What’s the hardest part of being a negotiator?

Arriving on scene to a suicidal person. Not the talking, not the hours that follow. 

The arrival.

Knowing that you are it – no one else is coming. 

This is a hard one for me to write. Trying to put into words what it feels like to walk toward someone in crisis — knowing you could be the difference between life and death.

Police negotiators work in teams. But more often than not, when the call comes, you arrive first. 

Sometimes… there is no one else.

It usually starts the same way. You’re on emergency callout and it’s the middle of the night – your phone rings – you recognise the negotiator coordinators phone number. 

Instantly you’re wide awake. Adrenaline surges through your body and your chest gets tight.

You already know it’s serious. There’s an incident requiring a Crisis and hostage negotiator. 

You drive through closed roads and police cordons. Blue lights reflecting off empty streets. You update control that you’re on scene.

You update the control room that you are on scene. 

Then it hits you. 

The next few minutes are the hardest, loneliest moments I have ever experienced. 

As a Sergeant, I’ve arrived at countless incidents where officers visibly relax when you turn up, good he’ll take control, he’ll know what to do. Pub fights. Disorder. The public think: good — the cavalry’s here.

Arriving at a crisis scene it’s the same feeling – only amplified. 

“The Negotiator’s here” 

You can feel the atmosphere change. Pressure and tension builds instantly. 

Often, suicidal people choose bridges over roads, railways or water. If they’ve made it that far, it’s only a footstep away from death and for some – relief.  

I would always, deliberately, without fail take my time walking towards the individual. Not because time isn’t important — it absolutely is. But those few steps between me and them were critical. 

The expectation on your shoulders is colossal. 

There is no one else coming. 

All eyes are on you, the officers on the road closures, the incident commander and curious members of public. 

And most importantly the person in crisis. 

You know you only get one shot at this. 

As you walk forwards a million thoughts race through your mind. What’s led to this moment in their life to get here?

Have they already made their mind up? 

Am I up to this? 

Can I make the difference? 

What if I can’t?

I might be the last human this person ever talks to. 

Their entire world feels like it’s resting on your shoulders. 

You take a moment to ground yourself. Deep breath. Quiet the noise in your head. You remind yourself: I’ve done this before. I’m trained. I’m experienced. I’m here for a reason… I’m going to help them get through this. 

You have to forget everything else in your mind, your own stresses, problems and pause your life. You know you must be fully present and operating at 100%. There are no second chances. 

I imagine it’s how a boxer feels walking to the ring. All eyes on them, All eyes on you. No one stepping in beside you. Once you’re there, it’s just you and them.

You feel distinctly exposed, no uniform, no magic wand, nothing but you and your words. Hoping it’s enough. 

It’s the loneliest walk. You know the buck stops with you.

As you walk closer you battle your own fight or flight instinct. You focus your brain on mentally preparing – How am I introducing myself? What’s my opening lines? What do I know about this person? 

You switch on. 

Your training kicks in and you take a deeper breath. You can see them and make eye contact. Here we go. You get closer. 

And you start talking. 

———

After it’s over, you go back to normal life.

The dog still needs walking.

The kids still need taking to school. 

That’s the hardest part of the job.