The Secret of the Community Police Officer

The sound of clinking chains echoed in Tuấn’s memory whenever he jolted awake. After three years in prison for intentional injury, he returned to his neighborhood with fierce eyes and a shaved head. He looked down on everyone: he shouted at his elderly parents as if they were slaves, and he threatened his neighbors with vulgar language. For Tuấn, the only authority worth fearing was brute strength and cruelty. His parents were in despair, his relatives kept their distance, and even the kindest people were helpless before his arrogance.

But one person kept visiting. That was Mr. Minh, the community police officer. Every two or three days, he would appear at Tuấn’s gate. Not wearing a stern uniform, not carrying a baton, he only wore a simple t-shirt and carried a packet of tea or some fruit. At first, Tuấn growled, ordering him away: “Get out! I don’t need your lectures!” Mr. Minh would just smile gently, sit on the doorstep, pour tea, and offer it to Tuấn. “You’re back, I’m glad. Everyone makes mistakes; what matters is living in a way worthy of your parents’ hopes,” he said softly, without a trace of judgment.

Strangely, Tuấn listened to him. Why? Because deep in his subconscious, the image of the prison officer with the power of life and death was ingrained in his fear. Mr. Minh represented that authority, but used it to express compassion and moral reason. This combination of authority and compassion conquered Tuấn’s arrogance. Gradually, Tuấn became less aggressive and began to learn about life and his responsibility to his family.

The teacher explains that this is a manifestation of the bodhisattva’s practice of “constantly according with beings.” Beings are diverse; each type requires a different method of teaching. Some listen to the Dharma through wisdom, some through faith, but there are also those who are stubborn and violent, who must be guided toward goodness using “fear.” If Tuấn’s parents or neighbors had tried to advise him, he might have resisted even more because they held no “weight” in his eyes. The police officer was different.

There are even more complex cases. Take a wealthy playboy whose wife’s advice fell on deaf ears. Finally, a beautiful young woman invited him to visit a temple, and he agreed. After hearing the Dharma talk, she would ask him about its content; he couldn’t remember, but after several times like this, the teachings gradually seeped in and his character changed. Or consider a young man addicted to gambling who smashed up his house, leaving his parents powerless. A tattooed, menacing gangster blocked his path, shouted, and threatened to kill him if he didn’t repay his debts and apologize to his parents. Overwhelmed by terror, he meekly obeyed. From then on, his fear drove him to temples, to join meditation retreats, and to turn his mind toward goodness.

The bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara does not necessarily appear in a radiant, glorious form. He can manifest within the figure of a police officer, a beautiful woman, or even a thug, as long as that means helps beings awaken. This flexibility, not clinging to any single form, is the pinnacle of wisdom and compassion.

**The Meaning of the Story**

This story affirms the Buddhist spirit of “unchanging within the accord with conditions.” To teach and transform beings, a practitioner must not be rigid or attached to a single method. One must understand the psychology and circumstances of each individual to choose the most suitable approach. Sometimes, gentleness and affection, or even authority and fear, can become skillful means to lead people away from evil and toward goodness. The ultimate goal is what matters: helping beings turn their minds toward the good.

Compiled from a Dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang