largely opaque, but vitally importantcounterpart to dialectic in the communicationindustries.Many modern dilemmas are foregroundedby the question of dialogue or its absence. Inthis article I follow the critique ofcommunication set out by Peters (1999) andtrace the (predominantly Western) sources ofideas of dialogue to understand why themodern experience of dialogue is marked byan impasse and unfulfilled expectations. Iargue that the difficulty of dialogue acrossvarious social and media boundariesconfronts us daily and present a critique ofdialogue that avoids both the commonlyattributed moral privilege of dialogue and thetragedy associated with its absence.My aim is to investigate the contradictionsin the implication that dialogue leads to anunproblematic social world bereft of themoral opprobrium of dissemination and oneway,persuasive communication and dwell onthe lacuna in this argument.I suggest that by exploring older views of‘dialogue’ we can establish why dialogue istroublesome in the modern milieu. Mystrategy follows a distinction WalterBenjamin (1968) made between modes ofhistorical narration. He saw in every act ofhistorical narration a constructivist principleand wanted to align and compare thoughtthrough different ages no matter how difficultor inconsistent this approach could be. In thisview, the past lives selectively in the presentand helps us understand it. In this‘simultaneity’ across time, history works notin a solely linear way but by being arrangedinto various constellations.This work sets out to show how ideas fromthe ancient past and the near past haverelevance to the Internet and other moderncommunication media and their currentcommunication affordances. However, Iaccept, as Williams reminds us in Keywords,that it is not enough to investigate the originof a word or the context of its use over time,but that it is also required of the scholar torecognise…as any study of language must, thatthere is indeed community betweenpast and present, but also thatcommunity––that difficult word––is notthe only possible description of theserelations between past and the present;that there are also radical change,discontinuity and conflict, and that allthese are still at issue and indeed arestill occurring. (Williams, 1983, p. 23)This is notably the case with respect to theword ‘dialogue’ in the context of the multiplenetworked instances of what are commonlycalled ‘dialogues’ and ‘polylogues’ thatcharacterise the world of the social media.Vint Cerf (2005) demonstrates this idea inthe following statement:The Internet comes along […] and as aconsequence, the dialogue amongpeople with common interests has vastlyincreased.Somewhere between the liberalarts/humanities and the social sciences,dialogue exists in a contested space whereadvocates of different methods and positionshave attempted to capture it and appropriate itfor their purposes (see Van Eemeren, 2010;Habermas, 1990; Ong, 2004; Toulmin, 1992).In theory, dialogue is ‘trapped’ in the to-and-froof theoretical attempts at the separation andreunification of the dialectical and therhetorical (Crosswhite, 1996; Van Eemeren,2010).Dialogue as a registry of modern longingsIn his book, Speaking into the air: A history ofthe idea of communication, Peters (1999)argues that the idea of dialogue has becomerevered as the solution to many ofcontemporary social challenges:In certain quarters, dialogue has attainedsomething of holy status. It is held up asthe summit of human encounter, theessence of liberal education, and themedium of participatory democracy. Byvirtue of its reciprocity and interaction,dialogue is taken as superior to the onewaydissemination communiqués ofmass media and mass culture. (p. 33)It is a popular belief that lack of dialogue isto blame for many human problems, and thatMersham, G. (2014). Dialogue, non-dialogue and dissemination—ancient questions, contemporaryperspectives. PRism 11(2): http://www.prismjournal.org/homepage.html2
transferred to a police support unit, then to Crime Stoppers,then to a policing volunteer program.The fink fund charges were ultimately stayed when theProfessional Standards department (the new moniker forInternal Affairs) stumbled onto more serious problemswith the drug squad and decided these new leads wouldbe compromised by the disclosure of evidence in the finkfund case. Inspector Tony Corrie, a round-faced Englishmanwith a fierce loyalty to the force, had been assignedby Professional Standards to coordinate a review ofmore than 300 cases with which Schertzer’s team hadbeen involved since 1996. He discovered indications thatSchertzer and some of the team’s officers were using confidentialinformants as agents. Instead of simply providingthe police with information in exchange for cash, snitcheswere improperly involved in investigations—making calls, forgingintroductions and setting up drug buys. The law requires thatagents be identified in search warrant applications, and there wasevidence that Schertzer’s team often didn’t bother. The accusedofficers deny having committed any offence or instances of discreditableconduct.Corrie summarized his findings in a report filed to Chief JulianFantino, and noted that the federal Department of Justice hadalready stayed charges in more than 65 of the force’s drug-relatedcases—including the case against Client Zero—because evidencefrom drug squad officers could be considered suspect. Corrie wasconcerned that Schertzer’s team had provided dishonest evidenceand testimony. In his report, he asked, “How did the Service allowthis person to be promoted and supervise others when repeatedwarning signs existed about this officer’s methods?”He recommended that Fantino pre-empt a potentially embarrassingpublic inquiry by immediately ordering a fourth internalinvestigation—one that would probe Schertzer’s team on a muchdeeper level than the first three. Corrie knew such an investigationwould be unpleasant, but he believed it was essential to regain thepublic’s trust in the force.Fantino quickly acted on Corrie’s advice. In thesummer of 2001, he announced the appointmentof RCMP Chief Superintendent JohnNeily as head of the newly minted ProfessionalStandards Special Task Force. The STF was tofocus on the allegations against Schertzer’sdrug squad and, in Fantino’s words, “follow the truth regardless ofwhere it took them.” Neily was a well-liked investigator who’d beenworking in the GTA for the RCMP since 1993. He’d run a majortask force on organized crime in the Toronto area in the late 1990sand had worked closely with both federal and provincial prosecutionteams in the city, as well as other forces that police the GTA—he seemed like an ideal person for the job.The STF was headquartered in a drab office complex on WilsonAvenue, far from police headquarters. (Fantino didn’t want therest of the force knowing how the STF was going about its business.)The task force included 26 Toronto officers, four RCMP officersand five civilian support staff. Many of the Toronto force’s bestinvestigators couldn’t be recruited. Who wants to probe the affairsof fellow officers? Many of those who did volunteer for assignmentswith the STF—a proud, ragtag crew—had been enticed bythe chance of plum positions once it was over.Schertzer’s personnel file told the story of a man who hadwanted to be a police officer since he was five years old. The sonThe best officers couldn’tbe recruited to the specialtask force assigned to goafter the drug squad. Copsdon’t want to investigatefellow copsof German immigrants, he was raised in Kitchener and joined theToronto Police Service as a cadet in 1975 at age 17. His wife, Joyce, isalso an officer with the Toronto police.After reviewing his discipline records, however, Neily concludedthat “the man had problems from almost the time he first hit thestreets of Toronto.” When Schertzer was confronted by his superiorsabout complaints, he shrugged them off, saying they were allcoming from “criminals he or his squad had charged in the past,”and that these criminals had all “fabricated” an elaborate conspiracywhile doing time together at the Metro West Detention Centre.Neily came to realize that Schertzer’s superiors had been ableto overlook the complaints and protect him from demotion or censurebecause of his arrest record, which was much higher than thatof the other drug teams. Once Neily scratched the surface, though,he discovered that as many as 82 per cent of those cases fell apartbefore reaching trial. As Neily gathered evidence, he began tobelieve that Schertzer and his men were motivated by greed—notthe pursuit of justice.In one instance, in 1997, Schertzer’s officers apprehended a drugdealer named Andy Ioakim, who was delivering eight ounces ofcocaine to a buyer. The cops took Ioakim to his Richmond Hillhouse, which they entered without a search warrant, and, accordingto Ioakim, took a pound of compressed marijuana, two poundsof cocaine and $65,000 in cash. This was in stark contrast to drugsquad officer Joseph Miched’s property report, which accountedfor just eight ounces of cocaine, two and a half ounces of “whitepowder” and $1.22. Ioakim’s account was supported by an officerfrom another drug squad team, who testified that Raymond Pollardhad told him they’d found a pound of cocaine in the house.Miched allegedly told Ioakim that the only way for him to avoidcriminal charges was to lead them to other dealers. Which is preciselywhat Ioakim did. Though they never disclosed using Ioakimas an agent (the cops insist he was acting as an informant),Schertzer and his crew nabbed a Montreal-based dealer as shetried to deliver five kilograms of cocaine to Ioakim in Toronto.Schertzer’s squad never laid any charges against Ioakim.The STF got one of its big breaks by accident.During the investigation, Schertzer and hisfellow squad members were restricted to deskjobs. Schertzer was prohibited from testifyingin court against dealers he’d arrested. His fellowofficer Nebojsa Maodus (known as “CrazyNed” to his team) went on sick leave for more than 200 days.On March 20, 2002, the OPP responded to a domestic assaultcomplaint at Maodus’s house. While there, the OPP officersRCMP Chief Superintendent John Neily (left)was named by Toronto Police ChiefJulian Fantino to lead the investigationdiscovered a stack of police memorandum books, some of whichMaodus had previously been ordered to turn over to InternalAffairs and the STF. (He claimed he either didn’t have them orhad already handed them over.) After receiving this tip, the STFexecuted its own search warrant.The investigators found in Maodus’s possession—and in violationof the force’s rules—confidential informer files, arrest reports,search warrants, prisoner photographs and public complaint files.One of the more damning documents was a ledger that kept trackof what police reports would later call the Schertzer team’s “slushfund.” The account book showed “withdrawals for food and entertainment,personal items, and payments to confidential informers.”They also discovered a stash of drugs in a shed on Maodus’sproperty: 45 grams of cocaine, three grams of heroin, 26 gramsof marijuana and four ecstasy tablets. Neily noted that the officerhadn’t been involved in drug investigations for almost two years,and there was no evidence that he’d ever been a user.If the drug squad had stolen money from dealers, they musthave been spending it on something—and living beyond themeans of the average detective. Later that year, Neily decided tohire a forensic accounting firm to look at the financial affairs of thesquad, along with those of their spouses and other family members.The findings were submitted in two binders. Neither hasbeen made public, but in a report for Fantino, Neily alluded towhat they contained. The “major findings,” as Neily called them,“related to Detective Sergeant Schertzer and, to a lesser degree,retired Detective Constable Miched.” The accountants analyzedinstances in which the suspected officers booked a trip, made largepurchases, deposited cash into their accounts, made cash paymentstoward credit cards or loans, or spent money gamblingaround the time of the alleged thefts. In the end, they got “hits ofinterest on 23 of the 49 cases studied.” Fourteen of them involvedtransactions by Schertzer. During Schertzer’s last couple ofmonths with the squad—a period in which there were no less thana dozen reported thefts—he bought significant amounts of traveller’scheques with cash.The forensic accountants even analyzed the Schertzers’ ATM use.In the two years after Schertzer left the squad in 1999, he or his wifemade at least one cash withdrawal every week. This was in markedcontrast to the previous four years, and to 1998 in particular, whenSchertzer and his wife made no withdrawals during 19 weeks.The STF also interviewed a police constable who, while assignedto the CFC for a few months during the Schertzer years, was astonishedby, as he puts it, the “lifestyle of the team.” He couldn’t keepup with them. Schertzer and the boys partied up to three timesa week, he said, and the “boss” always controlled the cash.As the investigation wrapped up in 2003, Neilyconcluded that Schertzer had led his group ofofficers on a “crime spree in the drug culture ofToronto.” Neily felt 218 criminal charges werejustified against 12 former CFC officers, butthe attorney general’s office decided to pursueonly the strongest cases in what was expected to be a complicatedprosecution. The length of time it took to make this decisionstrained relations between Neily and the Crown prosecutors. In aletter sent in March 2003, Neily complained that the Crown wastaking too long to review the briefs he’d submitted and was failingto formalize its strategy. “We cannot continue to wait months andmonths for action on your part,” Neily implored. “I have said thisto you time and again and yet there is no change.”Ten months later, on January 7, 2004, Schertzer and five constablesfrom his squad—Joseph Miched, Nebojsa Maodus, Steven Correia,Raymond Pollard and Richard Benoit, all long-time officerswith the force—were indicted on 40 counts of corruption, includingextortion, theft, perjury and assault. Four others (one detective andthree constables) were named as unindicted co-conspirators andexpected to appear in court as Crown witnesses.The day of the indictment, Fantino addressed a packed pressconference at police headquarters and assured the public that thecorruption-related charges against Schertzer and his co-accusedwere “isolated and confined.” His description contradicted affidavitsalready sworn by Neily, who warned of the “significant potentialfor this investigation to expand to other related units.”By the spring of 2006, as the Crown prepared its case against thesix men, the STF continued to operate as a group of about 10 seniorinvestigators known as the “maintenance team.” Its job was to siftthrough the investigation’s paperwork and assist the Crown. Withmany of the investigators nearing retirement, the lead prosecutor,Milan Rupic, was facing the prospect of dealing with a less experiencedteam. He wanted to get roster changes sorted out soonerrather than later and sent a letter to the STF detailing his frustrationswith the delays in re-staffing the unit.In order to be ready for the trial, Rupic wrote, case briefs neededto be completed by the end of the summer. If that didn’t happen,78 Toronto Life | torontolife.com | April 2009 photograph (opposite page) by richard lautens/toronto star