To the victor belong the spoils, and the spoils of the presidency are more often than not a fierce opposition, internal dissent, and a populace clamoring for irreconcilable policies. In Chen Shui-bian's case, the spoils also included the responsibility for guiding the first transfer of political power in the history of the Republic of China to an opposition party and the shepherding of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) into its first four-year term in the executive office.
Chen was sworn in as president three years ago this month. During the run-up to the election, the People's Liberation Army held large-scale military maneuvers, which included mock amphibious landings that could be used in an assault on Taiwan. The saber rattling was a reminder to the voters of Taiwan and to an opposition party whose platform included an independence plank that China had repeatedly indicated that a proclamation of sovereignty from the island could trigger a military response.
One of Chen's first acts as president was to put the independence plank back on the lumber pile. This was done partly out of deference to the United States, Taiwan's chief military ally, partly as a concession to the fact that he had not gleaned a majority of votes in the election and therefore had no mandate for any move toward independence, but mostly for the security of the people of Taiwan. By this act, Chen signaled that the gadfly would be left at the door to the Presidential Office; the new president would bear responsibility for the people he represented as a national leader, not just those who had voted for him. To be sure, there has been little progress in cross-Strait relations over the past three years; attempts to break the impasse have foundered on China's refusal to treat Taiwan as an equal partner in negotiations. The absence of progress, or the lull in the storm, depending on how you look at it, has resulted in a stable situation that has given the president the leeway to tack in different directions and tackle other problems.
As the leader of a populist party, whose roots were watered by the hope of change and the aspiration to give voice to the common man, Chen has been remarkably responsive to the wishes of the people. This, of course, cuts both ways. Two examples from the past three years illustrate the promise and the pitfalls of a president who listens to the people.
The first is the president's determination to eradicate "black gold" politics, a local name for the influence of illegal campaign funding, bribery, and corruption of all sorts. The problem is partly the symptom of a democratic system that is still in its early phases and is certainly not unique to Taiwan. The people of the United States in the early 19th century found their local and national politicians in the grip of party bosses who exercised power through back-room dealing in which influence was peddled, money was exchanged, and friends were rewarded not for their ability but for their loyalty to a corrupt system. The situation prompted an outraged Senator William Marcy to declare in the Senate that these corrupt politicians "see nothing wrong in the rule that to the victor belong the spoils of the enemy." His words gave rise to the term "spoils system," which was used in much the same way that "black gold" is in Taiwan.
For a party that struggled for decades to overcome a system designed to stifle opposition and dissent, it is notable that the DPP has refrained from reveling in the spoils of power. Chen has not only been willing to stamp out corruption, but he addresses problems quickly and publicly. This was evident in his reaction to the election for the speaker of the Kaohsiung City Council, in which widespread vote-buying left the city under a cloud of scandal. Chen immediately called for an investigation and promised to expel implicated DPP members from the party. Nothing was swept under the carpet or glossed by smarmy attempts at damage control. Chen's response indicated that the president was willing to place the good of the nation and the integrity of the system over party politics. Corruption, needless to say, is not popular with constituents, and Chen's actions indicate a determination to give to the people political leadership worthy of their support.
A second example highlights the dangers inherent in responding to public pressure. In 2002, farmers and fishermen besieged the Cabinet and demanded an end to the attempts to reform their local lending institutions. The cooperative banking system used to finance their enterprises creaked under the weight of risky loans and outstanding debt. To stabilize the wobbly system, the central government would have to enact unpopular measures that would include some bitter medicine and a certain amount of oversight unwanted by the participants in the lending system. In response to the protesters, who were considered an important constituency for the DPP, the Cabinet temporarily shelved reform measures and returned to the drawing board. For Chen, it was a painfully public display of the competing demands placed on him as party leader and president. Despite the hiccup, Chen remains the leading advocate of reform, and in his efforts to shore up the foundation of Taiwan's economy, he has broad support from the people.
With just 10 months to go before the presidential election, it is worthwhile remembering that when Chen took office, some predicted war in the Taiwan Strait, others a breakdown of Taiwanese society. The nation is not only at peace but has also advanced considerably in its experiment in democracy. Only the voters can decide what the next step will be.