Dear Editor,

Talofa, “Concerned” — or whatever mask you’ve chosen to hide behind today.

If you had read my post with half the care you put into twisting its meaning, you might have understood where the soul of my opinion came from.

The LTC Bill I referred to was not whispered into law through the back door. It was passed legally and constitutionally, with the support of more than two-thirds of the Legislative Assembly. Fact.

Was there resistance from the judiciary and its echo chambers? Yes. Fact.

But let’s set this straight once and for all:

Laws are passed in Parliament. Not in the law society’s tea breaks. Not in the judges’ lounge. And definitely not in the hollow hum of legal egos bruised by progress.

The Legislative Assembly is the heartbeat of our democracy. Elected by the people. Mandated to act. Empowered to legislate. Whatever personal feelings the legal profession had about the bill are just that—feelings. Not law.

The LTC Bill was debated, examined, refined, and passed. It did not fall from the sky. It was not smuggled under a cloak of secrecy. It went through every proper channel. It is law. Period.

My opinions are based on facts. In my personal quest to seek where this collapse originated from. The LTC Bill was taken and, together with the roadshows, endless allegations of corruption and what-not, slander and blame campaigns were pumped out to rile up the people.

This wasn’t civic education. It was a weaponised division, and the judiciary stood by, knowing full well the implications of letting such campaigns undermine a constitutionally passed law.

You asked whether I conducted a survey. I didn’t need a survey. Judging by this lack of basic local knowledge, it’s quite apparent you don’t live in Samoa—or else you would’ve known that it was precisely because of these endlessly postponed cases, dragged through the system like fishing nets caught on coral, that gave rise to the LTC Bill in the first place.

The Commission of Inquiry spent six months—if not more—digging through the backlog, consulting far and wide, and crafting the very recommendations that became law.

So spare me the uninformed disbelief. If you had bothered to look past your echo chamber, you’d know what everyone sitting in those court corridors already knows.

Go down to the Lands and Titles Court. Sit for a day. Watch the mothers, the matais, the families—desperate for resolution. Day after day, the courtroom is overwhelmed—with disputes unresolved for years, sometimes decades.

What good is a law that never comes? What justice is justice delayed forever? The government of the day did what responsible governments must do—it acted.

A Commission was formed. Consultations were conducted. And a solution was delivered. That solution passed into law. Those are facts.

But you wouldn’t know that—because while we were focused on fixing, you were too busy clapping for chaos and calling it change. And now? Look at Samoa. Look at the “change” you cheered for. Look at where your yellow brick road has taken us. A government broken from the inside, torn apart by the very power it begged for. Ministers turning on ministers. MPs expelled like bad debt.

Thank God for our Prime Minister—Fiame, although late to act, at least she finally did. Better late than never. But while she tries to sweep up the glass, it’s hard to ignore who let the window shatter in the first place. Let’s not pretend we don’t know.

The judiciary, in my opinion, enabled this whole saga. And that opinion isn’t some Facebook rant—it’s backed by facts. Facts like the countless Supreme Court decisions that had to be overturned by the Court of Appeal, all tied to the post-election fallout.   

You want to talk about justice? Where was it when our democracy was being redrawn by backdated rulings and selective silence? And now? Four years on?

The very government that was elevated by judicial indulgence is now rotting from within. And while they bicker over who’s in charge, our children are watching—eyes wide, hearts heavy—wondering what happened to the dreams they were promised.

They see the cost of living rising. They see corruption crawling through the halls of power like termites.

And now, as a proud nation—the first in the Pacific to gain independence, a title we wore with honour—we quietly mark 63 years of sovereignty while the dust of chaos settles and the smoke of collaborative vengeance clears.

And you? You bring my Facebook post into the newspaper, like it’s the root of Samoa’s collapse. You question my views. You devalue their essence as unfounded, as untrue.

Look around you. Where has the “change” you proudly advocated for taken us? Constant blackouts, declared States of Emergency, and entire islands left in the dark.  A sky-high cost of living, families barely surviving.

Members of Parliament criminally charged, standing before the very courts that helped fast-track them into power. A budget was kicked out of parliament while constituencies await the rest of the promised million-dollar projects. And here you are, concerned about my social media shares and loyal mates?

Go look again. Most of the people sharing my posts—I’ve never met them. They’re not mates. They’re citizens, fed up with silence, hungry for accountability. But you? You’re more concerned about volume and visibility, calling it “hype.”

Of course you are. Because truth at full volume is uncomfortable for those who’ve lived too long in the echo chambers of denial. I could fill this entire newspaper with facts.

Court rulings. Legal gymnastics. Constitutional betrayals dressed up in legal robes. But it would probably go over your head. As the saying goes, you can’t explain the sky to someone still staring at the dirt.

Liva Seiuli