Ashneel Jaynesh Prasad: Fiji’s flag – a conversation we must have

COMMENTARY: By Ashneel Jaynesh Prasad

There are some conversations a nation keeps postponing because they are uncomfortable. Changing Fiji’s flag is one of them.

We came close to having that conversation in 2015 and 2016. A nationwide design competition was launched, thousands of submissions poured in, opinions were fierce, and for a brief moment it felt as though Fiji was genuinely asking itself who it wanted to be. Then the conversation stalled.

After Fiji’s historic victory in rugby sevens at the 2016 Rio Olympics, the government announced that the flag would remain unchanged. Since then, the issue has largely disappeared from public debate.

But postponing a conversation does not resolve it. If anything, it only leaves unfinished business for another generation. I believe that generation is ours.

I say this not because I dislike our current flag. Quite the opposite. Like millions of Fijians, I have watched it rise at schools, sporting events, military ceremonies and international competitions. I have sung the national anthem beneath it. I have seen athletes wrap themselves in it with tears streaming down their faces.

Those memories are real and meaningful. But memories belong to people, not pieces of cloth. Our love for Fiji does not live inside the Union Jack stitched into the corner of our flag. It lives in us.

The truth is simple. Fiji has been an independent nation since 1970 and a republic since 1987. For almost four decades we have chosen our own governments, written our own laws and determined our own future.

Someone else’s empire
Yet our national flag still carries the most recognisable symbol of the British Empire. I often ask myself a question that has never left me: If we truly believe we stand proudly as an independent republic, why does the first thing the world see on our flag belong to someone else’s empire?

For me, this question is deeply personal.

I am the descendant of girmitiya. My ancestors did not come to Fiji as tourists searching for opportunity. They came under the indenture system established by the British colonial administration after the abolition of slavery.

Between 1879 and 1916, more than 60,000 Indians were transported to Fiji under contracts that promised hope, but too often delivered exploitation, broken families, harsh labour and lives shaped by extraordinary sacrifice.

Many never saw India again. They built roads, cleared fields, harvested sugar cane and helped lay the foundations of the country we now call home. Their suffering was not an accident of history. It happened under the authority of the very empire represented by the Union Jack.

Every Girmit Day, May 14, Fiji rightly remembers those sacrifices. We honour resilience. We celebrate survival. We tell our children that our ancestors endured unimaginable hardship so future generations could stand taller than they ever could.

Yet we continue to fly a flag that still carries the emblem of the colonial power responsible for creating that very system. I have struggled to reconcile those two truths. Pride and pain cannot occupy the same symbol forever.

History never felt distant
Growing up in Kashmir, Lautoka, history never felt distant. It lived in conversations with elders, in temple gatherings, in stories shared over cups of tea, in the Fiji Hindi that flowed so naturally through our home.

I did not fully understand the scale of girmit as a child, but I understood sacrifice. I saw grandparents who measured wealth not by money, but by education. I watched parents work tirelessly because they believed their children deserved opportunities they never had.

Looking back now, I realise those values were inherited from people who had every reason to give up, but refused to. When I see the Union Jack on our flag today, I do not think first of constitutional history or Commonwealth ties. I think of those ancestors. I think of what they endured. And I wonder why their descendants should still carry the symbol of the empire that once denied them dignity.

Some people argue that the Union Jack no longer represents colonialism. They say it now represents history, friendship or tradition. I understand that perspective.

History cannot and should not be erased. Britain’s influence on Fiji is undeniable. Our legal institutions, parliamentary traditions and many aspects of our public administration evolved through that relationship. The Commonwealth continues to play an important role in Fiji’s international engagement.

None of that changes because a flag changes. Britain remains part of our history whether or not its flag appears on ours.

That is precisely the point.

Not about rejecting history
Changing the flag is not about rejecting history. It is about placing history where it belongs — in our museums, our classrooms, our books and our collective memory — not at the centre of our national identity. Mature nations are capable of acknowledging every chapter of their past without allowing one chapter to define them forever.

My own life has only strengthened that belief. I was born in Fiji. I migrated to Auckland in December 2011. Since then I have lived and taught in New Zealand, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait and now Japan. Every country has reminded me of where I come from.

Whenever someone asks me where home is, my answer is still Fiji. Not because I have lived there continuously, but because identity is built from childhood. It is the taste of chicken chop suey from Don’s Restaurant after family outings. It is buying futaa barfi for 20 cents. It is listening to Navtarang’s Top 100 Countdown while polishing black Bata school shoes.

It is Children’s Park in Lautoka, Ram Samy Reddy Rd, laughter with cousins, temple bells, tropical rain and neighbours who somehow knew everyone else’s business. None of those memories have anything to do with an empire. They belong entirely to Fiji.

Our flag should too.

I also reject the false choice that often dominates this conversation. Supporting a new flag does not mean disrespecting those who served beneath the current one. Soldiers who defended peacekeeping missions, athletes who won Olympic gold, teachers who stood before classrooms, nurses who cared for patients and ordinary citizens who loved Fiji under this flag deserve nothing, but gratitude.

Their achievements are not diminished because a future generation chooses a different symbol. The courage belonged to them, not to the fabric they carried.

Learn from the mistakes
If we do revisit this conversation, we must also learn from the mistakes of the last attempt. Too many people felt the process became about selecting attractive designs rather than discussing national identity.

A flag cannot simply be beautiful. It must be meaningful. It should emerge from genuine consultation with iTaukei communities, Indo-Fijians, Rotumans, Banabans, descendants of Pacific Islanders, Chinese-Fijians and every community that calls Fiji home.

It must reflect our ocean, our resilience, our cultures, our environment and our future — not because we want to erase difference, but because we want every child to recognise themselves within it.

I often think about the children I teach. One of the greatest privileges of being an educator is watching young people ask questions adults are often afraid to ask. They understand instinctively that symbols matter. School emblems matter. Family names matter.

National flags matter. They tell stories before anyone speaks a word. What story do we want Fiji’s flag to tell the next generation? That we are still defined by colonial inheritance? Or that we honour our history while confidently writing the next chapter ourselves?

Some will accuse people like me of reopening old wounds. I would argue the opposite. Healing begins when we acknowledge why certain symbols continue to hurt. As the descendant of indentured labourers, I cannot look at the Union Jack without remembering the empire that uprooted my ancestors from India and placed them into a system built on coercion and exploitation.

That history shaped my family. It shaped my language. It shaped my existence. I refuse to pretend that symbol is emotionally neutral simply because time has passed.

Fiji bigger than powers
Fiji has always been bigger than the powers that once ruled it. Bigger than coups. Bigger than politics. Bigger than race. Bigger than the labels that have too often divided us. We are the children of chiefs and farmers, of girmitiya and sailors, of island communities stretching across hundreds of islands, of people who chose Fiji and people whose ancestors had no choice.

Somehow, through hardship and hope, we built one nation together.

Our flag should finally reflect that truth.

Changing it will not solve poverty. It will not lower food prices, improve schools overnight or fix every political disagreement. Symbols alone never transform nations. But symbols tell nations who they believe themselves to be. After nearly 40 years as a republic, Fiji has earned the right to carry a flag that speaks first and foremost of itself.

Not because we reject our past.

But because we are finally confident enough to stand on our own.

Ashneel Jaynesh Prasad is a Fiji-born New Zealand citizen working as a teacher in Shinagawa-ku, Tokyo, Japan. This article was first published by The Fiji Times and is republished with permission.

This content originally appeared on Asia Pacific Report and was authored by APR editor.

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