Rewriting the Current: What the 2025 Constitutional Amendments Mean for the Republic

On May 25, 2025, six constitutional amendments were certified into law in the Republic of the Marshall Islands. It was a rare and significant development: a national consensus expressed not through rhetoric, but by the sovereign act of reforming the Constitution. Each amendment cleared the formidable two-thirds majority requirement—a threshold few constitutional democracies demand. That alone reflects the gravity with which these reforms were undertaken.

As a foreign legal practitioner in Majuro, I have had the unique vantage point of observing these reforms through both legal and cultural lenses. They are not simply edits to a founding document. They are statements of values, declarations of identity, and signposts for what the Marshall Islands wishes to become in a time of increasing global and regional pressure.

But they also unfold amid troubling realities: voter turnout was low. Migration remains high. Civic disillusionment is rising. A nation choosing to redefine itself on paper must now ask—will the people believe in the story they have begun to write?

This reflection offers a deep dive into each amendment. It draws connections across the Pacific, reflects on what implementation will require, and asks hard but necessary questions about the road ahead.

1. Clarifying Citizenship: Preserving Identity Amid Global Flow

The citizenship amendment sends a decisive message: to become Marshallese, one must do more than marry a Marshallese citizen. The requirements—ten years of residence, legal marriage, and a Marshallese child—introduce a layered filter grounded in permanence and generational investment.

This is not unique. Samoa and Tonga have tightened naturalization policies in response to perceived dilution of cultural identity. But the Marshallese case is distinct. Here, the demographic fragility of a small, migratory population intensifies the stakes. With communities abroad already surpassing the local population in size, citizenship becomes not only a legal status, but a gatekeeper of national continuity.

The next steps require the government to modernize immigration records, establish clear definitions for residency, and ensure transparency in processing applications. This will not be easy in a country where bureaucratic capacity remains stretched and internal migration is constant.

Without adequate systems, the amendment risks being either unenforceable—or worse, selectively enforced. The spirit of the law must be protected through fair, consistent, and compassionate administration.

2. Mili’s Missed Opportunity: The Politics of Near Consensus

63.6% of voters supported the proposal to add a second Iroijlaplap seat for Mili Atoll. That is an overwhelming majority in most contexts—but not enough under constitutional law. The proposal failed.

This exposes the friction between modern majoritarianism and traditional consensus models. While the Council of Iroij is deeply cultural in form, the very idea of proportional representation within it reflects modern political reasoning.

In Solomon Islands, for instance, debates persist about how to balance traditional leadership roles with formal political representation. The Pacific is navigating a shared dilemma: how to modernize custom without stripping it of its soul.

For Mili, this is not the end. But it is a moment for re-strategizing. Cultural legitimacy must be paired with legal and political clarity. Advocates for reform will need to frame their case in ways that resonate not only with voters, but with the deeper cultural memory that shapes Marshallese governance.

3. Traditional Rights Court Reform: The Burden of Cultural Justice

By expanding original jurisdiction to the Traditional Rights Court (TRC), and removing the High Court as an intermediary, the Republic has made a profound statement: that traditional justice must not be subordinated, but central.

This is as bold as it is risky.

Land and title disputes in the Marshall Islands are not technicalities. They are existential matters, often involving ancestral ties, clan histories, and spiritual obligations. While the TRC has long been entrusted with this mandate, this amendment elevates its status and responsibility.

But greater authority demands greater transparency, procedural integrity, and public trust. At present, TRC processes are often opaque, and its rulings difficult to review. Moving forward, Parliament must legislate procedures that ensure public access, consistent standards of proof, and written reasoning.

If successful, the RMI could offer the Pacific’s first modern model of a custom-based judiciary grounded in constitutional legitimacy. If neglected, it may create new centers of legal uncertainty.

4. The Ombudsman: Watchdog or Window Dressing?

With 85.4% support, the Office of the Ombudsman was the most popular reform. This is not surprising. Across the Pacific, citizens feel increasingly alienated from power. Corruption, favoritism, and lack of transparency remain common complaints.

But here lies the challenge: independence in name means nothing without independence in practice.

In Vanuatu and PNG, ombudsman offices exist but often operate under threat—through budget cuts, political pressure, or legal loopholes. The Marshall Islands must build an institution that is resilient, well-funded, and beyond interference.

Critically, the Ombudsman must not become a clearinghouse for complaints. It must have investigatory teeth and prosecutorial reach. That requires legal protections, whistleblower safeguards, and public awareness. If the people don’t trust the office—or don’t know how to engage with it—it will fail regardless of how well it is staffed.

5. Redefining Eligibility: Who Should Lead?

The eligibility amendment is more than a checklist. It reflects a worldview: that public leaders must not only be citizens in law, but in lineage.

This requirement for natural-born citizenship, land rights, and jowi reasserts a cultural premise—that leadership begins in genealogy, not ambition.

Yet, cultural rootedness alone is not enough. Pacific history is full of leaders who wore traditional legitimacy but lacked moral courage or political skill. Moving forward, the law must be accompanied by reforms in candidate vetting, campaign transparency, and voter education.

As seen in countries like Kiribati and Palau, where younger candidates are emerging with hybrid cultural and modern credentials, the future of Pacific leadership lies in synthesis—not exclusion.

6. Recognizing Anenkio: Constitutional Cartography

To inscribe Anenkio into the Constitution is to claim more than territory. It is to preserve a collective imagination. Even if practical sovereignty over Wake Island remains elusive, this amendment says clearly: we do not forget what is ours.

This move has precedent. The Cook Islands constitution recognizes Manuae and other atolls that are uninhabited or rarely visited. The legal value is symbolic—but symbols shape diplomacy, memory, and identity.

For young Marshallese growing up in diaspora, these gestures matter. They tether identity to geography—even where travel or control may be impossible. They remind the world, and the nation itself, of its inherited horizon.

7. Enewetak-Ujelang: Clarifying for Continuity

The final amendment clarified a single seat in the Council of Iroij shared between Enewetak and Ujelang. A small correction, perhaps—but significant in legal certainty.

In a system where customary leadership intersects with state power, ambiguity is dangerous. It invites dispute, erodes legitimacy, and confuses succession.

The lesson here is that precision in constitutional language is not pedantry—it is peacekeeping. In the years ahead, more such clarifications will be needed, especially as land boundaries shift due to climate displacement and migration.

The Unspoken Crisis: Voter Apathy and National Drift

Electoral Administration staff in the RMI stand by as postal absentee ballots are opened and verified by representatives from Customs and the Post Office. Picture: Hilary Hosia

The reforms passed. But the turnout was alarmingly low. Only a fraction of registered voters participated. That cannot be ignored.

A Constitution belongs to its people. If the people are not voting—what does that say?

Migration is partly to blame. Thousands of Marshallese now live abroad, and while they remain proud of their identity, they are distant from national processes. But the deeper issue is trust. Many no longer believe that participation changes outcomes.

Civic revival must now be the next reform. That means:

• Voting reform, including absentee and diaspora mechanisms.

• Public education, especially among youth.

• Engagement platforms that make law reform participatory.

  
  

Conclusion: From Words to Work

The Marshall Islands has achieved something few nations manage—amending its Constitution through open deliberation, not crisis; through consensus, not imposition. It brings to mind Fiji’s own constitutional transformation in 2013, where the nation sought to reset its legal foundations following years of political turbulence. That constitution marked a turning point, built on the urgency of restoring order. In contrast, the Marshallese amendments emerge not from breakdown, but from a desire to evolve—a quiet but confident recalibration of identity, authority, and law.

Both journeys are meaningful. But the Marshall Islands offers a different lesson: that reform can happen from within, without the ashes of instability. That a nation can look ahead without erasing where it came from.

As someone who serves within this legal framework but stands outside its cultural origins, I’ve come to appreciate how rare—and how fragile—such a balance truly is. These amendments are more than legal adjustments. They are cultural affirmations and acts of democratic maturity.

What was written into law must now be proven in governance—through steady implementation, public trust, and the integrity of those tasked to uphold it.