Rethinking Defence In Taiwan

Abstract: Taiwan must rethink its defence strategy due to a rising threat from China’s overwhelming military and industrial capabilities. However, Taiwan faces critical imbalances in troop strength, defence budgets, and technological infrastructure, emphasising the need for an asymmetric approach to deterrence. In this respect, Taiwan could draw lessons from Ukraine’s civilian-led drone innovation and Israel’s integrated civil preparedness to formulate policies that harness its semiconductor leadership and technological expertise. By empowering civil society through coordinated training, decentralised drone production, and dual-use infrastructure, Taiwan can transform its vulnerabilities into a resilient defence ecosystem, capable of countering China’s strategic advantages.

Problem statement: How can Taiwan overcome its strategic disadvantages in defence and mobilise civil society for asymmetric resilience in the face of rising geopolitical threats?

So what?: Taiwan’s government, civil society, and private sector must collaborate to integrate civilians into national defence frameworks. This includes fostering technological innovation, decentralising preparedness, and creating policies that empower citizens to act as a distributed defence force before conflict arises.

Rethinking Military Duty in an Age of Imbalance

Both Taiwan and South Korea maintain mandatory conscription, yet neither can claim its legitimacy is secure. In recent years, these systems have faced not just dissatisfaction but public scandal and systemic evasion. In Taiwan, where the duration of compulsory service is one year for most conscripts following recent reforms, the 2025’s most visible draft-dodging scandal implicated over a dozen entertainers, including a pop star, who were granted fraudulent psychiatric exemptions while continuing to make public appearances.[1] In South Korea, where conscription lasts 18–21 months depending on the branch, prosecutors uncovered a 137-person network that falsified epileptic symptoms, with assistance from brokers, to escape military duty.[2] These are not isolated stories. They reflect a collapsing social contract around what it means to serve.

In Taiwan, where the duration of compulsory service is one year for most conscripts following recent reforms, the 2025’s most visible draft-dodging scandal implicated over a dozen entertainers.

Behind these scandals is a generation increasingly alienated from the institutions that claim to protect them. In Taiwan, surveys highlight growing dissatisfaction among conscripts, with many expressing concerns that military service disrupts career development—especially in fast-moving tech fields, where employers prioritise certifications and up-to-date technical skills over military training.[3] South Korean youth echo similar concerns, as public support for transitioning to an all-volunteer force has been steadily increasing.[4] The old model—built on obligation, obedience, and uniformity—is being rejected by a new generation raised on autonomy, transparency, and technological fluency.

Unfortunately, this erosion of trust occurs at a time when threats are escalating. Chinese satellite imagery analyses and simulated blockade drills in 2026 and 2027 indicate an increasingly open preparation for a cross-Strait military confrontation.[5] Taiwan cannot afford to wait. The risk is not that the country will fall due to a lack of weapons, but rather from a lack of societal preparedness. Beijing’s calculus is built on the assumption that Taiwan will remain politically divided, socially distracted, and psychologically unprepared.

Chinese satellite imagery analyses and simulated blockade drills in 2026 and 2027 indicate an increasingly open preparation for a cross-Strait military confrontation.

The question is not just how to repair the draft but how to replace a fading institution with a credible, democratic model of defence.

Why Taiwan Cannot Rely on Conventional Deterrence

Taiwan’s shrinking conscript base is only the tip of a deeper strategic imbalance. What confronts Taiwan is not just a numerical disadvantage in troops or aircraft, but a structural asymmetry that spans defence budgets, industrial output, space infrastructure, and societal mobilisation. The conventional gap is already daunting.

The People’s Republic of China (PRC) maintains more than 2 million active-duty troops and over 2,600 ballistic and cruise missiles, compared to Taiwan’s roughly 170,000 active-duty personnel and fewer than 300 missile systems.[6] The PRC’s official 2024 defence budget is 1.67 trillion yuan (about USD $232 billion), but more accurate estimates place it closer to USD $471 billion using adjusted metrics—over 20 times Taiwan’s budget of USD $19.1 billion.[7] This disparity is operationally critical: the PLA Rocket Force can saturate Taiwan’s airspace with missiles in minutes, while Taiwan’s air defence systems are limited in intercept capacity.[8] That said, Taiwan is not entirely alone. The U.S. provides key support through intelligence sharing, joint naval patrols, and transits of the Taiwan Strait via aircraft and warships—all of which serve as signals of deterrence. Washington has also reiterated its “rock-solid” commitment in diplomatic forums. Yet this support remains deliberately ambiguous. No binding treaty guarantees intervention, and real military aid depends heavily on the disposition of the sitting U.S. president. For all the signals, the extent of American involvement in an actual crisis remains uncertain—something Beijing and Taipei must both account for.

However, the imbalance deepens off the battlefield as well. The PRC produces an estimated 500 ballistic missiles, 3,000 UAVs, and dozens of radars and electronic warfare systems annually. Taiwan, by contrast, produces an estimated 50–100 UAVs per year, has no domestic ballistic missile program, and relies heavily on U.S.-supplied radar systems for early warning and air defence. Its naval shipyards launch 8–10 submarines per year, while Taiwan’s Hai Kun program may deliver one every four years.[9] The PRC’s defence-industrial mobilisation includes over 8,000 wartime conversion-ready factories, compared to Taiwan’s 34 core defence contractors.[10]

The PRC produces an estimated 500 ballistic missiles, 3,000 UAVs, and dozens of radars and electronic warfare systems annually.

The space and digital domains further amplify this asymmetry. The PRC fields more than 130 military satellites, including dual-use ISR systems and anti-satellite weapons, enabling rapid disruption of Taiwan’s GPS and communications networks.[11] By contrast, Taiwan’s domestic space infrastructure remains nascent, with only the FORMOSAT-8 series active and no independent satellite manufacturing pipeline.[12]

Even societal mobilisation metrics show an imbalance. The PRC retains a reserve pool of 19 million troops with active mobilisation protocols, supported by over 1.4 million cybersecurity personnel and a rapidly scaling quantum research sector.[13] Meanwhile, Taiwan’s reservist turnout remains under 35%, and its skilled defence workforce is concentrated narrowly in semiconductors and related industries.[14]

Taken together, this is not a war Taiwan can prepare for through parity. Its industrial base cannot match the PRC’s scale. Taiwan’s deterrence must therefore be redefined not in conventional metrics, but as a resilient asymmetric architecture that exploits what the PRC lacks: top-down systems often struggle with flexibility, public trust, and bottom-up innovation.

Lessons from Ukraine’s Drone Ecosystem and Israel’s Civil Preparedness

For democracies confronting overwhelming force disparities, the question is no longer how to draft more soldiers, but how to mobilise an entire society. Taiwan, like other small democracies under threat, cannot match the PRC in firepower, mass, or military-industrial output. But it can rethink defence itself—drawing from Ukraine’s civilian-led drone revolution and Israel’s structured integration of civil preparedness into national doctrine.

Taiwan, like other small democracies under threat, cannot match the PRC in firepower, mass, or military-industrial output.

On the one hand, Ukraine’s experience is the most urgent and instructive. Faced with a full-scale Russian invasion, the Ukrainian state did not wait for bureaucratic systems to catch up. Instead, civilians took the lead. Volunteer groups, such as Aerorozvidka, along with university labs and local NGOs, began designing, assembling, and deploying thousands of drones for reconnaissance, targeting, and even light strike missions. These were not high-end military systems, but commercial drones retrofitted with low-cost sensors and custom payloads, often produced in apartments and community workshops. Open-source blueprints were circulated through Telegram, assembly lines were funded via crowdfunding platforms, and diaspora engineers provided real-time advice. The Ukrainian Ministry of Digital Transformation eventually formalised these efforts through the “Army of Drones” initiative. This program coordinates drone donations, pilot training, and battlefield deployment to boost Ukraine’s defence. Still, the infrastructure came from below: a distributed, civic-based innovation network operating with speed and urgency that no central authority could replicate.[15] Yet, this civilian-military hybridity comes with consequences. As civilians assume direct roles in defence logistics and drone deployment, it blurs traditional legal protections and may invite retaliation against non-military infrastructure. The success of distributed innovation is real, but so are the risks it carries.

This model redefines what defence looks like. It is not about replacing soldiers with machines—it is about enabling society to fill the gaps that massed militaries and rigid procurement systems cannot. However, this civic participation also blurs the boundaries between combatants and non-combatants, raising complex questions about legal protections and the long-term consequences of targeting civil infrastructure—empowerment and vulnerability rise in tandem.

Ukraine’s strength came not from scale, but flexibility, that is, its ability to build a wartime ecosystem of engineers, hobbyists, and logistics volunteers who could outmanoeuvre the brute force of a larger adversary. Drones are just one example of this; the deeper lesson is how quickly a democracy can adapt when its population is trusted as a partner in defence as opposed to being viewed as a liability to be protected or conscripted.

Ukraine’s strength came not from scale, but flexibility, that is, its ability to build a wartime ecosystem of engineers, hobbyists, and logistics volunteers who could outmanoeuvre the brute force of a larger adversary.

On the other hand, Israel offers a complementary, more structured version of this logic. Its defence architecture is widely known for advanced missile interception systems, such as the Iron Dome and Arrow. But these technologies are embedded within a broader culture of civilian preparedness. Programs, such as Magen48, train neighbourhood defence teams in first aid, surveillance, and rapid response. These civilian groups are integrated into municipal emergency protocols and linked to national command structures—not as ad hoc volunteers, but as formal participants in defence planning.[16] Drone operation is increasingly part of this civilian skill set, and coordination between the Israel Defence Forces (IDF) and non-military actors has been codified through decades of real-world threats.[17]

What Ukraine and Israel make clear is not that conscription is obsolete, but that traditional models of military service are evolving. Both countries maintain conscription, yet their wartime innovations came not from obligation alone, but from how they adapted conscript experience into decentralised, society-wide defence efforts. Ukraine’s civilian drone networks and Israel’s tech-reserve units show how prior service can be reactivated through relevance. For Taiwan, the challenge is not simply to preserve conscription—it is to redesign it so that citizens feel their skills, agency, and future are meaningfully aligned with national defence. Taiwan already possesses many of the necessary components: a technically proficient workforce, a globally connected diaspora, a robust civic sector, and a world-leading semiconductor industry capable of supporting dual-use technologies. Unfortunately, these assets remain undercoordinated, siloed across agencies and sectors, or tied to outdated notions of wartime mobilisation.[18]

What Ukraine and Israel make clear is not that conscription is obsolete, but that traditional models of military service are evolving.

In this vision, the goal is not to replicate Israel’s bureaucracy or Ukraine’s improvisation wholesale, but to synthesise their logic: that civil society, when given tools and trust, can become the asymmetric advantage a democracy needs to survive. The battlefield of the future will not reward mass, but adaptation. Taiwan’s challenge is to move first, before the missiles come—not just by mobilising soldiers, but by awakening society to a war that will demand both endurance and ingenuity. Ukraine and Israel demonstrate that civic mobilisation and conscription are not mutually exclusive; when implemented effectively, mandatory service can foster the networks, skills, and public commitment that full-spectrum defence requires.

From Community Networks to National Doctrine

What matters now is how the island’s densely networked society—its universities, NGOs, digital platforms, and research labs—can form the core of a distributed, civilian-driven defence architecture that endures beyond the first missile strike.

Taiwan has already laid critical foundations for this transformation. At the governmental level, initiatives, such as the Sea Guardian drone program, reflect a conscious pivot toward asymmetric doctrine.[19] Sea Guardian drones, powered by domestically produced 3nm chips, exemplify the fusion of civilian research and development (R&D) and military needs. Likewise, the “Silicon Shield” initiative formalises cyber-defence mobilisation by training over 10,000 information security specialists annually—many drawn from Taiwan’s private tech sector and academic institutions.[20] While the semiconductor advantage may diminish as global players work to reduce dependency, Taiwan’s real long-term strength lies in its broader ecosystem of human capital, civic innovation, and resilient digital infrastructure, which still must be translated into a usable deterrent force.

At the governmental level, initiatives, such as the Sea Guardian drone program, reflect a conscious pivot toward asymmetric doctrine.

Beginning in 2024, Taiwan has taken significant steps to align national defence policy with a whole-of-society vision. Through initiatives led by the Whole-of-Society Defence Resilience Committee and supported by NGOs like Kuma Academy, civilians aged 18 to 65 are increasingly encouraged to receive training in emergency medicine, cyber hygiene, and crisis coordination. While not mandated by statute, these programs reflect a strategic redefinition of national defence as a shared civic responsibility.[21] Unlike traditional conscription, which primarily trains young men for kinetic conflict, this equips a broad civilian base with non-combat skills critical in modern warfare, including disaster response, information security, and digital infrastructure resilience.[22] Local governments now implement regular drills across major cities, testing coordination between fire services, schools, and NGOs in simulated urban disruptions. These drills are not symbolic. In Taipei and Kaohsiung, coordination centres are being adapted into wartime hubs, integrating backup communication nodes and EMP-resistant power systems. New infrastructure codes mandate dual-use readiness in key urban areas, drawing from Sweden’s Total Defence model, which integrates conscription with whole-of-society preparedness.[23]

Moreover, perhaps Taiwan’s most promising developments are emerging from civil society itself. Nongovernmental organisations, veteran associations, and student-led groups have become active nodes in Taiwan’s defence ecosystem. Groups, such as Forward Defence and the Taiwan Association of Disaster Management, now host wartime first-aid workshops, drone navigation boot camps, and information warfare training sessions. Across campuses, civic clubs engage in counter-disinformation simulations, and partnerships between universities and logistics firms are experimenting with last-mile delivery systems for emergency scenarios.[24]

Across campuses, civic clubs engage in counter-disinformation simulations, and partnerships between universities and logistics firms are experimenting with last-mile delivery systems for emergency scenarios.

Yet these efforts remain under-integrated. Taiwan’s strength lies in the diversity and creativity of its societal actors; however, without a coordinated framework, innovation risks becoming fragmented. NGOs often operate without standardised protocols or direct channels to national security planning. University programs lack continuity across districts. Drone startups face regulatory and logistical barriers that slow scale and domestic supply chain independence. While the government has taken steps to harden infrastructure, disparities in preparedness between municipalities could widen in the event of a prolonged crisis.[25]

Taiwan must move toward a networked model of resilience that integrates—not replaces—mandatory service. The goal is not battlefield victory, but strategic endurance: limiting casualties, protecting civic infrastructure, and buying time until international support can mobilise. A modern conscription system should include civilian cyber defence tracks, reservist tech and logistics roles, and pathways for engineers, medics, and local responders to serve meaningfully. Subsidising drone supply chains, expanding digital continuity systems, and codifying civil-military coordination are not alternatives to conscription—they are how conscription becomes relevant. Taiwan’s survival will hinge not on overwhelming the PLA, but on outlasting its first blow.

Wake Up, Before It’s Too Late

The PRC does not need to conquer Taiwan by force to achieve its objectives. It only needs Taiwan to remain unprepared. That slumber of delay, distraction, and denial is probably the most serious danger right now. If Taiwan stays still, it gives up the fight before it even begins.

Taiwan stands at a turning point. Ukraine shows what can happen even to a country that had already been preparing for war. Taiwan lacks the necessary training and readiness. It is not yet strong, not yet practised, not yet ready. But unlike Ukraine in 2022, it still has something very important: time. That time must be used well, or it will be lost.

Taiwan stands at a turning point.

That time must be used to build a new kind of protection, not just with weapons, but with people who are ready in many ways. Today’s war is not only fought by soldiers. It also needs coders, medics, teachers, engineers, and factory workers. Training should focus on modern needs, such as cybersecurity, drones, logistics, and crisis response. Service still matters, but it should align with the skills and goals of each individual. The point is not just to have a strong army, but a society that knows how to act together.

Future research should examine how Taiwan’s tech workers and small factories can support rapid military production in the event of a conflict. It should also examine what modern war might look like, where fighting involves both conventional and non-conventional weapons, and where both civilians and the military must work together as one.