Wei's "atypical" yet great career goes to show how testing might be the least critical part of success.

Born into a prominent Tainan family, and growing up in the era of the dangwai (non-KMT) opposition movement, Wei became politically aware after the 1979 Kaohsiung Incident. He admits that he wanted to be a political analyst or a writer and only became a lawyer due to family pressure.

Before graduating with a law degree, he tested into a position as a court clerk but was not interested in the job. Not long after graduating, he tried to take an exam to become a newspaper reporter at the Commercial Times, but he says his family stopped him before the second round of the test (his sister, who worked in the industry, told the examiner, "This kid has to take the bar exam, don't hire him!"). Wei, who is independent-minded yet values his family's wishes, reluctantly reported to court as a clerk, but later tested into graduate school of law and started preparing for the bar exam. He was not a good test-taker, however, so it was an "eight-year struggle" before he finally passed.

Interestingly, those eight years of struggle just happened to coincide with a liberalization of the licensing system.

The KMT government had long maintained a low pass rate for the bar exam, and furthermore gave priority to military judges changing careers. To the dangwai movement, the strict controls were indicative of the government's injustices. Despite the protests of the bar associations (especially outside Taipei), the pass rate remained under 3%.

In 1988, a National Taiwan University law graduate leapt from a tall building to his death after more than a decade of study for the bar exam. That person's college classmate, legislator Ju Gaojeng, who was known as "Mr. Rambo" for his combative tactics, wrote an article for a newspaper about the incident entitled "The Death of a University Student." During hearings in the legislature, Ju also leapt up onto the tables and let loose. Failed students handed out flyers at the gates of the testing center in response. Due to the uproar, the next year 288 examinees were accepted (making for a pass rate of 14.06%). Wei was one of them.

Looking back, Wei feels that he might have failed by one point several times because his handwriting was sloppy, or because he wasn't putting his all into preparing. "I believed I had the necessary smarts," he says. "All I had to do was keep taking the test and I was eventually going to pass." But more importantly, "If I'd made it right away, I wouldn't have gone to graduate school, and I wouldn't have gone back for a doctorate had I first become a lawyer."

Wei finds a silver lining to these clouds: Unlike peers who were skilled test-takers, his poor test results forced him to keep studying. It was this early training that later enabled him to introduce foreign legal theory and labor and human rights law precedents to Taiwan and dedicate himself to legal reform. It also gave him opportunities to work in education and for the public interest. "I think this is a more fulfilling lifestyle," he says.

Working to the top

Wei approves of the decision to adopt a higher pass rate for the bar exam: "Raising the quota assists in raising professionalization, which is a good thing for people receiving legal services."

But if you want to be a lawyer, "passing the bar" is only the first step, not the final destination. Wei advises younger hopefuls that with the current quota set at 8%, three years of preparation should be sufficient. Then they should work at a mid- to large-size firm encountering all sorts of cases. After two years, they should have some funds saved up (they shouldn't rely on their parents), and they can decide whether to go back to school, become a judge, or keep working as a lawyer. Whatever the case, they should work toward their own professional goals. That is the most important qualification for success in the legal profession.

As for himself, he says he has a scholar's nature. He enjoys the quiet pleasures of preparing classes and taking notes. Since the anti-corruption protests, he's seen the second handover of power in Taiwan's history. Curious outsiders ask him whether he's gone from the green camp to the blue or whether he has any political intentions of his own. He answers, "My idea is that a lawyer is of the opposition, always observing those in power, because it is almost always the case that the one violating human rights is the ruler."