From Barefoot Schoolgirl to Assistant Superintendent of Police

As Women’s Month closes, Assistant Superintendent and Press Officer for the Belize Police Department, Hortence Hernandez, spoke about life behind the badge.

Hernandez grew up in Crooked Tree Village with little to her name, attending school barefoot and spending more days at home caring for younger siblings than inside the classroom. “We were literally dirt poor. Many days I go to school barefooted. I could remember I often don’t even have an exercise book to write in,” she said.

Hernandez had a childhood marked by instability, moving between a hostile home with her mother and stepfather and the poverty of her grandparents’ household. She says one memory stands out. While in Standard One, she was sitting on the steps of her home laughing as neighbours played in the yard when her stepfather pressed his lit cigarette into her back and kicked her off the steps. “As a victim of both childhood physical and sexual abuse, I know firsthand the pain and silence many victims endure,” she said.

Those experiences, combined with her childhood instinct to always ‘play the police’ instead of traditional roles, set the stage for a defining moment at age 18, when she witnessed a woman stumble across a field with her clothes nearly burnt off, screaming that her partner had set her on fire. “From that day,” she said, “if ever I become a police officer, it is definitely at the Family Violence Unit I wanted to work.”

When Hernandez finally left Crooked Tree, the chance to join the police force came unexpectedly. A friend told her about the recruitment exam just a day before it was held. But getting in was only the beginning. With no money for training gear, she pawned her mother’s wedding ring, and the shoes she could afford were too small, leaving her feet bleeding daily throughout training. A female sergeant refused to grant her any relief. “It tested my faith, and I wanted to leave, but nonetheless, I prayed to God and said, ‘This is where I wanted to be.’ So I stuck it out,” she said.

That pattern of perseverance carried through her personal life as well. Over nearly 26 years, she raised five daughters largely on her own, missing birthdays, school functions, and report card days. A school principal once shamed her for her absence, unaware of what female officers sacrifice daily. “It is almost impossible to dedicate your life to policing and be a mother,” she said. “We don’t live a normal life.”

She was equally direct about a challenge she says persists inside the department itself. “Women are our own greatest enemies,” she said. “At every point that a woman can get to bring down another woman, they will do that.” She recalled fellow female officers celebrating when she was passed over for a promotion to sergeant.

Through it all, Hernandez pursued education alongside her career, earning degrees in paralegal studies, public sector management, and a master’s in management, paying off that final loan just this past December. “Every step of what I do is God.” Her proudest accomplishment, she says, remains her daughters, one of whom has since joined the police force herself.

Her advice to young women considering the force was straightforward. “I will never encourage a woman to become a police officer,” she said. “However, if you want to become one, do it because it is a calling, not a salary…You cannot be a police officer and give it 100% and be a mother and a wife and give it 100%.”

As Women’s Month closes, she summed up what the uniform means to her in a single word: ‘resilience’. “It means that you must always go above and beyond to protect and serve. Being a woman does not mean sitting behind a desk. It means that we will compete with men because we are capable of doing just as men are doing and even better,” she said.

Hernandez joined the force on June 18th, 2000, and will mark 26 years in uniform this June.