For all the talk of its unruly political culture, there is no Chinese society more civil than Taiwan's. Anyone who has spent a week on the island will agree. Whether you have been befriended by elderly qi gong practitioners in the park, made to smile by giggling shopkeepers ashamed of their poor English skills, or charmed by barkeepers who insist on introducing the nice waiguoren to locals, it is hard to come away with a bad thought about the warm and polite people. If only the same could be said of its bureaucracy. Trips to Taiwan's visa-issuing offices have few equals as a test of patience. Even if you have had the sense to call ahead and ask which documents are required, seldom can you get it right on the first visit, and time must be spent collecting more papers for chopping. It is the same for locals, whether paying taxes, registering companies, changing schools or redeveloping property. That is, for those who do not keep two sets of accounts, falsify documents or ignore the more ridiculous regulations altogether. None of this self-strangulating red tape, however, is the fault of the people who smile and pinch the cheeks of every cute foreign child they bump into. Most of it was brought over from the mainland in 1949 or adopted from the previous 50-year Japanese administration. It has been perpetuated by institutions that were created with neither the participation nor interest of the majority of the people they serve. The bureaucracy's longevity should come as little surprise, given this budding democracy's political evolution in the eight years since its first real presidential election. A self-sufficient machine, it easily escaped the butcher's knife while more important issues were being debated, such as whether one country or two exist on either side of the strait. It looks now, however, that its time has finally come. All that stands in the way of it getting the mother of all streamlinings is Beijing. Hard as this may be for some to believe, the central government does not care that Taiwan has a constitution designed to administer territory which was last held by the Republic of China more than half a century ago. Nor does it concern anyone in Zhongnanhai that Taiwan spends 4.8 per cent of its gross domestic product on government personnel costs - twice as much as the United States. What bothers those with their fingers on the trigger of 500 missiles along the Fujian coast is whether the ruling Democratic Progressive Party can fix the island's administrative woes without touching the constitution. Naturally, this is impossible. Having been given a mandate - as most democratically elected governments are - to make the trains run on time, the DPP has set itself two main tasks. Together with its ally, the Taiwan Solidarity Union, it aims to win a majority in the year-end legislative election so it can pass laws empowering it to make the trains run on time. Then it wants to address the hard work of 'government re-engineering' to cut costs and improve efficiency. Part of this involves cutting away two whole branches of government and revamping its ridiculous legislative election system. The first task seems easy. The opposition alliance of the Kuomintang and People's First Party is in disarray following the bitterly disputed March presidential election. The second task will have the region biting its nails as Chen Shui-bian uses his final four years as president to secure his legacy. Success will depend on his international communication skills, especially when dealing with Beijing, Washington and Tokyo. Taipei could be the hottest spot in Asia over the next 42 months. Anthony Lawrance is the Post's special projects editor