Lals ban into Fiji
TEN years ago this month, Dr Brij Lal was arrested and deported from Fiji.
The Australian National University academic had claimed that he was arrested for criticising the then military regime during media interviews.
He is an Australian citizen and was one of the architects of the 1997 Constitution.
His wife, Padma, was also banned and to this day both Dr Lal and his wife are still not permitted to enter Fiji.
Dr Lal recently had a conversation with this newspaper’s West bureau chief Anish Chand, and reflected on how he feels about not being able to see family, friends or visit his place of birth.
FT: Why were you banned from Fiji?
BL: Then Immigration Minister Lesi Natuva told the Fijian Parliament in 2015 that the reason for the ban on us was that we were “prejudicial to the peace, defence, public safety, public order and security of the Government of Fiji”. His words, not mine. Really? I mean, Wow! But perhaps there are people out there who still think the tooth fairy is real and the Earth is flat.
The truth is, I have no power at all. People in power really should learn to tell the truth and not risk unnecessary ridicule.
FT: What is your reaction to the ban?
BL: It is such an archaic, obsolete, vindictive 19th century way of dealing with dissent.
It does not make sense at all in this day and age of galloping globalisation when technology transgresses territorial boundaries at the click of a button. I lecture to students in Fiji and the region via Skype.
They see my face; hear my voice; read my work; discuss my ideas; seek my advice. This ability to reach out and “talk” directly to the people of Fiji makes a mockery of the ban. It brings unfortunate but inevitable opprobrium on Fiji. But it continues. In the end, they can ban me, but they can’t ban my ideas.
FT: Do you think you are fighting a losing battle?
BL: It would seem that way. But there is nothing I can do to change minds, though not for the lack of trying. I will never bow before the fury of arbitrary power.
Over the years, many influential people in Fiji have suggested that we apologise to the government of the day which might help lift the ban. But I ask: apologise for what? We have done nothing wrong. We have committed no crime. We have no criminal record. We have always been law-abiding citizens.
All I did was to stand up for the values of democracy, rule of law, sanctity of the ballot box, and freedom of speech. If speaking truth to power is a crime, then I readily plead guilty.
FT: Why do you want to return to Fiji?
BL: For obvious personal reasons of reuniting with loved ones and fellowship with friends. But there is also a larger principle beyond personal needs and preferences.
When you impose the heaviest of sanctions on a person, you surely have a moral duty to tell the person the reason for breaching his or her fundamental human rights. That is common decency. Nothing of the sort has been done in our case. How can you have this situation in a country that calls itself democratic?
Where is natural justice? So, for me, the ban is a matter of not only personal concern, but it also raises broader questions of principle. Today it is us; tomorrow it will be someone else.
FT: Why do you continue to write about a country that banned you?
BL: I have been studying and writing about Fiji for the better part of my adult life, for more than forty years. So my engagement with Fiji is long and deep.
It is a place where the heart and head come together.
The ban does not diminish my affection for the country of my birth and its people. I am, after all, one of them, a son of the
Macuata soil. Australia has for us been a warm and hospitable home. It has welcomed us and honoured our work. But Fiji has a different pull.
It is the place where our earliest memories were formed. With advancing age, we all want to return to the places of our childhoods. I write to bear witness to my time and place, to remember something which once was but is no more.
FT: What do you miss most about Fiji?
BL: Friends and family, of course, especially those members who were unborn at the time of the ban and whom I have never met, who know me only as a face, a name in the abstract, a figure of controversy, a person of bad repute.
The pull of the place is real. But what we miss most is not being able to say the final goodbye in person to friends and family who are moving on, like the dawn’s candles, one by one.
They were there when we began my journey, some an integral part of it.
We hope they will understand the reason for our absence.
FT: Has it all been worth it, facing a ban for speaking out?
BL: I will not have it any other way, not at all. As a former member of the Reeves Commission, whose report laid the foundations of Fiji’s 1997 Constitution, I had no alternative but to speak out.
Silence was not an option. Consensus, not coercion, should underpin public policy.
This is an article of faith for us. All this I spoke up for and paid the price.
But we are at peace with ourselves. Undeterred and unbowed, I will continue to undo the folded lie for the remainder of my days.