(First published in The Dominion Post, January 24.)
WE DON’T seem to hear a lot
about Commodore Voreqe (Frank) Bainimarama these days. Perhaps that’s because
we prefer not to think about him.
Our near neighbour – the
Pacific’s only military dictator – presents a big problem.
What he’s doing in Fiji,
namely suppressing democracy and silencing opponents, is repugnant. We don’t
approve.
But what can we do?
Economic sanctions, such as isolation, would inevitably punish innocent, ordinary Fijians. Besides,
many New Zealanders like their cheap Fijian holidays and wouldn’t take kindly
to being told they can no longer fly there.
The net result is that we
find it easier to look the other way. Bainimarama is just too difficult.
He was back in the news
recently when Fairfax Media’s Michael Field, who has made it his mission to
keep an eye on dodgy goings-on around the Pacific, reported that Fiji might be
barred from the forthcoming Wellington Rugby Sevens because the International
Rugby Board had suspended its annual grant to the Fiji Rugby Union.
The story caught my eye
because Field (who is banned in Fiji, along with two other New Zealand and
Australian reporters) described the FRU as being effectively controlled by
Bainimarama, a rugby enthusiast. It also turns out that the Fiji Sports
Commission, which has come to the FRU’s rescue, is run by Bainimarama’s
daughter.
There you have it: nepotism,
one of the defining characteristics of the despot. This can be added to the
various other aspects of his rule that qualify Bainimarama for the classic
definition of the petty tyrant.
These include, in no
particular order:
● The conviction
that only he knows what’s best for his people. It may start out as a sincere
desire to do the right thing, but over time it gets warped into a sense of
omniscience. The tyrant in the making begins to enjoy the feel of power and
convinces himself that he needs to keep exercising it a little while longer.
● The promise that
repressive controls are only a temporary measure, regrettably made necessary by
the need to ensure social and economic stability. Those controls have now been
in force in Fiji since 2006.
● An absolute
intolerance of opposition which justifies control over the media, trade unions
and anyone else who might be a source of dissent.
● Approval, even if only
tacit, of state violence. Military regimes need to show who’s in charge
and that defiance will be severely punished, as happened to recaptured Fijian prisoners who were subjected to police beatings in 2012.
● Endless promises that democracy will be
restored when the country is deemed ready. Bainimarama has been promising
elections since 2007. It’s not clear what elusive set of conditions he insists
on before having them, but no one’s holding their breath.
The only trait missing from
the above list is megalomania. That will become apparent if and when
Bainimarama starts awarding himself grandiose titles – perhaps emperor or
field-marshal, with all the commensurate Idi Amin-style medals, sashes and
other trappings – and ordering that large portraits of him be erected in prominent
places.
The tragedy is that when he
seized power in 2006, Bainimarama seemed to have honourable intentions. He
appeared determined to break the power of the chiefly elite and ensure fair treatment of Fiji Indians.
Somewhere along the line his
good motives were corrupted by power and personal ambition. Shakespeare would
have loved it.
SADLY, things don’t seem a
whole lot better in Tonga.
Once again we had Field to
thank for revealing that even as the people of Tonga’s Ha’apai islands were
reeling from the most destructive cyclone in living memory, their rulers were
more concerned with political infighting over who should be finance minister.
As international aid agencies
scrambled to provide assistance, the Tongan government maintained an aloof
silence. It seems it didn’t want to give the impression that Tonga couldn’t
cope on its own.
Saving face was obviously
more important than helping their own devastated people. The only public
statement issued was one naming a new finance minister to replace one who had
upset the ruling elite.
In Tonga, unlike
Fiji, there’s not even the pretence of democracy. Commoners have limited power
to elect members of parliament but real power resides with the royal family and
nobility.
The government’s casual disregard
for the welfare of its people was never more tragically exposed than when the
rust bucket masquerading as the ferry Princess Ashika sank in 2009. Any other
country’s citizens would have risen in outrage over the tales of official
negligence, complacency and indifference that emerged following the sinking, in
which 74 people – mostly women and children - drowned.
Sadly the Tongan people
remain deeply respectful of their monarchy for reasons that, to any outsider,
are a mystery.
