The shock recently felt in Taiwanese society is overdue. The shift in America’s attitude toward Ukraine has unsettled many who believed the United States would never abandon an ally. When the war began, Western media presented Ukraine as democracy’s last line of defense. Volodymyr Zelenskyy delivered a historic address to the US Congress; the Biden administration called him a hero of the free world; European leaders lined up for photographs and pledged unlimited support. Three years later, the war is deadlocked, and the conditions attached to aid and peace negotiations are openly contested. People in Taiwan cannot help asking: if America’s global strategy changes, might Taiwan follow Ukraine’s path?
We once thought history would not repeat itself. Yet it keeps telling us: the protagonist changes, but the plot remains.
1949, Nanjing: Chiang Kai-shek’s retreating silhouette
In 1949, the Nationalist government suffered successive defeats in the civil war. Nanjing changed hands in April, but US ambassador John Leighton Stuart remained there until early August. That year, the United States published its China White Paper, explaining and defending its China policy. The Nationalist government’s defeat, Washington’s choices, and the limits of external assistance converged.
For a government dependent on foreign support, the essential question is this: when its sponsor changes its assessment, how much room for choice remains?
But the tide of history could no longer be reversed. America had made new strategic choices, and Chiang Kai-shek and his government had become pieces left behind.
2025, Kyiv: Zelenskyy’s choices
In February 2025, the United States and Ukraine engaged in intense disputes over aid, security, and arrangements for mineral revenues. For Kyiv, the relationship between aid conditions and security commitments directly affected its room to maneuver in negotiations.
External support is not a blank check that can be redeemed indefinitely. Military and fiscal realities constrain a country’s autonomous choices in wartime; a donor’s domestic politics and strategic judgments also affect whether its commitments endure. This is the risk I see in the dispute—not proof that two historical episodes must end the same way.
Taiwan’s situation differs from Ukraine’s, but the historical warning is strikingly similar. Taiwan’s long-standing reliance on the United States rests partly on faith in a democratic alliance. Yet US foreign policy is shaped by interests and security judgments, domestic politics, institutional commitments, and values. Those relying on outside support cannot infer from moral language alone that commitments will never change. The line from Chiang Kai-shek’s loss of Nanjing to Zelenskyy’s predicament is visible.
Taiwan must not repeat the same mistake. Otherwise, if America’s global strategy shifts, could Taiwan face a future of compelled negotiations and diminished freedom of choice?
Taiwan needs to move beyond an exclusively America-centered outlook and consider its security and development pragmatically. American commitments depend on American interests, not simply an ally’s needs. Taiwan must therefore recover strategic autonomy, rebuild a realistic understanding of cross-strait relations, and avoid becoming merely the front line of US–China confrontation. A dual-track strategy should seek a balance between military security and political negotiation.
Taiwan’s economy should likewise avoid excessive reliance on the United States and seek stronger economic and trade relationships with mainland China, ASEAN, Europe, and Japan. This would preserve economic resilience even if American strategy changed.
Finally, Taiwan’s internal political climate must avoid ideological capture that leads to strategic mistakes. Its orientation should be survival and development, rather than short-sighted accommodation of outside powers’ needs.
The world remains, the script persists, and history returns in a different costume.
Taiwan, are you ready?