What they have produced is tough to judge, as democracy is still relatively new to Taiwan. But the results do seem to be falling short of expectations.

Although roughly 80 per cent of the country's 23 million citizens calling themselves benshengren (provincials) are happy to be no longer ruled by the other 20 per cent they call waishengren (mainlanders), they do not seem to be united in their views of how exactly they should be ruled.

This has become evident from the latest round of elections held at the weekend in the municipalities of Taipei and Kaohsiung. Despite claims that the polls were a show of anger against the administration of President Chen Shui-bian, what they really showed was that Taiwan's political battle lines are becoming increasingly etched in stone.

Personalities of the mayoral races aside, look at the statistics. In Taipei, Mr Chen's party, the Democratic Progressive Party, took 28.5 per cent of the vote for the city council. This is nearly the same as the 29.8 per cent it received in 1994 when Mr Chen won the race for mayor, and only slightly less than the 30.3 per cent it took in Ma Ying-jeou's 1998 defeat of Mr Chen. When you combine it with what its partner in the so-called 'pan-green' alliance, Mr Lee's Taiwan Solidarity Union, pulled in, it is 32.2 per cent. The number rises only slightly for representatives to the national legislature from Taipei.

To save readers having to wade through any more figures, suffice to say that in the opposite 'pan-blue' corner, it has become even clearer that the percentages are just being shared among different characters.

What was once a large Kuomintang block now consists of the Kuomintang, the People's First Party and the New Party. All pursue basically the same agenda against the Democratic Progressive Party and Taiwan Solidarity Union. You can bet this is not how Mr Lee thought it would pan out when he introduced direct elections at every level of government in Taiwan during his tenure as president. And especially not when you consider his overwhelming victory in the 1996 presidential elections.

From 1996 to 2000, it became obvious that Mr Lee's primary aim with the establishment of elections was to empower the majority of Taiwanese to throw off the half-century-old yoke of the Kuomintang, the party he was leading at the time.

What happened along the way, however, was that the aspirations of the masses matured. Once the old guard of waishengren were deposed from within the Kuomintang, elections came to be seen as something more than a revolutionary weapon. People naturally started to ask more critical questions of their revolutionary heroes such as: how do we get direct links with China? And, perhaps more importantly: why can't you all be as handsome and well-mannered as the nice Mr Ma?

Such ingratitude must surely rile Mr Lee. He did not likely envisage struggling so hard for the establishment of elections in Taiwan, only to see his ideological camp end up with just one-third of the electorate's support.

None of this is a bad thing, of course. Democracy has brought stability to Taiwan society - just not the kind of stability desired by all of its ambitious politicians.

It would be intriguing, however, to know what the leaders in Zhongnanhai really think of democracy in Taiwan.

A year ago, I asked Andrew Nathan, a professor of political science at Columbia University in New York, what he thought the Communist Party could learn from elections in Taiwan. His answer: 'That if they hold them, they might lose them.' Mr Lee would surely concur.

Anthony Lawrance is the Post's managing editor