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DEBBIE JACOB

WHEN THE media reported the Privy Council had found Marcia Ayers-Caesar was unlawfully forced out of office in 2017, I remembered a Tuesday that same year when a canine police officer called with a warning.
He said, “Be careful when you go to teach in Port of Spain Prison this afternoon. I had court today, and an inmate nearly caused a riot.”
In class, my students, all on remand for murder charges, reported the day’s events.
Daryl said, “Miss, Akili spoke out in court today. He got on real bad.”
This rendered me speechless. Akili Charles, a devout, third-generation Buddhist, never raised his voice or lost control. He rarely spoke. Charles sat in the back of the class, calm and unemotional as everyone told his story.
When Charles’s case was called that day, Chief Magistrate Maria Busby Earle-Caddle said she would be restarting Ayers-Caesar’s matters because Ayers-Caesar had received a High Court appointment.
For nearly nine years, Charles stood in that court hearing the magistrate postpone his case. Other inmates faced the same delays. Earl-Caddle’s announcement made inmates fear their case could be delayed for many years.
“I had to speak up,” Charles said. He did not gloat or express anger.
Charles’s action made him a hero in Port of Spain Prison, where inmates usually return from court anguished and disillusioned. They passed our classroom, situated just inside the gate to the prison’s cells. Limping and bawling, they looked battle-worn and shell-shocked. When prison officers couldn’t calm them down, someone in my class would say, “Donnel, take care of that.”
Donnel, the Port of Spain inmate whisperer, stepped into the dark corridor where rats ran, cockroaches scampered, and urine flowed in open drains. In about a minute, silence prevailed.
After Charles’s courtroom outburst, it seemed long delays in the magistrates court had come to the attention of the justice system and the public. Inmates praised Earl-Caddle for her speedy response to their cases.
Soon after her arrival, Charles, who spent nine years in Remand, won his case, as did everyone else in my class. My heart soared and sank and soared again, the day I came to class and found Akili gone. Everyone missed his gentle spirit, his participation on the debate team, and his editing advice on Royal Wake Up Call, the soap opera our class wrote, so that men could hear their voices convey emotions other than anger and frustration.
Charles kept in touch with me. I had many memories. At my Port of Spain Prison book launch for Making Waves: How the West Indies Shaped the US, Charles had been one of three students from my Caribbean history class to read a passage from the book and speak about his favourite chapter. He chose Marcus Garvey because Garvey had fallen off a stage once, persevered and became a revered leader.
When Charles went home, he got the customary prison celebration. Word of his release filtered back to prison, inmates banged on the gates, stomped their feet and cried, “Out there! Out there!”
Charles didn’t forget those long court delays. On February 6, 2020, he brought a constitutional motion for a declaration that section 5(1) of the Bail Act, which provides that bail cannot be granted in cases of murder (and certain other offences), was unconstitutional. The state fought back. Anand Ramlogan and his legal team carried the battle to the Privy Council, and Charles won. Murder accused now have the right to apply for bail because of Akili Charles. That is an important legal victory for all of us.
Charles believed that justice delayed is justice denied. He believed in the legal premise we are all innocent until proven guilty. It would be hard to find anyone more compassionate and fair-minded than Charles. The system never broke him or robbed him of his dignity. He never grew bitter or selfish.
On August 20, 2022, Akili Charles, 42, was shot dead outside of his home at Covigne Road, Diego Martin. I had interviewed him two days before his death, and got a final chance to say how proud I was of him.
The long wait for justice is worse now, with some inmates waiting over 16 years for their trials. That is unconscionable.
Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Charles and his unwavering belief in humanity. His legacy inspires me to carry on prison reform through the Wishing for Wings Foundation. Because of Akili Charles, I keep the faith.
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