If there was one thing that former President Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) could count on, it was the inability of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) to stare down splinter groups at election time.
In 1994, Chen relied on a terrible split in what became known as the pan-blue camp when hardline Mainlanders formed the New Party. Its candidate for Taipei City mayor, Jaw Shaw-kong (趙少康) — now a media identity and businessman — ran a savvy campaign that undercut KMT incumbent Huang Ta-chou (黃大洲), an inoffensive man whose dull demeanor and staid politics were easy prey. The pan-blue vote was evenly split — and Chen sailed through with 44 percent of the vote.
In 2000, Chen capitalized on the refusal of James Soong (宋楚瑜) to lay down and die when Lien Chan (連戰) secured the KMT’s nomination for president. Soong’s people skills, experience as provincial governor and campaign chest destroyed Lien’s ambitions — and his already limited credibility — but didn’t quite convince Chen’s supporters, who prevailed by a margin of less than 3 percent.
Chen, of all people, knows the worth of a quarreling enemy. His elevation to statesman — and the longer-term neutering of potential opponents — depended on it.
Now, as the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) struggles to get back on its feet after years of electoral failure and amid the legal miseries of its former stars, Chen has injured what remains of his legacy by involving himself in party squabbles at a time when he should be directing all of his energies into his court case and trying to elicit the sympathy of colleagues and voters.
Chen is emulating the strategic disorder of his earlier KMT foes by sniping at DPP Chairperson Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文) from his Taipei County detention center. The reasons for this intrigue — disputed candidates for year-end elections, factional fussing and assorted perceived slights — are not so important. What is important is that Chen is not only forfeiting his credibility as a party elder, but also that he apparently can no longer distinguish between what is possible and what is quixotic.
Chen is losing the sympathy and support of people who placed their trust in him over the course of a remarkable career and in three vital elections. This is a tragic thing in itself, but the greater danger is that this disappointment will help shield this nation’s pathetically compromised judicial system from necessary scrutiny.
Like so many other fading politicians, Chen cannot tolerate life on the margins of power. The irony is that Chen, whether found guilty or not guilty, could exert much more influence if he trusted in the intelligence of ordinary people and carried himself with more dignity.
It appears that Chen is beset by the messianic hubris that comes with years of self-absorption. The books that he has published while in prison, for example, are a very bad idea: They are testaments to narcissism and distraction, a fantasia of poor discipline and inflated self-regard.
As during his second term as president, Chen is receiving very bad counsel, or else he is ignoring the best possible advice: A former leader charged with serious crimes only hurts himself, his cause and his country by refusing to elevate himself above mundane and divisive politicking.
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