Transparency in legislature vital: citizen's group
　

LEGISLATIVE MONITORS: The group demanded that all meetings be open by allowing public access to the video-on-demand system in the legislature
　

By Loa Iok-sin
STAFF REPORTER
Saturday, Feb 02, 2008, Page 3
　

With the new legislature convening for the first time yesterday, the Citizen's Congress Watch (CCW) yesterday urged lawmakers to allow more transparency and ban cross-party negotiations from taking place behind closed doors.

"The legislature spent NT$40 million [US$1.2 million] to install a video-on-demand [VOD] system that allows live online monitoring of legislative meetings," CCW president Ku Chung-hua (顧忠華) told a news conference.

"The money came from taxpayers' pockets -- so why doesn't the public have access to the system?" he asked.

CCW executive director Ho Tsung-hsun (何宗勳) said that during a visit to Hong Kong's Legislative Council last month, the group found that the territory's residents were able to view recordings of the council's meetings either online or on TV.

"If this can happen in a place where lawmakers aren't elected by universal suffrage, why can't the same thing take place here?" Ho asked.

He said Legislative Speaker Wang Jin-pyng (王金平) had told him that "the VOD cannot be made public because some lawmakers are opposed to it."

"If you want privacy, please resign as legislator," Ku said.

Meanwhile, Hsieh Tung-ju (謝東儒), secretary-general of the Alliance for Handicapped People, said that closed-door cross-party negotiations should be banned.

Legislative regulations allow lawmakers to hold negotiations off the record and announce only the results.

"It's a lawmaker's job to represent the people, and when they do so, they should let the public see it," Hsieh said.

He added that simultaneous sign language should be provided along with the broadcasts.

The group also presented a list of lawmakers, who had signed an agreement to push for more transparency in the legislature.

Twenty-seven of the 81 legislators affiliated with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and 17 of the Democratic Progressive Party's 27 legislators -- or a total of 47 percent of the legislature -- had signed the document, the group said.

Besides demanding more transparency, Ho said the citizen's group would collect records of legislative meetings and invite academics and experts in different fields to review and analyze these meetings "so that voters will know who did what and if they were consistent."

Bowing to China with A-mei


Saturday, Feb 02, 2008, Page 8

With all of the activities relating to Aboriginal autonomy in the news lately, there might be good cause to think that Taiwan's indigenous peoples are gradually leaving the shadow of dependence and indignity that has saddled them since the Japanese era.

Saisiat Aborigines, for example, are taking the initiative to elect tribal representatives rather than allow the state's electoral districts to do the talking for them. Similar sentiment is growing elsewhere, much of it free of the crude green-blue political coloring of Taiwanese politics.

This week also saw the release of a comprehensive review of documents relating to the Aboriginal movement, which began its latest phase in the 1980s.

But every now and then comes a reminder of Taiwan's long history of Aboriginal subservience.

A few weeks ago Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) presidential candidate Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) patronized urban Amis Aborigines to their faces, provoking a degree of anger at the scene. He was surprised at the response to his comments on Aborigines needing to learn Han ways and to be "educated" but, then again, it has been a few decades since ordinary Aborigines cowered before top politicians.

These days, Aborigines, like other Taiwanese, are more likely to expect top dollar for their vote in an election.

How fitting for the times, then, that Chang Hui-mei, (A-mei, 張惠妹), the Puyuma Aboriginal pop superstar, should be lobbying for inclusion in Beijing's Olympic showbiz line-up.

For A-mei, having her song chosen as the official tune for the Games would be a sensational boost for her career, and it would be a delicious irony given earlier treatment Beijing meted out to her, which included sabotaging her contracts with sponsors, canceling concerts in China and insulting her, her Aboriginal heritage, her president and her country.

The trigger was her rendition of the Republic of China's anthem for the first inauguration of President Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) in 2000, then considered a radical act by the Chinese.

A-mei's problem was likely not that she sang the anthem, but that she did so for a DPP administration. Even so, A-mei has insisted that she tries to keep politics out of her career, concentrating on the good vibes and good times that come from bringing people together with music. And she deserves sympathy: Whatever she does, someone is going to be dissatisfied. In China, that dissatisfaction extends to officially tolerated protests outside her concerts.

The real question is whether Taiwanese have a legitimate cause for dissatisfaction. Unfortunately for A-mei, this now appears to be the case.

Beijing is perfectly aware that the Olympics gig is of huge significance for A-mei; any positive response it makes to the singer is inextricably connected to the symbolic bounty this offers Beijing.

If A-mei captures the song crown or is given the chance to perform, there might be some among her many fans who would be crestfallen to realize that, although her interest in singing at the Olympics has nothing to do with politics, the function it will serve is purely political. And her Aboriginality would be fundamental to this.

The symbolism of the Taiwanese Aborigine bowing down before his or her Han master would be rejuvenated; this time, however, the master is on the other side of the Strait, and Taiwan as a whole will be doing the bowing along with her.

All that would be left, then, are two choices. Either A-mei would be ridiculously ignorant of what is going on in her own backyard, or she would be perfectly conscious of it and, with fame as her muse, not give a damn.