A local business tycoon involved in the case called it “an amazing and amusing soap opera of AA class.” Douglas Hsu, chairman of the Far Eastern Group, vehemently denied an accusation from Chen's wife, former first lady Wu Shu-chen, who dropped a bombshell this week that Hsu was among a score of Taiwan's business magnates who have donated millions to her to gain special advantage.

It is a soap opera indeed. But it deserves a triple-A rating because it is also absurd. This could be a real-time, longest-running soap opera in Taiwan's history. If the episodes so far have been riveting, you ain't seen nothing yet. The trials have not yet begun. But the criminal investigations and pre-trial hearings have been “amusing and amazing” enough to make the viewers agog.

This week, at the pre-trial hearings at Taipei's district court, Chen Shui-bian stunned the country with a series of amazing revelations: Former president Lee Teng-hui and his pro-independence Taiwan Solidarity Union (TSU) received Chinese communist money totaling NT$200 million to NT$300 million; and President Ma had “intimate relations” with male entertainer and former ICRT DJ, Chocolate.

Chen's broadside was indeed amusing. To accuse Lee Teng-hui, the spiritual leader of Taiwan independence, of taking money from his archenemy is far-fetched at best, and ludicrous at worst. Anybody with a bit of horse sense would be amused.

Insinuating that President Ma engaged in homosexual activity with a black Canadian who was expelled from Taiwan for allegedly having venereal disease is simply uncouth. Chen told the court that during the 2008 presidential campaign, prosecutor Wu Wen-chung got hold of a DVD proving the relationship, but then pressured the “green camp” of Frank Hsieh, candidate for the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), not to make the DVD public. It should come as no surprise that even many in the green camp think of this as vile.

Judging from the non-sequiturs he raised at the hearings, one cannot but wonder if Chen has a bit of sanity left. When asked by presiding judge, Tsai Shou-hsun, “do you think these are relevant to your case?,” he had the temerity to say “I do.” He denied categorically that he had done anything wrong, even if many key defendants in the case, including his wife and many of his henchmen, have pleaded guilty.

The most unsavory thought, however, is the possibility that Chen could be ingeniously setting the stage for an insanity plea. The string of seemingly bipolar, psychotic behavior during his hearings certainly indicates such a plan. Chen appeared in court Tuesday after ending a three-day hunger strike, complete with unkempt hair and a mildewed suit, to demonstrate, in his words, his “determination to die” in protest of “political and judicial persecution” by the Ma administration. He looked weak and haggard, telling the court that he lost sleep and did not feel well.

But when it was time for his defense, he sprang back to life, firing salvo after salvo against Lee Teng-hui, Ma Ying-jeou and even the late Chiang Kai-shek. The judges and prosecutors were not spared, either. One minute a victimized pauper, the next minute a vivacious lawyer — eloquent, steely-willed, vigorous, vindictive and combative.

During this week's hearings, Chen also showed his potential as a terrorist. While raving about his enemies, Chen told the court that he had more than 70 “bombs” left at his disposal, yet to be detonated. If he wanted to conjure an image of a human bomb with explosives strapped around his waist, mission accomplished. No doubt, he believes in mutually assured destruction.

Then at the cusp of his attacks, right after calling judges and prosecutors “political tools” of persecution, Chen dips into subservient praise, lauding the same conspirators for “seriousness” in doing their “admirable” jobs. He begged the court for “empathy” towards his awkward situation where a former president is pilloried in handcuffs before the public. He asked to be released on the assurance that he'd never skip bail and desert his disabled wife.

Chen's emotional disconnect certainly shows thought disorder, and while he'll be hard-pressed to absolve himself of criminal responsibility, he can argue lack of mental competency as a reason why he would be unfit for trial.

Greed doesn't lead to psychosis, so Chen Shui-bian is really just a talented actor and director in the “Bian family corruption scandal.” The images of his raised hands in cuffs and his feigned illness shown in the ambulance made international headlines. Even behind bars, he is able to call the shots and prove that he can make the people dance to his music.

Will he emerge from his troubles unscathed? The answer to this question is crucial to the future of this country, which has been torn asunder by ideology and partisan politics over a generation presided over by Lee Teng-hui and Chen Shui-bian. It is a lost generation in which the distinction between right and wrong has become blurred, while the color of politics — blue or green — has taken command.

The judiciary is the last defense for the barrier between right and wrong. The judiciary should be independent and above politics. Whether Taiwan's judiciary is able to withstand this test will be seen by all of the island's citizens in this “trial of the century,” which, in fact, is not only the trial for a wayward former president, but also the nation's rickety judiciary.