Prisons’ champion of hope

Debbie Jacob -
Debbie Jacob -

DEBBIE JACOB

NOEL PHILLIP inspired me in immeasurable ways when my Wishing for Wings Foundation and prisons launched debate teams in all ten prisons about five years ago. No one had any expectations for the debate team in Remand Prison where Phillip served with pride as superintendent.

Unfair as it is, each prison carries a stereotypic image. Maximum Security Prison (MSP) is often considered the “intellectual” prison and Women’s Prison is deemed the most competitive so all bets were on for those two prisons to shine in the competition. No one counted out Port of Spain Prison because it had a two-year head start on prison debates in my English class. But in Remand Prison, inmates will tell you, they are always wrongfully perceived as outcasts and troublemakers.

Inmates on the Remand Prison team polished their presentation skills, combined intellectual acumen with poise and boldness to shock everyone. Phillip encouraged debaters to elevate themselves to new heights. He held rehearsals in his office so that the team could build confidence from practice, and he doled out constructive criticism. When the team returned to Remand Prison after debating, Phillip greeted them at the gate and congratulated them as they worked their way up to be formidable foes for any prison.

I planned to write a feature on Phillip and Wayne Jackson, the superintendent of MSP, and call it The Tale of Two Prisons. Clearly, these prison debate teams on opposite ends of the perception pole succeeded because they had supportive superintendents.

Phillip recruited some of my best debaters in other prisons too. As a senior officer making the mandatory rounds in prisons other than his own, he was known to tell the rabble-rousers who relished complaining, “You like to talk so why don’t you join the prison debate team?”

He recognised that rough, outspoken, troublesome inmates could benefit the most from the communication, collaboration and thinking skills that are an integral part of debating.

Like Phillip, Jackson rehearsed his team and doled out pep talks. On my birthday, I visited the debate team in MSP, found Jackson in his office and interviewed him for my feature. Phillip proved difficult to pin down. When Jackson was assassinated a few days after my interview, I scrapped the feature.

I finally met Phillip at the debates. He supported his Remand Prison stars like David Khan and Terrence Morris all the way to the end when they became two of seven inmates from all ten prisons on the prison all-star debate team.

Then, the pandemic hit in 2020, and the debates ceased. I called Port of Spain Prison to see what it needed to fight the pandemic and, much to my surprise, found Phillip had become the superintendent there. I caught him just as he was leaving for quarantine. He told me to call a certain officer and work with him. Heaping motivating praise on both me and the assigned officer, he left us excited to face the challenges ahead.

That officer and I worked through the entire pandemic organising 30,000 masks through SEWA and Gary Aboud, distributing bleach, hand sanitiser, hand soap, laundry soap, toilet paper and other items donated by generous people and companies to whatever prison had a shortage.

Now, I am left to mourn Phillip’s untimely death last week. While fishing in Macqueripe, he slipped, hit his head on some rocks and drowned.

In prison, a bleak institution defined by rage, frustration and unfairness, Philip was a beacon of light and a champion of hope. When he retired, he left a legacy of leadership and memories that all of us who worked for him in some capacity appreciated. He had been waiting for his money from prisons to come through, another indictment on our untimely public service delays.

The memories are vivid and strong for all of us. An officer recalls Phillip spending an hour to convince a troubled inmate to take his medication, and he remembers when Phillip quelled a “small” riot in the Remand Yard after what he deemed "an unfair search" from a team outside of the prison.

“Phillip faced the inmates alone and when he finished talking to them, the inmates climbed on the shed and brought down everything they had thrown up there,” he said.

“Philip always spoke his mind – even with senior officers. He was a leader who motivated and supported his officers."

None of us who knew Noel Phillip will ever forget him. He taught us to appreciate truth and fairness. RIP, Mr Phillip. We are better and more kind-hearted people because we had the honour of working with you.

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"Prisons’ champion of hope"

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