Dear editor,

If every private security officer in Jamaica failed to report for work tomorrow, what would happen? Banks would struggle to open; many schools would hesitate to welcome students; hospitals would face serious security challenges; businesses would scramble to protect their assets; gated communities would lose controlled access; and construction sites, warehouses, hotels, shopping centres, and countless workplaces would suddenly become far more vulnerable.

Now ask yourself another question: Who really protects Jamaica?

For decades we have assumed the answer is the Jamaica Constabulary Force (JCF), yet the reality on the ground tells a more complex story. Across the country, private security officers are now the first line of defence for thousands of businesses, institutions, and communities. In many places, they are the first people to detect suspicious activity, prevent theft, manage access, respond to incidents, and reassure the public.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, Jamaica has quietly developed what appears to be a second police force, one that is privately employed, privately funded, and increasingly relied upon to deliver everyday security.

Unlike the JCF, however, this “second police force” is paid for by those who can afford it. This should concern every Jamaican. Crime has done more than create fear; it has fundamentally changed how security is provided in our society. Businesses now budget for private security in the same way they budget for electricity, insurance, and payroll; homeowners invest in cameras, alarms, razor wire, and private patrols before they buy luxury items; and schools, hospitals, universities, and government agencies increasingly depend on contracted security services simply to operate safely.

This is no longer an emerging trend, it is the new normal. The question is not whether private security plays an essential role; it unquestionably does. The real question is whether Jamaica is slowly shifting from public policing to private protection.

If access to better security depends on the ability to pay, what happens to the communities that cannot afford it? Are we creating a two-tier security system in which wealth determines who receives the highest level of protection?

These are uncomfortable questions, but they deserve honest answers. None of this diminishes the work of the JCF, it continues to shoulder immense responsibilities, often under significant resource constraints. No police service can be everywhere at once. The remarkable growth of private security is not evidence of police failure; rather, it reflects the increasing demand for security in a society facing persistent and evolving crime challenges.

However, if private security has become indispensable to Jamaica’s crime prevention efforts, why is it still treated as a peripheral industry rather than a strategic partner in national security? Why is there so little public discussion about how private security and public policing should work together? Why are we not asking whether the country’s security policies have kept pace with this transformation?

Perhaps the most controversial question of all is this: Has crime quietly privatised security in Jamaica?

If the answer is even partly yes, then policymakers can no longer afford to ignore the implications. The relationship between the State and private security must be reimagined. Clearer regulation, stronger oversight, structured information-sharing, and deeper collaboration are no longer optional; they are essential.

Jamaica’s security landscape has already changed; the only thing still lagging is the national conversation.

Dr Garry Grant

grantgarry1990@gmail.com.