A growing chorus of concern is rising from the heart of our communities, voiced in the poignant cadence of the iTaukei language. It is a distress signal against a disturbing “new” norm: the sight of adults in our village rara and valevakoro, dancing in ways that are degrading, their movements bordering on the openly sexual or outright idiocy. This is not a trivial complaint about changing tastes. It is a profound cultural alarm, a signal fire warning that we are fostering an environment that actively undermines our children and grandchildren and betrays our heritage at a time when sexual violence against the vulnerable is on an unacceptable upward trend.
AT the core of this crisis lies a quiet abandonment of veivakaturagataki, the dignified and respectful conduct that forms the soul of iTaukei society. Our traditional dances were never mere entertainment; they were a sacred lexicon. The deliberate gestures of a meke narrated history, celebrated the land, and honoured the spiritual connection to our vanua. The body was an instrument of culture, a vessel of story. The performances now becoming commonplace are a hollow pantomime, stripping this sacred language of its meaning until all that remains is a shell that is, as observed, “sega ni vaka-itaukei ka sega ni rakorako”— neither indigenous nor respectful. When the appointed guardians of our culture, the adults and elders, become the primary performers of this “idiocy,” they are not being modern; they are dismantling the very foundations of our social and moral integrity, we lament about openly.
The most devastating fallout from this cultural abdication is borne by our children and grandchildren. As we head towards the festive season, the plea is simple and urgent: na noda soqo vakavanua, must be conducted in a manner that is not offensive while our children and grandchildren are watching. This is the fundamental covenant between generations. Childhood is a stage of imitation; what children see, they internalise as normal. When they witness the adults they are taught to respect gyrating in sexually explicit ways, a dangerous lesson is seared into their consciousness: that the body is a public spectacle and that intimate private acts are subjects for public mockery. This normalisation is a gift to sexual predators, who operate most freely where the lines of consent and bodily autonomy are blurred. The village rara and valevakoro, once a sanctuary for cultural transmission, risks becoming a classroom for degradation, implicitly teaching our girls that their bodies are for display and our boys that lewdness is an acceptable form of expression.
This is not a mere coincidence, but a corrosive correlation we must have the courage to name. Amidst rising reports of sexual abuse, the continued celebration of such performances is not just irresponsible; it is a form of complicity. It creates a cultural static that drowns out the essential conversations about respect and safety. How can we tell a young person to value their body when they see its worth degraded in the lewd contortions of a community celebration? The adults, lost in a moment of revelry, are dancing on the fractured ground of their children and grandchildren’s future security.
The powerful metaphor used by concerned voices resonates deeply: “Sa curumi uciwai beka na nodai tovo”— our culture is perhaps being flooded. This is not the gentle river of organic change, but a flash flood of external, often commercialised, vulgarity that is washing away the fertile topsoil of our values. And in this deluge, the guardians are not building levees; they are swimming with the current, cheering it on.
The sigh that often ends these laments, “Isa Viti…”, is more than nostalgia; it is a call to action for every iTaukei who understands that culture is a living responsibility, not a relic. The challenge is not to reject joy or evolution, but to exercise profound discernment. True cultural strength lies in the wisdom to know what elevates a people and what degrades them, what protects the vulnerable and what makes them prey.
We must ask ourselves: What story do our movements tell now? Is it one of respect, community, and guardianship? Or is it the story of a people so enchanted by foreign shadows that they have forgotten the fire of their own hearth?
The music in our rara must change. It is time to remember the older, deeper rhythms, the rhythms of responsibility, the beats of respect, and the melody of a culture that knows that the most important dance is the one that protects the innocent who watch. Our children and grandchildren’s eyes are upon us. It is time we danced a dance worthy of their future.
