A Values-based Methodology in
Policing
Jens Erik Paulsen
Norwegian Police University College
jens.erik.paulsen@phs.no
Professional work is currently based on
explicit knowledge and evidence to a greater degree
than in the past. Standardising professional
services in this way requires repetitive (or at
least similar) scenarios and might be seen as a
challenge to professional autonomy. In the context
of policing, officers perform a range of familiar
tasks, but they may also encounter novel challenges
at any moment. Moreover, police tasks are not
well-defined. Therefore, many missions require
police officers to rely on common sense, tacit
knowledge or gut feeling. In this article, I argue
that a values-based methodology may serve as a tool
to help evaluate decisions in unfamiliar situations,
to learn from experience, as well as be a quality
control for established routines.
Keywords: ethics, policing, decision-making, values, experiential learning
Introduction
Most professions have made efforts to establish robust knowledge-based or evidence-based ‘best practices’ during the last three decades (Banks 2004). Within policing, for instance, this tendency is apparent in intelligence-led patrolling and in interrogation methods, such as the British PEACE (Clarke, Milne, & Bull 2011) or the Norwegian KREATIV models (Fashing & Rachlew 2009). Further, knowledge-based protocols or ‘cue cards’ (Mazerolle, Antrobus, Bennett, Tyler 2013: 41) provide step-by-step procedures for handling common, well-defined scenarios. However, the police often encounter situations for which no cue cards exist (Bittner 2005; Reiner 2010). In this article, I argue that the practice of policing will benefit from making values-based assessments, not only before and after intervening in unfamiliar situations, but also as a means of evaluating familiar routines. Standardisation of professional interventions may seem advantageous to many stakeholders (Sherman 2015), also in the case of policing. For the police leadership, standardisation enables a higher degree of organisation of street-level officers. For the public, it increases the predictability of police behaviour. For street-level police officers, standardisation provides a safeguard against making mistakes in stressful situations. On the other hand, standardisation is typically contrasted with an artisan view on policing (Gundhus 2013), which emphasises professional autonomy. Standardisation may limit the discretional space for officers – one of the hallmarks of being a professional (Freidson 2007) – by having them follow checklists meticulously. Besides, following procedures written by bureaucrats challenges the natural authority of the police. Written guidelines, even if they are knowledge-based, may be seen to represent generalised knowledge that cannot compete with the intimate, relational, contextual knowledge that only hands-on experience can produce. The expert has, after all, handled common scenarios hundreds of times and therefore readily recognises situations, discerns important nuances, and remembers what seemed to work. Expertise comprises the combination of pattern-recognition and experience-based decision-making (Klein 2009).Expert know-how cannot simply be
transferred to other persons, as is the case with
‘knowing what’ (Polanyi 1966). As it seems, every
mission has a unique character, and expert choices
must be made based on years of experience. According
to a Norwegian study, the internal status of
Norwegian expert police officers is connected to
‘experiential professionalism’, which is
‘characterized by gut feelings, hunches, intuition
(rather than analysis), loyalty to colleagues, and
attitudes aimed at crime control...’ (Gundhus 2013:
186). In a British setting, Loftus (2010) describes
this ‘sixth sense’ as follows: ‘[…] the police learn
to treat their geographical domain as a “territory
of normal appearances”. Their task is to become
sensitive to those occasions when background
expectancies are in variance.’ The ‘ecological’
(Evans 2017: 84) rationality of experts, sensitive
to what is present in and what is missing from a
scenario, is intensified by a feeling of
rightness (Thompson, Turner, & Pennycook
2011). This ability to discern nuances and its
accompanying feeling of rightness may grow strong,
almost incorrigible. Says one police officer in a
Norwegian study of decision-making: ‘I do what my
gut-feeling tells me to do. To this date, it has
served me well… At least from my point of view’
(Sjøtrø & Olsen 2013: 54, my translation). This
attitude represents a romantic, artisan view on
policing. Expert knowledge only appears as ‘models’
for colleagues (Finstad 2000: 162), or in hindsight
as tales of caution or success – what may be called
‘paradigm cases’ (Jonsen & Toulmin 1988: 324),
providing broad pointers for the less experienced.
The authority of expertise must be trusted. However,
this romantic view on expertise is difficult to
justify publicly.
Both the development of evidence-based
practices and the artisan, naturalistic expertise
hinge on the occurrence of repetitive scenarios
(Kahneman & Klein 2009). Unfortunately, crime
and public order disturbance can take on a wide
range of forms. Bittner (2005: 161) famously wrote
that police work involves
‘something-that-ought-not-to-be-happening-and-about-which-someone-had-better-do-something-now’,
underlining
both the emergency character and the variety of
police tasks. Seemingly familiar scenarios can,
without warning, become confusing. At times, even
experienced police officers may find themselves in
situations that can be described as ‘deceptive’
(Klein 2009: 104), ‘unfriendly’ (Shanteau 2015), or
‘weak’ (Meyer, Dalal, & Hermida 2010). As
Bittner (2005) continues, public order maintenance
might require the police to find solutions to
‘unknown problem[s] arrived at by unknown means’.
Today, globalisation and digitalisation have created
new types of crime and new criminal structures,
adding new flavours to the covertness and deception
that already were key elements to most forms of
criminal activity.
How can good professional decisions be
made when both the experiential and the scientific
framework fall short? According to the literature,
police officers often depend on ‘common sense’ under
such circumstances (Bittner 2005; Crank 2004; Reiner
2010; Sanders 2010), a pragmatic attitude that
basically involves a form of inferencing to the best
explanation (Harman 1965) or ‘abductive reasoning’,
seeking out the most probable solution given
uncertain premises. The problem with this type of
reasoning is that one’s biases are difficult to
control, and what immediately seems like a ‘useful’
outcome for the involved parties appears justified
without further reasoning.1
For the police, further reasoning is not necessarily
required.
Authority
and reasoning
The police can handle Bittner’s
aforementioned emergent and pressing
‘something’ better than people in general
because they are authorised to use physical
force. They can terminate conflicts on the
spot, not necessarily because they are experts
in conflict management, but because they are
authorised to physically separate and detain
the parties involved in the conflict. In fact,
it is their duty
to create and maintain order – now,
rather than later, using the means they find
appropriate (OSCE 2001). However, although
quick-fix authoritarian solutions may seem
effective and efficient in the short-term, the
long-terms effects may prove detrimental.
According to several studies (Hough, Jackson,
Bradford, Myhill, & Quinton 2010; Sunshine
& Tyler 2003), the manner
in which the officer treats the public
influences public perception of the police far
more than the efficiency of the police in
terms of outcomes.
The claim made in this article is
that a values-based
methodology can both provide decision-making
support in unfamiliar situations, and prove
useful in evaluating procedures and routines.
In other words, values may serve as a means
for the police to form justifiable
interventions.
Thinking
as a mid-level values-based practice
Several values-based methodologies
exist, for instance the ‘Potter Box’ (Potter 1965)
or the comprehensive Values-Based Practice
(Fulford 2008). The so-called ‘National Decision
Model’ of the British police Code of Ethics (2014)
is an effort to base police work robustly on
values. Certain features from these models play a
role in the following, but the main inspiration
for the present methodology is the six-step method
for providing decision support used by Norwegian
Clinical Ethics Committees (CECs) since the 1990s.
This methodology consists of six steps, which are:
1) Identify the problem. 2) Identify the facts. 3)
Identify all involved parties and their viewpoints
and interests. 4) Identify the relevant values,
principles and virtues, and experience from
similar situations and judicial constraints. 5)
Identify possible courses of action. 6) Discuss
and then formulate acceptable actions and a
conclusion/ summary (Ruyter, Førde, & Solbakk
2014).
Inspired by Grimen & Molander
(2008: 183) and Toulmin (1958: chapter iii), the
CEC-list is transformed into a mental model,
consisting of three domains (Figure 1). In this
model, Steps 1 to 3 make up the situational
awareness domain,
whereas the decision domain consists of Steps 5
and 6.2 These domains
rest on the set of relevant values (Step 4), here
referred to as the value
landscape (the ‘warrants’ in Toulmin’s
terminology).
The first step (1) of the
situational awareness domain (I) involves
formulating one’s reason for addressing the
case, that is, one’s initial moral concern
(rather than CEC’s ‘identify the problem’).
This might simply consist in describing and
exploring one’s feeling of discomfort, or one’s
moral (affective) reaction (Haidt 2012).
Sometimes the concern is distinct: X has been
treated unfairly! or There is a
conflict between moral norms! (for
example, between the obligation to help and the
requirement to treat people equally). In any
case, the aim of Step 1 is to explicate one’s
moral preconception and one’s framing
of the case.
In Step 2, factual information is
written down, typically in the form of items
usually included in formal police reports:
location, time, persons present at the scene,
and well-documented event sequences. One should
also note missing information that would
potentially make a difference to the case.
Step 3 comprises a list of the
people (or groups of people) that are likely to
be involved in, or affected by, the case. In the
context of policing, the involved parties will
often include offenders, victims, witnesses,
next of kin, police officers, and the public.
One should also indicate their immediate
interests/ideas, concerns and expectations,
referred to as ‘ICE’ by Matthys et al (2009).
These are based upon communication, observation
or, if necessary, educated guesses. Making
explicit reasonable assumptions may improve the
situational awareness, and strengthen the
awareness of one’s own biases.3
After establishing the situational
awareness domain, a suitable intervention is
often already present in the police officer’s
mind, but the values-based method requires that
one first attempts to formulate the values that
ought to matter in the situation before deciding
what to do. But which values, and from whose
perspective?
Some ‘mid-level’ methodologies
limit the value
landscape to a fixed domain of
principles, as in bioethics (Beauchamp &
Childress 2009) or in the ‘procedural justice
approach’ en
vogue in contemporary police science
(Mazerolle et al. 2014). No doubt, more values,
principles or duties might be of significance in
the wide variety of cases the police encounter.
As there are usually several parties involved in
the cases, Step 4 ought to establish a set of
values that includes multiple angles on the
moral point of view.4
First, one should try to establish
a general ‘moral point of view’ (Nagel, 1986;
Williams, 1993), asking which values an
impartial spectator would emphasise in the case
at hand.5 Whereas
Step 3 describes the particular interests (ICEs)
present in the situation, the value landscape
(Step 4) focuses on general long-term values
considered important to an intervention. Even
though moral views appear to differ among people,
certain values still appear to be widely shared
in a given society at a given time. In the
literature, such values are described as
‘common’ (Bok, 1995), or as part of the ‘common
morality’ (Gewirth, 1993).
According to the Norwegian Police
Act, the police shall protect some common
values, through contributing to ‘promoting and
consolidating citizens’ legal protection,
security and general welfare’ (Section 1). More
specifically, in accordance with a comprehensive
empirical study (Haidt, 2012, p. 146) and
regardless of cultural background, people all
react to the same five moral challenges:
harm/care, cheating/fairness, betrayal/loyalty,
subversion/authority, and
degradation/sacredness.6
Every community – or individuals living in a
community – grapple with these moral dimensions,
although their relative importance may vary
among individuals and communities. In this
manner, the central values (care, fairness,
loyalty, authority, and sacredness) all seem to
count as prima facie norms within a common
morality.
Other values play special roles
within specific groups. Professional duties of
confidentiality (or a Mafioso code of omertà)
are, for instance, usually stricter than
everyday notions of secrecy. Some values (and
virtues) are of special importance or play a
different role within a profession, even though
they are referred to by the same terms as their
everyday counterparts. Therefore, when outlining
a value landscape as a basis for intervention,
there are good reasons for stating such special
group values separately.
Several special values govern
police work (in addition to the abovementioned
common values). These values typically
characterise the manner in which a police
officer interacts with citizens. The Norwegian
Police Act states, for instance, that the police
shall act in a ‘business-like and impartial
manner and with consideration for persons’ integrity
[…]’ (Section 6). The Police Instruction also
stresses the importance of truthfulness,
confidentiality, moderation, efficiency and
trust, as well as the need to respect human
rights and the individual’s dignity. In
addition, the police force’s ethical guidelines
(Politidirektoratet 2018) identify tenets like
openness, solidarity, courage, and holistic
orientation as important in policing.7 These are also
considered common values, but they take on a
special meaning among professionals.
Special values also pertain to
other more or less distinct groups of people.
Some gain special status due to age or illness,
others because they differ from the majority
culture in terms of faith, ideology, or customs.
Whether or not special values and
vulnerabilities ought to influence police
intervention is controversial from a justice
perspective. Nonetheless, most people readily
agree that some groups (e.g. young people)
deserve special attention or must be approached
differently than people in general. Avoiding
stereotyping or prejudice is of course crucial
when interpreting group values. Spelling out
beliefs about one’s values seems better than
just letting prejudice tacitly influence one’s
intervention. Special status typically affects
the manner
of police intervention, not the outcome.
Within the decision
domain (III), the first task (Step 5) is
to formulate possible interventions based on the
value
landscape. If a suggested intervention is
considered a reasonable expression of the value
landscape of the case, this suggestion qualifies
as ‘values-based’. In most cases, several
possible interventions will pass the value
criterion. To determine which choice is morally
optimal
requires scrutinising both the intention
and the consequences of the various
suggestions. This is the aim of Step 6. This
methodology represents a ‘mid-level’ theory,8 where the
theoretical deliberations are condensed into a
set of questions covering central tenets of
deontology and consequentialism.9 The intention
check
of an action consists of asking five questions,
intended to clarify the intention’s consistency,
benevolence, public appeal, possibility, as well
as its legality.10
More specifically the questions are:
i) Is the suggested line of action
always appropriate under similar conditions?
ii) Does the intervention imply that
the police officer uses his or her professional
authority in the best interest of the clients
and not just as a means to fulfil other goals?
iii) Can the intervention withstand
public scrutiny?
iv) Are there sufficient resources and
competence available to carry out the
intervention?
v) Is the intervention legal?
If the answer is ‘no’ to any of
these questions, the suggested intervention
should be rejected or modified. If it is
considered permissible by the deontological
criteria, its consequences are estimated. One
may protest that the very order of assessment
involves a deontological bias, but the police
should hardly act inconsistently (i), punish
clients (ii), commit shameful choices (iii),
attempt the impossible (iv), or perform illegal
acts (v) in the first place.
Studying the consequences involves
estimating how the various proposed
interventions affect the parties involved, both
in the short term and in the long run, keeping
in mind possible side effects, and taking into
account the probabilities of the outcomes. The
optimal choice is the one that shows the most
positive aggregated outcome. Admittedly, the
precision level in these consequentialist
assessments may be low. The most important
point, however, is probably that the police
officer actually tries to consider the different
points of view, and conscientiously estimates
the different outcomes for each party. By
mapping the hypothetical and actual outcomes,
favouritism or disregard of the welfare of some
of the involved parties may be exposed.
Reasoning about possible outcomes is taxing and
requires both imagination and estimates of
probabilities, but even if imprecise, it
provides a good point of departure for further
discussion and learning. Besides, common sense
assessments often fail to take long-term effects
or side effects into account.11
The last step (7)12
consists simply in making a brief summary of the
process. The purpose is to secure the coherence
of the reasoning. The following format is one
way of summarising the argument: In this case
where <based on Step 2>, the moral concern
was initially considered to be <Step 1>.
The most important involved parties were
<Step 3>, and the most central values to
the case were <Step 4>. Based upon these
values, several actions <Step 5> were
proposed (A1…An). Ax
was deemed permissible <Step 6> according
to the intention test and judged to entail the
best overall consequences.
Two
bottlenecks
My own anecdotal experience
with this methodology in clinical ethics
committees as well as in police education
has revealed two bottlenecks in the
methodology. The first occurs upon entering
the value landscape. Identifying the
values relevant to the case may sometimes
feel like guesswork to the practitioner.
This feeling is often exacerbated by a
lack of familiarity with discussing norms
and values. Even seasoned practitioners
may find naming the central professional
values difficult. Are values just any
positive feeling? Are the values simply
the interests, concerns and expectations
of Step 3? Scheffler’s criteria for
valuing (Scheffler 2010: 29) may help
differentiate these tenets to some degree.
In his view, what we value is not just any
idea of something commonly believed to be
good – it must also produce a range of
‘merited’ emotions, and be capable of
motivating action in relevant deliberative
contexts. In this manner, the importance
of values seems highly context dependent.
For instance, to chess players the idea of
loyalty or solidarity may not produce any
merited emotions – or motivate
professional action – but to police
officers or soldiers, loyalty may make the
heart beat faster and can make a real
difference to the officer’s
decision-making. An understanding of the
role played by different values in
different groups is therefore important,
both to the understanding of ICEs in Step
3 and for the long-term values in step 4.
What are the typical moral
values in our context? There is of course
no universal answer, but often clues are
present in the previous steps, indicating
where to start looking. For instance, if
Step 1 describes a feeling or opinion of
something being unjust, then fairness
or justice
seem like reasonable values to consider.
Some of the short-term interests,
concerns and expectations of the various
involved parties may also provide clues to
longer-term values. For example, the
offender may be concerned about how to
evade the situation (freedom),
and the victim about getting even (justice).
In matters of crime and disorder, common
values such as fairness/justice,
compassion/care, and safety are often
likely candidates for common values.
Considering the special values of the law
enforcement profession, these are, as
shown above, stated in various Acts,
ethical codes and guidelines. Familiarity
with the formal and informal values of the
profession is indispensable.
After drafting the value
landscape, it may prove helpful to link
the identified values of the value
landscape to the involved parties of the
situational awareness domain. Fairness
may be of particular relevance to a victim
and a bystander, whereas solidarity
may seem crucial to the police
officer. If you cannot connect a value to
any involved party, the value can probably
be eliminated. Likewise, if an involved
party cannot be linked to any of the
values, he or she will probably have
little impact on the decision. Linking
involved parties and values precludes the
set of values from seeming like pure
guesswork.
The second bottleneck arises
when the practitioner looks for
interventions (Step 5) that express the
value landscape (Step 4). Several
strategies can be applied. In an
after-action reflection, one may start by
assessing whether the chosen action
expresses the value landscape. If the
intervention fails to express the selected
values criteria, it can be modified until
it does so. If the actual intervention
proves to be an impossible point of
departure (or if the values-based
methodology is applied in a planning
phase), one might simply envision
interventions that reflect the selected
values, that is, work from
values. For instance, one can start by
asking how justice can be expressed in the
situation at hand, keeping in mind that
values can inform both what
is done (i.e. reaching a just
solution), as well as the manner
in which the action is performed (i.e.
letting the offender present his or her
side of the story). After a just
intervention is described, one adds
the next value, until all the values are
included. In practice, if the number of
values exceeds four or five (which is
often the case) the task becomes too hard.
Selecting the three or four most crucial
values is therefore appropriate.13 Alternatively,
one can follow a Recognition-Primed
Decision model (Klein 2009: 90) and
suggest an intervention from one’s
experience with similar situations, and
then modify it until it coheres with the
value landscape. If coherence proves
impossible to establish, one envisions
another line of action14.
As we can see, Step 5
typically involves a process of conjecture
and refutation informed by experience.
This is quite all right, as long as the
value landscape is explicit and serves as
a first criterion for the approval or
disapproval of a suggested intervention.
Example case
What does the values-based
methodology look like in practice? The following
case, inspired by a police student’s experience
during practice, demonstrates values-based
after-action reflection. Here, a police officer
found herself in a situation where she initially
felt there was conflict between benevolence and
justice (Step 1). She was unsure whether her
solution was optimal and decided to review the
case using the values-based methodology. The
facts of the case (Step 2) were as follows:
‘I was heading towards the city
centre when I noticed a car driving unsteadily
in front of me. I flashed my lights and the
driver stopped immediately at the side of the
road. A quick check of the registration
plate came up empty on both the car and the
owner. I wanted to check the condition of the
driver, so I walked up to the car and asked him
how he was doing. The driver, a man about 40,
answered: “I’m fine, constable. If you thought
my driving was sloppy, I agree, I have not
driven a car with manual transmission in ten
years. My foot slipped on the clutch pedal
during a gear shift and I got a little stressed.
I am sorry! You see, it is my brother’s car… I
can assure you that the vehicle is in excellent
shape – but me, I’m simply not familiar with
manual gear boxes.” I asked for vehicle
documentation and his driver’s license. He found
the vehicle registration certificate, but his
driver’s licence had been stolen at the train
station when he arrived yesterday, on his annual
summer visit to his brother. He claimed that he
was actually in the process of going to the
police station to report the theft of his wallet
(also containing his credit card), and to obtain
a temporary driving licence’.
Initially, the police officer
saw herself in the role of a ‘law officer’
(Banton 2005) and considered penalising
him, but during the encounter, she became
increasingly sympathetic to his
predicament. In the end, she chose to take
a compassionate line. She decided to
believe his explanation and to help him.
She applied a kind of abductive reasoning
(Evans 2017; Harman 1965), commonly used
in situations involving uncertainty, and
held that her line of action seemed to be
to the benefit of all parties.
Step 3 – the involved parties
and their ICEs – can be summed up as
follows: The driver is obviously
involved, and his agenda is purportedly to
report the theft of his wallet and to get
a temporary driving licence. The
police officer’s initial focus was
on road safety, but during the encounter,
the driver’s licence and his predicament
became her focal points. The
driver’s brother plays no active
role in the story, but counts as an
involved party through his apparent
ownership of the car. The driver’s erratic
driving affects
other road users. Other affected
parties might exist, but for now we
consider the situational awareness domain
complete, and move on to the value
landscape (II).
First, the relevant common
values are considered. In general, road safety
seems central. The citizens probably also
take an interest in how the police
intervene in such situations. Is the
driver treated fairly, that is, is the
police’s reaction proportionate
to his offence, given its context? Fairness
seems to include both the element of compassion
as well as equality
in this case.
In addition, some special professional
values matter here. The police officer
must consider the seriousness of his
offence. Is the case worth pursuing, and
if so, how much time to spend on it (efficiency,
prioritisation)? Further, car
thieves are not necessarily honest
with police officers, so to what extent
can she trust
his story? Alertness
or thoroughness
therefore seems important. As the police
officer chooses to overlook traffic
regulations, it seems reasonable that she
– in order to maintain solidarity
with her fellow officers – provides
acceptable reasons for doing so. We should
therefore include ‘fellow police officers’
as an involved party in Step 3. The value
landscape thus contains at least safety,
equality, fairness, compassion/care
honesty as common values. The professional
values include efficiency,
alertness/thoroughness, and solidarity.
These form the basis for deciding how to
intervene (in this example, the values of
‘other groups’ seem irrelevant).
To avoid the first
bottleneck, we link the selected values to
the involved parties. Fairness
matters for the driver. The police
officer can be linked to all the
professional values mentioned, as well as
compassion/care
and safety. We
know very little about the brother, but honesty
seems at stake both for the driver and his
(alleged) brother. The trust
of the police officer also plays a role
here. For the road
users as representatives of the
public, safety
and equal
treatment seem crucial.
All values and involved
parties are now connected. Before
proceeding to the action
domain (III), we consider which
values are crucial to the case. Here, road
safety
can hardly be disregarded. In addition, fairness
(which harbours elements of both equality
and compassion)
seems important to all the involved
parties. If the police officer chooses to
pardon (or extend good will to) the
driver, she ought to be able to
substantiate the driver’s story somehow.
Therefore, alertness or ‘thoroughness’
seems central to finding a fair solution.
The police officer’s reasons for using
discretion must also be acceptable to her
colleagues. In this sense, solidarity
among colleagues seems to be at stake. A
good solution must express these four
values, which are all fundamental to
policing.
The first task in the
decision domain (Step 5) consists in
finding interventions that express safety,
fairness, thoroughness and solidarity.
As the present case is an after-action
reflection, the original choice can serve
as a point of departure. The officer
thought her original choice seemed fair,
even compassionate, towards the driver.
However, she now realises that her
decision failed to pay enough attention to
safety,
solidarity
or thoroughness.
Can her action be modified so that it
expresses the value landscape? If she had
checked the driver’s identity more
carefully, perhaps by phoning his
brother/owner of the car, it would have
been a more thorough solution. If she had
escorted the driver to the police station,
she would have addressed road safety
to a greater extent as well. This
modification of the original solution
would therefore be more in line with the
proposed value landscape, and would
probably also be more acceptable to her
fellow officers.
An alternative intervention
can be constructed by taking the selected
values as a point of departure. For
instance, if equality
(equal treatment) matters most, it may
imply that the driver ought to be
penalised (since other drivers were
penalised the week before, during an
extensive document control). Further, road
safety
might be maintained by instructing him to
park the car and make his way to the
police station by other means. This
solution would also express thoroughness,
and the police officer does not risk being
fooled by some potential tall tale. If the
police officer let him hitch a ride with
her to the police station, this solution would also
express
compassion.
A third possible intervention
is identical to the second, except for not
letting the driver hitch a ride to the
police station. Here, the police officer
expresses compassion
simply by acknowledging the driver’s
predicament and by taking the time to
explain the reasons for having to maintain
a strict line.
We have now (Step 5)
identified three interventions that all
arguably express the key values. For the
sake of brevity, we will limit ourselves
here to these three suggestions. Next, the
intentions and consequences of these three
values-based interventions are scrutinised
(Step 6), in order to decide which
proposal is the optimal solution.
In the first suggestion,
given that the driver’s story is supported
by her communication with the car owner,
or by the driver’s responses to her
control questions – the police officer
just escorts the driver to the police
station, without any formal reaction. Is
this intervention acceptable with regards
to intention? (i) We first consider
whether this line of action would always
be appropriate under similar conditions. A
Kantian manner of expressing the ‘line of
action’ (O’Neill 1998; Pogge 1998)
consists in formulating the type (t) of
action, its purpose (p), and its
circumstances (c). Here, the line of
action can be formulated as ‘(t) ignore
traffic misdemeanours, (p) for reasons of
fairness, (c) if the offender admits his
fault and is in the process of making
amends’. However, following this line
consistently seems counterintuitive. It
would lead to pardoning all speeding
drivers that slowed down at the sight of
the police, for instance, thus undermining
the traffic regulations. However, in the
present case, given the on-site databases
available to the police, the need for
physical documentation is in most cases
obsolete. If the driver’s identity and
licence to drive a car can be established
without much ado, this option might
actually pass the first test. From this
point of view, the line of action to
maintain can be specified as ‘(t) Ignore certain
traffic misdemeanours such as a missing
driver’s licence, (p) for reasons of
fairness, (c) as long as the driver’s
identity and driving permission can easily
be verified through other means’.
(ii) Next, one considers
whether the proposed intervention implies
that the police officer uses her
professional authority in the best
interest of the ‘client’, and not to
fulfil some other goal. If the client15 in this case
is the driver, the police officer appears
to display benevolence (unless her
motivation is to avoid paperwork). Third,
does this action pass the ‘daylight test’?
It probably would, but it might seem
unjust to other people that under similar
circumstances had been penalised. However,
if the technological development (on-site
database access) is taken into account,
and the practice is followed in the
future, this option might pass this test.
Concerning the resource question (iv), no
extra resources are required, and lastly
(v), the action is legal as police
officers are allowed use discretion under
such circumstances. However, adjustments
to the legal framework might be necessary
if her benevolent line of action
officially became the routine.
The second intervention
involved penalising the driver for not
carrying his licence, instructing him to
park the car, and driving him to the
station, so that he could report the theft
and apply for a temporary driving licence.
As the police station is nearby, and the
police officer was en
route to the station, driving him
there represents just a small favour.
Again, we first formulate its ‘rule’, that
is ‘(t) rendering small services to
offenders after penalising them, (p) in
order to express compassion, (c) given
that the offence is minor/understandable’.
Is this line of action permissible? In
other words, can all
offenders expect small favours from the
police, as long as their offence is minor
or understandable? The answer is probably
no. A problem with this line of action is
that the officer is both extending good
will and
refusing to give the driver some leeway.
This represents a two-faced intention,
probably untenable as a general rule. If
we hold this view, this option fails the
deontological permissibility test.
The third and final
intervention resembled the second one, but
expressed compassion by explaining why she
had to penalise him and in acknowledging
his predicament. (i) The rule can here be
formulated as: ‘(t) Penalise any driver
encountered without a valid licence, in
order to (p) maintain law and order, (c)
no matter what’. The officer is certainly
permitted to adhere to this line
consistently. The crucial question is
whether this option really expresses the
driver’s ‘best interest’ in the sense of
question (ii)? The answer is, I think, a
qualified ‘yes’. Through acknowledging the
driver’s situation, and by arguing that
any responsible adult has to abide by the
law, i.e. by not
making an exception, she emphasises his
autonomy. Certainly, there must have been
alternative ways to solve his problem.
This action probably passes the daylight
test (iii), too. After all, police
officers are supposed to uphold the law,
not challenge it. The resources (iv) are
present as long as the officer has the
communicative skills necessary. Lastly, it
is certainly legal (v) to enforce the law
strictly.
After the deontological
intention test, the first and the third
solutions seem permissible. Next, we
estimate the consequences
of these two solutions in order to find
the optimal
solution.
The consequences of the first
intervention (no formal reaction) seems
largely positive: the driver will probably
experience positive effects both in the
short and long term, with no noticeable
side effects. The police officer may
experience a small positive short-term
effect from being compassionate, whereas
the long-term effect is probably
negligible. By ascertaining the driver’s
identity, the consequences for the brother
(if he exists) are likely to be positive.
The public will probably react positively
to the flexible attitude of the police,
though one might expect that people
recently penalised in similar situations
are likely to be critical. There are
several possible side effects. The driver
may get the impression that getting away
with misdemeanours is a matter of telling
a good story. Some of her colleagues might
find this officer lenient – even disloyal
– if they learn about her course of
action. From a long-term perspective, this
option may also generate public
expectations and challenge the Traffic
Law.
If the third suggested
intervention is chosen (the strict
response), the driver will probably react
negatively in all aspects (though he might
learn a lesson). The strict response will
probably not have any big impact on the
public. The brother, although he might
endorse the vigilance of the police, will
probably – as a brother – consider the
officer’s response unreasonable. From a
long-term perspective, the strict approach
may be advantageous to the police, not
only because it is easier to maintain
fairness (equality) in a strict manner,
but perhaps also because document controls
provide the police with a means to
legitimately contact, probe or control
drivers.
The comparison indicates that
the overall consequences are favourable in
the first suggested intervention, despite
the possible side effects. Admittedly, the
level of precision of the consequentialist
assessment is quite low. The main point is
to view the suggestions from a wider
perspective by assessing the various
consequences for the involved parties as
conscientiously as possible. Otherwise, it
is easy to limit the outlook to how the
solution affects oneself (or one’s
profession) in the short term.
The last step (7) consists of
a report-style summary. The point is to
clarify the intervention and its reasons,
so that its credibility can be easily
checked by others. In the present case, it
might read like this:
The case involved a driver who drove
unsteadily because he was unfamiliar with the car.
Nor could he produce his driver’s licence as his
wallet was stolen the day before. The case
involved the driver, his brother, the police
officer, colleagues, and road users in general.
Fairness, safety, solidarity, and thoroughness
were considered the most central values. The
morally optimal solution consisted in not
penalising the driver, but checking his identity
thoroughly, and escorting him to the police
station afterwards. This option expresses the
central values, passes the intention test, and is
considered optimal because of its better
consequences overall.
The point and scope of the method
The example demonstrates the
application of the
values-based
methodology. Through
mid-level
theorizing, it
provides both
decision-making
support and quality
assurance. As
mentioned above, the
need for methodical
thinking typically
arises when there is
no ‘neurological
programming’ or
experience-based
response that fits
the current task
(Evans 2017: 16).
This is often the
case for students or
rookie
professionals.
Values-based
reasoning is also
helpful for
experienced police
officers
encountering
unfamiliar
situations. As a
tool for
after-action
reflection (that is,
experiential
learning), it is
useful, no matter
what
decision-mechanism
was originally used.
The values-based methodology does
not produce final
answers, rather it
generates
transparently
construed,
criticisable
suggestions for
actions. Therefore,
a values-based
methodology is
suitable as a tool
for discerning and
explaining
differences of
professional
opinion, as it helps
explain the reasons
for disagreement,
referring to (i)
framing, (ii)
relevant facts,
(iii) involved
parties, (iv) values
or (v)
interventions. Mere
feelings,
traditions, or
individual status do
not count.
Disagreements are
discussed in terms
of differing
premises and
inferences, not as
differences in
personal preferences
or character. The
aim of values-based
methodology is thus
discursive
rather than decisive.
Regarding the
present case,
another police
officer might well
argue that other
values are more
central than the
ones favoured here.
He or she may also
argue that the
second suggested
intervention
actually passes the
intentional test,
because the favour
is negligible, and
so on. This approach
contrasts sharply
with the tacit,
experiential view on
knowledge of the
‘romantic’
professionalism
outlined above.
Granted, the values-based approach
contains some
obvious limitations.
First, one might
question whether a
values-based
methodology is
useful as an
instrument
for in-action
reflection.
The methodology
probably requires an
amount of cognitive
capacity that is in
short supply during
the dynamic part of
a mission. The need
for reasoning is
rarely considered in
stressful situations
(Evans 2017: 107).
Indirectly, however,
values-based
reasoning may still
prove helpful to
in-action
reflection. If
applied
systematically, the
methodology provides
a tool for
establishing a
library of
paradigmatic cases,
thereby increasing
the possibility for
near-instantaneous
(pattern-)
recognition when
encountering similar
challenges during a
mission.16
Secondly, the decision domain as
outlined here –
particularly Step 6
– may prove
problematic for
several reasons.
Intentions, for
instance, may become
difficult to assess
when a mission
contains several
(perhaps)
overlapping phases,
each demanding a
separate assessment.
Also, if the case
involves a large
number of involved
parties,
consequentialist
estimates may prove
unmanageable.
However, under such
circumstances one
may still envision
interventions, based
on the set of values
(Step 5). Expert
judgment or even a
voting process can
substitute for Step
6 under such
circumstances. The
important point is
to keep the choice
of value-criteria
and the selection of
intervention
separate (Sunstein
& Hastie, 2015).
The basis of this methodology –
values – differs
from evidence-based
or knowledge-based
practice. Still, the
‘evidentially’ best
approach may indeed
express the value
landscape. Including
such best-practice
interventions in
Step 5 seems
prudent, although
they are not
necessarily the morally optimal solutions. One
should also keep in
mind that evidence
in many cases
involves deep
considerations of
context and of
framing, hence of
values. Fulford, in
his values-based
practice approach,
actually emphasises
the connection
between evidence and
values-based
strategies: ‘The two
feet principle is
that all decisions,
whether overtly
value-laden or not,
are based on the two
feet of values and
evidence: [in
practice,] this
translates into the
reminder to “think
facts, think
values”’ (Fulford
2008).
Experiential knowledge is crucial,
too – in assessing
the interests,
concerns and
expectations of the
involved parties, in
suggesting possible
interventions and in
assessing
consequences. One
might say that the
methodology is
a way to develop
experiential
knowledge through
the prism of common
and special values.
To conclude, the methodology as
described above
seems particularly
useful for
after-action
reflection, or what
Schoen (1983) labels
‘on-action’
reflection
(experiential
learning). Applying
the values-based
methodology might
feel like a
challenge to the
professional
autonomy, or even
the authority, of
experienced service
personnel17.
However, if
professionalism
entails constant
pursuit of
excellence, this
seems like a
challenge well worth
taking.18
Notes
1 See Rasmussen
(2017) for medical research on this topic. See
also Grimen & Molander (2008) for a more
detailed summary of different types of ‘tacit
knowledge’.
2 There are also substantial changes made to
steps 1, 4 and
6.
3 For instance in the form of stereotyping or
conjunction
fallacies
(Kahneman
2012: 158).
4 The wide scope of the CEC’s step 4, which
included
‘experience
with similar
situations’
and ‘judicial
constraints’
is narrowed
down here to
focussing on
values.
5 That is, trying to establishing an ‘outsider’
(or
‘outsight’)
point of view
(Toulmin,
1961).
6 Haidt later added the liberty/oppression
dimension. In
a vaguely
similar
fashion, John
Kleinig (2009)
highlights
‘vital welfare
interests’:
physical
integrity,
mental
integrity,
autonomy,
freedom,
dignity, and
privacy.
7 Informal or even ‘hidden’ values exist, also
in the police
culture. To
what extent
these ought to
be included in
the value
landscape is
not clear. In
an
after-action
reflection,
such values
may have
considerable
explanatory
force in
understanding
the chosen
intervention.
One should
also be aware
that different
types of
police work
(investigation,
crime
prevention,
order
maintenance)
may require
different sets
of (special)
values.
8 As opposed to mere application of ‘high’
theory on the
one hand, and
particularism
on the other.
9 Aristotle’s words are worth keeping in mind,
that ‘our
discussion
will be
adequate if
its degree of
clarity fits
the
subject-matter…’
(Aristotle
1985: 1094b).
10 These questions overlap to some degree the ius ad bello questions of the
just war
tradition
(Bellaby,
2012), but
their original
inspiration
is, of course,
the various
formulations
of the Kantian
Categorical
Imperative
(Kant, 1981)
and the
requirement
for public
access to
maxims from Zum
Ewigen Frieden
(Kant, 1881).
11 This is inspired by a Benthamite
act-utilitarian
approach (Troyer,
2003).
12 This step is included in Step 6 in the CEC
model.
13 The excluded values do not have to be
suppressed
from the final
consideration
of an option,
but may
provide
additional
support in
Step 6.
14 Also, a more open-ended ‘garbage can’ strategy
may also be
attempted
(Einsiedel Jr.
1983).
15 The public can, of course, also be seen as the
true client of
the police.
16 Associative or casuist
reasoning
provides a
natural
extension of
values-based
reasoning in
emergencies or
stressful
situations.
17 Much in the same manner that medical doctors
are reluctant
to adopt a
procedural
‘cookbook
medicine’
(Knaapen 2014)
18 Thanks
to Joshua M.
Phelps, Trond
Kyrre
Simensen, and
Pål Frogner
for
discussions
and comments
on this
manuscript.
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