Taiwan's Nationalist Party was swept from its last bastion of power December 1, 2001 in a landslide defeat in parliamentary elections at the hands of the Democratic Progressive Party of President Chen Shui-bian and other groups. The result is certain to alarm Beijing, which will see it emboldening the DPP to move Taiwan further toward independence. Chen Shui-bian is seen casting his ballot in Taipei. (Simon Kwong/Reuters) 

I first met President Chen Shui-bian at a Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) rally on Friday night - right before Saturday's legislative and mayoralty election on December 1. Well, I really didn't "meet" him there, but I saw him perform at close-hand, and think I can understand in a small way why so many Taiwanese are so supportive of him and his party - in fact, 1 of every 3 voters, it turned out! 

The DPP rally like most big political rallies in the United States was a show of brilliant klieg lights, TV cameras, green bunting (the DPP's identifying color) and glare. I squinted for most of 2 1/2 hours. The night sky was as bright as noonday. It was staged at the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial pavilion in downtown Taipei between the 2 bright red and gold pagodas, which looked like giant jewel boxes in the glinting light. And the raised stage was sited almost in front of Chiang's mausoleum with its hundreds of steps leading heavenward to the gray marble sarcophagus atop. It reminded me of the memorial for Dr. Sun Yat-sen on Zhongshan Mountain in Nanjing with its endless granite steps skyward. Chiang, however, could not have been very pleased, knowing as he must have that the DPP would end 52 years of Kuomintang (KMT) rule the following day - election Saturday.

The green DPP standards fluttered everywhere in the press of the crowd, which I estimated at about 20,000. And, it appeared to be a representative crowd of Taiwanese of all ages, although more young than older, and lots of children getting a glimpse of their future from their father's shoulders. And the omnipresent aerosol horns honked in a cadence of ear-splitting blasts.

I discovered that being 6 feet four inches tall and able literally to look down on the crowd had distinct disadvantages at that point. From behind me, enthusiastic supporters with canned horns in each hand would respond to the energized cheerleaders on stage who whipped up enthusiasm for the president's eagerly anticipated arrival. Alas, the up stretched arms of my fellow rally-goers - holding those shrill-pitched, aerosol blast horns just reached my ear-level. I almost jumped out of my skin at the first and unexpected blast from behind. I moved away as quickly as I could through the tightly packed throng.

For nearly 2 hours the DPP cheerleaders, in particular one young man and a young woman, rallied the crowd with slogans, cadenced cheers, refrains, hoopla, noise, and blare. And just as at a rock concert, huge projection screens were mounted high above the stage so those farther back could see the on-stage gyrations. Finally at about 10 p.m., President Chen bounded on stage and was introduced with great fanfare, more noise and incendiaries, firecrackers of all kinds. From my spot in the crowd - stage left but still about 100 feet and below - I could see the president clearly. He exuded energy. The evening was cool, so he was dressed in a white windbreaker with black collar. The crowd went wild shouting "A-bian, A-bian," his name expressed in the familiar way.

Chen spoke for about 30 minutes, or rather shouted into a microphone in a now-almost-hoarse voice, telling the faithful what a bright future Taiwan would have under a DPP parliament (and president): stability, growth, nirvana! It was almost like a presidential election. He ended his huckstering by introducing a long line of local candidates on stage behind him, and each in turn took a deep bow. And then amid a thunderous outpouring of confetti, more roman candles bubbling in assorted colors and noise, and the smoke and stench of sulfur from the firecrackers, Chen strode straight forward down the steps in front of the stage. A protective cordon of security surrounded him, of course, but I saw a president manifestly eager to be public. A lawyer by training, Chen is outreaching, literally, and the crowd loved it.

As his burly entourage pressed forward into the crowd, I was almost in its path - and torn between the wisdom of moving away and the curiosity of seeing Chen close-up. I didn't have to choose. The crowd packed around me so tightly I could not move in any direction but the direction it moved. At first I resisted - futilely. The president's burly guards pushed ahead and then - we, the president and I, were almost face-to-face, separated only by a tangle of arms and bodies. The president was perspiring profusely and had removed his glasses, but he was a man of the people, a politician pressing the flesh and making the most of it.
Then I saw Chen at his evangelical best. Admirers pushed in close to him, touched him and screamed almost in ecstasy, like little girls at a rock concert, but these were men and women. It was pandemonium; it was deafening; it was fascinating!

Two days later, after the election, I met the triumphant president again, this time at the glistening white, regal Presidential Palace built by the Japanese. What a different occasion; what a different president in dark suit, black hair, black slip-on shoes with elegant gold buckles across the instep. He greeted each of us individually, warmly with a firm handshake, as we were introduced to him. The mood was very different - stately and friendly but quite formal inside the elegant trappings of power. That's next.