The recent historic convictions stemming from the seizure of over a tonne of cocaine in Nadi—a case that unveils a network of audacious, high-level international trafficking—should be a national wake-up call but why is it not? This was not a petty crime; it was an act of economic and biological warfare levied against the very heart of Fiji: our children and grandchildren. The sheer scale, valued at over a billion dollars, exposes a terrifying truth: sophisticated criminal syndicates view Fiji not as a nation to be respected, but as a soft target, a vulnerable node in a global chain of misery. The successful prosecution is a credit to the enforcement agencies involved, but it also illuminates the profound inadequacy of the current system.
Conviction, even in a case of this magnitude, resulting in prison sentences—is a mere ‘cost of doing business’, for cartels with virtually limitless resources. This raises a painful, urgent question for us: when our nation is facing an existential threat, do we persist with a borrowed legal framework, or do we have the sovereign courage to adopt a model that guarantees justice and our survival?
The Singaporean model provides the answer. It is not merely a set of harsh penalties; it is a comprehensive philosophy of national preservation built on the principle of ultimate deterrence. Its core tenet is that the state’s primary duty is to protect the lives and futures of its law-abiding citizens from those who would profit from their destruction. The mandatory death penalty for drug trafficking is the logical, if severe, application of this principle. It operates on a stark moral calculus: the state executes a convicted trafficker, to save thousands of unknown, potential addicts—to prevent children from being orphaned, families from being shattered, and communities from being eroded by the scourge of addiction. In Singapore, this policy is not a dark secret but a point of public consensus, with over 80% support, because its effectiveness in creating a drug-free society is undeniable.
The contrast with the Westminster model which we have, which prioritizes the process and rights of the accused above all else, could not be more pronounced. While philosophically noble, this model is ill-equipped for a war. It is designed for a different era and a different scale of crime. A prison sentence, even a long one, is a calculable risk for a trafficker moving product worth hundreds of millions. It is a business expense. The death penalty is not. It is the one cost that cannot be factored into a business model. It is the only penalty that removes the criminal from the equation permanently, ensuring they can never corrupt again, never order a hit from behind bars, and never become a martyr for others to emulate. The Nadi convictions, as significant as they are, do not guarantee this finality. The Singaporean model does.
Critics will rightly invoke arguments about the sanctity of life and the potential for judicial error. These concerns must be heard and guarded against with an impeccable, transparent judicial process. However, this debate forces a sobering ethical choice: whose lives is the government ultimately obligated to protect? The lives of the convicted traffickers; who knowingly and willingly engage in a trade that kills, or the countless innocent Fijians whose lives will be prematurely ended or irrevocably broken by the poison they peddle? This is the uncomfortable sovereignty of a nation under threat—it must choose which set of rights to prioritize.
The path forward requires immense political will. It demands a government courageous enough to withstand international criticism and confident enough to explain to its people that this measure is not about bloodlust, but about love for Fiji and out children and grandchildren. It is about transforming the national slogan from a hopeful “No Drugs” into an unassailable legal reality. The Nadi case proves the threat is real and present. The Singaporean model proves a solution exists. The only remaining question is whether our government and our politicians, possesses the political courage to embrace it. I know the BLV does.
Pasifika Talanoa by a traveled ITaukei Fijian 