TAIWAN: Taiwan’s Constitution is being pushed to its limits—and many ordinary people can feel it in their daily lives, not just in headlines from Taipei.
From last year’s “Bluebird movement” to the wave of recall campaigns earlier this year, voters have been sending a clear signal: they are tired. Tired of gridlock. Tired of endless political manoeuvring. And tired of a Legislative Yuan dominated by the opposition Kuomintang (KMT) and the Taiwan People’s Party, which many see as more focused on power struggles than on governing.
President William Lai and the ruling Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) have chosen not to engage with what they view as hardball tactics meant to weaken the executive branch. Tensions have only escalated. The Executive Yuan has refused to countersign changes to the revenue-sharing law, while lawmakers move toward debating whether to impeach the president himself. What might sound like abstract constitutional drama has become a very real standoff at the centre of government.
At the heart of it all are two forces pulling Taiwan in opposite directions. One is a constitution full of built-in contradictions. The other is a deeply polarised political climate, intensified by uncertainty in the world beyond Taiwan’s shores.
Taiwan’s Constitution was revised seven times between 1991 and 2004, during the island’s rapid shift to democracy. Along the way, it absorbed ideas from European parliamentary systems, Sun Yat-sen’s political thought, and aspects of the US model. The result is a system that doesn’t quite fit any one mould—neither fully presidential nor fully parliamentary.
When Taiwan held its first direct presidential election in 1996, public expectations shifted overnight. Voters wanted a president who could lead decisively. Yet the Constitution never fully adjusted to that reality. Power moved, but the rules stayed murky. Who is really in charge? Who answers to whom?
The system that surfaced was built by parts, section by section, and concluded through cautious concessions. That measured approach aided Taiwan sidestep the anarchy and viciousness seen in other democratic changeovers. It was a success—but not a perfect one. The price of stability was a constitutional structure full of blind spots.
Today, those blind spots are impossible to ignore. The president is elected by the people but must govern through a premier they appoint. That premier answers to the legislature but cannot dissolve it. The legislature can grill and constrain the premier, yet has no role in choosing them. And unlike many democracies, Taiwan lacks a clear veto or veto-override mechanism to keep the executive and legislative branches in balance.
In calmer times, this kind of ambiguity might allow flexibility. In today’s sharply divided environment, it risks turning every disagreement into a crisis.
So, the question keeps coming back: why not fix the Constitution? Many argue that the rules make it nearly impossible. Since 2004, any amendment requires approval from more than half of all eligible voters in a referendum—a bar so high it has discouraged serious attempts at reform.
But that threshold was set more than 20 years ago. Taiwan has changed since then. The political stakes are higher, public impatience is growing, and the cost of doing nothing is becoming clearer by the day. What once felt like an abstract constitutional problem is now playing out in real time, shaping how—or whether—the government can function.
Taiwan now faces a choice. Can its democracy keep running on a framework designed for a different era? Or is it time for a new wave of imagination and courage to build a system that truly matches the expectations of the people who live under it?
