TAIPEI - What happens when the irresistible force of blind hatred of an
irreconcilable political opposition meets an immovable object such as Taiwan's
embattled but determined president, Chen Shui-bian? One answer: political
polarization in the extreme.
And so it is with contemporary Taiwanese politics, which is critically divided
along systemic and ideological lines. The recent turn in the corruption
investigation into President Chen and his
family has merely reinforced this trend.
Last Friday, the High Court anti-corruption unit under Chief Prosecutor Eric
Chen indicted the president's wife, Wu Shu-jen, on embezzlement, forgery and
perjury charges. Wu was accused of taking NT$14.8 million (US$448,000) from a
Presidential Office expense account between 2002 and this year, and trying to
cover it up.
Prosecutors alleged that President Chen committed a similar list of offenses,
but under Taiwan's constitution he is immune from criminal charges while in
office. They said the president will be indicted as soon as he walks away from
the job - May 2008 if he completes his full term.
When the charges against Wu were first announced, political pundits in Taiwan
were convinced that President Chen would step down to face the music and defend
his wife - Chen is a trial lawyer himself - ending the tense political standoff
that has engulfed the island for much of this year.
But on Sunday, in an address to the nation, the president indicated his
intention to remain in office unless his wife is convicted of all the charges
laid against her. The pundits' initial assumption that the president would
prove to be anything other than an "immovable object" was quickly dashed.
Personalities aside, President Chen's intention to sit out the ordeal - even
after publicly admitting on Sunday that he probably broke the law by misleading
prosecutors under oath - is characteristic of a malformed political system that
allows for few compromises.
While the corruption allegations against the president and his family date back
to March, the Chen administration has been locked in conflict with the island's
legislative branch since first inaugurated in May 2000. Chen was re-elected in
2004.
Taiwan's Legislative Yuan is dominated by the so-called "pan-blue" alliance of
the Kuomintang (KMT) and People First Party, which controls 114 seats in the
225-seat chamber. President Chen hails from the Democratic Progressive Party
(DPP), which is allied with the Taiwan Solidarity Union under the "pan-green"
banner.
Split along party lines, the executive and legislative branches have few
structural incentives to reach agreement. Taiwan's semi-presidential system
lacks the traditional levers with which the president or prime minister can
discipline the legislature - namely a presidential veto or the
prime-ministerial power to dissolve parliament.
Contentious bills can languish on the floor of the Legislative Yuan literally
for years. The executive's Special Arms Procurement Act, which authorizes the
purchase of a US$16 billion package of patrol aircraft, submarines and
anti-missile batteries from the United States, has been locked in the
legislature's Procedure Committee since 2003.
Despite an unusually frank appeal by American Institute in Taiwan director
Stephen Young on October 26 and promises by KMT chairman Ma Ying-jeou that the
party's legislative caucus would at least allow a debate on the bill, the act
was voted off the legislative agenda for the 62nd time on October 31.
In this context, President Chen's choice to stay put regardless of the cost to
his party - polling suggests that pan-green candidates will suffer badly in
mayoral elections next month and in next year's legislative elections if the
president stays in office - is just one more act of political intransigence in
a long line.
But the structural immobility of Taiwan's political system is only half the
story. The "unstoppable force" in the equation is the unbridled hatred that
many pan-blue politicians and supporters feel for President Chen and what he
represents.
Nowhere has this been more clearly expressed than in the recent street campaign
led by former DPP chairman Shih Ming-teh to oust Chen. Campaign organizers and
Shih himself have been keen to portray the "sit in" in front of the
Presidential House and Taipei train station as an anti-corruption crusade that
is blind to ideology. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Unlike party systems in Western democracies, which typically turn on
traditional left-right politics, Taiwan's political divide is based on the
island's relationship to the People's Republic of China. The PRC considers that
Taiwan is a part of its territory.
With varying degrees of intensity, the island's pan-blue politicians and
supporters tend to favor unification with mainland China, while pan-greens tend
to favor independence. Since 2003, Chen has flirted with the "deep green" end
of the political spectrum to consolidate his support base - culminating this
year in calls for a new constitution and policies to restrict cross-strait
economic integration.
Perhaps predictably, the response from the pan-blue end of the spectrum has
been loud and determined - commencing with a flat rejection of Chen's electoral
win in March 2004 and extended demonstrations in Taipei.
The blue hue of these earlier protests has been reproduced in the recent Shih
campaign. Anti-corruption advocates with independence leanings - including
erstwhile campaign organizer Wang Lie-ping - have been excluded from
proceedings. Shih left the DPP in late 2000 in part because he objected to its
independence-leaning drift.
This polarized ideological environment leaves little room for the voice of
moderates. Chen's deputy, Premier Su Tseng-chang, and Speaker of the
Legislative Yuan and KMT deputy chairman Wang Jin-pyng have tried in recent
months to moderate the excesses of both sides, but to little avail.
Taiwan is a divided country and likely to become more so as the corruption case
against Chen and his family progresses.
