At the funeral of Julius Caesar, Mark Antony has been recorded as saying, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.”

Bishop, other eminent members of the clergy, Mr Premier, and other political individuals, you, the masses gathered here today, and especially the immediate family of the Reverend Canon James Woodcock Francis:

Lend me your ears. I come to praise Canon, not to bury him, for he lives in my heart!

He was my big brother. My mentor. My confidant. My hero. He was my faithful friend.

Our paths first crossed in 1986. He was appointed chairman of the Human Rights Commission in August and I was appointed executive officer in November. Thirty-eight years ago this very month; and our relationship, first professional and very quickly personal, never wavered.

On Thursday, November 20, 1986, the lead of a Royal Gazette article stated, “War has been declared on human rights violators, with a canon and a major leading the attack.”

It was to be a memorable “war” fought with a dedicated team of commissioners, fighting for justice and equality for all who resided in Bermuda. A war fought without weapons, but with education, with commitment, understanding, conviction, truth and consistency. Led by a dynamic, fearless, dedicated first Black Bermudian Canon of the Anglican faith.

I come to praise him.

The first amendment to the Human Rights Act 1981 came under the chairmanship of Canon Francis.

The late Margaret Carter, a champion for the rights of persons with disabilities, was a member of the Human Rights Commission, and lobbied unceasingly for a provision to be included in the Human Rights Act to protect persons with disabilities from acts of discrimination.

“Let’s fix it,” declared the chairman.

In 1988, after a weaponless war fought with the powers that were, under the chairmanship of Canon Francis, the Human Rights Commission celebrated the first amendment to the Human Rights Act. A provision was included to protect persons with disabilities from discrimination.

It got fixed!

When the government of day legislated the Human Rights Act, declaring that it was now unlawful for employers, landlords and others to discriminate, the Government added a final, one-sentence provision, which read:

“This Act does not apply to the Government.”

Let’s fix it, became the chairman’s clarion call.

It was decided to host a live educational radio programme wherein residents were informed of their human rights — and their legal responsibilities. The programme was broadcast every Monday night from 8pm to 9pm on VSB radio station, with the chairman as the moderator and the executive officer as the technical adviser. The public were educated with regards to their rights and responsibilities under the provisions of the Human Rights R Act, and the role played by the Human Rights Commission. Each week, on live radio, before the programme wrapped up, the chairman, Canon Francis, declared:

“They say, it is unconscionable that the Government would enact human rights legislation and boldly exempt itself from investigations. They say, the Government, as an employer needs to be held accountable, just like the private sector. They say, the Government is a prolific violator of human rights in the workplace. They say the Government needs to be investigated when evidenced allegations of discrimination are lodged with the HRC by their employees. They say, the Government must lead by example.”

After a few weeks of “they say”, the minister of the day with responsibility for the administration of the Human Rights Commission telephoned me with a question.

“Major Dill,” he said, “Canon Francis has repeatedly informed his listening audience that ‘they say’ negative things about the Government. Ask him for me, please, who are ‘they’ who say?”

“My brother,” said the chairman. “Respond to the minister like this: Is it true what they say? For the truth doesn’t change. The truth stands alone and carries no brief for anyone but itself. The truth will prevail. Is it true, Mr Minister?”

In 1992, under the leadership of Canon Francis, the Human Rights Act was amended again. The last sentence now read:

“This Act applies to the Government.”

It got fixed!

I come to praise him, not to bury him. And you, you all, should applaud him.

One more thing, and I am done. Just one more thing!

In early 1998, the number of complaints regarding alleged acts of discrimination based on race had risen significantly. It was of great concern to all members of the commission. While the commission had made significant strides over the years, including the disability provision, the Crown was now bound — sexual harassment was defined, complainants now had more time to lodge a complaint, the commission could initiate its own investigations without waiting for a complainant. The list of achievements was long; so much had been fixed under the canon’s dynamic leadership.

However, the vexed issue of alleged systemic, institutional racism continued to be of great concern to members of the commission, and of particular concern to the chairman because he had experienced first-hand allegations of institutional racism in the Anglican Church ... dare I say it. Yes, I said it!

To address the issue in a meaningful way, the commission — together with other local human rights agencies — undertook to host a public forum, designed specifically to brainstorm and develop strategies to uproot racism in Bermuda.

On June 30, 1998, under the auspicious of the Human Rights Commission, the National Association for Reconciliation, Amnesty International and the Commission for Unity and Racial Equality, nearly 600 Bermudians and residents converged on the campus of the Bermuda College and were divided into three self-identified racial categories — Blacks, Whites and Others — and were urged to brainstorm and recommend strategies for uprooting racism in Bermuda.

After an intensive session, all participants convened in the college gymnasium to hear extensive reports from spokesmen and women from the three splinter groups. It was a groundbreaking event, spearheaded by the HRC, under the chairmanship of Canon James W. Francis.

That initiative gave birth to Citizens Uprooting Racism in Bermuda.

At the end of the evening, one attendee suggested that the chairman conclude the gathering by leading everyone in reciting The Lord’s Prayer. The chairman, in his gentle but persuasive manner, calmly responded: “My friend, there are many prayers besides The Lord’s Prayer, and in fairness to others with different beliefs and different prayers, let’s simply depart from this place energised with a renewed commitment to do our part to forge ahead with uprooting racism in Bermuda.”

That was the measure of the man I came to praise.

On October 12, 1998, all of the strategies were published in The Royal Gazette as a four-page spread. With their permission, the names of all the attendees — Blacks, Whites and Others — were also published in the Gazette. What ever became of that momentum in 1998?

A story for another time ...

Two months ago, I visited my “big brother” at the hospital. I had to search for him. I found him, lying in a makeshift cubicle. His first words to me were, “My little brother, I am so happy to see you. I have been lying here for three or five days, I can’t remember how long, but it’s been too long. They say they have no rooms available. Fix it, my little brother.” Two hours later, he was admitted to a hospital room.

That was the nature of our professional relationship at the Human Rights Commission. We fixed it!

I should add that three days later when I visited him in that recently acquired room, he greeted me with, “My little brother, good to see you. Talk to someone. Tell them that I am lying here taking up space that someone worse off than me can use. Tell them to send me home.” I pulled a chair next to his bedside and said, “Canon, my big brother, they’ll let you know when you can go. Rest, my big brother. Rest.” He nodded: “OK, little brother. Then let’s talk.”

In closing, I don’t need a monument or statue erected to remember him, for he lives within me. And I, no doubt like many of you, will forever celebrate his legacy, remembering his caring, his commitment, his passion, his compassion and his selfless deeds.

I came to praise him, not to bury him.

• Major Kenneth Dill is the retired former Head of the Civil Service