Privatizing protection

Michael Bock didn’t recognize the screaming woman running down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. But the man chasing her with a barbed-wire-wrapped piece of wood? Bock definitely had seen him before. He was hard to forget. He’d filed what teeth he still had into sharp points, making him look like some kind of wild animal. Without hesitating, Bock crossed the street.

He cut an imposing figure: his uniformed 6-foot-5-inch frame was fitted with a protective vest and a body camera. Handcuffs, pepper spray, and a gun hung from his belt. Bock works for Echelon Protective Services, one of dozens of private security firms operating in Portland, Ore. A growing number of residents are turning to private protection services to address the gap between a severely understaffed police department and rising crime rates. But Echelon has found success by adapting its services to the realities of life in Portland. Its employees act more like social workers than security guards.

“Josh!” Bock called out in a jovial tone as he crossed the street. He spoke as if he and the man with the cudgel were old friends. “Hey man, I remember you. How have you been?” Confused, the man stopped in his tracks. That pause gave the woman her chance to escape. “She evaporated around the corner somewhere,” Bock said. He had no idea what sparked the original chase. He offered Josh a cigarette and made some small talk before they went their separate ways.

That was the most assistance Bock could render. If he called the police, he’d have to wait a long time for an officer to come—if one came at all. In 2020, “defund the police” protests rocked Portland for months. City leaders caved to the pressure by cutting the police budget. Officers responded by leaving their thankless jobs in droves. While city leaders subsequently reversed those cuts, the damage was done. Today, this city of around 650,000 people has only 294 patrol officers for its three precincts. While many police departments across America are understaffed, Portland’s situation is unusually bleak. It ranks 48th among the 50 largest U.S. cities for its ratio of police officers to population.

For a time, Portland residents in distress could not even count on reaching a 911 operator. During and after the upheaval of 2020, 911 call hold times skyrocketed. One day in July 2021, Bock waited on hold for 26 minutes while trying to help a man who had overdosed on drugs. On other occasions, his 911 calls were disconnected because too many others also waited on hold. However, Bock says today the hold time is usually 2 minutes or less.

Adding to 2020’s lasting chaos, Oregon voters passed Measure 110, decriminalizing possession of small quantities of hard drugs. That new approach to addiction overlapped with the arrival of fentanyl, a powerful and often deadly synthetic opioid. Overdose deaths in the state skyrocketed from 280 in 2019 to 1,833 in 2023. Crime and violence also soared, with the reported homicide rate nearly tripling between 2019 and 2022.

These developments together created a perfect storm that drove demand for private security. In September 2019, Oregon had 1,635 private security guards licensed to carry a gun. By May 2024, that number had grown to 2,361. Sgt. Kevin Allen, a spokesman for the Portland Police Bureau, told me via email the police appreciate a helping hand from private security guards: “Most are professionals who are valued members of our public safety system.”

Private security firms work for businesses, homeowners associations, government entities, and even churches. First Orthodox Presbyterian Church in Portland struggles with violent crime and prostitution near its building, so it hired a private security firm called First Response. A guard patrols the church regularly and checks to make sure all the doors are locked. “If there’s somebody on the property that shouldn’t be here, then they move them along,” explains Mark McConnell, one of the church’s elders.

But private security is not a replacement for police. They don’t have police powers to place suspects under arrest. And they have far less training. In Oregon, unarmed guards can be trained and certified in as little as 16 hours. Unsurprisingly, things sometimes go wrong. In 2023, a Portland security guard, who wasn’t certified to carry a gun, was convicted of murder for shooting a customer outside a Lowe’s store.

Bock used to work for another firm as a guard at a supermarket. He wasn’t allowed to talk to people, and he describes his role as “a scarecrow.” He switched to Echelon in the summer of 2020, during the protests. That may seem like the worst moment to leave a quiet, stable position. But he was attracted to the company’s relationship-based method of providing security.

HISTORICALLY, THE ROLE of a private security guard was to serve as a visual deterrent and call the police at any sign of trouble. Echelon has flourished by acknowledging that this model no longer works in places like Portland. Founded in 2019 by former police officer Alex Stone, the firm now has 400 clients in the Portland area and around 100 personnel. It is rapidly expanding into other cities like Seattle and San Francisco.

I visited the company’s office in Old Town Portland in April. It’s stocked with items to distribute to the homeless, including clothes, jars of peanut butter, feminine products, and cigarettes. The firm’s slogan “Security Through Community” is painted in large letters on one wall.

After our interview, I got to see how its guards build that community by walking the streets near the office with Stone and Bock. They approached homeless people to introduce themselves and offer cigarettes. Bock says cigarettes are his most effective tool. “It’s almost instantaneous rapport,” he said. We approached a gray tent where a woman who said her name was Mischa accepted a cigarette. Bock, who doesn’t smoke, asked her if she needed anything. She said she was hungry, so he told her about two nearby organizations offering free meals.

The relationships that Echelon’s staff builds are critical when they need to de-escalate a situation—as Bock did with Josh. But these relationships also enable Echelon to assist people who might be ready to turn their lives around. Stone says his team helps about 150 people off the street each month, although he estimates 80% of them wind up on the street again within a year.

Even though their work is based around building relationships, Echelon’s team continues to hit the streets wearing equipment that Stone calls “battle rattle.” The threat of violence is great, and they need to project strength. Still, Bock wishes he could match his appearance to his usually friendly demeanor. “I will freely admit that, ‘Yeah, you could get the work done quicker and easier, sometimes, without the gear.’” he said. “But we’re still living in a kind of free-for-all.”