Alaska men routinely hurt women more often than just about anywhere else in the nation, and Alaska children suffer high rates of abuse. Alcohol fueled violence regularly strikes in Bush communities, leaving a tragic wake of injury, assault and death. Gov. Sean Parnell has promised to reverse this deplorable track record and make Alaska a safer place for families, a lofty goal.
But the state's immense size and lack of a comprehensive road system makes it a difficult place to patrol. When trouble erupts inside one of the hundreds of remote villages accessible only by plane or by boat, local leaders are often powerless to do much more than make a phone call to state troopers or police for help from the closest hub city.
Village Public Safety Officers are one way to fill the void, but it is not an easy task. These unarmed "peace"officers are employed by Native nonprofit corporations with state funding. Money from the state is passed through to the nonprofits to pay for salaries and benefits, but the nonprofit organizations decide who to hire and write the paychecks.
VPSOs often work in the village they grew up in and may be faced with arresting family members, friends, neighbors or former classmates. They are generally on call 24 hours per day, work weekends and holidays, all without backup or anyone to relieve them when they need a break.
"It's definitely not an easy job," said Sgt. Leonard Wallner, the Alaska State Trooper who oversees the VPSO program. "For the most part, they are a one-man show."
But the job does have its rewards. The annual salary is decent -- $43,500 to $82,500 depending on years of service and rank -- and can be a good way to make a living in communities where poverty is high and there aren't many other jobs.
"Without public safety, our villages cannot survive," Parnell told attendees at the Alaska Federation of Natives convention last October in Fairbanks. One of his commitments, he told the crowd, was to continue to expand the VPSO program in 2011. In 2008 the state had 47 VPSOs. By this July, there will be funding for 101.
"This year's budget included funds to hire 15 new Village Public Safety Officers," he told convention-goers. "I will continue that commitment until every village that wants a VPSO has one."
The program's growth, coupled with more shelters and support for victims of abuse, and more education and prevention efforts is already paying off he told the crowd.
"Today, more people are safer in rural Alaska than when I last spoke here," Parnell said.
Family assaulted while officer on call
Yet just one month earlier, an event in a small Norton Sound village showed what some village safety officers are up against. In the wee hours of the morning in Elim, the VPSO received a frantic call. A suicidal person was on the bluff, the female caller said. After VPSO Gerald Otto left to go check out the situation, two men armed with axe handles burst into his home, frightening his wife and children. As the wife worked to get a hold of a firearm, the men fled. Two teen-age men and a female juvenile were later caught and convicted of making the false report and carrying out the assault. They are now awaiting sentencing. But Otto quit the job and moved his family out of Elim. The VPSO position there remains vacant.
"There were circumstances in the village that put his family in harm's way and so he chose to move his family away from the community," Wallner said.
When a man was stabbed to death by his girlfriend in Brevig Mission in November, the VPSO in the village let the local village police officers handle the scene until troopers could arrive from Nome, according to troopers. Under ideal situations it will take troopers about an hour to fly in, and that's if a plane is ready and weather is good. Because the case is still under investigation, troopers declined to offer many details about what happened or why the VPSO didn't have a role in the initial response.
The woman taken into custody and accused in the attack is Jessica Olanna. One person who has worked as a VPSO in the community off and on is a man named Winfred Olanna Jr. Alaska Dispatch was unable to determine whether the suspect is related to this other Olanna. But if she is, and had he been a working VPSO at the time (Kawerek, Inc., the regional nonprofit which serves Brevig Mission, says he wasn't on staff when the incident occurred), it would have been the very type of situation that VPSOs are advised to stay clear of.
When family members are involved, VPSOs are encouraged to take a hands off approach and to let troopers handle the case, Wallner said. Coping with the strain of having to reign in family or friends can make an already tough job that much more difficult.
Olanna did quit once under family pressure, Wallner said. But he agreed to return to his job after a second VPSO was staffed in the village. When the new guy quit, Wallner worried Olanna would, for the second time, again step down. But Olanna stayed on, agreeing to tough it out.
More recently, the Bering Sea village of Scammon Bay was the site of a day-long standoff between officers and a suicidal man who had taken his girlfriend hostage after shooting and killing her son. The newly hired VPSO was helpless to do anything, as he was far away in Sitka going through the training program. The frustration of sitting in a classroom more than 1,100 miles from his home village during a deadly crisis has already added to the stress of what will unquestionably be a challenging job.
"He felt his place was in the village to assist with the situation and he wasn't there," Wallner said.
Help arrived only after someone in Scammon Bay called police in Bethel, 150 miles away, who in turn alerted the Alaska State Troopers, who then flew to the village in small airplanes. Response took hours.
Even had a VPSO been there, he would have been limited in what he could have done. VPSOs are not trained to carry firearms.
"We stress with them do not put yourself in harm's way," Wallner said. "Do what you can with what you have."
That can mean securing a perimeter, staying a safe distance back, and summoning troopers to the scene.
Despite all the difficulties that accompany serving in these small, isolated communities, VPSOs often are deeply committed to their jobs and passionate about their work, Wallner said. In addition to law enforcement, they are also trained to keep tabs on people who are on probation or parole, help fight fires, conduct search and rescues, provide basic first aid and even act as the local animal control officer, dealing with everything from loose dogs to nuisance bears or foxes.
Often, they may use their own firearm or a weapon the village has designated specifically for animal safety issues, but again, VPSOs don't carry weapons as a part of their daily job.
How do you grow the program fast enough?
There are currently 79 VPSOs serving in the state, including those about to graduate from training this month. The state has funding for 86 positions, which in July will increase to 101 positions. With only one training session per year, filling the 22 vacancies by mid-summer means that Wallner and Native nonprofit corporations will also look at applicants from other states. Police officers and other law enforcement types who've suffered downsizing in the Lower 48 are increasingly taking a serious look at the VPSO program. Still, the emphasis is to hire locally first.
The increase to 101 officers still only meets half the demand, and remains far short of the program's historic highs in the mid 1980s, when 125 VPSO were on the payroll. About 100 villages that have expressed interest in getting a VPSO remain without one. Funding is one obstacle. The ability to offer an acceptable environment is another.
Housing is key. Village public safety officers must have a good place to live -- and one that is large enough for a spouse and children, depending on the officer's family size. The village must also provide office space with a phone and fax machine, plus a secure room where suspects can be detained when necessary.
The lack of running water or plumbing in some villages can be a deterrent to a job candidate who isn't interested in hauling water or using five-gallon buckets as toilets.
"There are definitely Third World villages," Wallner said.
Walt Monegan, director of the Alaska Native Justice Center, believes, as does Wallner, that housing is one of the greatest barriers. Providing VPSO's with regular vacation breaks would also help, something he said he had hoped to achieve while serving as the state's public safety commissioner under Gov. Sarah Palin.
Monegan had also envisioned the state hiring its own set of VPSOs, who could act as a relief force for those employed by the Native nonprofits.
But Monegan left the job in a highly publicized dispute with Palin, and his reforms were never implemented.
For all of the challenges, Monegan believes putting these public safety officers into villages is a good thing, and investing money and time now is well worth the future payoff.
Too often, authorities show up only after something horrible has happened, he said. Deploying more VPSOs might prevent such tragedies.
"Wouldn't it have been cheaper in terms of resources and human misery if something was done sooner to nip it in the bud?" he said. "If (communities) are so weary of lack of support that they don't call until the 'big ugly' happens, then, when the 'big ugly' happens, it's too late. We should work to keep small things small."
Ten nonprofits and one borough now employ VPSOs across the state, and demand is growing.
"VPSOs in the Interior are worth their weight in gold," said Jim Knopke, the VPSO coordinator for Tanana Chiefs Conference.
Knopke, whose territory covers 42 villages, has nine VPSOs, a number he hopes to nearly triple within five years. "They really do a good job and they really are doing good things in their villages," he said.
Knopke likens VPSOs to a walking encyclopedia of all things public safety. They're the people villagers can go to for everything from questions about a rabid dog to knowing whether their smoke stacks and fire alarms are working correctly. More than dealing with serious crises, their real value is measured in the little impacts that add up over time, he said.
A VPSO's presence in a community can work as early intervention. Minor scuffles with the law now may head off a life of drugs or harder crime. Fire-safety checks of homes as winter approaches may prevent a house fire, or new batteries for a smoke alarm may allow occupants to safely get outside unharmed. The list goes on and on, Knopke said, and he's seen it first hand in the ten years he's worked for TCC.
"If you can put a VPSO in a village and they remain in the village for a while you see the whole fabric of that village begin to change for the better," he said.
Contact Jill Burke at jill(at)alaskadispatch.com
[CORRECTION: This article was updated March 2, 2011. It originally stated that Winfred Olanna, Jr. was on duty as VPSO in Brevig Mission when a woman with the same surname, Jessica Olanna, was accused in an attack. Kawerek, Inc., the regional nonprofit that serves Brevig Mission, claims that information was misreported and that Olanna, Jr. was not on staff or employed as a VPSO when the incident occurred. The article was updated to reflect the Kawerek statement.]