President Chen Shui-bian (
Meanwhile, People First Party Chairman James Soong (
Undoubtedly, these four politicians have stolen all the limelight so far in the run-up to the Decem-ber elections for legislators, mayors and county commissioners. These superstars, strong in personal charisma, are in the spotlight and are hyping an otherwise cold and cheerless campaign.
Party candidates, however, have not benefited from this livening-up of the campaign because they are being outshone by the superstars. If the four superstars are viewed as the red blossoms, the candidates do not even qualify as green leaves. The candidates' are largely indistinguishable and their political differences are likewise forgettable. The only thing left is the four superstars' war of words.
Such a "quasi-presidential election campaign" involving a president, former president and former presidential candidates is inimical to the development of Taiwan's political democracy as voters lose perspective on what the election is about -- local issues.
Conflict among Taiwan's various ethnic groups is also being stirred up. The people are easily incited by the cacophony of TV call-in shows and politicians readily stoop to inflammatory rhetoric.
In such circumstances, back-room negotiations and the pointed political packaging of legislation are so common that it is barely possible to control the quality of legislation. This being so, those few legislators who focus on their legislative duties are like a rare, endangered species.
The overwhelming use of political superstars to campaign for the candidates militates not only against improving the quality of the legislature, but also against election results favorable to the parties themselves.
Under the current multi-member district system, winning more votes doesn't necessarily amount to winning more seats, because celebrity candidates may be "vote suckers" (吸票機), reducing the prospects for success of the parties' other candidates running in the same electoral district. Only with an even distribution of votes can the DPP become the majority party in the legislature.
As for the PFP, the scenario can be summed up by the old Chinese saying, "One general achieves renown over the dead bodies of 10,000 soldiers." Soong's cult of personality as a campaign tool is as yet untested by the unforgiving forge of a real election.
As far as the TSU is concerned, voters only know Lee, the party's spiritual leader, but are at a loss to name any of its candidates. It is very difficult for a candidate to stand out in a campaign that solely focuses on the "red blossoms," instead of the "green leaves." As a result, it seems highly improbable that political newcomers or others who are barely known can win.
Those parties that are not good at mobilizing their party machinery depend too much on supporters' desire to do the right thing. If there is a wide disparity between the relative strengths of a party's candidates, the distribution of ballots will be uneven and its number of seats will drop. This is a problem that will most likely afflict the DPP and the PFP.
Analysis of the legislative elections for the Fourth Legislative Yuan in 1998 shows that DPP candidates in three electoral districts were not elected because some of the party's celebrity candidates attracted a disproportionate number of votes. This also happened to the KMT in one electoral district, showing that its nomination strategy was more successful because its candidates were able to share the ballots more evenly. With such experience, the KMT may win more seats in this election, since competition is even tougher this time around.
At a time when the DPP hopes to win 85 legislative seats while other parties are striving to take as many seats as they can, party leaders have to act as mother hens and ensure an even distribution of ballots.
Due to the nature of the election this time, nevertheless, new faces or those with little fame will not likely achieve success without being strongly promoted. Thus, the long-term effect of the four political superstars on the campaign may be that the strong remain strong while the weak remain weak.
Lee Ching-hsiung is a Taiwan Independence Party legislator.
Translated by Eddy Chang
From the Iran war and nuclear weapons to tariffs and artificial intelligence, the agenda for this week’s Beijing summit between US President Donald Trump and Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) is packed. Xi would almost certainly bring up Taiwan, if only to demonstrate his inflexibility on the matter. However, no one needs to meet with Xi face-to-face to understand his stance. A visit to the National Museum of China in Beijing — in particular, the “Road to Rejuvenation” exhibition, which chronicles the rise and rule of the Chinese Communist Party — might be even more revealing. Xi took the members
Taiwan’s higher education system is facing an existential crisis. As the demographic drop-off continues to empty classrooms, universities across the island are locked in a desperate battle for survival, international student recruitment and crucial Ministry of Education funding. To win this battle, institutions have turned to what seems like an objective measure of quality: global university rankings. Unfortunately, this chase is a costly illusion, and taxpayers are footing the bill. In the past few years, the goalposts have shifted from pure research output to “sustainability” and “societal impact,” largely driven by commercial metrics such as the UK-based Times Higher Education (THE) Impact
History might remember 2026, not 2022, as the year artificial intelligence (AI) truly changed everything. ChatGPT’s launch was a product moment. What is happening now is an anthropological moment: AI is no longer merely answering questions. It is now taking initiative and learning from others to get things done, behaving less like software and more like a colleague. The economic consequence is the rise of the one-person company — a structure anticipated in the 2024 book The Choices Amid Great Changes, which I coauthored. The real target of AI is not labor. It is hierarchy. When AI sharply reduces the cost
The inter-Korean relationship, long defined by national division, offers the clearest mirror within East Asia for cross-strait relations. Yet even there, reunification language is breaking down. The South Korean government disclosed on Wednesday last week that North Korea’s constitutional revision in March had deleted references to reunification and added a territorial clause defining its border with South Korea. South Korea is also seriously debating whether national reunification with North Korea is still necessary. On April 27, South Korean President Lee Jae-myung marked the eighth anniversary of the Panmunjom Declaration, the 2018 inter-Korean agreement in which the two Koreas pledged to
RSS