Pasifika Talanoa by a traveled ITaukei Fijian

A place to share my thoughts and reflections

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  • The Price of Hope: Why We Keep Falling for Scams

    Two stories separated by details but united in their absurdity.

    In one, 500 people handed over $100 each to a man who promised them Australian jobs—without passports, without visas, without contracts. The man vanished. The Methodist Church hall that hosted the registration? They just rented the space. The flight attendant who warned the crowd? She was ignored.

    In the other, a “hair-for-cash” scheme promised victims that American helicopters would deliver financial rewards in exchange for photographs and locks of hair. More than 60 people reportedly fell for it.

    Let that sink in: Helicopters from America delivering cash for hair.

    The Anatomy of Self-Deception

    We laugh at these stories. We shake our heads and call these people gullible. But the truth is more uncomfortable: desperation erodes judgment.

    When you have nothing, $100 feels like a small price for a chance at everything. When your children are hungry, when your neighbors have left for Australia and sent money home, you want to believe.

    The recruiter was a taxi driver. The “company” was registered under a legitimate government scheme—enough verisimilitude to quiet the doubting voice. The venue was a church hall, lending an unconscious aura of trustworthiness.

    And so 500 people paid. Fifty thousand dollars. Gone.

    The Unspoken Betrayal: When the Scammer Is Family

    But there’s a layer to this tragedy that rarely makes the headlines—and it’s the most disconcerting part of all. In Fiji, some of those who perpetrate these scams are not strangers. They are relatives.

    A cousin. An uncle. A brother-in-law. Someone who sits at the same table during Christmas, who knows your children’s names, who understands exactly how much you’ve been struggling. That familiarity becomes the ultimate credential. Why would your own blood deceive you? You don’t check the credentials of family; you trust them.

    And that trust is exactly what makes the scam so devastating—not just financially, but emotionally. Victims often refuse to report these crimes, not because they’re embarrassed, but because they can’t bear to send a relative to prison. They absorb the loss in silence, protecting the very person who robbed them. Police investigations stall because witnesses won’t speak. The quiet part of the story goes untold.

    This is not mere gullibility. It’s a profound abuse of kinship, a weaponization of the communal bonds that Fijian society holds sacred. And it’s far harder to guard against than a stranger at a church hall.

    The Psychology of the “Easy Out”

    Scams succeed not because victims are stupid, but because they are human. We are wired for hope and wired to seek shortcuts—it’s how our ancestors survived. But in the modern world, this wiring makes us vulnerable.

    The “hair-for-cash” scheme is particularly instructive. It’s so obviously ludicrous that we wonder how anyone could believe it. But consider what it promises: a reward for virtually nothing. No work. No risk. Just your hair, a photograph, and an American helicopter appears.

    It’s the financial equivalent of a miracle.

    And when life is hard, people pray for miracles. When the miracle comes wrapped in the familiar voice of a family member, who are you to question it?

    What the “Gullible” Know That We Don’t

    We mock the victims, but here’s the uncomfortable question: Why is the system so broken that these scams flourish?

    The Permanent Secretary for Employment put it bluntly: “How can you go to Australia without a passport, without a visa, without a ticket, and think $100 is going to take you there?”

    He’s right. But his question misses the deeper point.

    The victims aren’t stupid. They’re desperate. They know the legal costs: $6,000 for a visa, $2,000 for a ticket, $258 for a passport—almost $10,000 before you board a plane. They know that legally migrating is financially impossible for most Fijian families.

    So when someone—especially a relative—offers a $100 path to Australia, they don’t think “scam.” They think “insider deal.” They think “maybe this person knows a loophole.” They think “maybe God sent this opportunity through someone I love.”

    It’s not stupidity. It’s hope in a vacuum, amplified by kinship.

    The Global Pattern, the Local Wound

    This isn’t a Fijian problem. It’s a human one.

    • Nigerian prince emails prey on the same desperation—someone who needs money badly enough to ignore every red flag.
    • Pyramid schemes from Bernie Madoff to modern crypto Ponzis exploit the same cognitive bias: we believe what we want to be true.
    • Romance scams thrive because loneliness makes us vulnerable to affection, real or imagined.
    • Health scams from miracle cures to detox teas exploit our fear of death and illness.

    The pattern is always the same: prey on hope, dress it in credibility, demand an urgent action, and disappear.

    But in Fiji, the wound is deeper because the betrayer often shares your blood. There is no external “them” to blame—the threat comes from within the very family unit that should provide protection. That makes the scam not just a financial crime, but a rupture of the social fabric.

    A Better Question

    The Permanent Secretary urges Fijians to “be more vigilant.” The police investigate. The church distances itself.

    But perhaps we should ask a different question: What conditions make people so vulnerable that they ignore a flight attendant’s warning and hand over their savings, even to their own kin?

    When governments fail to provide economic opportunity, when legal migration is priced out of reach, when hope has nowhere legitimate to go—scams become the shadow economy of desperation. And when legitimate opportunity fails, even family ties become currency to be exploited.

    The victims aren’t idiots. They’re citizens whose governments and systems have failed to offer a viable path to a better life. They’re also people who have been taught from birth that family looks after family—a teaching that scammers weaponize with devastating precision.

    The Hardest Truth

    Here’s what makes these stories truly tragic: the people who lost $100 were likely the ones who could least afford it. They saved that money. They borrowed it. They believed.

    And somewhere, Zabeen Vatotu and Eroni Uludole are spending it. Perhaps they, too, have relatives who are now too ashamed to speak.

    The victims trusted the wrong people. But they trusted because they had to. When legitimate systems offer no escape, people will always find the illegitimate ones—even if it means paying $100 for a flight that will never depart, or offering a lock of hair for a helicopter that will never arrive. Even if it means trusting a cousin who smiles while picking your pocket.

    If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

    But that advice only works when the truth isn’t unbearable—and when the liar isn’t sitting across from you at the family table.

    The tragedy isn’t that people are gullible. The tragedy is that gullibility is sometimes the only currency they have left to spend—and that the people spending it are often the ones they call family.

  • A Pasifika Plea: The Pacific’s Choice Is Not Binary

    The 55th Pacific Islands Forum in Palau has just concluded. The global headlines, predictably, focused on the heavyweights—Australia’s Prime Minister and the debate over China’s missile test. But those of us watching from within the region saw something far more significant than a mere geopolitical squabble.

    We saw the quiet, deliberate presence of Chinese and Indian diplomats in the room. Not as interlopers. Not as aggressors. But as representatives of nations that recognise what our so-called “traditional partners” have long refused to acknowledge: the Pasifika is no longer anyone’s backyard. It is a neighbourhood of sovereign nations with agency, ambition, and the right to choose.

    For too long, our region has been framed as a “contested space.” This is the language of empires, not of equals. External powers see us as pawns on their grand chessboard—a place of “permanent contest” between Australia and the West on one side and an ascendant China on the other. This narrative, peddled from Washington and Canberra, is dangerously condescending. It assumes that our leaders, our people, and our islands are passive objects to be won, rather than sovereign nations with our own priorities.

    The presence of India, alongside China, at the Palau summit proves that the world is far more complex and that our options are far more diverse. Just as the US and Australia have long sought our favour, so too are India and China signalling their genuine interest. India’s engagement, for instance, is not merely transactional. It is rooted in deep historical diaspora connections and a philosophy of cultural diplomacy that seeks “unity and harmony”—a model that feels far more sustainable than the transactional scramble for influence we too often witness.

    The events at the PIF meeting demonstrated this complexity in action. Australia, in a clear attempt to lock in its influence, spent the summit securing a web of new security deals, from police deployments to defense pacts. Yet even as it did so, it faced a stark reminder that its influence is not absolute. The forum failed to reach a unanimous condemnation of China’s missile test, with nations like Naoero and Kiribati signaling their refusal to be drawn into a confrontational stance.

    This is not a sign of division. It is a sign of maturity. It is our leaders recognising that tying our future exclusively to one power—even an old and trusted friend like Australia—is a strategic gamble. The geopolitical climate is shifting. Singapore’s foreign minister called it a “geostrategic climate change.” We, of all people, know the cost of rising sea levels. We must also recognise the cost of being swept away by geopolitical tides.

    As Pasifika peoples, our identity is not defined by allegiance to any single great power. Our identity is defined by our ocean, our culture, and our shared aspiration for a peaceful and prosperous future. The “friends to all” approach, which has served us well, is no longer simply pragmatic—it is essential. It means engaging with China on infrastructure and trade, with India on development and cultural ties, and with Australia and the US on traditional security, all while keeping our own sovereign interests at the centre of our decision-making.

    The Pasifika Way has always been about consensus, respect, and mutual benefit. These values are not compatible with the zero-sum logic of great power rivalry. We are not a “theatre of rivalries.” We are the Blue Pasifika Continent—a family of nations with a collective voice. Our unity; imperfect as it may be, is our greatest strength.

    The path for the Pasifika is not to be found by walking the fence for any one master. It lies in keeping our options open, setting our own standards, and ensuring that the only permanent resident in our region is a robust and lasting peace. Our ancestors navigated our vast ocean without a compass. They read the stars, the currents, and the winds. Today, we must navigate geopolitics with the same wisdom—charting our own course, not following anyone else’s map.

    The diplomats from China and India were not in Palau to claim territory. They were there to offer partnership. We should accept that gesture on our own terms, not as a rejection of the West, but as an affirmation of ourselves. The Pasifika’s future will not be written in Washington, Beijing, or Canberra. It will be written in Suva, Port Moresby, Nuku’alofa, and across the great expanse of our ocean. Let us write it together, with our eyes wide open and our options freely chosen.

  • Two Fronts, One Struggle: The Forum Must Choose Sovereignty Over Silence

    The 55th Pacific Islands Forum is underway in Palau, and the agenda is crowded. Climate finance, ocean governance, economic resilience—these are the familiar pillars of regional solidarity. Yet beneath the surface, two urgent questions are demanding answers that the Forum has been reluctant to give. The first is historical: the unfinished decolonisation of Kanaky (New Caledonia). The second is contemporary: the militarisation of our Pasifika waters by great powers. Together, they form a single test of whether the Forum still stands for Pasifika sovereignty—or has become a forum for managing external interests.

    The Melanesian Spearhead Group, meeting on the margins of the Forum, has forced the decolonisation issue back onto the table. MSG/DG Anna Naupa has made it clear that time is running out. The UN’s Fourth Decade on Decolonisation ends in 2030—just four years away. Yet Kanaky’s Indigenous Kanak people remain trapped in a protracted process, with France playing a role that Naupa bluntly describes as “not an honest broker.”

    The MSG has agreed to take this matter to the Forum, seeking to restore the attention that was so critical in the 1980s when the Forum helped secure Kanaky’s inscription on the UN list of Non-Self-Governing Territories. That was when the Forum understood its purpose: to champion the rights of Pasifika peoples to self-determination, to speak truth to colonial powers, and to refuse to let history be buried under diplomatic convenience.

    But where has that Forum gone? As Naupa notes, the issue has “lost prominence.” The Forum has been silent while Kanaky’s future hangs in the balance. This silence is not neutrality; it is complicity.

    Meanwhile, the Forum faces a parallel crisis. Pasifika civil society, led by the Pasifika Network on Globalisation’s Joey Tau, has condemned the use of the Pasifika as a missile testing ground by both China and the United States. Tau’s frustration is palpable: leaders have been silent not only on these tests but also on Japan’s Fukushima wastewater disposal into our ocean.

    Forum SG Baron Waqa has offered the diplomatic line: leaders oppose all missile tests, but any statement must respect sovereign positions and emerge from consensus. This is technically true—but it also exposes the Forum’s paralysis. At the Foreign Ministers Meeting in Suva last month, Fiji backed Aotearoa’s push for a united regional position condemning China’s July missile test. But Kiribati and Naoero refused, and no statement was issued.

    The fracture lines are clear. Smaller nations, heavily dependent on aid and investment, are reluctant to alienate any great power. This is not disunity for its own sake; it is the rational response of nations caught between competing pressures. But it is also a failure of regional solidarity—and a failure of leadership.

    This is where Fiji must step up. As the largest Pasifika nation after PNG, Fiji carries a weight and a responsibility that it cannot abdicate. Its absence at the MSG leaders’ meeting—represented at ministerial level rather than by its Prime Minister—is troubling. If Fiji is to lead, it must show up, not just in body but in will. It must champion Kanaky’s decolonisation as a moral imperative, not a diplomatic inconvenience. It must also model a principled stance on militarisation, speaking truth to all great powers without exception.

    As I have argued before, Fiji cannot afford to be led by the nose by Canberra’s strategic anxieties or any other external agenda. Genuine partnership requires the courage to say no, to chart an independent course, and to insist that Fiji’s foreign policy serves the Pasifika family—not the geopolitical fears of distant capitals. This is not about confrontation; it is about maturity. About refusing to let anyone else pick sides for us.

    The two fronts of this struggle—decolonisation and militarisation—are not separate issues. They are the same fight. Both are about whether Pasifika peoples will govern their own lands and waters, or whether external powers will continue to treat the Pasifika as a resource to be extracted, a playground for their rivalries, and a convenient place to dispose of their waste and their weapons.

    The Forum was born from decolonisation. Its purpose was to reclaim agency, assert identity, and build something genuinely owned by Pasifika peoples. That purpose remains urgent today. The great powers will continue to compete, offer aid, seek alliances, and jostle for influence. But our task is not to choose between them. It is to remain united around our priorities, speak with our voice, and insist that our future be shaped by us—for us.

    Fiji must lead—boldly, consistently, and in service of all Pasifika peoples. The MSG has placed decolonisation back on the table. Civil society has demanded a principled stance on militarisation. The question is whether the Forum’s leaders will rise to the occasion or continue to tiptoe around the hard issues. The ocean has always been our home. Let us govern it as ours. And let that governance begin with the courage to finish the work of decolonisation and to say no to all who treat our waters as their battlefield.

    🌊 #PacificWay #Kanaky #Decolonisation #BluePacific #FijiLeadership

  • The Pasifika Way Forward: Leadership Must Be Claimed, Not Delegated

    As Pasifika leaders gather in Palau for the 55th Pacific Islands Forum, the familiar challenges await: climate finance, ocean governance, economic resilience. Yet one question hangs over every agenda item like a gathering storm: in an era of intensifying great-power rivalry, how does the Forum remain master of its own house?

    The recent Foreign Ministers Meeting in Suva offered a glimpse of both the problem and the path forward. When New Zealand’s Winston Peters pushed for a joint statement condemning China’s missile test, the effort failed. Not because Pasifika leaders are indifferent to security—but because they are refusing to be instruments of others’ anxieties. As one minister put it, Pasifika priorities must be “conceived by the Pasifika, shaped by the Pasifika and owned by the Pasifika.”

    This is not anti-Western or anti-Chinese. It is pro-Pasifika. And it is the only sustainable foundation for regional solidarity.

    A Leadership Vacuum—And The Nation That Must Fill It

    Yet solidarity requires leadership, and leadership requires courage. Fiji, as the largest Pasifika nation after Papua New Guinea, carries a particular weight—and a particular responsibility. It cannot afford to be a passive follower of a vuvale foreign policy dictated from Canberra, nor can it allow its regional leadership to be subsumed by the strategic priorities of any great power. This is not about antagonism toward Australia; it is about maturity. Genuine partnership requires the ability to say no, to chart an independent course, and to insist that Fiji’s foreign policy, serve our people and the wider Pasifika family—not the geopolitical anxieties of distant capitals.

    For too long, Pasifika leadership has been deferred to outsiders—to former colonial powers, to larger neighbours, to those who claim to speak for the region while rarely listening to it. The Suva meeting demonstrated that when Pasifika nations assert their agency, they can resist external pressure. But resistance is not enough. The region needs proactive leadership that sets the agenda, shapes the narrative, and insists on Pasifika-led solutions to Pasifika challenges. Fiji, with its diplomatic weight, its military capability, and its central geographic position, is uniquely placed to provide that leadership—but only if it chooses to exercise it boldly and independently.

    As one observer put it bluntly: rather than allowing itself to be led by the nose by Canberra’s strategic anxieties, Fiji must grow the backbone to lead the entire Pasifika in standing up to all great powers—whether they come from the West, the East, or elsewhere. This is not about picking sides; it is about refusing to let anyone else pick sides for us. It is about recognising that the Pasifika’s future must be shaped by Pasifika peoples, on Pasifika terms, for Pasifika purposes.

    The Geopolitical Trap

    The great powers have discovered the Pasifika. The United States, China, and their allies are vying for influence through aid, security partnerships, and diplomatic courtship. For Pasifika nations, this attention brings resources—but it also brings pressure. The danger is not engagement itself; it is the subtle erosion of agency that comes when external powers set the terms of debate.

    Dame Meg Taylor, former Forum Secretary-General, warned that “the question of whose priorities shape the agenda is one we must always keep asking.” This is the central challenge. When the Forum is asked to take sides in a rivalry that is not of its making, it risks becoming a proxy battlefield rather than a forum for Pasifika priorities.

    The Real Priorities

    For Pasifika island nations, the most urgent concerns are not geopolitical but existential: climate change, energy security, development financing, infrastructure, and economic resilience. These are the issues that threaten livelihoods, cultures, and futures. These are the issues that demand regional solidarity.

    The Forum has already demonstrated its capacity for Pasifika-led solutions. The Treaty of Rarotonga established the world’s first nuclear-free zone in a populated region. Pasifika leadership secured the 1.5-degree Celsius target in the Paris Agreement. The Parties to the Naoero Agreement remains one of the strongest examples of Pasifika-owned governance. These achievements prove that when the Pasifika speaks with one voice, the world listens.

    The Path Forward

    So how does the Forum safeguard its independence—and how does Fiji lead the way?

    First, by strengthening economic self-determination. As Dame Meg Taylor has argued, economic independence is the region’s most important structural challenge. Pasifika-owned initiatives like the Pasifika Resilience Facility must be prioritised over externally funded programs that carry hidden strings. Fiji, as the region’s economic hub, must champion these initiatives and resist the temptation to trade sovereignty for short-term aid.

    Second, by deepening regional unity without sacrificing diversity. The Forum’s strength lies in its ability to accommodate different national interests while maintaining collective purpose. This requires patience, consensus-building, and a willingness to resist external pressures to divide and conquer. Fiji must use its diplomatic weight to bridge differences and keep the region united—not by imposing its will, but by facilitating genuine dialogue and consensus.

    Third, by telling Pasifika stories on Pasifika terms. The State of the Pasifika Ocean Convening in Suva earlier this month, demonstrated the power of civil society, Indigenous knowledge holders, and youth to shape the regional agenda. These voices must be amplified, not sidelined. Fiji must ensure that its leadership is inclusive and that the region’s diverse perspectives are heard and respected.

    Fourth, by demanding that partnerships serve Pasifika priorities—not the other way around. As Solomon Islands Foreign Minister Rick Houenipwela stated, partnerships must continue to serve Pasifika priorities, not external agendas. Fiji must model this principle in its own bilateral relationships, demonstrating that true partnership is based on mutual respect and genuine consultation—not on the ability to extract concessions from smaller neighbours.

    Fifth, by exercising diplomatic courage. Leadership means taking positions that may not please all external partners. It means speaking truth to power—whether that power resides in Washington, Beijing, Canberra, or Wellington. Fiji must be willing to say no, to push back, and to insist that the Pasifika’s voice is heard and respected in every forum, from the United Nations to the negotiating tables of the great powers.

    A Leadership Vacuum—And The Nation That Must Fill It

    Fiji cannot afford to be a passive follower of a vuvale foreign policy dictated from Canberra. Genuine partnership requires the ability to say no, to chart an independent course, and to insist that Fiji’s foreign policy serves Fiji’s people and the wider Pasifika family—not the geopolitical anxieties of distant capitals. For far too long, Pasifika leadership has been deferred to outsiders—to former colonial powers, to larger neighbours, to those who claim to speak for the region while rarely listening to it. The Suva Foreign Ministers’ meeting demonstrated that when Pasifika nations assert their agency, they can resist external pressure. But resistance is not enough. The region needs proactive leadership that sets the agenda, shapes the narrative, and insists on Pasifika-led solutions to Pasifika challenges. Fiji, with its diplomatic weight and central geographic position, is uniquely placed to provide that leadership.

    The Challenge

    This is not a call for confrontation. It is a call for maturity. The Pasifika does not need to choose between the great powers. It needs to insist that its own priorities come first. The United States, China, Australia, New Zealand, and others can be valuable partners—but they must be partners, not patrons. They must listen more than they lecture, and they must respect that the Pasifika Way is not a relic of the past, but a living framework for decision-making.

    The great powers will continue to compete. They will continue to offer aid, seek alliances, and jostle for influence. But the Forum’s task is not to choose between them. It is to remain united around its own priorities, to speak with its own voice, and to insist that the Pasifika’s future be shaped by Pasifika peoples—for Pasifika peoples. And Fiji, as the region’s natural leader, must have the courage to say this clearly, consistently, and without apology.

    The ocean has always been our highway, our home, our identity. Let us govern it as ours—and let Fiji lead the way in ensuring that no external power; however powerful, ever forgets that.

  • A Divine Appointment or a Corrupt Rotation?

    The recent leadership shuffle at the Methodist Church in Fiji has all the hallmarks of a well-rehearsed drama—a script where the President becomes General Secretary and the General Secretary becomes President. The question that lingers is whether this is a divinely inspired transition or simply a managed rotation within a closed circle.

    When Reverend Doctor Semisi Turagavou was elected General Secretary-elect, following the election of current General Secretary Reverend Doctor Jolami Lasawa as President-elect, the optics were unmistakable: the two most powerful positions in the country’s largest Christian denomination had simply swapped incumbents. This is not the language of prophetic succession; it is the vocabulary of a gentlemen’s club.

    Meanwhile, Reverend Dr. Anil Reuben, approaching 50 years of service to the Church, was re-elected as Deputy General Secretary. Some have quietly suggested he was overlooked for the presidency—a question that hangs in the air like incense in an empty sanctuary. Whether true or not, the perception of a closed leadership circuit is damaging to a church that claims to be the spiritual home of the iTaukei.

    The Money and the Pharisees

    This brings us to the uncomfortable question I have raised before: Is the Church becoming a modern-day Pharisees’ club, more concerned with its business ventures and institutional machinery than with the weightier matters of justice, mercy, and faithfulness?

    The Methodist Church is a significant property holder and business entity in Fiji. Its conference deliberations are as much about budgets and assets as they are about souls and salvation. The temptation to prioritize institutional maintenance over spiritual revival is ever-present. When leadership transitions resemble corporate boardroom maneuvers rather than Spirit-led discernment, the Church risks losing its prophetic voice and becoming just another institution concerned with its own survival.

    Jesus reserved his harshest words for the Pharisees—not because they were irreligious, but because they were so meticulously religious that they missed the point entirely. They tithed mint and cumin, but neglected justice and mercy. They built elaborate systems of ritual purity while ignoring the cries of the poor. Sound familiar?

    Parroting the American Model?

    There is a deeper concern here: is Fijian Christianity, particularly its prominent denominations, simply parroting the American model of religiosity—the focus on institutional politics, the cult of personality around leaders, and the spectacle of power?

    This is part of the colonized mind I have also been writting about: adopting external forms of faith while neglecting the internal transformation that Christ demands. The American model often equates ecclesiastical success with institutional size, political influence, and financial prosperity. When a Fijian church adopts these markers of success, it risks abandoning the very humility and service that Christ modeled. We look outward to foreign models of success while ignoring the cries of the suffering at our doorstep.

    The True Test of Leadership

    The leadership transitions in the Methodist Church will ultimately be judged not by how smoothly they were executed, but by their fruits. Does the Church, under this new configuration, show a renewed commitment to:

    · Fighting the scourge of domestic and gender-based violence?

    · Addressing the crises of drug abuse, HIV and NCD?

    · Championing justice for the marginalized?

    · Prioritizing soul-saving over revenue-earning?

    If the Church remains preoccupied with its internal mechanics while these crises fester, then the leadership shuffle is merely rearranging deck chairs on a sinking spiritual ship. The question is not who holds which office, but whether the Church is truly following the way of Christ or merely managing an institution.

    A Call to Reflection

    The lesson is the same one I have consistently offered: the Church must look in the mirror. The Pharisee in the pulpit is not a figure from history; it is the constant temptation of any religious institution to substitute external form for internal transformation.

    The Methodist Church, as Fiji’s largest Christian denomination, carries a weighty responsibility. Its leadership transitions should be moments of deep spiritual reflection, not just political repositioning. The reformed leadership has a choice: to become a vehicle for the Kingdom of God, or to remain a monument to itself.

    The cri de coeur of our suffering—the victims of domestic abuse, the youth lost to drugs, the new baby lost to HIV—demands nothing less than a radical reorientation of priorities. Let us hope the Church answers that call before it is too late. The nation is watching. And so is the God of justice, mercy, and faithfulness.

  • The Tax, the Ads, and the Audacity: Fiji Airways’ Double Standard

    The pieces are finally coming together — and the picture is deeply troubling.

    For over a month, Fiji Airways splashed two-page, full-colour self-congratulatory advertorials across our Saturday newspapers. Lavish spreads celebrating Revenue Management, Operations, and “commercial excellence.” All at significant cost. All while the government now tells us the national carrier is so financially fragile it needs a new tax — the Tourism Services Tax — to survive.

    Let that sink in.

    The Timeline That Exposes Everything:

    · June–July 2025: Fiji Airways runs expensive, repetitive advertorials praising its own internal departments.

    · July 12, 2025: The Revenue Department spread appears, boasting of “data-driven strategy” and “sustainable revenue growth.”

    · July 2025: CEO Andre Viljoen announces departure to Air Mauritius.

    · Early August 2025: Travel + Leisure ranks Fiji Airways among the world’s Top 10 airlines.

    · August 2025: Government announces a 5% Tourism Services Tax to financially support Fiji Airways, citing $40 million monthly fuel costs.

    · Industry backlash erupts. The Fiji Hotel and Tourism Association opposes the tax, warning it will hurt visitor numbers.

    · Government defends the tax anyway. Ministers Gavoka and Kamikamica insist Fiji Airways is “the lifeline of the Fijian economy” and needs the support.

    The Inescapable Contradiction:

    How does a Top 10 global airline — one confident enough to spend thousands on self-praise — simultaneously require a new tax on tourists to stay afloat?

    The advertorials told us one story: Look at our world-class teams, our data-driven excellence, our brilliant strategy. The government now tells us another: This airline is struggling, it needs taxpayer and tourist support, flights could be cut by 20–30% without help.

    Which is it?

    The Uncomfortable Questions That Demand Answers:

    1. Priorities: If Fiji Airways is truly in such dire financial straits that a new tax is necessary, why were hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on self-congratulatory newspaper spreads? Every dollar spent on those ads is a dollar that could have gone toward fuel, maintenance, or lowering fares — the very things that might make the airline more sustainable without taxing tourists.

    2. The CEO’s Legacy: The advertorials, timed perfectly with Viljoen’s departure, now look even more suspect. Was the airline spending scarce resources to build a farewell narrative for its outgoing CEO while secretly needing a government bailout? The optics are appalling: corporate vanity funded by public money, followed by a hand out for more.

    3. The Redundancy Problem: The Travel + Leisure ranking was independent, credible, and free. It validated Fiji Airways’ excellence better than any paid advertorial ever could. Yet the airline still chose to spend on self-promotion before the award landed. Now we learn they were simultaneously asking government for financial support. The arrogance is staggering.

    4. The EV Purchase: A “leading corporate leader” has already questioned the airline’s purchase of BYD electric vehicles. If the airline is so financially pressured, is this the time for fleet upgrades — even if “cheaper than the previous fleet”? Every spending decision deserves scrutiny when a new tax is being imposed on an industry already struggling with post-COVID recovery.

    The Government’s Defence — and Its Flaws:

    Minister Gavoka says: “Let Fiji Airways run Fiji Airways.” This is dangerously naive. When the public — through taxes — is being asked to subsidise the airline, the public has a right to scrutinise how that airline spends its money.

    DPM Kamikamica acknowledges concerns that Fiji Airways is “top heavy with its management” and suggests the board examine the structure. But why wasn’t this done before the tax was proposed? Why should tourists and Fijian businesses pay for an airline that may be overstaffed at the executive level?

    The Industry’s Voice:

    The Fiji Hotel and Tourism Association is right to oppose this tax. Tourism is already facing global headwinds — rising costs, changing travel patterns, intense regional competition. Adding a 5% tax on top of everything else risks making Fiji a less attractive destination. And for what? To fund an airline that, by its own advertorials, appears to be thriving?

    The Deeper Betrayal:

    The “We All Fly for Fiji” slogan is beautiful — when it reflects a genuine partnership between the airline and the nation. But what we’re seeing now feels less like partnership and more like entitlement:

    · The airline spends lavishly on self-promotion.

    · The airline’s CEO departs for a competitor, his legacy polished by those very ads.

    · The airline receives independent global recognition.

    · The airline then asks the government — and by extension, every tourist and every Fijian — to pay for its fuel costs.

    What Would Responsible Stewardship Look Like?

    1. Transparency: Full disclosure of Fiji Airways’ financial position. If a tax is necessary, the public deserves to see the books — not just ministerial assurances.

    2. Accountability: A public review of all discretionary spending over the past year, including advertising, vehicle purchases, and executive compensation. If the airline is “top heavy,” fix that before asking for more money.

    3. Humility: Instead of self-congratulatory advertorials, the airline could have used those resources to communicate honestly with the public about its challenges and its plans. Fijians understand struggle — but they resent being fed polished PR while being asked to pay more.

    4. Customer Focus: If the airline needs support, let it be framed around customer benefits — keeping fares competitive, maintaining routes, improving service — not around internal department pride.

    Conclusion: Trust Is Earned, Not Advertised

    Fiji Airways has achieved something genuinely remarkable with its Travel + Leisure ranking. That deserves celebration — from its customers and from the nation.

    But that celebration is now tainted. The advertorials, the CEO departure, the new tax — they paint a picture of an airline that wants praise, recognition, and subsidies, all without full accountability to the public that ultimately owns it and supports it.

    Minister Gavoka says: “Let Fiji Airways run Fiji Airways.” We should all say: Not with our money, and not without our scrutiny.

    If the airline truly is the “lifeline of the Fijian economy,” then it must act with the transparency, humility, and responsibility that such a role demands. That means no more expensive self-praise while quietly begging for bailouts. It means showing us the books, justifying the spending, and proving that every dollar — whether from fares, government support, or taxes — is used wisely.

    The Travel + Leisure award proves Fiji Airways can be world-class. Now it’s time to prove it can be world-class in governance too. And that starts with grounding the vanity projects and flying straight with the Fijian people.

  • The Godfather in the Pasifika: Why “Vuvale” is a Term of Art, Not a Term of Affection

    In the grand narrative of global diplomacy, Lord Palmerston’s 1848 address to the British House of Commons remains the ultimate cold shower. “We have no eternal allies, and we have no perpetual enemies,” he declared. “Our interests are eternal and perpetual.”

    It is the foundational scripture of Realpolitik. It is the moment statecraft stopped pretending to be about chivalry and admitted it was about survival. Yet, in the corridors of power in Suva, Honiara and Apia, this warning is often drowned out by the clinking of champagne glasses at diplomatic receptions. We mistake the warmth of an ambassador’s handshake for the warmth of a friend. We mistake the word “vuvale” (family) for an actual blood bond.

    We are making a category error: viewing a corporate merger as if it were a partnership of friends.

    Palmerston’s brilliance—and the nuance we so often ignore—was not that he advocated for betrayal. He advocated for predictability. Britain’s interests were clear: maintain the balance of power in Europe. Because those interests were clear, their actions were predictable. When Britain switched sides, it wasn’t a personal insult; it was a strategic necessity. Their “friends” knew the rules of the game.

    This brings us to the Pasifika. We sit atop a vast ocean of strategic chokepoints, fisheries, and deep-sea minerals. Consequently, the world has come calling. Australia, China, the United States, the European Union, Japan, Indonesia, and New Zealand all bring gifts. They offer aid, infrastructure, security guarantees and diplomatic access.

    It is flattering. It is seductive. And it is dangerous.

    The danger lies in the belief that these nations are our “personal friends.” We see a High Commissioner who knows our children’s names, who attends our fundraisers, who speaks a few words of iTaukei or Fiji-Hindi and we think, “This one is different. This one cares.”

    They do not care. They care about their interests. They are simply very good at their jobs.

    Here is where the metaphor of the Mafia becomes unavoidable. In The Godfather Part II, Hyman Roth looks at Michael Corleone and says, “This is the business we’ve chosen.”

    It is the purest distillation of power dynamics. In the Mafia, there are no friendships. There are only “arrangements.” A capo doesn’t hug you because he loves you; he hugs you to check if you are wearing a wire. A Don doesn’t share his bread because he wants you to eat; he shares it to create a debt.

    When a superpower smiles at a Pasifika Island nation, it is not out of familial love. It is out of business. It is the business of influence.

    We in Fiji, see the word vuvale used frequently by Australia to describe its relationship with Fiji. It is a beautiful word, loaded with the cultural weight of reciprocity, loyalty, and kinship. But when applied to geopolitics, it is a metaphor at best, and manipulation at worst. Australia’s “permanent interest” is a Pasifika that is free from hostile Chinese military presence. That is their right. It is their sovereign imperative.

    Our “permanent interest” is the survival of our sovereignty, the health of our ocean, and the prosperity of our people.

    These interests overlap, but they are not identical. When they diverge, the “family” will look after itself. If Australia or the US or China perceives that their security is under threat, they will not ask our permission to act. They will act. Because for them, it is not personal. It is strictly business.

    The warning for Pasifika politicians, civil servants and our local elite is this: Stop confusing hospitality with alliance. When you are at a reception and a diplomat is being charming, they are not lying. They are just working. They are advancing their “eternal and perpetual” interests.

    If Fiji or any Pasifika state finds itself in the crosshairs of a great power conflict, we will not be “family.” We will be a chessboard. The powerful donors who smile at us today have the capacity to enforce their will with crushing force tomorrow if their vital interests are at stake. That is not paranoia; it is the historical record.

    The lesson we must learn is not to be bitter or isolationist. We need partners. But we must be sober.

    We must adopt the mindset of the “Godfather” when looking at the “Partner.” We must ask:

    1. What do they want? (Interest)
    2. What are they willing to pay to get it? (Leverage)
    3. What happens to us if they don’t get it? (Risk)

    If we govern with the assumption that we are dealing with sentimental friends, we will be exploited. If we govern with the assumption that we are dealing with rational, self-interested states, we can negotiate with power.

    It is all business. Nothing personal. The sooner our politicians and civil servants understand that the “family” is only family until the rent is due, the better equipped we will be to protect our own home.

  • The US’s AI Panic Isn’t About Theft. It’s About an Alternative Future.

    The Wall Street Journal recently told a compelling story: a former teacher and his pupil, once bound by academic dreams, are now the billionaire faces of China’s AI revolution, leaving US tech pioneers looking over their shoulders with alarm.

    Yet, within the first few paragraphs, the familiar accusations creep in. Theft. Espionage. National security. It is the reflexive mantra of Silicon Valley and Washington whenever China achieves a technological breakthrough.

    But here is the uncomfortable truth the West refuses to utter aloud: China hasn’t just caught up. It has built a fundamentally different vision for artificial intelligence—one that terrifies the US establishment not because it is stolen, but because it challenges their entire economic and social order.

    Let’s start with the allegation of theft. It is a psychological defense mechanism. It is far easier for US executives and politicians to accuse Chinese labs of copying than to admit a painful reality: US tech is bogged down by short-term greed. While US companies are busy figuring out how to charge you monthly for every chatbot query, Chinese engineers—under immense pressure from chip restrictions—were figuring out how to do more with less. The “student” surpassed the “master” through sheer grit, state-backed scale, and a homegrown talent pool that the US education system struggles to match. To concede this would force Wall Street to look inward and ask why their own innovation machine is stalling.

    But the deeper issue lies in ideology. The Western mind cannot process a non-capitalist tech boom. In the US playbook, any world-changing technology must ultimately serve the billionaire elite—it exists to enrich shareholders, consolidate monopolies, and extract recurring fees from the public. AI in the US is a luxury good, designed to replace workers and drive ad revenue for a handful of trillion-dollar corporations.

    China, on the other hand, treats AI like public infrastructure. Think of it less like a shiny new iPhone and more like high-speed rail or electricity. The goal isn’t just to create billionaires—though that happens—but to integrate smart systems into farming, disaster prediction and preparedness, logistics, and public healthcare. When China uses AI to forecast typhoons for coastal villages or optimize supply chains for its remote provinces, it doesn’t fit neatly into the Western narrative. The West dismisses this as propaganda because acknowledging it would raise a devastating question: Why is US AI only making the rich richer, while Chinese AI is being deployed to uplift the masses and eradicate poverty?

    This brings us to the “national security” boogeyman. Let’s be honest: banning Chinese AI products has very little to do with protecting citizens from spies. It is a trade barrier, plain and simple—a smokescreen for market protectionism. If US consumers and small businesses were allowed to use China’s highly efficient, cost-effective AI tools, the enormous profit margins of US tech giants would collapse overnight. Washington isn’t afraid that Chinese AI will steal your data; it is afraid that Chinese AI will steal the market by being better, cheaper, and more accessible. When you can’t out-compete, you outlaw.

    Finally, there is the ego problem. The West has long viewed itself as the eternal “teacher” of global technology. To watch the “pupil”—Tang Jie and Yang Zhilin—not only close the gap but innovate smarter under harsh restrictions, shatters that hierarchical arrogance. The US expected China to always be a few years behind. Now that the timeline has evaporated, the only face-saving move is to scream “cheating.”

    But the real threat Chinese AI poses to America is not espionage. It is the terrifying proof that there is another way to build the future. It is a future where technology serves the collective good, where progress is measured by societal resilience rather than quarterly earnings, and where the machine works for the many, not just the moguls.

    The West will not admit this narrative because doing so would unravel its ideological bedrock. If China can build advanced AI and use it for broad-based societal uplift, then America’s model—which creates immense wealth for a few while alienating the rest—is exposed as a choice, not an inevitability.

    So, they cry theft. They cry security. It is not an analysis of China’s capabilities; it is a confession of their own stagnation. And you cannot ban a better idea. You can only fear it.

  • The CUMA Bill 2025: A Continuation of Injustice Disguised as Progress

    Earlier this week, Parliament passed the Commercial Use of Marine Areas (CUMA) Bill 2025 with 27 votes in favour, seven abstentions, and 21 members not voting. The Government hailed it as a landmark reform—an “important step towards strengthening the governance, protection and sustainable utilisation of our marine resources” that would “revert proprietary ownership of marine areas used for commercial purposes to customary owners.”

    Yet beneath the rhetoric of empowerment lies a profound deception: the CUMA Bill does not restore what was promised, does not honour what was taken, and does not satisfy the aspirations of the iTaukei as articulated by the Bose Levu Vakaturaga.

    This is not a correction of historical wrongs but a continuation of them—a legislative sleight of hand that replaces the 2010 Surfing Decree with a more palatable name while preserving its core injustices.

    A Century of Broken Promises

    The iTaukei claim to qoliqoli ownership is not a novel demand but the fulfillment of a promise made over 140 years ago. In 1881, at Nailaga, Ba, Governor Sir William Des Vœux conveyed Queen Victoria’s wishes to the Bose Levu Vakaturaga:

    “It is Her Majesty’s desire that neither you nor your people should be deprived of any rights in those reefs which you have enjoyed under your own laws and customs… measures will be taken for securing to each Mataqali the reefs which properly belong to it, exactly in the same way as the rest of their land will be secured to them.”

    This was the Crown’s solemn commitment: qoliqoli would receive the same legal protection as native land. Yet while native land was secured through colonial land laws, the equivalent protection for qoliqoli was never implemented—blocked by white settler opposition and commercial interests.

    This injustice has been documented repeatedly. The 1975 Qoriniasi Bale Cabinet Sub-Committee recommended transferring full proprietary ownership to customary holders. The 2006 Qoliqoli Bill proposed to “henceforth and without further assurance vest the proprietary ownership of all qoliqoli areas to traditional and customary qoliqoli holders.” Dr Tupeni Baba concluded that restoring legal recognition of qoliqoli ownership would correct this historical wrong. The BLV, in its submission to the Constitution Review Commission; anchored its position on the 1881 Royal Dispatch, affirming that “qoliqoli ownership must be recognized in the same way as customary ownership, owners own their land.”

    Each generation has identified the problem. Each generation has proposed the same solution. And each generation has seen that solution denied.

    Ownership vs. Benefit-Sharing

    The distinction between the 2006 Qoliqoli Bill and the 2026 CUMA Bill could not be starker.

    2006 QOLIQOLI BILL — “e tukuna o cei nai TAUKEI NI se TAUKENA na WAITUI-YALAVA NI QOLI.” (Who owns the ocean?)

    2026 CUMA BILL — “e tukuna o cei me VAKAYAGATAKA na Waitui/Yalava ni Qoli.” (Who benefits from the ocean?)

    The 2006 Bill proposed the transfer of proprietary rights of qoliqoli areas—beach, lagoon and reef—from the State to the qoliqoli owners. It was a rights-first model: ownership, proprietary control, exclusive decision-making powers.

    The CUMA Bill, by contrast, is a benefit-sharing model: regulation, sustainability, commercial-use management, revenue sharing. Ownership remains with the State. The iTaukei do not receive proprietary rights; they receive the right to apply for ownership of limited areas used for commercial tourism, subject to a formal, multi-institutional administrative process. Fishing activities are excluded entirely. As Deputy Prime Minister Viliame Gavoka himself acknowledged: “This is a process, not an automatic transfer. There is no automatic vesting.”

    This is not ownership. This is conditional access dressed in the language of empowerment.

    A Clear Mandate Rejected

    The BLV’s submission to the CRC was unequivocal:

    · Return of proprietary ownership of all qoliqoli areas to customary holders

    · Constitutional recognition of customary laws, practices, and governance structures

    · Stronger protections for iTaukei proprietary rights, including veto power over development projects

    The BLV stressed that qoliqoli is “not simply an economic resource but an extension of the Vanua, closely tied to identity, culture and stewardship.” Development and investment could proceed, but “only when customary ownership remains at the centre of decision-making.”

    Yet the CUMA Bill does none of this. It does not immediately vest proprietary ownership. It does not remove the Surfing Decree’s injustice. It does not fulfill historical promises. It does not honour the iTaukei mandate.

    The Illusion of Compensation

    The Government’s defense is that the CUMA Bill provides compensation and benefit-sharing. But compensation for use is not the same as recognition of ownership. As the Fiji Commerce and Employers Federation noted, the Bill’s compensation framework raises fundamental questions: How is “fair and equitable” compensation defined? How are existing arrangements recognised?

    Critically, the CUMA Bill offers the right to apply for ownership of “commercial used marine areas”—estimated at less than 10% of all qoliqoli areas. The remainder stays with the State. This is not restoration; this is tokenism. As one Facebook commentator observed: “The minimal benefit CUMA gives is the right to apply to own ‘commercial used marine areas’ which is less than 10% of all qoliqoli areas. This right would disappear if proprietary ownership is transferred to qoliqoli owners, something that CUMA and  the Coalition Government do not allow iTaukei.”

    The Government’s approach, as articulated by Gavoka, reveals a fundamental disjoint: “CUMA Bill will address… a legal structure to ensure the iqoliqoli owners are compensated for the commercial use of their marine areas by tourism operators.” He does not deny that CUMA fails to immediately vest ownership of all qoliqoli. He simply reframes the question from ownership to compensation.

    The Continuity of Injustice

    The CUMA Bill does not repeal the 2010 Surfing Decree; it replaces it while preserving its core provisions:

    · Continuing the moratorium against iTaukei dealing with surfing areas

    · Withholding proprietary ownership, reserving it to the State

    · Denying customary holders the full rights promised in 1881

    As one critic observed: “CUMA simply continues the injustice of the Surfing Decree by continuing the moratorium and continuing the denial of proprietary ownership of Qoliqoli areas to customary Qoliqoli holders.”

    The only real solution, as articulated by the BLV and echoed by commentators, is clear:

    “Return proprietary ownership. Keep regulatory authority. Build a joint‑vesting commercial model. Anything less is just another version of the Surfing Decree — with a nicer name.”

    A Betrayal of Trust

    The iTaukei majority that voted for the Coalition Government did so with a mandate: repeal the 2010 Surfing Decree, restore qoliqoli ownership, and honour the 1881 promise. Instead, the Government has delivered CUMA—a Bill that perpetuates the same injustice with a more sophisticated name.

    The BLV’s disappointment is not merely procedural; it is existential. Qoliqoli is not a commodity to be leased or a resource to be shared. It is the Vanua itself—identity, culture, stewardship, and inheritance. To deny full proprietary ownership is to deny the iTaukei their place in their own land and waters.

    The CUMA Bill is a deception: it offers a token where justice demands full restoration. It offers process where history demands finality. The question is not whether the CUMA Bill is an improvement on the Surfing Decree. The question is whether Fiji will finally honour the promise made in 1881—or continue, for another generation, to deny the Chiefs and the iTaukei, what is rightfully theirs.

  • Of Buns and Blindspots: When Our Leaders Dismiss Their Own People

    There are moments in public life when a single sentence exposes more than a thousand-page report ever could. We witnessed one such moment this week, when Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for Tourism Viliame Gavoka stood in Parliament and, while defending Fiji Airways’ decision to slash catering costs, dropped a remark that should offend every Fijian who has ever paid good money for a plane ticket.

    According to reports, Gavoka said most complaints about Fiji Airways’ food came from local travellers—and that tourists generally accepted the changes as part of the current operating environment for international airlines.

    Let us pause and let that sink in.

    The message is unmistakable: If the tourists aren’t complaining, why should we care what Fijians think? If our visitors—who spend at most a week or two here before departing—are satisfied with a dry bun and a cold sandwich, then surely we, who live here, who pay taxes here, who fly these routes year after year, should just quietly accept our lot.

    Opposition MP Premila Kumar was right to question whether ordinary Fijians were effectively subsidising lower fares offered to overseas tourists. She highlighted that a return ticket from Nadi to Sydney is not cheap, and that for that kind of money, Fijians deserve more than a sandwich that would embarrass a school canteen.

    But the deeper issue is not food. It is respect.

    Gavoka’s defence of the airline’s cost-cutting—prioritising flight capacity over catering—is a legitimate operational argument. What is not legitimate is the casual dismissal of local voices. The implication that complaints from Fijians matter less because tourists—predominantly white, predominantly from wealthier nations—are supposedly fine with the status quo reeks of a colonial mindset in reverse. 

    It is the same thinking that tells us: Don’t rock the boat. The visitors are happy. Who are you to complain? The colonial mindset that continues to hold us back.

    Yet here is the uncomfortable truth Mr. Gavoka and your Government: the money tourists spend is fleeting. A few thousand dollars for a holiday, then they are gone. But Fijians? We spend a lifetime in this economy. We pay taxes. We raise families. We fly these routes for funerals, for weddings, for medical emergencies. Our voice matters—not because we are louder, but because we are permanent.

    This is not the first time this government has treated taxpayers as an afterthought. While we are asked to guarantee 6 million go up in smoke on a Commission of Inquiry that produced zero convictions, zero policy wins—only a High Court ruling that slapped it down for procedural illegality. And now, the Solicitor-General has reportedly been instructed to appeal that decision, yet another costly exercise with zero guaranteed returns.

    Gavoka may not have intended to insult us taxpayers and voters. But when a leader stands in Parliament and essentially says, “The complaints are mostly from locals, so we’re not too worried,” he is telling us exactly where we rank in his hierarchy of concern.

    We are not asking for first-class treatment. We are asking not to be treated as second-class citizens in our own country.

    Our political leaders would do well to remember: tourists come and go. But we, the people, are here to stay. And we are watching.