I totaly identifiy with what you write. Except for the pysical problems I have gone through all that you have writen - mean humer, a commander who destroyed my chance of promotion, not allowing me to learn on the job and assigining me to "female" jobs.


I am a detective in the Israeli police force in the operations sub division of the central unit of the southern disrict. There are 2 female detectives and almost 25 male detectives in my unit.

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Twenty years ago I pursued my dream of becoming a California Highway Patrol Officer. I trained daily for over a year--weight lifting, running (3 miles a day), biking (8 miles every night) and aerobics (twice weekly). The year was 1981 and there were very few women on the CHP. To tell you truth, I don't think they knew quite what to do with us back then. They'd been mandated by the Equal Opportunity Act and Affirmative Action laws that required the hiring of women and minorities. Law enforcement hadn't begun to realize how women fit into their male-dominated field. To be honest, we (women) didn't know how to act ourselves and didn't have the wherewithall to coalesce. We wanted to be respected and to prove ourselves, but thought the only way to accomplish that was to walk and talk like the guys. Young and somewhat confused about my femininity in a male-dominated career, I made concessions then in how I allowed others to treat me, that I would never stand for today. They didn't really have a name for it back then--but today they call it "discrimination" or "sexual harrassment." I would like to write an article to the Women Peace Officer's Assocation of California and wanted to get a feel for what the interest level would be. It's taken me 20 years to even talk about some of these experiences--my boyfriend, a former San Diego Police Sergeant--encouraged me to be heard.


An excerpt from the article would be something like: "I was so naive. On that first swim-day at the Academy, they came around and asked each of the cadets to lift the white t-shirts that covered our swimsuits so the P.T. instructors could view our suits. Then, they picked those of us who "hadn't gotten the memo about wearing nondescript swimsuits" to come onstage in front of the other 70 cadets and strip down to music. The instructors thoroughly enjoyed our humiliation. And then, there were the full body searches. At 5'8 inches, a svelte 130 pounds, I was selected to hide seven weapons on my naked skin using duck-tape and then wear street clothes, only to be groped and felt by several male members of my class. There was one guy--I don't remember his name--but I remember that he used to pick and eat his own buggers. He flunked full-body searches and had to molest me over and over again before he could find all the weapons. I felt so violated and used. My image of the professional CHP was rapidly deteriorating. I just didn't feel like I could speak up then without being further singled out--the goal was to blend and try not to let them know your name. But who was I kidding? They had me pegged--and labeled--and canned before I ever had a chance. In fact, later during break-in, the reality of my demise came to fruition when my training officer said on the first graveyard shift, "I'm going to get you into so much shit, I'm going to break you down and make you quit!" And he did.


Then, there was the secret photos that the male cadets took of me throughout my 21 weeks at the live-in Academy in Sacramento. Every time I asked an instructor a question after class, a snapshot was taken--and later, during tear-gas training, after passing out, a photo was taken of a male cadet trying to resuscitate me--while on my knees, facing him. These photos were then combined into a special slide show (just about me) for the class' entertainment prior to graduation. Humor at my expense.


Prior to going to the Academy, I had participated in several ride-a-longs with the CHP to better prepare myself. I read and re-read Accident Investigations (A.I). By the time I wrote my first A.I. report in the Academy, it was so professional, they asked me to read it in front of the entire class. What a mistake that was. Remember, the key here was to blend. The Instructor (A sergeant) hated women. You can just tell about these things. He made it his personal goal to make my life miserable from that point on."


Please let me know if this is a story worth telling. Is it unique? Or is it so familiar that you would relate with a similar experience. Over the past 20 years, I've raised a son on my own (his father's a CHP Officer) and am about to get my 2-year degree in Criminal Justice. I have a 4.0 GPA and was President of a subchapter of the American Criminal Justice Association. My goal is to become an Investigator with the Dept. of Consumer Affairs (State of California). I want to uncover truths and right wrongs. This article may be my first step toward this goal.