Straight cops' gay 101: a Canadian police force asks heterosexual recruits to take a crash course in being out and proud.

Last December, two men held hands and walked down bustling Whyte Avenue in Edmonton, Canada. Never mind that they were in a liberal-minded neighborhood; onlookers still stared and whispered nasty comments. The couple sauntered past a construction site, where workers immediately stopped what they were doing and gaped.

The intimidation was too much for the men. They stopped holding hands.

No one in the crowd that day could have guessed that the men were actually straight cops from the police department's hate-crimes unit. Dressed as civilians, they were the first participants in a bold new experiment by the Edmonton police department: teaching new recruits how it, feels to be discriminated against as a gay man or lesbian.

"The recruits really did experience firsthand what many minority members do," says Constable Stephen Camp, the program's creator and an officer with the force's hate- and bias-crimes unit. "One of the recruits felt genuine anger with people who were staring and making comments, though he couldn't say anything. We'd been quite strict about informing them that they could not say anything back to anyone," Camp added.

With a population of just under 1 million, Edmonton is a surprising incubator for such a cutting-edge program. Alberta, of which Edmonton is the capital, is widely regarded as Canada's most conservative province--a northern version of Utah or Texas. The city's police force has some out lesbian officers but no gay men who are open about their sexual orientation.

Most residents of the province are staunchly opposed to the Canadian federal government's move toward equality for gays and lesbians. When the Canadian government announced its intention to legalize same-sex marriage last year, Alberto premier Ralph Klein immediately denounced the move, promising that his government would invoke the Notwithstanding Clause. This rarely used portion of the Canadian constitution allows provincial governments to opt out of laws riley don't support.

But Constable Camp remained undeterred. He divided recruits into two groups and then asked for volunteers to pose as gay men or lesbians. The initial exercise had four participants. "All they had to do was hold hands," he said. "This seemed a straightforward way for new recruits to experience the angst, stress, and fear that sometimes come with being a member of a minority group. My previous experience with reemits is that they can often intellectualize what minorities may experience, but they can't always feel it emotionally." (Citing internal privacy concerns, the department declined to make recruits available for interviews with The Advocate.)

Camp braced himself for criticism. Instead, he has been buoyed by positive reaction to the program, including support from the local newspaper and lawmakers. The Calgary police force plans to start using a similar program.

Michael Phair, Alberta's first elected openly gay politician, who has served as an Edmonton city councilor since 1992, praises the program. "The officers who are part of the hate-crimes unit have been very proactive and thoughtful in this area," he says. "This speaks to the fact that the police are acknowledging that our city is a very diverse place, a place that includes gay and lesbian citizens. It sends a message that the police will not tolerate antigay crimes."

Similar exercises will now be a regular part of recruit training, with the next one taking place this summer. "Though police forces across North America have worked to try to reflect the diverse makeup of the population, more often than not when I'm looking at 50 new recruits I'm looking at 50 white men," says Camp. "What I set out to do is to sensitize our officers to what the victims of hate crimes go through, to let them know what it is to be a member of a minority."

Hays, associate editor of the Montreal Mirror, has written for The Globe mid Mail and The New York Times.