Imagine a protector of the public turning predator behind closed doors. Tariq Mahmood, a 45-year-old police officer from Livingston, West Lothian, has been convicted of domestic abuse against two women, shattering the trust we place in those who wear the badge.
The BBC reported that this grim tale unfolded between April 2019 and February 2022 across Edinburgh, Newtongrange in Midlothian, and other locations, culminating in a sentencing of 120 hours of unpaid work and two years of supervision at Edinburgh Sheriff Court on June 2, 2023.
The charges paint a chilling picture of control and cruelty, with Mahmood repeatedly kicking one victim and emotionally tormenting another, who was pregnant, by threatening to take her child and dictating her wardrobe choices.
It’s a stark reminder that power, unchecked, can corrupt even those sworn to serve. And in a culture obsessed with excusing bad behavior under the guise of personal struggle, this case demands accountability over apologies.
Against the first woman, Mahmood’s abuse wasn’t just physical; he blamed her for their inability to have children, accused her of infidelity, and unleashed verbal tirades. Such actions aren’t mere “missteps” to be brushed off by progressive platitudes—they’re a betrayal of basic human decency.
Toward the second victim, his tactics were equally sinister, dredging up childhood trauma and wielding threats like weapons. If this is what passes for personal conduct in law enforcement, one wonders how deep the rot goes.
Advocate Edith Forrest claimed, “My client maintains his innocence but apologised for some of his behaviour.” An apology for “some” behavior? That’s a half-measure that dodges the full weight of his actions, and it’s precisely the kind of soft accountability that erodes public faith in justice.
Following the conviction, non-harassment orders spanning four years were issued to protect both victims, a necessary shield against further harm. Yet, 120 hours of unpaid work feels like a slap on the wrist for crimes that cut so deep.
Mahmood, who previously served 16 years with West Midlands Police before joining Police Scotland, was placed on restricted duties for at least a week post-conviction and has since been suspended at the earliest opportunity.
He hasn’t performed any duties as a constable since the verdict, a small mercy for a public already shaken by this scandal.
A Police Scotland spokesman confirmed, “He has not undertaken any deployments.” Good, because the last thing we need is an abuser patrolling our streets while bureaucrats drag their feet on discipline.
Police Scotland has made it clear that criminal proceedings are over, and now internal conduct regulations will take center stage, though they lack the power to automatically dismiss officers for such convictions without a drawn-out disciplinary process. This procedural slog is exactly why many feel the system protects its own over the vulnerable.
Chief Supt Helen Harrison stated, “Mahmood's actions go against everything Police Scotland stands for.” True enough, but words alone won’t rebuild trust when the mechanisms for swift justice seem mired in red tape, leaving victims to wonder if the badge means protection or privilege.
Annie Hirdman hit the nail on the head, asking, “Why should you be able to be called a police officer?” It’s a question that cuts through the fog of woke excuses—if you can’t uphold the law in your own life, you’ve got no business enforcing it on others.
Mahmood’s intention to resign, as revealed in court, might be a start, but it’s not enough to erase the damage done to his victims or the reputation of law enforcement. Resignation shouldn’t be a convenient escape hatch from fuller consequences.
The Scottish government is reportedly consulting on reforms to police conduct rules, including faster misconduct proceedings, while a new act aims to bolster accountability and vetting.
These are steps in the right direction, but in a climate where every institution seems to bend under political correctness, skepticism about real change is warranted.