THE PRIME MINISTER KNEW BOBBY REDS: WILL HE SAY GOODBYE?

People, sometimes history does not begin inside Parliament.

Sometimes history doesn't begin behind the gates of Jamaica House.

Sometimes history begins around a domino table.

A little table in a Jamaican community where men gather, dominoes slam, people laugh, politics is debated, and nobody knows what tomorrow will bring.

And tonight, I want to take you back to Tower Hill, Kingston 11, in the 1990s.

Because according to residents who remember those days, long before Andrew Holness became Prime Minister of Jamaica, he and my late police partner, District Constable Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams, crossed paths in that community.

Residents have told me that the connection came through a woman known as Pam, who later moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

And according to those recollections, this wasn't simply a situation where two men passed each other on the road and said, "Morning."

No.

They sat down.

They socialized.

And on more than one occasion, they played dominoes together with other people in Tower Hill.

And I can tell you from memory.

The last occasion I personally remember seeing them playing dominoes was in 1999, after the gas riots.

Think about that.

Look at Jamaica then.

Now look at Jamaica today.

Look at Andrew Holness then.

Now look at the office he holds today.

And look at Bobby Reds.

The man who spent years serving communities as a District Constable. The man who became my partner. The man whose name may never appear prominently in Jamaica's history books, but whose fingerprints are all over the lives he touched.

Bobby Reds is gone now.

And his funeral brings me back to one simple question:

Do the relationships we formed before titles, security details and political power still mean something after we reach the top?

I am not here to attack Prime Minister Andrew Holness.

Quite the opposite.

I'm telling this story because I want Jamaica to remember something beautiful about the Country we once knew.

There was a Jamaica where a young politician could sit in a community and play dominoes with an ordinary policeman and ordinary residents.

No red carpet.

No ceremony.

Just Jamaicans.

And Prime Minister Holness, if you remember Bobby Reds and those Tower Hill days, this message is for you.

Come and say goodbye.

Not simply as Prime Minister.

Come as the young man who once sat around that domino table.

BEFORE THE MOTORCADES

To understand why this story means something to me, younger Jamaicans have to understand what communities like Tower Hill were like then.

This was before social media.

Before everybody carried a camera in his pocket.

Before every politician's appearance could become a TikTok clip within thirty seconds.

People interacted differently.

You could know somebody without having a photograph proving that you knew him.

You could sit around a domino table for hours without anybody thinking:

"Take out the camera."

Nobody was thinking about Facebook.

There was no Instagram.

There was no YouTube.

The evidence of friendship and community interaction existed primarily in the memories of the people who were there.

That is important when I tell you this story.

I am not presenting somebody else's memory as a government document.

I'm telling you what residents have said, and I'm separating that from what I personally remember seeing.

Residents of Tower Hill have told me that a woman they knew as Pam was instrumental in Andrew Holness meeting Bobby Reds.

Pam subsequently moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

According to those residents, Bobby Reds, Andrew Holness, and others spent time together socially, including playing dominoes.

And there were reportedly multiple occasions.

Now here is where my own recollection comes in.

I remember seeing them playing dominoes.

And the last occasion that stands out in my memory was in 1999, following the gas riots.

That detail matters because it puts you into a particular Jamaica.

This wasn't Andrew Holness after decades at the highest level of government.

This was a much younger politician.

Nobody sitting around that domino table could have known with certainty where everybody's life would eventually take them.

One man would eventually become Prime Minister.

Another would eventually retire after giving years of his life to policing and community service.

And decades later, one of those men would be preparing for a state funeral?

No.

A simple funeral for a retired District Constable.

That contrast is what makes this story powerful.

THE DOMINO TABLE WAS JAMAICAN SOCIAL MEDIA

People who didn't grow up in Jamaica during that era might underestimate the significance of dominoes.

Dominoes wasn't simply a game.

The domino table was our social network.

Before Facebook, there was the domino table.

Before X, there was the domino table.

Before WhatsApp groups, there was the domino table.

News traveled there.

Arguments happened there.

Politics was discussed there.

Football was discussed there.

Community problems were discussed there.

And friendships were created there.

You could have a policeman sitting beside a tradesman.

A businessman beside an unemployed youth.

A politician beside somebody who didn't have two dollars in his pocket.

And when the domino game started?

Everybody had to play by the same rules.

Your title couldn't save you.

Your money couldn't save you.

Your political connections couldn't save you.

If somebody gave you six-love, you got six-love!

BAM!

Domino hit the table.

Everybody laughed.

And the game continued.

That was community.

That is why the image of Bobby Reds and a young Andrew Holness sitting around a domino table means something larger to me than dominoes.

It represents proximity.

It represents accessibility.

It represents a Jamaica where people occupying different positions in society could still share ordinary spaces.

THEN CAME 1999

When I mention 1999, some younger viewers may hear only a year.

Those of us who lived through that period remember the atmosphere.

Jamaica experienced major unrest surrounding the government's increase in fuel taxes.

Roads were blocked.

Demonstrations spread.

The Country was tense.

Politics was intense.

Communities felt that pressure.

And somewhere inside that period is this very ordinary memory that stayed with me:

a domino game.

That contrast fascinates me.

Outside, Jamaica was wrestling with major national issues.

Inside the community, people were still being people.

Talking.

Laughing.

Playing dominoes.

Building relationships.

That is the Jamaica I remember.

And that is why, decades later, the story carries a completely different emotional weight.

Because nobody at that table knew what the next quarter-century would bring.

ONE MAN ROSE TO THE TOP

Andrew Holness' political journey continued.

Year after year.

Election after election.

Responsibility after responsibility.

Eventually, the young politician became the Prime Minister of Jamaica.

Think about the transformation.

The young man who could once sit casually in a community is now surrounded by the machinery that necessarily accompanies the office of Prime Minister.

Security.

Schedules.

Briefings.

International meetings.

Cabinet.

Parliament.

National emergencies.

Diplomacy.

Thousands of demands competing for one man's time.

I recognize all of that.

That is why this presentation isn't:

"Prime Minister Holness must attend this funeral or else."

No.

That's unfair.

None of us knows the Prime Minister's complete schedule.

None of us knows what security arrangements would be required.

None of us knows what national responsibilities may arise.

My message is much simpler.

If you can come, come.

Because sometimes a funeral isn't about politics.

Sometimes it is about remembering who we were before life changed.

AND THE OTHER MAN KEPT SERVING

While one man's journey eventually took him to Jamaica House, Bobby Reds continued along a very different road.

Police work.

Community work.

Family.

Ordinary Jamaican life.

And eventually retirement.

No motorcades were waiting for Bobby Reds.

No television cameras followed him.

There was no Cabinet.

But that doesn't mean his life was insignificant.

This is something we have to correct in Jamaican society.

We sometimes measure importance by rank.

Commissioner.

Superintendent.

Minister.

Prime Minister.

CEO.

Celebrity.

But some of the people who keep a Country functioning will never have any of those titles.

The District Constable who knows everybody in the community.

The teacher who educates three generations.

The nurse who treats thousands of patients.

The sanitation worker who gets up before sunrise.

The farmer.

The mechanic.

The police officer.

The community elder.

History doesn't always put their photographs on the wall.

But Jamaica could not function without them.

Bobby Reds was one of those people.

WHEN I SAW BOBBY REDS AGAIN

Years passed.

Careers changed.

Life moved forward.

Bobby Reds eventually retired.

And after his retirement, I remember seeing him at Philly Blacks Plaza in Tower Hill, Kingston 11.

Think about that image.

Not a government office.

Not some exclusive club.

Tower Hill.

Still connected to the community.

Still Bobby Reds.

That's something I want younger people to understand.

Retirement removes the uniform.

It doesn't erase the history.

A policeman may retire on Friday.

On Saturday morning, everybody who knew him for twenty or thirty years still knows exactly who he is.

The uniform is gone.

The relationships remain.

And eventually, even the strongest among us reach the end of the road.

LOOK HOW MUCH JAMAICA HAS CHANGED

Now compare those years with 2026.

The technology changed.

The politics changed.

The security environment changed.

The media changed.

The communities changed.

The politicians changed.

And we changed.

Today, if the Prime Minister sat down in Tower Hill for a domino game, imagine what would happen.

Twenty phones would come out.

Somebody would livestream it.

Somebody would put it on TikTok.

Somebody would turn it into a meme.

Political supporters would argue over what it meant.

Opponents would analyze every person standing in the background.

Within hours, the entire Country might know.

But in those days?

A domino game could be a domino game.

And perhaps that is one of the things we've lost.

The ability for public figures to have ordinary human moments.

THE POWER OF MEMORY

There is another lesson here.

Memory becomes increasingly important as generations disappear.

When Bobby Reds was alive, you could ask Bobby Reds.

When other residents from that generation were alive, you could ask them.

But every year, another witness to Jamaica's community history passes away.

And when those people leave, libraries disappear.

That's why I tell these stories.

Not because every recollection should automatically be treated as indisputable historical fact.

It shouldn't.

Human memory can be imperfect.

But oral history still matters.

When several people independently remember the same places, relationships and events, those recollections deserve to be documented and, where possible, compared with contemporary records.

Otherwise, twenty years from now, somebody will ask:

"Who was Bobby Reds?"

And perhaps nobody will know.

I don't want that.

THE QUESTION FOR PRIME MINISTER HOLNESS

So now I come directly to Prime Minister Andrew Holness.

Prime Minister, this isn't a political challenge.

This isn't JLP versus PNP.

This isn't an attempt to embarrass you.

It is an invitation.

If your memories of Tower Hill include Bobby Reds...

If you remember sitting around that domino table...

If you remember the people who were there...

Then you understand why this story matters.

A man you knew has reached the end of his journey.

And sometimes the greatest demonstration of leadership is not standing behind a podium.

Sometimes leadership is walking quietly into a church.

Taking a seat.

Looking at a grieving family.

And saying:

"I remember him."

Imagine what those three words could mean to Bobby Red's family.

"I remember him."

That's all.

JOSEY WALES AND THE PEOPLE WHO WERE THERE

And the Tower Hill story gets even more interesting because, according to the recollections being shared about those days, Josey Wales was among the people around that social environment as well.

Again, I want to be careful with the distinction.

I'm telling you about memories and accounts from people connected to that community.

This is not me pretending that somebody wrote minutes at a domino table!

Nobody was sitting there saying:

"Meeting called to order at 7:42 PM."

This was Jamaican community life.

And that is exactly what makes the story beautiful.

Imagine the personalities who could converge around one community space.

A policeman.

A young politician.

An entertainer.

Residents.

Friends.

Everybody around the same environment.

That is a piece of Jamaican social history.

THE DOMINOES BECOME A METAPHOR

And those dominoes may teach us something.

Every domino has two sides.

Every life has different chapters.

Andrew Holness wasn't always Prime Minister.

Bobby Reds wasn't always retired.

Josey Wales wasn't always an established name.

And I wasn't always sitting behind a microphone telling these stories.

Once upon a time, everybody was trying to make his way through life.

That's why we should be careful how we treat people when we rise.

Because you never know who knew you before the title.

You never know who remembers you before the success.

And more importantly, you should never forget the people who knew you when you were you.

THIS IS BIGGER THAN BOBBY REDS

This message is bigger than one funeral.

It's about how Jamaica treats people after their usefulness to the system has ended.

When somebody is serving, everybody needs him.

When the policeman is working:

"Officer, help me."

"Officer, come quickly."

"Officer, investigate this."

"Officer, protect us."

Then retirement comes.

The phone stops ringing.

The institution moves forward.

A younger generation takes over.

Eventually the person dies.

And suddenly we discover how quickly decades of service can disappear.

That should concern all of us.

Because every serving police officer today will one day become a former police officer.

Every politician will become a former politician.

Every Commissioner will become a former Commissioner.

And every Prime Minister eventually becomes a former Prime Minister.

Titles expire.

Legacy doesn't.

WHY SHOWING UP MATTERS

At funerals, people sometimes say:

"He can't see who came."

That's true.

Bobby Reds will not look around the church and count attendees.

But his family can.

His friends can.

His former colleagues can.

The community can.

Funerals are partly for the living.

Showing up says:

Your father's life mattered.

Your husband's life mattered.

Your friend's service mattered.

We did not forget him.

And when somebody with the stature of a Prime Minister attends—or even sends an appropriate acknowledgment—it can communicate something larger than personal friendship.

It can say:

Jamaica remembers service.

DON'T TURN THIS INTO POLITICS

And I want to say this specifically to my audience.

Please don't turn this into partisan warfare.

Don't say:

"If Holness doesn't attend, it proves this."

No.

We don't know his schedule.

We don't know his commitments.

We don't know what circumstances may exist.

The purpose of this video is to extend the invitation and preserve the history.

If he attends, wonderful.

If official duties prevent him from attending, that does not erase whatever relationship or acquaintance existed decades ago.

That's fairness.

And fairness matters to me.

FROM 1999 TO 2026

Twenty-seven years.

Just think about that.

A domino slams against a table.

People laugh.

A young politician is sitting there.

A policeman is sitting there.

Nobody knows the future.

Then the pages start turning.

Years become decades.

People move overseas.

Pam goes to Philadelphia.

Careers change.

Children grow up.

Governments change.

People retire.

Some people die.

And one day you wake up and realize:

The ordinary moment you barely thought about in 1999 has become history.

That's life.

We rarely recognize history while we're living it.

MY MESSAGE TO BOBBY REDS

Bobby Reds, my partner, you have finished your shift.

Whatever disagreements people may have about policing, politics, or Jamaica, nobody can take away the years you lived.

Nobody can erase the communities you walked through.

Nobody can erase the people who knew you.

Nobody can erase Tower Hill.

Nobody can erase the domino table.

And nobody can erase the memories held by those who were there.

The young politician became Prime Minister.

The policeman became a retiree.

And now one has gone ahead.

COME AS THE MAN WHO REMEMBERS

Prime Minister Andrew Holness:

If your schedule permits...

If security permits...

If circumstances permit...

I respectfully ask you to consider attending the funeral of Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams.

Not because somebody on YouTube demanded it.

Not because you owe me anything.

And certainly not for politics.

Come because there are moments when yesterday reaches forward and touches today.

Come because somewhere in Tower Hill there once stood a domino table.

Come because before "Most Honorable Prime Minister," there was simply Andrew.

Before retirement, there was Bobby Reds.

And according to the people who remember those days, their paths crossed.

They talked.

They socialized.

They played dominoes.

And now the table has one less player.

That is how quickly life passes.

Today we're arguing over the dominoes.

Tomorrow somebody is carrying our photograph into a church.

So give people their flowers while they can smell them.

Remember the people who walked beside you before the world knew your name.

And when one of them reaches the end of his journey, if circumstances allow it...

show up.

Prime Minister Holness, if you remember those Tower Hill days, there may be no grand speech necessary.

Walk inside.

Pay your respects.

Look at Bobby Reds one final time.

And say:

"I remember."

Because from a domino table in Tower Hill to Jamaica House, a lot has changed since the early 1990s.

But some things should never change.

Respect.

Memory.

Friendship.

And gratitude for those who served.

Rest well, Sylford "Bobby Reds" Williams.

Your shift is over.

But your story is not.