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By David Momphard
STAFF REPORTER
Sunday, Feb 22, 2004, Page 17

ILLUSTRATION MOUNTAIN PEOPLE

A-Shen (阿深) loves the fact democracy is flourishing in Taiwan. He's already made some NT$250,000 from it.

"Betting on number games can be boring," he said. "And we were all disappointed to hear that baseball players gamble more than they play. Politicians at least want to win, that much you can bet on!"

And bet he has. Weeks before the presidential election of 2000, he put NT$100,000 on Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) winning and doubled his money. In the Taipei mayoral election of 2002, unable to find a bookie offering reasonable odds, he gambled with friends, betting that Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) would win by less than 400,000 votes, and earned himself another NT$50,000.

But beyond gambling, the 52-year-old A-Shen says that Taiwan's democratization has made him more politically active than he was during the martial law era, and that hardly a day goes by that he's not tuned in to the nation's ongoing presidential race.

"It's too soon to know who'll win the election," he says. "But I'll get a hunch sooner or later."

GAMBLING FEVER

What starts as wagering among friends may ultimately influence the fate of the nation. While that may sound far-fetched, law enforcement authorities and at least one camp of political pundits worry that it might prove true.

The concern is not with bar room bets or wagers being made at the water cooler. Gambling, after all, is something of a national pastime. Instead, the concern lies in the high-stakes election wagers being placed within organized crime circles.

Law enforcement authorities cite the activities of Taiwan's four largest bookmakers, known only by their surnames; Lin in Taipei County, Hsieh in Taichung County, Gao in Tainan, and Wang in Kaohsiung. (Gamblers, in turn, cite law enforcement authorities for complicity and even direct participation in bookmaking. "You want to find a bookie?" said one gambler, "Ask a cop!")

Working for them are a network of mid- and lower-level bookies whose perennial punters are said to number up to half a million. They're almost exclusively men over 30, not necessarily wealthy, but often single and with disposable income.

The usual racket is "mark six" (六合彩), a numbers-picking game similar to the national lottery. But, as happened in 2000, the presidential election has inspired high-stakes wagers placed not only by routine gamblers but by first-timers, whose purse strings have been pulled by political passions.

The structure of this network is a kind of pyramid marketing scheme, a "mouse organization" (老鼠會) as it's known in Chinese. The bookmakers at the top set the odds for whom they believe will win and by how many votes, figuring in a cushion within each bracket in the event they're wrong. Mid-level bookies then sell the bet to lower-level bookies and punters, who in turn sell it to even more punters, and so on.

Anyone who has, say, NT$100,000 riding on the blue camp winning the election by half a million votes has incentive to find as many other potential blue camp supporters as he can who are willing to make a similar bet. The possible result: Half a million people or more bet on and vote for the same candidate, potentially tipping the balance in an election still too close to call.

The concern is enough to have caused the president to pay a personal visit to Wang Chen-keng (王振鏗) at his home in Tainan City. Wang is the general manager of Fuhong Securities and an alleged gangster whose criminal record includes gambling and offences against personal liberty. While not himself a bookmaker, Wang's role as a "vote captain" (樁腳) means he can influence the bookmakers and the odds they set, thereby influencing voting patterns.

Media speculated that Wang and Chen's "secret meeting" on Jan. 30 had the president attempting to level the playing field by requesting more favorable odds.

More recently, Chen visited an even bigger vote captain, independent legislator Yen Ching-piao (顏清褾) from Taichung. Yen has the distinction of having been elected to the legislature while serving a prison sentence for corruption, attempted murder and obstruction of justice. Pundits speculate that Chen is counting on Yen's support in Taichung County, an area considered to be a potentially decisive election battleground.

The root of Chen's concern is the fact that bookmakers currently favor the blue camp winning by 500,000 to 700,000 votes and have set 1:1 odds.

This is surely a source of happiness for blue camp contender Lien Chan (連戰), whose dismal campaign in 2000 didn't even register with bookmakers. They instead favored his then-archrival and now-running mate, James Soong (宋楚瑜), beating Chen by 200,000 votes.

That of course didn't happen and the fact that bookmakers were wrong then has called into question the accuracy of their assessments now.

Professor of political science at Soochow University Emile Sheng (盛治仁) says that, when it comes to politics in Taiwan, the calculus of bookkeeping can become fuzzy math.

"A lot of these odds are decided subjectively, reflecting the political orientation of the bookie," Sheng said. "If they support Chen or Lien they will come out with odds more favorable to their side. It also comes down to the personal connections of the bookies."

Sheng points to a far more accurate barometer of Taiwan's political climate in the cornfields of Iowa.

A real-money, educational futures market sponsored by the state university, the Iowa Electronic Market sells contracts in political and economic events. Four years ago, it sold contracts for Taiwan's presidential election in a "vote share" market, in which the value of shares were determined as US$1.00 times the share of votes won by each candidate. Market participants were obliged to examine candidates' futures just as they would, say, pork futures. At the time of contract liquidation before the election, Chen's contracts were valued at 0.39, Soong's at 0.375 and Lien's at 0.26, remarkably close to the actual share of votes received by each candidate (Chen won 39.3 percent of the vote, Soong 36.8 percent, and Lien 23 percent).

"With the Iowa market, nobody set the odds," Sheng said. "It's a free market and the force of the market decided the final price. In Taiwan, the bookies set their prices through subjective evaluation."

Accuracy, Sheng explains, isn't important to Taiwan's bookmakers. "In Taiwan, the operating logic is that it doesn't matter if you're accurate or not as long as people accept your odds. This logic is very different from in the US."

FOOL'S MARKET

If A-Shen had trouble finding favorable odds in the past, he'll have the same trouble in this election. The roster of bets being offered by bookmakers are likely to start with improbabilities and end with near impossibilities. A look at past elections offers clues to what will be offered in the coming weeks.

In the Taipei mayoral election of 2002, the first of four choices on offer among bookies had Mayor Ma beating his opponent, Lee Ying-yuan (李應元) by 500,000 votes, with odds set at 1:0.5. The highest bracket had Ma beating Lee with 800,000 votes.

"Even the best bet was ridiculous," A-Shen said. "There are only two million voters in Taipei City -- the bookies don't tell you that. You were not only betting that Ma would get 75 percent of the vote, you were betting that everyone would go out and vote!"

A-Shen said he's holding out for the candidates themselves to get involved and saw Chen's visits to Wang and Yen as an indication that the odds may soon swing the other way. "I'm waiting for long, 1:10 odds on Chen," he said. "A-Bian is smart. Betting against him would be stupid."

WANNA MAKE A BET?

The hardest part of placing a big-money wager on the presidential election may be finding a bookmaker with whom to place it.

"In northern Taiwan, there certainly are very few," said Soochow University's Emile Sheng. "My feeling is that it would be easier to find one in the south of the island." While Sheng, a political science professor, said he wouldn't know where to begin looking, some of the frequent gamblers interviewed for this report suggested inquiring with a law enforcement official.

"The biggest bookmaker I know is a chief of police," said one punter who, for reasons that ought to be perfectly understandable, asked not to be named.

Even if you do find one, you may never meet your bookie except over the phone. Winnings are delivered by the little guys that work under him. Losing bets are collected by the bigger guys that work under him.

Once you've got your man, you may not find his odds all that agreeable. Bookmakers usually have a "portfolio" of four or five bets they're pushing -- say, 1:0.5 on the blue camp winning by 700,000 votes, 1:1 on it winning by 800,000, and so on. Their interest is not just in balancing their books, but maximizing their earnings by selling suckers on improbable scenarios. If you don't like the odds you're offered, you might consider making a bet on the voting returns in a specific county or city (see map graphic).

If you place a winning bet, part of your earnings will go toward paying your bookie for his trouble, usually 10 percent. Of that amount, lower and mid-level bookies each take 20 percent and the man bankrolling it all takes the remaining 60 percent. Don't expect anyone to be interested in taking your measly NT$10,000 wager. Minimum bets with these organizations are usually NT$100,000 or more. Big boys play with millions.

The good news, gamblers say, is that no one will ask you for money up front. But if you lose, expect the phone to ring.

Lastly, you should also know that Chapter 4, Article 266 of the Criminal Code prohibits all forms of gambling except for in the case of "temporary amusement." The good news here is that you'll only be fined NT$3,000 if you're caught -- that's less than a third of the "service charge" you paid the bookmakers.

And what if you can't cover your losses? The anonymous punter above advised against seeking refuge in the law: "The cop you talk to might be your bookie."
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