SINCE its suspension in 2007 and subsequent abolition in 2012, the Bose Levu Vakaturaga (BLV) has been the subject of much heated and controversial debate. A large part of the criticism has been cast in terms of its elitist nature, comprised as it was of traditional indigenous leaders and senior elders, as well as its anti-democratic origins and the part it played in iTaukei ethno-nationalism. While those claims may have some merit, they do not explain the complete picture. It may be of interest to share some iTaukei perspectives in this regard, if only because there remains a certain reticence among them to share matters close to the heart of the iTaukei more widely. Such attitudes are not helpful to promoting intercultural dialogue and engagement.
The origins of the BLV date back to the early days of British colonial rule when the governor and his administration created an advisory body to advise him on matters relating to the indigenous iTaukei population, whose chiefs had ceded Fiji to the British Crown. It retained an advisory capacity up until independence, while nominating several of its members to the Legislative Council. Post independence, the BLV nominated members to the Senate or Upper House where they retained a veto over all legislation relating to iTaukei affairs, most prominently land. Post 1987 (to 2006) in a republican Fiji, the BLV elected the President who was a ceremonial head of State.
It is salutary to reflect on the nature of the BLV and why it was given its name. The accepted translation is Great Council of Chiefs. However, that interpretation suggests hierarchy and neglects the nuances in the phrase bose levu vakaturaga. Vakaturaga means in a chiefly or courtly manner, envisioning that BLV proceedings would be in that vein. Bose levu may be taken more as important council or gathering rather than great council. Put together, it became a gathering or meeting in which the emphasis was on the (chiefly) way in which discourse was conducted rather than on its status. The BLV connoted the concept of meetings conducted with dignity and respect in relation both to the matters discussed as well as the participants themselves.
The rationale of the BLV lay in the collective wellbeing of the iTaukei rather than on individuals per se. Rooted in the indivisibility of the turaga (chiefs) and their tamata (people) as reflected in the saying: “Turaga na turaga ni tamata, tamata na tamata ni turaga.” (ie Chiefs are chiefs of the people, people are people of the chiefs).
Education, urbanisation, globalisation and the ubiquity of the media among other factors have eroded those emotions to some extent, but they still subsist in the communal iTaukei identity that continues to manifest itself in our midst.
What some observers and commentators have overlooked is the power of symbols in our society. For a significant number of iTaukei, the BLV represented some sense of themselves as a repository of knowledge and wisdom on matters iTaukei, sitting at the apex of the Fijian administration (as it then was). That is not to deny that many of them were concerned about reforming the institution and making it more relevant to the needs of the early 21st century.
For the iTaukei in general, the BLV was part of their iTaukei identity. In having some connection to members of the BLV who were from their yavutu, as in their place of origin or heritage, iTaukei whether from the urban or rural areas identified with them.
Their legitimacy was rooted in the context of the vanua and the three-legged stool relationship constituted together with the lotu (the church) and the matanitu (the government). Dismissing the BLV as somehow less iTaukei in character because it was a colonial construct, misses the point. Like the lotu, the iTaukei Administration, iTaukei Land Trust Board and the iTaukei Lands Commission, the process of indigenisation was complete and its external origins had no bearing on current opinion. It had become in a very real sense a iTaukei institution.
In applauding the removal of the BLV, the focus has been on the dissolution of a reactionary and antediluvian entity. It has been welcomed as a reformist and progressive initiative.
However, it is a matter of public record that iTaukei voices have been deafeningly silent. It is not the silence of approval but of keeping one’s own counsel. At least until after the storm has passed. Media controls have contributed to that apparent silence.
The loudest voices raised in favour, and given coverage, have emanated from other communities. No mention was made, or justification attempted, of the arbitrary way in which the decision was taken to suspend and then (subsequently) abolish the BLV. Or that the original suspension owed more to the umbrage taken by those in authority to the BLV’s initial refusal to endorse their choice for nomination as vice-president, rather than any issue of principle. In this rare display of independence, the BLV was accused of politicising its role.
The lack of consent or approval of the iTaukei in the demise of one of their signature institutions was considered unimportant, in comparison to the debate over its relevance. Those who trumpeted the virtues of good governance, transparency and accountability took refuge in an impenetrable silence.
That the BLV had a certain legitimacy among the iTaukei was an irrelevance. What mattered was a certain messianic determination in knowing what was best for the iTaukei.
So it is therefore critical to appreciate the angst felt by many iTaukei at the disregard shown by one of their “own”, presented as part of a reformist agenda. Not the angst of anger, but that of bewilderment, hurt and confusion. One not dissimilar to the question posed by Christ to Saul on the road to Damascus “Saul! Saul! Why persecutest thou, me?”
The continuing debate over the reinstatement of the BLV is portrayed as an attempt to reinstate chiefly prerogatives and privileges. And yet the persistence of this conversation has little to do with those concerns, and more to do with the arbitrariness of the decision to remove the BLV. It is fuelled further by the adamant stance that it will, under no circumstances, be reinstated.
What or how the iTaukei feel about that is of little consequence. Had the commander (as he then was) taken the time and trouble to consult the iTaukei, he may well have got the response he sought or at the very least support for significant reform of the BLV.
In any case, while there was a certain prestige associated with membership, the monetary and other benefits were derisory. Put bluntly, there were no chiefly perks to be had and to frame the debate in those terms is both simplistic and misconceived.
Similar arguments about privileges are linked to the equally arbitrary decision to abolish the entitlements of the turaga ni Qali and turaga i taukei as extension of the mantra of “a common and equal citizenry”.
Again there has been applause by non-iTaukei observers for the ‘democratisation’ of the distribution of iTaukei lease monies.
The iTaukei traditional system is by definition unequal. It is after all, a chiefly system. Those in chiefly positions of leadership necessarily have greater obligations than those they lead. Hence the differentials in distribution of lease monies for good reason. It worked reasonably well from its inception in 1944 to the recent past, and there have not been any reported instances of widespread abuse.
Disputes over chiefly titles and receipt of monies related thereto are a separate issue.
The determination to portray equalisation of lease monies distribution as a wonderfully egalitarian reform only reinforces iTaukei perceptions of cultural arrogance on the part of non-iTaukei. A cultural lens, while having the potential to fall prey to myopia, also highlights the significance of context.
Further justification of the disestablishment of the BLV stems from the perception of it being representative of the iTaukei elite. The stereotype is that of a body that was comprised solely of chiefs.
A close study of its composition will reveal that it was far more representative of the iTaukei than has been assumed. It contained both chiefly and non-chiefly persons as well as educated and professional iTaukei who acted as advisers. So it was for the most part reflective of iTaukei opinion, including the bouts of ugly nationalist and racist sentiment that abounded in the years after May 1987 and May 2000. For that the BLV must assume some responsibility, but it ill-behoves other communities to tacitly assert that these feelings were largely the preserve of the indigenous iTaukei community.
Racism is learned behaviour and all cultures, to the extent that they promote narcissistic traits among themselves and a disdain for the “other”, stand indicted.
The iTaukei are simply more open in their belief they are entitled to recognition as the original inhabitants and majority landowners of this country, their iTaukei language is autocthonous to Fiji and theirs is its basic cultural reference.
“A common and equal citizenry” does not change those realities. That pledge needs to take account of them to create better understanding of how indigenous rights are part of human rights. While the former are not privileged as against the latter, they emphasise that this notion of equality accords a special place to iTaukei as indigenous people of the land. In this dialectic, there is a readiness to cast the epithet of racism against those who would assert those perspectives. It is misplaced because there is no implied superiority or seeking of privilege or entitlement, more acknowledgment as a people indigenous to these islands, of a relationship that predates others and which seeks some kind of recognition.
Is there a place for the Bose Levu Vakaturaga in modern day Fiji?
That is a question only the indigenous iTaukei can properly answer. They conferred legitimacy and authority on it through long years of practice and acquiescence.
As their proportion of the population increases inexorably, matters of concern to the ITaukei will assume prominence, whatever our notions of equality and the pronouncements of the Constitution. They may well decide that the BLV has had its day, and it is time to move on. Whatever decision the iTaukei make should be collective in nature, and not for any one person to take unilaterally.
The basic issue is in what form, if any, should the BLV be reconstituted? Only when that initial hurdle has been surmounted may the discourse be widened about functionality, role and relevance. In that discussion all communities will have a right to participate where there is some potential for the BLV to have a national role.
The Ghai Commission saw the BLV as playing a social and cultural role in the life of the nation, particularly in terms of promoting the iTaukei language; something to ponder for the future, as we continue to explore (and find) a balance between and among common, ethnic and multicultural identities.
* This piece was written on September 3, 2014 before the author was sworn-in as the Chief Justice of Nauru. It is also in this month’s edition of the Republika magazine. The thoughts expressed are that of the author and not of this newspaper.
