The Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) bought lots of champagne in anticipation of the end of the election campaign--win, lose, or draw, they had given it their best shot. But when the result came in and they knew they had overturned fifty years of KMT rule, with power now a somber reality, the bottles remained unopened. What happened in this election to make the evening of March 18, 2000 the party that never was?
Chen won. Even now that the dust has settled, seeing the words in print somehow generates hard-to-articulate feelings. Pride is there, of course--Taiwan has stood up--and unease about the prospects for cross-strait peace, and worries about how the new guy will handle a legislature where his own party is in the minority. But he won, and Taiwan is never going to be the same again.
The results of the year 2000 presidential election are easy to state and harder to analyze. President-elect Chen Shui-bian attracted most of his support from southern Taiwan, while his main rival, former Kuomintang (KMT) mainstay James Soong, turned out to be number one in the north. Chen and his running mate Annette Lu garnered 39.3 percent of the vote. Soong and his VP candidate Chang Chao-hsiung came a close second, with 36.8 percent. The big losers, with a scant 23.1 support rate, were the KMT's Vice President Lien Chan and Premier Vincent Siew. Not to put too fine a point on it, the KMT was trashed, much to its supporters' surprise and chagrin.
What to make of it all? The first point to note is that a bare month before election day, nobody familiar with the polls would have predicted such an outcome for a moment. Media polls were in broad agreement that the KMT as ruling party, despite some setbacks, would emerge the winner. So this election became the latest in a series of events that shows how unpredictable the island's political environment can be.
But then only a few years ago, who could have imagined that the once almost familial relationship between ROC President Lee Teng-hui and Provincial Governor James Soong would one day sour to the point where the former could call the latter a traitor and thief? Lee's initiative to downsize the Taiwan Provincial Government was seen by Soong and his followers as a big step toward curbing his mammoth political power base. Soong, the first directly elected governor of Taiwan Province (1993-1998), turned out to be the last of a one-off line. As the rift widened between him and his mentor Lee, a split at party level became just as inevitable. When Soong announced his independent candidacy for the job of president, his expulsion from the party he had served for so long was a foregone conclusion. And a riven KMT vote was precisely what Chen Shui-bian needed to claim the nation's top spot.
But the DPP had problems of its own, as became obvious when in April 1999 the idealistic Hsu Hsin-liang, a former two-term party chairman, decided to go his own way and run for the presidency. This meant ignoring the popularity of his old friend Chen with party supporters. "Comrades, let's part at this point, because I want to move forward," said Hsu, a member of the island's sizable Hakka minority. Thereafter he positioned himself as a prophet, boldly calling for mainland China to be embraced in friendship as a potentially huge economic market. For him, Chen's notorious pro-independence leanings only threatened to bring disaster down on the island. For this DPP pioneer, times had changed indeed.
At the other end of the spectrum, however, the Taiwan Independence Party (TAIP) regarded the officially softened DPP line as falling far short of its own goal of a Taiwanese republic. Established in 1996, the TAIP, which consists partly of former DPP supporters, has long promoted Taiwan independence. The party selected Cheng Pang-chen, a professor of Chinese literature, to run as its candidate in the election. He failed to muster the number of signatures required to permit his candidature to go forward, but for several months Cheng represented yet another instability factor in an already volatile mix.
It is difficult to overstate the impact of James Soong's defection and expulsion from the KMT. He had held a number of important political posts: director-general of the Government Information Office, director of the party's Department of Cultural Affairs, and KMT secretary-general among them. But his real strength as a candidate derived from his term as provincial governor, where he inspired formidable loyalty and affection. Many of his supporters still address the man who received around an 80 percent approval rating when he stood down in 1998 as "Governor Soong." "I stand by him because he was assiduous in government affairs and in building up the infrastructure," says Tseng Chien-yuan, 38, a businessman who volunteered to head up a Soong-Chang support group. "He can guarantee reform and protect national security. He's the most middle-of-the-road candidate."
This was not the first time that the KMT had been hit by defections. In 1993, a number of its members broke away to form the New Party (NP), which had a promising beginning as the nucleus for those in favor of eventual unification with China and people who were fed up with what they regarded as Lee Teng-hui's autocratic style of leadership. In the recent election the NP was represented by Li Ao, an outspoken social commentator, and Elmer Fung, an NP legislator. They received less than 1 percent of the vote, with most of the party's original followers throwing their support behind James Soong. Indeed, by the end of the campaign Li Ao was actively encouraging his supporters to vote for Soong as a means of keeping the dreaded Chen Shui-bian out.
The formation of the TAIP and Hsu Hsin-liang's withdrawal from the party did nothing like as much harm to the DPP as Soong's expulsion did to the ruling party. Indeed, both the TAIP and Hsu had to scrabble around for the signatures they needed, as independent candidates, if their tickets were to be accepted. The law says that before an independent candidate can stand, he or she has to accumulate signatures totaling at least 5 percent of the votes cast in the previous election at national level, which in the event meant about 220,000 signatures. The same rule applies to candidates nominated by small political parties like the TAIP, which garnered only 1.45 percent of the vote in the previous national election.
The TAIP managed to solicit just 140,000 signatures, while Hsu and his running mate Chu Hui-liang, formerly an NP member but now an independent legislator, totaled about 340,000. The Hsu-Chu ticket thus qualified for the election, but when March 18 came around they only managed to get about 80,000 actual votes.
To complete the "primaries" picture, at an early stage of the campaign James Soong had already emerged as the most popular candidate, gaining about 1.58 million signatures by the deadline of January 6. Support for Soong might have been even higher but for widely publicized allegations by KMT legislator Yang Chi-hsiung that he had embezzled some US$12 million of party funds. Soong tried to dismiss the incident as typical KMT mudslinging directed at anyone who threatened its monopoly of power, but some of the mud stuck. "At first I was going to vote for him, but later I chose Lien Chan, partly because of that," says Chih Tseng-feng, 31, a taxi driver. "And the KMT had been really good to him. He shouldn't have just upped and left and then criticized the party. That could only benefit the DPP."
After the embezzlement allegations became known, Soong's support dropped by more than 10 percent, giving both Chen and Lien Chan the chance to defeat a competitor whom Chen once described as "a formidable opponent." The situation became much less clear while the competition grew ever more fierce. People began to talk about the "Big Three," since of the five sets of candidates, neither Hsu Hsin-liang nor Li Ao could manage to build up a convincing voter base.
As a former Taipei City councilor, legislator, and mayor of Taiwan's principal city, Chen Shui-bian easily equaled Soong for charisma, energy, and eloquence. He was associated in the collective mind of the electorate with vigorous dedication to reform, and this meant a big headache for the KMT, Taiwan's oldest political party, which had governed the island for more than half a century. "I chose Chen because I think power should rotate between the political parties," says Jason Huang, 32, an Internet marketing manager. "The KMT has inevitably become corrupt because it's been the ruling party for such a long time. I don't mean Soong isn't good. When he was Taiwan provincial governor he tried hard to find out what people needed, and after he left the KMT he became a genuine reformer. Chen's a better choice, though: he was a reformer from the start."
But Huang had another reason for supporting Chen. "Taiwan should seek independence," he says emphatically. "Otherwise we'll live forever in the shadow of mainland China. What's wrong with holding a referendum on that? Can't we decide our own fate?" Huang recognizes that a Chen victory does not automatically spell a declaration of independence with its concomitant threat of war--"but the KMT-controlled TV stations tried to hypnotize people into believing it."
Lin Chien-huo, 52, another taxi driver strongly in favor of Taiwan going its own way, agrees that the new president will not be issuing a declaration of independence. "So the Communists won't attack us. Besides, it's inconceivable that America would just look on if China tried to attack Taiwan. It'll protect its own interests by taking action and preventing Chinese expansion." Lin was also influenced by Chen's determination to reshape Taipei city when he was mayor. "He doesn't tote political baggage like the KMT, so he can do a good job."
It is undoubtedly the case that in the run-up to the election, both Soong and Lien Chan played on people's fears of war in the event of their electing a pro-independence president. "If you want a quiet life, please vote for No. 2 [Lien Chan's candidate-number]. Don't dream about struggling against the Communists. America wouldn't protect us. That's impossible!" So reads an extract from an e-mail sent by Eartha Chen, 22, a college student, to all her friends. "You have to realize that there are no morals in the international community," the writer added, before going on to defend her preferred candidate against all the criticisms that could possibly be made of him: for example, that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and was cut off from ordinary people. Such fervent displays of partisanship were far from uncommon in this campaign.
For non-KMT voters who listened with their heads rather than their hearts, the news was disturbing. Lien, who had held important administrative posts including the premiership, had at his disposal political resources that easily equaled Soong's. His nomination by the powerful KMT guaranteed him support from those who remained loyal to the party because they saw it as serving their vested interests, as well as staunch conservatives who believed that the KMT represented Taiwan's only hope of peace and stability. "Suppose Soong's elected--how can an independent president deal with a legislature that's dominated by the KMT and the DPP?" argued cabdriver Chih Tseng-feng. "More legislators might decide to support him if he wins. But who knows?"
Chih's thinking was typical of many of Lien Chan's supporters, who preferred the status quo even though they knew the KMT was tainted through and through by so-called hei-jin , "black-and-gold politics," gangsterdom and corruption. The KMT bet heavily on that viewpoint becoming dominant, using the media to hammer home a message that Taiwan was making steady progress and there was thus no need for power rotation among the parties, which in any case was only likely to provoke cross-strait hostilities. "If war breaks out, 85 percent of young men aged between twenty and twenty-nine will find themselves called up in no time," ran the jaunty voice-over to a TV commercial shown at regular intervals in the run-up to polling day.
Chen's side countered by pointedly drawing attention to the fact that their candidate's own son would be starting his compulsory military service next year, and the last thing any father wants is to send his child into the firing line. The message was lent extra poignancy by the subtext that sons of both Lien Chan and Soong had not had to perform the nearly two years of military service that all able young men are obliged by law to perform, Lien's son on medical grounds and Soong's because he had been living in the United States since he was a child.
The "war card" was inevitably going to be played in this election, especially after mainland China published a white paper in January, threatening to attack the island if Taiwan declared independence or showed signs of putting off dealing with the issue of unification indefinitely. Such a tough attitude again manifested itself when the normally mild-mannered Chinese premier Zhu Rongji made an acidic speech during the PRC's People's National Congress where he menaced Taiwan with unspecified but terrible consequences if it opted for a pro-independence candidate.
This blatant attempt at intimidation may have scared a handful of voters away from Chen, but the conventional wisdom is that the move backfired, just as similar moves had redounded on the PRC in 1996, when it generated a missile crisis in the hope of herding Taiwan's electorate away from Lee Teng-hui. In the event, Lee won with 54 percent of the vote.
In the last few days before the election, the race degenerated into a war of vituperation. It was the culmination of what had been, on any showing, a dirty campaign. To the disappointment of many observers, the candidates were unable to agree on a format for a televised debate. The final stages also witnessed a struggle for legitimacy, with all three candidates striving to win endorsements from Taiwan's movers and shakers.
This year's competition for heavyweights was especially fierce, given the closeness of the race, and a steady stream of "names" queued up to back one ticket or another. Notable among them was tycoon Wang Yung-ching, the formidable chairman of Formosa Plastics, who once claimed to know nothing about politics but who this time tacitly sided with Lien Chan. The process could be unpredictable, and it provided some of the rare moments of humor. For example, Chen Li-an, a prominent Buddhist and former politician, was wheeled out to endorse Lien Chan, which he did by saying that he liked Lien's cross-strait policy but thought that the KMT as a party was almost wholly corrupt--not exactly what the candidate's advisers had in mind.
Another high-profile figure who reluctantly found himself center-stage was Nobel laureate Lee Yuan-tseh, the head of Academia Sinica, Taiwan's most prestigious academic institution, who first declared for Chen and then rammed the message home by seeking to quit his post as Academia Sinica president in order to serve on the candidate's National Policy Advisory Committee.
Taiwan is a country that holds education in high regard, where few initials enhance a person's reputation as much as "Ph.D." Lee Yuan-tseh's support had instant, palpable effect. Admired for his squeaky-clean probity in Taipei and respected in Beijing for his scientific achievements, Lee was the perfect answer to critics who doubted Chen's commitment to reform on the one hand and feared his pro-independence tendencies on the other. It was the culmination of a brilliantly conceived and fought campaign. Chen Shui-bian is the new president of the Republic of China.
One of the most interesting phenomena observed during the recent election was a process known as "dump-save." It works like this. Once a candidate's aides calculate that their cause is lost, they start to urge their supporters to vote for another candidate in the hope of defeating the main enemy by promoting one less dangerous. Li Ao, for example, was the candidate most closely identified with a desire to unite Taiwan with China. When it became clear that his chances of election were negligible, he used his final media appearances to urge New Party supporters to vote for Soong who, while not expressly in favor of unification, was at least more inclined to it than Chen.
It is clear that most people chose to "dump" Lien Chan, who trailed far behind with a 23.1 percent share of the vote. This was a mind-numbing defeat for a party that had clung to power for the best part of half a century, and the KMT, the oldest political party in Chinese history, is staring at an unprecedentedly bleak future. Intentionally or not, Soong has succeeded in splitting it down the middle. For days after the result was announced, disgruntled supporters and ex-supporters of the KMT protested, sometimes violently, outside the party's headquarters. The focus of their discontent was Lee Teng-hui who (the protesters alleged) should take responsibility for the party's electoral debacle by resigning as party chairman immediately. This Lee duly did, under pressure from some of his own legislators, although not without reluctance. Quite who the demonstrators thought had the charisma and the power to replace him and bring the party back on-line is not clear. Lien Chan has the job for now.
If the KMT wants to survive, it is going to have to reform itself from the ground up--everyone agrees on that, at least, and a restructuring committee has already been established. Lien, noting that the party's organization and personnel will have to be "adjusted," expressed a desire to attract more young people, as well as grassroots supporters at the local level. The trouble is that many of those supporters are angry about the party's lack of democratic mechanisms and its failure to respond to their complaints over a period of years. Disillusionment is rife.
And what of James Soong, whose departure split the KMT vote and thus opened the way to Taiwan's first DPP president? He is not going to just fade off the radar screen. The day after he lost to Chen, the media reported that he was founding a new political party, building on the support he received during the campaign. The launch of the People First Party (PFP) was announced at the same time as Lee Teng-hui resigned as KMT party chairman. James Soong was named its first head, and its steering committee mainly consists of members of his campaign team. The PFP, which stresses its loose structure--it has no disciplinary committee, for example--plans to win large numbers of seats in National Assembly elections slated to take place in early May.
Always assuming those elections take place. The old Chinese curse "May you live in interesting times" seems particularly apposite to Taiwan's current political situation. While the island was still mulling over what it had done on March 18, the Council of Grand Justices picked its moment to declare unconstitutional a measure by which the National Assembly had previously extended its own term and that of the legislature. This judgment spawned a number of reactions, two of them particularly noteworthy. Powerful factions in the DPP publicly doubted whether the Council of Grand Justices had jurisdiction in the case. And the KMT and DPP party caucuses in the National Assembly, in a remarkable show of cooperation, banded together to propose that the assembly be abolished as quickly as possible, with its powers being distributed among other institutions. The message is obvious enough: both the major parties are terrified of what Soong may do next, given his formidable electoral machine.
If this is a tough time for the KMT, it is by no means an easy one for Chen Shui-bian. Everything he says on the subject of cross -strait relations is analyzed to death by the media, both here and abroad. It is as if the world is holding its breath, just waiting for him to make a slip. So far, however, the president-elect has made nothing but soothing remarks, and he was on record long before the election as saying that, if he won, he would neither declare independence nor push for a referendum on the issue during his term. As soon as the result of the election was known, he invited Wang Daohan, the PRC's leading cross-strait negotiator, to attend his inauguration on May 20. He also indicated that he intended to give priority to the opening of direct trade, postal, and transportation links with mainland China before the end of the year.
Beijing has so far responded in low-key fashion, although it has been at pains to reiterate its monolithic one-China policy. It seems clear that, for the moment at least, the mainland intends to abide by its promise to "listen to Chen's words and monitor his actions."
There are also problems for Chen at home. Approximately 60 percent of the population did not vote for him. With that compare the position of Lee Teng-hui, who in 1996 swept back into power with some 54 percent of the popular vote. Moreover, Chen will have to work with a legislature where, on paper at least, the KMT still commands a majority. The legislature has 224 seats. The KMT holds 116 of them. The DPP, known or suspected Soong supporters, and the NP have 71, 15, and 9 seats respectively.
Chen's first major domestic task is to name a premier. This was the subject of some nail-biting in the days following the election. The new president had set his heart on Lee Yuan-tseh, but the Academia Sinica chief hummed and hawed at some length before turning down the post. Vacillation is not a trait most premiers care to brag about, and Chen moved quickly to repair the damage. He named the present Minister of National Defense, Tang Fei, a long-term KMT supporter, to head the Cabinet. The appointment, shocking to some observers, was subject to ratification by the KMT--a condition, set by Tang Fei himself, that has recently been satisfied--and it serves to underline the difficulty Chen would have in filling up to 4,000 government positions at various levels from a DPP talent pool with little or no previous administrative experience. Tang Fei's appointment is, no doubt, the first of many compromises coming down the pipe.
Three major powers have emerged in the post-Lee Teng-hui era: Chen Shui-bian, James Soong, and Lien Chan. The new challenges they face are no less difficult than those that confronted them as candidates. The island's political situation is in a state of flux, and people are openly starting to question what the future holds. Can the new leadership root out Taiwan's notorious black-and -gold politics? Will the DPP really find a way to build better relations with China, as party chairman Lin I-Hsiung has promised? Is it going to be possible for Chen to honor his election pledge to appoint a Cabinet one-fourth of which will be female? Whatever the answers may turn out to be, Taiwan is sure to be different in every aspect.
Before the election, the only big question was: Will there be change? Now it is different: How great will that change be; how fast will it come?