Political commentator, Malakai Koloamatangi, thinks about the Tongan elections of 2025 and the new government
The Tongan general election of November 2025 was interesting, particularly because of the short life of the Eke administration, the election period itself, and of course the outcome and subsequent formation of the Fakafanua-led government. If we were to describe the election process and its outcome in two words, it would be: certain uncertainty. Or, as the French say: plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose - the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The efficacy of the vote-of-no-confidence motion (VONC), I have argued elsewhere, as a political tool should be reconsidered. Its usefulness in ensuring that the government—especially the prime minister of the day—is answerable for their actions remains highly controversial. This is one of the reasons general elections exist: to ensure that governments and leaders are accountable to the electorate.
Siaosi Sovaleni’s resignation before a VONC—which he appeared likely to lose—points to the grey areas inherent in the VONC process. A possible outcome of reviewing the process might be to codify that once a VONC is brought against a prime minister:
- They may resign immediately if they so choose; or
- Once the process has begun, they must see it through to the end.
It should be one or the other, not both.
Exposed vulnerabilities
How has the present process enhanced the political system? One would have to say: very little. Instead, it exposed vulnerabilities within the system to the point where some are now advocating the institutionalisation of a party system as a panacea for its shortcomings. Surely there are less cumbersome yet more effective ways of addressing these issues. In that sense, very little has truly changed.
The new Eke government was subsequently installed but was handicapped from the outset. It simply did not have sufficient time to enact legislation or implement policies, let alone develop a credible work programme. One of the basic tenets of governance is that a new administration must be given enough time to establish a footprint and see at least some of its plans and policies come to fruition. It is, in essence, a matter of political fairness.
The cabinet that Eke had to work with was a kaleidoscope of mismatched personalities with differing agendas and interests, not bound together by the principle of collective responsibility characteristic of the Westminster tradition. The fissures became apparent during the November election campaign, where rather than presenting a united front, the cracks only confirmed what many observers had already suspected. One wonders whether, given more time, these tensions might have been masked long enough for the coalition to remain intact—or whether it would have collapsed before completing a full term. This, of course, is conjecture.
What actually happened was that the electorate went to the polls and returned a parliament composed of both people’s representatives and nobles, forming the building blocks of the next government. It was, in many ways, a “typical” Tongan outcome. Despite the 2010 reforms, the gap between the nobles’ representatives and the people’s representatives once again reared its head.
Sitting in parliament on the day the new prime minister was chosen, listening to the speeches for and against the two candidates, I reflected on how intimate the encounter was and what the constitution-makers must have envisioned. The chamber brings nobles and people together, seated facing each other in close proximity. Ideally, this arrangement should encourage more nuanced discussion—impassioned yet genuine, peaceful yet collegial—reflecting the spirit of a nofo-‘a-kainga setting.
In reality, what unfolded was a mixture of old and new arguments. The nobility appeared largely united behind their candidate, while the people’s bench was more fractious, with allegiances shifting right up to the ballot. The vote itself appeared orderly, though it undoubtedly masked intense lobbying behind the scenes.
When the count concluded, Lord Fakafanua secured 16 of the 26 votes. This confirmed that several people’s representatives had thrown their support behind him, while some nobles had crossed over to Eke’s camp. Many observations can be made about the outcome, but one thing was clear: the intention behind the 2010 reforms—that the political balance would favour the people’s representatives—had not materialised. The 17–9 configuration proved to be a miscalculation; 17 was not necessarily greater than 9 in political terms.
New system is not following its intended path
What does this mean for the system, now that Tonga has held five elections under the new regime?
Several points warrant consideration. First, the operation of the new system is not following its intended path, largely because there is no structural mechanism to ensure it does so. Second, the people’s representatives must learn to play the political game more effectively, working together toward collective goals rather than pursuing individual interests. Third, the original parliamentary system was designed to give expression to a particular balance: while the people would gain certain political and civil rights, the nobility would remain preeminent in politics, as they have long been in society.
Finally, the nobles’ regaining of political power—alongside their existing parliamentary influence—tilts the balance further in their favour. The transfer of power from the people’s representatives to the nobles was, in rugby terms, akin to a forward pass: inconsistent with the numerical advantage the people’s representatives possess in parliament, and reflective of the fact that the nobles were always somewhat ahead of the game.
So the question remains: has anything really changed?