"In any functioning democracy, the Attorney-General does not license debate. The people do. Referendums are not acts of executive grace. They are moments of popular sovereignty. And popular sovereignty cannot exist where speech is rationed, monitored, or chilled by the threat of prosecution. If these provisions remain, Fiji risks staging a referendum in form but not in substance, a vote without voice, choice without conversation, democracy without freedom. That is not reform. It is regression dressed up as participation. And it is precisely the kind of law that should never reach the statute book without being torn apart in public debate - loudly, freely, and without asking permission."
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Richard Naidu’s reading of the National Referendum Bill is largely correct. The Bill is confused, internally inconsistent, and drafted in a way that risks criminalising ordinary civic participation. Where the concern deepens is not merely in poor drafting, but in what the Bill reveals about the government’s approach to public constitutional debate.
As Naidu points out, section 22 is drafted so broadly that it could capture core political speech, including paid newspaper advertisements or printed material expressing a view on how people should vote. Whether social media posts are included is unclear. That uncertainty is itself a problem. Laws regulating political speech must be precise. Vague criminal offences invite selective enforcement and chill lawful expression.
Section 23 illustrates the problem even more starkly. Section 23(1) appears to allow campaigning while prohibiting persuasion. In any democratic system, that distinction is meaningless. Campaigning is persuasion. A law that attempts to separate the two cannot be applied coherently and places citizens at risk of prosecution for ordinary political discussion.
Section 23(2) goes further by prohibiting visits to private homes “for any purpose in connection with” the referendum. This provision would criminalise door-to-door canvassing, civil society voter education, and even voluntary discussions in private homes. It intrudes into private association and private speech, areas traditionally afforded the highest level of protection.
Equally troubling is the government’s response to civil society concerns, suggesting that public commentary should be cleared through the Attorney-General’s Office to avoid “miscommunication.”
This is not a clarification mechanism; it is executive control over political speech. It undermines public confidence and reinforces the chilling effect created by the Bill itself.
A referendum on the Constitution is not an ordinary regulatory exercise. It is the moment when citizens must be free to debate, persuade, organise, and disagree without fear of criminal sanction.
A law that restricts those freedoms does not protect the referendum process. It weakens it.
Dialogue Fiji has consistently argued that legitimacy comes from participation, clarity, and trust in the public. The National Referendum Bill, as currently drafted, moves in the opposite direction. Even if well-intentioned, it risks delegitimising the very outcome it seeks to regulate.
As Naidu points out, section 22 is drafted so broadly that it could capture core political speech, including paid newspaper advertisements or printed material expressing a view on how people should vote. Whether social media posts are included is unclear. That uncertainty is itself a problem. Laws regulating political speech must be precise. Vague criminal offences invite selective enforcement and chill lawful expression.
Section 23 illustrates the problem even more starkly. Section 23(1) appears to allow campaigning while prohibiting persuasion. In any democratic system, that distinction is meaningless. Campaigning is persuasion. A law that attempts to separate the two cannot be applied coherently and places citizens at risk of prosecution for ordinary political discussion.
Section 23(2) goes further by prohibiting visits to private homes “for any purpose in connection with” the referendum. This provision would criminalise door-to-door canvassing, civil society voter education, and even voluntary discussions in private homes. It intrudes into private association and private speech, areas traditionally afforded the highest level of protection.
Equally troubling is the government’s response to civil society concerns, suggesting that public commentary should be cleared through the Attorney-General’s Office to avoid “miscommunication.”
This is not a clarification mechanism; it is executive control over political speech. It undermines public confidence and reinforces the chilling effect created by the Bill itself.
A referendum on the Constitution is not an ordinary regulatory exercise. It is the moment when citizens must be free to debate, persuade, organise, and disagree without fear of criminal sanction.
A law that restricts those freedoms does not protect the referendum process. It weakens it.
Dialogue Fiji has consistently argued that legitimacy comes from participation, clarity, and trust in the public. The National Referendum Bill, as currently drafted, moves in the opposite direction. Even if well-intentioned, it risks delegitimising the very outcome it seeks to regulate.
Imported Democracy? The Real Origins of Fiji’s Referendum Controls
Fijileaks: When critics describe Fiji’s proposed referendum provisions as “cut and paste authoritarianism”, they are aiming at the wrong target. The language may feel heavy-handed, unfamiliar, even alarming but it is not exotic, nor is it uniquely despotic. Much of it is recognisably borrowed from mainstream common-law democracies. What is distinctive is not the source of the ideas, but the way they have been assembled and entrenched.
At the heart of the controversy are two features: controls on money and influence in referendum campaigns, and provisions that appear to treat participation not merely as a right, but as a civic obligation backed by sanction. Both have well-established pedigrees elsewhere.
Take spending and campaign regulation first. The fear that wealthy interests can overwhelm public debate in a referendum is hardly a Fijian invention. In the United Kingdom, the Political Parties, Elections and Referendums Act 2000 was enacted precisely to prevent financial muscle from distorting democratic choice. It imposes strict spending limits, regulates campaign organisations, requires donor disclosure, and criminalises breaches.
Similar regimes exist in New Zealand under the Referendums Act and the Electoral Act, where advertising, funding and “undue influence” are tightly policed. These are not emergency measures in fragile states; they are routine features of mature democracies.
The second feature - language implying compulsory participation - points most clearly to Australia. Since 1924, Australians have been legally required to vote in federal elections, and the obligation extends to constitutional referendums under section 128 of the Australian Constitution. Failure to vote without a valid excuse is an offence, typically punished by a modest fine. This system has long been defended on democratic grounds: higher participation, greater legitimacy, and reduced capture by organised minorities. Whether one agrees with that philosophy or not, it is impossible to describe it as despotic.
So where does the unease come from?
The answer lies in structure rather than substance. In most democracies, these controls sit in ordinary legislation. They can be amended, refined, challenged in court, and adapted to political reality. Fiji’s approach appears to do something different: it constitutionalises the enforcement machinery itself. Rules that elsewhere belong to electoral law are elevated into entrenched constitutional provisions, insulated from easy revision and combined with unusually high thresholds for change.
That fusion is rare. It reflects not foreign tyranny but domestic anxiety, an understandable fear of manipulation, money politics, and challenges to legitimacy following a history of coups and constitutional rupture. The result is a framework that borrows familiar democratic tools but deploys them in an illiberal way.
Calling this “cut and paste from dictatorships” misses the point. The intellectual lineage runs through Canberra, Wellington and Westminster, not Pyongyang or Tehran.
The real question is whether mechanisms designed to protect democratic choice should themselves be locked beyond democratic reach.
That is a debate worth having. But it should be conducted on the basis of accuracy, not caricature.
Fijileaks: When critics describe Fiji’s proposed referendum provisions as “cut and paste authoritarianism”, they are aiming at the wrong target. The language may feel heavy-handed, unfamiliar, even alarming but it is not exotic, nor is it uniquely despotic. Much of it is recognisably borrowed from mainstream common-law democracies. What is distinctive is not the source of the ideas, but the way they have been assembled and entrenched.
At the heart of the controversy are two features: controls on money and influence in referendum campaigns, and provisions that appear to treat participation not merely as a right, but as a civic obligation backed by sanction. Both have well-established pedigrees elsewhere.
Take spending and campaign regulation first. The fear that wealthy interests can overwhelm public debate in a referendum is hardly a Fijian invention. In the United Kingdom, the Political Parties, Elections and Referendums Act 2000 was enacted precisely to prevent financial muscle from distorting democratic choice. It imposes strict spending limits, regulates campaign organisations, requires donor disclosure, and criminalises breaches.
Similar regimes exist in New Zealand under the Referendums Act and the Electoral Act, where advertising, funding and “undue influence” are tightly policed. These are not emergency measures in fragile states; they are routine features of mature democracies.
The second feature - language implying compulsory participation - points most clearly to Australia. Since 1924, Australians have been legally required to vote in federal elections, and the obligation extends to constitutional referendums under section 128 of the Australian Constitution. Failure to vote without a valid excuse is an offence, typically punished by a modest fine. This system has long been defended on democratic grounds: higher participation, greater legitimacy, and reduced capture by organised minorities. Whether one agrees with that philosophy or not, it is impossible to describe it as despotic.
So where does the unease come from?
The answer lies in structure rather than substance. In most democracies, these controls sit in ordinary legislation. They can be amended, refined, challenged in court, and adapted to political reality. Fiji’s approach appears to do something different: it constitutionalises the enforcement machinery itself. Rules that elsewhere belong to electoral law are elevated into entrenched constitutional provisions, insulated from easy revision and combined with unusually high thresholds for change.
That fusion is rare. It reflects not foreign tyranny but domestic anxiety, an understandable fear of manipulation, money politics, and challenges to legitimacy following a history of coups and constitutional rupture. The result is a framework that borrows familiar democratic tools but deploys them in an illiberal way.
Calling this “cut and paste from dictatorships” misses the point. The intellectual lineage runs through Canberra, Wellington and Westminster, not Pyongyang or Tehran.
The real question is whether mechanisms designed to protect democratic choice should themselves be locked beyond democratic reach.
That is a debate worth having. But it should be conducted on the basis of accuracy, not caricature.
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When "Mischief" Means Dissent: The Referendum Bill and Fiji's Shrinking Democratic Space
The exchange between Acting Attorney-General Siromi Turaga and Dialogue Fiji over the proposed Referendum Bill 2025 is more than a policy disagreement. It exposes a fundamental clash over how far the state may go in controlling political speech, and whether Fiji is drifting toward a managed democracy where participation is permitted only on government terms.
At the centre of the dispute is Turaga’s claim that Dialogue Fiji, and its executive director Nilesh Lal, are engaging in “mischief” by publicly criticising the Bill and allegedly seeking to compel or influence government action. Dialogue Fiji, in turn, argues that the Bill criminalises the very essence of democratic participation: persuading fellow citizens how to vote.
What the Coalition Government Says Through Acting Attorney-General
Turaga insists the Referendum Bill does not prohibit public discussion. According to him, the Bill merely ensures that referendums are conducted in a fair, transparent, and orderly manner, consistent with constitutional requirements, existing electoral laws, and international practice. He argues that offence provisions are neither novel nor excessive, and that any potentially restrictive clauses will be scrutinised through the Parliamentary Standing Committee process, where civil society, media, and the public may make submissions.
He further downplays Dialogue Fiji’s standing, describing it as just one of many civil society organisations, administered by few people and lacking broad reach. Parliament, he says, should not be “pushed” by small organisations, and remains the proper forum for democratic decision-making. In his framing, responsible dialogue is welcome, but pressure politics from outside Parliament is not.
What Dialogue Fiji Says Through its Executive Director Nilesh Lal
Dialogue Fiji’s rebuttal is blunt: the text of the Bill contradicts the government’s assurances. In particular, it points to Section 23, which makes it a criminal offence to “endeavour to persuade or dissuade” another person from voting in a particular way.
Lal argues this is not a minor or technical restriction but a direct criminalisation of referendum advocacy itself.
Dialogue Fiji rejects the claim that the Bill aligns with international practice. Lal notes that in established democracies such as Australia, the United Kingdom, New Zealand, Switzerland, and others, citizens are free to campaign, persuade, and argue for or against referendum questions before, during, and after votes. While short “blackout” periods immediately before polling are common, a permanent and blanket ban on persuasion is, he argues, unprecedented in its severity.
The organisation also criticises provisions granting the Supervisor of Elections a monopoly over referendum-related materials, while banning citizens from using banners, badges, advertisements, or symbols. In Dialogue Fiji’s view, this hands the state disproportionate control over the information environment and undermines political equality.
This dispute goes beyond the technicalities of electoral law. At stake is the meaning of democratic participation itself. A referendum, by definition, is a collective act of persuasion: citizens arguing with one another about constitutional futures, national direction, and shared values. To criminalise persuasion is to hollow out the process while preserving its outward form.
Turaga’s dismissal of Dialogue Fiji as a marginal or minion actor is also revealing. Democratic systems do not condition the legitimacy of speech on the size, popularity, or “reach” of the speaker. Civil society exists precisely to challenge power, raise uncomfortable questions, and mobilise debate outside Parliament.
The government’s reliance on parliamentary committee review as a safeguard rings hollow if the core defect is structural rather than technical. As Dialogue Fiji argues, the problem is not drafting detail but democratic principle.
The Larger Pattern and the Referendum Bill
Seen in context, the Referendum Bill fits a broader pattern in Fiji’s post-2013 constitutional order: expansive executive discretion, strong regulatory control over political processes, and an intolerance of unscripted civic engagement.
Labeling criticism as “mischief” reframes dissent as irresponsibility, and participation as something to be managed rather than exercised.
A Message to Coalition government and acting Attorney-General Turaga
If the government truly does not intend to criminalise public expression on referendum issues, the solution is simple: amend the Bill so that persuasion is explicitly protected, not penalised.
Until then, Dialogue Fiji’s critique cannot be dismissed as mischief. It is a warning that Fiji risks turning one of democracy’s most direct tools into a tightly policed ritual, stripped of its democratic soul.
At the centre of the dispute is Turaga’s claim that Dialogue Fiji, and its executive director Nilesh Lal, are engaging in “mischief” by publicly criticising the Bill and allegedly seeking to compel or influence government action. Dialogue Fiji, in turn, argues that the Bill criminalises the very essence of democratic participation: persuading fellow citizens how to vote.
What the Coalition Government Says Through Acting Attorney-General
Turaga insists the Referendum Bill does not prohibit public discussion. According to him, the Bill merely ensures that referendums are conducted in a fair, transparent, and orderly manner, consistent with constitutional requirements, existing electoral laws, and international practice. He argues that offence provisions are neither novel nor excessive, and that any potentially restrictive clauses will be scrutinised through the Parliamentary Standing Committee process, where civil society, media, and the public may make submissions.
He further downplays Dialogue Fiji’s standing, describing it as just one of many civil society organisations, administered by few people and lacking broad reach. Parliament, he says, should not be “pushed” by small organisations, and remains the proper forum for democratic decision-making. In his framing, responsible dialogue is welcome, but pressure politics from outside Parliament is not.
What Dialogue Fiji Says Through its Executive Director Nilesh Lal
Dialogue Fiji’s rebuttal is blunt: the text of the Bill contradicts the government’s assurances. In particular, it points to Section 23, which makes it a criminal offence to “endeavour to persuade or dissuade” another person from voting in a particular way.
Lal argues this is not a minor or technical restriction but a direct criminalisation of referendum advocacy itself.
Dialogue Fiji rejects the claim that the Bill aligns with international practice. Lal notes that in established democracies such as Australia, the United Kingdom, New Zealand, Switzerland, and others, citizens are free to campaign, persuade, and argue for or against referendum questions before, during, and after votes. While short “blackout” periods immediately before polling are common, a permanent and blanket ban on persuasion is, he argues, unprecedented in its severity.
The organisation also criticises provisions granting the Supervisor of Elections a monopoly over referendum-related materials, while banning citizens from using banners, badges, advertisements, or symbols. In Dialogue Fiji’s view, this hands the state disproportionate control over the information environment and undermines political equality.
This dispute goes beyond the technicalities of electoral law. At stake is the meaning of democratic participation itself. A referendum, by definition, is a collective act of persuasion: citizens arguing with one another about constitutional futures, national direction, and shared values. To criminalise persuasion is to hollow out the process while preserving its outward form.
Turaga’s dismissal of Dialogue Fiji as a marginal or minion actor is also revealing. Democratic systems do not condition the legitimacy of speech on the size, popularity, or “reach” of the speaker. Civil society exists precisely to challenge power, raise uncomfortable questions, and mobilise debate outside Parliament.
The government’s reliance on parliamentary committee review as a safeguard rings hollow if the core defect is structural rather than technical. As Dialogue Fiji argues, the problem is not drafting detail but democratic principle.
The Larger Pattern and the Referendum Bill
Seen in context, the Referendum Bill fits a broader pattern in Fiji’s post-2013 constitutional order: expansive executive discretion, strong regulatory control over political processes, and an intolerance of unscripted civic engagement.
Labeling criticism as “mischief” reframes dissent as irresponsibility, and participation as something to be managed rather than exercised.
A Message to Coalition government and acting Attorney-General Turaga
If the government truly does not intend to criminalise public expression on referendum issues, the solution is simple: amend the Bill so that persuasion is explicitly protected, not penalised.
Until then, Dialogue Fiji’s critique cannot be dismissed as mischief. It is a warning that Fiji risks turning one of democracy’s most direct tools into a tightly policed ritual, stripped of its democratic soul.
The Lal Paradox: Advocating National Dialogue While Avoiding One
Dialogue Fiji’s executive director, Nilesh Lal, has perfected a curious form of civic engagement. Despite positioning himself and his organisation as guardians of national dialogue, Lal has consistently failed to respond to direct, substantive correspondence from Fijileaks on issues of clear national importance.
Our emails remain unanswered. Our requests for engagement are met with silence.
Whether this silence is born of arrogance, caution, or an aversion to internal scrutiny is ultimately known only to him. What is clear, however, is that selective engagement is not dialogue. It is gatekeeping. One does not advance democratic discourse by choosing which voices are worthy of response, particularly when those voices raise uncomfortable but legitimate questions about law, governance, and constitutional process.
The irony is difficult to ignore. Dialogue Fiji regularly urges transparency, consultation, and inclusiveness and yet its director appears unwilling to engage in basic professional communication with Fijileaks that has, for better or worse, played a central role in exposing matters of public interest in Fiji for decades.
The only thing we appear to share in common is a surname: Lal. Beyond that coincidence, the contrast is stark. Dialogue requires engagement, not silence; courage, not curatorship; and accountability not only from the government, but from those who claim to speak in the public interest.
Silence, in moments that demand clarity, is itself a statement, and not a neutral one.
NEXT INSTALMENT: Why Britain Could Hold Brexit Referendum and Fiji Cannot Hold a Referendum Like This
Our emails remain unanswered. Our requests for engagement are met with silence.
Whether this silence is born of arrogance, caution, or an aversion to internal scrutiny is ultimately known only to him. What is clear, however, is that selective engagement is not dialogue. It is gatekeeping. One does not advance democratic discourse by choosing which voices are worthy of response, particularly when those voices raise uncomfortable but legitimate questions about law, governance, and constitutional process.
The irony is difficult to ignore. Dialogue Fiji regularly urges transparency, consultation, and inclusiveness and yet its director appears unwilling to engage in basic professional communication with Fijileaks that has, for better or worse, played a central role in exposing matters of public interest in Fiji for decades.
The only thing we appear to share in common is a surname: Lal. Beyond that coincidence, the contrast is stark. Dialogue requires engagement, not silence; courage, not curatorship; and accountability not only from the government, but from those who claim to speak in the public interest.
Silence, in moments that demand clarity, is itself a statement, and not a neutral one.
NEXT INSTALMENT: Why Britain Could Hold Brexit Referendum and Fiji Cannot Hold a Referendum Like This
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