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FROM DECLARATIONS TO REPEAL: Biman Prasad's Push to Abolish the Political Parties Act He Operated Under After Years of Non-Compliance

17/4/2026

The latest call by BIMAN CHAND PRASAD to remove the Political Parties Act cannot be viewed in isolation. It must be understood against a documented pattern: from 2014 to 2024, the Act and its statutory declaration provisions have been serially breached, and now the very law that demanded disclosure and accountability is being targeted for removal.

This is not reform. It is reversal.

The Political Parties Act was introduced to address a long-standing problem in Fiji’s political system: the absence of transparency in financial interests, asset declarations, and political funding. It imposed a clear and simple obligation - those who seek public office must disclose their interests so the public can judge their integrity. That is not draconian. That is democratic.

To now characterise such a framework as oppressive is to turn the argument on its head. The Act does not prevent political participation. It ensures that participation is honest, visible, and accountable. Without it, the system risks sliding back into opacity, where interests remain hidden and scrutiny is avoided.

What gives Prasad's call particular weight is the timeline. Over a full decade, from 2014 to 2024, compliance with the statutory declaration regime has been repeatedly called into question. That history cannot be separated from the present demand to abolish the law. It raises an unavoidable question: Is this about improving the law or escaping it?

The answer matters. Because if those who have struggled to comply with disclosure requirements are allowed to dismantle them, the consequence is not greater freedom. It is diminished accountability.

The argument that political parties cannot function under the current law is equally unpersuasive. They have functioned. Elections have been fought. Governments have been formed. The law has not paralysed the system. What it has done is require discipline.

And that, it appears, is the real point of contention.

Across democracies, disclosure laws are not optional extras. They are the backbone of public trust. Where such laws are weakened or removed, the results are predictable: undeclared interests, hidden transactions, and the gradual erosion of confidence in public institutions. Fiji has already seen the consequences of weak oversight in the past. Repeating that history would be a deliberate choice.

If there are provisions within the Act that require amendment, then let them be identified and debated openly. That is how law reform is conducted. But a wholesale call for removal, without first addressing a decade of non-compliance, lacks both credibility and legitimacy.

The principle is straightforward. Those who seek to change the rules must first show that they have followed them.

Until that happens, this call will be understood not as a defence of democracy, but as an attempt to strip away one of the few remaining safeguards of accountability in Fiji’s political system.

Next Instalment: In his 2023 statutory declaration, Prasad omitted the section requiring a true and factual account of his campaign funding, including expenses and donors. His party candidate, Sashi Kiran, complied with the requirement, yet he did not, even though he was serving as Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for Finance in Sitiveni Rabuka’s coalition government. On 5 September 2024, he was facing multiple charges arising from those statutory declarations.

SHAKESPEAREAN IRONY:

NFP candidate Sashi Kiran follows the law. Her leader, Biman Chand Prasad, does not.

*The National Federation Party candidate Sashi Kiran complied with the requirements of the law. By contrast, her party leader, Biman Chand Prasad, repeatedly failed to do so. The NFP stalwart and lawyer Richard Naidu, together with his son, donated to Kiran’s campaign. Her properly completed filing now exposes Prasad and strengthens our long-standing argument that he serially breached the Political Parties Act from 2014 to 2024.

*He is currently facing one count of failing to disclose his directorship in Platinum Hotels and Resorts Ltd in his 2015 declaration.

*Richard Naidu and his legal team are now arguing that this charge should be stayed on the basis that Prasad was charged by the acting FICAC Commissioner, Lavi Rokoika, whose appointment they claim is unlawful.

*As the principal complainant against Biman Prasad, long before the appointments of Malimali and Rokoika, we had also reported him over his 2023 declaration. This was one of several charges he was facing on 5 September 2024, when Suva lawyers Wylie Clarke, Laurel Vaurasi, and others appeared at FICAC headquarters to secure the release of Barbara Malimali from custody. In the ensuing confusion, Prasad escaped being charged that afternoon.

*Biman Prasad has since been formally charged in the “Platinum” non-disclosure case, granted bail, and has resigned as both Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Finance.

*However, he has not resigned as Leader of the National Federation Party, a remarkable decision given what is now known. That resignation is not the end of the story. In truth, it is only the beginning.

*The central defence narrative advanced by his close ally, donor, and party lawyer Richard Naidu, that the Platinum breach is “ten years old” and merely “historical”, has been decisively undermined by the most inconvenient evidence possible: Prasad’s own 2023 Section 24 declaration, in which he omitted the most critical page of the form, repeating the same type of non-disclosure that gave rise to the Platinum charge.

*This is not a historic lapse. It is a continuing pattern of misconduct, occurring eight years after the Platinum offence that Naidu sought to minimise before the Fiji High Court.

*The contrast with Sashi Kiran’s flawless 2023 declaration, supported by Naidu’s own donations, only deepens the contradiction, and the credibility gap.

5 September 2024: Did Legal Intervention in Malimali’s Release Disrupt Imminent Charges Against Biman Prasad?

A further and more troubling question arises as to whether the involvement of Wylie Clarke, Laurel Vaurasi, and other legal practitioners in securing the release of Barbara Malimali on 5 September 2024 may have inadvertently interfered with my own complaints then under active consideration by FICAC, in respect of which Biman Prasad was, on the information available to me, due to be charged later that same afternoon. The timing is not incidental. If, as has been suggested, operational decisions within FICAC shifted immediately following Malimali’s release, it is necessary to examine whether external intervention, however well-intentioned, had the practical effect of disrupting or delaying prosecutorial processes already in motion.
*This is not an allegation of impropriety, but a legitimate inquiry into whether the sequence of events on that day may have impacted the integrity and continuity of enforcement action arising from my complaints.

MURDER, MILITARY AND MOURNING: Was the notorious drug lord Jone Vakarisi allegedly murdered at RFMF camp while military escorted their former Commander Ratu Epeli Nailatikau for burial on chiefly Bau Island?

17/4/2026

UPDATE, RFMF: 'Vakarisi experienced medical crisis, and passed away.'

The family of Varisi gathered outside Queen Elizabeth Barracks as they await further information.

In pursuit of the CRW soldiers' Murderer. It took me nearly twenty-five years of dogged effort, beginning when the late Commissioner of Police, Andrew Hughes, gave me the ‘Murder Files’, to trace the soldier who was the principal suspect.

He is today roaming freely on the chiefly island of BAU, and one day I will reveal his identity.

He is protected by prominent chiefs, some vocal in the GCC.

Kalounivale Junior

*One of the CRW soldiers, Selesitino Kalounivale, was taken to Frank Bainimarama at the Naval Base (where he had fled during the mutiny) who instructed his soldiers to take Kalounivale to Central Police Station. He was later taken out of CPS by soldiers and battered to death; Kalounivale had taken NO part in the mutiny; he was home attending to his sick child on mutiny day. Right photo above (Kalounivale Jnr today).

From Fijileaks Archives: Murders of CRW Soldiers in November 2000

‘Dou Lako Tani, Out You Go’: Long Before Bainimarama Sent the CHIEFS Packing, a Colonial Governor Had Once Suspended GCC (1905 to 1912). Governor im Thurn thought chiefs were a regressive force for the iTaukei

15/4/2026

The contemporary claim that the Great Council of Chiefs (GCC) should be vested with the sole authority to appoint the President and Vice-President of Fiji invites a return to history, not as nostalgia, but as constraint. For the GCC has not existed as a continuous, unquestioned sovereign body. It has been shaped, curtailed, suspended, and even abolished when its authority collided with the priorities of the state

Vinaka to the "Old Boy" for his imaginative scene from 1905

During his tenure, Governor Everard im Thurn sought to rationalise colonial administration, reduce the influence of chiefly institutions, and promote policies that aligned more closely with economic development objectives.
His most notable, and controversial act, was the suspension of the Great Council of Chiefs in 1905, reflecting his view that the body had become an impediment to efficient governance in Fiji. Im Thurn’s administration was shaped by broader shifts in imperial thinking, including changing attitudes toward race, land use, and the role of indigenous populations within colonial economies.
*While his policies did not dismantle the system of communal land tenure, they marked a clear move away from the earlier protective ethos toward a more utilitarian and administrative model. His governorship remains a defining moment, illustrating how quickly entrenched structures, such as the Great Council of Chiefs, could be curtailed when they ceased to align with the priorities of the Fijian state.

Governor im Thurn

Suspended, Abolished, Revived: The Great Council of Chiefs from im Thurn to Bainimarama and the Limits of Exclusive Authority

The contemporary claim that the Great Council of Chiefs (GCC) ought to be vested with sole authority to appoint the President and Vice-President of Fiji invites a return to history, not as nostalgia, but as constraint. The GCC has not existed as a continuous or uncontested sovereign body. It has been shaped, curtailed, suspended, and at times abolished when its authority has come into conflict with the priorities of the state.

Two moments, separated by more than a century, illustrate this pattern with particular clarity: the suspension of the GCC under Everard im Thurn between 1905 and 1912, and its dismantling under Frank Bainimarama in 2012. These episodes are not anomalies. They reveal a deeper constitutional truth. Chiefly authority in Fiji has always been contingent and never absolute.

The Gordonian Foundation: Chiefs as Instruments of Governance

The GCC emerged in the late nineteenth century as part of the system established by Sir Arthur Hamilton Gordon. Under Gordon’s model of indirect rule, chiefs were recognised as intermediaries between the colonial administration and iTaukei society. Communal land tenure was preserved, and the GCC functioned as a consultative body that lent legitimacy to governance.

This arrangement depended upon a careful balance. Chiefs were empowered, but only within a framework controlled by the colonial state. The GCC did not exercise sovereignty in its own right. Its authority was recognised and sustained by the governing structure within which it operated.

The im Thurn Intervention: From Recognition to Suspension

By the early twentieth century, that balance had begun to shift. When Everard im Thurn assumed office in 1904, he encountered a system in which chiefly authority, exercised collectively through the GCC, had become both influential and, in his view, obstructive. Several factors informed his decision to suspend the GCC in 1905. There was administrative frustration with a body seen as deliberative without sufficient executive effect. There were policy conflicts, particularly in relation to taxation, labour, and economic reform. There was also an emerging colonial outlook that placed greater emphasis on economic development than on preservation.

A central element in this shift concerned land. Earlier administrations had treated land as the foundation of communal identity. Im Thurn’s approach regarded it increasingly as an economic resource to be organised and utilised more systematically. The GCC, as the institutional expression of chiefly authority over land and society, stood in tension with this approach.

Its suspension was therefore deliberate. Between 1905 and 1912, the GCC ceased to function as a collective advisory body. Decision-making moved more directly into the hands of colonial officials, and chiefs were repositioned as administrative agents rather than autonomous actors. The implication was clear. The GCC could be set aside when it obstructed the objectives of the state.

Restoration and Recalibration

The restoration of the GCC in 1912 did not restore it to its earlier position. It represented a recalibration. Colonial authorities recognised that complete centralisation risked alienating iTaukei society. The GCC provided a necessary channel of communication and a source of legitimacy. Indirect rule required some accommodation of indigenous structures.

The GCC was therefore revived, but within defined limits. Its authority remained derivative and functional rather than inherent or sovereign.

The Post-Independence Trajectory: From Influence to Contestation

Following independence, the GCC acquired greater prominence. It came to be seen as a symbol of indigenous identity and unity. It also assumed a role within national political processes, including participation in the appointment of the President under earlier constitutional arrangements.

Even in this period, however, its authority was not uncontested. Fiji’s political history, marked by coups and constitutional change, repeatedly placed the GCC within wider struggles over governance. Its influence expanded, but it remained subject to competing institutional forces.

The Bainimarama Era: Abolition and Rejection

The most decisive rupture occurred in 2012, when the GCC was formally abolished under the government of Frank Bainimarama. The reasons advanced at the time were that the GCC had become politicised, that it entrenched ethnic division, and that it conflicted with a vision of equal citizenship.

The consequences were immediate. The GCC’s institutional structure was dismantled, and its constitutional role was removed. The 2013 Constitution made no provision for its existence. This was not a temporary suspension. It was intended as a permanent removal. The principle was again evident. No institution, however deeply rooted, stands beyond the reach of state authority.

Revival and Rapid Reassertion

In 2022, the Coalition government under Sitiveni Rabuka restored the GCC, presenting its revival as a recognition of cultural identity and institutional dignity. It has not remained confined to a symbolic role. It has moved quickly into active engagement in national debates, seeking to influence the constitutional and political direction of the state.

Among its early interventions has been the demand that the name ‘Fijian’ be reserved exclusively for iTaukei, reversing the civic definition adopted in the post-2013 constitutional framework. It has also asserted a claim to exclusive authority over the appointment of the President and Vice-President. These positions indicate not only revival, but an attempt to reshape national identity and constitutional structure.

This rapid shift from restoration to active intervention reflects the persistence of earlier tensions in a contemporary form.

The Present Claim: Exclusive Authority Revisited

The GCC’s claim to exclusive authority over the appointment of the President and Vice-President must be assessed in light of this history. The claim is for sole control rather than shared participation. It raises serious constitutional concerns. It concentrates authority within a single body. It limits broader institutional involvement. It risks aligning the highest offices of state with particular networks of influence.

Historical experience suggests that such concentration is unstable.

The Recurring Pattern

Across the periods considered, a consistent pattern emerges. The GCC is recognised and empowered. Its influence expands. Tensions arise between its authority and broader governance objectives. The state intervenes by limiting, suspending, or abolishing it.

This pattern reflects a structural tension between traditional authority and the centralising tendencies of the modern state.

Constitutional Implications

Modern constitutional design rests on principles that extend beyond historical legitimacy. These include the separation of powers, the maintenance of checks and balances, and the requirements of accountability and transparency. The exclusive vesting of presidential appointment in the GCC would depart from these principles. It would concentrate authority, reduce oversight, and narrow the range of institutional participation in a critical constitutional function.

The experiences of both im Thurn and Bainimarama demonstrate the risks inherent in such arrangements.

History as Warning

The history of the GCC is not one of uninterrupted authority. It is a history marked by recognition and withdrawal, empowerment and limitation, continuity and rupture. From its suspension under Everard im Thurn to its abolition under Frank Bainimarama, and now to its renewed role following restoration under Sitiveni Rabuka, the institution has repeatedly been reshaped by the demands of governance.

That history offers a clear lesson. The GCC has never exercised exclusive and uncontested authority within Fiji. To vest it now with sole power over the appointment of the President and Vice-President, or to redefine national identity along exclusive ethnic lines, would not restore a traditional order. It would introduce a constitutional innovation that risks reproducing the very tensions that have, in the past, led to the curtailment of the institution itself.

The past, properly understood, does not support the claim. It cautions against it.

Sir Everard im Thurn: A Brief Biographical Note
Everard im Thurn (1852–1932) was a British colonial administrator, explorer, and ethnographer whose career spanned several parts of the British Empire, but whose tenure in Fiji remains one of the most consequential for the evolution of colonial governance.

Born in London and educated at Oxford, im Thurn first established his reputation not as an administrator but as a naturalist and explorer.

He is particularly remembered for his 1884 ascent of Mount Roraima in colonial British Guiana (now Guyana), an expedition that combined scientific curiosity with imperial ambition.

A presentation of the feast at Savusavu to Governor, Sir Everard Im Thurn. The governor and his aides are seated under a pavilion with the locals seated in the foreground. Photo held at the National Library of Auckland

He entered the colonial service in British Guiana, where he rose through administrative ranks before being appointed Governor of Fiji in 1904. His governorship marked a significant departure from the earlier policies of Governor Sir Arthur Hamilton Gordon. Where Gordon had emphasised the protection of indigenous iTaukei society and the centrality of chiefly authority within a system of indirect rule, im Thurn adopted a more interventionist and centralising approach.

During his tenure (1904–1910), im Thurn sought to rationalise colonial administration, reduce the influence of chiefly institutions, and promote policies that aligned more closely with economic development objectives. His most notable, and controversial act, was the suspension of the Great Council of Chiefs in 1905, reflecting his view that the body had become an impediment to efficient governance.

Im Thurn’s administration was shaped by broader shifts in imperial thinking, including changing attitudes toward race, land use, and the role of indigenous populations within colonial economies. While his policies did not dismantle the system of communal land tenure, they marked a clear move away from the earlier protective ethos toward a more utilitarian and administrative model.

After leaving Fiji, im Thurn continued his career within the colonial service and later served as Governor of Ceylon (Sri Lanka). He died in 1932, leaving behind a complex legacy: that of a scholar-administrator whose reforms exposed the limits of indirect rule and reshaped the relationship between colonial authority and indigenous institutions.

In the context of Fiji’s history, his governorship remains a defining moment, illustrating how quickly entrenched structures, such as the Great Council of Chiefs, could be curtailed when they ceased to align with the priorities of the state.

"You Fijians [ITaukeis] have done very little to help yourselves. You few chiefs are fairly prosperous. But your people - such of them as are left-are mere bond servants. They work for you partly because the law to some extent compels them. The reason why they do not care to work more for themselves is that your chiefly exactions prevent them from gaining anything for themselves-and property to make life interesting to them…Do you know what we mean by the word 'individuality'?…the man that has individuality uses his own brain to guide his own actions. He thinks for himself…he uses his own hands for his own benefit. To him life will be worth living. That is the habit of thought which we and you should encourage the Fijians.’
Governor im Thurn, in his opening address to the Council of Chiefs, 1905

The rise of commoner iTaukei Fijians through the Fiji Labour Party in 1987 brought the conflict between commoners and chiefs to the forefront of Fijian politics. Their dissent and criticism of the chiefly leaders could not be dismissed as racially motivated attacks upon Fijian institutions. They refused to abide by the tenets of tradition and custom while the chiefs were entering the world of commerce and business and doing well for themselves.

As Dr Timoci Bavadra asserted during the 1987 election campaign:
'By restricting the Fijian [iTaukei] people to their communal life style in the face of rapidly developing cash economy, the average Fijian has become more and more backward. This is particularly invidious when the leaders themselves have amassed huge personal wealth by making use of their traditional and political powers'.

More of Fiji's elite families caught up in NBF losses The abuse of affirmative action for poor Fijians:
The Ganilau family’s Qeleni Holdings Ltd owed $716,748 to collapsed NBF
Ratu Epeli Ganilau owed $631,594 to the bank
*Part Twelve of a Special Report by VICTOR LAL

NEXT TIME: ‘Chiefly Privilege and Colonial Capital: How the Ganilau Network Leveraged Loans at the Expense of Their Own People’

His Excellency Governor Sir Everard Im Thurn on visit to Savusavu

BURNING DESIRE: In 1987 coup, Qio was GCC nominee in Senate

JIOJI KOTOBALAVU, JALE MOALA and 'WHO IS FIJIAN?' Debate. Shared Citizenship, Enduring Identity, Constitution, and Great Council of Chiefs

14/4/2026

Kotobalavu

Moala

Who Is “Fijian”? Shared Citizenship, Enduring Identity, and the Constitutional Line

I have known Jioji Kotobalavu from my early years observing and engaging with Fiji’s political life through family connections in the Alliance Party, when the contours of public service, statecraft, and constitutional debate were already taking shape around figures such as him. His voice today, measured and grounded in institutional experience, is entirely consistent with the clarity he brought to public affairs even then.

The last time I met him was in Oxford in the 1990s, when he travelled up and took me out for lunch. He had returned to visit his old alma mater, the Oxford Foreign Service Programme, where he had spent time as a young diplomat in the 1970s. That programme, significantly, was housed within my own Institute of Commonwealth Studies, creating a quiet convergence of our respective journeys - his through diplomacy and state service, mine through scholarship and writing. Others of his generation, including the recently deceased Ratu Epeli Nailatikau, had passed through the same Oxford corridors of training and reflection during that formative period.

My acquaintance with Jale Moala and Jo Nata comes from the newsroom of the old Fiji Sun in the 1980s (closed down after Rabuka's 1987 coups), a place of long shifts, tight deadlines, and an unspoken ease across lines of difference. I still recall the simple meals that punctuated those weekends - cassava or dalo, tins of pilchard fish and onions - shared from the same plate when both of us happened to be on duty. On occasion Nata, also an old schoolmate, would join us, and those small gatherings became, in their own quiet way, a reflection of Fiji itself.

There was also the late Robert Wendt, a co-sub-editor with me, and of irrepressible wit, who would insert himself into our exchanges. When the banter turned, as it often did, to Sakeasi Butadroka and his notorious calls for the repatriation of Indo-Fijians, Wendt would quip: ‘What about me? Where will Saki deport me? Part this, part that Kai Loma but from Fiji.’ It was humour, certainly, but humour edged with truth. It exposed the absurdity of reducing identity to a single origin in a society so evidently intertwined.

The only real banter I recall with Moala and Nata in those days, and one I would just as readily have directed at Kotobalavu in later years, was my habit of reminding them: ‘Kais, remember what your great chief Ratu Mara told Fiji when Butadroka moved his motion - today it is Indo-Fijians; tomorrow it will be Lauans he will want to send back to the Kingdom of Ma'afu's Tonga.’

That would be met with haughty laughter. I would add, from my own encounters over grog with “Saki”, that his calls to deport “Indians to India” were often as much political theatre as conviction.

And yet, with the passage of time, that theatre hardened into something far more consequential. The coups of Sitiveni Rabuka in 1987 and the 2000 Fiji coup led by George Speight in 2000 did not merely disrupt governments; they altered the language of belonging itself. They gave political force to ideas that had once been aired, even by their own proponents, as rhetorical provocation.

In their wake, questions of identity - who is “Fijian”, who belongs, who does not - were recast in sharper, more exclusionary terms.

It is from that altered landscape that the present debate, now being advanced by elements within the Great Council of Chiefs, has emerged. What was once banter in a newsroom, or political theatre in a parliamentary motion, has reappeared as constitutional demand.

Nata’s own later imprisonment following the 2000 coup stands as a stark personal marker of that transformation, from shared meals and shared humour to a moment when the fragile balance of Fiji’s society gave way to rupture.

Yet those earlier moments endure in memory. They remind us that another Fiji existed, and still exists beneath the surface, one in which identity was lived with ease rather than asserted with exclusion.

It is against that lived past, and the lessons of what followed, that the present interventions by Kotobalavu and Moala must be understood.

Former senior civil servant and academic Jioji Kotobalavu has pushed back against proposals to reserve the term 'Fijian” exclusively for the iTaukei. He warned that redefining the word risks dividing the nation. Mr Kotobalavu said Fiji must clearly separate ethnic identity from national identity, arguing that 'Fijian' should remain a shared term that unites all citizens.

While “iTaukei” accurately reflects indigenous history, land ownership and cultural rights, he said 'Fijian' represents citizenship and equality.

Mr Kotobalavu noted that indigenous people already hold unique recognition as the first settlers of Fiji and as customary owners of about 92 per cent of the country’s land — rights that are protected under law and the Constitution.

However, he stressed that citizenship is different from ethnicity.

“What binds us together is our equal status as citizens,” he said, adding that the term 'Fijian' reflects that unity in government, in international forums and when national teams represent the country overseas.

He also reminded leaders of past calls for unity, including appeals by figures such as Jai Ram Reddy and Mahendra Chaudhry, who urged traditional leadership to look after all communities in Fiji.

The debate comes at a sensitive time as Fiji reviews its Constitution and grapples with broader questions of identity, inclusion and equality.

Under the 2013 Constitution, all citizens — regardless of ethnicity — are recognised as 'Fijians', a national identity based on equal citizenship. At the same time, the Constitution clearly recognises the iTaukei and Rotumans as Fiji’s indigenous communities. Source: Fiji Sun

Fijileaks Explainer: ‘Who Is “Fijian”? Shared Citizenship, Enduring Identity, and the Constitutional Line’

Two recent interventions - one personal, the other constitutional - have converged to articulate a coherent response to the Great Council of Chiefs’ (GCC) proposal that the term ‘Fijian’ be reserved exclusively for iTaukei.

On the one hand, Jale Moala reflects on lived experience, identity, and clarity across generations. On the other, Jioji Kotobalavu advances a structured constitutional argument grounded in equality and state design.

Taken together, their positions form a unified defence of Fiji’s current civic identity framework, one that distinguishes nationality from ethnicity, and insists that both can coexist without contradiction.

Identity Clarified: Moala’s Lived Experience

Moala’s account begins not in theory, but in experience. Living in New Zealand, he encountered persistent confusion over what it meant to be “Fijian”. The term was often interpreted externally as referring to Indo-Fijians, reflecting migration patterns rather than constitutional meaning.

The post-2006 constitutional shift, associated with Frank Bainimarama and Aiyaz Sayed-Khaiyum, resolved that ambiguity by establishing:

‘Fijian’ as a national identity shared by all citizens;
‘iTaukei’ as the designation for indigenous ethnicity.

For Moala, this was not a loss, but a gain:

clarity replaced confusion;
identity became intelligible globally;
and individuals could hold both a civic and cultural identity simultaneously.

His most compelling point lies in its intergenerational reach. For children of mixed heritage, particularly in the diaspora, the answer to “Am I Fijian?” becomes simple: Yes, by nationality, with a distinct ethnic identity alongside it.

Constitutional Structure: Kotobalavu’s Argument

Kotobalavu approaches the same question from a different angle: the architecture of the state.

His central proposition is that citizenship must remain the defining basis of national identity.

He draws a clear distinction:

nationality (‘Fijian’) is civic and inclusive;
ethnicity (‘iTaukei’) is specific and protected.

Importantly, he emphasises that iTaukei rights are not in question:

land ownership remains overwhelmingly indigenous;
cultural recognition is constitutionally entrenched;
traditional structures retain acknowledged status.

Thus, the proposal to reserve ‘Fijian’ exclusively for iTaukei is, in his view, unnecessary, and potentially harmful.

It would reintroduce hierarchical identity, divide citizens along ethnic lines, and undermine the principle of equal belonging.

Convergence: A Shared Framework

Although arising from different perspectives, Moala and Kotobalavu converge on a single framework that dual Identity is sustainable. There is no contradiction in being Fijian (nationally), and iTaukei, Indo-Fijian, or otherwise (ethnically).

Clarity Matters

The current terminology is understood globally, functions across generations, and avoids ambiguity.

Inclusion Is Foundational

A shared national identity binds diverse communities, reinforces equality, and stabilises the state.

The GCC’s Proposal in Context

The GCC’s demand seeks to reverse this settlement. It proposes reserving ‘Fijian’ exclusively for iTaukei, redefining national identity along ethnic lines, and, implicitly, reintroducing differentiated citizenship. Set against the Moala-Kotobalavu framework, this appears not as restoration, but as rupture. It would complicate identity narratives, undermine civic unity, and re-open questions that had, until recently, been resolved.

The Deeper Issue: Ownership versus Belonging

At its core, the debate is not about terminology alone. It is about competing conceptions of the nation:

Ownership: identity anchored in indigeneity and historical primacy;
Belonging: identity grounded in shared citizenship and equal status.

Moala and Kotobalavu do not deny the importance of indigenous identity. Rather, they argue that it does not require exclusive control over the national label to remain meaningful.

Risks of Reversal

Reverting to an exclusive definition of ‘Fijian’ carries identifiable risks:

reintroducing ethnic stratification into constitutional language;
complicating international identity and representation;
and unsettling a generation that has grown up under a unified civic identity.

It would also create a structural inconsistency: a modern, multi-ethnic state paired with a singular, ethnically defined national identity.

A Constitutional Settlement Worth Preserving

The present framework, however contested at its inception, has achieved a measure of stability. It has aligned identity with citizenship, preserved cultural specificity through distinct terminology, and provided a coherent answer to the question: who is Fijian? Moala’s lived experience and Kotobalavu’s constitutional reasoning converge on the same conclusion that the settlement works.

Identity Distinguished, Not Divided

The interventions of Jale Moala and Jioji Kotobalavu offer a clear and unified response to the GCC’s proposal. They demonstrate that national identity need not erase cultural identity, inclusion need not diminish tradition, and clarity need not come at the expense of heritage.

Their shared message is both simple and profound: “Fijian” is a civic identity that belongs to all citizens. “iTaukei” is an indigenous identity that remains distinct and secure.

To collapse the two is not to strengthen identity. It is to confuse it. And in a nation as diverse as Fiji, clarity is not merely linguistic. It is constitutional.

An Old Boy iTaukei Mate, a Map, and the Myth of Origins: Revisiting Lutunasobasoba's Voyage from Tanzania to Fiji

*When my Old Boy iTaukei mate asked me, almost casually, what my next piece would be, I told him I might finally turn to the oft-repeated-yet rarely interrogated-journey of Lutunasobasoba. Not long after, he sent me the image reproduced here: a vivid, almost cinematic rendering of a departure from Tanganyika and an arrival at Vuda, complete with stormy seas, ancestral figures, and the suggestion of a singular founding moment. It is, on its face, a compelling narrative. Yet it also invites a more careful inquiry - not only into origins, but into how such stories are constructed, circulated, and, over time, elevated from tradition into something resembling historical certainty.

“This is not a matter of convenience — it is a matter of heritage, dignity and survival. Naikorokoro Point was where [my] ancestors first arrived more than 200(?) years ago. To pollute this sacred site with foreign waste is an insult to the vanua of Vuda and a dishonour to our ancestral legacy."
Tui Vuda, Ratu Eparama Tavaiqia

In Chief Lutunasobasoba’s Ancestral Land, Indians Are Simply Tanzanians. Why Do We Insist Otherwise in Fiji?

President Nyerere

From ‘Asians’ to Raia: Why Indians in Tanzania Are Simply Tanzanians 

In the constitutional imagination of Tanzania, identity is not a matter of racial taxonomy but of civic belonging. This is not an accidental omission, nor a failure of classification. It is, rather, a deliberate repudiation of the colonial habit of naming, dividing, and governing populations through rigid racial categories.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the status of people of Indian origin, long present in East Africa, commercially influential, and historically visible, yet constitutionally unmarked as a distinct group. In law, they are not “Indians”. They are simply Tanzanians.

To appreciate the significance of this formulation, one must begin with the text and structure of the Constitution of the United Republic of Tanzania. The Constitution recognises, in its operative language, only the categories of citizen (raia) and non-citizen.

It does not enumerate races. It does not preserve the colonial triad of “European”, “Asian”, and “Native”. It does not distinguish between indigenous and migrant in any formal, juridical sense. Instead, it collapses these distinctions into a single, unifying status: that of the Tanzanian citizen.

This stands in marked contrast to the administrative logic of British colonial rule in East Africa, where Indians, often brought as traders, clerks, and labourers, were classified as “Asians”, occupying an intermediate tier between Europeans and Africans. That taxonomy was not merely descriptive; it structured access to land, commerce, residence, and political representation. It was, in effect, a system of stratified belonging. The constitutional order that emerged at independence set itself consciously against this inheritance.

The intellectual and political force behind this transformation was Julius Nyerere. Nyerere’s vision of nationhood, articulated through ujamaa and a broader ethic of African socialism, rejected the premise that a modern state could be built upon inherited racial compartments. For him, the nation was not a mosaic of fixed ethnic blocs but a community of equal citizens. To preserve colonial racial labels in constitutional form would have been to concede that those divisions retained normative force. Their omission, therefore, was an act of constitutional principle.

It follows that, within Tanzanian law, a person of Indian descent who holds citizenship is designated simply as a raia wa Tanzania. The law does not inquire into origin. It does not attach legal consequence to ancestry. It does not create sub-categories of citizenship based on descent, migration history, or communal identity. In this sense, Tanzanian constitutionalism embodies a civic model of nationhood: one in which belonging is defined by legal status and participation in the political community, rather than by ethno-racial lineage.

This is not to say that social distinctions have vanished. In everyday speech, and in certain administrative or descriptive contexts, terms such as “Asian” or “Tanzanian of Asian origin” persist. These expressions carry the residue of history, echoes of colonial classification and post-colonial demography. Yet they have no constitutional standing. They do not determine rights. They do not delimit citizenship. They exist, as it were, alongside the law, not within it.

The implications of this approach are both practical and philosophical. Practically, it ensures that all citizens stand equal before the law, unmediated by racial categorisation. Philosophically, it affirms that the nation is not an inheritance of blood but a construction of shared political life. In this respect, Tanzania’s constitutional order offers a striking example of how a post-colonial state can seek to dismantle the epistemology of empire, not by reversing its categories, but by refusing them altogether.

There is, moreover, an irony - perhaps a productive one - when this constitutional position is placed alongside narratives that trace distant ancestral journeys, whether real or imagined. If, as some traditions suggest, figures such as Lutunasobasoba are linked, however tenuously, to regions such as Tanganyika, then the modern legal reality of that region presents a quiet counterpoint. In the land from which such ancestral stories are said to originate, identity is not fixed by origin. Indians there are not set apart as a constitutional category. They are, in the eyes of the law, Tanzanians - no more and no less.

This contrast underscores a broader lesson. Constitutional identity need not mirror historical narrative, nor should it be constrained by it. A state may acknowledge the complexity of its past - its migrations, its mixtures, its layered communities, while choosing, in law, to speak in a different register: that of equal citizenship. Tanzania has done precisely this. It has taken a history marked by movement and diversity and distilled from it a principle of unity.

The result is a constitutional vocabulary that is at once spare and profound. There are citizens, and there are non-citizens. Within the category of the former, there is no further division that the law recognises or enforces. To be a Tanzanian is sufficient. Ethnic origin, whether Indian, Arab, African, or otherwise, recedes from the constitutional foreground.

In that sense, the absence of the word “Indian” from the Constitution of Tanzania is not an omission to be corrected but a decision to be understood. It reflects a deliberate choice to privilege civic identity over racial description, to build a nation on the basis of equality rather than classification.

And it explains why, in Tanzania, those of Indian origin, however they may be described in history or society, are, in law and in principle, simply Tanzanians.

From East African Roots to Downing Street: The former British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and the Primacy of Civic Identity

The life trajectory of Rishi Sunak illustrates, with unusual clarity, how civic identity can prevail over ancestral origin in modern constitutional states. Born in Southampton, England, in 1980, Sunak is British by birth and upbringing. Yet his family history reflects a wider imperial and post-imperial movement of peoples: his grandparents were part of the Indian diaspora in East Africa, and his parents were born in Kenya and Tanzania before later settling in the United Kingdom.

This layered migration - India to East Africa, and then to Britain - was characteristic of the networks created under British imperial rule. Many families of Indian origin established themselves in East Africa as traders, professionals, and intermediaries in colonial economies. In time, political change and new opportunities prompted further movement to Britain, where subsequent generations were born and educated.

Sunak’s own formation followed a recognisably British institutional path. Educated at Winchester College and later at University of Oxford, with further study at Stanford University, he entered public life through finance and politics. His rise culminated in his tenure as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 2022 to 2024, after which he ceased to hold that office.

What is most instructive, however, is not merely the offices he held, but the terms in which he is understood. At no point in constitutional or legal language is Sunak defined as ‘Kenyan-Indian’, ‘Tanzanian-Indian’, or any comparable compound identity. In law, in Parliament, and in public office, he is simply British. His ancestry, while acknowledged in biography and public discourse, carries no constitutional weight.

This reflects a deeper principle of modern governance: that citizenship is civic rather than ethnic. The state does not fragment identity into inherited categories, nor does it assign differential status on the basis of origin. Instead, it recognises individuals as equal members of a political community, bound by law rather than lineage.

Sunak’s career therefore serves as a contemporary illustration of a broader constitutional idea. A person may carry within their history the movements of continents - India to East Africa, East Africa to Britain - yet in the public and legal sphere, that history does not define their status. They are not perpetually labelled by origin. They are recognised, fully and without qualification, as citizens.

In that sense, the journey from East Africa to Britain, and from private citizen to national leadership, reinforces a simple proposition: that in a mature constitutional order, identity is not anchored in ancestry but in belonging.

VUDA TO VICTORY: Dr Timoci Bavadra Ends Rule of the Chiefs, 1987

Security Operations and Constitutional Messaging: What the Joint Police and Military Raids Reveal and the signal to the Great Council of CHIEFS

13/4/2026

The Commander says these operations are being undertaken in strict accordance with the constitutional mandate of the RFMF under the 2013 Constitution, which charges the Force with the responsibility to ensure at all times the security, defence, and well-being of Fiji and all Fijians.

Security Operations and Constitutional Messaging: What Joint Raids Reveal

The Republic of Fiji Military Forces (RFMF), under Ro Jone Kalouniwai, has initiated joint operations with the Fiji Police Force, including raids and questioning of suspects linked to alleged criminal activity.

These operations were triggered by attempts to undermine security at RFMF installations; threats to military infrastructure; and acts of violence against civilians and officers.

The Commander explicitly framed the response as “firm, lawful, and proportionate”, conducted under the 2013 Constitution mandate, and carried out in support of civil authorities to maintain order and stability.

The Immediate Legal Significance

On its face, the operation falls within a law-and-order context:

joint policing and military cooperation;
targeting suspected criminal networks (including drug-related activity);
and aimed at restoring public safety.

The emphasis on professionalism, rule of law, and public cooperation suggests an effort to legitimise military involvement in internal security.

The Deeper Constitutional Signal

However, when read alongside the Commander’s earlier statement, the operations carry a broader constitutional message. Three elements stand out:

Assertion of State Capacity

The RFMF is signalling that it retains operational readiness; it can act internally when required; and it will respond decisively to perceived threats.

Framing Security as National Stability

The language used links criminal activity, threats to infrastructure, and public disorder to “national stability” and “well-being”.

This expands the concept of security beyond policing into a constitutional justification for military involvement.

Reinforcement of Constitutional Authority

By repeatedly invoking the 2013 Constitution, the RFMF is anchoring its actions in legal legitimacy; asserting alignment with the current constitutional order; and implicitly rejecting any competing sources of authority.

The Message to the GCC

Placed in the context of the GCC’s recent demands, particularly:exclusive authority over presidential appointments; and redefining “Fijian” as exclusively iTaukei, the timing and framing of these operations are significant. They communicate three implicit messages:

The State Retains Ultimate Control

The joint raids demonstrate that coercive authority, policing, enforcement, security, rests with the state, not with traditional institutions. No matter how assertive the GCC becomes, it does not command security forces; enforcement mechanisms; or operational control of the state.

Constitutional Order Is Being Asserted

By grounding operations in the 2013 Constitution, the RFMF is reinforcing the current constitutional framework, including its civic definition of “Fijian”, and its distribution of authority. This stands in quiet but direct tension with the GCC’s attempt to reshape identity, and concentrate constitutional power.

Stability Overrides Institutional Ambition

The emphasis on “national stability” sends a broader warning that any development, whether criminal, political, or institutional, that is perceived to threaten stability will be met with state response.

This includes not only criminal networks, but potentially destabilising constitutional proposals.

A More Subtle Point: The Fusion of Security and Narrative

What is emerging is not just enforcement but narrative control. The RFMF is framing security threats, criminal activity, and national cohesion within a single constitutional story that stability depends on adherence to the existing order, and that the state will act to preserve it.

More Than a Police Operation

The joint raids are not merely about drugs or crime. They are an assertion of state authority, a reaffirmation of the 2013 constitutional order, and a signal that security, identity, and governance remain centrally controlled.

For the GCC, the message is unmistakable: however assertive its demands, it operates within a state whose coercive power, constitutional framework, and definition of national stability are already firmly established, and actively enforced.

In that sense, the raids are operational. But the message they carry is constitutional.

BAU and LAU CHIEFS, Meaning of 'Fijian'. Two Visions, One Unresolved Constitutional Question: How inclusive civic identity from Bau and a dual framework from Lau are redefining GCC debate, and exposing fault lines

9/4/2026

FROM AN OB: “THE GREAT COUNCIL OF CHIEFS, WHERE WERE THEY, AND WHERE ARE THEY NOW?”
An old boy (OB) has written to Fijileaks (with the cartoon), reflecting with biting clarity on the shifting posture of the Great Council of Chiefs. Where were they,” he asks, “when the country was under the firm grip of military rule, when voices were silenced, institutions dismantled, and ordinary Fijians left to fend for themselves?” Today, he observes, the same chiefly establishment re-emerges, gathered, vocal, and assertive, seeking once again to reclaim a central role in shaping Fiji’s future. The question, he insists, is not merely where they are now, but where they chose to be when it mattered most, from 2006 to 2022?

*As Bau through Ratu Timoci Tavanavanua leans toward an inclusive national identity and Lau through Ratu Tevita Mara insists on a clear separation between nationality and ethnicity, Fiji’s chiefly leadership is no longer speaking with one voice. What emerges is not consensus, but a constitutional crossroads between civic equality and ethnic restoration

If a Tongan prince Enele Ma'afu could become Tui Lau and be accepted within the Fijian chiefly order, then the claim that “Fijian” has always been a closed and exclusive identity is historically unsustainable.
Today, Niko Nawaikula argues that extending “Fijian” to all citizens is a “theft” of indigenous identity. Yet, historically, outsiders like Ma‘afu were absorbed into the highest levels of that identity, and chiefly legitimacy was expanded, not policed rigidly.

Ma‘afu did not merely settle in Fiji. He acquired political authority through conquest, alliance, and recognition. He established control over parts of the Lau Group. He was formally installed as Tui Lau (paramount chief of Lau). His authority was recognised within the Fijian chiefly system, despite his Tongan origins. In effect, he became both - a Tongan aristocrat, and a Fijian paramount chief.
This is where Ma‘afu becomes highly relevant to the current debate. Ma‘afu’s elevation demonstrates that indigenous identity and chiefly status were not rigidly ethnic in the modern sense. The authority could be negotiated, conferred, and absorbed into existing structures.
*The chiefly system itself was politically constructed. The idea that there existed a single, closed, “pure” indigenous polity before colonialism is historically questionable. Fiji was fragmented into competing polities influenced by Tonga (especially Lau), shaped by warfare, alliance, and migration. Ma‘afu is living proof of that fluidity.

A Name, A Nation, And A Dangerous Confusion: GCC Debate and Identity Politics

The latest intervention by the Paramount Chief of Lau, Ratu Tevita Uluilakeba Mara, enters an already fraught constitutional debate with a tone of moderation, reflection, and apparent reconciliation. His statement On Our Common Identity: Nationality, Ethnicity & the Will of the People seeks to disentangle what he describes as a persistent confusion between nationality and ethnicity, while expressing qualified support for the submission of the Great Council of Chiefs.

At first reading, the intervention appears measured and constructive. It acknowledges diversity, affirms the place of all communities, and calls for consultation and democratic legitimacy in determining Fiji’s national identity. Yet beneath this language of balance lies a deeper tension, one that goes to the heart of Fiji’s unresolved constitutional dilemma.

Nationality vs Ethnicity: A Clear Distinction or a Strategic Reframing?

Ratu Tevita’s central proposition is deceptively simple: nationality and ethnicity are distinct and must be clearly separated. Nationality, he argues, is a shared civic identity; ethnicity is the cultural and ancestral inheritance of distinct communities.

In principle, this is uncontroversial. Indeed, it reflects a standard distinction in modern constitutional democracies. Yet the significance of his intervention lies not in the distinction itself, but in how it is deployed.

For while advocating this separation, he simultaneously supports the GCC’s position that the term ‘Fijian’ should revert to its pre-2010 ethnic meaning, referring exclusively to the iTaukei. This creates an inherent contradiction. If nationality and ethnicity are to be separated, then the use of a single term - 'Fijian’ - to denote both at different times or under different frameworks risks perpetuating precisely the confusion he seeks to resolve.

The 2013 Constitution: Imposition or Transformation?

The statement revisits a familiar critique: that the 2013 Constitution imposed a national identity without consultation, replacing the term ‘Fiji Islander’ with ‘Fijian’ for all citizens and relegating indigenous identity to ‘iTaukei’.

This critique resonates with those who view the reform as an act of erasure. Yet it must also be understood as part of a broader attempt, however imperfect, to construct a civic identity that transcends ethnic division.

The real issue, therefore, is not whether the change was consultative or imposed, though that is undoubtedly important, but whether Fiji can sustain a constitutional order in which citizenship is shared equally, without collapsing back into a hierarchy of identities.

Two Options, One Problem

Ratu Tevita proposes two options for national identity: a return to ‘Fiji Islander’ or the retention of ‘Fijian’, provided it is endorsed through genuine consultation.

On the surface, this appears pragmatic. Yet both options evade the central question.

If ‘Fijian’ is restored as an ethnic term, then a new civic label becomes necessary, reintroducing precisely the dual identity structure that has historically defined Fiji’s politics. If ‘Fijian’ is retained as a civic identity, then the GCC’s demand for its exclusive ethnic use cannot be accommodated.

In other words, the options are not merely alternative labels. They represent fundamentally different constitutional visions.

The GCC Submission: Clarity or Confusion?

Ratu Tevita expresses support for the “spirit” of the GCC’s submission, while acknowledging that it may have been articulated without sufficient clarity.

This is a significant admission. For the GCC’s position, seeking to restore ‘Fijian’ as an exclusively indigenous identity, cannot be treated as a purely symbolic request. It carries profound constitutional implications.

To reassign the term in this way is to redefine the relationship between citizen and state. It raises the question of whether Fiji’s constitutional order is to be grounded in shared civic identity or in ethnically differentiated belonging.

The Language of Protection and the Risk of Regression

The statement emphasises the need to protect indigenous identity and to ensure that no community’s heritage is erased without consent. This is a legitimate concern, and one that any constitutional framework must address.

Yet the framing of identity as something that can be “removed” or “restored” through terminology risks oversimplifying a far more complex reality. Cultural identity is not extinguished by legal definition, nor secured solely by it.

The danger lies in conflating symbolic recognition with substantive protection, and in allowing debates over naming to obscure deeper questions of governance, equality, and accountability.

The Deeper Constitutional Question

What emerges from this intervention is not a resolution, but a reflection of Fiji’s enduring constitutional tension.

On one side lies the aspiration for a unified civic identity, one in which all citizens are equal participants in the nation. On the other lies the insistence that indigenous identity must retain a distinct and, in some formulations, privileged place within the constitutional order.

These positions are not easily reconciled. Indeed, they may be fundamentally incompatible.

Conclusion: Beyond Names

The debate over the term ‘Fijian’ is often presented as a question of nomenclature. It is nothing of the sort. It is a question about the nature of the state itself.

Ratu Tevita’s intervention, for all its measured tone, ultimately illustrates the difficulty of navigating this terrain. In seeking to balance competing claims, it exposes the fragility of that balance.

Fiji must decide whether its future lies in the restoration of historical distinctions or in the consolidation of a shared civic identity. It cannot fully embrace both without contradiction.

For in the end, a nation is not defined by what it calls its people, but by how it treats them.

And on that question, no change of name, however carefully negotiated, will suffice.

THE BAU POSITION: INCLUSIVE ‘FIJIAN’ OR STRATEGIC SILENCE? A CHIEFLY VOICE IN A DIVIDED DEBATE

Into the increasingly polarised debate over the meaning of the term ‘Fijian’ has now stepped a voice from Bau, historically one of the most influential centres of chiefly power in Fiji. The Ratu Timoci Tavanavanua has taken a position that, at first glance, appears to cut across the dominant narrative emerging from the Great Council of Chiefs: that ‘Fijian’ can, and perhaps should, be a name that includes all citizens equally.

This intervention is significant, not merely for what it says, but for where it comes from. Bau has long occupied a central place in Fiji’s political and chiefly history, its leadership shaping both pre-colonial power structures and later colonial accommodation. To hear from a Bau chief a position that appears to support a civic, inclusive understanding of ‘Fijian’ suggests that the debate within the chiefly establishment itself is far from settled.

An Inclusive ‘Fijian’: A Departure from the GCC Line?

The Roko Tui Bau’s position that ‘Fijian’ can be a name that includes all equally aligns, at least superficially, with the post-2010 constitutional framework, which defines all citizens as Fijians.

This stands in marked contrast to the position advanced by sections of the GCC and its supporters, who argue that the term should revert to its exclusive ethnic meaning, referring only to indigenous iTaukei.

What is emerging, therefore, is not a unified chiefly consensus, but a divergence of views within the traditional leadership itself. On one side lies the call for restoration, anchored in historical usage and indigenous identity. On the other lies a more inclusive approach, one that accepts, or at least accommodates, the evolution of ‘Fijian’ into a civic identity.

Bau’s Historical Weight And Its Implications

The importance of this divergence cannot be overstated. Bau has historically been at the centre of Fijian political organisation, with its chiefs exercising influence far beyond their immediate domain.

In the nineteenth century, Bau’s leadership was instrumental in the consolidation of power that ultimately led to the cession of Fiji to Britain in 1874. In the colonial period, Bauan chiefs played a key role in mediating between indigenous structures and the colonial state.

That legacy continues. When a Bau chief speaks, it carries symbolic and political weight across the confederacies. The suggestion that ‘Fijian’ can be inclusive is therefore not merely an opinion. It is a signal that the foundations of the current debate are themselves contested within the highest levels of chiefly authority.

Nationality, Identity, and the Limits of Consensus

Yet the Bau position also raises a deeper question: is it a principled stance, or a strategic one?

To say that ‘Fijian’ can include all is, in one sense, a recognition of political reality. The term has, since 2010, been used in precisely that way, both domestically and internationally. It reflects a civic conception of nationhood, in which citizenship is the primary marker of belonging.

But it also avoids confronting the core issue raised by the GCC submission: whether the indigenous identity historically associated with the term should be restored as a matter of constitutional principle.

In this respect, the Bau position may be seen less as a resolution than as a deferral, a way of acknowledging inclusivity without directly addressing the claims of restoration.

A Fractured Chiefly Voice

What becomes clear is that the chiefly voice in Fiji is no longer singular. The GCC submission presents one vision, rooted in exclusivity and restoration. The Lau intervention presents another, seeking a separation of nationality and ethnicity. And now Bau introduces a third, suggesting that the term itself can accommodate all without necessarily resolving the underlying tension.

This fragmentation reflects a broader reality. Fiji’s constitutional question is no longer simply a contest between indigenous and non-indigenous perspectives. It is a contest within indigenous leadership itself, between different interpretations of history, identity, and the future of the state.

The Risk of Conceptual Drift

There is, however, a danger in this multiplicity of positions. Without clarity, the debate risks collapsing into conceptual drift where the same term, ‘Fijian’, is used to mean different things by different actors, depending on context and audience.

The Bau position, while inclusive, does not resolve this ambiguity. It affirms that the term can include all, but does not specify how this inclusivity coexists with the protection of indigenous identity, nor how it addresses the GCC’s demand for restoration.

In doing so, it leaves unanswered the central constitutional question: can a single term sustain both a civic and an ethnic meaning without generating confusion or conflict?

Bau and the Future of the Debate

The intervention of the Roko Tui Bau is a reminder that Fiji’s debate over identity is not binary. It is layered, contested, and evolving.

If the GCC represents a call for restoration, and other voices call for separation of nationality and ethnicity, Bau appears to be gesturing toward a form of coexistence, an acceptance that ‘Fijian’ can be both inclusive and meaningful.

Whether such a position can be sustained in practice remains uncertain.

For the challenge facing Fiji is not merely to choose a name, but to define the principles that underpin it. Without that clarity, the debate risks becoming one of symbolism rather than substance.

And in that space, even the most authoritative voices may find themselves speaking past one another, each invoking the same word, but meaning something entirely different.

Ratu Ului Mara's Media Statement

Employment Relations Amendment Bill: Felix Anthony brands Jon Apted a Scaremonger. To dismiss Apted as fear-monger is to ignore mechanics of law. To dismiss FTUC as ideological is to ignore the history of injustice

8/4/2026

There is a familiar rhythm to labour reform in Fiji: when workers’ rights are placed back on the legislative table, the language of crisis is never far behind. The latest clash between the Fiji Trades Union Congress and Jon Apted is not new. It is merely the latest iteration of an old struggle: rights versus reality, principle versus power, law versus lived experience.

At the heart of the dispute lies the Employment Relations Amendment Bill, presented by Government as a corrective measure, an attempt to realign Fiji with the standards of the International Labour Organization and to restore rights eroded over the past decade and a half. For the FTUC, led by Felix Anthony, the Bill is not radical; it is restorative. It is framed as a return to ‘Decent Work’, a concept embedded in international labour jurisprudence and long denied to many Fijian workers.

Yet into this narrative steps Apted, a senior law partner at Munro Leys, warning that the Bill risks “chaos” for employers. His intervention is immediately dismissed by the FTUC as “scare mongering”, a phrase heavy with political accusation. But beneath the rhetoric lies a more complex legal and structural tension.

The Rights Argument

The FTUC’s case draws its force from history. The shadow of the Essential National Industries Decree No. 25 of 2011 still looms large. That decree, introduced under the previous government, fundamentally altered the balance between labour and capital. Trade unions were weakened, collective bargaining curtailed, and employer discretion expanded.

For nearly sixteen years, the FTUC argues, workers bore the cost of “flexibility” - a euphemism for persistent insecurity, instability, and unpredictability. During that period, voices from the commercial legal establishment were notably muted. Now, as the pendulum swings back, the sudden invocation of “balance” and “level playing field” rings hollow to those who experienced the asymmetry first-hand.

In this framing, the Bill is not merely legislation; it is rectification. To oppose it is to resist not change, but correction.

The Reality Argument

Apted’s warning, however inelegantly phrased, is not without foundation. Labour law does not operate in the abstract; it functions through contracts, compliance systems, and enforcement mechanisms.

From the perspective of employers, particularly those navigating tight margins and rising costs (except when they donated millions to the FijiFirst Party coffers), the Bill presents immediate challenges:
• existing employment contracts may become non-compliant overnight
• new procedural safeguards could increase exposure to litigation
• administrative burdens will fall disproportionately on smaller enterprises
• uncertainty in interpretation will persist until courts begin to settle the law

This is what Apted likely means by “chaos”, not societal breakdown, but legal and operational disruption during transition.

It is a language of risk, not ideology.

Where the Two Sides Diverge

The FTUC speaks the language of justice. Apted speaks the language of systems.

One looks backward, to historical wrongs. The other looks forward, to practical consequences.

Neither is inherently wrong but both are incomplete.

The FTUC underestimates the friction of implementation. Apted underestimates the urgency of reform.

The Unasked Question

The real issue is not whether the Bill advances workers’ rights. It plainly does. Nor is it whether employers will face difficulty. They will.

The question is more precise, and more important: Is the legislation capable of translating principle into practice without collapsing under its own weight?

That depends on three factors:

• the clarity and coherence of the drafting
• the presence of transitional safeguards
• the institutional capacity to enforce fairly and consistently

Without these, even well-intentioned reform can falter. With them, even contentious change can stabilise.

Beyond the Rhetoric

To dismiss Apted as a fear-monger is to ignore the mechanics of law. To dismiss the FTUC as ideological is to ignore the history of injustice.

Fiji stands, once again, at a familiar crossroads.

If the Bill succeeds, it will not be because one side prevailed over the other, but because rights were implemented with realism, and reform was grounded in both principle and practicality.

If it fails, it will not be because workers were given too much but because the bridge between rights and reality was never properly built.

From Fijileaks Archives: The Employers Dug Deep into Bank Vaults

Marc Mcelrath 'Mcdonal' donated $10,000 to FFP. His mother, BEVERLeY FLORENCE, joined the 'FFP Meal Deal', donating $10,000 on 10 October 2018. There is no record of any receipt issued or who at FFP received the donation. On 14 October 2018, PATRICIA MARY FERRIER WATSON donated her $100 to FijiFIRST Party.

NAWAIKULA, 'A Rose By Any Other Name? Why the term "Fijian" Matters to GCC'. Does he mean, it matters to Deputy GCC chairman Ratu Suliano Matanitobua? The Sodelpa MPs were jailed for fiddling travel allowances

5/4/2026

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER ADDRESS? From False Declarations to the GCC When Reinvention Smells Less Than Sweet. Matanitobua-Nawaikula Duo

In FICAC v Nawaikula [2022] FJHC 192, the Court found that Nawaikula had falsely declared his place of permanent residence in order to obtain parliamentary allowances to which he was not entitled. The declaration was not treated as an innocent misunderstanding, but as a deliberate misrepresentation resulting in financial gain from public funds. The Court characterised the conduct as a serious breach of trust.
* Similarly, in FICAC v Matanitobua [2022] FJHC 514, the Court found that Ratu Suliano had falsely stated his residence as Namosi Village and had thereby obtained substantial allowances, again, funds drawn from the public purse, on the basis of that misrepresentation.
*These were not technical infractions. They were findings of dishonesty in relation to public money, made against elected representatives entrusted with legislative authority.

"The theft of the Fijian identity became obvious soon after the imposed changes to the law were made in 2010. As a member of the opposition at the time, I repeatedly reminded the Government of this problem, illustrating what I described as the “theft” through many examples."

The continued intervention by former parliamentarian Niko Nawaikula on behalf of the Great Council of Chiefs, calling for the restoration of the term ‘Fijian’ exclusively to iTaukei, is framed in the language of grievance, restoration and, most strikingly, theft. It is a powerful word. But it is also, in this context, a profoundly misleading one.

At the heart of the argument lies a claim that the 2010 legal reforms, introduced under the Bainimarama government, amounted to the appropriation of an indigenous identity, removing the term ‘Fijian’ from the iTaukei and applying it to all citizens of Fiji. This, we are told, constituted a violation not only of historical usage, but of international norms, including the consultation requirements associated with ILO Convention 169.

The argument is not new. It is, in fact, a familiar refrain in Fiji’s constitutional discourse: that identity must be anchored in exclusivity, and that the extension of a national label to all citizens somehow diminishes its original custodians. Yet it is precisely this premise that requires interrogation.

The 2010 reform did not erase iTaukei identity. It clarified the distinction between ethnicity and citizenship, a distinction that modern states routinely make. To call all citizens ‘Fijians’ was not to deny the cultural, linguistic, or historical specificity of the iTaukei. It was to establish a civic identity capable of encompassing all who belong to the state.

The term ‘iTaukei’ itself, far from being imposed as a diminution, was adopted to recognise and preserve indigenous identity in a manner that is both precise and respectful.

The invocation of ‘theft’ therefore collapses under its own weight. Identity is not a finite resource to be stolen or transferred; it is a layered construct, capable of sustaining both cultural specificity and civic inclusivity.

The suggestion by Nawaikula that the greeting ‘Bula’, or the performance of a meke, somehow becomes less authentically iTaukei because the term ‘Fijian’ is used in a national sense reflects a category error. Cultural practices remain rooted in their communities of origin, regardless of how the state defines citizenship.

More fundamentally, the argument confuses symbolism with substance. The real question is not who has the right to a name, but how power is distributed within the state. The extension of the term ‘Fijian’ to all citizens did not dispossess the iTaukei of land, culture, or customary institutions. What it did challenge was a political framework in which identity and authority were closely intertwined.

It is here that the appeal to international law must be treated with caution. While consultation with indigenous communities is an important principle, the application of conventions such as ILO 169 cannot be reduced to a single legislative act or interpreted in isolation from the broader constitutional context. Fiji’s political history has been marked by repeated tensions between communal protection and civic equality. The 2010 reforms were, in part, an attempt, however imperfect, to recalibrate that balance.

The present call by the GCC to restore the exclusive use of ‘Fijian’ must therefore be understood as part of a wider project: the reassertion of a constitutional order in which indigenous identity is not merely recognised, but privileged. This is not a question of linguistic accuracy. It is a question of political direction.

It is also, one must say, a question of credibility. The language of ‘theft’ carries moral force only when used with care. For it invites scrutiny not only of the argument, but of the person advancing it. It is a matter of public record that Nawaikula himself was convicted and imprisoned for offences involving the misappropriation of public funds.

For such an individual to now invoke the language of theft in a constitutional debate is, at the very least, an irony that cannot be ignored. This is not to suggest that his arguments should be dismissed on that basis alone. But it does underscore the need for precision and restraint in the use of charged terminology. To describe a change in legal nomenclature as ‘theft’ is to elevate rhetoric above reason.

Fiji’s constitutional future will not be determined by slogans. It will depend on whether the state can reconcile the legitimate claims of its iTaukei people with the equally legitimate principle that all citizens stand equal before the law.

That reconciliation cannot be achieved by retreating into exclusivity, nor by re-labelling identity as property.

A rose, as Shakespeare reminds us, would smell as sweet by any other name. The question for Fiji is not what we call ourselves, but whether we can build a political community in which that name belongs to all.

On that question, the rhetoric of ‘theft’ offers little guidance, especially coming from Nawaikula who was convicted and sent to prison for stealing (thieving) from taxpayers.

TUI NAMOSI RATU SULIANO MATANITOBUA FOR PRESIDENT OF FIJI?

If the GCC were to succeed in its demands to reclaim the power to appoint the President and Vice-President, what safeguards would exist to ensure that those offices are insulated from the deficiencies the courts have already identified?
What prevents a system, grounded in status rather than scrutiny, from elevating individuals whose record would otherwise disqualify them in a purely democratic framework?
The prospect is not abstract. It is entirely conceivable within such a structure that those who have moved from conviction to reinstatement within chiefly authority could, in time, ascend to the highest offices of the state.
From Prison to the Presidency. From Breach of Trust to Constitutional Authority.
Roses under different names.

THE CASE OF NIKO NAWAIKULA: WHEN ‘PERMANENT RESIDENCE’ EXPOSED A BREACH OF PUBLIC TRUST

The conviction of Niko Nawaikula in Fiji Independent Commission Against Corruption v Nawaikula [2022] FJHC 192 was not, as some of his supporters would later suggest, a mere technical dispute over legal interpretation. It was, in substance, a case about truth, public trust, and the integrity of elected office.

At its core lay a deceptively simple question: where did a Member of Parliament “permanently reside”? Yet as the Fiji High Court proceedings revealed, this was no trivial matter. The answer determined eligibility for parliamentary allowances, funds drawn from the public purse, and therefore carried both legal and ethical weight.

The prosecution case, brought by the Fiji Independent Commission Against Corruption, established that Nawaikula had declared his permanent residence to be in Buca Village, Cakaudrove, while in reality maintaining a substantive residence in Suva. On the basis of that declaration, he received over $20,000 in allowances to which he was not entitled.

The Fiji High Court was required to interpret the meaning of “permanent residence” within this statutory framework. In doing so, it adopted a practical and fact-sensitive approach, defining the term as a place where a person has their settled and usual abode over a considerable period, even if they are absent from time to time.

On the evidence, the Court found that Nawaikula’s declaration did not meet this standard. The declaration was not an innocent misunderstanding, nor an ambiguous statement open to competing interpretations. It was a representation made in circumstances where its consequences were clearly understood: eligibility for financial benefit.

The conviction that followed, on charges of providing false information to a public servant and obtaining a financial advantage, reflected the Court’s conclusion that the conduct went beyond mere error. It constituted a deliberate misstatement, resulting in a tangible gain at public expense.

In sentencing, the Court emphasised the gravity of the breach. This was not a private individual misrepresenting personal circumstances. It was a Member of Parliament, entrusted with public office, exploiting that position. The Judge described it as a “high breach of trust”, noting that such conduct undermined confidence in democratic institutions.

Yet the legal significance of the case extends beyond the individual conviction. It clarifies an important principle: that statutory declarations, particularly those linked to financial entitlements, must be assessed not by subjective belief alone, but by objective reality. A person may have multiple connections to village, land, or family but when the law requires a declaration of permanent residence, it demands accuracy, not sentiment.

The subsequent attempts by Nawaikula to challenge aspects of the process, including applications for constitutional redress, have done little to alter this central finding. Courts have consistently treated such avenues as either alternative remedies or, in some instances, an abuse of process.

What emerges, therefore, is a case that is both legally straightforward and politically revealing. It demonstrates the capacity of Fiji’s judicial system to adjudicate claims involving senior public figures, and to do so on the basis of evidence rather than rhetoric. At the same time, it exposes a deeper tension within Fiji’s political culture: the tendency to recast accountability as persecution, and legal findings as political narratives.

This tension becomes particularly acute when one considers Nawaikula’s later interventions in constitutional debates, most recently his invocation of the language of “theft” in relation to the term ‘Fijian’. The irony is difficult to ignore.

For the High Court case was, in essence, about the unlawful acquisition of public funds through false representation. It was about the integrity of declarations, and the obligation of public officials to speak truthfully when the public purse is engaged.

Words matter. In law, they define rights, obligations, and consequences. But they must be used with precision. To describe a change in constitutional terminology as “theft” is to stretch the language beyond its proper meaning. To have been convicted of obtaining financial advantage through misrepresentation, and then to deploy that same language in political debate, is to invite scrutiny of a different order.

The lesson of the case is not confined to one individual. It is a reminder that the legitimacy of public institutions depends on the conduct of those who occupy them. Legal accountability is not an abstraction; it is the mechanism through which trust is maintained.

In that sense, the judgment in FICAC v Nawaikula stands as more than a criminal conviction. It is a statement, quiet but firm, that the rule of law applies equally, even where politics might prefer otherwise. And, the same law was applied to the Tui Namosi.

‘We Are All Fijians’: Kamikamica’s FB Intervention in a Fractured National DEBATE. He revives an older, unresolved question, one that has haunted FEEJEE: Is the nation to be defined by ancestry, or by shared belonging?

4/4/2026

On the Meaning of ‘Fijian’: A Civic Name, Not an Ethnic Possession

The term ‘Fijian’ ought, in any modern constitutional sense, to function no differently from labels such as ‘British’, ‘Australian’, ‘American’, ‘Indian’, or ‘Canadian’.

Each of these designations operates as a civic identity, signifying citizenship, belonging, and participation in a shared political and social order, rather than as an exclusive ethnic claim. Within those national frameworks, diversity is neither denied nor erased; it is recognised through hyphenated or descriptive sub-identities such as African-American, British-Asian, or Indo-Fijian, which acknowledge heritage without displacing the overarching national identity.

To insist that ‘Fijian’ be reserved for a single ethnic group is therefore to depart from the logic of modern nationhood and to revert to a pre-civic understanding of identity rooted in ancestry rather than citizenship.

It conflates the state with one community, rather than accommodating all communities within the state. The more coherent and globally consistent approach is to recognise ‘Fijian’ as the inclusive civic identity of all who belong to Fiji, while allowing cultural, ethnic, and historical distinctions to be expressed where necessary, and through hyphenated forms such as ‘Indo-Fijian’ or ‘iTaukei Fijian’.

In this sense, the debate is not about erasing identity, but about ordering it: placing shared national belonging at the centre, and particular identities alongside it, rather than in competition with it.

From the Fairways of Augusta: When Vijay Singh Was Simply ‘Fijian’ GOLFER

On the global stage of golf, Vijay Singh was never introduced as an ‘Indo-Fijian golfer’. He was, quite simply, ‘the Fijian’, a description used matter-of-factly in international coverage, including during his Masters triumph when he defeated Tiger Woods at the height of his powers.

In that moment, identity was neither hyphenated nor contested. It was civic, national, and unqualified. The world did not pause to dissect ancestry; it recognised the country he represented: FIJI.

The irony, of course, lies in the contrast with Fiji’s own internal debates, where the very label so effortlessly applied abroad remains fiercely disputed at home.

Vijay Singh during his induction ceremony at the World Golf Hall of Fame and he watches as his son raises his country’s flag during the same event in St Augustine, Florida in 2006. Composite: Getty Images; PGA Tour

‘We Are All Fijians’: MANOA Kamikamica’s Intervention in a Fractured National Debate

The recent remarks by Manoa Kamikamica that Indo-Fijians ‘are our brothers and sisters, and they are Fijian’ amount to more than a gesture of seasonal goodwill.

They are a deliberate political intervention into one of Fiji’s most enduring and combustible questions: who has the right to call themselves ‘Fijian’, and on what terms.

In his statement, Kamikamica advances a straightforward but historically loaded proposition. Indo-Fijians, he argues, were brought to Fiji involuntarily, have made the country their home, and have contributed across all sectors, from sport to government. They ‘know no other place’, and therefore belong fully within the national identity.

More revealing, however, is his personal reflection. He acknowledges that in his youth, ‘to be Fijian was to be iTaukei’, a view shaped by upbringing, economic anxieties, and entrenched prejudice. His evolution over ‘35 years’ signals not merely an individual shift but an attempt to reframe a generational mindset.

A Language War Disguised as Identity

At the core of Kamikamica’s intervention lies a linguistic question with constitutional implications: should ‘Fijian’ denote an ethnic identity (iTaukei), or a civic one (all citizens)? His rhetorical question - ‘does it make a difference?’ - is itself strategic. It seeks to collapse a distinction that, in Fiji’s political history, has been fiercely guarded.

Yet this is precisely where his remarks intersect with the current constitutional and political debate. Recent submissions in favour of restoring ethnically bounded terminology, reserving ‘Fijian’ exclusively for indigenous iTaukei, have re-opened a fault line many believed had been settled, at least formally, under the 2013 constitutional order.

Kamikamica’s analogy, asking whether Christians are divided into ethnic sub-categories, attempts to elevate the debate into a moral register. It is an appeal to universality, implicitly challenging ethnically bounded nationalism.

Historical Memory and Political Anxiety

The force of Kamikamica’s statement derives from its implicit confrontation with Fiji’s historical anxieties. His reference to ‘economic dominance of Indians’ gestures towards a long-standing narrative within sections of the iTaukei community that political control must offset perceived economic imbalance.

This narrative has repeatedly shaped constitutional arrangements, from communal voting systems to the post-1987 constitutional order, and continues to animate contemporary calls for the restoration of indigenous political primacy. In that sense, Kamikamica is not merely advocating inclusion; he is challenging a foundational justification for ethnic exclusivity.

His acknowledgment that earlier attitudes were rooted ‘partly [in] insecurity’ is unusually candid for a serving political figure. It reframes the Indo-Fijian presence not as a threat but as an integral component of the national story, one that cannot be disentangled without unravelling Fiji itself.

Between Civic Nationalism and Ethno-National Revival

Placed within the present debate over constitutional reform, Kamikamica’s remarks align squarely with the civic nationalism embedded, at least formally, in the 2013 Constitution, which sought to standardise the term ‘Fijian’ for all citizens.

However, the resurgence of calls to revert to earlier constitutional frameworks, where ethnic identity structured political representation, signals a counter-movement. In that context, Kamikamica’s statement reads as both defensive and aspirational: defensive in resisting a rollback to ethnic labelling, and aspirational in imagining a genuinely shared national identity.

The difficulty, of course, lies in the gap between rhetoric and political reality. The very persistence of this debate suggests that the civic conception of ‘Fijian’ has not fully displaced its ethnic antecedent. For many, the term remains inseparable from indigenous identity, land ownership, and chiefly authority.

An Easter Message or a Political Line in the Sand?

Kamikamica frames his remarks in the language of Easter - unity, grace, and reflection.

Yet beneath this moral veneer lies a clear political positioning. By insisting that Indo-Fijians ‘belong here’ and are indistinguishable in national terms, he implicitly rejects proposals that would re-ethnicise the state.

Whether this marks a broader shift within government thinking, or merely an individual intervention, remains to be seen. What is clear is that the statement has landed at a moment when Fiji is once again negotiating the boundaries of identity, citizenship, and power.

In that sense, Kamikamica’s words revive an older, unresolved question, one that has haunted Fiji since independence: is the nation to be defined by ancestry, or by shared belonging?

His answer is unequivocal. The country, he suggests, has already moved on. The question is whether its politics will follow.

EDITOR'S NOTE: As Editor of Fijileaks, I add a personal note to this intervention. I was a close friend of his father Josevata Kamikamica (RIP) and had actively campaigned during the 1994 general election, for him (JK), not coupist Sitiveni Rabuka, to assume the office of Prime Minister. That moment, too, turned on questions of legitimacy, leadership, and the direction of the nation.

In 1994, Josevata Kamikamica formed the Fijian Association Party (FAP) to challenge Rabuka and the Great Council of Chiefs-endorsed SVT in that year’s general election. I supported him through my opinion columns in the Fiji Sun. The FAP enjoyed tacit backing from Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, who had openly expressed his support for Kamikamica’s premiership at the Great Council of Chiefs meeting.

However, Mara was outvoted, partly by Rabuka’s politicised nominees on the Council. The SVT, for its part, accused Kamikamica of facilitating a return of political power to Indo-Fijians. In a strategic misstep, Kamikamica announced that he would form a coalition government with Indo-Fijian parties if he won the 1994 election, a position that played directly into the hands of SVT nationalists. He ultimately lost his own parliamentary seat, despite having campaigned on restoring integrity and dignity to Fijian leadership.

I do not know Manoa Kamikamica personally. My only direct encounter, albeit indirectly, arose after the 2022 election when he entered office under Rabuka’s leadership. At that time, Fijileaks, acting as a responsible investigative platform, made inquiries into circulating social media claims as to whether his wife had accompanied him to New Zealand at taxpayers’ expense. Rather than clarification, the response conveyed was a threat of legal action.

This is not recounted to personalise the present debate but to underscore a broader point. Public office carries with it not only the authority to speak on national unity but also the obligation to engage transparently with legitimate scrutiny. One cannot, on the one hand, call for a shared national identity grounded in mutual respect and, on the other, resist reasonable questions posed in the public interest.

That said, Manoa Kamikamica’s present remarks deserve to be assessed on their own merit. In affirming that Indo-Fijians are ‘our brothers and sisters’ and fully ‘Fijian’, he has articulated a position that, if consistently upheld in both word and conduct, would mark a meaningful departure from the exclusionary impulses that have too often defined Fiji’s political past.

14 December 1897, Governor Sir George O'Brien: 'The situation reminds one of nothing so much as story of the circus showman & his educated mule...We are able to make the Chiefs do anything we like in Colonial Fiji'

3/4/2026

WHO OWNS FIJI? GCC’s Bid To Reclaim State and Redefine Citizenship Should we allow these 'colonial mules' to takeover constitutional circus?

At its core, the GCC’s proposal forces a stark question: Is Fiji a country that belongs equally to all its citizens, or one that is owned, constitutionally and symbolically, by a single community? You cannot answer “both”.

A modern, multi-ethnic state cannot sustain itself in the fiction that equality and ethnic hierarchy can co-exist indefinitely. One will eventually consume the other. The tragedy of this moment is not that the proposal was made. It is that it reflects a persistent strain of thinking, that the future can be secured by retreating into the past.

Fiji does not need to relearn the lessons of division through another cycle of constitutional experimentation.

It needs to decide, firmly and without equivocation, whether it is a shared nation or an inherited one. Because once a state begins to redraw citizenship along ethnic lines, it is no longer merely revising its constitution. It is rewriting the terms of belonging itself."

WHO OWNS FIJI? GCC’S BID TO RECLAIM THE STATE AND REDEFINE CITIZENSHIP AND POWER TO ELECT PRESIDENT AND HIS DEPUTY

There are moments when a proposal is not merely misguided, but constitutionally dangerous. The latest call by the Great Council of Chiefs (GCC) to reserve the term “Fijian” exclusively for iTaukei, and to reclaim the power to appoint the President and Vice-President, belongs firmly in that category.

It is, stripped of its cultural wrapping, a demand to re-ethnicise the state itself.

For a country that has already paid dearly through coups, constitutional upheavals, and decades of mistrust for entangling ethnicity with political power, this is not a step backward. It is a march toward the same precipice.

A Name Is Never Just A Name

The GCC’s insistence that only iTaukei be called “Fijian” is not a linguistic preference. It is a political act. Under the 2013 Constitution of Fiji, “Fijian” became a civic identity, an equalising term that, at least in law, placed all citizens on the same national footing. Indo-Fijians, Rotumans, and Others ceased to be hyphenated outsiders and became, simply, Fijians.

To now strip that away is to say: Some belong to the nation. Others merely live in it. No amount of cultural justification can disguise the constitutional insult embedded in that proposition. It redraws the boundary of belonging along ethnic lines and tells a significant portion of the population that their citizenship is, at best, conditional.

This is not cultural preservation. It is hierarchical citizenship by another name.

The Quiet Return of Ethnic Statecraft

Equally troubling is the GCC’s desire to become the appointing authority for the Head of State.

Let us be clear about what that entails.

The GCC is not an elected body. It does not derive its authority from universal suffrage. It represents, by design, a particular community, one rooted in hereditary chiefly structures and indigenous tradition.

To vest in it the power to appoint the President is to constitutionalise a simple idea: That sovereignty in Fiji does not flow equally from all its people, but disproportionately from one.

This is not a harmless nod to tradition. It is the creation of a parallel constitutional authority, one that sits above or alongside democratic institutions but is accountable to neither the electorate nor the full citizenry.

Fiji has seen this movie before. It never ends well.

History's Warning: Ignored, Again

The ghosts of the 1987 and 2000 coups are not distant relics. They are reminders of what happens when political power is justified in the language of ethnic entitlement. Each time, the argument was framed as protection of land, of identity, of indigenous rights. Each time, it resulted in:

Institutional collapse
Economic damage
Deepened ethnic division
And a legacy of distrust that still lingers

To now advance proposals that reinsert ethnicity at the apex of the state is to pretend those lessons were never learned.

The False Binary: Protection or Equality

The GCC’s position rests on an implied claim: that protecting iTaukei identity requires privileging it within the structure of the state. This is a false and dangerous binary. iTaukei land ownership is already entrenched. Customary institutions remain intact. Cultural identity is not under existential threat from a civic definition of citizenship.

What is being sought here is not protection. It is political primacy.

And once the state begins to privilege one group constitutionally, it cannot convincingly claim to belong equally to all.

A State Within A State

If these proposals were adopted, Fiji would not merely adjust its constitutional arrangements. It would transform its character. Fiji would have a democratic system in form, and an ethnically anchored authority in substance.

A President appointed not as a unifying national figure, but as the product of a particular communal structure.

And a national identity redefined in a way that excludes a large segment of the population from its very name.

That is not a republic. It is a state with an ethnic centre and peripheral citizens orbiting it.

The Real Cost

The consequences would not be theoretical. They would be felt in renewed ethnic political mobilisation, legal challenges grounded in equality and non-discrimination, investor uncertainty in a country once again flirting with instability, and, most corrosively, the quiet erosion of national cohesion. Because when a state tells some of its citizens that they are not truly part of the national identity, those citizens do not forget. They disengage, resist, or leave.

Fiji has already lived through that cycle.

Whose Fiji?

At its core, the GCC’s proposal forces a stark question: Is Fiji a country that belongs equally to all its citizens, or one that is owned, constitutionally and symbolically, by a single community? You cannot answer “both”.

A modern, multi-ethnic state cannot sustain itself on the fiction that equality and ethnic hierarchy can coexist indefinitely. One will eventually consume the other.

The tragedy of this moment is not that the proposal was made. It is that it reflects a persistent strain of thinking, that the future can be secured by retreating into the past. Fiji does not need to relearn the lessons of division through another cycle of constitutional experimentation.

It needs to decide, firmly and without equivocation, whether it is a shared nation or an inherited one.

Because once a state begins to redraw citizenship along ethnic lines, it is no longer merely revising its constitution.

It is rewriting the terms of belonging itself.

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