*Under Section 115 of the 2013 Constitution, the President appoints the FICAC Commissioner on the advice of the JSC. But when the position is temporarily vacant, the President may appoint an Acting Commissioner to ensure continuity. Nothing in the text forbids it. In other words, an acting appointment is a practical measure, not a constitutional crisis.
*In the Manoa Kamikamica matter, the court will decide the facts and evidence. FICAC, as an institution, remains perfectly competent to prosecute. The Acting Commissioner’s signature is an administrative formality, not the foundation stone of the case. The accused’s guilt or innocence will be determined by evidence, not by Tanya Waqanika’s Facebook feed.
  |  Lavi Rokoika  Tanya Waqanika |
When Facebook becomes Fiji’s constitutional court, Suva lawyer TANYA Waqanika must be the Chief Justice.
 Her reported recent online post proclaiming that the entire case of FICAC against Manoa Kamikamica is “unconstitutional” because Lavi Rokoika, the Acting FICAC Commissioner, supposedly wasn’t appointed through the Judicial Services Commission (JSC) is the latest addition to the country’s growing library of social-media jurisprudence. It would be funny if it weren’t being shared so earnestly. Here we have a trained lawyer publicly declaring that all prosecutions signed off by the Acting Commissioner are invalid, a claim that collapses the moment one glances at the FICAC Act 2007. The Commission is a body corporate. It can sue, be sued, and prosecute in its own name. |  |
That’s why the case is styled FICAC against Manoa Kamikamica, not Lavi Rokoika against Manoa Kamikamica. FICAC’s authority doesn’t vanish every time a Commissioner changes seats.
Under Section 115 of the 2013 Constitution, the President appoints the Commissioner on the advice of the JSC. But when the position is temporarily vacant, the President may appoint an Acting Commissioner to ensure continuity. Nothing in the text forbids it. In other words, an acting appointment is a practical measure, not a constitutional crisis.
Even if, for argument’s sake, the appointment were later judged procedurally defective, the de facto officer doctrine protects the validity of acts performed in good faith by someone exercising official authority. This is basic administrative law. Courts worldwide, from London to Lautoka, from Sri Lanka to Suva, apply it precisely to prevent chaos whenever a paperwork glitch occurs in an appointment.
To suggest that every corruption charge collapses because of a social-media theory about the Acting Commissioner’s appointment is, to put it gently, unserious. It is the kind of argument that gets laughed out of court but goes viral online because it sounds scandalous and fits a political mood.
Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated incident. Fiji’s digital space has become an echo chamber of legal speculation, where snippets of constitutional language are twisted into memes and presented as definitive rulings. The pattern is familiar: someone with a legal background posts a dramatic claim; it spreads before anyone checks the law; by the time correction arrives, outrage has already done its work.
For lawyers, this is not harmless chatter. Public confidence in the justice system depends on clarity and restraint from those who know better. When trained professionals use their platforms to blur that line, they damage more than their own credibility. They erode the public’s understanding of law itself.
In the Manoa Kamikamica matter, the court will decide the facts and evidence. FICAC, as an institution, remains perfectly competent to prosecute. The Acting Commissioner’s signature is an administrative formality, not the foundation stone of the case. The accused’s guilt or innocence will be determined by evidence, not by Tanya Waqanika’s Facebook feed.
Perhaps Waqanika might recall that the first rule of legal ethics is accuracy before advocacy. Before one accuses an institution of acting unconstitutionally, it helps to open the statute, read the section, and verify the precedent. That takes longer than composing a viral post but it also avoids the embarrassment of being publicly corrected by the very text of the law.
So yes, we can thank Tanya Waqanika for the reminder that misinformation thrives where diligence sleeps. But the next time she feels the urge to issue a constitutional ruling from her news feed, she might start with a modest exercise: read the Act, check the Constitution, and maybe -just maybe-consult a real courtroom before delivering her next online judgment.
Until then, Fiji’s legal system will continue to function under the quaint belief that law is made in Parliament and interpreted by the courts, not rewritten in a Facebook comment thread.
Under Section 115 of the 2013 Constitution, the President appoints the Commissioner on the advice of the JSC. But when the position is temporarily vacant, the President may appoint an Acting Commissioner to ensure continuity. Nothing in the text forbids it. In other words, an acting appointment is a practical measure, not a constitutional crisis.
Even if, for argument’s sake, the appointment were later judged procedurally defective, the de facto officer doctrine protects the validity of acts performed in good faith by someone exercising official authority. This is basic administrative law. Courts worldwide, from London to Lautoka, from Sri Lanka to Suva, apply it precisely to prevent chaos whenever a paperwork glitch occurs in an appointment.
To suggest that every corruption charge collapses because of a social-media theory about the Acting Commissioner’s appointment is, to put it gently, unserious. It is the kind of argument that gets laughed out of court but goes viral online because it sounds scandalous and fits a political mood.
Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated incident. Fiji’s digital space has become an echo chamber of legal speculation, where snippets of constitutional language are twisted into memes and presented as definitive rulings. The pattern is familiar: someone with a legal background posts a dramatic claim; it spreads before anyone checks the law; by the time correction arrives, outrage has already done its work.
For lawyers, this is not harmless chatter. Public confidence in the justice system depends on clarity and restraint from those who know better. When trained professionals use their platforms to blur that line, they damage more than their own credibility. They erode the public’s understanding of law itself.
In the Manoa Kamikamica matter, the court will decide the facts and evidence. FICAC, as an institution, remains perfectly competent to prosecute. The Acting Commissioner’s signature is an administrative formality, not the foundation stone of the case. The accused’s guilt or innocence will be determined by evidence, not by Tanya Waqanika’s Facebook feed.
Perhaps Waqanika might recall that the first rule of legal ethics is accuracy before advocacy. Before one accuses an institution of acting unconstitutionally, it helps to open the statute, read the section, and verify the precedent. That takes longer than composing a viral post but it also avoids the embarrassment of being publicly corrected by the very text of the law.
So yes, we can thank Tanya Waqanika for the reminder that misinformation thrives where diligence sleeps. But the next time she feels the urge to issue a constitutional ruling from her news feed, she might start with a modest exercise: read the Act, check the Constitution, and maybe -just maybe-consult a real courtroom before delivering her next online judgment.
Until then, Fiji’s legal system will continue to function under the quaint belief that law is made in Parliament and interpreted by the courts, not rewritten in a Facebook comment thread.
And Iowane Naivalurua to replace Manoa Kamikamica as Deputy Prime Minister |   |
