As a lawyer practising in Fiji, I have long believed that the true measure of a society lies not in its laws alone, but in how those laws protect the most vulnerable among us.
The recent alleged murder of Dr Isireli Biumaitotoya, a prominent transgender doctor and beloved community figure known as ‘Leighley Leli Darling’, has sent shockwaves through our nation.
Found dead in his home in Votualevu, Nadi on September 1, 2025, with multiple injuries, his passing has not only robbed us of a kind-hearted healer but has also ignited widespread fear within Fiji’s LGBTQIA+ community.
This tragedy echoes an earlier shock: the death of a 19-year-old sex worker from the same community in Lautoka in 2024, following a violent attack that demanded urgent scrutiny.
These incidents compel us to reflect on our collective commitment to justice, human dignity and the rule of law.
Dr Biumaitotoya was more than a medical professional; he was a vibrant media personality and TikTok influencer with thousands of followers, described by admirers as “a bird of paradise, bright, colourful, pleasant, regal and beautiful.” His mother spoke of him as a “kind-hearted person who helped and cared for others.” Yet, his life was cut short in an alleged brutal and wanton act.
Similarly, the death of a 19-year-old last year prompted the Fiji Human Rights and Anti-Discrimination Commission to condemn homophobic violence and call for a thorough police investigation, expressing deep sadness over the loss of a young life.
In that case, I personally wrote to the commission and visited the turaga-ni-koro at Vatutavui Village, adjacent to the victim’s home village of Natanuku, appalled that the crime seemed undervalued due to the victim’s sexuality.
I offered my legal assistance pro bono, driven by the conviction that no one should be denied justice because of who they are.
These events remind me of a conversation I once had with the late Dr Jonathan Sacks, a famous rabbi, in a London bookshop. I explained that religion in Fiji was woven into the very fabric of society. So, I asked him: in such a setting, how can minorities be protected, when it is usually secular democracy that provides those safeguards? Wasn’t religion a hindrance?
His explanation, which later became the subject of a talk, touched me profoundly. Drawing from ancient Greek democracy and religious faiths, he warned that a democratic vote alone does not forge a free and equitable society and the rule of law.
Instead, it requires a collective commitment to the common good.
At the heart of this is the idea shared by all religious faiths that every human being, regardless of colour, culture, creed or class, is created in the image of God. This endows each person with inalienable rights, demanding that we see dignity even in those whose lives differ from our own.
In Fiji, where our multicultural tapestry is a source of strength, we must heed this call.
The rule of law is not merely a procedural framework; it is the moral backbone that ensures crimes against minorities are pursued with unwavering vigour.
When investigations falter or communities feel unsafe — as highlighted by the Pacific Sexual and Gender Diversity Network’s note that online commentary has fuelled Pacific-wide fear — we erode the very foundations of our society.
The Fiji Human Rights Commission’s stance against attacks based on sexual orientation or gender identity is a step forward, but it is the authorities that must translate this into action: swift, impartial probes that hold perpetrators accountable and affirm that no life is expendable.
As Lord Sacks eloquently put it, “liberty is about the moral limits of power, about self-restraint in imposing our views on others.” Freedom in Fiji will only be secured by creating space for those unlike us — embracing diversity with compassion and inclusion.
Let these tragedies be a catalyst for change: a renewed pledge to safeguard human dignity, enforce the rule of law equitably and build a harmonious society where every Fijian can thrive without fear.
