Tag: technology

• Google’s Natadola data centre: A digital hub cannot run on empty

  There is no denying the significance of Google’s US250 million contribution to our GDP. For a small island nation, this is transformative — on paper.

  But as construction proceeds and cables land on our shores, a fundamental question remains: Is Google also investing in the water and electricity infrastructure that will keep this data centre running?

  Because without a serious commitment to upgrading these already strained utilities, this “digital hub” risks becoming a drain on a system that is already gasping for air.

  A project shrouded in questions

  Community leaders in Malomalo are demanding transparency, claiming the project proceeded without adequate consultation. Malomalo representative Emoni Rokomoce has raised concerns about cables running underground along the beach and their potential impact on marine resources and qoliqoli fishing grounds. Nadroga Navosa Resource Owners Committee representative Mosese Volavola has warned that legal action may follow, noting that resource owners understood the lease to be for tourism — not a data centre.

  The iTLTB confirmed a 25-year sublease was granted to Natadola Bay Resort Ltd (FNPF) from January 1, 2025, later assigned to Staghorn Services Pte Ltd for the Google Data Center and registered on February 23, 2026. As reported by media personalities, questions sent to FNPF, Google, EFL and WAF, remained unanswered.

  That silence is telling.

  A grid already at breaking point

  Even without Google, EFL had warned that the country faces one of its most difficult operating periods in recent years, with low water levels at Monasavu, rising fuel costs and prolonged dry conditions placing increasing pressure on power supply. Around 45 to 50 percent of electricity generation still depends on imported fuel, leaving the system vulnerable to global price shocks.

  EFL has warned of potential controlled power rationing and has already secured an interim fuel surcharge to keep the lights on. Westpac has noted that at current tariff levels, EFL would be unable to adequately fund new generation capacity, transmission upgrades or system-wide resilience. With electricity demand growing at around five percent annually, the bank warned that “outage risks rise” when tariffs are held below the cost of reliable supply.

  Hyperscale projects like Google’s facility will add to current power demands, making sustained investment in energy infrastructure crucial. But who is paying for that investment?

  Water: A resource under siege

  Fiji’s water infrastructure is no better. The Finance Minister recently acknowledged that government inherited “a critical crisis in the water sector with an aging water infrastructure, where 50 percent of the water is lost through leakage”. The Fiscal Review Committee had estimated that we require billions of dollars to upgrade water systems.

  Current assessments show that nearly one in four of our water sources are already under stress, with 16 percent at critical levels. An $8.7 billion water infrastructure strategy had been launched, acknowledging that the challenges cannot be solved within a single government term.

  Data centres are notoriously water-intensive. A 15-megawatt facility can consume 80 to 130 million gallons of water annually. Google itself reported using 4.3 billion gallons of water for cooling in 2022. While Fiji’s tropical climate may reduce some cooling demands, the facility will still require substantial water resources — resources that are already stretched thin.

  The missing piece of the puzzle

  Google has framed this project as part of its Pacific Connect Initiative, designed to make Fiji a regional digital crossroads. The facility will house data transmission servers, network equipment, backup power systems and generators. But nowhere in the public announcements is there clarity on how this facility will be powered and cooled without exacerbating our existing infrastructure deficits.

  Google is investing in fibre optic connectivity, including a terrestrial link between Suva and Natadola. It has committed to sourcing local services where possible. But has it committed a single dollar to upgrading EFL’s generation capacity? Has it pledged to fund new water treatment or distribution infrastructure?

  The answer, based on all public records, appears to be no.

  A fair question deserves an answer

  This is not an anti-development argument. Fiji needs investment, jobs and digital connectivity. The economic potential is real. But development cannot be a one-way street. If Google is going to build a facility that places additional demands on our fragile electricity grid and a stressed water system, it must also also invest in expanding and upgrading those systems.

  Westpac has noted that financing energy investments in Small Island Developing States is difficult due to high capital costs and limited economies of scale. Google is not a small player. It has the resources to fund infrastructure that would benefit not just its own facility, but the wider Fijian public.

  The government is already struggling. EFL has warned of negative cashflows from July 2026. The Water Authority is scrambling to address critical water shortages. Adding a major data centre to this equation without corresponding investment in utilities is not just irresponsible — it is unsustainable.

  The people of Malomalo deserve transparency. The people of Fiji deserve to know whether this digital future will be powered by Fijian resources, or by Fijian sacrifice.

  Google must answer: What are you investing in our water and electricity infrastructure?

  Because a data centre cannot run on promises alone.

  2026.07.27

• Digital Sovereignty in the Age of AI: Why the Pasifika Must Send Its Best to Both Superpowers

  A quiet scandal sits inside Fiji’s immigration system. Every passport application, every visa, every piece of sensitive biometric data from Fijian citizens is collected through Jotforms—an American‑owned platform run by a Turkish national, hosted on foreign servers beyond our legal reach. Worse, just months ago, the system failed to open because it had “run out of paid or free quota.” A national border function, reduced to a cloud subscription.

  This is not sovereignty. This is digital negligence.

  Yet when someone points out that China’s open‑source AI revolution offers an alternative path—that models like DeepSeek are now neck‑and‑neck with America’s best, and freely available for any nation to download, inspect, and run locally—the response is sometimes dismissive: “Another DeepSeek preacher.”

  That dismissal misses the point entirely. Observing a strategic shift in global technology is not preaching. It is prudence. The real question is not whether to trust China or the United States. It is how a small Pasifika nation navigates between two superpowers without becoming a vassal of either.

  The Jotforms Lesson: Dependency Is Dangerous

  Our current reliance on Jotforms is a perfect example of what happens when no one is paying attention. We handed our citizens’ most sensitive data to a closed‑source, foreign‑controlled platform with no transparency, no local audit, and no fallback when the quota ran out. Where are our local IT geniuses? They are here—graduating from USP, from FNU, from our technical colleges. But they have never been given a strategic mission or the political backing to build national systems from scratch.

  The answer, however, is not to replace American dependency with Chinese dependency. That would be the same mistake, just a different flag. A Chinese cloud platform holding our passport data is no more sovereign than an American one.

  Non‑Alignment in the Age of AI

  For decades, Pasifika nations have practised geopolitical non‑alignment—engaging with Washington, Beijing, Canberra, and Tokyo on our own terms, refusing to be pawns in anyone’s cold war. We need the same doctrine for artificial intelligence.

  China’s open‑source AI models are a powerful tool precisely because they are open. We can download DeepSeek, run it on our own servers, modify it for our languages and needs, and never send a single citizen’s data across an undersea cable. That is fundamentally different from closed‑source American platforms like Jotforms, OpenAI, or Google Cloud, where the code is secret and the data leaves our jurisdiction.

  But the United States still leads in foundational research, chip design, and private investment. American universities like MIT—where young Penioni Narube from Cuvu Village is heading—remain world leaders. To ignore American AI would be as foolish as ignoring Chinese AI.

  A responsible Pasifika government sends its best to both.

  Three Concrete Steps

  1. Audit and reclaim. Conduct an immediate audit of every foreign digital service holding citizen data—Jotforms included. Migrate critical systems to open‑source, locally‑hosted alternatives using code from any nation, but always under our own physical and legal control.
  2. Send our best to both. Establish scholarships and exchange programs with both MIT and Tsinghua University, Stanford and Zhejiang University. Let our brightest software engineers learn AI from every major power, then return to build regional capacity.
  3. Declare digital non‑alignment. Adopt a formal policy that no exclusive cloud or AI agreement will be signed with any single country. Build interoperability, redundancy, and choice into every government system. Small nations survive by keeping options open.

  The Cost of Doing Nothing

  If we continue on our current path, we will wake up in five years to find our government data scattered across half a dozen foreign cloud platforms, our citizens’ faces and fingerprints held in servers we cannot inspect, and our AI future dictated by whichever superpower offers the cheapest subscription.

  That is not sovereignty. That is a quiet surrender.

  The open‑source AI revolution—accelerated by China’s DeepSeek—is not a reason to abandon caution. It is a reason to act. The tools are free. The talent is here. The only missing ingredient is the courage to take a shot, just as a young man from Cuvu did.

  Let us honour his journey by building a Pasifika that no longer needs to send its data abroad. Let us send our best to both superpowers—and then bring them home to build for ourselves.

  2026.05.15

• Toxic by Default: Why Fiji Must Wake Up to our Social Media Crisis

  Acting DPP Nancy Tikoisuva delivered a sobering reality check this week: social media posts do not move the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions. “We only respond to evidence – admissible evidence,” she said. Hearsay and online chatter do not count in a court of law.

  But beneath that legal clarity lies a deeper crisis. If social media is not a court, what is it becoming? For Fiji, the answer is alarming. Against a backdrop of escalating drugs, HIV and NCD crises, our online spaces have devolved into an “outlaw country”—a toxic swamp of hate, scams, and anonymous trolling. As one observer put it, “every person for himself and herself.” The question for the National Security Council (NSC): Should the digital realm be policed for our national sanity? The answer is my view is, yes.

  The unseen threat to national cohesion

  Prime Minister Rabuka rightly stated that national security now includes digital systems and psychological well‑being. Social media toxicity is not a nuisance—it is a security threat. Hate speech, doxxing and coordinated harassment erode our social fabric, traumatise individuals and substitute mob rule for the rule of law. The damage to our collective Pasifika psyche is as real as any drug bust.

  Consider the real‑world consequences. Young Fijians are self‑harming after online pile‑ons. Families are torn apart by viral lies. Witnesses to serious crimes refuse to come forward because they fear being named and shamed on Facebook before they ever reach a police station. The DPP’s office cannot act on a screenshot—but the damage is already done. This is not a moral panic; it is a public health and security emergency dressed in digital clothing.

  The Singapore solution: a blueprint for the Pasifika

  Australia and Indonesia have banned under‑16s from social media. But Fiji should study Singapore’s more comprehensive model. Singapore’s Protection from Harassment Act (POHA) criminalises online harassment, stalking and doxxing, with extraterritorial reach and penalties up to 12 months’ jail. Its Online Criminal Harms Act (OCHA) lets authorities swiftly disable criminal content.

  Most relevant is Singapore’s new Online Safety (Relief and Accountability) Bill (OSRA) , launched this year. It creates an Online Safety Commission with real teeth: binding takedown orders, account restrictions, and the power to unmask anonymous abusers. Victims of deepfakes, doxxing and sexual harassment get a one‑stop agency. Platforms that refuse to comply face criminal sanctions. And statutory torts let victims sue abusers, group admins and platforms directly. Singapore removes anonymity as a shield and places legal duties on those who run online spaces.

  Why does this matter for Fiji? Because our current Online Safety Commission has publicly admitted it lacks the legal authority to remove harmful content or compel platforms to act. A victim can report a death threat, but the Commission’s hands are tied. Singapore showed that strong laws do not kill free speech—they kill impunity. In the three years since POHA was strengthened, Singapore saw no decline in legitimate expression, but a measurable drop in organised online harassment campaigns.

  A mandate for the National Security Council?

  Fiji is not starting from scratch. A taskforce aims to bar under‑16s by year’s end, and Minister Tabuya admits the current Online Safety Act lacks “teeth.” But a ban on children does nothing for today’s toxic adult spaces. The NSC must urgently study the Singapore model and recommend a multi‑layered approach:

  1. Empower the Online Safety Commission – binding takedown notices, fines for non‑compliant platforms, and investigative powers without waiting for police.

  2. Criminalise anonymity for abusers – compel platforms to reveal perpetrators’ identities upon reasonable suspicion of criminal harassment.

  3. Duty of care legislation – hold group and platform administrators legally liable if they knowingly allow hate speech to thrive.

  Concluding

  The DPP’s warning is stark: the court of public opinion is lawless. When we allow social media to become a toxic dumping ground without consequence, we undermine the police, the courts and the rule of law. Protecting the national psyche is now as vital as protecting our borders. Without urgent, enforceable laws along Singapore’s lines, Fiji’s digital future will remain a lawless frontier—damaging our collective soul one hateful post at a time. The National Security Council meets to address threats. It is time they recognised that the most pervasive threat today is not at the border. It is in the palm of every Fijian’s hand.

  2026.05.12

• The Bitter Truth: It’s Time for Fiji to Let Go of its Sugar Daddy and Embrace a Real Future

  For over 160 years, the sugar industry has been more than just an economic activity in Fiji; it has been a national identity, a political football, and a colonial ghost that refuses to leave. But the question we must now courageously ask is this: Are we preserving a vital national asset, or are we clinging to a monument of historical injustice that is haemorrhaging money and holding the nation back?

  The case for the prosecution is damning. The industry is a relic of a colonial paternalistic system designed to keep iTaukei in their villages while their land was used to generate wealth for others. Today, it is economically unviable. We cannot compete with the giants of Brazil, Australia, and India. The government subsidises it to the tune of millions annually to sustain an ever-shrinking number of farmers and workers in what can only be described as indentured servitude to a dying trade.

  The opportunity cost is staggering. While FSC buys sugar at F$100 per tonne, commodities like kava command up to $120,000 per tonne. Our land, cursed by generations of chemical runoff, could be nurturing high-value, sustainable crops. Instead, we pour good money after bad, perpetuating a cycle of poverty for the very iTaukei landowners who should be the primary beneficiaries of their own vanua.

  So, why does it persist? The answer is the political elephant in the room. It is a failure of courage that mirrors a broader paralysis in our governance.

  This same lack of strategic bravery is painfully evident in our approach to the digital future. The government proudly touts a National Digital Strategy, 5G networks, and a Google Data Centre. Yet, these achievements risk being a veneer of progress. After nearly three years, the government has been unable to cancel an exorbitant contract with a foreign IT company that effectively holds our country’s critical data hostage. We have, as noted, lost our data sovereignty—a modern-day echo of the economic sovereignty we surrendered in the sugar industry.

  This failure has real consequences. While we host IT conferences that are “barely disguised vendor exhibitions,” our municipal councils remain stuck in the past, crippled by political indecision on local government reform. How can we talk about a FinTech Hub when we cannot digitise basic local services? Our budding BPO industry in Valelevu, a potential source of jobs, is already at risk of being decimated by AI, a threat we are simply not ready for. We are trying to build a skyscraper on a foundation of sand.

  But if not sugar, then what? This is where our vision must expand beyond replacing one crop with another, and confront our technological inertia head-on.

  Yes, agricultural diversification is a critical first step. We must empower landowners to transition to high-margin products. However, the most profound transformation lies not solely in the soil, but in the mind. With AI reshaping the global economy, our goal cannot be to create only a new generation of farmers, but to create a generation of innovators.

  Our investment must be a courageous, dual-track mission:

  1. Agricultural Justice: A managed, just transition out of sugar. This means direct investment in landowners and retraining for farmers, not as a handout, but as a capital injection for a new beginning, breaking the colonial cycle for good.
  2. Digital Sovereignty: A concurrent, ruthless prioritisation of genuine digital governance. This starts with reclaiming control of our national data and infrastructure. It means moving beyond glossy strategies to implementing practical IT systems that improve lives, and—critically—launching a national upskilling program focused on AI literacy. We must prepare our youth not to be displaced by AI, but to harness it.

  Saving the sugar industry is an act of confinement. Similarly, clinging to outdated IT contracts and superficial digital projects is a betrayal of our future potential. It chains us to past weaknesses.

  The choice is clear: we can continue to be custodians of a dying, 160-year-old legacy and a shaky digital facade, or we can become the architects of a new Fiji. One that honours its people by finally giving them the tools—both agricultural and digital—to thrive in the 21st century. The political courage to break these twin cycles of dependency will define our nation for generations to come. It is time to stop feeding the elephants in the room and start building for the future.

  2025.09.22