 |  Ratu Epeli Nailatikau This morning (Oxford time, 11/9/25), I woke up, or rather was shaken awake, to the “news” that an old friend of mine had died. For a few moments, the weight of grief settled in. I even began mentally drafting his obituary, recalling the small stories and quiet jokes we’d shared over five decades. |
Then my instinct kicked in: trust, but verify. So, instead of lighting a candle, I picked up the phone and sent Viber and WhatsApp (Whats Up) messages to a few of my most reliable sources. Within minutes, the “late” Ratu himself was confirmed to be very much alive and kicking, possibly having his dinner while social media was busy burying him.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone killed off prematurely by rumour, and it certainly won’t be the last. In our age of instant information, a whisper becomes a headline faster than you can fact-check it. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: until you’ve seen the official announcement, or at least heard it from the horse’s mouth, keep your obituary drafts in the drawer. For now, I can assure you my friend is still among the living. And probably laughing at how many of us nearly started mourning him over breakfast.
Reports of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated
From Alfred Nobel to Donald Trump to Epeli Nailatikau
There are few things in life more certain than death. Except, perhaps, the persistent human tendency to announce it prematurely.
From the 19th century to today, history is littered with spectacular cases where powerful figures - scientists, politicians, kings, presidents - have been declared dead by overeager reporters, pranksters, or well-meaning relatives, only to rise from the ashes of rumour and politely (or not) inform the world that they are still very much alive.
This week, Fiji joined that long and colourful tradition when social media and certain broadcasters rushed to report the death of former President Ratu Epeli Nailatikau, a statesman, soldier, and diplomat whose influence continues to shape Fiji’s political landscape.
The problem? Ratu Epeli is alive. And his lawyers have filed a police complaint against those responsible, accusing them of publishing false, misleading, and grossly incorrect statements.
Welcome to the eternal theatre of premature obituaries, where fact and fiction collide, reputations get bruised, and history occasionally gets rewritten.
Alfred Nobel: The Man Who Read His Own Obituary
The most famous case of all belongs to Swedish chemist Alfred Nobel, inventor of dynamite and namesake of the Nobel Prizes. In 1888, when Nobel’s brother Ludvig died in Cannes, a French newspaper confused the brothers and published Alfred’s obituary instead. Its headline was brutal:
“Le marchand de la mort est mort”
“The merchant of death is dead.”
The obituary condemned Nobel for inventing explosives that killed thousands.
Shaken by the experience of reading his own public condemnation, Nobel rewrote his will. His fortune would go on to fund the Nobel Prizes, awarded annually to individuals “who have conferred the greatest benefit to humankind.”
Ironically, a false death report gave birth to one of the world’s most prestigious institutions. Not every premature obituary ends so constructively.
Mark Twain: The Witty Resurrection
In 1897, rumours circulated that the great American humorist Mark Twain had died. Newspapers published tributes. Fans mourned. Twain, upon learning of his “death,” famously quipped: “The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”
The line became legendary, a reminder that truth can be stranger than fiction, and fiction has a bad habit of outrunning the facts.
Donald Trump: #TrumpIsDead
Fast forward to the 21st century and add Twitter or “X” into the mix.
Lately, the hashtag #TrumpIsDead trended worldwide after a series of coordinated posts falsely claimed that the former U.S. President Donald Trump had passed away.
Memes flooded social media, some mournful, others gleefully celebratory. Conspiracy theories sprouted overnight. Newsrooms scrambled, unsure whether to publish, retract, or wait.
The result? A digital wildfire and a furious Trump, who returned to his social platform to declare: “I’m alive, well, and stronger than ever. Fake news!”
In the age of social media, death rumours have gone global, faster, louder, and harder to contain than ever before.
Ratu Epeli Nailatikau: Fiji’s Turn on the Stage
And now, Fiji finds itself in this age-old drama.
Recent online posts and radio segments attributed to individuals including Alex Forwood, Rajendra Chaudhry, and Radio Tarana, and many other social bloggers, claimed that Ratu Epeli Nailatikau, the respected but controversial former President of Fiji, had died.
Condolences began pouring in. Public figures reacted. Some prepared tributes.
But there was one small problem: Ratu Epeli isn’t dead.
His lawyers, from Lawyers and Legal Consultants, moved quickly, filing a police complaint alleging that the claims were “false, incorrect, and grossly misleading.”
It’s a reminder that in the Fijian context, where politics, status, and identity are deeply intertwined, declaring a high chief and statesman dead without cause is not just careless journalism. It can be a cultural affront, a legal hazard, and potentially a political act.
Unlike Alfred Nobel, Ratu Epeli probably won’t rewrite his will. But he might just help rewrite Fiji’s approach to digital responsibility and the legal consequences of spreading unverified death claims.
The Anatomy of a Premature Death Rumour
What do Nobel, Twain, Trump, and Ratu Epeli have in common?
In the digital age, the old newsroom mantra - “Better to be right than first”- has been flipped on its head. Now it’s: “Better to be first, and we’ll fix it later.”
But for the living subjects of these false obituaries, the consequences aren’t so easily fixed.
Fiji’s Digital Crossroads
This incident also raises questions for Fiji:
In a small nation where reputations are magnified, and politics are never far away, the answers aren’t simple.
In the words of Mark Twain, Ratu Epeli might well say:
“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
But unlike Twain’s era, where rumours travelled by telegram, today they spread at the speed of a single click.
And in an age where a tweet can upend markets, politics, and personal lives, Fiji now stands at the frontier of a deeper question: When misinformation meets culture and law, who owns the truth?
However, if the individuals can show:
"No man knows when his hour will come." Ecclesiastes 9:12 (Except Bloggers)
From the 19th century to today, history is littered with spectacular cases where powerful figures - scientists, politicians, kings, presidents - have been declared dead by overeager reporters, pranksters, or well-meaning relatives, only to rise from the ashes of rumour and politely (or not) inform the world that they are still very much alive.
This week, Fiji joined that long and colourful tradition when social media and certain broadcasters rushed to report the death of former President Ratu Epeli Nailatikau, a statesman, soldier, and diplomat whose influence continues to shape Fiji’s political landscape.
The problem? Ratu Epeli is alive. And his lawyers have filed a police complaint against those responsible, accusing them of publishing false, misleading, and grossly incorrect statements.
Welcome to the eternal theatre of premature obituaries, where fact and fiction collide, reputations get bruised, and history occasionally gets rewritten.
Alfred Nobel: The Man Who Read His Own Obituary
The most famous case of all belongs to Swedish chemist Alfred Nobel, inventor of dynamite and namesake of the Nobel Prizes. In 1888, when Nobel’s brother Ludvig died in Cannes, a French newspaper confused the brothers and published Alfred’s obituary instead. Its headline was brutal:
“Le marchand de la mort est mort”
“The merchant of death is dead.”
The obituary condemned Nobel for inventing explosives that killed thousands.
Shaken by the experience of reading his own public condemnation, Nobel rewrote his will. His fortune would go on to fund the Nobel Prizes, awarded annually to individuals “who have conferred the greatest benefit to humankind.”
Ironically, a false death report gave birth to one of the world’s most prestigious institutions. Not every premature obituary ends so constructively.
Mark Twain: The Witty Resurrection
In 1897, rumours circulated that the great American humorist Mark Twain had died. Newspapers published tributes. Fans mourned. Twain, upon learning of his “death,” famously quipped: “The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”
The line became legendary, a reminder that truth can be stranger than fiction, and fiction has a bad habit of outrunning the facts.
Donald Trump: #TrumpIsDead
Fast forward to the 21st century and add Twitter or “X” into the mix.
Lately, the hashtag #TrumpIsDead trended worldwide after a series of coordinated posts falsely claimed that the former U.S. President Donald Trump had passed away.
Memes flooded social media, some mournful, others gleefully celebratory. Conspiracy theories sprouted overnight. Newsrooms scrambled, unsure whether to publish, retract, or wait.
The result? A digital wildfire and a furious Trump, who returned to his social platform to declare: “I’m alive, well, and stronger than ever. Fake news!”
In the age of social media, death rumours have gone global, faster, louder, and harder to contain than ever before.
Ratu Epeli Nailatikau: Fiji’s Turn on the Stage
And now, Fiji finds itself in this age-old drama.
Recent online posts and radio segments attributed to individuals including Alex Forwood, Rajendra Chaudhry, and Radio Tarana, and many other social bloggers, claimed that Ratu Epeli Nailatikau, the respected but controversial former President of Fiji, had died.
Condolences began pouring in. Public figures reacted. Some prepared tributes.
But there was one small problem: Ratu Epeli isn’t dead.
His lawyers, from Lawyers and Legal Consultants, moved quickly, filing a police complaint alleging that the claims were “false, incorrect, and grossly misleading.”
It’s a reminder that in the Fijian context, where politics, status, and identity are deeply intertwined, declaring a high chief and statesman dead without cause is not just careless journalism. It can be a cultural affront, a legal hazard, and potentially a political act.
Unlike Alfred Nobel, Ratu Epeli probably won’t rewrite his will. But he might just help rewrite Fiji’s approach to digital responsibility and the legal consequences of spreading unverified death claims.
The Anatomy of a Premature Death Rumour
What do Nobel, Twain, Trump, and Ratu Epeli have in common?
- Speed beats accuracy: Newsrooms and social media alike rush to “break” a story.
- Echo chambers amplify chaos: One post becomes ten, becomes a hundred, becomes trending news.
- Emotion outruns verification: Condolences start before confirmation.
- Reputations get bruised: Even false death reports can carry legal and cultural consequences.
In the digital age, the old newsroom mantra - “Better to be right than first”- has been flipped on its head. Now it’s: “Better to be first, and we’ll fix it later.”
But for the living subjects of these false obituaries, the consequences aren’t so easily fixed.
Fiji’s Digital Crossroads
This incident also raises questions for Fiji:
- Should digital misinformation laws be tightened?
- Do police complaints like Ratu Epeli’s set a precedent for future prosecutions?
- And how should broadcasters like Radio Tarana balance speed with responsibility in the social media era?
In a small nation where reputations are magnified, and politics are never far away, the answers aren’t simple.
In the words of Mark Twain, Ratu Epeli might well say:
“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
But unlike Twain’s era, where rumours travelled by telegram, today they spread at the speed of a single click.
And in an age where a tweet can upend markets, politics, and personal lives, Fiji now stands at the frontier of a deeper question: When misinformation meets culture and law, who owns the truth?
However, if the individuals can show:
- They acted reasonably,
- Relied on what they believed to be credible information,
- And promptly corrected or deleted their statements,
then liability would be limited.
"No man knows when his hour will come." Ecclesiastes 9:12 (Except Bloggers)
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From Fijileaks Archive, 15 January 2022: Ratu Epeli NOT Fiji's FIRST
