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Going under the gun

Nothing can prepare you for the intensity of being pepper-sprayed. Police reporter Kevin Wilson gets up close and personal with this relatively new addition to the police arsenal.

Kevin Wilson
Northern News Services

Yellowknife (May 23/01) - It's probably one of the least evocative phrases a court reporter has to suffer through: "pepper spray was used to subdue the individual."

The detached language of the police report really says nothing about what it actually feels like to have the stuff used on you.

As tools in the police arsenal go, pepper spray is a relatively new one on the market.

The super-concentrated oleoresin capsicum started showing up in North American police holsters about 10 years ago.

It is, however, not without its detractors. Four mentally ill people have died in Canada after being pepper-sprayed.

The most recent, Kasim Cakmak, a 37-year-old schizophrenic, died May 11 in Edmonton.

The spray isn't lethal on its own. However, the intense irritation caused by pepper spray can aggravate conditions like asthma.

It was with that in mind that I decided to take a blast in my own face.

The fact that more than half a dozen Mounties showed up to watch the proceedings probably should have been an indicator that there would be some entertainment value in this.

"I want you to walk towards me, and I'm going to spray you right here," said Cpl. John Milner, pointing at a spot between his eyebrows.

Milner trains his colleagues in Yellowknife on the use of pepper spray.

"After I hit you, keep walking towards me to see how far you get."

Not very far, that's for sure. The spray is very oily, and the last thing I see is the droplets coming my way as I walk into them.My eyes immediately start to close and the burning is unlike anything I've ever felt before. I'd had my mouth slightly open, and I remember tasting something vaguely akin to a really potent hot pepper.

I might have advanced two steps towards Milner before I was completely disoriented. I remember stumbling, then standing up straight and grabbing at my face before I had a horrible moment of clarity.

"Don't touch your face, you idiot," I thought to myself, or else anything my hands touched would start to burn.

There's a scary moment where it feels like my throat is closing up, and I can't breathe. Right about then, someone grabs my arm and marches me over to an eye wash station at the detachment. "Hold your eyes open and stay under the water for about 15 minutes," a voice, presumably Milner's, tells me.

After a thorough dousing with cold water the pain is still almost unbearable. I can open my eyes, though.

Milner tells me to step outside and walk in whatever direction I can find a breeze. "I'll bring you a towel to pat your face dry," he adds.

"Thanks," I reply. It's probably the second dumbest thing I've said, thanking the guy who just gave me a face full of pepper spray.

The most inane thing I said that day was, "I was wondering if someone could pepper spray me today."

Two hours after the experience, my face was still burning. Later that night, I went out for drinks with friends. As the night wore on and the bar got warmer, the pores on my forehead opened up, making it feel like it was on fire. My hands were still burning two days after being sprayed.

Tear gas is nowhere near as brutal as pepper spray

I had thought being pepper sprayed wouldn't be all that bad. I had been tear-gassed when I was in the military, and had expected it to be similar in intensity. Tear gas doesn't hold a canister to this stuff. There's very few times in my life where I've been in this much pain.

Amazingly, the spray is not always effective.

Milner says some people, especially those who are "severely intoxicated, or on drugs sometimes don't feel it."

As he's telling me this, I'm frantically trying to find a breeze to turn my face into. Tears and mucus are streaming down my face. It's a hit with the police, who don't laugh, but can't seem to conceal their grins.

As the show ends and the police start going back to their appointed tasks, one officer sympathetically says, "We've all been through it ourselves, so we're not laughing at you, we're laughing with you."

Another observer, not a police officer, looks straight at me and says, "That's fine for them. I'm laughing at you."