Tag: leadership

• From Coup Maker to Kingmaker: Can Rabuka Cement His Legacy By Stepping Aside?

  As Fiji inches toward the 2026 general elections, our nation stands at a pivotal juncture. The question looming over our political future is not merely about policies or party platforms but about identity: Can a country still haunted by the ghosts of its coups and constitutional crises—embodied in the figures who orchestrated them—truly evolve if it remains chained to the architects of its turbulent past?

  At the heart of this reckoning is Prime Minister Sitiveni Ligamamada Rabuka—a man whose life mirrors Fiji’s jagged political arc. The same hands that orchestrated two coups in 1987 now position him as a reconciler, a bridge-builder in our fractured democracy. Yet to many, especially our youth who make up over 60% of the population, Rabuka embodies a paradox: a figure of division masquerading as a unifier, a relic of the past steering a nation desperate to move forward.

  The TRC: A Reckoning or a Farce?
  Fiji’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) offers a rare chance to confront this paradox. Modeled after South Africa’s post-apartheid process, the TRC’s success hinges not only on Rabuka’s willingness to surrender to transparency but also on the cooperation of Fiji’s entrenched power brokers. At the apex, stands Ratu Naiqama Lalabalavu, the Turaga Tui Cakau, whose influence on Rabuka and traditional Vanua Levu’s chiefly hierarchies (Vanua) looms large.

  Rabuka’s acts of reconciliation—accepting apologies, preaching unity—have been politically shrewd but symbolically shallow. They sidestep the elephant in the room: immunity. The constitutional clauses shielding him and others from prosecution for past coups remain intact, mocking Fiji’s claims to justice. For the TRC to transcend political theater, Rabuka must pair radical accountability with strategic diplomacy.

  Here’s what that courage could look like:

  1. Testify, Don’t Obfuscate: Rabuka must detail his role in the 1987 coups before the TRC—not with vague regret, but with raw honesty about their human toll and democratic vandalism. This would lend credibility to the TRC and signal that no one, not even Chiefs, is above the nation’s truth.
  2. Tear Down the Immunity Shield: As PM, he could lead the charge to scrap coup-related immunity from the constitution. Yes, this risks his own prosecution—but it would dismantle the legal loopholes that incentivize future power grabs.
  3. Resign to Reignite—But Not Without a Plan: After catalyzing these reforms, Rabuka should step down. Yet his exit must be negotiated. To avoid destabilizing the People’s Alliance, he must secure the Tui Cakau’s endorsement of a successor. Only then could he pivot from strongman to statesman, prioritizing Fiji’s future over his foothold in power.

  Why Generational Change Isn’t Optional—But Far From Simple
  Fiji’s demographic reality is impossible to ignore. A youth bulge pulses with energy, digital fluency, and impatience with the cycles of coup and counter-coup. Yet, the political arena remains dominated by figures like Rabuka, whose careers began with guns, not ballots. The PAP’s deputy party leaders and ranks, represent an untapped bridge to this younger electorate. But their rise is eclipsed by Rabuka’s enduring dominance and the “regional kingmakers”, who hold the keys to power.

  The danger of clinging to old-guard leaders is not just ideological; it is existential. Climate change, economic inequality, and technological disruption demand agile, forward-thinking governance. Yet, Fiji’s political transition must also navigate the ambitions of potential PAP successors and their hunger for power.

  2026: Stability or Stagnation?
  Rabuka’s defenders argue that his experience “stabilizes” Fiji’s fragile coalition. But stability without justice is stagnation. The 2026 elections will reveal whether Fiji’s democracy values accountability—or still cowers before the ghosts of its past.

  To win, any successor must reckon with a ‘kingmaker role’, a lesson from Ratu Naiqama’s 2001 CAMV split that left then-PM Laisenia Qarase perpetually indebted. Today, the Tui Cakau’s loyalty to Rabuka is both an asset and a shackle. A smooth transition requires Rabuka to persuade his High Chief to back a reformist successor—someone who can appeal to both traditionalists and the youth.

  Imagine instead: A campaign where parties led by a new generation—unshackled from coup baggage but attuned to regional realities—compete on visions for climate resilience, anti-corruption reforms, and equitable development. Imagine a PAP rejuvenated by fresh leadership, its legacy reshaped not by Rabuka’s past, but by his willingness to broker a future that honors both the Vanua and progress.

  Conclusion: The Redemption Rabuka Still Chases
  History will judge Rabuka not by his ability to cling to power, but by his courage to relinquish it—and to negotiate the terms of his exit. His final act could be the greatest service to Fiji: using his influence to dismantle the systems that once protected him, while ensuring his successor inherits both the mantle of leadership and the support of Fiji’s fractious power blocs.

  The TRC is more than a process; it is a mirror. If Rabuka stares into it unflinchingly—and convinces the Turaga Tui Cakau to peer into it alongside him—he might yet see the statesman he longs to be. If he turns away, history will remember him as the man who could not let go.

  Vinaka vakalevu, Prime Minister. The nation awaits your next move—and the alliances you must forge to make it matter.

  May 13, 2025

  2025.09.24

• 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

• 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