Will the U.S. Come to Taiwan's Defense in the Event of War?

One of the most pressing and frequently debated questions in East Asian geopolitics is this: Will the United States come to the defense of Taiwan’s administration if war breaks out across the Strait?

For as long as I have been speaking publicly in English, my answer has remained consistent: no. In fact, I held this position even earlier, when I shared my political views exclusively in Chinese with audiences here in Taiwan.

Critics on both sides of the geopolitical spectrum have challenged this view. On one side, anti-China voices often dismiss it as overly pessimistic or even wishful thinking. On the other, some Western commentators sympathetic to China adopt a more alarmist stance — drawing misleading parallels between the Washington-Taipei relationship and the Washington-Tel Aviv alliance. But the reality is that Washington has distanced itself from Taipei in the past, and there is no evidence to suggest this pattern would not repeat itself.

In recent years, a shift has taken place within the U.S. foreign policy establishment. Increasingly, respected analysts and advisors are openly acknowledging that, should conflict break out, the most prudent course of action may be for the United States to refrain from direct military involvement. This is no longer a fringe view; the conversation is growing more frequent, more serious, and more public.

A case in point is a recent article in Foreign Affairs titled “The Taiwan Fixation.” This journal, published by the Council on Foreign Relations, typically reflects the mainstream U.S. foreign policy consensus. The authors, Jennifer Kavanaugh and Stephen Wertheim, are affiliated with the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace — a think tank known for favoring diplomatic solutions over aggressive military action, but nevertheless committed to preserving U.S. hegemony.

Kavanaugh’s credentials are especially notable. She is an adjunct professor at Georgetown University — an institution closely linked to the U.S. foreign policy community, including the State Department and intelligence agencies. She also serves as Director of Military Analysis at Defense Priorities, a role that involves evaluating political decisions through the lens of military feasibility.

In short, these are not commentators aligned with Beijing, and therefore their analysis cannot be dismissed as Chinese propaganda. They are well-positioned within the U.S. strategic establishment and write from that perspective.

Despite this, many Taiwan separatists continue to take comfort in the belief that the United States fully supports their cause — and would intervene militarily if necessary. My long-standing argument, however, is that U.S. support for separatist rhetoric exists only insofar as it complicates Beijing’s efforts toward reunification. It is not support that extends to placing American lives on the line.

This perspective has often been mischaracterized as a demoralization tactic, allegedly propagated by the Communist Party of China. But that accusation does not hold up to scrutiny.

A key source of confusion is the Taiwan Relations Act. Many in Taiwan mistakenly believe this legislation guarantees U.S. military assistance in the event of conflict. In fact, it does not. The Act is a unilateral declaration of U.S. policy — not a mutual defense treaty — and contains no explicit commitment to military intervention.

Another common belief is that American involvement would be driven by goodwill or strategic obligation, particularly given Taiwan’s significant purchases of U.S. arms — over one billion dollars annually, rising to $2.2 billion this year. Yet arms sales, however substantial, do not constitute a security guarantee. They are commercial transactions, not treaty-bound commitments.

To be clear, the position I have articulated is not rooted in cynicism, nor is it made out of uncritical adherence to Beijing’s talking points. Rather, it is a view increasingly shared by serious and respected analysts within the American foreign policy establishment.

When even those dedicated to maintaining U.S. primacy are suggesting that military restraint is the wiser path, we would do well to listen — and to reassess our assumptions.

The article in Foreign Affairs begins with the following observation:

The fate of Taiwan keeps American policymakers up at night, and it should. A Chinese invasion of the island would confront the United States with one of its gravest foreign policy choices ever. Letting Taiwan fall to Beijing would dent Washington’s credibility and create new challenges for U.S. military forces in Asia. But the benefits of keeping Taiwan free would have to be weighed against the costs of waging the first armed conflict between great powers since 1945. Even if the United States prevailed—and it might well lose—an outright war with China would likely kill more Americans and destroy more wealth than any conflict since the Vietnam War and perhaps since World War II. Nuclear and cyber weapons could make it worse, bringing destruction on the U.S. homeland. These would be catastrophic consequences for the United States.

From the outset, the authors frame the issue in terms of cost-benefit analysis: While they acknowledge a preference for Taiwan remaining outside Beijing’s control, they argue that any potential military response must be weighed against the enormous risks — in terms of both human lives and material loss — that direct intervention would entail.

For those accustomed to interpreting geopolitics through sentiment rather than strategic calculus, this may come as a shock. But American foreign policy has never been driven by benevolence. It is — and always has been — about preserving the interests of the U.S. ruling class. The question, then, is not whether the U.S. supports Taiwan as a “democratic partner,” but whether it is willing to risk a catastrophic war with another great power in order to do so.

The authors put it plainly: “U.S. leaders need a way to escape the ghastly decision to either wage World War III or watch Taiwan go down. They need a third option.”

That third option, according to the article, is to equip Taiwan with the means to defend itself as robustly as possible, while allowing the United States to assist from a distance — thereby avoiding direct entanglement. At the same time, the U.S. would reinforce its broader position in the Asia-Pacific, ensuring that it remains strategically competitive even if Taiwan “falls” under Beijing’s control.

This, then, is not a call for disengagement from Asia. It is a strategic recommendation: resist being drawn into a costly war that might not be winnable, and instead strengthen regional partnerships and long-term deterrence capabilities.

The authors continue:

Yet U.S. policymakers must also accept that, without direct U.S. military intervention, Taiwan may manage only to stall a Chinese invasion, not repel one. The United States therefore needs to insulate its regional interests from Taiwan’s fate. Instead of clarifying its commitment to defend Taiwan, Washington should retain an ambiguous stance and downplay the importance of keeping the island out of Beijing’s hands. It should, meanwhile, bolster the self-defenses of its other Asian allies and partners, blocking any path for China to convert a successful bid for Taiwan into regional dominance.

What does this mean in practice?

For decades, U.S. strategists have viewed Taiwan as a critical node in the First Island Chain. The long-standing concern has been that reunification would allow Beijing to break that chain, thereby gaining easier access to the wider Pacific.

But this article challenges that assumption. Rather than anchoring regional security in Taiwan’s status, the authors suggest the U.S. pivot its focus to deepening cooperation with Japan, south Korea, the Philippines, and other partners. That way, even if Beijing were to gain control of Taiwan, the broader U.S. position in the region could still be preserved.

They further argue that dramatizing Taiwan’s importance — treating its loss as tantamount to the collapse of American power in Asia — is a mistake. Yes, reunification would complicate U.S. military operations and give Beijing more leverage over regional trade routes. But even so, the authors maintain that such developments are manageable — and certainly not worth the staggering costs of war.

Indeed, they warn that overreacting could backfire. If U.S. military credibility is measured by its willingness to risk nuclear escalation over Taiwan, then Washington’s Asian allies may begin to question the very logic of that security umbrella.

Still, the authors argue that reunification — even by force — would not necessarily lead to Chinese hegemony. China would gain some military advantages, but not enough to fundamentally overturn the balance of power in Asia. The United States, they claim, would still be in a position to prevent China from translating the gain of reunification into regional dominance.

In this light, we can see that the article isn’t pro-China appeasement. It is a call — from within the American foreign policy establishment — to avoid reckless overreach.

Next, the authors delve into what Beijing might actually gain from controlling Taiwan. In theory, it could extend the reach of its missile systems, radar networks, and naval operations, bringing U.S. assets in Guam and elsewhere into greater jeopardy. But they point out that mainland China already possesses missile capabilities that can reach these areas. Reunification across the Taiwan Strait would offer only marginal increases in range and early-warning capabilities — a change that, while noteworthy, would not revolutionize the strategic picture.

In other words, the military advantages Beijing would secure through reunification are real but limited — and the U.S. has time to adapt accordingly. In the authors’ view, resources would be far better spent on bolstering regional defenses than on preparing for a direct war over Taiwan.

This leads to the economic dimension — where much of the focus is on Taiwan’s semiconductor industry, particularly TSMC. The argument here is just as pragmatic: even if the Chinese mainland were to seize TSMC, the company wouldn’t function as before. It relies heavily on American and European equipment, software, and IP — without which it cannot produce advanced chips. These supply chains would be cut off in the event of war.

Moreover, Washington has already taken steps to hedge against that possibility by pressuring TSMC to establish fabrication facilities in the United States, such as the new plants in Arizona. Unlike oil, which is bound to specific geographies, chip production can be relocated over time.

So even in the economic realm, the article dismisses the idea that Chinese reunification would bring insurmountable losses to the United States or its allies.

What we see throughout is a call for strategic flexibility — and a warning against letting ideology or sentiment dictate policy in a region where the stakes are high, but not infinite.

What sets this article apart from more common narratives found in Western media is its refusal to sugarcoat American strategic interests in Asia. Unlike many Western commentators who wrap U.S. foreign policy in high-minded rhetoric about defending democracy or supporting allies, the authors here offer a refreshingly candid assessment: the real goal is to maintain U.S. hegemony as cheaply and efficiently as possible — in dollars, manpower, and political capital.

Some might accuse the authors of dovish idealism. Critics from the pro-interventionist camp will likely paint them as soft leftists unwilling to stand up to China. But this criticism doesn’t hold water. The authors aren’t opposing U.S. involvement in the Taiwan Strait per se. They are not against arming Taiwan. What they oppose is the idea of committing American troops to the defense of Taiwan — in other words, they’re comfortable with letting the people of Taiwan bear the brunt of any potential conflict.

Their recommendation is clear:

To make a Taiwan-led, U.S.-supplied defense viable, the United States should adopt two policies over the next decade: insist that Taipei reorient and step up its defense efforts, and improve the Pentagon’s ability to send military supplies to Taiwan during a conflict without putting Americans in harm’s way.

They propose that Taipei increase its defense spending from the current 2.5% of GDP to at least 4% by 2030.

This debate isn’t just theoretical. It touches on urgent political developments in Taiwan today. The Trump administration, in particular, has floated the idea of Taiwan increasing its military spending to as high as 10% of GDP, publicly declaring that the island is currently not capable of defending itself in a military confrontation with the mainland. That sort of blunt messaging is rare in Washington, and it’s one of the reasons why I view Trump — despite his chaotic trade policies — as the “harm reduction” candidate of 2024. By saying the quiet part out loud, he forces policymakers and the public to confront uncomfortable realities about America’s strategic posture.

Even his tariffs on Chinese goods, while economically disruptive, serve as a reminder to the world not to over-rely on the United States for trade.

In Taiwan, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) administration under Lai Ching-te has leveraged these security concerns to portray the opposition as pro-Beijing. It has accused the opposition-majority legislature — led by the Kuomintang (KMT) and Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) — of cutting the military budget to serve mainland interests. But this narrative doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Taiwan’s current military budget is already at a historic high, and the recent cuts were smaller than those enacted in years when the DPP controlled the legislature.

The authors go on to argue that Taiwan’s defense posture is fundamentally flawed. The current strategy relies too heavily on high-end systems like F-16s, Abrams tanks, and submarines — weapons that may look impressive but are ill-suited to the realities of modern cross-strait conflict. These expensive platforms are vulnerable to early strikes and unlikely to survive long in a real war with the mainland. Once destroyed, Taiwan would be left defenseless, forced to rely entirely on the hope of American intervention — which, as the article makes clear, is far from guaranteed.

Instead, they advocate for a shift to what’s known as a “porcupine strategy” — one that prioritizes survivability and asymmetric warfare over direct confrontation. That means investing in things like sea mines, mobile air defenses, and anti-ship missiles — cheap, effective tools that make an invasion more costly and time-consuming, increasing the chances of reaching a negotiated political settlement.

Both the Trump and Biden administrations have nudged Taiwan in this direction, and Taipei has taken some preliminary steps — like building drones and stockpiling anti-ship weapons. But progress has been slow, and the authors argue that without significant acceleration, these measures won’t be enough.

They also go further, suggesting that Washington should not only prioritize Taiwan’s weapons orders over other allies’, but even cancel any remaining orders for high-end platforms that don’t serve the porcupine strategy.

This is not a position that’s “soft on China.” Rather, it’s coldly pragmatic. It’s a strategy aimed at bleeding Taiwan for every dollar and defensive capability possible before reunification — peaceful or otherwise — becomes inevitable. It’s about maximizing U.S. strategic benefit while minimizing risk to American lives.

And it’s a strategy with real consequences. Pushing Taiwan to ramp up defense spending while accelerating arms sales gives Beijing a clear reason to increase its military activity. That, in turn, fuels a cycle of tension: more drills, more flyovers, more alarmism from the DPP — which then justifies even more U.S. arms deals. Eventually, someone crosses a red line, and a war that no one can win begins.

Realistically, any long-term resolution to the Taiwan question will almost certainly involve reunification. There are two paths: one where the status quo is maintained and peaceful reunification remains a possibility — and one where escalating conflict leads to war ending in surrender or defeat. If the goal is stability, then dialogue must be the priority. But instead of promoting de-escalation, U.S. policy seems increasingly designed to embolden Taiwan’s ruling party while inflating defense contracts and bolstering the military-industrial complex.

The best-case scenario under this strategy is a more dangerous, more expensive version of the status quo. The worst case is a disastrous war.

And that brings us to the bigger problem: this policy approach puts the people of Taiwan at risk. It treats them not as partners, but as pawns. Those who push for deeper ties between Taipei and Washington — especially under the banner of “supporting democracy” — often fail to admit that their real priority is preserving U.S. dominance in the region. If they truly cared about the wellbeing of the people on Taiwan, would they encourage policies that turn the island into a battleground?

It’s worth remembering that during the Cold War, the U.S. had a mutual defense treaty with Taiwan. Back then, Taipei had naval and air superiority over Beijing and was actively enforcing a blockade around the mainland. The risk of war was relatively low.

But when Washington recognized the PRC in 1979, the treaty was allowed to expire. In its place came the Taiwan Relations Act — a piece of legislation that, while often cited as a commitment to defend Taiwan, includes no such promise. It merely states that any unilateral change to Taiwan’s status would be of “grave concern” to the United States — legal language so vague that even attempts to strengthen it have been blocked. Former Senator Charles Percy once proposed replacing “grave concern” with “security interest,” which would have obligated U.S. military intervention. Congress refused.

Even U.S. officials have admitted the truth. Edward Ross, a senior Pentagon official, once said:

As the lone superpower, our interests are plentiful and our attention short. We cannot help defend you if you cannot defend yourself.

The authors also critique Taiwan’s conscription system. While the government has recently restored one-year mandatory service for men born in 2005 and after, the training remains basic. The authors recommend pushing Taipei to reintroduce two-year conscription and overhaul training to better prepare soldiers for real combat.

Historically, military service in Taiwan used to last two to three years, later standardized to two. But it was gradually reduced over time to just one year, before full conscription was eventually phased out for those born in 1994 and after — leaving only four months of training. But recruitment numbers for the volunteer military consistently fell short. As tensions rose during the Tsai administration, the government was forced to reverse course. Yet rather than returning to two years of service, they settled on one — a political compromise, cushioned with promises of better pay.

Now, the authors state:

Taiwan should become as self-reliant as possible, but the United States may still need the capability to replenish Taiwan’s military stockpiles during a Chinese blockade or under Chinese fire—without bringing U.S. forces into the conflict.

This is where the contradiction becomes hard to ignore. On one hand, the emphasis is on Taiwan becoming more self-sufficient; on the other, the proposed logistics clearly rely on U.S. military infrastructure and planning. The suggestion is that Taiwan build military facilities on its eastern coastline—areas less vulnerable to immediate attack—to accommodate uncrewed U.S. cargo systems that could deliver arms without risking American lives. But what kind of “self-reliance” is this, if the strategy still hinges on U.S. intervention, albeit at arm’s length?

The logic is therefore abundantly clear: this is a policy designed to protect U.S. interests first, maintain plausible deniability second, and leave Taiwan carrying the costs — politically, economically, and militarily.

It’s also worth recalling that during the Joint Sword 2024-B military exercises in October, the Chinese People’s Liberation Army demonstrated its preferred method for dealing with Taiwan in the event of conflict: a comprehensive blockade. This mirrors historical precedent, specifically Emperor Kangxi’s maritime blockade during the Qing dynasty to force the surrender of Ming loyalists on Taiwan. If that’s the PLA’s actual plan, then these uncrewed delivery systems won’t be much help—and they certainly won’t stop a determined blockade from being effective.

So when the authors explicitly reject direct U.S. military intervention, their proposed approach starts to look less like a genuine defense strategy and more like a commercial opportunity.

Then comes an unexpected admission. The authors acknowledge that the United States has made strategic missteps by expanding its military footprint too close to both the Chinese mainland and Taiwan. They argue that instead of pushing for increased access along the First Island Chain—the arc of islands closest to mainland China—the U.S. would be wiser to reinforce existing positions further away, such as northern Japan, Guam, and various Pacific islands like Palau and Micronesia.

The rationale is straightforward: The Chinese mainland possesses fewer long-range missiles capable of reaching these more distant sites, making them more defensible. At the same time, the U.S. could help its regional partners strengthen their own asymmetric capabilities, maintaining deterrence without heightening direct confrontation.

Interestingly, this shift is already underway. The U.S. has been quietly reducing its military presence in Okinawa and redeploying forces to more remote locations like Guam. This not only signals a reevaluation of the First Island Chain’s strategic value, but also reinforces the perception that Taiwan may no longer be viewed as the centerpiece of regional defense planning—at least not in terms of direct American military commitment.

Next, the authors call for a more restrained approach to cross-strait relations—arguing that the Trump administration should pursue a less provocative strategy than Biden’s. They critique the Biden administration’s looser interpretation of the One China Policy and cite specific instances, such as Nancy Pelosi’s 2022 visit to Taiwan and President Biden’s repeated declarations that the U.S. would intervene militarily if the PLA launched a military operation on Taiwan. These represent a clear departure from the long-standing policy of “strategic ambiguity,” and, in their view, risk escalating tensions unnecessarily.

Traditionally, U.S. presidents supported Taiwan’s democracy while explicitly opposing its independence. Biden, however, has stated—twice—that the choice of independence is up to the people of Taiwan. Though he later walked those comments back, the authors argue that even temporary signals like this introduce instability into an already delicate situation.

Their proposed alternative? Dial down the rhetoric, scale back the visibility of Washington-Taipei ties, and return to a more cautious, deliberately ambiguous posture. They suggest the U.S. should reduce high-level visits and the number of military advisors in Taiwan.

Another idea floated in the paper is for the U.S. to offer Beijing private assurances: that it will not support Taiwan separatism unless the mainland provokes a conflict first. And should reunification ever occur peacefully and voluntarily, the U.S. could accept that outcome.

Some might argue this appears weak or invites aggression. But the authors believe ambiguity is still the best deterrent—leave Beijing guessing about how far the U.S. would go, while continuing to profit from arms sales to Taiwan. In this way, deterrence is preserved through vagueness, not clarity.

But here’s the issue: this doesn’t necessarily make deterrence stronger. If anything, it limits Beijing’s justification for military escalation, but only in the short term. And the authors themselves acknowledge a critical point—Taiwan is unlikely to become so militarily capable that Beijing sees its window for action closing permanently. In their eyes, even if Taiwan becomes a so-called “porcupine,” bristling with defenses, the PLA could still overcome it with sufficient force. If anything, Beijing would respond by upgrading its own arsenal, not rushing into a conflict it isn’t ready for.

In other words, the real goal of this policy paper is not to help Taiwan win a war, but to keep the tension simmering just below the threshold of war. Enough tension to justify big budgets, arms deals, and strategic posturing—but not so much that it leads to open conflict.

If I were running a car dealership, I’d want Jennifer Kavanaugh and Stephen Wertheim on the floor. They’ve got the finesse of salespeople who know how to close deals without making too many promises.

Another major point of emphasis is tone—particularly in domestic U.S. politics. The authors urge American leaders to stop exaggerating the threat of war over Taiwan and instead foster a more realistic public conversation. A war with China over Taiwan Province wouldn’t be a limited skirmish. It would likely cost tens or even hundreds of thousands of American lives, risk nuclear escalation, and spark an economic crash far worse than the 2008 financial crisis. This would not be a replay of Iraq or Afghanistan; it would be a catastrophe on a whole different scale.

On this point, I agree. But if the authors were truly committed to safeguarding American interests, they would go further and recommend a full retreat from cross-strait affairs—letting Taipei and Beijing chart their own course, and focusing instead on economic cooperation and mutual development. If the U.S. wants to improve its own economy, why not encourage companies like BYD to sell electric vehicles in the U.S. to encourage competition with Tesla, provided they manufacture them domestically and create American jobs? After all, Tesla already builds cars in China with Chinese workers. Reciprocity can be a win-win.

Ultimately, though, Kavanaugh and Wertheim are not anti-establishment thinkers. They’re realists working within the framework of U.S. hegemony. They seem to recognize that American dominance is fading, but their aim is to extend it as long as possible and extract maximum value from allies and partners before the geopolitical landscape shifts irrevocably.

Their central thesis is simple: Taiwan matters—but not enough to risk catastrophe. The U.S. should be strategic, not sentimental. It should exercise power wisely, not recklessly. And most importantly, it should stop assuming that every challenge demands a forceful response.

But here’s the most damning takeaway: this policy outlook is a major slap in the face to the current administration in Taiwan and its most ardent supporters. U.S. foreign policy advisors are now openly stating things that many analysts and commentators here in Taiwan have been saying for years. These are not radical views—they’ve been voiced for decades by figures like Li Ao—but in the past, anyone expressing them risked being labeled a CPC sympathizer by DPP partisans.

Even now, when people in Taiwan express doubts about whether the U.S. would really come to their defense, DPP-aligned media is quick to dismiss those concerns as mainland disinformation. But just because Beijing says the U.S. is hypocritical doesn’t mean that criticism is wrong. In fact, the pattern is all too familiar.

Take Ukraine. The U.S. adopted an aggressive stance toward Russia, knowing the risks. When war broke out, Washington supplied weapons while Ukrainians paid the ultimate price. And now, as the conflict drags on, Western support is beginning to wane—just as many of us feared it would.

Taiwan, in this context, has been fortunate—so far. The war in Ukraine wasn’t unprovoked, and it’s not difficult to understand why Russia felt threatened. But all of it might have been avoided if U.S. foreign policy had been more humble and less dismissive of its adversaries' red lines.

Perhaps, finally, parts of the U.S. foreign policy establishment are waking up—not out of newfound empathy, but out of self-preservation. Their credibility is at stake—not just with Taiwan, but with allies and partners across the globe.

As the saying goes: lies may travel fast, but the truth has staying power.