Trapped

How often do we end up in conflict with our employees, and what do we do about that conflict? Do we ignore it and hope it goes away? Probably. Why do we do that? Most likely because we’ve never been taught to see conflict as an opportunity to build trust and communication. What’s worse is the unintended message of ignoring a conflict with an employee or colleague. Ignoring a conflict screams the message “I don’t care about your concerns” at the other party. This triggers the genuine and powerful emotion of resentment. Ignore conflict consistently; eventually, you end up with numb, dissociated, and disconnected employees who believe you don’t care about the organization or them. Employees don’t express concerns to cause conflict. These expressions are attempts at communication. What we do with them often decides whether we build or destroy trust within an organization.

I held my breath as I turned each corner, unsure of what I might find. Would we be too late? Would I see a body? Or would we find a woman still in the throes of her anguish? Would she be armed? Would she attempt to hurt or kill me and my backing officer as we searched the townhouse where she lived?We announced ourselves as we entered. “City Police!” we yelled. 

Followed by “If you’re here, make your presence known.” 

​I internally rolled my eyes at the second statement. While good tactics and policy to ensure we were not confused with intruders, these announcements reminded me of the ridiculous ghost-hunting shows I watched while doing weekend laundry. We made our way up the stairs to the second floor. Guns out, we cleared every room and every closet along the way. Every potential hiding place had to be checked. Her husband had told us there was a shotgun in the gun safe upstairs. He didn’t think she had the combination to access it, but he wasn’t sure. 

​Stepping onto the second floor's landing, my eyes found the kitchen and a sight I wasn’t soon to forget. Each kitchen knife had been driven into the hardwood floor, several inches deep. They stood in a line leading from the refrigerator on one side of the room to the sink on the other. Some blades were bent from the force used to drive them into the floor. Now I understood why her husband had fled the house half-dressed. She is very, very angry. 

​I could see whoever had done this was no longer in the kitchen, yet my backing officer and I frowned at each other as we took in this sight. It was not a good sign, and neither of us wanted to get stabbed or shoot the woman we were attempting to help. “Janice?” I yell into the quiet. Janice’s husband had given me her name before we made entry. The first step of humanizing anyone is to grant them their identity. While calling her “ma’am” would show respect, it would not recognize Janice as a woman with a real and personal crisis hiding from us inside her home. 

“It’s the police. My name is Yve. We’re not here to hurt you. We know you’re angry. Your husband is worried about you. We want to speak with you and see if we can help you with whatever angers you.” There was still no response as we clearedthe second floor and began climbing the stairs to the third floor. It was a three-story home. I was very aware that we were running out of house to search. We would soon be face-to-face with Janice. 

Making our way down the hallway, we began to check closets and rooms for Janice. Entering a bedroom on the right of the hallway, a sudden motion came from my left. Janice burst from a bedroom and ran down the stairs behind us. I turned and pursued, fearing she would attempt to arm herself with one of the knives still in the kitchen floor. I also got on my radio, warning the officers outside that she may be attempting to leave the house. 

​Janice jumped from the second-story deck into the waiting arms of officers who had waited at the back of the residence. As soon as she hit the ground, the officers were on top of her, attempting to restrain her while she fought them. I could see as I approached that Janice wasn’t trying to fight the officers to injure them; she was trying to get away. Not knowing if she had a weapon concealed on her, the officers had gained control of her hands and secured her in cuffs, but she was still struggling against them. “Get off me! Let me go!” Janice screamed with a thick accent that sounded of African origin.

“Janice. Janice, please stop fighting. We’re not trying to hurt you. We don’t want to hurt you. It’s Yve from inside. Please stop fighting us. “It took a minute, but as she tired, Janice started to sob and wail. Scared she couldn’t breathe in her current position, I spoke again.” Janice, I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. I’m concerned that you won’t be able to breathe well in the position you’re in now, and you might be injured from jumping off the deck. I want to roll you over and sit you up. Are you going to attempt to fight or hurt us if we do that?”

​Janice shook her head no, and we rolled her over and sat her up before waving over the paramedics. They checked Janice out while Janice continued to cry and mercifully declared that Janice had no apparent injury from her jump. Still, to be sure, I wanted to get Janice to the hospital and, if possible, find out what had led us to this situation. Janice’s husband hadn’t been able to tell us much beyond she had suddenly become angry and threatened him with a knife from the kitchen.

“Janice, the paramedics can’t find any injuries from your jump, but I’m still concerned about you. I want to take you to the hospital to get checked out and talk to someone about what’s going on. Are you willing to go with me? I’m not going to hurt you, but unfortunately, while you’re in my custody, the handcuffs must stay on.” 

​A tenant of my ability to build trust with people in crisis is to be honest with them. Even when I know they won’t like what I’m saying. Bullshitting people while attempting to make yourself or them more psychologically comfortable only backfires. Worse, it makes the person in crisis question your integrity and destroys their trust in you to lead them through their crisis. Janice nodded yes, and I escorted her to my cruiser. 

​An hour later, Janice was lying on a hospital gurney in the Emergency Room. She still had not said much beyond nodding yes or no when the doctors or nurses asked her medical questions. She stared straight ahead, not acknowledging my presence in a chair in the corner of her hospital room. I still wanted to know what had caused her intense anger, but I would respect her silence. Finally, she turned her head towards me and spoke.

​“I hate you people,” she said, staring at me.

“You people?” I asked. 

“Yes, you police. You always take the man’s side.” Janice said. 

“We always take the man’s side?” I asked. 

“Yes, every time you come. You police talk to me, but he always gets what he wants. I don’t get anything. I’m pretty much worthless.” Janice finished. 

“It sounds like your husband doesn’t value you,” I replied.Janice’s eyes again flashed with anger, and her face got hard.

“No, he doesn’t. And neither do you, police. He thinks that just because he brought me from Africa, I have no value other than cleaning his house and cooking his food. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t love me, and I don’t love him.

” He brought you from Africa?” I questioned. I was now concerned I had a human trafficking situation.

“I was a mail-order bride. I thought coming to America—the land of promise would be good. Promise for someone else, maybe. Not for me.” I could hear the bitterness in her voice. Still, she continued. “Endless dishes, cleaning, and cooking for a man who cares nothing for me.” 

She sounded betrayed by the promise of a new life in America. I decided to reflect on that betrayal and see where it took me. “Your husband promised you one thing, and it sounds like you got another when you arrived in America. I’m sorry you were betrayed that way.” To my surprise, Janice softened. Her shoulders sagged, and she inhaled deeply before blowing the breath back out. 

“I betrayed him, too. I told him I could learn to love him,but I could never. I love another. Each time he wanted sex, I told him no. I do not want him that way. It makes him angry. He feels he has been owed my love and body since he brought me here.”

I was concerned that Janice’s husband had forced himself on her, but she assured me he hadn’t. He was angry, but he had not touched her. After another argument about their lack of physical intimacy, she, in desperation, had pulled a knife from the butcher's block and threatened him with it. After he had fled the residence and called the police, she took every knife in the kitchen and drove them into the kitchen floor. She briefly considered driving a knife into herself and ending her agonybefore deciding she was chasing an outlet for her frustration,anger, and grief. She had no family here in America and no real friends. They had only been married a few months. 

“The one you love at home? What’s his name?” I asked.This was risky. I might have asked too much, too soon, but she seemed to be leaning into our conversation now. Perhaps it was that I was a woman or that I hadn’t challenged her on her negative perception of police. I wanted to test the rapport we had built over the past few minutes. But Janice looked hesitant the minute I asked the question. She seemed suddenly very uncomfortable, shifting in her hospital bed. 

“It’s okay,” I said, noting the change. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m sorry if that question made you uncomfortable.” Janice seemed to consider my apology. She was weighing her options. I let the quiet settle back into the room between us. I was content to respect her process. To do anything else would undermine the trust I had built with her. I wouldn’t push her beyond where she was comfortable. 

“Her name is Emelda,” Janice said quietly as if whispering a secret she wanted nobody else to hear. Now, it all made sense. Janice was gay, and in many African nations, being gay was still illegal and a sin. Gay women could be imprisoned, beaten, or killed for the sin of loving another woman. Janice fled this danger when she married her husband but left her heart behindwith Emelda at home. My heart ached for her. What a terrible choice. 

On the one hand, she had obtained her freedom. But had she? This also explained why Janice resisted sleeping with her husband, who she did not desire physically. After months of the pressure building between them, the argument erupted in the kitchen, and now we were in the Emergency Room. 

“I’m so sorry you had to leave Emelda at home, Janice. It must be terrible to be separated from someone you love that way.” It’s always terrible to lose those we love. Whether it’s by death or by distance. I’m sorry you had to leave your heart in Africa. I’m also sorry that the police haven’t listened to you before when they came to the house. That isn’t right. But I’m here to listen to you now.”

Janice looked at me and wept. Taking a chance, I reached out and touched Janice's hand. “I know it’s not okay now,Janice. But I believe at some point in the future, it will be again.” Janice continued to cry but nodded in the affirmative at me. I understood my job wasn’t to fix the problem, but I did need to understand it—if only so I could relieve some of Janice’s emotional load. I have developed the skill to read shifts in emotion and body language and listen on a level that fostersconnection. It was a matter of timing, listening, and being self-aware. 

I was listening to understand, not to reply. I was not responding out of ego or denying Janice’s reality. I wouldn’t insist that the police had listened to her or take it personally that she didn’t like the police. I also had no power to fix Janice’s issues. I could not get her out of a loveless arranged marriage, although I did encourage her to communicate with her husband if she felt it was safe to do so. I could not deliver her back to her love in Africa. My only power that evening was to make Janicefeel worthy and seen in that hospital room. And that seemed to be a start for our brief time together.

The same is valid for employee concerns. You may not be able to fix or accommodate all your employees' concerns, but giving them an outlet, a way to voice them, can pay dividends. It takes the pressure off the relationship and sends the message that you see the employees and care about them. Make this a standard practice, and you begin to change the culture of a workplace for the better by building trust. Trust is the foundation for taking an organization from ordinary to extraordinary.