Tag: history

• The Entangling Alliances: Why Fiji Must Not Tie Its Security to Any Single Mast

  The news from Port Moresby should echo across the Viti Levu not as a model to emulate, but as a cautionary tale. Papua New Guinea’s approval of a new defense treaty with Australia, is the latest move in the Pasifika’s Great Game, a strategic gambit where larger powers vie for influence, using smaller nations as pieces on their geopolitical board. For Fiji, a nation that has painstakingly carved out a role as a regional leader and a master of “multi-alignment,” this path is a dangerous anachronism. To tie our security—and thus, our sovereignty—to any single power would be to betray our hard-won independence and our unique potential as a unifier in a divided region.

  The seductive allure of a security guarantee is understandable. It promises protection, resources, and a place at the table of a powerful friend. But this is a fool’s bargain. As we have learned through our own history and our deft navigation of international relations, security is not a gift to be received; it is a condition to be built. And true, lasting security cannot be imported from Canberra, Washington, or Beijing. It is homegrown, cultivated in the fertile soil of economic resilience, social cohesion, and climate stability.

  The Deft Art of Multi-Alignment vs. The Blunt Tool of Alliance

  Fiji’s strategic genuinity: engaging with all, but being beholden to none. We work with China on infrastructure, with Australia and Aotearoa on policing and military training, and with a multitude of partners on development. This is not indecision; it is supreme strategic agency. It allows us to extract benefits while retaining the ultimate power—the power to say “no,” to set our own terms, and to pivot based on our national interest, not the interests of a patron.

  An exclusive security treaty shatters this delicate balance. It effectively makes us a client state, aligning our national destiny with the strategic objectives of another. When that power enters a conflict or a period of heightened tension—as is inevitable in today’s world—we are no longer a neutral voice for peace. We become a forward base, a target, or at best, a compliant ally expected to fall in line. We trade our role as a sovereign player for that of a supporting actor in someone else’s drama.

  Our Real Battlefield is Not the Sea, But the Soil

  The greatest threats to Fijian security do not sail warships or fly fighter jets. They rise with the seas, blow in with intensifying cyclones, and fester in the persistent inequalities of our communities. Our national security is inextricably linked to human security.

  · Poverty is a national security issue. A population struggling to meet basic needs is vulnerable to exploitation, political instability, and crime.

  · Climate change is the single greatest existential threat. It erodes our coastlines, destroys our crops, salinates our water, and displaces our people. No defense pact with a foreign military can fortify a village against a king tide.

  · Economic vulnerability makes us susceptible to debt-traps and predatory investment, which can be just as corrosive to our sovereignty as any military threat.

  These are the battles that demand our full attention and resources. A defense treaty would inevitably skew our priorities, diverting political focus, financial capital, and institutional energy towards military posturing and away from the foundational work of poverty alleviation, climate adaptation, and sustainable development.

  A Call for Principled, Inclusive Partnership

  This is not a call for isolationism. It is a call for a more profound and principled form of engagement. Fiji’s foreign policy should be a magnet, drawing the world to our shared challenges, not a chain tethering us to one power’s agenda.

  We must lead the charge in reframing the conversation. Let us invite Australia, Aotearoa, the US, China, India, and the EU to a different kind of partnership—not a “security alliance” against a common enemy, but a “prosperity and resilience coalition” for a common future. Let the agenda be:

  1. Co-investment in Climate-Resilient Infrastructure.

  2. Collaborative Projects for Poverty Alleviation and Sustainable Agriculture.

  3. Strengthening Regional Institutions like the Pasifika Islands Forum to be the primary arbiters of Pasifika security.

  In this vision, Fiji is not a prize to be won in a geopolitical contest, but the architect of a new Pasifika century. We become the hub that connects disparate powers around a common, constructive purpose.

  The world is dividing into new blocs, and the pressure to choose a side will only intensify. Fiji’s greatest strength lies in its refusal to be rushed. Our security does not lie in hitching our drua to a foreign warship, but in ensuring our own vessel is seaworthy, our navigators and crew skilled, and our course set firmly towards the horizon of our own choosing—a future where everyone is lifted together, not where anyone is tied down alone.

  2025.10.02

• Our Gods Were Never Lost: On the Theft of Sprituality and the Irony of ‘Modern’ Climate Wisdom

  Na Kalou na Vanua. Na Vanua na Kalou. The God is the Land. The Land is God.

  For millennia, across the continents, from the islands of the Pasifika to the plains of Africa and the forests of the Americas, Indigenous peoples lived by this fundamental truth. Our spirituality was not a separate belief but the essence of existence—a deep, reciprocal relationship with the living world. Then came the colonizers.

  They arrived with their ships and their scriptures, their maps and their manifestos. They called our connection to the land ‘animism.’ They labelled our sacred rites ‘savage’ and our deities ‘demons.’ They told us we lived in ‘darkness’ and they were the ‘light.’ This was not a unique experience for Fiji; it was the brutal, standardized playbook of colonialism applied globally. As the African Union Ambassador Arikana Chi Umbori articulated, this was a deliberate “brainwashing” designed to defeat us “where it matters the most, which is the mind.”

  The first step was to sever our spiritual connection to the Earth. After all, a people who believe the land is God will fight to the death to protect it. But a people taught that the land is merely a resource, a property to be owned and exploited, can be more easily dispossessed.

  The ultimate act of contempt followed this spiritual conquest. After demonizing our sacred objects, the colonizers stole them. They took our ancestral carvings, and the sacred artifacts of countless other cultures—the Benin Bronzes, the ikenga statues, the totem poles—and placed them behind glass cases in distant museums. These are not mere art objects; they are “religious, spiritual, sacred” documents of our identity. This global theft was a physical manifestation of the spiritual theft already underway.

  Here lies the profound, gut-wrenching irony of our time. The very worldview that colonizers spent centuries trying to eradicate is now hailed as the essential wisdom the world needs to survive.

  What our ancestors knew as simple, sacred duty—living in balance with nature, seeing the land as a living ancestor—is now rebranded in Western conference halls as “climate adaptation,” “sustainable development,” and “environmental stewardship.” The spiritual intelligence they called primitive, is now the scientific consensus they urge us to adopt.

  This is the height of hypocrisy. The same systems that plundered the world’s resources, fueled by the very disconnect they enforced upon us, now look to the fragments of our surviving traditions for salvation. They have the audacity to lecture the world on human rights and environmental policy, while their museums overflow with the sacred spoils of their conquest and their economies are built on the exploitation they pioneered.

  We must see this clearly: the call to “save the environment” rings hollow when it comes from institutions that have yet to fully acknowledge or redress their role in destroying it—and in destroying the cultures that best knew how to preserve it.

  The call to action, therefore, is not just about reclaiming stolen artifacts. It is about reclaiming our stolen narrative and our rightful place as holders of critical knowledge. It is a call for a profound reckoning.

  We must reject the mental colonization that tells us our ancestral ways are inferior. The principle of veilomani—mutual care and respect—extends beyond our communities to the living world. This is not a quaint tradition; it is a sophisticated ecological philosophy that has ensured our survival for thousands of years.

  The path forward requires the courage to own the whole history. For the West, this means moving beyond empty apologies and returning not just stolen art, but honouring the stolen wisdom embedded in it. It means supporting Indigenous land rights and sovereignty as the most effective climate action there is.

  For us, it means having that “serious conversation with the image in the mirror.” It means revitalizing our languages and teachings, not as folklore, but as vital frameworks for the future. It means telling our children that Na Kalou na Vanua is not a superstition, but a prophecy—a truth the world is finally, desperately, catching up to.

  Our gods were never lost. They are in the waves, the forests, and the soil. The colonizers taught us to stop seeing them. Now, as the world faces the consequences of that disconnect, they are beginning to look for them. They will find that the answers they seek have always been here, waiting in the land, and in the hearts of the people who never stopped believing it was sacred.

  No justice, no peace. Not just for stolen objects, but for stolen wisdom and a stolen future. It is time for the world to listen to the very voices it once tried to silence.

  2025.09.26

• From Kigali to Suva: What Fiji’s Leaders Can Learn from Rwanda’s Audacious F1 Dream

  When news broke that Rwanda is seriously vying to host a Formula 1 Grand Prix, many in the world met it with surprise. The typical reaction: a small, landlocked African nation, known to the world for a tragic past, now wanting to stand alongside glitzy destinations like Monaco, Abu Dhabi, and Singapore? It seems audacious, almost fanciful.

  But for those of us watching from Fiji, an island nation grappling with its own potential, the response should not be surprise. It should be a profound, and perhaps uncomfortable, moment of introspection. Rwanda’s F1 bid is not about car racing; it is the ultimate symbol of a leadership that thinks in decades, not electoral cycles. It is a lesson in what becomes possible when a leader’s vision is to build a nation, rather than merely to win an election.

  President Paul Kagame’s Rwanda is a case study in transformative leadership. The foundation was not laid with glamorous projects, but with the gritty, unglamorous work of national rebuilding. The monthly community work of Umuganda was more than just cleaning streets; it was a deliberate strategy to forge a shared social contract, instilling discipline, collective responsibility, and a tangible sense of progress from the ground up. Once the foundation of civic pride and order was secure, the sky became the limit. The country now boasts being the “Singapore of Africa”—a tech hub, a beacon of cleanliness and security, and a destination for global conferences.

  The F1 ambition is the logical next step in this vision. It signals to the world: “We are open for business, we are capable, we are world-class.” It is an economic stimulus package wrapped in a global marketing campaign. The message is clear: we are no longer defined by our past, but by our audacious future.

  Now, let us turn our gaze to our own beloved Fiji. We are blessed with natural beauty that Rwanda can only dream of. We have a resilient people, a strategic location, and a history of punching above our weight on the global stage. Yet, we often find ourselves trapped in a cycle of short-term political manoeuvring. Our national discourse is too frequently dominated by racial and political divisions that harken back to a past we seem unable to transcend, rather than a future we are excited to build.

  Where is our Umuganda? Where is our unifying, nation-building project that asks every citizen to contribute to a cleaner, more orderly, and more cohesive Fiji? We have the veiqaravi vakavanua, the traditional communal obligations, but this spirit has not been consistently harnessed at a national level by visionary leadership to create a modern, shared civic identity. Instead, we see infrastructure that deteriorates, public services that strain, and a national mood that often swings between hope and cynicism.

  The difference lies in the nature of leadership. Visionary leadership, as seen in Rwanda, is not about popularity; it is about legacy. It is about having the courage to make difficult decisions today for a reward that a future generation will reap. It is about selling a dream so compelling that the people are willing to sweat for it. It asks not, “What can I promise to get re-elected?” but “What must I build to ensure my grandchildren’s prosperity?”

  Fiji does not need a Formula 1 race. But Fiji desperately needs the kind of thinking that an F1 bid represents. We need a leadership that dares to imagine a Fiji that is not just a tourist paradise, but a regional hub for finance, technology, and sustainable ocean-based industry. A leadership that invests in world-class education and healthcare not as a cost, but as the essential infrastructure of a 21st-century nation. A leadership that unites us under a common name of “Fijian,” where our diverse backgrounds become a source of strength, not a political weapon.

  Rwanda’s story is a provocation. It challenges the fatalistic notion that a nation’s destiny is sealed by its history or its size. It proves that transformation is possible with relentless focus, discipline, and a leader who paints the horizon not as a distant line, but as a destination within reach.

  The question for Fiji is not whether we can host a Grand Prix. The question is, do we have the leadership with the vision to make us believe we even could? Our potential is not in the ground or the sea; it is in the quality of our ambition. It is time we started reaching for the sky.

  2025.09.24

• Na Turaga na i Liuliu ni Vanua: Leadership as a Sacred Obligation

  The words of Cherokee elder Stan Rushworth, strike a chord that resonates deep within the Fijian soul, particularly for us iTaukei. The distinction between being born with “rights” and being born with “obligations” is not a foreign philosophy; it is the very essence of our traditional governance system, the Vanua. In an age obsessed with individual attainment, this indigenous wisdom offers a radical—and perhaps essential—redefinition of true leadership.

  The vulagi-settler mindset of “I have rights” is inherently self-centric, focusing on what is owed to the individual. In contrast, the indigenous mindset of “I have obligations” is community-centric. It asks, “What do I owe?” This question is the foundational principle of iTaukei leadership. One is not born a Turaga—a chief, a person of authority—simply to wield power. One is born a Turaga to serve.

  This is encapsulated in the Fijian proverb, “Na Turaga na nodra i liuliu na lewe ni vanua”: The chief is the foremost servant of the people. This authority is not a license for privilege, but a mandate for profound responsibility. The chief’s role is to be the custodian of the land (qele), the preserver of the culture (itovo vakavanua), and the unifying force for the people (lewenivanua); as demonstrated recently in the installation of Na Turaga Tui Nayau, in Nayau and Lakeba. The chief’s well-being is inextricably linked to that of the Vanua. If the people suffer, the chief has failed in this primary obligation.

  This principle extends beyond the village. A former Commanding Officer of the Fiji Battalion in the Sinai noted that the motto, “Leadership is Service!” was not merely a phrase but a lived cultural truth. The legendary bravery of the Fijian soldier is often misunderstood; it is not just a product of military training, but an extension of a deeper cultural duty—the obligation to protect the community and serve a cause greater than oneself. This is leading by serving, where authority is earned through selfless action, not demanded by title.

  This compels a critical question: are we, the iTaukei, still honouring this sacred covenant?

  Modernity, with its allure of individual rights and political power, has created a tension in our society. We witness a dangerous shift where some seek leadership positions to be served, rather than to serve. The title of “Turaga” is at times pursued for the status it confers and the economic benefits derived, not for the burdens it carries. This corrupts the very essence of the Vanua, hollowing out our traditions into empty performances.

  True iTaukei leadership is the opposite. It is about serving to lead. One serves the community, the elders, the past by upholding tradition, and the future by protecting the land. Through this demonstrated commitment, leadership is naturally conferred and respected. Its legitimacy is rooted in fulfilled obligations.

  The elder’s wisdom is thus an urgent call for introspection—for our leaders in the village, the church, and the nation. It challenges us all:

  • Do we see our positions as a platform for our own voice, or as a responsibility to listen to the voices of our people?
  • Are we making decisions for short-term gain, or with an obligation to seven generations yet unborn?
  • Are we leading to build our own legacy, or serving to strengthen the eternal legacy of the Vanua?

  The path forward is not to reject rights, but to recenter our understanding of leadership on the deeper, more meaningful concept of obligations. Our identity as iTaukei is not a right we possess, but a gift from our ancestors. With that gift comes a solemn duty: to serve, to protect, and to nurture. When we embrace that obligation—to the past, present, future, and to the Vanua herself—we do more than become better leaders. We honour the very essence of what it means to be an ITaukei.

  Na Kalou na Vanua, na Vanua na Kalou. We are all its servants.

  2025.09.23

• Veivakaturagataki or Vesumona? The Exploitation of Our Religiosity

  The spiritual identity of the iTaukei people represents a complex tapestry woven from indigenous beliefs, Christian influences, and political manipulations. When the iTaukei utter the phrase Turaga sa mai vua na Kalou (chiefs come from God), we participate in a theological construct, that has been strategically employed to advance specific religious and political agendas. This fusion of Christian doctrine with traditional chiefly systems, has created a distorted spirituality that serves power structures rather than authentic cultural or religious values; resulting in a population that is devoutly religious yet potentially manipulated, honorably traditional yet unconsciously colonized.

  Historical Manipulation and Spiritual Syncretism

  Prior to Christianization, our spirituality was deeply integrated with social structures and environmental relationships through the concept of Vanua—a holistic worldview connecting the physical and spiritual realms. Chiefs served as sacred representatives of ancestor-gods, possessing sau and mana (spiritual power and authority), while bete (priests) acted as intermediaries within a carefully balanced socio-cosmic order. This system maintained ecological and social harmony through prescribed rituals and respect for traditional knowledge holders.

  The arrival of missionaries and colonial forces, initiated a deliberate strategy of blending Christian concepts with existing structures to facilitate conversion. Missionaries employed linguistic manipulation, introducing foreign concepts like tevoro (devil) to displace existing spiritual understandings. They recognized the potency of chiefly authority and strategically positioned Christian theology to simultaneously undermine and utilize traditional power structures. The conversion of high chiefs including Ro Banuve of Rewa and Ratu Cakobau of Bau, accelerated this process, creating a syncretic system where Christian leaders gradually usurped the roles of traditional bete. This strategic co-option created what scholar Asesela Ravuvu termed “the façade of continuity” that masked fundamental transformations in spiritual power structures.

  This fusion produced a doctrine that equates chiefly authority with divine mandate—Turaga sa mai vua na Kalou. This theological innovation created a double bind for iTaukei believers: to question chiefly authority became tantamount to questioning God’s will, while to question Christian doctrine undermined the spiritual foundation of chiefly legitimacy. This confusion enabled power holders to switch between frameworks depending on what best served their interests, creating what contemporary iTaukei scholars describe as a form of spiritual colonialism that persist, generations after political independence.

  Contemporary Exploitation and Consequences

  The mutual reinforcement of religious and political institutions continues to exploit iTaukei religiosity for power maintenance. The 2010 decree replacing “Fijian” with “iTaukei” in official language superficially celebrated indigenous identity while reinforcing the taukei-vulagi (owner-stranger) dichotomy that serves political interests. This framework has been weaponized into what academics now term “taukeism”—an ideology asserting indigenous supremacy in governance and land control. The previous regime’s policy, while well-intentioned in some aspects, inadvertently ignited among many iTaukei—myself included—a defensive posture that often bypassed critical examination of its broader implications.

  The Methodist Church, to which approximately 64% of iTaukei belong, has historically advocated for “absolute control over this nation by the iTaukei,” illustrating how religious institutions endorse ethnic supremacy. This collusion benefits churches through increased influence and resources, while political leaders gain divine legitimization of their authority—particularly during constitutional crises, when appeals to Christian identity and indigenous rights justify extra-constitutional actions. The military coups demonstrated how effectively this fusion of religious and ethnic identity could be mobilized for political ends.

  The psychological and cultural toll manifests as a population that fiercely embraces Christian identity while valuing traditional customs, despite their contradictory foundations. Many iTaukei have abandoned fundamental practices like traditional kava ceremonies or observance of personal tabu, while still embracing cultural artifacts, reflecting the deep dissociation generated by centuries of spiritual manipulation. This internal conflict represents what anthropologist Arno Parrot terms, “the colonial double consciousness”—where indigenous peoples simultaneously operate within conflicting worldviews without fully inhabiting either.

  Toward Authentic Spiritual Sovereignty

  Breaking this cycle requires decolonizing thinking—critically examining historical processes and distinguishing authentic spiritual principles from exploitative mechanisms. Reclaiming pre-Christian spirituality involves recognizing that ancestral gods were not “fallen angels” but guardians of the Vanua, and reasserting the value of Vanua spirituality as an integrated worldview that connects social, environmental, and spiritual domains. Scholars like Professor Unaisi Nabobo-Baba of FNU, have called for “epistemic rediscovery” that centers iTaukei ways of knowing without automatically subordinating them to Christian frameworks.

  Authentic iTaukei spirituality must navigate between uncritical traditionalism that ignores colonial distortions and wholesale Westernization that abandons indigenous epistemology. The future lies in reclaiming the Vanua ethos that recognizes the inseparability of body and spirit, physical and spiritual worlds, and individual and community wellbeing. This involves revitalizing the understanding that Vanua, encompasses not just land but the social, spiritual, and cultural dimensions of existence—a holistic concept that predates and transcends imported religious frameworks.

  Only through this reclamation can we the iTaukei honor both our ancestral heritage and authentic spiritual aspirations, without being manipulated by power structures that exploit religiosity for control. The path forward requires courageous examination of both our Christian and traditional practices to distinguish genuine veivakaturagataki (reverence) from political vesumona (deception). It demands acknowledging that the arrival of Christianity—while bringing positive dimensions—also served as a vehicle for colonial domination that must be critically examined rather than unquestioningly celebrated. By embracing this complexity, we the iTaukei can move toward a spiritually authentic future that respects our tradition while liberating us from the manipulations of both church and government.

  2025.09.19

• Time to Pass the Torch: Fiji’s Geriatric Leadership Crisis

  Our country finds itself trapped in a political time loop, governed by recycled leaders who prioritize self-preservation over visionary governance. At 78 years old, Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka’s third term exemplifies this crisis—a gerontocratic dominance that stifles innovation and ignores Fiji’s demographic reality. With over 60% of the population under 35, the nation suffers from a profound generational disconnect, that hampers progress on existential challenges.

  The December 2022 elections, produced a fragile coalition government with a razor-thin majority, rendering it more focused on political survival than transformative leadership. This administration operates in constant reactive mode, negotiating its own continuity rather than implementing bold policies for national advancement. The result is governance characterized by caution rather than courage, compromise rather than principle.

  Hon. Rabuka’s leadership style, reflects this self-preservation instinct. Having first come to power through military coups in 1987, he now positions himself as a democratic reformer. Yet his return to power, represents the recycling of political figures whose careers are rooted in our turbulent past rather than our future possibilities. This leadership vacuum has tangible consequences: climate policy remains strong on international rhetoric but extremely weak on domestic implementation, economic decisions appear reactive rather than strategic, and the drug crisis generates political point-scoring rather than evidence-based solutions. Let me not even start with our NCD crisis.

  Structural barriers compound this sad leadership deficit. The 2013 Constitution’s electoral requirements, favor established parties and marginalize new voices. The military continues to loom as a political arbiter, creating a chilling effect on innovation. Constitutional immunity clauses protect Rabuka and Bainimarama from accountability, reinforcing that power flows from coercion rather than consent.

  The most damaging aspect of all, is the systematic exclusion of youth from meaningful political participation. Digital-native generations possess exactly the skills needed for 21st-century challenges—technological fluency, climate awareness, and global connectivity—yet remain locked out of decision-making rooms. This represents not just a democratic failure but a catastrophic waste of national potential.

  Fiji’s geopolitical position adds urgency to this leadership crisis. As great power competition intensifies in the Pasifika, the nation has swung between international alignments—from Bainimarama’s pivot toward China to Rabuka’s recalibration toward traditional partners. This foreign policy oscillation reflects deeper absence of strategic consensus about our place in the world.

  The solution requires courageous institutional reform. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission should become more than political theater; revisiting the immunity clauses that perpetuate impunity. Political parties must democratize their internal structures to become incubators of talent rather than vehicles for individual ambition. The education system must prioritize critical thinking and ethical leadership over obedience.

  Most immediately, Hon. Rabuka must recognize that true leadership means knowing when to pass the torch, as I had called on before. His retirement would create space for a new generation of leaders who can transcend ethnic divisions and coup politics. These emerging leaders could leverage traditional chiefly values while embracing modern governance approaches, blending cultural continuity with innovative thinking.

  Fiji stands at a critical historical juncture. The climate crisis, economic challenges, and geopolitical pressures demand visionary leadership that looks forward rather than backward. Continuing to recycle leaders from Fiji’s coup-ridden past, condemns the nation to relive its failures rather than reinvent its future.

  The time has come for Fiji’s elder statesmen to step aside voluntarily—not as an admission of failure but as their final contribution to national development. Only through generational transition can Fiji escape its coup legacy and unleash the potential of its greatest resource: its youth. The nation doesn’t need another leader who remembers the coups of 1987; it needs leaders who can imagine Fiji in 2047 and beyond.

  2025.09.16

• Forging a Fijian Democracy: Beyond Mimicry Towards a Model of Our Own

  The recent viral incident of a man arrested for humiliating his partner, and some poignant commentary on the social decay it represents, is not an isolated event. It is a symptom of a deeper, more profound national challenge we face: an identity crisis at the intersection of tradition, faith, modernity, and the digital age. My friend Sake Komailevuka, rightly identifies a growing arrogance, a toxic sense of entitlement, and a disconnect from the core values of respect (vakarokoroko) and knowing one’s place (vakavanua), that have long underpinned iTaukei society. This dissonance, played out on the brutal public stage of social media, forces us to ask a difficult question: what kind of society are we building?

  This social fragmentation is mirrored in our political discourse. For decades, our political journey has been one of violent lurches between attempts to implant a Westminster-style democracy and reactions of authoritarianism. We have looked to London, Canberra, and Wellington for our blueprints, often with disastrous results. Despite our proximity to Australia and Aotearoa and a Western-style education system, our societal fabric—woven from the rich threads of iTaukei culture, vanua, lotu, and the contributions of other communities—is fundamentally different. The failure to acknowledge this difference, is the root of much of our instability.

  Therefore, the central question for our nation is not if we should be a democracy, but what kind of democracy best serves the unique Fijian condition. The answer lies not in the West, but in a deliberate, conscious, and courageous project, of forging our own path—one that might look to the pragmatic lessons of our regional neighbours like Singapore and Malaysia, while being rooted firmly in our own realities.

  The Failure of Imported Models

  The Westminster model presupposes a historical evolution of institutions, a strict separation of powers, and a political culture built on loyal opposition and ideological debate. In Fiji, these concepts often clash with communal voting patterns, the paramountcy of chiefly hierarchies within the Vanua, and a political culture, where opposition is often viewed not as loyal, but as treasonous. This incompatibility has led to a cycle of elections followed by coups, where the winner takes all and the loser rejects the system entirely. This is not a sustainable model for national unity.

  Furthermore, the unbridled individualism championed by Western liberalism, amplified by social media’s “FOMO” and demand for privilege, is precisely the force eroding the communal values Sake laments. A political system that promotes hyper-individualism in a society whose strength is communalism, is a recipe for the very social challenges we now face.

  The Singaporean Lesson: Pragmatism Over Ideology

  This is where the Singaporean model, as pioneered by Lee Kuan Yew, offers invaluable insights. It is crucial to clarify that emulating Singapore does not mean becoming Singapore. We are a different people with a different history. The lesson is in the methodology, not the specific laws.

  Lee Kuan Yew’s genius was his ruthless pragmatism. He asked: what works? He rejected ideological purity—whether from the East or West—in favour of policies that delivered stability, economic growth, and social harmony. This involved a form of democracy, but one fused with a measure of what can be termed “benign authoritarianism”:

  1. The Primacy of the State: The state is not a neutral referee but the primary engine of national development. Its authority is paramount to ensure order and implement long-term strategy, often prioritising collective well-being over absolute individual freedoms (e.g., laws against hate speech, strict maintenance of racial harmony).
  2. Meritocracy and Clean Governance: A relentless, uncompromising focus on competent, technocratic leadership and a corruption-free civil service. This builds public trust and ensures the state functions effectively.
  3. Pragmatic, Not Absolute, Freedoms: Freedoms of speech and assembly are permitted, but not at the expense of social cohesion or national security. The Singaporean model recognises that freedom without responsibility can be destructive, a truth we are learning the hard way on social media.

  For Fiji, we already have some of these pragmatic approach and it could mean a democracy that is less noisy and less focused on the theatrics of partisan politics, and more on the sober, results-oriented business of nation-building. It would require a constitution and institutions designed not to mimic a foreign ideal, but to solve Fijian problems.

  Indigenising Our Framework: The Vanua and the State

  However, a purely Singaporean-style state would be too sterile for Fiji. Our greatest unused resource is our cultural strength. This is where I call to look at regional nations “indigenizing their judiciary” is critical. Our democracy must make space for our customs.

  The Vanua is more than a social unit; it is a governance structure with built-in mechanisms for conflict resolution, social welfare, and leadership accountability. A truly Fijian democracy would not see the Vanua as a competitor to the State, but as a partner. Imagine:

  • Formalising Advisory Roles: An Upper House or Bose Levu Vakaturaga, with constitutional authority to advise Parliament on all matters pertaining to land and resources, customs and social harmony.
  • Community-Based Justice: Integrating restorative justice models, inspired by the Vanua’s process of (matanigasau) reconciliation, for specific low-level civil and criminal cases. This would decongest courts and heal communities in a way Western adversarial justice often fail to do.
  • Educating for Citizenship: A civics curriculum that doesn’t just teach about parliament, but also about the Bose Vanua, the values of veidokai (respect), and how modern citizenship complements traditional roles.

  This is not about going backwards; it is about bringing the best of our past forward to meet the challenges of the present.

  The Secular vs. The Sacred: Navigating the Dichotomy

  Sake correctly identifies the conflict between Christian beliefs and secularism as a critical fault line. A Fijian model must manage this tension wisely. The state must remain secular to be fair to all citizens. However, a secular state does not have to be an anti-religious state. It can create a framework where faith communities—churches, mosques, temples—are respected partners in fostering the moral and ethical character of the nation, much like how they are involved in education and social work today. The state’s role is to ensure no single faith dominates the apparatus of the state, while encouraging all to contribute to the common good.

  Conclusion: A Call for Conscious Design

  The toxic behaviour on social media that Sake describes is a cry of confusion—a generation navigating a world without a coherent moral and political compass. We cannot solve this reactively with more police arrests or social media bans alone. We must solve it proactively by building a society that makes sense to its people.

  We must strive for a Fijian Pragmatic Democracy:

  • A Democracy because the will of the people, expressed through free and fair elections, is the only legitimate source of government.
  • Pragmatic because it prioritises what works—stability, economic development, and social harmony—over rigid ideological adherence to any foreign model.
  • Fijian because it is authentically ours, blending the best of democratic ideals with the wisdom of our customary governance (vakavanua) and the sober pragmatism of the Singaporean method.

  This is not an easy path. It requires intellectual honesty to move beyond colonial mimicry. It requires political courage to build institutions that are uniquely ours. And it requires from all of us, as citizens, a commitment to responsible freedom—online and offline—understanding that our rights are inextricably linked to our responsibilities to our community and our nation.

  The choice is ours: continue to be buffeted by the waves of imported ideas and internal discord, or finally seize the helm and navigate our own course. Let’s choose to build a democracy that doesn’t just look good on paper, but one that works for Fiji, and one that a Fijian would proudly recognise as their own.

  2025.09.15

• Constitutional Crucible: Forging True iTaukei Sovereignty by Restructuring Power

  The stark lesson from Papua New Guinea (PNG) is undeniable: meaningful sovereignty for indigenous landowners begins not with administrative tweaks, but with constitutional bedrock. PNG’s explicit recognition that “all customary land is the property of the customary owners” (Constitution, Section 53) stands in radical contrast to Fiji’s Native Land Trust Act, which vests “control” in a state-appointed Board (TLTB). This comparison shatters any illusion that the TLTB’s colonial structure can be reformed, while remaining subordinate to the Fijian state. The path forward for the iTaukei, demands a revolutionary constitutional settlement, placing the Bose Levu Vakaturaga (BLV), at the helm of a profoundly restructured system, learning from both PNG’s empowerment and its challenges.

  PNG’s Beacon: Constitutional Recognition as Non-Negotiable Foundation

  PNG’s framework offers the BLV a powerful blueprint for its core demand:

  1.  Sovereignty Anchored in Law: PNG’s constitution places customary ownership beyond state whim. This is the essential first step Fiji must take. A new Fijian constitution, must explicitly state that customary resources are vested in the iTaukei Resource Owning Units (ROUs), recognizing their inherent, inalienable rights. This eradicates the legal fiction of state “trusteeship” embedded in the TLTB Act.

  2.  Decentralized Power, BLV as Guardian: PNG has no TLTB. Management rests directly with clans/tribes. Fiji can adapt this by constitutionally mandating the BLV as the supreme traditional body responsible for safeguarding iTaukei customary law, land rights, and resource sovereignty. The BLV becomes the constitutional guardian of Vanua principles, ensuring ROU autonomy while providing overarching guidance and dispute resolution based on custom, not state policy.

  3.  Rejecting State “Control”: PNG proves a centralized state board controlling indigenous land is not inevitable. Fiji’s constitution must prohibit any state entity from assuming “control” or “administration” of customary land and resources, in the manner of the current TLTB. The state’s role shifts to registration support, legal protection, and facilitating negotiations requested by ROUs, not dictating terms.

  Beyond PNG: The Imperative of BLV-Led Institutional Restructuring

  Constitutional recognition alone, however, is insufficient. PNG’s struggles with implementation offer crucial warnings and necessitate a robust BLV-led institutional framework:

  *   The Hybrid Solution: A BLV-Subordinate Resources Authority: Abolishing TLTB overnight risks chaos. Instead, transform it into a technical Resources Authority directly accountable to the BLV, not the Ministry of iTaukei Affairs. Its mandate shifts fundamentally:

      *   From Controller to Facilitative Servant: It serves ROUs at their direction, providing technical expertise (surveying, valuation, lease drafting), financial management, dispute resolution facilitation, and maintaining registries – not making leasing decisions.

      *   BLV Oversight & Policy: The BLV sets the policy framework for this Authority, ensuring its operations align with Vanua principles and prioritize ROU empowerment. The BLV appoints its leadership and audits its performance.

      *   Building ROU Capacity: A core function becomes intensive training for ROUs in negotiation, financial and digital literacy, sustainable development, and legal rights – addressing the capacity gap that plagues PNG and leaves landowners vulnerable.

  *   Learning from PNG’s Pitfalls: Safeguarding Against Exploitation:

      *   FPIC as Constitutional Right: Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC), must be constitutionally enshrined for all land and resource dealings, surpassing PNG’s weaker implementation. The BLV Resources Authority acts as an independent verifier of FPIC, protecting ROUs from coercion.

      *   Transparent & Accountable ROUs: To combat “elite capture” seen in PNG, the BLV must champion robust, transparent governance structures within ROUs (e.g., strengthened Mataqali/Vanua councils). The BLV Resources Authority can provide governance training and support audits.

      *   Rigorous Lease-Leaseback Scrutiny: If a mechanism similar to PNG’s SPABL (state lease-back) is considered for large-scale projects, the BLV Resources Authority must act as a fiercely independent watchdog, ensuring genuine ROU consent, fair terms, and preventing land grabs. Ideally, ROUs should deal directly with developers where capacity allows, bypassing the state middleman.

      *   Minerals: The Unfinished Business: The constitution must explicitly challenge the state’s theft of subsurface rights. The BLV must lead the fight for iTaukei ownership or co-ownership of minerals, ensuring communities share equitably in the wealth extracted from their Vanua.

  Why Constitutional Change is the Only Viable Starting Point

  Attempting to “reform” TLTB within the current constitutional framework is doomed:

  1.  Legitimizing the Lie: It perpetuates the state’s illegitimate claim to “control” iTaukei land. Real change requires dismantling the legal basis of this control.

  2.  Vulnerability to Politics: State-controlled institutions (even renamed or “restructured”) remain subject to shifting political winds, budgets, and the “national interest” defined by non-iTaukei priorities. Constitutional entrenchment provides stability.

  3.  Empowering the BLV Meaningfully: Restoring the BLV without constitutional authority over its core institutions (land, qoliqoli, affairs) renders it a ceremonial body. True leadership requires sovereign jurisdiction.

  The Call: A Constitutional Mandate for BLV Sovereignty

  The BLV must seize the momentum generated by Dr. Ponipate Rokolekutu’s recent analysis, Rabuka’s 2022 campaign promises, and the powerful example of PNG. Its demand must be unequivocal:

  “It must call for a new constitutional order that:

  1.  Explicitly vests ownership and management authority of iTaukei customary resources in the Resource Owning Units.

  2.  Recognizes the Bose Levu Vakaturaga, as the supreme traditional guardian of iTaukei custom, land rights, and resource sovereignty, empowered to oversee and guide the implementation of these rights.

  3.  Mandates the creation of a BLV-accountable Resource Authority, replacing TLTB, to serve ROUs with technical expertise, transparency, and unwavering loyalty to Vanua interests.

  4.  Enshrines Free, Prior, and Informed Consent as a non-derogable right for all land and resource dealings.

  5.  Initiates the process to restore iTaukei rights over subsurface minerals.”

  Conclusion: From Colonial Shackles to Constitutional Sovereignty

  Papua New Guinea illuminates the path: customary resources sovereignty is achievable when constitutionally enshrined and fiercely guarded. Fiji’s iTaukei are not asking for a privilege; they demand the restoration of a fundamental right stolen by colonial law and perpetuated by the neo-colonial state. The hybrid model – a constitutionally empowered BLV overseeing a restructured, service-oriented Resources Authority – offers a pragmatic yet revolutionary path. It learns from PNG’s empowerment while proactively addressing its implementation challenges. This is not mere administrative change; it is a constitutional revolution. The BLV must lead this fight, not just for resources, but for the very soul and future of the Vanua. The time for tinkering with TLTB is over. The time for constitutional recognition of BLV-led iTaukei sovereignty is now.

  2025.09.15

• Two Names, One Nation: Forging Fiji’s Covenant

  We stand at a crossroads of history and hope. Our journey as a nation has brought us far, yet the path to a more perfect union stretches before us, demanding our courage, our integrity, and our collective will. This journey is not mapped by foreign ideas but charted by the unique contours of our Vanua, our people, and a simple, profound idea that can define our future: that the term ‘iTaukei’ remains the exclusive and honoured name for the First People, the guardians of the Vanua, the owners of the land and resources, their heritage safeguarded by the Bose Levu Vakaturaga. And that the name ‘Fijian’ belongs to every single citizen of this nation.

  This is more than semantics; it is the decolonization of our identity and the foundation of our covenant. It grants the iTaukei the unequivocal recognition and security we deserve as the indigenous people, while offering every citizen – whether their ancestors walked these shores for millennia or arrived through the trials of girmit – the unequivocal belonging they crave under the shared banner of a common nationality. To be ‘iTaukei’ is to speak of ancestral identity. To be ‘Fijian’ is to swear allegiance to a common destiny.

  This foundational recognition is the first and most critical step toward reconciliation. For the Indo-Fijian community, it means moving beyond mere acknowledgment, to a deep, respectful understanding of we, the iTaukei as the First People. It is to honour the sanctity we hold of our Vanua – that profound, spiritual connection we have to land, resources, ancestry, and heritage that is not merely a concept but a living, breathing reality. The Bose Levu Vakaturaga is not a political relic but the steward of this soul, a vital institution that embodies custom, social structure, and a direct link to the ancestors. To understand this is to understand the very bedrock of our iTaukei identity.

  From this place of security and respect, a powerful, reciprocal belonging can flourish. It enables the iTaukei community, confident in the protection of our unique heritage, to extend the hand of unconditional family-hood, to fully integrate every citizen as an indispensable partner in our Fijian story. It is the only way an Indo-Fijian can truly say, “My home is here, my roots are deep, and my future is Fijian,” without reservation.

  Yet, this covenant of mutual recognition is not tested in grand declarations but in our daily actions. It is broken by the stereotype in a boardroom where an Indo-Fijian business owner, perhaps clinging to a misplaced sense of cultural superiority, overlooks iTaukei talent, perpetuating harmful myths about work ethic. This is not just a bad business practice; it is a failure to invest in the nation’s full potential and a rejection of the shared community the Vanua represents. True, inclusive prosperity is the only prosperity that will last.

  Conversely, the covenant is shattered when an iTaukei individual, burdened by historical grievance, unleashes that pain upon an Indo-Fijian citizen with a hateful shout. This act is a betrayal of the very values of the Vanua, which teaches veilomani (love and compassion) and veirogorogoci (respect). It denies the fundamental truth that the Indo-Fijian community has no other home; their roots are deep in Fijian soil, and their future is irrevocably tied to ours.

  This project of nation-building extends beyond social harmony to our economic sovereignty, where our communities have distinct but interconnected roles and responsibilities. True belief in Fiji is measured in more than words; it is measured in where we choose to invest our prosperity. The practice of transfer pricing, where wealth – predominantly from successful non-ITaukei businesses – is shifted abroad, drains the lifeblood from our economy. This is not merely a business decision; it is a choice between investing in Fiji or abandoning it. It is a betrayal of the very community and nation that fostered that success.

  This internal abdication stands in stark contrast to the external faith shown from afar. The immense remittances sent home, primarily by iTaukei workers and those living abroad, represent a powerful stream of investment and a profound vote of confidence. These funds, earned through sacrifice and hard work, are a lifeline of love that directly supports families, builds homes, and fuels local economies across our islands. If our iTaukei family abroad believes in us so fiercely, how can those who prosper on Fijian soil every day believe any less? This diaspora are our ambassadors and champions, demonstrating daily what true commitment to Fiji looks like. Their contribution, and that of the Indo-Fijian diaspora who also invest and remit, fortifies Fiji’s standing as a regional power, a status earned by the hard work of all our people.

  Our journey toward a more perfect union, is further complicated by the tensions that exist not just between our communities, but within them. We are not monolithic blocks. Within the iTaukei community, deep fissures exist, mirroring global divides. There are tensions between the fundamentalists and the secular, vividly illustrated in the fierce debate over support for Israel and the proposed embassy in Jerusalem. This is not a simple foreign policy issue; it strikes at the heart of religious identity, political alignment, and modern versus traditional worldviews, creating a schism as complex and passionate as that within Israel itself.

  Similarly, the Indo-Fijian community carries the enduring legacy of the subcontinent’s partition. The historical fractures between India and Pakistan continue to weave their way into modern Fiji, manifesting in cultural, religious, and sometimes political undertones, that influence community dynamics. These internal divisions are not signs of weakness; they are the realities of a living, breathing democracy. They are the many roads that one bus must travel on the route to nationhood. They make the need for a unifying, national identity – Fijian – all the more critical.

  This is precisely why we must banish extremism of any shape or form into irrelevance. Our effort to build a more perfect union requires a conscious citizenship that embraces complexity, rejects purity tests, and seeks the common good. It demands that we champion the cause of iTaukei aspiration not as a threat, but as the just and necessary foundation for true peace. It demands that iTaukei leadership and society open the doors of belonging so wide, that every citizen feels an unconditional sense of home. It demands that our economic choices—from the largest corporate boardroom to the smallest market stall—are made with a single, unifying purpose.

  We are not without a blueprint for this complex work. Look to the spirit of Suva Grammar School, a microcosm of the Fiji we strive to become. On its grounds, the distinctions of background fade into the shared identity of being an Old Scholar. iTaukei, Indo-Fijian, and every other community stand side-by-side, united by a common experience, mutual respect, and a collective pride. The school did not erase their identities; it layered upon them a greater, shared identity—that of a family. This is the model we must scale to the nation.

  A more perfect union is within our grasp. It is a Fiji where the iTaukei heritage is honoured without question, where every citizen belongs utterly as a Fijian without reservation, and where our economic choices are made for the collective good. It is a nation that acknowledges its internal complexities but is not defined by them.

  Our children and grandchildren will not ask us how much wealth we accumulated for ourselves. They will ask what we built for them. They will ask if we were brave enough to confront the hard truths, to invest in the difficult conversations, and to choose the collective “us” over the comfortable “I.” Let us bequeath them a nation united in spirit and thriving in fact—a true testament to our covenant of Viti, built on the powerful, inclusive truth of two honoured names.

  2025.09.14

• Fiji’s Constitutional Crossroads: A Hammer in Search of New Tools – The Paradox of Change in a Land of Coups

  The ancient adage that “when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail” finds unsettling resonance in Fiji’s turbulent political history. For decades, Fijian politics has been dominated by the hammer of authoritarian imposition and military force, with constitutions abrogated and rewritten to serve the interests of those in power. The 2013 Constitution, crafted by the Bainimarama/Khaiyum regime with “no extensive public consultation process” and “imposed by decree after an unlawful coup,” represented the ultimate expression of this hammer-and-nail governance . Today, Fiji stands at a historic juncture—the Supreme Court recently, effectively reshaped this flawed document, declaring its amendment provisions “virtually unamendable” and reducing the impossible threshold for change to a more democratic process . The pressing question that now confronts Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka’s coalition government, is whether they will continue reaching for familiar hammers or finally embrace a more diverse toolkit for nation-building.

  The Burden of History and the Democratic Deficit

  Fiji’s constitutional journey has been anything but smooth. Since independence in 1970, the nation has had four constitutions, with all but the current one abrogated following military interventions. The 2013 Constitution emerged from what the Supreme Court frankly acknowledged as an undemocratic process—drafted by a small group of officials over a very short period, lacking legitimate public participation, and imposed from above rather than growing from the collective will of the Fijian people. This origin created what the Court termed a “democratic deficit”, a fundamental illegitimacy that has haunted the document despite three elections conducted under its provisions.

  The Constitution’s amendment procedures were deliberately designed to be virtually unchangeable, requiring a 75% parliamentary majority plus the same supermajority in a referendum—a threshold so prohibitively high, that it effectively rendered the people powerless to alter their fundamental law. This rigidity reflected the hammer mentality of its authors: having fashioned the constitution to serve their interests, they ensured it would remain immune to democratic modification. The coalition government’s challenge to these provisions represented not merely a technical legal maneuver but a fundamental confrontation with Fiji’s authoritarian legacy.

  The Courts Intervention: Providing New Tools

  The Supreme Court’s landmark opinion offers a potential breakthrough in this democratic impasse. In a remarkable exercise of judicial power, the Court remedially interpreted the amendment provisions, lowering the threshold to a two-thirds parliamentary majority plus a simple majority of voters in a referendum. This decision reflects profound judicial wisdom—it neither capitulates to government demands for simple majority amendment nor preserves the existing impossibility of change. Instead, it charts a middle path that makes amendment feasible while still requiring broad consensus.

  The Court’s reasoning deserves particular attention. Rather than engaging in pure textual interpretation, the justices adopted a contextual approach that considered Fiji’s complex political history and the democratic values underlying constitutional governance. They emphasized that the spirit of the Constitution—promoting “a democratic society based on human dignity, equality and freedom”—must take precedence over rigid textual provisions that undermine that very spirit. This approach recognizes that constitutionalism cannot be reduced to a mere hammer of control but must serve as a diverse toolkit for democratic flourishing.

  Table: Comparing Constitutional Amendment Requirements

  Document	Parliamentary Majority Required	Referendum Requirement	Practical Effect
  2013 Constitution (Original)	75% of MPs	75% of registered voters	Virtually unamendable
  Supreme Court Revised Standard	66% of MPs	Simple majority of voters	Difficult but achievable
  Government’s Desired Standard	Simple majority	None	Easily amendable

  Cabinet’s Pathway: Between Vision and Political Reality

  The Supreme Court’s decision presents the coalition government with both extraordinary opportunity and profound responsibility. Cabinet now stands at a crossroads with three potential pathways forward:

  1. The Pathway of Constitutional Reform

  The government can initiate a genuinely inclusive process for constitutional revision, something multiple stakeholders have demanded. National Federation Party Leader Professor Biman Prasad has called for “a full national dialogue on the Constitution” through a “representative constitutional review commission” that would “ensure that all Fijians’ voices are heard and respected” . This approach would require careful statesmanship rather than hammer-force, recognizing that constitutional legitimacy derives from process as much as substance.

  The government must particularly address concerns raised by minority communities, especially Indo-Fijians who fear that lowered amendment thresholds might enable majority tyranny. As Fiji Labour Party Leader Mahendra Chaudhry warned, “The Indian community… feels particularly vulnerable in light of the country’s history of race-based coups and the trampling of their rights” . A visionary cabinet would prioritize protective mechanisms for minority rights that cannot be easily amended, perhaps through special entrenchment provisions or power-sharing arrangements.

  2. The Pathway of Economic Transformation

  Constitutional change cannot occur in a vacuum—it must be accompanied by economic vision. The IMF’s 2025 assessment notes that while Fiji’s economy has recovered from the pandemic with 3.7% growth in 2024, significant challenges remain: public debt at 80% of GDP, infrastructure constraints, vulnerability to natural disasters, and “brain drain” of human capital . The government’s economic toolkit must address these issues through balanced fiscal policies—continuing growth-friendly consolidation while investing in climate resilience and human development.

  The IMF recommends focusing on “enhancing the business environment,” “addressing ageing infrastructure,” and “improving transport network and digital connectivity” . These priorities require technocratic competence rather than political hammering—a recognition that economic prosperity emerges from careful planning and institutional stability rather than grand gestures.

  3. The Pathway of Reconciliation and Justice

  Perhaps the most delicate challenge concerns Fiji’s troubled past. The Supreme Court notably maintained immunity for those behind the 1987 and 2000 coups “in the interests of ‘stability and continuity’”, but this decision remains controversial. Prime Minister Rabuka himself—who orchestrated the 1987 coups—now positions himself as a reconciler, but many question whether true reconciliation can occur without accountability.

  The proposed Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) offers a potential middle path, but its success requires Rabuka’s full participation and transparency. As one analysis notes, “For the TRC to transcend political theatre, Rabuka must pair radical accountability with strategic diplomacy” . This might include testifying with “raw honesty” about his role in the 1987 coups, leading efforts to scrap coup-related immunity provisions, and eventually stepping down to enable generational change . Such actions would represent a decisive break from hammer politics toward a more nuanced toolkit of transitional justice.

  Obstacles to a Visionary Pathway

  Despite these opportunities, formidable obstacles threaten to return Fiji to “politics as usual”:

  • Coalition Management: The ruling coalition comprises three parties with potentially divergent interests. Workshops on Fijian democracy revealed challenges in “the coordination of the 3 governing parties” , suggesting that internal tensions might impede bold action.
  • Ethnic Divisions: Reconciliation of “indigenous iTaukei and Indo-Fijians” remains a central challenge , compounded by the need for “balancing Western law with customary law and indigenous rights and customs” . These divisions require careful navigation rather than heavy-handed solutions.
  • Generational Transition: With over 60% of the population being youth, there is growing impatience with leaders whose careers “began with guns, not ballots” . The government must balance the experience of older leaders with the energy and new perspectives of younger generations.

  Table: Key Challenge Areas for Fiji’s Coalition Government

  Challenge Category	Specific Issues	Required Approach
  Political-Institutional	Coalition coordination, constitutional reform, judicial independence	Consensus-building, inclusive dialogue
  Socio-Ethnic	iTaukei-Indo-Fijian relations, indigenous rights, customary law	Power-sharing, cultural sensitivity
  Economic-Developmental	High public debt, infrastructure deficits, climate vulnerability	Technocratic competence, strategic investment
  Intergenerational	Youth inclusion, leadership transition, digital transformation	Mentorship programs, political renewal

  Conclusion: Beyond the Hammer Mentality

  Fiji’s Supreme Court has provided what might be the most important judicial decision in the nation’s history—not by imposing another hammer but by offering a diverse set of constitutional tools. The Court has effectively said that the people of Fiji must have meaningful ability to shape their fundamental law, but that changes should reflect broad consensus rather than narrow interests.

  The coalition government now faces its defining test. Will it retreat to the familiar hammers of Fijian politics—authoritarian imposition, ethnic favoritism, and personalistic rule? Or will it embrace a more sophisticated toolkit of inclusive dialogue, careful consensus-building, and visionary planning? The answer will determine whether Fiji remains trapped in its history of coups and constitutions or finally transitions to a stable democratic future.

  The Supreme Court has given Fiji something rare: a second chance at constitutional democracy. How the government uses this opportunity will determine whether the nation becomes a democratic exemplar for the Pasifika or another case study in missed opportunities. The tools are now available; vision and courage are all that’s required to use them wisely.

  2025.09.10