When does a cop who crosses the line become a criminal? At what point should a department take action, and how serious should the consequences be? And when does it become acceptable for family members to expose habitual corruption because no one else will?

Working as a news reporter since 1988, I’ve been privy to such abuses of power: I dated one police officer and later married another. The first was a fine example of what a good cop should be; the second, less so: An undercover narcotics officer, he opened my eyes to a national problem.

That is, police officers who believe a badge gives them the power to use violence in their own homes, prestige that places them above the law, and a position that renders them untouchable by fellow officers on the “thin blue line.”

My marriage lasted briefly, because my out-of-control husband crossed the line at home. His actions on and off the job resulted in family tension that reached the breaking point in 1996, when a patrol car pulled up and four officers spilled out, guns drawn and pointed directly at him. I didn’t see it: I was safely across town after having filed commitment papers for him.

But I’ve visualized that scene numerous times, after he told me about it from his locked hospital room as an armed guard stood nearby. Handcuffed and shackled, he promised to “never forgive” me for what he said would end his police career.  It was the climax in a two-month drama that ran like a horror movie, and included using abusive military tactics on my then 15-year-old daughter and drawing his service revolver while asking if I wanted to watch as he placed it in his mouth.

What ultimately led to his suspension from the force began as a series of small incidents that gradually escalated, leading a family counselor to warn him about the damage he was causing, by being a rigid new stepfather. Her words fell on deaf ears, so an hour before he found himself staring down the barrels of four loaded weapons, we sat inside a restaurant trying to work things out.  That’s when he again threatened to kill himself, and then warned me not to call law enforcement. “I’ll shoot anyone who tries to stop me,” he said.

The anger and anguish in his eyes left me no choice: I called our family counselor, who urged me to have him committed. The rest of the day was a blur, and resulted in not just his stay in a psych ward but the loss of his job, his livelihood and his identity. When our marriage crumbled not long afterward, my sole income supported my four children and me. It was difficult but doable.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. He received much needed psychological help, and I learned why it’s vital to refuse to condone wrong conduct. This is no less true when the person in question wears a badge and carries a weapon for a living.

I know of similar cases: When a city cop battered his girlfriend, it took quite awhile and extensive media coverage to remove him from the force. Conversely, I know citizens who complain when “rogue” cops are not held accountable for their actions:  They trade weapons for fines or jail time, secretly award government contracts to friends and relatives, or speed—because they can.

Most American police officers are of high-caliber character; they wouldn’t intentionally break the law, nor tacitly condone fellow officers who do. I learned this while working with the West Virginia Deputy Sheriffs’ Association. West Virginia Supreme Court Justice Robin Davis, then their legal counsel, told them during a board meeting their conduct better be spotless not just while in uniform, but out of it, too. Her comments occurred when a deputy sheriff “inflicted minor injuries upon (his ex-girlfriend) and also damaged her vehicle,” after the woman repeatedly harassed his family, Davis wrote in the August 1993 issue of The Deputy: West Virginia’s Voice for Law Enforcement, a journal I then published.

The deputy was fired after a psychiatrist’s evaluation determined he “posed a moderate to high degree of risk for … aggression in his work setting.” Four years later he was reinstated with back pay. An appeals judge ruled his actions did not constitute “misconduct of the substantial nature directly affecting the rights and interest of the public (and) an isolated incident of aggression,” Davis wrote, citing W.Va. Code, Sect. 7-14-17.

The judge was appalled that no departmental counseling program existed for deputies, since “the position … is extremely stressful for both the deputy and his … family,” Davis wrote. Therefore, judge ruled that if the deputy had been offered counseling after the incident and refused, then “his dismissal may have been justified.”

And while the psychiatrist’s evaluation played a major role in the deputy’s firing, an earlier one had found he posed “a low risk.” However, the second evaluation contained information, hand-delivered by the sheriff and chief deputy, that the first one didn’t, including a letter of reprimand issued six years earlier: It “was supposed to have been expunged from his records,” Davis wrote. The judge ruled the additional negative information “was a calculated effort to prejudice the psychiatrist … (and) the sheriff’s department’s handling of the case was suspect at best.”

I think this is a good time to consider Justice Davis’ 1993 words, in light of the legislative investigation that recently determined Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin abused her power by trying to get her former brother-in-law, Michael Wooten, fired. He’s the Alaska state trooper who’s divorced from Palin’s sister. According toan article by The Associated Press, in the Oct. 15 issue of the Anchorage Daily News, that same investigation found Palin’s firing of Alaska Public Safety Commissioner Walt Monegan (who refused to fire Wooten) was “lawful,” but concluded she “let the family grudge influence her decision-making.”

Earlier, a July 27, 2008 issue of the Anchorage Daily News reported that an internal investigation found Wooten: Tasered his pre-teen stepson; illegally killed a moose; threatened to kill his father-in-law and drank beer while driving. The Taser incident apparently occurred after the boy requested it, while one drinking and driving incident happened after Wooten had to be pulled away from another patron during an argument inside a bar. Wooten then intimidated that patron by flashing his badge.

Maybe it’s just me, but why would an officer act in a professional capacity while he’s imbibing and fighting, inside a drinking establishment? While the death threat is scary enough, the moose incident insults the intelligence of officers everywhere: Wooten claimed he didn’t know it was illegal to use his wife’s permit.

But focus solely on the battery of a child. So what if the act was done in fun, as Wooten claims? What kind of a parent does that? What kind of an example does this set for men throughout America, many of whom already believe it’s okay to batter their families?

Is Wooten a batterer? Molly McCann, Palin’s sister, thinks so. Listing “[e]xtreme verbal abuse and violent threats and physical intimidation,” she sought and received a protective order from him in 2005.

Abusive cops are a menace not just to their own families: They’re a national disgrace. In 2005 I interviewed Mark Wynn, a decorated police officer who now conducts domestic violence training. While discussing the prevalence of police-related domestic violence, Wynn said it’s a bigger problem than we realize and agreed that job stressors contribute to violence within police families.

Giving us an idea how such problems should be handled, the International Association of Chiefs of Police has issued a policy on police-perpetrated domestic violence. In July 2003 it outlined “a position of zero tolerance by the department,” noting that federal law prohibits cops found guilty of criminal charges from possessing firearms. Maybe that’s why many departments don’t take the hard stance they should when their officers are suspected of battering their families: they know few positions are available for cops who can’t carry (or even own) a firearm.

Statistics can shed some light on the problem; depending on what study you read, up to 20-percent of American families experience domestic violence. But in police families, that number is 40-percent. That’s according to the National Center for Women and Policing, citing what must by now be an outdated source, a May 20, 1991 congressional hearing, “On the front lines: Police stress and family well-being.”

And Palin’s family problems show we’re long overdue for a national dialogue about this problem. Law enforcement is composed of a tight band of brothers, first and foremost loyal to each other. They should be: it keeps them alive in dangerous situations. So loyalty has its place—but not when cops expect their colleagues or superiors to look the other way while they bend departmental rules or break the law.

That loyalty has no place within law enforcement, but seems to be the kind many cops find: My ex is again employed as a police officer and Wooten walked away with a five-day suspension.