The Right Thing on Tuesday

Strategic Ethics • Compliance • Privacy • Fundamental Rights • Nordic Winds • European Perspectives

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  • “We Are Not the Police!”

    Growing up, I wanted to be a detective, thanks mostly to the “little grey cells” of Hercule Poirot. While I enjoyed (some of) Christie’s books, my all-time favorite version of Poirot was the ITV series, in which David Suchet prolifically portrays the famous Belgian as a bundle of contradictions—at once earnest and playful, ironic and self-important, and dedicated to the good cause and—as an almost antithesis of the Streaming Era that came after—conservative, judgmental, and at times downright homophobic. But forgive the detour.

    “Fuck Haters – Elsk Vores Politi” (Aalborg)

    “We are not the in-house police”—and variations on this assertion, is something I come across frequently in Compliance manifestos, often with an apologetic or self-deprecating undertone. I’ll admit that I’ve also resorted to using it myself, because I find it to be a good way of breaking the ice, and of concisely relaying the message that Compliance is here as a business partner, not to breathe down your neck. It can also be a playful way of distancing oneself from any post-traumatic stress the business might be harbouring from compliance officers who came before, and who may have conceived of their own role as policing-adjacent. (Based on my own experience, which is in no way representative, such individuals are far more likely to have come from an old-fashioned, “rules-based” (rather than a risk-based or human-centred) school of legal or compliance thought, than from a law enforcement background).

    But if we take a step back from personal traumas, what’s so bad about comparing Compliance to the police?

    To take a source close at hand, the Danish Ministry of Justice (Justitsministeriet) defines the role of the police as “maintaining security, peace, and order – to exercise control over the observation of laws, and to step in against violations of the law through investigation and persecution. The police also carry out administrative tasks…” [Own translation and emphasis.]

    This four-pronged definition lends itself neatly to a juxtaposition with the role of Compliance in a corporate setting. According to some of the most widely-recognised compliance standards, such as the COSO Framework, or the ISO/IAC 27001 Information Security Management Standard, the most important role of internal controls, is prevention, detection, and correction.

    Exercising Control = Prevention

    Unless you were brought up in a police state, or you regularly engage in criminal activity, this should probably be one of the first images that come to mind when you think about the police force. You may come across police officers at large public events, during visits of foreign officials, or campaigns at your local community centre, or school.

    The preventative work done by the police (alongside other government agencies) is as fundamental to the governance of the state as preventative controls are to the governance of a corporation. Think annual ethics & compliance training, ad-hoc campaigns or messages on the corporate intranet, information sessions, or roadshows with management &c.

    Investigation = Detection

    If you like detective stories, like I do, this is your cup of tea. In fiction, it’s almost always a gruesome murder or other violent crime—a trope my family will hear me complain about all too many times. I for one find an elaborate “heist”, fraud, or conspiracy to overthrow the president, much more enthralling and intellectually stimulating than the slaughter of a fellow human, where the investigation will all too often be reduced to the question of “who dunnit.”

    Photo by cottonbro studio

    In corporate compliance, the crime—or, the “wrongdoing” if it happens to fall short of criminal, or if we don’t yet know if it does—is very rarely violent; however, the methods of detection, the most important of which is the internal investigation, are comparable to the investigative methods of the police. Both are, in essence, an exercise in research design and methodology, rigorously executed in pursuit of “the truth”—and ultimately, of a person or persons responsible.

    Persecution = Correction

    For both Compliance and the police, corrective measures will—at least partially—involve other actors with higher levels of authority: the CEO or Board of Directors; or a judge or jury. It is these actors that will ultimately decide the necessary corrective measures, whether they be sanctions against individuals, or organisations.

    An interesting and relatively recent phenonemon from the crossroads of international and criminal law warrants a brief side-bar here: corporate criminal liability. This is when a corporation can be “punished” (fined), “jailed” (suspended its operation), or “executed” (closed down) for certain criminal acts perpetrated by its directors. But hopefully more on this in an upcoming post.

    Administrative tasks…

    Arguably one of the common threads across law enforcement (indeed almost any bureaucratic office), and corporate compliance offices, is the vast amount of daily administration. Think various records, returns or disclosures, interest declarations, gift reports, or the incredible paper trail created by an internal investigation or compliance audit.

    But none of the above are intended to be an exercise in idle bureaucracy. In fact, their purpose cuts right to the core of the compliance ethos: to document the right and the wrong, and to do so with a level of rigour that, if push comes to shove, will withstand the scrutiny of a regulator, or stand up in a court of law.
    It’s evidence—not pencil pushing.

    Photo by cottonbro studio

    So is Compliance the police after all?

    Of course not. But perhaps preventing, detecting, and correcting the wrong thing in a corporation is not all that dissimilar from preventing, detecting, and correcting the consequences of crime. And perhaps Compliance shouldn’t be put in a position of apology for doing their job, or cornered into defending themselves as “not the police”.

    So—in case you do harbour an aversion of the police—maybe a question to ask yourself instead is where does this aversion come from. And once you have the answer, you could talk it through with your compliance officer: they might even have something thoughtful to offer.

  • Vintage Communication

    This post is an extract from a longer piece I wrote for my—now inactive—storytelling blog. I am including it here as my first post because it captures a bit about how I approach writing. And maybe it also sheds some light on why I’m starting a WordPress site when it’s 2025.

    “I was in Lowy, a small village in the east of the country which had been home to my ancestors many generations back—until finally my great grandfather, who had worked there as a school teacher, moved away with his wife and two children (one of them being my paternal grandfather).  It was sometime in the late 1930s that they moved to the elegant Calvinist town of Krest, not far from Lowy.  Other family—including my great grandfather’s six siblings and about three dozen cousins—remained, with many of their descendants continuing to live there to this day.

    Lowy tends to impress upon me something about our contemporary society […]: that we do many things.  The fact is that when in Lowy, I do very few.  Admiring this photo was one.

    It was a photo which I had not seen before—of my grandfather, his older brother and their parents, taken in the mid-1930s.  As I could tell from the logotype on the back, it had been taken in one of the major cities in the east of the country—these days maybe an hour’s drive from Lowy on the motorway.  In the ‘30s, taking the journey not owning a car, as the family surely did not, would have meant combining an extensive walk with a long train ride—I do not know how long.  They would likely have spent the day in town, and probably stayed the night.  And, judging from the clothes on the children, it does not seem like they would have casually popped into the photographer’s studio.  It must have been (part of) their reason for going.

    The back of the photo also gives some explanation as to (one of) the possible motivations for having it taken.  It was printed on a postcard, on which my great grandfather had written a short, affectionate message to a distant cousin who was then living in the capital.  Apparently, back then, this was how they would send each other photos.

    […]

    My family, had they harnessed mobile technology to send the photo and short message, would have arguably made much less of the experience.  For one thing, I would never have learnt of their kind gesture some 80 years later; but, that aside, it is unnecessary to compare the different layers of emotions brought on by receiving a personal photo-post-card with a few hand-written lines in the snail mail, to that of receiving the same information through Messenger.  (Whether my grandfather would have enjoyed parading around town for a day in what looks like little girls’ clothes, to please a distant relative, may be a more mysterious question, albeit the blank look on baby granddad’s face does reveal a possible answer.)

    […]

    Musing over this, I realized why I enjoyed writing messages on my grandfather’s vintage Erika typewriter.  Not simply because I thought it was worth the tendinitis that the neatly-disorderly script it produces is so easy on the eye

    (Appallingly, it does not.)

    The reason I am so fond of typing with the Erika is the same reason why I am impressed by the messaging […] as done by my late relatives.  I am drawn to them not by the efficiency or beauty of their medium, but by their earnest, playful or heroic ways of overcoming its inefficiency.”