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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Alaska villages want more law enforcement


Alaska Public Safety Commissioner Walt Monegan, a member of the Village Public Safety Officer task force, talks about the state-funded program at his office in Anchorage. Associated Press
 (Associated Press / The Spokesman-Review)
Rachel D'Oro Associated Press

ANCHORAGE, Alaska – In the four hours it took Alaska state troopers to arrive at the village, a man choked and raped his 13-year-old stepdaughter in front of three younger children. He had already beaten his wife with a shotgun and pistol-whipped a friend after an evening spent drinking home-brew in Nunam Iqua.

With no police presence in the Yupik Eskimo village of 200, anxious residents called troopers in Bethel, a commercial hub town 155 miles away. The state aircraft usually used by troopers was being serviced, however, so they had to charter a plane to get to the tiny community on Alaska’s western coast.

By the time troopers took the man into custody, his family had spent eight hours in terror.

He has since been convicted and is serving an 18-year sentence for the October 2005 crimes. But Nunam Iqua still has no law enforcement presence, other than an untrained, unarmed safety worker hired by tribal leaders.

“That’s not enough,” said Mayor Edward Adams. “We’re just trying to hang in there.”

It’s a dilemma experienced by scores of villages in rural Alaska.

Like Nunam Iqua, some are eligible to tap into the state-funded Village Public Safety Officer program but can’t attract viable applicants because of inadequate housing, low wages and the astronomical cost of living in communities off the state’s road system. When serious crimes are committed, many villages must rely on troopers based in towns far away – help that can be days in coming if bad weather or higher-priority calls prevent an immediate response.

Adams said there have been several burglaries in the village in recent months and a suspicious fire at the tribal office. Those cases have not been solved. Adams said having a public safety officer would at least be a deterrent to crime.

“We never have anyone patrolling, and that encourages young people to steal,” he said. “Enforcing the law would be a lot of help.”

Those that do get safety officers, however, can see a high turnover rate for what often is a stressful job with little backup and entry-level pay. The program, in fact, has long been criticized as denying rural, largely native Alaskans the same protection afforded in urban areas.

Now a state task force has taken a long, hard look at the program created in 1979 and has gone through sharp budget cuts. The seven-member panel released its report to the state Senate last week, calling for significant changes including hefty pay raises, more than doubling the size of the force and enlisting help from agencies to develop acceptable housing where needed. It’s up to legislators to decide whether to fund the proposed changes.

“These people are the first line of defense,” said task force chairman Sen. Donny Olson, D-Nome. “It’s easy to burn out. It’s easy to get tired and worn out, and you don’t have any backup.”

The public safety officers are unarmed peace officers who function as all-around emergency responders in remote communities, answering calls ranging from disputes, drownings and suicides to fires and search and rescues, and protecting crime scenes until troopers can arrive. They get some basic training and are supervised by troopers. But they are employed by the regional nonprofits of Native corporations formed by Congress under the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act in 1971. The law was compensation for loss of lands historically staked by Alaska Natives.

Most public safety officers are Native and work in villages where no troopers are assigned. Critics, including many who testified before the task force, say the safety officers are overworked and underpaid, enjoying few benefits. Annual turnovers have been as high as 40 percent. Offices often are not available, forcing officers to work out of their homes.

“There are not enough VPSOs to do an adequate job of providing public protection, and it is one of the most voiced reasons for VPSOs becoming burned out and leaving the position,” the task force wrote in its recommendations. “To ask them to work 24/7 under the stress they face and in many cases without backup is not reasonable or fair.”