By Dennis Rounds
I recently built up enough courage to take a pot-holed ride from the growingly decrepit western division to Fiji’s seat of power and burgeoning wealth, Suva.
Along the way, I was entertained by the hundreds of vehicles driving beyond the speed of sound, car speakers blasting the latest and most popular vulgarity they now call songs.
One song caught my attention, “Lordi-Who’s your Daddy?”
It must have been sunstroke but my ageing brain flashed images of the American Chargé d’Affaires in Suva, Tony Gruebel standing, sagging head and apologetic look, before Prime Minister Bainimarama’s Special Envoy to the Pacific Islands Forum, Ratu Inoke Kubuabola.
“Who’s your Daddy, Tony?” my mind’s voice demanded in shrilling pitch. “Doesn’t he know that Bainimarama is the Pacific’s Climate Change champion?”
“Why invite President David Kabua of the Marshall Islands and ignore Voreqe Bainimarama who is the voice of small developing states?”
“Who’s your Daddy, Tony?” my mind’s voice squeaked in shock and disbelief. “Is your Daddy Joe Biden? I am shocked and appalled that you haven’t told him who Frank Bainimarama is.”
“Is your Daddy trying to encourage the break-up, by the break-away Micronesians, of the Pacific Islands Forum? Doesn’t he know that Bainimarama is the incoming chair of PIF? And that he is way ahead of everyone else in terms of climate change experience and leadership?”
And, so the one-way dressing-down conversation continued.
Apparently, some in the comfort of their air-conditioned suites and padded leather chairs in Fiji’s seat of power were offended that Prime Minister Bainimarama was not included in this month’s virtual climate meeting to which the United States has invited 40 heads of government!!
“Big deal. We have bigger fish to fry here at home”, I blurted to myself while driving through the serenity of the Serua Hills which separate Suva from most of Viti Levu.
I find driving and “brainstorming” less stressful and even less distracting than driving and having to talk to your passenger.
So, within the confines of my car, the questions began to flow – like a running river fed by streams.
“Who’s Fiji’s Daddy and where is our Daddy?”
Did Daddy authorise circulation of draft proposals to overhaul municipal market laws?
The proposals came from government-appointed consultants who wanted to ban the sale of liquid kava at Fiji’s markets. Apart from the leisure and friendly conversation communal kava consumption provides, it allows for heart-felt grassroots discussion on politics, the economy, and any other subject that might be topical.
The consultants offered “kava bars” as an alternative.
“Why? Is it to contain within four walls the growing public discontent voiced in kava sessions about daily struggles and rising commodity prices?” I asked myself.
Then there was the question about a proposal to ban the sale of cooked food at markets. Wouldn’t it deprive womenfolk of their meagre earnings which put food on the family table?
The Minister for Local Government quickly put a stop to further public discussion on the proposals, claiming they did not reflect “government policy”.
“Did she get a dressing-down from Daddy?”
Daddy was apparently left out in the cold when public discussions began on a proposed Draft Police Bill.
The Draft Bill gave police sweeping powers of arrest, detention and seizure of equipment. It proposed lengthy jail terms and heavy fines on citizens and companies refusing to comply with police efforts to modernise its capability to meet the challenges of changing technology.
It allowed for electronic eavesdropping by the police, remote monitoring of personal activities and covert recording of private digital conversations.
Rising public outrage over the proposed draft and moves to organise public marches resulted in Prime Minister Bainimarama ordering a halt to any further public debate on the draft Bill which he said did not reflect “government’s vision” for Fiji.
The consultations had apparently been funded by the United Nations Development Programme and the New Zealand government.
One seasoned observer equated the rise and fall of the draft Police Bill to a rugby match. The UNDP and the New Zealand government were the match organisers, Fiji’s Minister for Defence was team Manager and the Commissioner of Police and his men the players sent out do battle on the field.
From the tightening scrummage big Daddy saw an opportunity to steal the ball and score a run-away try – sealing the fate of the Police Bill.
In having the draft Police Bill withdrawn, Prime Minister Bainimarama won over scores of political opponents.
That song just kept reverberating itself within the cellular layout that is my brain. “Lordi – Who’s your Daddy?”
Reality sank in when my car’s shock absorbers began to feel the impact of deepening craters which Fiji’s pot-hole-riddled roads are fast becoming.
The Minister responsible for Infrastructure recently told Parliament that money to repair potholes was scarce and that most of Fiji’s roads had passed their “use-by” dates.
Like a penniless child craving ice cream, my inner voice screamed in the highest and yet most inaudible decibels …”I need rescuing, where’s our Daddy”.
