A little-discussed consequence of the radical weakening of President Ma Ying-jeou’s (馬英九) credibility and authority following Typhoon Morakot has been the rapid rise in prominence of Kaohsiung Mayor Chen Chu (陳菊) and her emergence as a politician of national significance.
Within the space of a few months, Chen has demonstrated in the most dramatic fashion that she is far and away the Democratic Progressive Party’s (DPP) best bet for the next presidential election.
The Kaohsiung World Games may have attracted less coverage in the international press than organizers and Kaohsiung City officials hoped, but this was not the result of a lack of enthusiasm or skill on their part. The Games were a triumph of organizational discipline in a country with a long and painful record of negligence in sports management and indifference to promotional duties.
The city of Kaohsiung, long derided as a smelly industrial eyesore and cultural backwater, has under successive DPP mayors turned into a town that is rightly proud of itself and does not hesitate to share its pride with others — domestically and internationally. This is no small achievement, and also one that can serve as an inspiration for other Taiwanese cities — including Taipei.
Chen’s personal achievement, however, is significant because of the unusual obstacles she faced. In addition to the routine political and logistical challenges of holding such events and a health scare at the beginning of her term, she stared down a central government that was less than committed to contributing to the Games’ success.
More impressive, however, was her goodwill trip to China in May in which she cut a deal that avoided a comprehensive boycott by Chinese athletes. Her flexibility on this issue ironically placed considerable pressure on Ma, who became China’s nominal antagonist by attending the opening ceremony.
The Chinese may come to regret the deal with Chen, for it has made the tortuous negotiations between government proxies — and between Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and Chinese Communist Party officials — appear seriously compromised in terms of the defense of Taiwanese interests, which in turn makes Ma look even weaker.
Worse still, from China’s point of view: One of the first people the Dalai Lama met on his tour was a beaming Chen who, by embracing the Tibetan icon, has made the central government and most of the KMT look conflicted and timid — while reminding every Taiwanese that a leader can be strong without being strident (such as former president Chen Shui-bian, 陳水扁) and flexible without being fawning (such as Ma).
These are the symbolic actions and leadership qualities that snatch election victories from complacent incumbents.
Given the DPP’s support base in Kaohsiung County, Chen Chu’s prospects for re-election were boosted by the decision to merge the county with Kaohsiung City. That election will take place next year, and on the strength of her record to date she will win handsomely.
A second term would face no shortage of challenges, not least the ongoing rebuilding program for the four townships in Kaohsiung County that suffered terrible damage from Morakot. It is here that she will have the chance to show the wider public that she can meet administrative challenges that are much more difficult than an athletics meet.
If Chen Chu takes that chance, and with Ma increasingly vulnerable to attack from within his party and from China, the DPP will have something that seemed impossible only a few months ago: an authentic presidential candidate.
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus whip Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) has caused havoc with his attempts to overturn the democratic and constitutional order in the legislature. If we look at this devolution from the context of a transition to democracy from authoritarianism in a culturally Chinese sense — that of zhonghua (中華) — then we are playing witness to a servile spirit from a millennia-old form of totalitarianism that is intent on damaging the nation’s hard-won democracy. This servile spirit is ingrained in Chinese culture. About a century ago, Chinese satirist and author Lu Xun (魯迅) saw through the servile nature of
In their New York Times bestseller How Democracies Die, Harvard political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt said that democracies today “may die at the hands not of generals but of elected leaders. Many government efforts to subvert democracy are ‘legal,’ in the sense that they are approved by the legislature or accepted by the courts. They may even be portrayed as efforts to improve democracy — making the judiciary more efficient, combating corruption, or cleaning up the electoral process.” Moreover, the two authors observe that those who denounce such legal threats to democracy are often “dismissed as exaggerating or
Monday was the 37th anniversary of former president Chiang Ching-kuo’s (蔣經國) death. Chiang — a son of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), who had implemented party-state rule and martial law in Taiwan — has a complicated legacy. Whether one looks at his time in power in a positive or negative light depends very much on who they are, and what their relationship with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) is. Although toward the end of his life Chiang Ching-kuo lifted martial law and steered Taiwan onto the path of democratization, these changes were forced upon him by internal and external pressures,
The Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus in the Legislative Yuan has made an internal decision to freeze NT$1.8 billion (US$54.7 million) of the indigenous submarine project’s NT$2 billion budget. This means that up to 90 percent of the budget cannot be utilized. It would only be accessible if the legislature agrees to lift the freeze sometime in the future. However, for Taiwan to construct its own submarines, it must rely on foreign support for several key pieces of equipment and technology. These foreign supporters would also be forced to endure significant pressure, infiltration and influence from Beijing. In other words,
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