When you work in security it can be a battle to stop people stealing. Most thieves know that they have the same legal power as guards, and it’s not easy trying to decide who gets to dole out “reasonable force” when a teenager’s cutting through a bike lock in front of you.
My shift mates and I recently observed a heroin user cutting through our car park repeating a shopping list into her phone: shampoo, school uniform, other low order goods. She’s part of a growing number of people stealing for others, focusing on stuff that people need but don’t want to pay for.
Part of me thinks that telephone shoplifting (or “Deliverob” as we call it) is to be expected given the reported overall 37% jump in store thefts. But no one wants to get caught in the act, and what Britain lacks in police patrols to intercept shoplifters we make up for in another field: cameras.
The UK is one of the most surveillance-heavy countries in the western world. London’s 13.21 cameras per 1,000 people seem Orwellian until you compare it with the estimated 439.07 rate of Chinese cities.
It’s strange to think that one of those cameras is now me. As a guard who carries a body-worn camera (BWC) on my protective vest, I’m part of a growing demographic. This year alone has seen staff at Pret a Manger, BP and Greggs as the latest employees to be issued BWCs for protection against abuse and thefts.
Essex county council is thinking of providing them to librarians – clearly the “Quiet please” sign no longer cuts it – while school crossing staff in Rochdale will soon begin recording after a lollipop lady was punched trying to stop traffic.
A part of me is still in awe of the tech. When I was a kid in ‘80s London, the only way to get on screen was to walk past electronics retailer Rumbelows if they happened to be running a camcorder promotion.
When I began working in security, I saw surveillance hardware evolve from CCTV monitors as clunky as furniture to wafer-thin smart screens. Maybe, as more frontline workers like me are provided with BWCs, the proportion of shoplifting cases that result in a conviction – currently 14% – will grow.
Recorded footage certainly had a hand in accelerating convictions after the riots this summer. Far-right looters were quickly charged and sentenced for appropriating bath bombs (among other violent offences), and begged for pity in court.
Some reports indicate that gangs and not prices are behind the recent rise in shoplifting. There are also accounts of the “squeezed middle class” who steal in the name of retaliating against multinationals, and boast of “smiling broadly” at guards like me as they stroll out of the shop carrying stolen goods.
I’m yet to bump into any middle-class bandits but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Like a lot of sites that require security staff my workplace is private property but keeps its doors open. The grounds get used as a thoroughfare by members of the public, and frontline workers like me can encounter everyone from users of brain-damaging synthetic cannabinoid spice to violent drunks, as well as people with mental health issues who’ve fallen through the system.
Given that the recent jump in shoplifting has matched similar spikes in attacks on shop staff and abuse and aggression on frontline NHS staff, I can see why paramedics were issued BWCs after suffering 3,500 assaults in a year. This is despite a consultation in 2020 which doubled the maximum jail term for anyone attacking emergency workers.
As the uniformed go-between who often has to dial 999, my bosses were clear to me about when exactly I should press record. I can only do so following a “dynamic risk assessment”, which can be tricky to carry out when violence explodes out of nowhere.
When my boss explained to me how BWCs work – constantly recording but dumping footage unless the ‘Capture’ tab is pushed – I got nervous. Colleagues of mine who’ve forgotten to hit ‘Stop’ after a confrontation have been left terrified that they’re archiving something inappropriate, such as sneaky phone-scrolling or unflattering comments about the team leader.
It’s a feeling I know well: in a previous job as a furniture mover, I once accidentally broadcast an argument with a co-worker about the best Kylie Minogue song while leaning on my walkie-talkie’s transmit button.
When to press buttons isn’t my only fear around BWCs. My job’s starting pay is £11.44 per hour, the current minimum wage; the camera I wear retails for £534. I don’t want to think about what happens if I damage it. Sometimes I feel my uniform’s more valuable than I am.
One group less worried about prices or digital overexposure is teens. The gang that we keep encountering are more interested in smashing windows or ripping up manhole covers.
Whenever we approach them and deliver our “You’re being recorded” speech, they film us back on their phones and provide commentary to their followers. Or they threaten to stab us.
Perhaps we’ll only see the impact of widespread BWCs when the current court backlog clears. Another memory from last-millennium London was the installation of CCTV on football terraces. A 96-strong camera system at Millwall helped turn the stomping ground of the Bushwacker hooligans into a “well-managed venue”.
If it can happen at the Den then it can happen on the high street. I don’t mind being the referee in the meantime. It makes sense as I’m already dressed in black for my job.
• George Bass is a security guard and bouncer
