BOBBY RED'S FUNERAL IS THURSDAY, AUGUST 20, 2026, AT 11:00 AM

My people, today I am not coming before you with politics. I am not coming before you with controversy. I am not coming before you looking for an argument.

Today, I am asking you for something from the heart.

This Thursday, August 20, 2026, at 11:00 in the morning, we will gather at the Life Center Tabernacle Church of God of Prophecy, Gordon Pen, Spanish Town, to say our final earthly goodbye to Sylford “Bobby Reds” Williams.

And I am asking you:

Please come.

If Bobby Reds ever helped you—come.

If you ever heard about his service—come.

If you respect men and women who gave part of their lives to Jamaica—come.

If you believe friendship, loyalty, sacrifice and public service still mean something—come.

Because there are some moments in life that cannot be replayed.

You can watch a video tomorrow.

You can make a telephone call next week.

You can send a message next month.

But there is only one final farewell.

And when that hearse leaves that church on Thursday, that moment will never come again.

Bobby Reds was more than somebody I worked with.

That was my partner.

That was my brother.

That was my friend.

We faced challenges and dangers together, and I will carry what we built with me until my last day.

And now the time has come when I cannot walk beside him anymore.

So I am asking Jamaica—and especially the people whose communities benefited from his service:

Walk with Bobby Reds one final time.

Thursday, August 20, 2026 at 11:00 AM.

Life Center Tabernacle Church of God of Prophecy.

Gordon Pen, Spanish Town.

Come and help us say:

Bobby Reds, you served. Bobby Reds, you mattered. Bobby Reds, you will not be forgotten.

EMOTIONAL APPEAL

My Jamaican Young Police family, Jamaicans at home, Jamaicans overseas, members and former members of the Jamaica Constabulary Force, District Constables, community members, friends, relatives, and everybody listening to the sound of my voice:

Some videos are difficult to make.

And this is one of them.

Because I can talk about crime.

I can talk about policing.

I can debate politics.

I can analyze corruption.

I can talk about Jamaica's problems all night.

But when you have to speak about putting somebody you love in the ground, words suddenly become different.

Today, I am speaking to you about my former partner and friend, Sylford “Bobby Reds” Williams.

And on Thursday, August 20, 2026, we are going to say goodbye.

The funeral service will begin at 11:00 AM at Life Center Tabernacle Church of God of Prophecy, Gordon Pen, Spanish Town.

And I want to make a personal appeal to you:

If you can attend, please come.

Not because there will be a camera there.

Not because anybody is looking for recognition.

Not because attending a funeral makes somebody more important than somebody else.

Come because every once in a while, a community should stop what it is doing and acknowledge a person who gave something of himself to others.

And Bobby Reds gave.

THIS IS ABOUT MORE THAN A FUNERAL

A funeral is one day.

A life is decades.

A funeral lasts a few hours.

But the influence of somebody's life can last generations.

When you see a casket, you are seeing the end of the physical journey.

You are not seeing all the mornings that person woke up and went to work.

You are not seeing the nights they sacrificed.

You are not seeing the people they helped.

You are not seeing the difficult decisions.

You are not seeing the times they were tired but continued anyway.

You are not seeing the friendships.

You are not seeing the disagreements that were eventually forgiven.

You are not seeing the jokes.

You are not seeing the laughter.

You are not seeing the danger.

You are not seeing the sacrifices.

You are seeing one final chapter.

And that is why I don't want Thursday to become another funeral.

I want Thursday to become a statement of gratitude.

A statement that says:

We remember.

Because one of the saddest things that can happen to a person who spends years serving others is for society to benefit from that service and then forget the servant.

I refuse to forget Bobby Reds.

And I hope Jamaica will not forget him either.

THAT WAS MY PARTNER

Some people know Bobby Reds as a retired District Constable.

Some know him through his family.

Some knew him from the community.

Some may recognize his face.

Some of you may have never met him.

But I knew him differently.

I knew him as my partner.

When you work closely beside another man for years, particularly in policing, that word “partner” means something different.

Your partner is not simply somebody whose name appears beside yours on a roster.

A real partner becomes somebody whose judgment you learn.

Whose habits you understand.

Whose weaknesses you recognize.

Whose strengths you depend upon.

And sometimes, in dangerous environments, your partner becomes the person you trust when you don't have the luxury of calling somebody else.

There are friendships created over dinner.

There are friendships created at school.

There are friendships created in church.

And then there are friendships created while two people are doing difficult work together.

Those relationships carry a different weight.

Bobby Reds and I shared that kind of relationship.

For years we worked together in and around one of Jamaica's challenging policing environments.

In some communities, our names became known.

People came to trust us.

Some residents who knew that when we showed up, we were there to work.

That history means something to me.

And when Bobby Reds died, I didn't simply lose somebody whose number was in an old telephone book.

I lost part of my own history.

Think about that.

When somebody who knew the younger version of you dies, they take memories with them that nobody else on this earth possesses in quite the same way.

They remember conversations nobody recorded.

They remember incidents nobody photographed.

They remember the person you were before life changed you.

They remember the struggles.

They remember the dreams.

They remember the mistakes.

They remember the victories.

And suddenly one day they're gone.

That is what death does.

It closes a library without warning.

And you realize there were stories inside that library you thought you would always have another day to hear.

THIS THURSDAY MATTERS AUGUST 20th, 2026 AT 11:00AM

That is why I am asking people to understand why Thursday, August 20th, 2026 matters.

There will never be another August 20, 2026 funeral for Bobby Reds.

There will never be another opportunity to stand together while his earthly remains make that final journey.

And somebody watching me right now may be thinking:

“Porter, I didn't know him personally.”

Come anyway if your circumstances allow.

Maybe you didn't know Bobby Reds.

But perhaps you know what it means to lose somebody.

Maybe you lost a father.

Maybe you lost your mother.

Maybe you buried a brother.

Maybe you buried your wife.

Maybe you lost a husband.

Maybe you buried a child.

Maybe you stood beside a grave and wished one more person had shown up to let you know your loved one's life mattered.

Then you understand.

Sometimes we attend funerals not because we knew the deceased better than everyone else.

Sometimes we attend because human beings should stand with one another in moments of loss.

Your presence may comfort somebody in Bobby Reds's family.

Your handshake may mean something.

Your hug may mean something.

Your quiet presence in a pew may mean something.

Sometimes you don't need a speech.

Showing up is the speech.

TO THE FORMER POLICE OFFICERS

I particularly want to speak to former members of the Jamaica Constabulary Force.

I want to speak to District Constables.

I want to speak to people who understand what service means.

You know that the uniform eventually comes off.

The badge eventually gets put away.

The boots eventually stop walking those streets.

The radio becomes silent.

The shift ends.

Retirement comes.

And eventually, life itself ends.

But service does not become meaningless because somebody retired.

The years still happened.

The sacrifice still happened.

The work still happened.

The people assisted still existed.

A pension date cannot erase a lifetime.

Retirement does not delete history.

And that principle goes beyond Bobby Reds.

I believe this is something we should remember for everybody who serves.

When people spend years carrying responsibilities for their country, we should remember them while they're alive—and we should honor their memory when they're gone.

So to the serving officers and former officers who are able to make it:

Come and stand with one of your/our own, my brother, my friend, and partner.

Not because everything in policing is perfect.

It isn't.

You have heard me criticize wrongdoing. Calling out thieving police officers, politicians, and citizens alike!

You have heard me insist that police officers must be accountable.

But accountability and appreciation are not opposites.

We can condemn misconduct while still honoring honorable service.

In fact, that is exactly what integrity demands.

When somebody does wrong, say they did wrong.

When somebody serves, say they served.

And Bobby Reds served.

THE LEGACY OF TWO YOUNG MEN

When I look at some of these old photographs now, I almost have to smile through the sadness.

Two young men.

Young faces.

Young bodies.

Young dreams.

We didn't know exactly where life would eventually take us.

We didn't know that decades later I would be sitting in America as a retired member of the United States military, having served during two wars, speaking through a camera to thousands of people about his funeral.

Life doesn't show you the complete map.

You start walking.

And somewhere along that journey, Bobby Reds and I became part of each other's story.

There was a time when the communities we worked in faced serious crime problems.

Policing was difficult.

Resources were not always what officers wanted them to be.

Yet people still had to get up and go to work.

People still needed protection.

Communities still needed officers willing to enter places others were afraid to enter.

And we worked.

One of the things I have repeatedly spoken about is the early bicycle policing initiative that Bobby Reds and I were involved in.

Today somebody can see officers on bicycles and think:

“Well, that's ordinary.”

But many things that later become ordinary began because somebody somewhere was willing to try something different.

That is part of the legacy I associate with Bobby Reds.

Finding ways to police communities.

Being visible.

Being accessible.

Going where people were.

Trying something.

Doing something.

Serving.

And there are people alive today who will never know the names of everybody who contributed to ideas that eventually became part of policing.

That's life.

Sometimes your contribution becomes famous while your name does not.

But lack of fame does not mean lack of value.

And I want young people listening to understand that.

Do good work even when nobody is clapping.

Serve even when nobody is posting your picture.

Help somebody even if nobody uploads the video.

Your contribution matters whether the world recognizes it immediately or not.

DON'T WAIT UNTIL PEOPLE DIE

And Bobby's death has caused me to think deeply about something else.

We need to appreciate people before the funeral.

We have a terrible habit sometimes as human beings.

A person is alive, and nobody calls.

A person is alive and nobody visits.

A person is alive, and nobody tells them:

“Thank you.”

Then they die.

Suddenly everybody has paragraphs.

Everybody has photographs.

Everybody remembers everything.

The flowers come when the person can no longer smell them.

The speeches come when the person can no longer hear them.

Let Bobby Red's funeral teach all of us something.

When this funeral is finished, go home and call somebody you appreciate.

Call an old coworker.

Call your former partner.

Call your mother.

Call your father.

Call the teacher who helped you.

Call somebody you have been putting off calling.

Tell them what they mean to you while they can answer.

Because death teaches us a painful lesson:

Tomorrow is a promise none of us received.

Tomorrow is a promise to no one.

TO THE PEOPLE OF THE COMMUNITIES WE SERVED

I also want to speak directly to the residents from communities where Bobby Reds worked.

Some of you are older now.

Some of you were young when we were young.

Some people listening may have parents who remember us better than they do.

And that itself is something.

When a name passes from one generation to another, you realize the impact of community policing.

Maybe your mother told you about Bobby Reds.

Maybe your father remembers him.

Maybe somebody remembers seeing us on the road.

Maybe somebody remembers an investigation.

Maybe somebody remembers a conversation.

Maybe somebody remembers simply seeing officers who were present.

If you have a positive memory of Bobby Reds, bring that memory with you Thursday.

You don't need money.

You don't need status.

You don't need a title.

Bring yourself.

Bring your respect.

Bring your gratitude.

Sometimes the greatest tribute we can give a person is to demonstrate that their life left footprints.

HIS FAMILY SHOULD SEE THAT HE MATTERED

Think about Bobby's family.

They knew the private Bobby Reds.

We knew the public-serving Bobby Reds.

Families make sacrifices when somebody serves.

When an officer is working, somebody at home is waiting.

When an officer works long hours, a family shares those hours indirectly.

When that person comes home tired, the family sees what the public often doesn't.

When that person is in danger, a family carries fear that the public may never know.

So this funeral isn't merely about Bobby Reds.

It's also about standing beside the people who loved him most.

Imagine what it means to a family to walk into a church and see people filling seats because their loved one's life mattered.

That is powerful.

That is something no plaque can fully reproduce.

No certificate can reproduce it.

No social media post can reproduce it.

Human beings showing up for one another—that is something different.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT POLITICS

And I want to say something clearly.

Leave politics outside.

PNPLGTBQ+ Criminal Organization.

JLP.

Independent.

Whatever you support.

Thursday is not campaign day.

Death does not ask who you voted for.

A grave does not have a political constituency.

Grief does not wear orange.

Grief does not wear green.

On Thursday, we come as human beings.

We come as Jamaicans.

We come as coworkers.

We come as friends.

We come as family.

We come as people recognizing another person's life.

If Jamaica wants unity, these are moments when we practice it.

Unity is easy to preach.

It's harder to live.

This is an opportunity to live it.

TO THE YOUNG POLICE OFFICER WATCHING

To the young police officer watching this video:

You may not know Bobby Reds.

You may have entered the force decades after he did.

But one day, if God permits, you will become the veteran.

One day you will look at photographs of yourself now and hardly recognize the young officer looking back.

One day somebody younger will be wearing the uniform.

One day your stories will become history.

What do you want them to say about you?

That is the question every public servant should ask.

Not:

“How much power did I have?”

Not:

“How many people feared me?”

Not:

“How important was my rank?”

But:

“Did I leave something useful behind?”

Because rank expires.

Authority expires.

Titles expire.

But character travels further.

Service travels further.

The way you treated people becomes part of your legacy.

So if you come Thursday, don't simply come to bury Bobby Reds.

Come to learn something from his journey.

MY OWN GOODBYE

And now I want to speak personally.

Bobby Reds...

My partner.

My brother.

My friend.

There are some things I wish I could say to you face-to-face.

There are some memories I wish we could sit down and laugh about one more time.

There are some stories only you and I could tell properly.

And life took me from Jamaica.

Years passed.

Circumstances changed.

But time and distance cannot erase certain bonds.

People hear the name Porter today.

People know Jamaican Young Police.

People hear the stories.

But behind every person whose name becomes known are people who stood beside them when nobody knew what the future would become.

Bobby Reds was one of those people in my life.

And I will never pretend otherwise.

If you saw good work that I did during those years, understand that policing is rarely one man's accomplishment.

People work beside you.

People back you up.

People contribute.

People share risk.

And Bobby Reds was there.

That matters to me.

So when I say “My partner, my brother, my friend,” those are not words written for a thumbnail.

I mean them.

And losing people who walked beside you in your younger years reminds you that your own clock is moving too.

None of us are getting another childhood.

None of us are getting another youth.

None of us are getting yesterday back.

All we control is what we do with the time remaining.

WHY I WANT YOU THERE

Why am I making such a strong appeal for attendance?

Because I don't want Bobby Reds' final journey to be silent.

I want his family to look around and see faces.

I want former colleagues there.

I want community members there.

I want people who respect service there.

I want young officers there.

I want older officers there.

I want civilians there.

Not to create a spectacle.

To create a testimony.

A testimony that Jamaica can still say thank you.

A testimony that people who served are not forgotten when the uniform comes off.

A testimony that friendship means something.

A testimony that loyalty does not expire at death.

A testimony that a man's contribution is bigger than his rank.

And a testimony that when one of our own reaches the end of the road, we can stand together and say:

You did not walk this earth unnoticed.

THE EMPTY SEAT

There will be an empty place after Thursday.

That's what funerals leave behind.

An empty chair.

A telephone number nobody answers.

A photograph.

A memory.

A name spoken in the past tense.

And everybody who has lost somebody knows the strange reality of that.

The world keeps moving.

Cars continue driving.

People go to work.

Stores open.

Children play.

Television continues.

And yet for one family, the world has changed permanently.

That is grief.

So if you can come, don't underestimate your presence.

Maybe Bobby's family won't know every person.

That's okay.

You know why you came.

And God knows why you came.

WHAT I WANT THURSDAY TO LOOK LIKE

I want Thursday to be dignified.

Respectful.

Peaceful.

Full of gratitude.

I want us to tell stories.

I want us to remember the younger Bobby Reds.

I want us to remember the officer.

The partner.

The friend.

The family man.

The Jamaican.

I want those who knew him to remember.

And those who didn't know him to learn that he was here.

That he lived.

That he served.

That he mattered.

And when the service concludes, and the journey continues toward his final resting place at Dovecot Memorial Park, let every step carry the same message:

Thank you.

Thank you for your service.

Thank you for your friendship.

Thank you for the memories.

Thank you for the work.

Thank you for walking beside us.

THE FINAL CALL

So, Jamaica, here is my request.

Thursday, August 20, 2026.

Mark it.

11:00 AM.

Life Center Tabernacle Church of God of Prophecy.

Gordon Pen, Spanish Town.

If your health allows it—

If your work allows it—

If your circumstances allow it—

Come.

I am not asking anybody to put themselves in hardship.

I am not asking anybody who cannot travel to feel guilty.

If you cannot attend, send your prayers.

Send your condolences.

Speak his name.

Share a memory.

But those of you who can come:

Please don't say,

“Somebody else will go.”

You are somebody else to somebody else.

Every crowd is made up of individuals who decided to show up.

ONE FINAL WALK

Thursday will be difficult for his family, you, me, and those who loved him.

I know that.

Because there comes a moment at every funeral when everything becomes real.

The final prayer.

The final viewing.

The closing of the casket.

The movement toward the cemetery.

And eventually the moment when you realize:

This is goodbye.

Not “see you next week.”

Not “call me later.”

Goodbye.

And when that moment comes, I want to look around and see a community surrounding Bobby Reds.

Not because he was perfect.

None of us are.

Not because he was famous.

Fame is not the measure of a man's life.

But because he served.

Because he worked.

Because he contributed.

Because he loved and was loved.

Because his life intersected with ours.

And because gratitude should not disappear when somebody dies.

CLOSING

Bobby Reds...

You and I walked some roads together.

We saw things together.

We experienced things together.

We laughed.

We worked.

We served.

Life eventually carried us in different directions.

But brotherhood does not require two people to stand in the same place forever.

Sometimes brotherhood means that decades later, when one man reaches the end of the road, the other can still stand up and say:

That man mattered to me.

And Bobby...

You mattered to me.

You still do.

So to everybody watching:

Help me give my partner the farewell he deserves.

Come help his family carry this moment.

Come help former colleagues remember.

Come help Jamaica say thank you.

Come help us demonstrate that service is remembered.

And when we gather Thursday, let there be one message stronger than all the others:

HE SERVED JAMAICA.

NOW WE SAY GOODBYE.

Rest well, Sylford “Bobby Reds” Williams.

Rest well, my partner.

Rest well, my brother.

Rest well, my friend.

Your shift is over.

But your legacy remains.

And as long as those of us who knew you continue telling your story—

Bobby Reds will not be forgotten.

Thursday, August 20, 2026.

11:00 AM.

Life Center Tabernacle Church of God of Prophecy.

Gordon Pen, Spanish Town.

Come and walk with Bobby Reds one final time.