears of stigma, loss of duty status, perceptions of weakness, or concerns about career advancement. These fears are often fueled by outdated, patriarchal attitudes within police culture — attitudes that equate vulnerability with failure. In such an environment, silence becomes a default, and suffering goes unseen.
So, what are the underlying causes?
Ramos identifies several key risk factors. First, over-identification with the police role can erode personal identity. When an officer’s entire sense of self is tied to their badge, any challenge to their professional life can feel like a threat to their very existence. This imbalance is exacerbated when the tactics and communication styles effective on the job — such as authority, control, and confrontation — are carried into personal relationships. Using these methods with family members or partners often leads to conflict, isolation, and emotional disconnection.
Second, the profession can be profoundly lonely. Officers often feel that only fellow officers can truly understand their experiences. This leads to a narrowing of support networks — first to colleagues within their department, then to only a select few. Over time, this creates a dangerous cycle of social and professional isolation, where the officer retreats further from meaningful human connection.
Third, constant exposure to society’s darkest moments makes it difficult to see the light. Officers are trained to solve problems quickly and decisively, which serves them well in emergencies. But when applied to personal life, this mindset can lead to emotional rigidity. They may struggle to accept uncertainty or vulnerability, viewing personal crises as failures to be fixed rather than experiences to be processed.
Finally, police stress is not episodic; it is constant and kaleidoscopic. It comes from all directions: administrative pressure, public scrutiny, media exposure, court systems, dangerous calls, and personal life challenges. Unlike many professions, police officers are never truly off duty. The burden of being perpetually alert, in an environment of frustration and danger, wears down the body and soul.
Unmanaged, this chronic stress can lead to depression, anxiety, burnout, and substance abuse. As Emily Dickinson poignantly wrote: “That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.” Yet for many officers, life feels less sweet and more suffocating, precisely because they are not given the tools to process their pain.
Clarence M. Kelley, former FBI Director, once asked a simple but profound question in his address, What Makes a Good Police Officer?: “What are the qualities that make the man or woman in blue a top-flight officer?”
When he posed this to a group of officers, the blackboard quickly filled with expectations: honesty, integrity, courtesy, intelligence, discipline, empathy, leadership, physical fitness, family orientation, and even — jokingly — “good looking”. The list was endless.
After stepping back, Kelley asked: “Now tell me, where are you going to find a person with all these qualities?” Silence followed. Then he said: “The only person who could possibly qualify would be the perfect man — and I don’t know where you can find him.” He added, only half in jest: “And if you did, what community could afford to pay his salary?”
Kelley’s story reveals a harsh truth: society holds police officers to impossibly high standards, standards we would never demand of ourselves. We expect them to be flawless, fearless, tireless, and endlessly patient. We demand they risk their lives for strangers, yet we underpay them, undervalue their sacrifices, and ignore their humanity.
We expect them to be enthusiastic and never complain, while we refuse to visit a precinct, to understand their working conditions, or to acknowledge their exhaustion. We summon them at midnight, on weekends, in storms — forgetting they have children who want to play soccer, partners who miss them, and bodies that tire.
And yet, many work in deplorable conditions. Take the police station in Ingwavuma: is it meant for human habitation or an animal shelter? It is morally repugnant that our officers are expected to serve in buildings that even animals would reject. Shame on the leadership of the SA Police Service (SAPS). And the shortage of police vans? The less said, the better.
Let me be clear: I am not unpatriotic. I am concerned. And I believe the issue of police remuneration must be urgently revisited. The salaries of frontline officers — the real foot soldiers — are outrageously low, demoralising, and unjust. Meanwhile, those in air-conditioned offices, whose main contribution seems to be saluting their superiors with gusto, earn disproportionately high pay.
Poor pay drives some officers into crippling debt, which becomes a major contributor to despair and, ultimately, suicide. Others turn to corruption as a means of survival. This is not excusable, but it is understandable. When a system fails its protectors, it breeds desperation.
So, what can be done?
Ramos argues that training is critical. Officers and their families must be educated about the risk factors and warning signs of suicide. Family members are often the first to notice changes in mood or behaviour, yet they are rarely equipped to respond. Training should also focus on helping officers transition from the high-stress environment of duty to the emotional safety of home life.
At work, supervisors and peers must be vigilant. Changes in appearance, performance, attendance, or an increase in public complaints should trigger concern, not dismissal. Departments must actively promote confidential counselling, peer support programmes, and crisis intervention services — without fear of professional repercussions.
Crucially, the culture must change. We must dismantle the stigma around mental health. Seeking help should be seen not as weakness, but as strength — an act of courage in a profession that demands courage every day.
As Ramos concludes: “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” If an officer broke a leg, they would seek medical help without hesitation. Why should emotional wounds be treated any differently? Trained professionals can help. Support is available. But only if officers feel safe to ask.
Police are taught survival skills for the job — but rarely for life after the uniform comes off. Training on emotional resilience, role transition, and mental health should be mandatory. Officer survival must not be measured in daily shifts, but in full, meaningful lives — lived well beyond retirement.
Ultimately, preventing police suicide requires a collective commitment from departments, communities, and leaders. We must stop expecting perfection and start offering protection — not just with equipment and regulations, but with empathy, dignity, and care.
Our officers protect us. It is time we protected them.
* Dr Vusi Shongwe works in the Department of Sport, Arts, and Culture in KwaZulu-Natal and writes in his personal capacity.
** The views expressed here do not reflect those of the Sunday Independent, IOL, or Independent Media.