‘Frozen garlic!’ Taiwan likes loud and proud democracy

Huang Chen-yu took to an outdoor stage in a southern Taiwanese province, whooping and hollering as she whipped the crowd of 20,000 people into a joyful frenzy – to welcome a succession of politicians in matching jackets.

Taiwan is in the final days of its presidential election, and the big campaign rallies, with MCs like Ms. Huang, are boisterous, flashy spectacles — like a variety show and a disco crashing into a candidate’s town hall meeting.

At the height of the meeting, Democratic Progressive Party presidential candidate Lai Ching-te was introduced to the crowd in Chiayi, a province in southern Taiwan. Ms. Huang bellowed in Taiwanese, “Frozen garlic!”

The expression “dongsuan” sounds like “being elected” and, yes, also like “frozen garlic.” Ms. Huang and another MC led the crowd of supporters, who were now on their feet, in a rapid-fire, call-and-response chant: “Lai Ching-te! Frozen garlic! Lai Ching-te! Frozen garlic!” Then they sped up: “Lai Ching-te! Lai Ching-te! Lai Ching-te! Frozen garlic! Frozen garlic! Frozen garlic!”

For Ms. Huang, the event, just days before Taiwan’s elections on Saturday, was one of at least 15 rallies she would have chaired at the end of this campaign season.

The rallies and their chants of “frozen garlic” are a central ritual in Taiwan’s democracy. The rival parties showcase their candidates and policies under flashing stage lights, accompanied by banners, chants, singers and celebrities. Some feature dancers with tight outfits and flirty moves not often seen on stage during US presidential campaigns.

The job of MCs like Ms. Huang, who are usually politicians or activists with a powerful voice and a melodramatic delivery, is to fuel the otherwise dull presentation of candidates by their parties, almost always in their campaign jackets: green for the Democratic Progressives, white and blue for the nationalists.

Standing just over five feet tall, Ms. Huang is such a skilled — and, frankly, loud — master of the art that she coaches other Democratic Progressive Party activists in organizing rallies.

“My job is to bring out the emotion and passion of the crowd,” Ms. Huang, who heads a farmers’ association when she is not campaigning, said in an interview. It’s crucial to warm up the audience to the star candidate, she said. “When it’s time for the grand entrance, you don’t want everyone just standing there waving the flag; you have to light a fire in their hearts.”

She had some advice for preserving vocal cords during as many as three rallies a day: “If you don’t use your abdominal strength, you’ll be ruined after one show.”

During Taiwan’s elections, bands of musicians, dancers, singers and technicians support the rallies, which are held every evening in the final week of the campaign.

At one Nationalist Party meeting in Tainan, a city in southern Taiwan, Wang Chien-kang looked up from the side of the stage, stroking and hitting his keyboard to create the right soundtrack for the politicians. A drum roll when introducing a candidate. Ominous electric orchestra at the mention of the opposition. A clash of cymbals to mark the punchline of a joke.

“You have to pay attention to the emotions they show on stage,” said Mr. Wang, who in his dark vest looked like a music school professor who had stumbled into the commotion. “Then you have to come up with the right background for it. There is no point in doing homework in advance. You draw on your experience.”

Some artists and technicians work to support their party; others, including Mr. Wang, do it for whichever party pays.

“Those who like us and are willing to sign us up; we do not choose between political positions and would like to put on a show for everyone,” said Gao Ying-jhe, an artist whose company had just warmed up the Tainan meeting with a somewhat tense electro-dance routine.

The dance put those present in the right mood, he said. “At first people don’t know each other, but because they have this more relaxed downtime, they start doing things they don’t normally do.”

Demonstrations in Taiwan have increased as multi-party democracy replaced decades of martial law and authoritarian rule under nationalists starting in the 1990s. The Democratic Progressive Party, which has helped speed the democratic transition, has made the rallies, known as “wave-making rallies,” part of its brand.

“In the beginning, the Democratic Progressive Party had this image of violent resistance, so I think they softened their image” with these rallies, said Chien Li-ying, one of the screenwriters for a Taiwanese Netflix drama about party campaign strategists. Taiwanese voters expect their candidates to show a “human touch,” Ms. Chien said.

“Whether you can show up and interact with the people is very important,” she added.

The meetings help ‘strengthen the involvement of the supporters’ Ho Hsin Chun, a Democratic Progressive lawmaker in central Taiwan said in an interview. The people who show up are mostly committed supporters, she said, but they come out feeling like they matter: “You really have to energetically get votes for me, energetically encourage everyone you know to commit to running to vote.”

For candidates, election season also means visits to temples, where they bow at altars and burn incense to local gods, such as Mazu, the goddess of the sea. It also means “street sweepers,” where candidates and their supporters walk briskly through neighborhoods, knocking on doors, shaking hands and urging residents to vote for them. Campaigning politicians also sometimes attend weddings and funerals.

The two leading presidential candidates – Mr Lai of the Democratic Progressive Party and Hou Yu-ih of the opposition Nationalist Party – have spent much of the past month taking to the streets and attending rallies.

Some attendees show up spontaneously and go to the waiting seats and standing areas. Others are invited or persuaded to come along by local party organizers who lead them to their assigned seats, with banners at the ready.

Some Taiwanese politicians cringe in embarrassment when asked about the meetings. Mature democracies would not need such time-consuming, expensive glasses, some would say privately. But Taiwan’s enthusiasm for the rituals of democracy stands out at a time when many Western democracies are struggling with an excess of citizen disillusionment.

“Of course, you also find many Taiwanese who are very cynical about their politics,” he said Mark Harrisona senior lecturer at the University of Tasmania in Australia who studies Taiwan’s political culture, “but what ultimately brings 50,000 people forward to a meeting is a belief in their democracy, and especially right now that commitment has something to do with the rest of the teach the world.”

Yet age is catching up with rallies. They have long attracted mainly older supporters, and the crowds look even grayer these days as younger Taiwanese tend to be less attached to traditional parties and politics. (Ko Wen-je, a candidate of the new, rebellious Taiwan People’s Party, is an exception who has drawn many young supporters to his rallies.)

“Most of my friends don’t like to talk about politics,” said Lin Yi-hsien, 23, one of the few younger faces at the Chiayi gathering. “I come here because I like the lively atmosphere and the Taiwanese values ​​it radiates.”

Jacky Liu, a 66-year-old musician who attended the Nationalist Party event in Tainan, said he generally disliked such mass gatherings and was persuaded to go by his wife and friends. Still, he seemed to be enjoying himself, waving and singing in his brightly colored hat with a floral brim.

“Of course, I was forced to come,” he said. “But no one can avoid my thoughts.”