Senior Sergeant Nathan Snell thought he already knew Wairoa. So, he suspects, do most other police officers. 

Mention Wairoa at almost any other station and the conversation often turns to gangs, remoteness, flooding and hard policing.

But spend time with the officers who serve the district and another picture emerges – one that has little to do with reputation and everything to do with the kind of police officer the place produces.

“In my perfect world, I’d love to see every new cop do time in a place like this,” Nathan says.

Not because it’s easy. Because Wairoa demands a style of policing that’s becoming increasingly rare.

No cavalry coming

The district covers an enormous area, from Māhia Peninsula to Lake Waikaremoana and inland towards Te Urewera. Backup is rarely just around the corner.

“You can’t interact with people the same way you do in Auckland because your backup is not Eagle Delta or a thousand cops within three minutes,” Nathan says.

Acting Sergeant Chapman Kutia knows exactly what that means.

“Cavalry is provided one hour north from Gisborne or one-and-a-half to two hours south from Hawke’s Bay,” he says. “Time delays are huge and you soon appreciate the term ‘necessity’. You’re quick to put your tactical hat on and give it your best.”

Without ready access to dog handlers, the armed offenders squad (AOS) or specialist teams, officers learn to think ahead, manage risk and make sound decisions under pressure.

“Most of the time it is you and your partner,” Chapman says. “You can’t rely on someone else to take charge of everything.”

That responsibility starts early.

“If there’s not a sergeant on, you’re potentially making that level of decision almost straight out of college,” Nathan says.

The result is confident, autonomous officers.

More than another job

Wairoa is also a place where policing becomes deeply personal.

In bigger centres, officers often move quickly from one incident to the next. In Wairoa, there’s time to look beyond a band-aid response and ask why the same jobs keep cropping up.

“We actually get to ask, ‘Why are we having these domestic disputes? What services can we wrap around? What can we do to stop this becoming an issue?’,” Nathan says.

Sometimes solving a crime is remarkably simple.

“You look at the CCTV and, ‘Oh yeah, it’s Joe Bloggs’. You just rock around to Joe’s place and it’s sorted.”

Chapman says that’s possible because relationships matter.

“You can’t just arrest people willy-nilly and throw away the key. The next day you’ll be going to the gym with that person, collecting your groceries with that person or getting your car serviced by their uncle. Having a positive reputation within a small community really does go a long way.”

Nathan tells a story that sums it up.

He accompanies another officer to visit a community member.

“‘Do you want a ham sandwich?’ the guy asks.
“Tony says, ‘Yeah, OK’.

“‘Well, you know where it is. Go make it’.“

It’s hardly the sort of interaction that would have made Police Ten 7, but it speaks volumes about the trust built over years of consistent policing.

Nathan says he even walks to work with his uniform under a jacket. “I feel safer doing that here than I would in Auckland because everyone knows who you are and you know who everyone is.”

Even encounters with gang members are often grounded in mutual respect.

“I’ll go to the supermarket on my day off and be recognised by gang leadership,” Nathan says.

“They’ll say hello.

“You have to be professional. It’s that firm but fair approach. If you’re consistent in your enforcement, they understand the game.”

Growing together

For sole-charge Māhia officer Chad Prentice, the appeal lies in seeing the difference police work can make.

“In big centres, individual efforts are not often seen,” Chad says. “In small-town rural policing you constantly see the differences you make in the community, which makes it unique and rewarding.”

Cyclone Gabrielle left more than damaged buildings and emotional scars that linger whenever heavy rain is forecast. Officers say it also strengthened community ties.

“Gabrielle united the community,” Chad says.

The same spirit exists within the station. Nathan remembers the response after a vehicle ended up in a river last year, killing a young person.

“A text was put into the station group and within 10 minutes everyone showed up at the station.”

Nobody had to. Everyone simply came.

That willingness to look after one another extends beyond the job.

Staying power

There are practical reasons people stay, too. Police housing, hard-to-fill allowances and a lower cost of living mean many officers find themselves in a stronger financial position than they were in larger centres.

“We’ve got one pizza, kebab and Indian shop,” Nathan says. “In the one shop.”

“If you want to go shopping, it’s an intentional trip to Gisborne or Hawke’s Bay.

“You’re earning more, but you’re also saving more.”

But none of the officers pretend Wairoa suits everyone.

Chapman believes the people who thrive are those who communicate well, show empathy and aren’t afraid to step into leadership. “One who can communicate with the locals without jargon and isn’t afraid to get involved in the hardcore stuff.”

Nathan agrees.

“It’s a great place for someone who’s driven and motivated to develop themselves and be involved in a community.”

Ironically, that’s not why he came.

Staff hunt together, fish together and cover for each other when family commitments arise. Many become genuine friends rather than just colleagues.

Chapman has embraced life beyond the station too, joining local sports teams, taking up hunting and becoming involved in the community through his young family.

“The coastline and the landscapes are one in a million,” he says.

Nathan has thrown himself into local events too, including waka races on the Wairoa River.

“I’d never been in a waka before,” he laughs. “I don’t think, after my performance, I’ll ever be invited back.

“My view of Wairoa was exactly the same as yours and most other people in the country,” he says. “Then you come here and it’s actually a great place. There’s so much to do if you’re an outdoorsy person.

“Admittedly the dating scene is terrible, but that’s to be expected in a small town.

“And, yes, there are social issues with gangs and some low socioeconomic issues, but there’s actually a really cool community within that and the vast majority are just getting on with life.”

When first approached about taking the role permanently, his answer was blunt.

“Absolutely not. One hundred per cent not.”

Over time, that certainty faded. There was still work to do and more opportunities to help develop younger staff.

Maybe that’s why so many officers who plan to stay two years are still there five, six or seven years later.

Wairoa won’t be for everyone. The work can be demanding. Family harm, vulnerability and gang tensions are everyday realities. But stripped of big-city resources, officers learn to lead, communicate and solve problems for themselves. They become part of the community they police, not simply people who work there.

A year ago, Nathan thought he knew Wairoa. Now he believes every police officer should spend time somewhere like it.

After listening to those who already have, it’s hard to argue with him.