Prior to the onslaught of Typhoon Morakot, one name in the Cabinet stood above all others as a ripe candidate for removal in any reshuffle: Minister of Justice Wang Ching-feng (王清峰).
Wang, who has presided over and contributed to a punishing loss of confidence in the impartiality of the nation’s judicial system, survived this week’s reshuffle after lying low for some months. Her case was helped by not having a major role to play in the government’s diabolical response to the typhoon.
Any doubts about the justice minister keeping her position, however, would have been removed given the timing of the verdict in the trial of President Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁), former first lady Wu Shu-jen (吳淑珍), members of their family and several other accused.
No president would dare sacrifice a justice minister on the eve of such an important ruling, not even one as dismal as Wang.
Some might argue that Wang has done her job exactly as the ruling party hoped: defending the government to the hilt despite unconscionable lapses in the ministry’s professionalism and pitiful progress on judicial reform, while failing to defend judges and defense counsel demonized in the press and by Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) legislators, including some on the legislative committee that deals with judicial affairs.
For this minister, the presumption of innocence is a slogan to be parroted at meetings with foreign visitors, not a principle to be defended in the local media or among her fellow travelers in the KMT. She remains the perfect foil as the Chen saga continues.
It came as no surprise that Chen was found guilty given that he was found guilty in the court of public opinion many months ago, though the severity of his and his wife’s sentences may have surprised even some of Chen’s enemies. The safety of the judgment is yet to be established, and the lengthy verdict will take some time to analyze, but this much is clear: The trial was filled with irregularities and scenes of breathless farce to the extent that the wily Chen has gained considerable ammunition for what will likely be an interminable appeals process.
The political consequences following a life verdict cannot be underestimated. Chen’s enemies in the KMT will celebrate tonight, comfortable in the knowledge that the man most responsible in the last decade for furthering the agenda of an independent, democratic Taiwan has been taken out over the alleged theft of baubles — by KMT standards.
The truth is that Chen — if he indeed is corrupt, if he indeed committed forgery or was an accessory to such conduct, if he indeed “embezzled” campaign funds — cannot begin to compare with the legions of KMT officials, central government officials, regional and local officials, company directors, entrepreneurs and many other categories of the rich and powerful who have committed acts of fraud and violence against ordinary Taiwanese for decades and have never been brought to account — nor ever will.
The Chen verdict brings this risible saga to the next stage. Chen’s alienation of his supporters may soon bottom out as the government’s ineptitude and compulsive China policy allow the Democratic Progressive Party to place renewed pressure on the government to pursue reforms that get the politicians and politics out of the court room and increase transparency across the system.
If that were to happen, Chen’s proclivity for Christian imagery may prove apt. For all of the people he has let down, guilty or otherwise, his conviction could be the crucible that brings this mediocre, cynical government to book.
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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