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Is Fiji Ready for an Indo-Fijian PRESIDENT? ‘NOT YET’ Cannot Become ‘Never’: Jale Moala, Dennis Rounds and Question of Indo-Fijian President

7/9/2026

Konrote

JALE Moala and Dennis Rounds, two veteran journalistic colleagues from my years in Fiji’s newsrooms and court corridors during the 1980s, have raised a question that reaches into the heart of the country’s unresolved political history: is Fiji ready for an Indo-Fijian president?

I still cherish my enduring connections with both Jale Moala and Dennis Rounds. We navigated Fiji’s racial, ethnic and tribal divisions without fear or favour, and without placing the interests of one community above those of another.

We did not always agree, nor should journalists be expected to agree. But our differences never diminished the friendship, professional solidarity and mutual respect forged during those difficult and formative years.

Jale Moala and I worked as sub-editors at the original Fiji Sun - Jale Moala on the sports desk and I on the news desk. During weekend shifts, occasionally joined by Jo Nata, we shared our different foods from the same plate.

It was a simple and natural newsroom ritual, but it also represented the Fiji in which we believed: people from different racial, cultural and religious backgrounds working together, eating together and judging one another by character rather than ancestry.

My relationship with Dennis Rounds was forged largely in the courtrooms of Suva. Dennis Rounds was reporting for the Fiji Broadcasting Commission, while I covered the courts for the Fiji Sun. Hardly a day passed when, after the court proceedings had concluded, we did not alert each other to prominent cases that one of us might have missed.

There was one memorable exception.

Both Dennis Rounds and Bharat Jamnadas of The Fiji Times missed the appearance of the then Fiji Sun editor, the late Adishwar Padarath, before the Suva Magistrates’ Court. Padarath was appearing on an allegation that he had assaulted the United States Ambassador to Fiji.

Sir Frederick Gordon Ward

The Chief Magistrate, Gordon Ward, happened to be drinking coffee with his wife at the old Anchor Inn when I walked past them. Ward quietly told me that he was due to hear Padarath’s case at a special sitting that afternoon and instructed me to return to court promptly at 4.30pm.

I rushed back for the hearing.

This was an age without mobile telephones, email or instant messaging. There was no practical way for me to alert Dennis Rounds or Bharat Jamnadas before the special sitting began.

After the hearing, I was driven straight back to the Fiji Sun office in the company van and hurried into the publisher’s office.

The then news editor, Nemani Delaibatiki, and the New Zealand publisher, Jim Carney, faced an extraordinary editorial dilemma: how to publish the court appearance of their own editor without compromising the independence and credibility of the newspaper.

The report of Padarath’s court appearance was published under my byline. I was not dismissed. Instead, Padarath was suspended and subsequently resigned as editor of both the Fiji Sun and the Sunday Sun.

Padarath had been notorious for “spiking” stories he did not want published, earning him the newsroom nickname “Spike Padarath”. On this occasion, however, the story concerned “Spike” himself, and it was not spiked.

Gordon Ward later became President of the Fiji Court of Appeal. Following the 2006 coup, he was forced out of Fiji by the military junta, another distinguished judicial figure driven from the country during a dark assault on Fiji’s constitutional and judicial institutions.

These personal recollections matter because they explain the spirit in which I respond to the question posed by Jale Moala and the thoughtful answer offered by Dennis Rounds.

This is not an exchange between strangers shouting at one another across Fiji’s racial divide. It is a discussion among old colleagues who reported on that divide, lived through its political consequences and tried to perform their duties without fear or favour.

Dennis Rounds begins with the familiar disclaimer: “I am not a racist but a realist.” Rounds argues that Fiji is not yet ready for a non-iTaukei president because the distrust that existed in 1987, grounded in iTaukei aspirations, fears and political attitudes, remains very much alive within the body politic. He maintains that Fiji will become ready only when it abandons the idea that a large proportion of its citizens are merely vulagi. Dennis Rounds also identifies the contradiction between the racist comments heard inside and outside Parliament and the simultaneous insistence that Fiji should become a Christian state.

I agree with much of Rounds’ diagnosis, but not with his conclusion.

First, Fiji has already had a Rotuman president. Major-General (retired) Jioji Konrote was nominated by Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama and elected by the FijiFirst-controlled Parliament in October 2015. He served as President until 2021.

The remaining barrier, therefore, is not whether Fiji can accept a Rotuman president. It is whether an Indo-Fijian, or another Fiji citizen standing outside the traditional iTaukei–Rotuman political embrace, will ever be permitted to occupy Government House.

There is also some personal history between Jioji Konrote and me.

In 2006, when I challenged the use of indigenous entitlement to justify discrimination against Indo-Fijians, Jioji Konrote publicly described me as “a racist, insensitive, and an ignorant individual”.

I responded vigorously. I had not questioned the dignity, identity or contribution of the Rotuman people. I was challenging a political arrangement under which Rotumans were placed alongside the iTaukei in a specially privileged constitutional category while Indo-Fijians, many of whose families had lived in Fiji for several generations, continued to be dismissed as vulagi.

But history did not end with that angry exchange.

In 2016, while serving as President, Jioji Konrote and First Lady Sarote Konrote received me warmly as a personal guest at a special farewell reception and dinner in London. I presented them with a signed copy of my book, and it emerged that both were avid followers of Fijileaks.

We talked and laughed together, including over our separate encounters with Queen Elizabeth II. Jioji Konrote joked that I had beaten him by 34 years because I had met the Queen during her visit to Fiji in 1982.

Dennis Rounds appears in the photograph of that 1982 royal encounter, standing behind me when we were young journalists in Fiji.

My later meeting with President Jioji Konrote did not require either of us to erase the past or pretend that our profound disagreement had never occurred. It demonstrated something more important: two people who had once exchanged extremely harsh words could meet again with dignity and look beyond race, anger and political conflict.

Perhaps that experience provides part of the answer to Jale Moala’s question.

Dennis Rounds is right that the distrust exposed in 1987 has not disappeared. Rounds is also right that racist language continues to be heard inside and outside Parliament, frequently from people who simultaneously demand that Fiji be proclaimed a Christian state.

But if that is the reality, why should racial prejudice be allowed to decide who may become President?

To say that Fiji is “not ready” risks giving the most racially intolerant elements of society a permanent veto over the presidency. It tells them that their prejudice will be accommodated until they voluntarily change their minds. Entrenched racial privilege rarely disappears merely because society waits patiently for enlightenment.

We heard essentially the same argument in 1987. Fiji was supposedly “not ready” to accept the electoral consequences of genuine multiracial democracy. That contention was used to overthrow a constitutionally elected government headed by an indigenous Fijian prime minister, Dr Timoci Bavadra.

“Realism” became the language through which coups, racial exclusion and the displacement of thousands of Indo-Fijians were rationalised. There is also a danger in asking whether “Fiji” is ready, as though the country possesses a single racial consciousness.

Which Fiji are we discussing?

Is it the Fiji of young people who study, work, play sport and form friendships across ethnic boundaries? Is it the Fiji of ordinary citizens whose immediate concerns are employment, security, education, healthcare and the cost of living? Or are we allowing a vocal group of racial nationalists to speak on behalf of the entire country?

The presidency should not belong by customary entitlement to any particular community. The relevant considerations should be integrity, wisdom, independence, constitutional judgment and the capacity to represent every Fiji citizen.

Ethnicity should neither qualify nor disqualify a candidate.

An Indo-Fijian president would not dispossess the iTaukei, diminish their culture or threaten their ownership of land. Nor would such an appointment erase the distinctive histories and identities of the iTaukei and Rotuman communities. It would simply confirm that the promise of equal citizenship extends to the highest office in the country.

Nor should an Indo-Fijian be appointed merely as an ethnic ornament or as an exercise in political symbolism. Fiji should not replace one form of racial entitlement with another. The objective must be to ensure that every suitably qualified Fiji citizen is capable of being considered, irrespective of ancestry.

Dennis Rounds may be correct that sections of Fiji remain psychologically unprepared. But perhaps that is precisely why the barrier must be crossed. Nations do not always become ready and then embrace change. Sometimes principled change is what makes a nation ready.

My friendships with Jale Moala and Dennis Rounds, our willingness to share food and information across cultural and professional boundaries, and my later meeting with President Jioji Konrote demonstrate that people can move beyond old wounds without surrendering their identities or convictions.

If former adversaries can sit together, exchange books, share memories and laugh about the past, Fiji should also be capable of looking beyond the racial boundaries inherited from its troubled history.

Jale Moala has asked whether it is time for a change.

My answer to Jale Moala is yes: it is time, not to appoint an Indo-Fijian merely because that person is Indo-Fijian, but to accept unequivocally that the best-qualified Fiji citizen may become President irrespective of race.

Dennis Rounds has accurately identified the prejudices that remain. But those prejudices must be confronted, not allowed to determine the limits of national possibility.

After nearly four decades, “not yet” is in danger of becoming another way of saying “never”.

From Fijileaks Archives

Frank Bainimarama's Interim Prime Minister LAISENIA QARASE, 2000:
"The crux of our political crisis in Fiji is that indigenous Fijian and Rotuman communities felt threatened by certain policies which the non-indigenous leadership of the People's Coalition Government had implemented following their decisive victory in our National Elections in May 1999. It was this fear and anxiety about their future as the world's only indigenous Fijian and Rotuman community of just over 420,000 people that led to mass demonstrations and ultimately the Coup d'etat on May 19th this year. It manifested itself also in the mass looting of shops, destruction of property, and threats to people and their families, and unfortunately and tragically, the victims were mainly members of our Indian community. It was in this serious and deteriorating law and order situation that the Fiji Military Forces responded to a request from our Police to take over direct control of law and order and the protection of citizens. To facilitate this role, the Fiji Military Forces abrogated our 1997 Constitution on 29th May. However, as the civilian Interim Administration, we have ourselves taken over from the Army and, as I have said, we are firmly committed to returning Fiji to constitutional parliamentary democracy. We intend to promulgate the new constitution in August next year. General elections will then follow within twelve months."
Address to the Fifty-Fifth Session of the UN General Assembly by Qarase, Bainimarama's then Interim PM, 16 September 2000

“Victor Lal’s articles [in Fiji's Daily Post] all have a simple, indeed simplistic stance, restore Chaudhry and impose democracy as defined by Lal and his friends. What he is advocating is an Indian supremacist doctrine, a new version of Hitlerian herrenvolk for Fiji. The racism lies in his desires, not those of us Fijians. His obsession to control Fiji, blinds him to his own ambitions.”
Ratu Inoke Kubuabola, then Interim Minister for Information in Bainimarama installed post Speight coup Qarase interim government, and now post 2014 election Minister for Foreign Affairs, 24 August 2000

The then Prince of Wales (now King Charles) with Bechu Prasad

LOOKING BEYOND RACE AND CONFLICT: President Jioji Konrote and the First Lady Sarote with Victor Lal who was a personal guest of the President at a special farewell reception and dinner in London last week. The Fijileaks founding Editor-in-Chief Victor Lal presented the President and the First Lady a signed copy of his book. It turned out both are avid followers of Fijileaks

Cracks of Concern at UniFiji’s Samabula Campus as Students Alert FHEC Questions intensify over roles of the architect ASHOK Balgovind, Ranjeet Construction and Arya Pratinidhi. UniFiji search for temporary premises

4/9/2026

Newly obtained photographs show extensive cracking inside the building as the University searches for temporary accommodation and questions intensify over the respective roles of architect Ashok Bal Govind, Ranjeet Construction and the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji.

Students at the University of Fiji’s Samabula campus have reported concerns about the condition of the building to the Fiji Higher Education Commission (FHEC), as newly obtained photographs show long and conspicuous cracks running through several internal walls.

The photographs obtained by Fijileaks appear to show cracking extending vertically from near the ceiling down substantial sections of the walls. One image shows a crack beginning close to the junction between a wall, beam and ceiling before continuing down the wall. Another shows a long, irregular crack beside what appears to be electrical or communications cabling.

Ashok Balgovind

The photographs alone cannot establish whether the cracks are superficial, the result of ordinary settlement or evidence of a more serious structural problem. That determination can be made only through an inspection by an appropriately qualified and independent structural engineer.

Nevertheless, the number, length and location of the visible cracks provide reasonable grounds for the concerns raised by students and demand a prompt and transparent response from the University and FHEC.

Fijileaks understands that the University of Fiji is now looking for alternative temporary accommodation for students and staff while uncertainty continues over the suitability of the Samabula premises.

The search for temporary accommodation raises an obvious question: has the University received advice that continued occupation may be unsafe, or is relocation being considered purely as a precaution? Students, lecturers and other staff members are entitled to a direct answer.

The controversy has also produced an argument over who is responsible for the present condition of the building. The parties whose respective roles require clarification include architect Ashok Balgovind, Ranjeet Construction & Joinery Works Ltd and the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji, the religious and educational organisation that owns and operates the University of Fiji.

The presence of cracks does not, by itself, prove negligence or defective construction by any particular person or organisation. Nor can responsibility properly be allocated without examining the architectural and structural plans, construction contract, inspection records, completion certificates and any subsequent defect or maintenance reports.

If the cracking originated in the design, questions may arise for the architects and engineers responsible for preparing and certifying the plans. If it resulted from materials or workmanship, attention may turn to the construction company and those responsible for supervising its work. If defects were identified but not rectified, or if maintenance, drainage, foundation movement or later alterations contributed to the problem, the responsibility may lie elsewhere or be shared among several parties.
These are technical and contractual questions that cannot be settled through private accusations or institutional finger-pointing.

Fijileaks understands that Kamlesh Arya, who has long been associated with the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji and the University of Fiji, is now working with or alongside architect Ashok Balgovind.

That present association does not establish responsibility for the cracks. It does, however, make it essential that neither Govind nor Arya should be placed in a position where they are effectively investigating, assessing or adjudicating matters in which their previous or present associations might reasonably raise questions about independence.

Any structural assessment must be conducted by engineers with no professional, commercial or institutional connection to Govind, Arya, Ranjeet Construction, the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji or the University’s management.

The University should also disclose precisely what role Govind played in the Samabula project. Was he responsible only for the architectural design, or did his responsibilities include construction supervision, certification or approval of completed work?

Ranjet Construction should be asked to disclose the scope of its contract, whether any defects were recorded during construction and whether it was subsequently called upon to carry out repairs.

The Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji must explain its role in commissioning, financing, owning or overseeing the building and whether its representatives received earlier warnings about cracks or other defects.

Kamlesh Arya should clarify the nature of his present association with Govind and whether either man has been involved in discussions about the condition of the Samabula building, possible remedial work or the University’s proposed move to temporary premises.

FHEC must now establish what the students reported, when the complaint was received and what action it has taken.

It should state whether its officers have inspected the campus, whether the University has been directed to obtain an independent structural report and whether any conditions have been imposed on the continued use of the building.

The University of Fiji should tell its students and staff:

when the cracks were first discovered;
whether they have widened or extended over time;
how many rooms or sections of the building are affected;
whether any parts of the campus have been closed;
whether a structural engineer has inspected the building;
who selected and instructed that engineer;
whether FHEC and the relevant municipal and workplace-safety authorities have been notified;
where students will be accommodated if the building is vacated; and
who will meet the costs of inspection, repairs and temporary relocation.

The newly obtained photographs cannot provide a structural diagnosis, but they reinforce the need for one.

This is no longer a matter that should be dealt with through assurances offered behind closed doors. The students have taken their concerns to the statutory body responsible for oversight of Fiji’s higher-education institutions. The University and FHEC must now respond with documentary evidence and independent professional findings.

Until that assessment is completed, no interested party should dismiss the cracks as merely cosmetic. Equally, Fijileaks does not attribute legal or professional responsibility to Govind, Ranjeet Construction, Arya or the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji without the technical reports and contractual documents required to support such a finding.

The immediate issue is safety. The next is accountability.

If the University is already searching for temporary accommodation, it must explain why, and it must do so before students are expected to return to or remain inside a building whose visible cracks have now been placed before FHEC and the wider public.

WHAT LIES BENEATH:
University of Fiji facilities workers investigating cracks in the Samabula Campus driveway discovered a substantial cavity beneath the concrete, containing plastic and pieces of cloth instead of a properly prepared and compacted supporting base.

The photograph raises serious questions about the driveway’s construction and whether unsuitable material was buried beneath the concrete. An independent engineering inspection is needed to establish the extent of the defect, its cause and whether other parts of the Samabula Campus are similarly affected.

As Sashi Kiran rules out a second term, the untold story of the $580,000 property she inherited from the late Dr Mridula Prasad and the role of Richard Naidu & Munro Leys, in facilitating the legal transfer of the house

3/9/2026

This is not an anonymous document supplied to Fijileaks* by an unknown source. Its origin, official custody and route into the statutory register are visible on its face. Transfer No. 858907 records that Kiran, acting as executrix and trustee of Dr Prasad’s estate, transferred the property to herself in her separate capacity as the beneficiary entitled under Dr Prasad’s will.
*It identifies Munro Leys as the lodging firm, Bhumika Khatri as the witness and Richard Naidu as the solicitor who certified the instrument for the purposes of the Land Transfer Act. The Registrar of Titles then acted upon the instrument by registering the transfer on 2 March 2018.

SASHI KIRAN says she will leave electoral politics after completing the single parliamentary term she always intended to serve. Her announcement provides an appropriate moment to publish a Fijileaks investigation completed earlier but displaced by fast-moving national events: the registered history of the $580,000 Bakshi Street property that Kiran disclosed in her statutory declaration but inherited from the late Dr Mridula Prasad.

Munro Leys lawyer Richard Naidu

Minister for Women, Children and Social Protection Sashi Kiran has announced that she does not intend to seek a second term in Parliament. Kiran told the Fiji Sun that she had decided from the beginning to devote only one term to politics and had communicated that intention to the National Federation Party. “My thing was I had given one term to politics,” she said while confirming that she did not intend to contest another election.

Her announcement, as Fiji moves closer to another general election, provides an appropriate moment to examine one part of the public record created during her time as an election candidate and office-holder. Fijileaks completed this investigation into Kiran’s property declaration and the Lands Registry records some time ago. However, a succession of fast-changing political, constitutional and legal developments meant that the story, and the registered transfer at its centre, was repeatedly pushed down the publication list.

The documents did not cease to be relevant merely because their publication was delayed. As Kiran prepares to bring her parliamentary career to an end after one term, Fijileaks now publishes the registered history behind one of the most valuable assets appearing in her statutory declaration: the property at 7 Bakshi Street, Samabula, Suva. The property, valued by Kiran at approximately $580,000, was formerly owned by the late Dr Mridula Prasad, a pioneering medical practitioner and campaigner for women’s health, sexual and reproductive rights, and the welfare of people affected by HIV and AIDS.

2023: Bhumika Khatri with Munro Leys

Kiran disclosed the property and its estimated value in her statutory declaration. She did not conceal her ownership of it. What the declaration did not explain, and may not have been legally required to explain, was how the property came into her possession. A Fijileaks search of Fiji’s Lands Registry supplies that history. The registered documents show that Kiran did not purchase the Bakshi Street property through an ordinary commercial transaction. She inherited it as the beneficiary of Dr Prasad’s estate. That is not evidence of wrongdoing. Inheritance is a lawful method of acquiring property, and the available documents do not establish anything improper about the transfer.

The public-interest significance lies elsewhere: the Lands Registry record completes the history of a substantial asset declared by a minister and reveals the professional process through which ownership was transferred and registered.

From Chinese whispers to the registered record

For years, Fiji’s chattering classes circulated, through the familiar process of Chinese whispers, the story that Kiran had inherited the Bakshi Street property from the late Dr Mridula Prasad. Repetition, however, is not proof. Fijileaks was not prepared to publish the claim merely because it had travelled widely through Fiji’s political, professional and social circles.

The Lands Registry search has now replaced rumour with the registered record. The provenance of the document is not mysterious. It was obtained from the official Lands Registry, where the transfer remains part of the registered history of Certificate of Title No. 9640.

The copy bears the Registry’s certification, identifies the transfer by number and records the date upon which the Registrar accepted and registered it. Some may contend that a document lodged in a public registry cannot establish its substantive contents unless every person involved in preparing, witnessing or presenting it comes forward to verify the details personally.

That may raise a different question where strict rules of courtroom admissibility apply. It does not prevent a news organisation from accurately reporting what an official, certified and independently retrievable public record states, particularly where the instrument identifies the parties, the witness, the solicitor, the lodging firm and the official act of registration.

This is not an anonymous document supplied to Fijileaks by an unknown source. Its origin, official custody and route into the statutory register are visible on its face. Transfer No. 858907 records that Kiran, acting as executrix and trustee of Dr Prasad’s estate, transferred the property to herself in her separate capacity as the beneficiary entitled under Dr Prasad’s will.

It identifies Munro Leys as the lodging firm, Bhumika Khatri as the witness and Richard Naidu as the solicitor who certified the instrument for the purposes of the Land Transfer Act. The Registrar of Titles then acted upon the instrument by registering the transfer on 2 March 2018. Those named individuals may explain their respective roles if they wish. Their voluntary confirmation is not required before Fijileaks can truthfully report what the certified Registry document records. What circulated for years as hearsay can now be reported as documentary fact, not because gossip eventually became true through repetition, but because the official register supplies the evidence.

From Dr Prasad’s estate to Kiran

The land is recorded under Certificate of Title No. 9640. Transfer No. 858907 was registered at the Lands Registry on 2 March 2018. The instrument identifies Sashi Kiran as executrix and trustee of the estate of Mridula, also known as Mridula Prasad. Acting in that representative capacity, Kiran transferred the estate’s interest in the property to herself in her separate personal capacity as the beneficiary entitled to the whole of the property.

The transfer was made pursuant to Dr Prasad’s will dated 8 March 2009. In law, there is a distinction between those two capacities. As executrix and trustee, Kiran was responsible for administering the estate and giving effect to the will. As beneficiary, she was the person entitled to receive the property.

An executor may also be a beneficiary. The fact that the same person appears on both sides of an estate transfer is not, by itself, irregular. The instrument must nevertheless record the separate capacities in which that person transfers and receives the property.

The registered document does so. The Registrar of Titles subsequently accepted the instrument and registered Kiran as the proprietor. The copy obtained by Fijileaks bears the Registry’s certification as a true copy of the registered record.

Munro Leys lodged the transfer

The transfer identifies Munro Leys Lawyers of Suva as the firm that lodged the instrument for registration. Bhumika Khatri, a barrister and solicitor and Commissioner for Oaths, witnessed its execution.

The document was also signed and certified by Richard Krishnan Naidu as the solicitor for the transferee. His certification stated that the instrument was correct for the purposes of the Land Transfer Act 1971.

The precise nature of those professional roles must be respected. Munro Leys’ appearance as the lodging firm does not mean that the firm owned the property, selected Kiran as the beneficiary or created the testamentary gift. Dr Prasad’s will was the source of Kiran’s entitlement.

Khatri’s role as witness does not necessarily mean that she independently verified every historical fact associated with the estate or the property. A witness generally verifies the execution of a document by the person whose signature appears before the witness.

Similarly, Naidu’s Land Transfer Act certification should not be represented as a personal guarantee of every fact connected to Dr Prasad’s estate. It recorded his professional certification of the transfer instrument for registration purposes. The document nevertheless possesses a clear and traceable history. It identifies the estate, the beneficiary, the will, the lawyers involved in its execution and lodgement, and the date upon which the Registrar registered the change of ownership.

Kiran declared the property and its value

Kiran later disclosed the Bakshi Street property in her statutory declaration under the Political Parties Act. She valued it at approximately $580,000.

That disclosure is important and should not be obscured by the discovery that the property was inherited. The declaration recorded both Kiran’s ownership and her estimate of its value.

The Lands Registry search does not demonstrate that her declaration was false. An asset declaration may require a candidate or office-holder to identify land owned and provide its approximate value without requiring a separate account of whether it was purchased, gifted or inherited.

Whether Kiran was required to disclose the method of acquisition depends upon the precise statutory language and the fields contained in the prescribed declaration form.
In the absence of a legal requirement to state how the property was acquired, it would be misleading to suggest that Kiran committed a breach merely by declaring ownership and value without adding that the property came from Dr Prasad’s estate.

The accurate conclusion is more limited: Kiran’s declaration disclosed the asset, while the Lands Registry records reveal its provenance. The two documents perform different functions and, read together, provide a more complete public account.

Khatri witnessed both documents

Bhumika Khatri’s name also appears as the witness to Kiran’s statutory declaration. Her involvement therefore extends across two separate documents produced at different times: the 2018 transfer through which Kiran became the registered proprietor and the later declaration through which Kiran disclosed the property as one of her assets.

That does not establish impropriety. Nor does it mean that Khatri personally certified the truth of every asset, liability, value or political contribution appearing in the declaration. The responsibility for the substantive contents of a statutory declaration ordinarily remains with the declarant.

Khatri’s appearance on both records is nevertheless a matter of documentary fact. It provides an identifiable connection between the registered property transfer and its subsequent political disclosure. Neither document is anonymous. Each identifies the people who signed, witnessed, certified or lodged it.

The declared campaign contributions

Kiran’s declaration also recorded the financing of her 2022 election campaign.
According to the figures she disclosed:

Richard Naidu contributed $4,000;
Daniel Naidu contributed $1,000;
Ramesh Prasad contributed $1,500; and
Kiran contributed $3,000 herself.

The total declared campaign expenditure was $9,500.

These were disclosed contributions. Their appearance in Kiran’s statutory declaration is evidence that she identified them rather than concealed them.

The fact that Richard Naidu had acted professionally in relation to the 2018 property transfer and later contributed to Kiran’s 2022 election campaign may be reported because both matters appear in documents available for public scrutiny.

But the two events were separated by more than four years, and the documents do not establish any improper connection between them.

There is no evidential basis for alleging that Naidu’s contribution was a payment connected to the property, that Kiran’s inheritance depended upon political support, or that the campaign donation was unlawful.

The responsible formulation is confined to the record: Naidu certified the 2018 transfer as solicitor for the transferee, and Kiran later declared that he contributed $4,000 to her 2022 campaign. His son Daniel contributed a further $1,000.

Association does not, without additional evidence, establish wrongdoing.

Why the story remains in the public interest

Kiran’s decision not to seek another term does not remove the public interest in the declarations she made as a candidate and office-holder. Indeed, her announcement creates an appropriate point at which to examine the public record of her single term: what she brought into politics, what she disclosed and what the official registries reveal about her declared assets.

This is particularly relevant because statutory declarations are intended to promote political transparency. They allow voters to see the assets, liabilities, income and interests disclosed by people seeking or holding public office.

A statutory declaration is not necessarily a complete biography of every asset. A Lands Registry search can add information that the declaration form does not request, including the date and manner of acquisition, the previous owner and the legal instrument through which title passed.

Here, Kiran’s declaration told the public that she owned the Bakshi Street property and valued it at approximately $580,000. The Lands Registry explains how she became its owner.

It records that the property belonged to Dr Prasad’s estate and was transferred to Kiran as the beneficiary under Dr Prasad’s will. That is the additional fact this investigation establishes.

The woman behind the property

The significance of the Bakshi Street property should not be reduced to its estimated monetary value. It was once the home of Dr Mridula Prasad, who died on 19 September 2017.

Dr Prasad was a respected advocate for women’s health and sexual and reproductive rights. She served on the management committee of the Fiji Women’s Rights Movement and contributed to organisations concerned with equality, health and HIV/AIDS.

The Fiji Women’s Rights Movement remembered her as an advocate who addressed sexual and reproductive rights at a time when such issues were frequently treated as private and discussed only within narrow medical contexts.

Her contribution extended beyond medicine. She supported the empowerment of women, campaigned on issues affecting vulnerable people and participated in Fiji’s public and political life. She also had a connection with the Foundation for Rural Integrated Enterprises and Development, commonly known as FRIEND.

The Lands Registry documents therefore reveal more than the provenance of a minister’s declared property. They connect that asset to the estate and legacy of a significant advocate for women’s health and equality.

A permanent tribute at Bakshi Street

Fijileaks has previously proposed that a commemorative blue plaque be placed at the Bakshi Street property to record that Dr Prasad lived there. Such a plaque would require the consent of the owner and compliance with any applicable municipal requirements. It would not diminish Kiran’s ownership or imply that the property should be returned.

It would simply preserve the building’s connection with Dr Prasad.

As the minister responsible for women and children, and as the beneficiary who inherited Dr Prasad’s former home, Kiran is uniquely placed to consider such a tribute.
A modest plaque could record Dr Prasad’s name, her association with the house and her contribution to women’s health, reproductive rights and public life. Kiran’s decision to leave Parliament after one term makes the proposal especially timely. It offers her an opportunity to mark her own departure from electoral politics by honouring a woman whose work preceded hers and whose estate placed the property in her hands. That would transform the discussion from the value of the house to the value of the life associated with it.

What the public documents establish

The available records establish that:

Kiran disclosed the Bakshi Street property in her statutory declaration.
She estimated its value at approximately $580,000.
The property formed part of the late Dr Mridula Prasad’s estate.
Kiran acted as executrix and trustee of that estate.
The property was transferred to Kiran personally as the beneficiary under Dr Prasad’s will.
Transfer No. 858907 was registered on 2 March 2018.
Munro Leys lodged the transfer.
Bhumika Khatri witnessed its execution.
Richard Naidu certified the instrument as solicitor for the transferee for the purposes of the Land Transfer Act.
Khatri also witnessed Kiran’s subsequent statutory declaration.
Kiran disclosed campaign contributions from Richard Naidu, Daniel Naidu and Ramesh Prasad, together with her own contribution.
Kiran has now announced that she does not intend to seek a second parliamentary term.

These facts do not establish an unlawful transfer, a false declaration or an improper campaign contribution.

They establish the registered history of the property and the identities and professional roles recorded in the documents.

Fijileaks publishes from the official record

This investigation is based upon Kiran’s own statutory declaration and a certified copy of the registered land-transfer instrument.

Fijileaks had completed the investigation earlier, but a succession of fast-moving political, constitutional and legal developments repeatedly pushed it down the publication list. Kiran’s announcement that she will not seek a second parliamentary term now provides the appropriate public-interest occasion for its publication.

The passage of time has not altered the documents or diminished their relevance. Nor should publication of an established official record be left indefinitely dependent upon whether any person named in it chooses to respond.

This article confines itself to what the documents establish. It does not allege that Kiran obtained the property unlawfully, concealed its ownership or received improper campaign contributions.

Kiran disclosed the Bakshi Street property and its estimated value. The Lands Registry record supplies the additional history: she inherited it as the beneficiary of the late Dr Mridula Prasad’s estate.

If Kiran, Munro Leys, Richard Naidu or Bhumika Khatri considers that any documentary fact has been incorrectly reported, Fijileaks will consider a substantive response and, where justified, publish an appropriate correction or update.

From a one-term minister to the history of one declared asset

Kiran says that her decision to serve only one parliamentary term was made before she entered politics and communicated to her party.

Her announcement should be accepted on its own terms. There is no evidence that her decision is connected to the Bakshi Street property, and Fijileaks makes no such suggestion.

It does, however, provide a timely occasion to publish an investigation completed earlier but repeatedly displaced by faster-moving national events.

The story is not that Kiran concealed the property. She disclosed it and estimated its value at approximately $580,000.

The new information supplied by the Lands Registry is that she inherited the property from the estate of the late Dr Mridula Prasad under a will dated 8 March 2009.

Transfer No. 858907 was lodged by Munro Leys, witnessed by Bhumika Khatri, certified by Richard Naidu as solicitor for the transferee and registered by the Registrar of Titles on 2 March 2018. Khatri later witnessed the statutory declaration in which Kiran disclosed the property.

Kiran’s declaration also recorded campaign contributions from Richard Naidu, Daniel Naidu and Ramesh Prasad. The contributions were disclosed, and the available documents do not establish that they were unlawful or connected to the inheritance.

As Kiran prepares to leave electoral politics after one term, the public record of her declared assets remains a legitimate subject of scrutiny.

The strongest and fairest conclusion is also the most precise: Kiran disclosed the property, while the Lands Registry reveals how she acquired it.

That registered history begins with the late Dr Mridula Prasad. Her contribution to women’s health, reproductive rights and public life deserves to remain visible long after legal ownership of her former home passed to someone else - to Sashi Kiran.

University of Fiji students want FHEC to externally audit over $19 million in fees and financial relationship with Arya Pratinidhi Sabha. Prominent Political Figure accused of failed plot to remove VC SHAISTA Shameem

2/9/2026

Fijileaks understands that certain members of the University of Fiji Council contemplated replacing Vice-Chancellor Professor Shaista Shameem with a senior political figure presently serving in Parliament. An approach to education authorities concerning a proposed Institute of Hindi Studies now raises a deeper question: is a worthwhile academic project being invoked to prepare the political figure’s transition from Parliament into the University’s highest executive office?

VC Shaista Shameem

The University of Fiji Students’ Association has asked the Higher Education Commission Fiji to clarify whether student fees or other university income are being transferred to, received by, or used for the benefit of the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji and its associated institutions.

The University of Fiji Students’ Association has called for greater transparency over the financial relationship between the university and its owner, the Arya Pratinidhi Sabha of Fiji, including the possible commissioning of an independent external audit.

In correspondence dated 31 August 2026, UFSA Acting President Rodney Vakaloloma asked the Higher Education Commission Fiji for guidance on whether an external audit could be undertaken and how such a request should be formally pursued.

The letter was addressed to Dr Naisele and copied to Minister for Education Aseri Radrodro.

Vakaloloma said questions about the university’s finances and its relationship with APS arose during a University Council meeting held on Saturday, 29 August 2026.

According to the association, the discussion demonstrated the need for greater clarity about whether any revenue derived from student fees or other university income was being transferred to, received by, or otherwise utilised by APS or organisations associated with it.

The association estimates that students contribute approximately $19 million in fees to the University of Fiji. It argues that those students are entitled to reasonable transparency about how their money is managed and spent.

Its letter also links the financial questions to what it describes as the university’s continuing need for better student facilities, including computers, classrooms, learning and sitting spaces, and other infrastructure.

“Students should have confidence that the funds they contribute are being managed with appropriate financial propriety, accountability and good governance,” the letter states.

Students seek audit extending to APS schools

UFSA has gone beyond requesting an examination of the university’s own accounts. It asks whether an independent external audit could cover APS schools, including its primary and secondary schools, to establish whether any revenue originating from the University of Fiji has been received by or transferred to those institutions.

That request raises an important distinction.

An audit of the University of Fiji could examine payments, transfers, related-party transactions, management charges, shared services, loans, grants and other financial dealings between the university and APS. The university’s own books should disclose the destination and stated purpose of any such payments.

An audit of all APS schools, however, would be considerably broader. It would require a proper legal or regulatory basis, access to the schools’ accounts and a clearly defined audit mandate. The Higher Education Commission would have to determine whether its jurisdiction extends that far or whether the matter must also involve the Ministry of Education, the Registrar of Charitable Trusts, an auditor, or another responsible authority.

A properly constructed investigation might therefore begin with the University of Fiji’s accounts and follow any identifiable financial trail into APS or its associated institutions. That would be more precise than beginning with a general audit of every APS school without first establishing whether university funds had entered those accounts.

Questions over Council allowances and conflicts of interest

The students have also asked for clarification about government employees, including school principals and managers of APS schools, serving on the University Council or its committees while receiving sitting allowances.

Their letter raises questions about potential conflicts of interest and financial propriety, although it does not identify any individual or allege that any allowance was improperly paid.

Receiving a sitting allowance is not, by itself, evidence of misconduct. The relevant questions would include: whether the appointments were properly made; whether the allowances were authorised and disclosed; whether public-service rules permit the employees concerned to receive them; whether any member participated in decisions affecting APS institutions with which that person was connected; and whether conflicts were declared and appropriately managed.

The governing documents of the university, Council minutes, declarations of interests, attendance records and schedules of allowances would be central to answering those questions.

A request for clarification, not an allegation of wrong-doing

UFSA expressly emphasises that it is not accusing any person or organisation of wrongdoing.

Its stated objective is to secure clarification, financial transparency and confidence that money contributed by University of Fiji students is being properly managed.

That qualification is important. The letter does not produce evidence that university revenue has been diverted or improperly transferred to APS or its schools. It asks whether such transfers have occurred and seeks an independent process capable of establishing the facts.

The request should therefore neither be dismissed as an accusation nor portrayed as proof of financial impropriety. It is a governance question that now requires a documented answer.

What should happen next?

The Higher Education Commission Fiji should first clarify the extent of its legal authority and identify which body has the power to require or commission the audit requested by the students.

The University of Fiji and APS could also respond constructively by disclosing: the university’s most recent audited financial statements;
all payments or transfers made to APS and related institutions;
the legal and accounting basis for those transactions;
the identities and institutional affiliations of Council and committee members;
the allowances paid to those members; and
the university’s conflict-of-interest policies and relevant declarations.

If no university income has been transferred to APS schools, an independent examination should be capable of establishing that fact and bringing the controversy to an end. If transfers have occurred, students are entitled to know their value, purpose, authorisation and ultimate use.

The decisive issue is not merely whether the university’s annual accounts have been audited in the ordinary course. It is whether those accounts transparently reveal transactions between the university, its owner and related institutions, and whether the people who contribute the estimated $19 million in student fees can understand where their money has gone.

The students have put that question formally before the regulator. The responsibility now lies with the Higher Education Commission, the University of Fiji and APS to answer it with records rather than assurances.

From Parliament to the Vice-Chancellorship? The Political Figure, the Hindi Institute and the Future of VC Shaista Shameem

Fijileaks has received information raising serious questions about developments within the University of Fiji and the future of its Vice-Chancellor, Professor Shaista Shameem.

According to information supplied to Fijileaks, certain members of the University Council have contemplated removing Professor Shameem and replacing her with a senior political figure who currently sits in Parliament.

Fijileaks further understands that the political figure approached senior education authorities while discussions continued over the proposed establishment and construction of an Institute of Hindi Studies.

The information supplied to us suggests that the contemplated arrangement would enable the political figure to leave Parliament and move into the vice-chancellorship of the University of Fiji.

Fijileaks is withholding the individual’s identity while seeking documentary confirmation and responses from the parties concerned.

The precise contents of the alleged communications and Council discussions have not been independently established. The University Council and the political figure must therefore be given a fair opportunity to confirm, deny or explain the information.

Nevertheless, the allegation requires the separation of three distinct matters: the academic merits of an Institute of Hindi Studies; the lawful allocation of government money towards its construction; and any proposal to remove Professor Shameem so that a political figure may succeed her.

One does not justify the other.

Shameem cannot be removed merely to create a political vacancy

Professor Shameem does not hold office at the pleasure of individual Council members, politicians or government officials.

Her position is governed by the University’s constitutional instruments, her employment contract, applicable employment law and the requirements of natural justice. Unless her current term has lawfully expired, the Council cannot simply remove her because some members prefer another candidate.

There would have to be a lawful contractual basis for dismissal or termination. Professor Shameem would have to be informed of any allegations or performance concerns, given access to the material relied upon and afforded a genuine opportunity to answer the case against her.

Any decision would have to be made by the properly constituted authority, for a proper purpose and without predetermined political or personal considerations.

Professor Shameem therefore cannot lawfully be removed merely to manufacture a vacancy through which a serving politician may transition from Parliament into the vice-chancellorship.

If no genuine contractual ground exists, the Council would risk allegations of breach of contract, denial of natural justice, improper purpose and political interference in the governance of the University.

The Hindi Institute cannot become the bridge from Parliament

There may be a compelling educational and cultural case for establishing an Institute of Hindi Studies. Fiji Hindi, standard Hindi, literature, translation, Girmit history and the wider intellectual inheritance of Fiji’s Indo-Fijian community are all legitimate fields of university teaching and research.

But an Institute of Hindi Studies must not become the institutional bridge by which a political figure crosses directly from Parliament into the University’s highest executive office.

The establishment of the Institute should begin with an academic proposal. Its teaching, research, staffing and governance arrangements should be considered by the Senate. Its financial viability and infrastructure requirements should then be assessed transparently by the University Council.

The question of who should serve as Vice-Chancellor is separate.

If the political figure has a particular interest in Hindi studies, that interest may support the Institute’s establishment. It does not confer an entitlement to become Vice-Chancellor, nor does it supply lawful grounds for removing the incumbent.

Public funding must not become an instrument of succession. The University of Fiji receives substantial financial assistance from the Government. That does not transform the University into the private preserve of any political figure, public official or faction within its Council.

Nor does the receipt of government money necessarily allow the University to divert part of an operating education grant into constructing a new building.

The decisive documents would be the relevant national budget allocation, the grant agreement between the Government and the University, and any conditions imposed by the Ministry of Education, the Higher Education Commission Fiji or the Ministry of Finance.

There is already an important precedent. In the 2024–2025 National Budget, the Government increased the University of Fiji’s grant to $5 million and expressly identified $1 million for constructing the Centre for iTaukei Studies.

Capital expenditure was therefore separately identified and publicly authorised.

If an Institute of Hindi Studies is to receive comparable assistance, UniFiji should prepare a properly costed academic and construction proposal and seek a specific capital allocation from the Government.

Any attempt to redirect money allocated for teaching, salaries, student services or recurrent expenditure could raise serious questions about compliance with the grant conditions and the proper use of public funds.

More troubling still would be any express or implied connection between access to government funding and the appointment of a serving political figure as Vice-Chancellor.

Public money must not become the inducement, leverage or institutional mechanism through which a predetermined succession is achieved.

What was the political approach intended to achieve? The reported approach by the senior political figure requires an explanation.

Was it made in an official capacity as a parliamentarian, in a private capacity as a prospective university office-holder, or at the request of particular members of the University Council?

Was the approach confined to exploring government assistance for the Institute of Hindi Studies? Or did it extend to Professor Shameem’s future and the political figure’s possible appointment as Vice-Chancellor?

Had the Council formally approved the Institute proposal? Had it authorised anyone to approach education authorities? Was the political figure already aware that certain Council members allegedly regarded that individual as Professor Shameem’s prospective replacement?

Was the proposed Institute being presented as an independent academic initiative or as part of a broader arrangement under which the political figure would leave Parliament and assume control of the University?

These questions cannot be dismissed as an internal university disagreement. They concern political influence, conflicts of interest, public expenditure and the independence of a tertiary institution receiving taxpayers’ money.

The Council must disclose what it has discussed. The University Council should state clearly:

whether it has discussed removing or replacing Professor Shameem;
whether a serving political figure has been identified, consulted or approached as her possible successor;
whether the political figure’s proposed transition from Parliament to the University has been discussed;
whether the Institute of Hindi Studies featured in any discussion about the vice-chancellorship;
whether any Council member authorised or encouraged an external approach concerning government funding;
whether the political figure has discussed the vice-chancellorship with any Council member;
whether Professor Shameem’s contract contains any lawful basis for premature removal; and
whether Professor Shameem has been informed of any concerns and given an opportunity to respond.

The senior political figure should clarify whether an approach was made, in what capacity it was made, and whether the position of Vice-Chancellor formed any part of the discussions.

Fijileaks is seeking responses from Professor Shameem, the University Council, the Ministry of Education and the senior political figure whose name has been supplied to us. Their responses will be published in full or fairly reflected.

An Institute of Hindi Studies should stand or fall upon its academic merits, financial viability and contribution to Fiji’s intellectual life. It must not become the respectable façade for removing an incumbent Vice-Chancellor or arranging a politician’s passage from Parliament into academia.

The central issue is not whether Hindi studies deserve a permanent institutional home. They plainly deserve serious consideration.

The issue is whether that worthwhile objective is being used to prepare an undisclosed political succession at the University of Fiji.

AS THE PLOT TO REMOVE SHAISTA THICKENS, THE POLITICIAN BEHIND IT REMAINS IN THE DARK

Meanwhile, Sekoula Road, Laucala Beach Estate, in Suva, has a rather different mystery of its own: who owns the abandoned dark black panties?

CRC REPORT. Fiji’s Constitutional Crossroads: A Smaller Parliament, a Restored Senate, and the Dangerous Ambiguity over the Secular State

31/8/2026

*The Constitution Review Commission has proposed a radically restructured legislature, a new method of choosing the President, the restoration of the Great Council of Chiefs and a division of responsibility between FICAC and the Director of Public Prosecutions. Some recommendations deserve serious consideration.
*Others, especially the unexplained removal of Fiji’s constitutional identity as a secular State, raise questions that cannot be answered while the Commission’s report and Draft Constitution Bill remain concealed from the public.

The Constitution Review Commission has delivered to President Ratu Naiqama Lalabalavu a set of recommendations capable of fundamentally altering the architecture of the Fijian State.

According to FijiVillage, the Commission proposes: a 41-member House of Representatives;
26 single-member constituencies elected by first-past-the-post voting;
15 seats allocated through proportional representation;
an appointed or otherwise constituted 19-member Senate;
no seats reserved for women or ethnic communities;
a six-member Presidential Appointment Committee;
restoration of the Bose Levu Vakaturaga, or Great Council of Chiefs;
restoration of the Public Service Commission;
retention, for the moment, of “Fijian” as the common national identity;
continued constitutional protection for religious freedom, but removal of the provision declaring Fiji a secular State; and
the confinement of FICAC to investigation, with corruption prosecutions transferred to the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions.

Taken together, these are not cosmetic amendments. They represent an attempt to replace much of the institutional design imposed under the 2013 Constitution.

The proposals deserve careful public examination. That examination cannot properly begin, however, when neither the Commission’s full report nor its Draft Constitution Bill has been released.

A smaller elected House but on what democratic calculation?

The proposed reduction of the elected House from the present 55 members to 41 requires a convincing explanation.

Fiji’s Parliament had 50 seats at the 2014 election, 51 in 2018 and 55 in 2022. The increases reflected the population-based formula contained in section 54 of the 2013 Constitution. The Electoral Commission has already determined that the next Parliament should remain at 55 seats.

The Review Commission now proposes reducing the number of elected representatives by fourteen, more than one-quarter of the existing House, while simultaneously creating a 19-member Senate.

The total legislature would therefore contain 60 members: 41 elected members in the lower House and 19 senators. Fiji would not necessarily obtain a cheaper or smaller Parliament. It would obtain a smaller directly elected chamber alongside a substantial upper chamber whose method of composition has not yet been disclosed.

That distinction matters.

A reduction in elected MPs means larger constituencies, fewer representatives available to individual citizens and potentially greater difficulty for outer islands, rural districts and dispersed communities to obtain effective representation. It could also strengthen the executive’s control over the elected House, particularly if a government secured a comfortable majority from a distorted first-past-the-post result.

The Commission must explain why 41 is the appropriate number. Was it derived from population, geography, provincial representation, international comparison, cost, administrative convenience or simply political compromise?

Without the report, the figure appears arbitrary.

The mixed electoral system may improve local accountability or manufacture majorities

The proposed electoral system combines 26 constituency seats elected under first past the post with 15 proportional-representation seats.

There is a respectable democratic case for abandoning Fiji’s present single nationwide constituency. Under the current system, voters across the country choose candidates from one national list. It gives every vote formally equal value but weakens the direct connection between an MP and a particular locality. Individual candidates also depend heavily upon the popularity of party leaders.

The proposed 26 constituencies could restore geographical representation and give citizens an identifiable local MP. That would be a genuine improvement if constituency boundaries were independently and fairly drawn.

But first past the post carries its own dangers. A party can win a constituency with considerably less than half of the vote where several candidates contest the seat. It can also secure a majority of constituency seats without winning a majority of votes nationally.

The 15 proportional seats might correct that distortion but only if they are genuinely compensatory.

The public needs to know whether the proportional seats would be allocated to ensure that each party’s total number of seats broadly corresponds with its national share of the vote. If the 15 seats are merely added independently to the 26 constituency results, the system could reward large parties twice: once through constituency victories and again through a party-list vote.

The Draft Constitution must therefore answer several essential questions: Will voters have one vote or two?

Will the proportional seats compensate parties that are under-represented in the constituencies?
Will there be an electoral threshold?
Will party lists be open or closed?
Who will draw the 26 constituency boundaries?
How will malapportionment and political gerrymandering be prevented?
How will maritime and geographically isolated communities be represented?
Will independent candidates have any realistic access to the proportional tier?

The description “26 first-past-the-post seats plus 15 proportional seats” is not an electoral system. It is merely its outline.

No reserved seats: formal equality may not produce representative equality

The Commission has rejected reserved seats for women and ethnic groups and states that all seats will be open.

The decision against racial reservation is understandable. Fiji’s constitutional history demonstrates the danger of permanently organising political representation around ethnicity. Communal rolls helped entrench racial political identities and encouraged parties to mobilise voters as members of ethnic blocs rather than as citizens sharing common economic and social interests.

But the rejection of reserved seats for women requires separate analysis. Ethnic reservation and measures designed to remedy the chronic under-representation of women do not raise identical constitutional or historical considerations.

An open-seat system can be formally equal while continuing to favour established male candidates with party connections, financial resources and traditional authority. The Commission should disclose whether it considered party-list quotas, alternating male and female candidates, financial incentives for parties presenting balanced lists, or other less rigid mechanisms.

Simply declaring every seat “open” does not establish that every citizen has an equal practical opportunity to enter Parliament.

A 19-member Senate could provide scrutiny or become a house of political patronage

Restoration of the Senate deserves more than automatic rejection or nostalgic approval.

A properly designed upper chamber can review legislation, restrain hurried law-making, protect long-term constitutional interests and provide representation for regions and communities that may be overwhelmed in the elected House. Fiji’s recent experience of legislation being rushed through a single chamber strengthens the argument for institutional review.

But everything depends upon the Senate’s composition and powers.

Who will appoint the 19 senators? How many, if any, will be nominated by the Great Council of Chiefs, the Prime Minister, the Leader of the Opposition, religious organisations, provincial councils, women’s organisations, trade unions, professional bodies or minority communities?

Will senators possess an absolute veto over constitutional amendments? Will they merely delay ordinary legislation? Can they reject money bills? Will ministers be appointed from the Senate? Will Senate appointments be used to reward defeated candidates and political allies?

The restoration of a Senate is not intrinsically democratic. An unelected chamber can improve democratic government by imposing scrutiny upon the elected executive. It can equally become a repository for patronage and an instrument through which unelected interests frustrate the will of voters.

The proposed Senate cannot be evaluated merely by counting its 19 seats. Its legitimacy will depend on who fills them, who selects them, what interests they represent and what powers they exercise.

The Presidential Appointment Committee is already numerically unclear

The Commission proposes that the President be chosen by a six-member Presidential Appointment Committee. Yet the FijiVillage account identifies only five sources entitled to nominate candidates:

the Great Council of Chiefs;
the Prime Minister;
the Leader of the Opposition;
the Fiji Council of Churches; and
an interfaith group.

Is each body nominating a person to serve on the committee, or merely submitting candidates for the presidency? Who appoints the sixth committee member? Who chairs the committee? What happens in the event of a three-three division? Is the committee’s decision final, or must Parliament confirm it?

There is also a broader constitutional issue. Giving both the Council of Churches and an interfaith organisation a formal role in selecting the Head of State sits uneasily beside the Commission’s assertion that religious freedom will remain equally guaranteed.

Religious organisations are entitled to participate in national debate. But constitutional participation is different from constitutional power.

If religious bodies are to be given a formal role in appointing the President, the Commission must explain why they are constitutionally privileged over organisations representing women, workers, universities, people with disabilities, youth, business, civil society or Fiji’s non-religious citizens.

Religious freedom without a secular State: protection or constitutional contradiction?

The most troubling recommendation is the proposed removal of Fiji’s declaration as a secular State while retaining a guarantee of religious freedom.

Section 4 of the 2013 Constitution does more than attach the word “secular” to the State. It states that religion and the State are separate; public office-holders must treat all religions equally; the State must not dictate religious belief; and government must not prefer or advance one religion over another or over non-religious belief.

Section 22 separately guarantees freedom of religion, conscience and belief, including the freedom to practise religion publicly or privately and the freedom not to be compelled to act contrary to one’s beliefs.

The two protections perform related but different functions.

Religious freedom protects the individual and the religious community. Secularism restrains the State. It prevents public power from being captured or constitutionally influenced by a dominant faith.

Removing secularism while retaining religious freedom may therefore leave an important constitutional gap. A government might claim to respect everyone’s private freedom of worship while simultaneously preferring one religion in public ceremonies, education, appointments, legislation or the allocation of State resources.

Fiji’s multi-faith character makes the distinction especially important. Christianity is the majority religion, particularly among indigenous Fijians. Fiji also contains substantial Hindu and Muslim communities, together with Sikhs, Baháʼís and citizens who profess no religion.

The real test of religious liberty is not whether the majority can worship freely. Majorities seldom need constitutional protection from themselves. The test is whether minorities, and those who reject religious belief, remain equal before a State influenced by the religion of the majority.

If the Commission does not propose a Christian State or any official religion, why remove the secular-State provision?

If it does propose a new constitutional relationship between Christianity and the State, it must say so directly rather than conceal the change behind a general promise of religious freedom.

The Commission’s proposal becomes still more sensitive because religious bodies are also contemplated as participants in the selection of the President. The removal of secularism and the constitutional elevation of religious organisations cannot be considered separately.

Together, they could shift the State from religious neutrality towards formal religious influence without expressly declaring an established religion.
That would be a profound constitutional change.

Restoring the Great Council of Chiefs but with what authority?

The restoration of the Great Council of Chiefs recognises an institution of immense historical and cultural importance to the iTaukei people. Its abolition by decree was deeply resented and its re-establishment by the present Government restored an institution that should never have been dismantled without consultation.

But cultural legitimacy does not by itself settle constitutional authority.

The Commission must distinguish the GCC’s role as the highest traditional consultative body of the iTaukei from the exercise of State power over all citizens. If the GCC nominates senators, participates in presidential selection or possesses a veto over legislation, the constitutional basis and limits of those powers must be clearly stated.

A democratic constitution can recognise indigenous institutions and protect iTaukei land, culture and customary authority without making citizens of other communities constitutionally subordinate. The real task is not to choose between indigenous recognition and common citizenship, but to design institutions in which both can coexist.

Separating FICAC investigation from prosecution is defensible but incomplete

The proposal that FICAC investigate corruption while the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions conducts prosecutions is one of the Commission’s more defensible institutional recommendations.

Separating investigation from prosecution can provide an independent evidential assessment before charges are filed. It could reduce the danger of an investigative agency becoming institutionally committed to defending its own investigation and charging decisions.

It may also bring corruption prosecutions within a unified and professionally accountable prosecution service.

But the proposal creates its own questions. The DPP already carries an enormous criminal caseload. Complex corruption matters require specialist financial investigators, forensic accountants and prosecutors. Transferring prosecutions without transferring adequate expertise and resources could weaken enforcement rather than improve it.

The Draft Constitution must also explain: whether FICAC can compel the DPP to decide within a specified period;
whether the DPP must give reasons when declining a FICAC prosecution;
whether FICAC can seek independent review of such a decision;
how conflicts involving the DPP, ministers or constitutional office-holders will be managed; and
whether specialist anti-corruption prosecutors will remain institutionally protected.

The recent controversies surrounding FICAC demonstrate why concentration of investigative and prosecutorial authority can be dangerous. They also demonstrate why an unexplained transfer of power from one institution to another is not, by itself, reform.

The Public Service Commission’s restoration could repair fragmented accountability

Restoring a Public Service Commission with responsibility for the administration and personnel affairs of the civil service may reverse the highly centralised arrangements established after 2006.

A genuinely independent PSC can promote merit-based appointments, consistent disciplinary standards and protection against ministerial interference. But the identity of the appointing authority, security of commissioners’ tenure and transparency of senior appointments will determine whether it operates independently or merely transfers patronage to another body.

The Commission’s reference to oversight of “personal matters” presumably means personnel matters. The final text must define that jurisdiction carefully and distinguish policy responsibility, which belongs to elected ministers, from professional management of the civil service.

“Fijian” remains but the constitutional question is postponed

The Commission proposes retaining “Fijian” as the common national identity while recommending further consultation on whether the people wish to maintain it.

This is an attempt to avoid imposing an immediate answer upon one of Fiji’s most emotionally charged questions. That caution is understandable.

The common name “Fijian” was intended to express equal citizenship. But for many iTaukei, the term possesses an indigenous identity and historical meaning that cannot simply be reassigned by decree. Other citizens, meanwhile, must not be left constitutionally nameless or treated as permanent guests in the country of their birth.

A genuine consultative process could seek terminology that respects the indigenous ownership of identity while maintaining equal national citizenship. But it must not become a disguised referendum on whether non-iTaukei citizens belong equally to Fiji.

Consultation numbers do not by themselves establish popular consent

The Commission received 1,220 submissions: 832 individual and 388 joint submissions. Its face-to-face sessions attracted 3,873 people.

That represents substantial public participation. It does not, however, establish that every recommendation commands majority support.

A joint village, provincial or organisational submission may represent many people, but it may also have been formulated by a small leadership group. An individual submission may be carefully reasoned or may consist of a single demand.

Submissions must therefore be analysed qualitatively as well as counted. The Commission should publish a clear account showing: the principal questions placed before the public;
the range of positions expressed;
the number and geographical distribution of submissions;
how joint submissions were authorised;
the arguments accepted and rejected; and
the Commission’s reasons for each major recommendation.

A constitutional commission is not merely a post box. Its central duty is to reason publicly.

A Constitution delivered behind closed doors

The most immediate criticism concerns process.

The report and Draft Constitution Bill were handed to the President at State House without the media present. They have not been released. Cabinet is now expected to consider documents that would fundamentally restructure Parliament, the presidency, the public service, anti-corruption enforcement and the relationship between religion and the State.

That order is constitutionally unhealthy.

The people were asked to make submissions. They are now entitled to see what the Commission did with them before Cabinet selects, rejects or rewrites the recommendations.

The report should be released in full, together with the Draft Constitution Bill, explanatory notes, any dissenting opinions and a summary of the evidence received. Cabinet should not become the first substantive judge of a document supposedly derived from the people.

The Commission’s chairman, Sevuloni Valenitabua, describes the draft as “forward-looking” and responsive to Fiji’s multiracial character. Those claims must be tested against the actual text.

There is also unresolved confusion over whether the Commission has drafted an amendment to the 2013 Constitution, an entirely new Constitution, or an amendment Bill whose effect would be to replace most of the existing constitutional order. The legal route matters because the 2013 Constitution imposes demanding parliamentary and referendum requirements for constitutional amendment.

Political dissatisfaction with those requirements does not permit them to be ignored.

Reform cannot be founded upon another act of constitutional imposition

Several Commission proposals address genuine weaknesses in the 2013 settlement: excessive centralisation, the absence of an upper chamber, weak local representation, politicisation of public institutions and the concentration of investigative and prosecutorial power within FICAC.

But worthwhile objectives do not excuse defective design.

A 41-member elected House may be too small. A 19-member Senate may improve scrutiny or institutionalise patronage. A mixed electoral system may reconnect MPs to communities or manufacture parliamentary majorities. Restoring the Great Council of Chiefs may properly recognise indigenous authority or blur the boundary between cultural leadership and State power. Separating FICAC investigation from prosecution may strengthen accountability or produce delay and institutional conflict.

Most seriously, guaranteeing religious freedom while removing the secular State may sound reassuring, but it does not answer the constitutional question. Religious freedom protects belief. Secularism protects citizens from a government that prefers one belief over another.

Fiji has travelled too often from constitutional exclusion to constitutional imposition. The answer to the shortcomings of the 2013 Constitution cannot be another supreme law negotiated among political, chiefly and religious elites and presented to the people as a finished settlement.

Before Cabinet touches a single clause, the Commission’s complete report and Draft Constitution Bill must be published.

Only then can Fiji determine whether this is a genuinely forward-looking constitutional settlement or a return to old institutions carrying old dangers beneath new constitutional language.

Editorial note: This analysis is based on the recommendations disclosed by FijiVillage. The Constitution Review Commission’s full report and Draft Constitution Bill have not yet been made public. Our assessment, and our position on individual recommendations, may change once we have examined the complete documents, their precise wording and the Commission’s reasons.

A Constitution Belongs to the People: Why the CRC Report Must Not Remain Behind Closed Doors

The Constitution Review Commission invited the people of Fiji to participate in shaping their supreme law. Natural justice and elementary democratic fairness now demand that those participants be allowed to discover whether their views and submissions found a place in the final report or why the Commission rejected them. Fiji has already witnessed what happens when a people’s draft constitution is treated as the property of those holding political power.

The Constitution Review Commission’s report and Draft Constitution Bill have been delivered to President Ratu Naiqama Lalabalavu, but neither document has been released to the public.

The media was not invited to witness the handover at State House. Cabinet will now examine proposals capable of fundamentally restructuring Parliament, restoring the Senate and the Great Council of Chiefs, changing the method of appointing the President, dividing responsibility between FICAC and the Director of Public Prosecutions, and removing the constitutional declaration that Fiji is a secular State.

That is not a healthy beginning to constitution-making.

Consultation becomes an empty ritual if the people are invited to speak but are then denied access to the document produced in their name.

The warning from the Ghai Commission

There is no suggestion that the present Government intends to repeat what happened to the 2012 Constitution Commission chaired by Professor Yash Ghai. But Fiji’s experience with the Ghai Draft demonstrates why constitutional reports must not be kept within government circles after commissioners have completed their work.

The Ghai Commission received approximately 7,000 submissions from the people of Fiji. Those citizens spoke in the belief that their views would help shape the constitutional order under which Fiji would return to elected government.

Yet, in December 2012, police seized approximately 600 printed copies of the Commission’s Draft Constitution from a Suva printer. Proof copies were shredded, soaked in kerosene and burned in Professor Ghai’s presence.

Ghai regarded the destruction not simply as an attack upon his Commission’s work but as an expression of contempt for the thousands of people who had participated in the process. The remaining printed copies were removed, the Commission’s draft was subsequently rejected, and the military-backed Government produced the document that became Fiji’s 2013 Constitution.

The people had been consulted. Their Commission had completed its work. But those exercising State power decided that they would control what the people were permitted to read.

For the first time, Fijileaks can reveal how the suppressed Draft Constitution reached us.

After hurriedly leaving Fiji and landing in Hong Kong while travelling onwards to Kenya, Professor Yash Ghai, fellow Oxford alumnus, friend, and academic colleague in the study of politics, race, conflict and constitutionalism in Fiji and Kenya, concluded that Fijileaks was the only platform through which the Draft Constitution could safely be placed before the people of Fiji. We had appeared together on British television and delivered a joint lecture at Chatham House in London, along with our dear and near old friend, the late Kenneth Bain, author of Treason at Ten, explaining and interpreting Sitiveni Rabuka’s 1987 coups and their far-reaching implications for race, politics, conflict and constitutionalism in Fiji.

He entrusted the document to Fijileaks because he understood a fundamental constitutional principle: the Draft did not belong to the military Government, the police, the President, the commissioners or Professor Ghai personally.

It belonged to the PEOPLE OF FIJI, whose submissions, experiences, fears, hopes and competing visions had helped to produce it.

Fijileaks published the document so that the citizens in whose name it had been prepared could read it, debate it and decide its merits for themselves.

That act was not intended to substitute Fijileaks’ judgment for that of the people. It was intended to restore to the people a document that should never have been withheld from them.

Cabinet should not see it first

The lesson for the present CRC process is straightforward.

Consultation cannot end when the commissioners enter State House. The people who supplied the submissions are entitled to see how their views were interpreted, accepted, modified or rejected before Cabinet selects which recommendations it prefers.

Cabinet must not enjoy privileged access to the CRC report while the public and the media are left to reconstruct Fiji’s possible constitutional future from fragments disclosed during a closed handover ceremony.

The order of disclosure matters.

If Cabinet examines the documents first, it may decide to accept some recommendations, reject others or alter the Draft Constitution Bill before the public sees the Commission’s original work. When the documents are eventually released, citizens may be unable to distinguish between what the independent Commission recommended and what Cabinet subsequently changed.

The complete and unaltered report must therefore be published before Cabinet begins reshaping it.

Release both publicly funded reports

The Government should immediately publish: the complete CRC report;
the Draft Constitution Bill;
its explanatory material;
any dissenting or separate opinions;
the principal supporting annexures;
electoral calculations and simulations; and
a reasoned summary showing how the Commission treated the principal public submissions.

It should simultaneously release the still-withheld report of the 2025 Fiji Electoral Law Reform Commission chaired by former Chief Justice Daniel Fatiaki.

That Commission recommended a markedly different electoral model: 25 open constituency seats, 25 seats reserved for women and 21 proportional open-list seats, producing a 71-member elected Parliament.

The CRC proposes a 41-member elected House and a 19-member Senate.

The people cannot fairly compare those competing models while both reports remain outside their reach.

Fiji’s taxpayers financed the two exercises. Fiji’s citizens supplied the submissions. Government does not acquire ownership of the reports merely because the documents were formally delivered to an Attorney-General, Cabinet or President.

Constitutional authority begins with informed consent

A constitution is not an ordinary government policy document. It establishes the institutions through which governments are elected, restrained and removed. It distributes public power and protects citizens against its misuse.

Its legitimacy cannot rest solely upon the expertise of commissioners, foreign advisers, legal drafters, ministers or Cabinet.

It must rest upon the informed consent of the people.

That consent cannot be informed if the people are denied access to the document upon which they are eventually expected to vote.

Nor should the Government argue that the report must remain confidential while Cabinet considers it. Confidentiality may sometimes be justified while commissioners deliberate. It becomes much harder to defend after the final report has been completed and formally delivered.

At that point, the Commission’s work has ended. The document becomes part of the public constitutional process.

No submission and no bitterness

For the avoidance of doubt, I neither made a submission to the Constitution Review Commission nor received any personal invitation from the Fiji Government or the CRC to contribute to its deliberations.

That absence does not disqualify me from examining the recommendations now entering the public domain. Nor should my criticism of the secrecy surrounding the report be misrepresented as bitterness at having been excluded.

I did not seek appointment to the Commission, an advisory role or any privileged access to its work. My interest arises from more than four decades of reporting, researching and writing about Fiji’s politics, coups, racial conflict and constitutional development, and from the obligations of an editor to scrutinise proposals that would redefine the relationship between the State and its citizens.

The issue is not whether I was consulted. It is whether the people who were consulted can now see what was done with their submissions.

My call for publication would be exactly the same had I been invited to participate. Constitutional criticism is not an application for recognition, nor is disagreement evidence of personal grievance. It is part of the democratic scrutiny that a legitimate constitution-making process should welcome rather than resent.

From Fijileaks Archive, 2012 and 2013

Prime Minister, Sitiveni Rabuka will now table the Constitution Review Commission Report and Draft Constitution Bill in Cabinet for deliberation before it proceeds to Parliament in accordance with the appropriate constitutional and Government processes.

Acting Attorney General, Siromi Turaga says it is important to clarify the process following today’s submission, particularly in light of misinformation and speculation surrounding the report.

Turaga says the submission of the report marks the completion of the Commission’s mandate and does not mean that the recommendations contained in the report or the Draft Constitution had been adopted or approved by the Government.

Turaga says the report represents the independent work of the Constitutional Review Commission following an extensive nationwide consultation process.

He says it must now go through the appropriate Government processes before any further decisions are made.

The Acting Attorney General says the report cannot be released publicly at this stage and will be made available to the public in due course, following Cabinet deliberation and once the appropriate process has been completed.

Turaga acknowledged the commitment and work of the Commissioners and staff members throughout the review process.

He also acknowledged the contribution of constitutional and legislative experts who supported the Commission’s work, including Professor Anthony Regan, Dr Kathrene Le Roy and Fiona Leonard.

Turaga urges the public and all stakeholders to refrain from speculation about the contents of the report or its possible outcomes until it has been properly considered. Source: Fijivillage News.

APPEALS are NOT a waste of public money: Supreme Court’s restoration of drug dealer Rahman’s cocaine conviction shows why the Tuiqereqere ruling is entitled to appellate scrutiny by President and Prime Minister

29/8/2026

*The Supreme Court has overturned the Court of Appeal and restored Joshua Rahman’s conviction and 23-year sentence. The decision does not establish that Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka and President Ratu Naiqama Lalabalavu will succeed in challenging Justice Dane Tuiqereqere’s Commission of Inquiry judgment.
*It does, however, expose the weakness of claiming that their proposed appeal must necessarily be a waste of public time and money.
*An appeal is part of the judicial process, not an attack upon it.

Joshua Rahman

Justice Gates

The Supreme Court judge Justice Anthony Gate’s decision to restore Joshua Aziz Rahman’s conviction for possession of 39.5 kilograms of cocaine is an important reminder of a basic feature of the administration of justice: a judgment of an intermediate court may be authoritative and binding unless overturned, but it is not necessarily infallible.

Rahman had been convicted in the High Court and sentenced to 23 years’ imprisonment, with a non-parole period of 14 years. The Court of Appeal subsequently quashed that conviction and sentence and ordered a retrial. The State did not accept that outcome. It petitioned the Supreme Court, arguing that the Court of Appeal had misunderstood the governing law and had failed to recognise that any error made at trial had not produced a substantial miscarriage of justice.

Rahman filed his own cross-appeal. He contended that, once the conviction had been quashed, a retrial should not be ordered. Among the considerations advanced on his behalf were the years he had already spent in custody, the fading of witnesses’ memories and the reported death of a material witness.

The Supreme Court granted special leave to both sides. It ultimately dismissed Rahman’s challenge, allowed the State’s appeal, set aside the Court of Appeal’s decision and restored the High Court conviction and sentence.

That result is highly relevant to the current public argument surrounding the Commission of Inquiry judgment delivered by Justice Dane Tuiqereqere but only if the comparison is made with legal discipline.

What the Rahman appeal decided

The central statutory issue concerned section 32 of the Illicit Drugs Control Act. The section creates a presumption relating to possession where illicit drugs are discovered on premises under an accused person’s control.

The critical question was the nature of the burden placed upon the accused. Was Rahman required to disprove possession, or was he required only to produce sufficient evidence to raise a reasonable doubt?

The Supreme Court confirmed that the provision imposed an evidential burden, not a legal or persuasive burden, upon the accused. In other words, Rahman did not have to prove his innocence or establish on the balance of probabilities that he did not possess the cocaine. He was required only to point to evidence capable of raising a reasonable doubt. The ultimate obligation remained upon the prosecution to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt.

The trial judge had initially described the burden in legally questionable terms. But an appellate court does not examine one expression in isolation and automatically set aside a conviction. It must examine the judgment as a whole, the way the evidence was treated, the applicable statutory provisions and whether the error actually affected the result.

The Supreme Court concluded that, despite the trial judge’s initial language, the correct standard had ultimately been applied. The prosecution had remained responsible for proving the offence beyond reasonable doubt, and the evidence supported the conviction. The error identified did not, in the Supreme Court’s assessment, produce a substantial miscarriage of justice.

This distinction is fundamental. Not every error requires the whole proceeding to be annulled. Appellate courts frequently distinguish between an error that is merely verbal or technical; an error that affects only a separable part of a decision; an error that can be corrected by applying the proper legal test; and an error so fundamental that the decision cannot safely stand. The Supreme Court evidently concluded that the Rahman case fell outside the final category.

The Court of Appeal was entitled to rule, and the State was entitled to appeal

The Supreme Court’s decision does not mean that the Court of Appeal acted improperly or irresponsibly. Nor does it make the judges who allowed Rahman’s appeal legitimate targets for personal abuse.

The Court of Appeal reached a judicial conclusion after considering what it regarded as significant errors. Those reported concerns included the lawfulness and timing of the search, the circumstances of Rahman’s arrest and detention, and the trial judge’s treatment of the statutory presumption. It quashed the conviction but ordered a retrial, thereby recognising that the prosecution case was not necessarily incapable of being tried again.

The State believed that the Court of Appeal had itself fallen into error. It therefore invoked the appellate machinery established by law. The Supreme Court agreed with the State.

That is the judicial system working as designed.

Had the State accepted the Court of Appeal’s decision merely because an appeal would consume time and public money, Rahman’s conviction would not have been restored. A sentence of 23 years for possession of almost 40 kilograms of cocaine would have remained quashed, and the State would have been required to embark upon a costly and difficult retrial, assuming a fair retrial remained possible.

The money spent on taking the case to the Supreme Court cannot sensibly be described as wasted merely because expenditure was involved. The appeal settled an important point concerning section 32, clarified the burden imposed upon an accused person, determined whether the Court of Appeal had correctly interfered with the conviction, and avoided a retrial that could itself have imposed substantial expense upon the public.

The relevance to the Commission of Inquiry litigation

Justice Dane Tuiqereqere’s judgment concerning the Commission of Inquiry into Barbara Malimali’s appointment as FICAC Commissioner is, of course, very different from Rahman’s criminal prosecution.

The Rahman case concerned criminal responsibility, statutory possession, the burden of proof and the appellate proviso. The COI proceedings involve administrative and constitutional law, procedural fairness, the powers of a Commission of Inquiry, the responsibilities of the President and Prime Minister, and the legal consequences of defects in the inquiry process.

The Rahman decision therefore cannot be cited as authority that Justice Tuiqereqere was wrong. Nor does it predict that Rabuka or President Lalabalavu will succeed.

Its relevance is institutional rather than doctrinal: it demonstrates why a strongly reasoned judgment may nevertheless be tested and overturned on appeal.

Justice Tuiqereqere found serious procedural defects. He concluded that the COI report was unlawful and null and void, and that the President, Prime Minister and Commission had breached natural justice. Adverse findings against several affected persons were quashed. Questions of costs and damages remain to be determined. The High Court has scheduled a further hearing concerning costs and damages.

Those are findings of very considerable constitutional and public importance. Precisely because they are so consequential, there is a respectable public interest in obtaining appellate guidance on their legal foundation and scope.

Among the questions potentially deserving consideration are:

Whether the Commission’s procedural failures justified declaring the entire report null and void, or whether the unlawful portions were legally severable.
Whether the High Court’s remedies extended further than was necessary to vindicate the rights of the successful applicants.
Whether the President or Prime Minister had an independent legal duty to remedy procedural defects committed by an ostensibly independent Commission before receiving, acting upon or publishing its report.
Whether publication itself amounted to a fresh breach of natural justice or was merely the communication of a report already completed by the Commission
Whether the President’s constitutional position and obligation to act upon ministerial advice were fully accommodated in assigning responsibility.
Whether recommendations to investigating or prosecuting authorities should have been treated differently from final findings determining legal liability.
Whether the judge’s recognition that the inquiry served a useful purpose and identified legitimate concerns can be reconciled with the remedy invalidating the report in its entirety.

These are not imaginary or merely political questions. They concern the allocation of constitutional responsibility among an independent Commission, the Prime Minister, the President and the courts.

The judgment itself recognised legitimate concerns

The argument that the entire exercise was self-evidently pointless is further weakened by passages in Justice Tuiqereqere’s own judgment.

According to the Prime Minister’s lawyers, the judge accepted that the COI had served a “useful purpose” and had made valid points about the appointment process. In particular, the judgment reportedly recognised the relevance of the Tuvalu incident involving Malimali and the fact that there was an active FICAC investigation concerning her when she was appointed.

The judge considered it inappropriate for Malimali to be appointed Commissioner while an active criminal investigation against her remained pending. He also found the circumstances of the Tuvalu episode relevant to her suitability and something that should have been disclosed to the Judicial Services Commission. The Prime Minister’s lawyers have relied upon those findings while explaining their intended, targeted appeal.

The High Court’s objection was therefore not necessarily that there was nothing worthy of investigation. It concerned the legality and fairness of the process by which adverse conclusions were reached and acted upon.

That distinction matters. A process can be directed at legitimate concerns and still be legally defective. Equally, the existence of procedural defects does not necessarily mean that every factual finding, every piece of evidence and every recommendation must disappear for every purpose.

Whether Justice Tuiqereqere selected the legally correct remedy, and whether the whole report had to fall, is an obvious issue for appellate examination.

Why the accusation of wasting money is premature

Critics are entitled to question the cost of litigation involving public officials. The Prime Minister and President do not enjoy an unlimited licence to litigate at public expense. Government expenditure must be proportionate, transparent and directed toward a genuine public purpose.

But it is premature to declare the proposed appeal a waste before the grounds have been fully argued and judicially determined.

Such an accusation assumes the very conclusion that the appeal exists to test: that Justice Tuiqereqere’s judgment is correct in every material respect and that no appellate court could reasonably interfere with it.

The Rahman case demonstrates the danger of that assumption. After the Court of Appeal quashed the conviction, some might have argued that the State should accept defeat and avoid spending more public money. The Supreme Court has now held that the Court of Appeal’s decision should itself be quashed and the original conviction restored.

If an appeal succeeds in clarifying constitutional responsibilities, narrowing an overbroad remedy, protecting the institutional position of the presidency, or correcting an error of law, the expenditure cannot fairly be dismissed as waste.

Even if an appeal ultimately fails, failure alone does not establish waste. Litigation may still legitimately obtain authoritative clarification of unsettled law. The proper test is not simply whether the appellant wins. It is whether the appeal raises reasonably arguable questions of sufficient importance to justify the cost.

The President’s position deserves particular care

Public discussion should also distinguish between the respective positions of Rabuka and President Lalabalavu.

The President ordinarily acts in accordance with constitutional advice. Rabuka has publicly accepted that he advised the President and has said that the political and legal responsibility should fall upon him rather than upon the Head of State. The Fiji Times reported Rabuka’s position that any appeal would focus upon findings affecting his own actions.

If Justice Tuiqereqere’s judgment attributes a breach of natural justice independently to the President, an appeal may be needed to clarify whether the President possessed a legal obligation or practical opportunity to reopen the Commission’s procedures; whether he could lawfully refuse or delay action upon ministerial advice; whether receiving or publishing the report made him legally responsible for defects committed by the Commission; and how constitutional immunity, presidential functions and public-law remedies interact.

These are questions extending well beyond the reputations of Rabuka and Lalabalavu. The answers may govern how future presidents deal with commission reports and ministerial advice. Leaving such questions uncertain could itself impose costs upon future governments and litigants.

Respecting Justice Tuiqereqere includes respecting the right of appeal

An appeal should not be presented as an act of defiance against Justice Tuiqereqere. The right to appeal is part of the same legal system within which his judgment was delivered.

A judge’s independence is not undermined because a dissatisfied party challenges the decision in a higher court. Nor is respect for the judiciary measured by whether parties silently accept every first-instance ruling.

The correct response is to identify the alleged errors precisely, file the appeal within time, comply with the existing orders unless stayed, and present the arguments without attacking the judge personally.

The same standard applies to the critics. They may disagree with the appeal, question its grounds and demand an accounting of public expenditure. But shouting that public money is necessarily being wasted, before the appellate court has heard the case, substitutes political certainty for legal analysis.

A neutral assessment must acknowledge four limitations.

First, Rahman was a criminal case; the COI litigation is predominantly an administrative and constitutional matter.

Second, the Supreme Court’s conclusion that a trial error caused no substantial miscarriage of justice does not automatically translate into a doctrine by which procedural unfairness in a commission may be disregarded.

Third, natural justice is not a minor technicality. If affected persons were exposed to grave findings without adequate notice or a fair opportunity to answer them, the courts are entitled, and sometimes obliged, to intervene.

Fourth, government-funded appeals require greater fiscal justification than private appeals because taxpayers bear the expense.

Nevertheless, none of those qualifications supports the proposition that an appeal is inherently wasteful. They simply mean that Rabuka and Lalabalavu must demonstrate properly arguable grounds and seek remedies tailored to the alleged errors.

The Rahman litigation travelled from conviction in the High Court, to reversal and a retrial order in the Court of Appeal, and finally restoration of the conviction by the Supreme Court. At each stage, judges reached conclusions under the authority of the Constitution and the law.

The final result confirms that the Court of Appeal’s ruling, however authoritative when delivered, was not beyond correction.

That is the sober lesson for the COI controversy.

Tuiqereqere

Justice Tuiqereqere’s judgment remains binding unless and until it is stayed, varied or overturned. It deserves serious respect. But respect does not require treating it as immune from appellate scrutiny.

Rabuka and President Lalabalavu should not be guaranteed public funding for limitless or politically motivated litigation. They should be required to identify specific errors, explain the constitutional importance of the questions raised and account properly for public expenditure.

If they do so, however, it is wrong to condemn the appeal in advance as a waste of time and money. The Supreme Court’s restoration of Rahman’s conviction supplies the clearest contemporary answer: appeals exist because even consequential judgments can be reconsidered, corrected or refined.

The sensible position is neither to predict victory for Prime Minister Rabuka and President Ratu Naiqama Lalabalavu nor to declare their challenge futile before it is heard.

It is to allow the appellate courts to decide whether Justice Tuiqereqere’s conclusions and remedies withstand the scrutiny that Fiji’s legal system expressly provides.

Editorial Note: A personal disclosure. Justice Anthony Gates, one of the Supreme Court judges who heard the Rahman appeal, and I have known each other for more than four decades. In 1984, while serving as a senior prosecutor in the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions in Suva, he was one of three referees who supported my successful application for an Oxford University scholarship. I remain grateful for that support. Our association, however, has never prevented me from assessing his judicial decisions independently. I strongly endorsed Justice Gates’s courageous ruling in Chandrika Prasad (2000) that the 1997 Constitution remained Fiji’s supreme law and could not be permanently abrogated under the doctrine of necessity. The Fiji Court of Appeal substantially upheld that judgment. By contrast, I critically examined and either agreed or disagreed with his other rulings over the decades. Personal gratitude must never displace independent scrutiny. Nor should disagreement with a judgment diminish respect for the judge, the judicial office or the appellate process. My association with Justice Gates has never required unquestioning agreement: where I believed his reasoning defended constitutional government, I said so; where I believed a judgment warranted criticism, I said that too.

Coming: The Deeper Legal Question: Did Section 13(2A) Authorise Barbara Malimali to Use FICAC Funds (Public Money) to Pay Tanya Waqanika of Waqanika Law to Defend Her at the Commission of Inquiry?

IF WAQANIKA REPRESENTED “THE COMMISSIONER”, WHY IS THE VICTORY BEING CELEBRATED AS CLEARING BARBARA MALIMALI’S NAME?

A photograph posted by Tanya Waqanika following the High Court judgment raises an uncomfortable question about the justification originally given for using FICAC funds to pay Waqanika Law.

When FICAC Manager Finance Umar Risban Dean questioned whether FICAC should pay Malimali’s legal expenses before the Commission of Inquiry, Malimali drew a careful distinction.

She maintained that Waqanika was being engaged for “the Commissioner”, not for “Ms Malimali”.

That distinction was essential to her claim that section 13(2A) of the FICAC Act authorised the expenditure. If Waqanika represented the statutory office and protected FICAC’s institutional functions, the argument for payment from FICAC’s operational funds would be considerably stronger.

But Waqanika’s own Facebook celebration tells a different story.

Premila Kumar Committed No Crime: Why Aca Rayawa Cannot Use the Crimes Act to Shield Chief Justice Salesi Temo from Scrutiny over COI That Recommended His Investigation for Alleged Perjury in Malimali case

27/8/2026

"Premila Kumar committed no obvious crime by reminding Fiji that the COI had served a public purpose and had raised questions which went directly to the conduct of powerful office-holders, including the Chief Justice himself." Fijileaks

"There is a revealing continuity between Rayawa’s present position and his earlier interventions. As Fijileaks previously demonstrated, Rayawa urged Chief Justice Temo to direct court registries not to accept prosecutions associated with Acting FICAC Commissioner Lavi Rokoika. That proposal overstated the Chief Justice’s administrative power and ignored the de facto officer doctrine, the very doctrine that once preserved prosecutorial acts signed by Rayawa when his own appointment as Acting DPP was challenged.
Now Rayawa again attributes sweeping authority to the Chief Justice: first, the power to block an entire class of prosecutions administratively; and secondly, an apparently unlimited entitlement to criticise anyone while those responding may face criminal prosecution. Both propositions treat the office of Chief Justice as though it stands above ordinary constitutional restraints.
It does NOT."

Aca Rawaya

Criticism Is Not Contempt: Why Aca Rayawa Is Wrong to Threaten Premila Kumar with the Crimes Act for Questioning Chief Justice Salesi Temo

Former Acting Director of Public Prosecutions Aca Rayawa has once again turned to Facebook to advance a sweeping interpretation of the law. This time, his target is Opposition MP Premila Kumar, whose apparent offence was to question whether Chief Justice Salesi Temo was correct to describe expenditure on the Commission of Inquiry into Barbara Malimali’s appointment as FICAC Commissioner as “money wasted”.

Rayawa relies upon section 194(1)(m) of the Crimes Act 2009. He asserts that Kumar is “clearly in breach” because the Chief Justice made his comments during a ceremony at which new lawyers were admitted to the Bar. According to Rayawa, that ceremony constituted a judicial proceeding; Kumar’s subsequent criticism therefore amounted to intentional disrespect towards the person conducting it.

He adds, with characteristic certainty, that there is “no exception” to the statutory prohibition. Chief Justice Temo, Rayawa claims, could criticise a lower-ranking judge or “anyone or anything whatsoever” because he is Fiji’s highest judicial officer and is protected by judicial immunity.

Kumar, by contrast, was not speaking within Parliament and therefore supposedly exposed herself to criminal prosecution.

This analysis is legally strained, constitutionally troubling and institutionally dangerous.

Rayawa is entitled to defend the Chief Justice. He is entitled to disagree with Kumar. What he is not entitled to do is transform a contestable political and legal opinion into a declaration of criminal guilt merely by quoting one paragraph of the Crimes Act while ignoring its elements, statutory context and constitutional setting.

What Chief Justice Temo actually said during admission to Bar ceremony

The Chief Justice made his comments during an admission-to-the-Bar ceremony at the Grand Pacific Hotel in Suva. He was addressing newly admitted practitioners about the professional responsibility of lawyers to identify the legal limits of their clients’ powers.

Temo referred to Justice Dane Tuiqereqere’s High Court judgment concerning the COI. The President had purported to extend the Commission beyond its original period, but the High Court subsequently held that the relevant legislation did not confer the necessary power of extension.

The Chief Justice criticised the legal advice behind that decision: “Lawyers were hired from overseas and they didn’t read the COI Act properly to show that His Excellency the President doesn’t have the power to extend it.” He continued: “As a result, all the work that they did later was pronounced ultra vires and null and void.” Temo then asked: “What was the loss? Money wasted.”

Read in its full context, Temo’s criticism was directed principally at the legal advice concerning the attempted extension and at the expenditure incurred after the Commission’s lawful authority had allegedly expired. It was not necessarily a carefully reasoned declaration that every dollar spent from the Commission’s establishment was wasted.

Nevertheless, “money wasted” was a broad and politically potent formulation. It inevitably invited public scrutiny, particularly because Justice Tuiqereqere did not find that the subject of the inquiry was pointless.

The High Court found grave legal and procedural defects: the ineffective extension, apparent bias, irrational findings and breaches of natural justice. The report and adverse findings were quashed. But the judge also found that the inquiry had exposed legitimate concerns surrounding Malimali’s appointment, including the active criminal investigation and the Tuvalu incident.

The Commission’s eventual report was legally unsustainable. That does not mean that the questions it investigated were imaginary, that the evidence it uncovered was worthless, or that its entire public-interest purpose vanished retrospectively.

Premilla Kumar did not, on the published material, threaten the Chief Justice, abuse him, interfere with the admission of any lawyer or disrupt the ceremony.

She questioned whether Temo’s description was appropriate. She reportedly argued that the “money wasted” remark risked overshadowing the substantial public-interest questions exposed by the inquiry, including why Malimali was appointed while an active criminal investigation involving her remained unresolved.

Kumar’s intervention may be criticised as political. Her interpretation of the judgment may be disputed. But that is the nature of democratic debate.

The issue is not whether Kumar’s analysis was unquestionably correct. The issue is whether her criticism constituted a criminal act of intentional disrespect carrying a possible sentence of imprisonment.

Rayawa simply assumes that it did.

What section 194(1)(m) actually says. Section 194(1)(m) of the Crimes Act provides that a person commits a summary offence if he or she, “commits any other act of intentional disrespect to any judicial proceeding, or to any person before whom such proceeding is being had or taken.” The prescribed maximum penalty is three months’ imprisonment.

Those words do not create a general offence of disagreeing with a judge. They require proof of several distinct matters:

There must be an identifiable judicial proceeding.
The conduct must be directed towards that proceeding or towards the person before whom it is being had or taken.
The conduct must amount legally to disrespect.
The disrespect must be intentional.
Every element must be proved beyond reasonable doubt.

Rayawa cites the provision as though the words “intentional disrespect” are self-defining and encompass every subsequent criticism of anything uttered by a judicial officer during a court-related ceremony.

They do not. Even if the ceremony was a judicial proceeding, that does not decide the case. For present purposes, let us accept Rayawa’s assertion that an admission-to-the-Bar ceremony constitutes a judicial proceeding. That still does not prove his allegation against Kumar.

Kumar was not reported to have interrupted the ceremony. She did not refuse a judicial direction, obstruct the proceeding, interfere with an applicant’s admission or create a disturbance in the presence of the court.

Her comments came later and were directed at the substance of Temo’s publicly reported observations about the COI.

The statutory phrase “to any person before whom such proceeding is being had or taken” links the protection of the judicial officer to the proceeding being conducted. It does not necessarily create an indefinite criminal shield around everything the judicial officer said during the event.

If Rayawa’s interpretation were correct, a judge could make sweeping remarks about the Government, Parliament, an Opposition politician, a pending appeal, public expenditure or the findings of another judge during a ceremonial sitting and anyone who subsequently questioned those remarks could be threatened with imprisonment.

Such an interpretation would transform section 194 from a provision protecting the administration of justice into a general prohibition against criticism of judges.

The text does not compel that result.

Rayawa ignores the word “intentional”. The provision is not satisfied merely because a judicial officer feels criticised or because a commentator considers the criticism disrespectful.

The prosecution would have to prove the required intention. It would need to establish that Kumar intended to show prohibited disrespect towards the proceeding or towards Temo in his capacity as the person conducting that proceeding.

Her stated purpose appears to have been to challenge the accuracy and breadth of Temo’s “money wasted” description and to defend the public importance of the issues uncovered by the COI.

That is not conclusive proof of innocence; intention may be inferred from words and circumstances. But it demonstrates why Rayawa’s declaration that Kumar is “clearly in breach” is untenable.

There is nothing clear about it.

The distinction between criticism and intentional disrespect is fundamental. To say that a judge’s observation is mistaken, incomplete, inappropriate or inconsistent with a judgment is not automatically to attack the administration of justice.

Judges are not beyond criticism. Their judgments are appealed. Their reasoning is analysed by academics. Their public remarks are questioned by lawyers, journalists, parliamentarians and citizens. Courts themselves frequently conclude that other judges have made errors.

If disagreement itself constituted criminal disrespect, the appellate system would become conceptually impossible.

“There is no exception” is a dangerous overstatement. Rayawa insists that there is no exception to the rule. But section 194 does not exist above the Constitution.

Section 17 of Fiji’s Constitution protects freedom of speech, expression, thought, opinion and publication. Those freedoms are not absolute, but neither can they be ignored when a criminal provision is invoked against political discussion.

Criminal provisions must be construed with care, especially where an expansive interpretation would chill discussion of public expenditure, judicial administration and constitutional accountability.

The proper question is not whether Kumar can identify a special “exception” allowing her to speak. The State would bear the burden of proving that her conduct falls within the offence.

Rayawa reverses that principle. His argument begins with the assumption that criticism is prohibited unless the speaker can find an immunity.

That is not how criminal responsibility works in a constitutional democracy. Parliamentary privilege is a distraction. Rayawa emphasises that Kumar was not speaking inside Parliament. If her remarks were made outside parliamentary proceedings, she may not enjoy parliamentary privilege in respect of those particular words.

But that takes the argument nowhere. Parliamentary privilege provides especially strong protection for speech in parliamentary proceedings. It is not the source of every person’s ordinary freedom to comment upon judges, judgments and public institutions. A statement made outside Parliament remains subject to the ordinary law, including defamation and contempt. But it does not become criminal merely because parliamentary privilege is unavailable. The absence of an immunity is not proof of an offence.

Rayawa appears to argue Kumar was outside Parliament; she therefore lacked parliamentary privilege; consequently, her criticism violated section 194.

The third proposition does not follow from the first two. The prosecution must still prove the statutory conduct, the connection with a judicial proceeding and the necessary intention. Judicial immunity does not mean what Rayawa suggests.

Rayawa’s treatment of judicial immunity is equally problematic. He claims that Chief Justice Temo could criticise a lower-ranking judge, or “anyone or anything whatsoever” , because he is the highest-ranking judicial officer and enjoys judicial immunity.

Judicial immunity is designed to protect judicial independence by preventing judges from being personally sued for acts performed in the proper exercise of judicial functions. It does not confer an unlimited legal and ethical licence upon a Chief Justice to say anything whatsoever.

The scope of immunity depends upon the nature and context of the function being performed. More importantly, immunity from personal liability does not establish that the judicial officer’s statement is correct, appropriate or immune from public criticism.

Even if Temo was fully protected in making his remarks, that protection does not create a corresponding criminal liability for Kumar.

Rayawa conflates two entirely different questions: whether Temo may incur personal legal liability for what he said; and whether Kumar committed a criminal offence by responding to him. The first does not determine the second.

Was Temo correct? Temo was substantially justified in criticising the legal advice surrounding the extension. If lawyers failed to identify that the President lacked statutory power to extend the Commission, and public funds continued to be spent after its authority expired, that represents a serious professional and financial failure.

The Chief Justice was also entitled to use the episode to remind newly admitted lawyers that they must identify the source and limits of a client’s legal power rather than assume that high office supplies authority which Parliament has not granted. But the phrase “money wasted” lacked necessary qualification.

Justice Tuiqereqere held that, notwithstanding the legal defects that ultimately destroyed the report, the inquiry served a purpose. It exposed serious questions concerning Malimali’s suitability and the process by which the Judicial Services Commission recommended her appointment.

The evidence relating to the live investigation and the Tuvalu incident did not cease to exist merely because the report was quashed. Nor did public-interest questions surrounding the JSC’s decision disappear.

The most accurate formulation would therefore have been: Public money was wasted because defective legal advice and procedural unfairness prevented a legitimate and potentially important inquiry from producing a legally sustainable report.

That assigns responsibility where it belongs without pretending that the inquiry’s subject matter was worthless. Kumar was entitled to make that distinction. The Chief Justice’s institutional position required greater restraint.

There is another dimension that Rayawa ignores. Temo is not merely an individual judge expressing an academic opinion. He is the Chief Justice and chairman of the Judicial Services Commission, the institution centrally involved in the appointment process examined by the COI.

Moreover, litigation arising from the Malimali controversy remains before Fiji’s courts. The President has now formally joined as a respondent in Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka’s appeal against Justice Tuiqereqere’s ruling that Malimali’s removal by the President on the Prime Minister’s advice was unlawful. Malimali opposes the application to stay the judgment, and the Attorney-General is seeking to participate.

That appeal must not be confused with the proceedings that quashed the COI report. They are separate cases raising different legal issues. But they arise from the same institutional controversy and substantially overlapping events.

As head of the judiciary, Temo should have been exceptionally cautious about language capable of being understood as pronouncing upon the value of the COI while related appellate proceedings remained alive.

His remarks do not bind the Court of Appeal, and there is no suggestion that the appellate judges will decide the case other than independently. The issue is the appearance created when the institutional head of the judiciary publicly adopts a forceful position within a continuing constitutional controversy.

Judicial independence is protected not only by preventing improper attacks upon judges. It is also protected when judges exercise restraint in commenting publicly upon disputes still moving through the courts. Kumar’s question, whether Temo’s comment was appropriate, was therefore legitimate.

Rayawa’s contradictory conception of free speech

Rayawa’s argument produces an extraordinary imbalance. Temo, he says, may criticise “anyone or anything whatsoever” because he is Chief Justice and has judicial immunity. Kumar, however, may not question Temo because she was outside Parliament.

On this theory, judicial speech travels in only one direction. The Chief Justice may speak without limit, but citizens and elected representatives respond at risk of imprisonment. That is neither equality before the law nor a credible account of constitutional democracy.

A judge’s office commands respect. It does not establish infallibility. Judicial independence protects judges from interference; it does not protect their public statements from analysis.

The public may criticise a judgment without attacking the judge. It may question the Chief Justice’s public remarks without obstructing justice. It may distinguish between legal invalidity and factual uselessness without committing contempt.

A familiar tendency to overstate judicial power.

There is a revealing continuity between Rayawa’s present position and his earlier interventions. As Fijileaks previously demonstrated, Rayawa urged Chief Justice Temo to direct court registries not to accept prosecutions associated with Acting FICAC Commissioner Lavi Rokoika. That proposal overstated the Chief Justice’s administrative power and ignored the de facto officer doctrine, the very doctrine that once preserved prosecutorial acts signed by Rayawa when his own appointment as Acting DPP was challenged.

Now Rayawa again attributes sweeping authority to the Chief Justice: first, the power to block an entire class of prosecutions administratively; and secondly, an apparently unlimited entitlement to criticise anyone while those responding may face criminal prosecution.

Both propositions treat the office of Chief Justice as though it stands above ordinary constitutional restraints.

It does not. Court registries cannot be instructed to decide contested questions of constitutional validity which belong before judges. Likewise, section 194 cannot be used as a general silencing provision whenever someone challenges a statement made by the Chief Justice.

The common thread is not legal principle but the inflation of administrative and judicial authority beyond its proper limits.

Can Kumar be charged? A complaint may be lodged against almost anyone. Police may investigate an allegation, and prosecutorial authorities may decide whether the evidence and public interest justify a charge.

But the real question is whether the reported words provide a sustainable foundation for prosecution. On the presently available evidence, a charge under section 194(1)(m) would face formidable difficulties: Kumar did not disrupt the admission ceremony; her comments appear to have been made subsequently and outside it; she addressed the substance of Temo’s remarks about public expenditure; she did not threaten or abuse the Chief Justice; the necessary connection with a continuing judicial proceeding is uncertain; proof of intentional disrespect would be highly contestable; and constitutional freedom of expression would be directly engaged.

A prosecution would also create the alarming appearance that Fiji’s criminal law was being used to protect the Chief Justice from political criticism. That would do far more harm to public confidence in the judiciary than Kumar’s comments could ever achieve.

The appropriate response is debate not prosecution. Rayawa was free to answer Kumar on the merits. He could have argued that Temo referred only to expenditure incurred after the invalid extension. He could have maintained that any inquiry whose report is ultimately quashed represents an unacceptable loss to taxpayers. He could have defended the professional lesson Temo was offering to newly admitted lawyers.

Those would have been legitimate arguments. Instead, he reached for the threat of criminal prosecution. That choice illustrates precisely why broad offences concerning disrespect must be interpreted cautiously. Once criminal law is deployed to settle political and professional arguments, its purpose shifts from protecting justice to suppressing criticism.

The courtroom is not a sanctuary from public accountability, and the Crimes Act is not a muzzle for the Chief Justice’s critics.

Respect is not silence. Chief Justice Temo was entitled to criticise the defective legal advice that permitted the COI to continue beyond its lawful mandate. If public money was spent on work subsequently declared ultra vires, it was reasonable to describe that expenditure as wasted.

But he should have qualified his conclusion. The COI’s legally defective report did not erase the evidence gathered or the legitimate questions raised about Malimali’s appointment. Nor was it institutionally wise for the Chief Justice and JSC chairman to use such broad language while related litigation remained before the courts.

Premila Kumar was entitled to question him.

Her remarks may be challenged, criticised or rejected. They do not, without considerably more, establish intentional disrespect under section 194(1)(m).

Aca Rayawa’s claim that she is “clearly in breach” is not a judicial finding. It is his opinion, and an opinion built upon an expansive and constitutionally questionable reading of the Crimes Act.

Rayawa may defend Temo. Kumar may question Temo. Fijileaks may scrutinise them both.

That is not contempt. It is public debate.

Respect for the judiciary does not require silence. Judicial immunity does not create judicial infallibility. Parliamentary privilege is not the only protection for political speech. And criticism of the Chief Justice, however uncomfortable, is not automatically a crime.

The most important fact omitted from Aca Rayawa’s defence of Chief Justice Salesi Temo is that Temo was not a disinterested observer of the Commission of Inquiry.

The COI made grave adverse findings concerning his own conduct. It questioned whether Temo had told the truth under oath about his knowledge of the active FICAC investigation involving Barbara Malimali. The report raised the possibility of perjury or making an inconsistent or contradictory statement. It also alleged possible obstruction or perversion of justice and abuse of office arising from his intervention in FICAC’s operations.

The COI went further than merely criticising him. It recommended constitutional action concerning his possible removal for alleged misbehaviour.

These were allegations and recommendations, not criminal convictions. The Commission was not a criminal court, and Temo was entitled to challenge its findings. Justice Dane Tuiqereqere subsequently quashed the COI report and its adverse findings because the process was affected by an invalid extension, apparent bias, irrationality and procedural unfairness.

But the fact that the findings were quashed does not transform Temo into a neutral commentator upon the value of the inquiry.

When he described the outcome as “money wasted”, he was commenting upon an inquiry which had accused him personally of serious wrongdoing and recommended action against him. That created, at the very least, a powerful appearance of personal interest.

Temo may legitimately say that the COI’s findings against him were unlawful, procedurally unfair and incapable of proving any criminal offence. What was institutionally unwise was to use an admission-to-the-Bar ceremony to dismiss the expenditure as “money wasted” without acknowledging that he was among the principal beneficiaries of the judgment which nullified the report.

From Fijileaks Archives, February 2026

A Fijileaks Historical Perspective: Aca Rayawa’s recent call for Chief Justice Salesi Temo to direct court registries not to accept criminal charges filed by the Fiji Independent Commission Against Corruption has reopened an old constitutional question in Fiji’s public law: what happens when the legality of a public appointment is disputed?

Rayawa argues that if the appointment of the FICAC Commissioner is constitutionally defective, the authority exercised under that office is merely de facto rather than de jure. On that basis, he suggests that prosecutions initiated by the Commission should not proceed. In effect, he invites the judiciary to prevent the filing of such cases at the registry stage.

At first glance the argument may appear to rest on constitutional principle. Public power must derive from lawful authority. If an appointment is unlawful, scrutiny is inevitable. Yet the difficulty with Rayawa’s position lies not only in the doctrine he invokes but also in the historical circumstances in which he himself exercised prosecutorial authority.

For the legal system that once sustained his authority now stands squarely against the argument he advances.

Appointment in the Decree Era

Aca Rayawa was appointed Acting Director of Public Prosecutions on 31 December 2009 by the President, Ratu Epeli Nailatikau. The appointment occurred at a time when Fiji was no longer operating under the 1997 Constitution. Earlier that year the Constitution had been abrogated, and the country was being governed through a series of presidential promulgations and military-backed decrees following the political upheavals that followed the 2006 coup.

Under normal constitutional arrangements the Director of Public Prosecutions is appointed by the President on the recommendation of the Judicial Services Commission and must possess the qualifications required for appointment as a judge. These safeguards exist to ensure that prosecutorial authority remains independent of political influence.

The circumstances surrounding Rayawa’s appointment were markedly different. The constitutional framework governing such appointments was not functioning in its ordinary form. The legal order during that period rested upon executive authority exercised through the decree system that had replaced the earlier constitutional structure.

Despite that unusual setting, prosecutions continued to be brought before the courts. The legal system did not treat those prosecutions as void simply because the constitutional machinery of appointment had been disrupted. Instead, the courts relied upon established principles of public law to preserve the continuity of legal authority. Those principles would later prove decisive in relation to Rayawa himself.

Imrana Jalal, Ratu Sakiusa Tuisolia, and Roma's Hook & Chook Fish and Chips

Rayawa’s tenure as Acting Director of Public Prosecutions coincided with several prosecutions that became the subject of sustained public controversy. Among the most widely discussed were the proceedings involving former Airports Fiji Limited chief executive Sakiusa Tuisolia and his wife, the human rights lawyer Patricia Imrana Jalal.

The allegations concerned regulatory matters connected with a restaurant licence and municipal procedures. What might ordinarily have remained a local administrative dispute developed into extended criminal litigation pursued through several stages of the court system.

At the time Rayawa was not a peripheral participant in those proceedings. He was the Acting Director of Public Prosecutions, and the cases were initiated and pursued under the authority of his office.

The litigation lasted for years and generated widespread criticism within Fiji’s legal community. Jalal herself later wrote publicly about the personal toll of the prosecutions and the distress they caused to her family. The experience, she explained, involved prolonged legal pressure and reputational damage before the proceedings eventually collapsed in the High Court.

The episode became widely cited by critics as an example of the aggressive prosecutorial climate that characterised parts of the Bainimarama-Khaiyum decree era.

Yet during those years the state never argued that prosecutions should be halted because questions might exist about the constitutional pedigree of the prosecutorial authority under which they were brought. On the contrary, the machinery of prosecution continued to operate without interruption under the authority of the Acting DPP.

When Rayawa’s Own Authority Was Tested

The most direct judicial scrutiny of Rayawa’s authority came in the High Court decision in Chaudhry v State in 2014. In that case the defence argued that Rayawa lacked the statutory experience required to hold the office of Acting Director of Public Prosecutions and therefore had no authority to sanction criminal proceedings.

If the argument had succeeded, the prosecution would have collapsed.

Justice Madigan rejected the challenge. The court reaffirmed a central principle of public law: official acts are presumed to be valid unless and until they are set aside by a competent court in appropriate proceedings.

The judgment also relied on the de facto officer doctrine. Under this doctrine, a person who occupies public office and performs its functions with institutional recognition is treated as a lawful office-holder for the purpose of preserving the validity of official acts. Even if defects in appointment are alleged, acts performed while the officer occupies the position remain legally effective.

The doctrine exists for a practical reason. Without it, every prosecution, administrative decision, or judgment could become vulnerable to collapse whenever questions are raised about the legality of an appointment.

In the Chaudhry case the court concluded that Rayawa had at the very least acted as a de facto Acting Director of Public Prosecutions. His sanction of criminal charges therefore remained legally valid.

In other words, the legal system protected the authority under which Rayawa himself had acted.

The Present Aca Rayawa Argument

Rayawa now suggests that criminal proceedings should be halted because the appointment of the FICAC Commissioner may be constitutionally defective.

The difficulty with that reasoning is that it asks the courts to do precisely what they previously refused to do when Rayawa’s own authority was challenged.

The jurisprudence of the High Court is clear. Challenges to the legality of an appointment must be brought in the proper forum through judicial review or constitutional litigation. They cannot be used as collateral devices to derail criminal prosecutions.

Rayawa’s proposal goes further still. It suggests that court registries should refuse to accept charges filed by FICAC. That would effectively place the responsibility for deciding a constitutional question in the hands of administrative officers whose function is purely procedural.

Registries process filings. They do not adjudicate constitutional disputes.

To give them that role would fundamentally alter the functioning of the criminal justice system.

The Contradiction

The paradox is therefore difficult to avoid.

During the decree era Rayawa exercised prosecutorial authority within a legal system that relied heavily on the de facto officer doctrine in order to maintain continuity amid constitutional disruption. The courts preserved the validity of acts performed by those who occupied public office even when the circumstances of appointment were unusual.

Now the same figure argues that prosecutions should be halted because the appointment of a public official may be defective.

If that principle were applied consistently, it would have consequences reaching far beyond the present debate. A considerable portion of Fiji’s recent prosecutorial history, including cases authorised by Rayawa himself, might have been vulnerable to challenge at the moment they were filed.

That is precisely the scenario the courts have repeatedly sought to avoid.

The Lesson of Fiji’s Own Jurisprudence

None of this means that questions about the legality of appointments should be ignored. Constitutional accountability requires that such issues can be examined and, where necessary, corrected.

But the law draws a clear distinction between challenging an appointment and paralysing the justice system.

The first belongs in the courtroom.

The second belongs nowhere in a functioning legal order.

The doctrine that once preserved the authority of the Acting Director of Public Prosecutions during a period of constitutional uncertainty cannot easily be invoked to dismantle the authority of another office-holder today.

That is the difficulty at the heart of Aca Rayawa’s argument.

The legal principle that protected his prosecutions now stands firmly against the position he advances.

FOUR AFFIDAVITS, THREE LEGAL STAGES: How the COI Treated the Conflicting Evidence, What the Fiji High Court Decided and Why It May Still Matter in the Court of Appeal. The 5 September 2024 events at FICAC

24/8/2026

Fijileaks: We Have the Transcript and Audio Recording of the Events of 5 September 2024. We Will Release Both for the Public to Hear, Read and Decide for Themselves

The COI drew adverse conclusions from the events at FICAC. Justice Dane Tuiqereqere quashed those findings. The Fiji Court of Appeal may now have to decide whether the High Court corrected an unlawful process or improperly reassessed evidence that belonged to the Commission. Why revisit four affidavits placed before a Commission of Inquiry whose report has now been declared unlawful, null and void?

Because the affidavits help readers understand three separate legal questions: (1) What evidence was available to the COI concerning Wylie Clarke’s and Laurel Vaurasi’s attendance at FICAC on 5 September 2024? (2) How did Justice Dane Tuiqereqere treat the COI’s use of that evidence? (3) What, if anything, can the affidavits contribute to an appeal before the Fiji Court of Appeal?

This is not an attempt to revive quashed findings through media commentary. Nor is it an allegation that any of the four deponents committed perjury.

It is an examination of conflicting sworn evidence and the different legal functions of a commission of inquiry, a judicial-review court and an appellate court.

The COI’s function was to investigate and draw findings.

The High Court’s function was to review the legality and fairness of that process.

The Court of Appeal’s function, if the relevant issues are properly appealed, will be to determine whether Justice Tuiqereqere made an appeal error in reviewing the Commission.

Those three institutions do not perform the same task.

The four affidavits

Four sworn accounts are relevant to the dispute over who represented Barbara Malimali and why the lawyers attended FICAC. They are the affidavits of Wylie Clarke; Barbara Malimali; Amani Bale; and Laurel Vaurasi. The affidavits do not present one unified account. They divide broadly into two competing explanations.

Clarke and Vaurasi maintain that Clarke and Vaurasi attended in an institutional capacity for the Fiji Law Society.

Malimali and Bale used language capable of supporting the proposition that Clarke, and possibly Vaurasi, acted personally for Malimali.

That division is not necessarily proof that anyone lied. Different witnesses may have understood the roles differently, or the lawyers’ capacity may have changed as the events unfolded.

But the conflict was real and required evaluation.

Clarke’s affidavit

Clarke expressly denied being Malimali’s legal counsel: “I have never acted for, taken instructions from or been engaged as legal counsel by Ms Malimali.” That was a categorical denial of a conventional solicitor-client relationship. Clarke also acknowledged that he had telephoned Malimali to congratulate her on her appointment as FICAC Commissioner.

There was nothing inherently improper about a Fiji Law Society president congratulating a senior practitioner appointed to an important public office.

But the call was evidentially relevant because it established direct contact between Clarke and Malimali before she sought his assistance following her arrest.

The question was not merely whether Clarke possessed a written retainer. It was whether, through words and conduct, he provided personal legal assistance to Malimali or acted solely as the institutional representative of the Society.

Malimali’s affidavit

Malimali stated: “I asked to make a call to my lawyer. I called Mr Wylie Clarke…”

She said Clarke had earlier called her from a Digicel number. After her arrest, she called that number, told him that she had been arrested by her own officers and asked him to contact the Chief Registrar. She believed she may also have asked him to contact the Commissioner of Police.

Malimali also asked Clarke to come to FICAC and assist her. Her affidavit therefore provided direct evidence that she personally sought Clarke’s assistance; she described him as “my lawyer”; she asked him to involve senior public officials; and his attendance followed her request. It remains possible that Malimali used “my lawyer” informally. She may have meant a lawyer she trusted rather than a solicitor already retained under a formal agreement.

But her description was relevant evidence. It could not be dismissed merely because Clarke denied being formally engaged.

Bale’s affidavit

Amani Bale stated: “Mr Clarke introduced himself together with Ms Laurel Vaurasi as lawyers for Ms Malimali.” If accurate, Bale was not simply expressing his own assumption. His affidavit concerned how Clarke allegedly presented himself and Vaurasi at FICAC.

That account conflicted directly with Clarke’s denial and Vaurasi’s institutional explanation. The relevant questions included:

What words did Clarke actually use?
Was the introduction captured on the recording?
Did Bale accurately recall it?
Did “lawyers for Malimali” mean formally retained counsel?
Was Clarke speaking for himself and Vaurasi?
Did Vaurasi hear or adopt the alleged introduction?
Was Bale describing legal representation or simply the practical alignment of those present?

Bale’s account supplied evidence supporting the proposition that Clarke and Vaurasi were acting for Malimali. It did not, standing alone, prove that proposition.

Vaurasi’s affidavit

Vaurasi gave a detailed account supporting the alternative institutional explanation. At paragraph 13, she stated that Clarke contacted her: “…to accompany him to the FICAC Suva Office that morning, for and on behalf of the Society.” At paragraph 15, she explained that she believed the Society became involved because Malimali’s arrest and the procedures surrounding it raised a rule-of-law issue. At paragraph 16, she said: “…it became apparent that Ms Barbara Malimali had her own defence counsel(s) in attendance.”

Vaurasi did not identify those defence lawyers in that paragraph. It would therefore be unsafe to attribute the role to particular individuals solely on the basis of her affidavit. At paragraph 17, Vaurasi described Clarke and herself as “representatives of the Society”.

She said the meeting involved Chief Registrar Tomasi Bainivalu, Clarke and herself as Society representatives, Acting Deputy Commissioner Francis Puleiwai and other FICAC officers.

At paragraph 18, she identified the legal issue discussed: whether Puleiwai, as Acting Deputy Commissioner, had authority to arrest the newly appointed Commissioner. At paragraph 19, Vaurasi confirmed that Malimali was not present at the meeting and was released after it ended.

Vaurasi’s evidence therefore materially supported Clarke’s explanation. It could not fairly be treated as a bare denial without supporting detail.

What the four affidavits actually established

When read together, the affidavits established several matters that were either common ground or supported by more than one account:

Clarke had direct telephone contact with Malimali.
He congratulated her on her appointment.
Malimali contacted him after her arrest.
She asked him to come to FICAC.
Clarke contacted Vaurasi and asked her to accompany him.
Clarke and Vaurasi attended the FICAC office.
Malimali was not present during the lawyers’ meeting with the FICAC officers.
The meeting examined the legality of her arrest.
Malimali was released afterwards.

The unresolved dispute concerned the capacity and purpose of the participants:

Did Clarke attend as Malimali’s lawyer?
Did Clarke and Vaurasi attend solely for the Fiji Law Society?
Did their institutional role overlap with personal assistance to Malimali?
Who were the separate defence counsel mentioned by Vaurasi?
Did Clarke introduce himself in the terms attributed to him by Bale?
Was the purpose legitimate legal intervention or pressure upon investigators?

The affidavits alone could not answer all those questions. They had to be assessed alongside the contemporaneous audio recording, transcript and oral evidence.

The importance of the Saumi recording

FICAC invetigating officer Kuliniasi Saumi’s recording was crucial because it captured what participants said during the meeting rather than relying exclusively upon later recollections.

Clarke was reportedly recorded arguing that Malimali was now the substantive Commissioner and that FICAC officers were required to follow her direction “right or wrong”. He asked what they would do if she directed them to stop.

He also warned that continuing could produce a confrontation between FICAC and the courts and undermine public confidence in the justice system.

Bale was recorded seeking Malimali’s immediate release, warning investigators that their actions could damage their careers and asserting that the courts would not accept the contemplated charges.

Vaurasi reportedly questioned the legality of the arrest and warned the officers that FICAC risked operating outside the law.

The recording did not automatically prove criminal obstruction.

Lawyers are entitled to challenge arrests, question statutory authority, warn officials about legal consequences and seek the release of a detained person.

The legal character of the intervention depended upon context, intention and the meaning reasonably conveyed by the participants’ words.

But the recording allowed the COI to examine whether the institutional explanation advanced by Clarke and Vaurasi was consistent with what they actually said and did.

How the COI treated the evidence

The COI examined the 5 September meeting as part of the events surrounding Malimali’s appointment, arrest and attempted assumption of authority at FICAC.

Its concern extended beyond whether Clarke possessed a formal retainer. It examined:

how Clarke became involved;
why Malimali contacted him;
why he contacted Vaurasi;
whom the lawyers represented;
what they said to the investigators;
whether Malimali’s appointment was invoked to stop the investigation;
whether the officers were threatened or improperly pressured; and
whether the participants acted independently or in concert.

The Commission appears to have attached considerable weight to Malimali’s description of Clarke as “my lawyer”; her request that he come to assist her; Bale’s account of Clarke’s alleged introduction; the participants’ statements captured in the recording; the demand for Malimali’s release; and the warnings concerning judicial and professional consequences.

It ultimately reached serious adverse conclusions about the collective intervention and considered Clarke’s conduct sufficiently concerning to warrant independent investigation for possible obstruction or perversion of the course of justice.

That was not a criminal conviction.

The COI had no power to determine criminal guilt or impose punishment. Any prosecution would have required an independent investigation, admissible evidence and a prosecutorial decision.

The Commission’s finding was nevertheless grave. It required a rational evidential foundation and strict observance of natural justice.

Did the COI properly address Clarke’s and Vaurasi’s affidavits? That is one of the central issues emerging from Justice Tuiqereqere’s judgment. Clarke expressly denied acting as Malimali’s counsel.

Vaurasi supplied a detailed institutional explanation: Clarke contacted her on behalf of the Fiji Law Society; she understood the arrest as a rule-of-law issue; separate defence counsel were present; and she and Clarke attended as representatives of the Society.

The COI was entitled to reject that explanation but it had to confront it. It had to explain why it preferred Malimali’s and Bale’s descriptions or why the recording demonstrated that the institutional explanation was incomplete or implausible.

A rational decision-maker may prefer one body of evidence over another. But it cannot simply recite incriminating material while failing to address material evidence pointing in the opposite direction.

The High Court’s criticism was not necessarily that the COI lacked any evidence concerning Clarke. It was that the Commission’s much more serious conclusions were not logically supported and that evidence favourable to Clarke and Vaurasi had not been properly considered.

That distinction matters.

What Justice Tuiqereqere decided

Justice Tuiqereqere was exercising judicial-review jurisdiction. He was not presiding over a criminal trial or rehearing the COI from the beginning. His judgment rested upon several separate grounds.

The Commission’s lawful period

Justice Tuiqereqere held that the Commission did not possess lawful authority to continue beyond 31 January 2025.

In his view, the purported extension was legally ineffective and a fresh commission was required. Work undertaken afterwards, including the final report, was therefore ultra vires.

This was a threshold legal conclusion. If correct, it invalidated the report irrespective of whether the factual evidence concerning Clarke was strong or weak.

Procedural fairness

The judge found that Clarke, Vaurasi and the other applicants were not given sufficiently precise notice of the adverse findings eventually made against them.

The question was not simply whether Clarke knew that his role at FICAC was under examination. His affidavit demonstrates that he knew his alleged status as Malimali’s lawyer was an issue.

Likewise, Vaurasi knew the purpose of her attendance was being examined because her affidavit responded directly to it.

The High Court’s concern was that they were not adequately warned that the COI might conclude they participated in a conspiracy; exercised undue influence; improperly pressured investigators; obstructed the course of justice; or engaged in conduct warranting criminal investigation.

Knowledge of the underlying event is not necessarily notice of the particular adverse conclusion contemplated. Justice Tuiqereqere held that fairness required the applicants to be given the substance of the proposed findings and a meaningful final opportunity to respond.

Treatment of the evidence

The High Court found no logical evidential basis for some of the COI’s conclusions concerning conspiracy or undue influence by Clarke and Vaurasi.

The judge considered that the Commission had ignored or inadequately treated their evidence, including the Fiji Law Society explanation; the asserted rule-of-law concern; the existence of a perceived conflict within FICAC; their challenge to Puleiwai’s authority; and the wider context of their attendance.

Vaurasi’s affidavit provides direct documentary support for the existence of that alternative explanation.

The High Court did not have to accept her account as proven fact. But it was entitled to ask whether the COI engaged with it rationally before drawing much more serious conclusions.

Terms of reference

Justice Tuiqereqere concluded that adverse findings concerning the 5 September meeting went beyond the Commission’s terms of reference.

The judge appears to have distinguished between examining the process by which Malimali was appointed and making findings against lawyers who intervened after the appointment had already been made.

That conclusion is potentially contestable because Malimali’s appointment was central to the confrontation. Her new authority was invoked as a reason why FICAC officers could no longer proceed against her.

Whether the meeting fell within the COI’s mandate depends upon the proper interpretation of the terms of reference.

Apparent bias

The judge also found apparent bias, partly by reference to Justice David Ashton-Lewis’s public language about uncovering “crocodiles in the pond”.

The legal test was whether a fair-minded and informed observer might reasonably apprehend that the Commissioner would not approach the inquiry impartially.

The issue was not whether Ashton-Lewis personally believed himself fair. It was whether his conduct and statements created the objective appearance of prejudgment.

The remedy

Justice Tuiqereqere quashed the COI report and its adverse findings. That removed their legal effect. But it did not amount to a judicial determination that Clarke was definitely not Malimali’s lawyer; Vaurasi’s account was conclusively correct; Malimali and Bale gave false evidence; the recording was unreliable; none of the disputed statements was made; or the conduct at FICAC was beyond criticism.

The High Court decided that the findings were unlawfully and unfairly reached. It did not determine every underlying fact.

Did the High Court reassess the merits?

This may become one of the most important appellate questions.

A judicial-review court may examine whether a decision was irrational or lacked an evidential foundation. It does not ordinarily decide the entire factual dispute again or substitute its preferred interpretation merely because another conclusion was possible.

The COI had before it material capable of raising serious questions: Malimali’s “my lawyer” description; her request for Clarke’s assistance; Bale’s account of Clarke’s introduction; the recording of the meeting; the demand for Malimali’s release; and statements concerning the consequences of continuing the investigation.

The High Court was entitled to find that this evidence did not logically support the COI’s ultimate conclusions.

But if the judge effectively preferred Clarke’s and Vaurasi’s account over the competing evidence and substituted that preference for the Commission’s assessment, the Court of Appeal may find that he crossed the boundary between judicial review and a merits appeal.

The appellate question will be: Did the COI have some probative evidence upon which a rational fact-finder could reach its conclusion, or was the conclusion so unsupported, exaggerated or one-sided that judicial intervention was justified?

Why the four affidavits may matter in the Court of Appeal

The affidavits are not a free-standing ground of appeal. The Court of Appeal will not simply read them and announce which witness it believes.

Their relevance lies in several possible appellate arguments. Whether material evidence was overlooked

An appellant could argue that Justice Tuiqereqere failed to recognise the cumulative evidential foundation available to the COI.

Malimali’s and Bale’s affidavits, combined with the recording, may be used to challenge the High Court’s conclusion that the COI lacked a logical basis for examining Clarke’s conduct.

Conversely, Clarke and Vaurasi could rely upon their affidavits to defend the judgment by showing that the Commission failed to address important evidence supporting an innocent institutional explanation.

The affidavits therefore cut both ways.

Whether there was actual notice

Clarke’s affidavit expressly denied being Malimali’s lawyer. Vaurasi’s affidavit directly addressed why she attended and whom she represented.

Those responses show that both knew their capacity was under investigation.

An appellant may argue that this constituted actual notice of the substance of the issue.

But actual notice of one factual question is not necessarily notice of a contemplated finding of conspiracy or criminal obstruction.

The Court of Appeal would need to examine the entire process:

Were the competing affidavits disclosed?
Was the recording supplied or played?
Were the disputed statements put to the witnesses?
Were they told what adverse inferences might be drawn?
Were they warned of the possible findings?
Were they given a final opportunity to respond?

Whether the COI remained within its mandate

The affidavits demonstrate the connection between Malimali’s appointment and the events at FICAC.

The intervention arose because she had been appointed Commissioner and was arrested when attempting to take up the office. The dispute concerned whether the Acting Deputy Commissioner could arrest the substantive Commissioner.

That connection may support an appellate argument that the meeting fell within the terms of reference.

The opposing argument is that the Commission was established to investigate the appointment process, not every later controversy involving Malimali.

Whether procedural unfairness caused material prejudice

Even where a procedural defect is identified, an appellate court may examine whether it was material to the result.

If Clarke and Vaurasi knew the case, received the relevant evidence and answered the allegations fully, an appellant may argue that no material prejudice arose.

If they were never warned that their conduct might be characterised as conspiratorial or criminal, the High Court’s fairness ruling is more likely to survive.

Whether the entire report had to be quashed

The Court of Appeal may also consider whether Justice Tuiqereqere’s remedy was too broad.

Even if the findings concerning Clarke and Vaurasi were procedurally defective, it does not automatically follow that every part of the report had to be erased.

Possible questions include:

Could the Clarke and Vaurasi findings have been severed?
Could lawfully gathered evidence have been preserved?
Could the disputed findings have been remitted for reconsideration?
Did apparent bias infect the entire inquiry?
Was all decisive work completed only after the Commission’s lawful period expired?

The answer will depend heavily upon whether the extension ruling is upheld.

The extension issue remains decisive. The four affidavits cannot cure an absence of legal authority.

If the Court of Appeal agrees that the Commission expired on 31 January 2025, the final report may remain invalid regardless of whether Justice Tuiqereqere was wrong about the evidential basis concerning Clarke.

The affidavit dispute may still matter because it could correct the public interpretation of the judgment; affect findings about rationality and procedural fairness; influence the appropriate remedy; preserve underlying evidence for lawful independent investigation; or determine whether parts of the High Court’s reasoning should stand.

But any effective appeal seeking to restore the report must confront the extension ruling directly. Will the Court of Appeal necessarily decide the Clarke issue? Not necessarily.

Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka has indicated an intention to appeal matters affecting him. If the notice of appeal is confined to findings concerning the Prime Minister, the Court of Appeal may not revisit the separate conclusions concerning Clarke and Vaurasi.

For the four affidavits to become central to the appeal, a party with standing must properly challenge the High Court’s conclusions about the evidential foundation; natural justice; the scope of the terms of reference; and the remedy affecting those particular findings. The Court of Appeal determines grounds properly brought before it. It does not automatically reopen every part of a large judgment.

Why should readers care? Readers should care because three different propositions are being publicly confused.

The first is that the COI made adverse findings against Clarke and others.

The second is that the High Court quashed those findings.

The third, and incorrect, proposition is that the High Court thereby decided every contested fact in favour of the applicants.

It did not.

The COI’s conclusions presently have no legal force. That must be respected.

But the four affidavits remain part of the documentary history. They reveal a genuine conflict about legal representation, institutional intervention and the purpose of the meeting.

The Court of Appeal may eventually decide whether Justice Tuiqereqere correctly reviewed the COI’s treatment of that evidence. It will not necessarily decide which affidavit was true.

The affidavits are evidence, not verdicts. The four affidavits should neither be ignored nor treated as automatic proof of wrongdoing.

Malimali and Bale supplied evidence capable of supporting an inference that Clarke was acting personally for Malimali.

Clarke and Vaurasi supplied sworn evidence that they attended for the Fiji Law Society to address what they regarded as a rule-of-law problem.

The recording provided an objective means of testing those explanations against what was actually said.

The COI drew serious adverse conclusions from the cumulative evidence.

Justice Tuiqereqere held that those conclusions were produced by a Commission operating beyond its lawful authority, through an unfair and apparently biased process, and without a sufficient logical foundation.

The Court of Appeal’s potential role is not to repeat the COI or conduct a fresh trial. It is to decide whether Justice Tuiqereqere applied the correct legal standards when reviewing the Commission.

The central questions are therefore no longer simply, “Who was Malimali’s lawyer?” or “Which affidavit should be believed?”

(1) Did the COI fairly and rationally assess all four affidavits? Did it explain why it preferred one account over another?
(2) Were Clarke and Vaurasi given proper notice of the grave conclusions contemplated?
(3) Did the High Court correct genuine legal errors or improperly substitute its own view of the evidence?
(4) Did the 5 September meeting fall within the COI’s mandate?
(5) And, above all, did the Commission possess lawful authority when it made its final findings?

The COI findings have been quashed. The competing affidavits remain. Their proper legal treatment, not their mere existence, is what may now matter in the Fiji Court of Appeal.

Food For Thought: If Ashton-Lewis is believed, what was discussed when FLP President Wylie Clarke dined with him at the Ashiyana restaurant in 2023? Clarke didn't disclose the dinner on Fijivillage's STRAIGHT TALK

23/8/2026

In December 2023, Justice Ashton-Lewis had dinner at Ashiyana restaurant in Suva with Clarke and lawyer Hamendra Nagin. According to Ashton-Lewis, he told Clarke and Nagin during that dinner that Prime Minister Sitiveni Rabuka had approached him in 2021, when Rabuka was Opposition Leader, and again after becoming Prime Minister, to ask whether he would be interested in becoming Fiji’s Chief Justice.

Justice Ashton-Lewis

Wylie Clarke

What Chat Topic Was On the Menu?

PM Rabuka

Hemendra Nagin

There was nothing inherently improper about Fiji Law Society president Wylie Clarke dining with Justice David Ashton-Lewis. Lawyers, judges and senior members of the profession frequently meet socially.

But if Ashton-Lewis’s account is accepted, this was no ordinary social dinner. He says that in December 2023, he had dinner in Suva with Clarke and Suva lawyer Hamendra Nagin.

According to Ashton-Lewis, he told Clarke and Nagin during that dinner that Sitiveni Rabuka had approached him in 2021, when Rabuka was Opposition Leader, and again after becoming Prime Minister, to ask whether he would be interested in becoming Fiji’s Chief Justice.

That was an extraordinary disclosure. The man appointed to chair a tribunal concerning Fiji’s suspended Chief Justice was allegedly telling the president of the Fiji Law Society that a political leader had sounded him out about occupying the same office.

There is no evidence that Ashton-Lewis solicited the approaches, that Rabuka promised him the position or that Clarke and Nagin participated in any arrangement. Ashton-Lewis maintains that he was merely recounting approaches made to him.

Nevertheless, the conversation sat at an exceptionally sensitive intersection between judicial discipline, judicial succession and political involvement in the selection of Fiji’s Chief Justice.

Clarke did not disclose the dinner

Clarke subsequently told FijiVillage that Ashton-Lewis had said during a “meet-and-greet” session before the Commission of Inquiry into Barbara Malimali’s appointment that he should be Chief Justice of Fiji. Ashton-Lewis denied making such a statement during the meet-and-greet. He said he did not behave in that manner.

However, in responding to Clarke, Ashton-Lewis disclosed the earlier December 2023 dinner and said that Rabuka’s approaches concerning the Chief Justice position had been discussed there. It was Ashton-Lewis, not Clarke, who revealed the dinner and the substance of that alleged conversation.

Clarke did not mention in his FijiVillage interview that he had previously dined with Ashton-Lewis. Nor did he disclose that the possibility of Ashton-Lewis becoming Chief Justice had already been discussed in his presence.

That omission matters because the earlier conversation was essential context for assessing Clarke’s later allegation.

Without it, the public was left with the impression that Ashton-Lewis’s alleged meet-and-greet remark arose without any previous discussion between the two men about the Chief Justice’s office.

Did the two conversations become conflated? The existence of the earlier dinner raises an obvious evidential question: were there two separate conversations about Ashton-Lewis becoming Chief Justice, or has the substance of the December 2023 dinner become conflated with what was allegedly said at the later COI meet-and-greet?

Clarke says Ashton-Lewis declared during the meet-and-greet that he should be Chief Justice. Ashton-Lewis denies saying that. But he acknowledges that the Chief Justice position had been discussed with Clarke and Nagin at the earlier dinner, when he allegedly related Rabuka’s approaches.

The two men therefore agree that the possibility of Ashton-Lewis becoming Chief Justice was discussed in Clarke’s presence. They disagree about when the crucial words were spoken, how they were expressed and whether Ashton-Lewis was merely recounting Rabuka’s approaches or declaring his own ambition for the office.

That is a significant credibility dispute.

It cannot be resolved fairly without considering the December 2023 dinner, the very event Clarke omitted from his public account.

Was Clarke wrong to attend? Clarke was not automatically wrong to attend the dinner, particularly if he did not know beforehand that judicial appointments would be discussed.

But once the conversation allegedly turned to Rabuka’s approaches and the Chief Justice position, it ceased to be merely a private social occasion.

As president of the Fiji Law Society, Clarke held an institutional responsibility to defend judicial independence and the integrity of constitutional appointments. He should have appreciated the sensitivity of being told that a political leader had approached a judge of the Supreme Court to become the Chief Justice of Fiji. Lewis was sworn in as a Supreme Court judge in Fiji on 14 December, 2023, after being appointed by President Ratu Wiliame Katonivere.

The Chief Justice is not appointed through private political negotiations. Under Fiji’s Constitution, the President appoints the Chief Justice on the advice of the Prime Minister following consultation with the Attorney-General.

An informal inquiry about someone’s interest does not necessarily prove that the constitutional process was bypassed. But political approaches to serving or prospective judges can create an appearance that judicial succession is being privately explored before the formal constitutional machinery is engaged.

What did Clarke do with the disclosure? The most important question is not whether Clarke should have eaten dinner with Ashton-Lewis. It is what Clarke did after allegedly hearing the disclosure.

(1) Did he make a contemporaneous record of the conversation?
(2) Did he question whether Rabuka’s reported approaches were constitutionally appropriate?
(3) Did he inform the Fiji Law Society Council or another appropriate authority?
(4) Did he disclose the dinner when giving evidence before the Malimali COI?
(5) Did he regard Ashton-Lewis as merely recounting approaches made to him, or did he interpret his words as expressing a personal ambition to become Chief Justice?

If Clarke considered the December 2023 discussion innocent, what allegedly changed when the two men met again before the COI?

Conversely, if he regarded Ashton-Lewis’s comments as evidence of an improper ambition for the office, why did he remain silent about the earlier conversation when making his accusation publicly?

Clarke should answer the missing questions

Clarke should be invited to confirm or deny Ashton-Lewis’s account of the dinner. If he confirms the account, he should explain why he omitted this highly relevant background from his FijiVillage interview.

If he disputes it, he should state what was discussed and whether Rabuka’s alleged approaches or the prospect of Ashton-Lewis becoming Chief Justice were mentioned. Clarke’s omission does not, by itself, establish dishonesty. But it made his public account materially incomplete.

The dinner provided essential background for determining whether Ashton-Lewis made two separate statements about becoming Chief Justice, whether Clarke misunderstood or conflated the conversations, or whether Ashton-Lewis is now attempting to relocate a damaging remark from the COI meet-and-greet to an earlier private occasion.

The meal was not the real issue

There is no evidence that the dinner itself amounted to misconduct, improper influence or a conspiracy concerning the Chief Justice’s position.

The real issue is what was allegedly discussed across the table.

Ashton-Lewis had been appointed to chair a tribunal investigating allegations against the suspended Chief Justice. Kumar died on the scheduled opening day, leaving the allegations undetermined. The following month, according to Ashton-Lewis, the tribunal chairman told the Fiji Law Society president about Rabuka’s approaches concerning the same judicial office.

That was important constitutional and professional information.

Yet when Clarke later accused Ashton-Lewis publicly of declaring that he should be Chief Justice, Clarke did not disclose the earlier dinner or the fact that the same office had already been discussed between them.

Food for thought: Wylie Clarke was entitled to dine with Justice Ashton-Lewis. But once their conversation allegedly turned to Rabuka’s approaches and Fiji’s highest judicial office, it ceased to be merely a social meal. Clarke’s failure to disclose that earlier conversation left the public with only part of the story in his Fijivillage Straight Talk interview.

President of the Fiji Law Society, Wylie Clarke says Justice David Ashton-Lewis, the Commissioner of the Commission of Inquiry into the appointment of Barbara Malimali as FICAC Commissioner had said to Clarke in their meet and greet session before the COI that Justice Ashton-Lewis should be the Chief Justice of Fiji.

However, Justice Ashton-Lewis says he never made those comments in that meet and greet session and he does not behave like that, although he did confirm to fijivillage News today that he spoke to Clarke and lawyer, Hemendra Nagin during a dinner in December 2023 that he was approached in 2021 by Sitiveni Rabuka, who was the Leader of the Opposition at the time, if Justice Ashton-Lewis would be interested in becoming the Chief Justice of Fiji, and again after becoming Prime Minister, Rabuka approached him again on whether he would be interested in becoming the Chief Justice.

While speaking on fijivillage Straight Talk With Vijay Narayan, Clarke said during the meet and greet session, Justice Ashton-Lewis seemed more interested in knowing what the Law Society's attitude would be to an expatriate Chief Justice and Clarke says he refused to engage with him as it was inappropriate.

Clarke adds Justice Ashton-Lewis also said that he (Justice Ashton-Lewis) should be Chief Justice.

He says he and others in the room including Janet Mason and the Secretary of the COI from the Prime Minister's Office were shocked.

Clarke says he told Justice Ashton-Lewis that this is a really inappropriate conversation as the Law Society has no role to play in the appointment of the Chief Justice and it was inappropriate to discuss about Justice Ashton-Lewis becoming the Chief Justice because the COI in it's terms of reference were supposed to deal with the Judicial Services Commission and the Chairman of the JSC, who is the Chief Justice Salesi Temo.

However Justice Ashton-Lewis maintains that the only conversation that took place was during the dinner in December 2023 about the Prime Minister asking him if he was interested in becoming the Chief Justice.

Justice Ashton-Lewis says he was sworn in as a Supreme Court judge in December 2023.

He says he remembers Clarke and Nagin saying to him at the time for him to take up the post if offered.

Clarke has maintained that he never spoke to Justice Ashton-Lewis about taking up the Chief Justice post.

30 November 2023: NFP leader Biman Prasad at Ashiyana Restaurant, Suva

WHO REPRESENTED MALIMALI?
Wylie Clarke Denies Being Her Lawyer, but Amani Bale’s Affidavit Says Clarke and Vaurasi Introduced Themselves as Her Lawyers

In his affidavit, Wylie Clarke has denied that he was Malimali's LAWYER

Malimali-Saumi exchange regarding arrest and charging of NFP leader

Kuliniasi Saumi

THE 5 SEPTEMBER DOMINO EFFECT: Lawyers' Intervention Secured Malimali's Release. But Did It Also Stop FICAC From Cautioning and Charging Biman Prasad That Afternoon?

The events of 5 September 2024 raise an important chronological question about what happened inside FICAC after the arrest of newly appointed Commissioner Barbara Malimali.

That morning, Malimali was arrested by FICAC officers. A group of lawyers subsequently intervened over her detention and sought her release. Whatever their intention in assisting Malimali, the intervention had a potentially significant collateral consequence: Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister and NFP leader Biman Chand Prasad, who was expected to return to FICAC that afternoon to complete his caution interview and, according to the material then circulating within FICAC, face charges, was not charged.

The chronology becomes even more important when Richard Naidu’s communication to Malimali is considered. Naidu was seeking the postponement of Prasad’s FICAC appearance until Monday, 9 September, referring to the World Bank President Ajay Banga’s official visit and telling Malimali: “We are mindful that this is your first day in office (5 September 2024) and this is hardly the way you may want to begin it.”

But that produces an obvious question: when did Malimali actually receive and respond to Naidu’s request?

If Malimali had already been arrested that morning and was herself the subject of FICAC action, the precise sequence of communications becomes critical.

Evidence placed before the Commission of Inquiry by FICAC was that it was not until approximately 2pm on 5 September that officers were informed that they were not to proceed with charges without Malimali’s authorisation, an instruction which encompassed the proposed action involving Prasad.

The issue, therefore, is not simply whether lawyers were entitled to intervene on Malimali’s behalf. The larger question is whether the intervention, Malimali’s release, Naidu’s request concerning Prasad, and the subsequent instruction restraining FICAC officers from proceeding with charges intersected in a way that also benefited Prasad at the very moment FICAC was preparing to take action against him.

The documentary trail should be capable of answering this without speculation: At what time was Naidu’s request sent? When did Malimali receive it? Did she reply, and if so at what time? Who issued or communicated the approximately 2pm instruction? On whose authority? And was Prasad’s proposed charge specifically discussed before that instruction was given?

Those timestamps matter. They could establish whether these were merely separate events occurring during an extraordinary day at FICAC or whether there was a direct chronological connection between Malimali’s arrest and release, the lawyers’ intervention, and the stopping of the proposed action against Biman Prasad.

PARTY FIRST. SODELPA General Secretary Simione Rasova resigns as court proceedings loom. Rasova: 'It is vital that upcoming court dates do NOT draw attention away from party's election campaign and standing.'

22/8/2026

Social Democratic Liberal Party general secretary Simione Rasova has resigned with immediate effect, saying his continuing Magistrates’ Court proceedings risk distracting from the party’s election campaign and damaging its standing.

In a resignation letter dated 21 August 2026, Rasova informed SODELPA president Ratu Filimoni Belolevu Nabainivalu Soqeta that he would leave the position from 5pm that day.

Rasova said the proceedings had continued since 17 October 2020 and pointed to two forthcoming stages: a pre-trial conference scheduled for 1 September and a hearing set down for 12–16 October 2026.

“With the election campaign underway and candidate announcements finalized, it is vital that upcoming court dates…do not draw attention away from the party’s core mission or reflect negatively upon the office of the General Secretary,” he wrote.

Rasova said he had made the decision in the best interests of SODELPA and its leadership.

He thanked the party for the opportunity and trust placed in him during his 11 months as general secretary and wished it success in the 2026 General Election.

His resignation removes a potentially significant political distraction as SODELPA prepares for the election campaign. It does not, however, amount to an admission of wrongdoing, and the matters before the court remain to be determined through the judicial process.

SODELPA has yet to announce who will succeed Rasova as general secretary.

Rasova is charged with one count of giving false information to a public servant and one count of obtaining a financial advantage.

It is alleged that on 14th of February 2019, he provided false information to the Acting Secretary-General to Parliament regarding his permanent place of residence, claiming it to be Nasenivolau, Nabouwalu Village, Ono, Kadavu, in order to obtain allowance payments amounting to $21,350.

Rasova's trial will be from the 12-16 October, 2026.

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