Simon Shuster’s recent article in The Atlantic, asking whether Taiwan might simply “give up” in the face of growing pressure from China, attracted considerable attention in Taiwan and among the broader community of China and Taiwan watchers. Some praised the piece for its candid analysis and for asking uncomfortable questions that are too often avoided in discussions about Taiwan’s security. Others were somewhat less impressed. 

The article quickly came under fire from Taiwanese and (mostly) Taiwan-based foreign analysts, who pointed to factual errors, questionable interpretations of domestic politics, and what they saw as a selective and misleading portrayal of Taiwanese society. Legislator Puma Shen, one of those interviewed for the article, issued a public statement accusing Shuster of taking his comments out of context. The Taipei Times devoted an editorial to rebutting the article, and even Taiwan’s National Security Council weighed in, with Secretary General Joseph Wu publicly rejecting its central premise.

Essentially, there are rather good reasons to take these criticisms seriously. Some concern basic facts and context, which are obviously important when making such a sweeping argument about Taiwan. That said, the reaction also exposed another problem. A significant part of the response has questioned what a foreign journalist who spent limited time in Taiwan and has no evident prior expertise on Taiwan or the region can really know about Taiwanese society. Critics pointed to a lack of understanding of Taiwanese politics, insufficient engagement with Taiwanese voices and opinion polls showing considerable willingness to defend Taiwan, and Taiwan’s own experience – from democratization and the Sunflower Movement to its remarkable response to COVID-19 – as evidence of a society capable of mobilizing when necessary.

As compelling as these arguments are, none of them give us a particularly convincing answer either.

Predicting what Taiwan and its people would actually do if China decided to use force is extraordinarily difficult. Both those making pessimistic predictions and those confidently rejecting them often seem to rely on evidence that tells us much less than we think.

Opinion polls are perhaps the clearest example. As argued previously in The Diplomat, they are useful for understanding attitudes, but telling a pollster that you would defend Taiwan is very different from making that decision when missiles are falling, casualties are mounting, electricity and communications are disrupted, and nobody knows whether outside help is coming. That does not make polls useless. Questions involving actual costs, such as longer military service, higher taxes, or greater personal obligations, can tell us more. But saying that you are willing to sacrifice something and actually sacrificing it are not the same thing.

Historical examples have only limited relevance. Taiwan’s democratization, the Sunflower Movement, and its response to COVID-19 have all been cited as evidence of a society capable of mobilizing when necessary. Comparisons can also be drawn with Finland’s resistance to the Soviet Union during the Winter War, Ukraine’s response to Russia’s invasion, or other societies that proved far more willing to resist than outsiders expected. These are indeed powerful examples. But what exactly do they tell us about how Taiwanese society would respond to a Chinese attack today?

Israel offers a useful example of why we should be careful in making predictions. Israeli society has repeatedly shown an extraordinary ability to mobilize against military threats. Following the October 7 attacks, more than 300,000 reservists were mobilized in a very short period, including Israelis who returned from abroad to report for duty. Nonetheless, during COVID-19, Israel struggled to sustain public compliance with government restrictions. Trust and willingness to follow regulations declined as the crisis continued. The same society generated two very different responses to calls for public action.

The type of threat, its perceived seriousness, public trust, political divisions, and personal costs can all shape how societies respond. Historical experience and comparisons can give us useful clues. But they cannot tell us what Taiwanese will do when confronted by the People’s Liberation Army (PLA).

So perhaps we need to look elsewhere. Instead of endlessly asking whether Taiwanese will fight or give up, we should look more closely at what Taiwanese society, its politicians, and its military are actually doing as the threat from China grows.

And here the picture remains concerning.

Taiwan has struggled with military recruitment and retention, personnel shortages, and a reserve force in which too few receive regular and meaningful training. Political polarization has repeatedly turned defense into another battlefield between the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) and Kuomintang (KMT), most visibly in the continuing fights over defense spending. Institutional cooperation and coordination remain problematic, while deeply rooted institutional and military cultures can slow necessary reforms and adaptation. Taiwan also faces serious constraints in expanding its defense-industrial capacity quickly enough to meet its growing needs. All of these problems tell us something about how much Taiwanese citizens, politicians, and institutions are actually willing, and able, to change as the threat grows.

There are, however, signs that some things are moving in the right direction. After years of decline, military recruitment and retention have recently improved, although it is too early to know whether this represents a lasting reversal. Organizations such as Kuma Academy and Forward Alliance have attracted thousands of people who are willing to spend their own time on civil-defense training, and defense spending has increased substantially. Taiwan’s annual Han Kuang exercises have also become significantly more realistic and comprehensive, with this year’s iteration, Han Kuang 42, featuring longer and less scripted training, involving a broader range of military, government, and civilian actors, and placing much greater emphasis on whole-of-society defense.

This still isn’t definitive proof that Taiwanese will fight, nor does it negate the more troubling signs. But these are precisely the kinds of developments we should be watching. Are more people joining the military, and are they staying? Are reservists receiving more serious training? Are citizens willing to give their time to civil defense? Are Taiwanese willing to accept longer service, higher defense spending, or other personal costs? Are political leaders willing to put defense above partisan interests? Are government institutions actually cooperating and changing the way they operate? And is the military becoming more serious about preparing for the kind of war it may actually have to fight?

More importantly, we should follow these indicators over time. One bad year of military recruitment could be an aberration. A decline continuing for five or ten years as the threat grows tells us considerably more. The same is true of retention, reserve training, civil defense participation, defense spending, and military reform. 

We should also look at whether these indicators move in the same direction. If what Taiwanese tell pollsters corresponds with what citizens, politicians, and institutions are actually willing to do, we can have greater confidence in those attitudes. 

There is another complication. Talking about “Taiwan’s resilience” or “Taiwan’s will to fight” often treats Taiwan as a unitary actor when it clearly is not. The differences go well beyond the DPP-KMT divide. The military, government agencies, local authorities, civil society, businesses, and different parts of the public may have very different levels of preparedness, commitment, and willingness to bear costs. Reducing all of this to a single national characteristic risks obscuring more than it reveals.

To muddy the waters even more, resistance itself is not binary. “Will Taiwan fight?” or “Will Taiwan give up?” sounds straightforward, but what exactly are we imagining? A Chinese quarantine? A prolonged blockade? The seizure of an offshore island? Missile strikes? A full-scale invasion? Taiwanese might react very differently to each. 

Even after fighting begins, attitudes may change. A population initially determined to resist might think differently after weeks of casualties, shortages, and destruction. An attack could also have the opposite effect and produce much stronger determination. The military, political leaders, and broader public may respond differently, while much could depend on whether Taiwanese believe the United States or Japan will eventually intervene.

Ultimately, there is no fixed amount of “will to fight” sitting somewhere inside Taiwanese society waiting for the right journalist, pollster, or academic to discover it. That brings us back to Shuster. His article deserves criticism where its facts, evidence, and interpretations are wrong. But the same analytical standard should apply to those challenging his conclusions.

Nobody can confidently tell us exactly what Taiwan and its people will do if China uses force. We can, however, do a much better job of examining what they are doing now and how that changes over time. Indeed, it will not tell us for certain whether Taiwan will fight. But it does give us a much better place to start.