Well into his presidency, Taiwan’s President Lai Ching-te faces what can only be described as a catch-22. Confronted by an increasingly assertive Beijing, he must strengthen Taiwan’s defense capabilities and project resolve, yet he cannot do so too visibly without unsettling political stability at home. The paradox is stark: Lai must strengthen Taiwan’s security and deter Beijing, satisfy U.S. expectations, reassure his party base, maintain public calm, and preserve political support; all at the same time. In this impossible balance, Lai is forced to play a dangerous game of appearances that may work in the short term but might not hold over time.
Tensions in the Taiwan Strait are mounting. Beijing has intensified its military drills around Taiwan and stepped up gray zone tactics, making intimidation a near-daily reality. Beijing’s rhetoric has sharpened, with warnings that “separatist activities” will be met with decisive force.
Lai has responded with both firmness and calm. His administration has overseen larger and more realistic military exercises, pushed for record defense budgets, and deepened cooperation with Washington. His rhetoric combines reassurance with defiance, standing strong against Beijing’s aggression to signal both to the U.S. and to his domestic base that Taiwan will not be cowed.
The United States, meanwhile, expects Taiwan to do more. Washington has made clear that deterrence depends not only on U.S. commitments but also on Taiwan’s own readiness. For U.S. policymakers, Taiwan cannot remain passive or ambiguous; visible action is a prerequisite for credibility.
Yet beneath these visible measures lies a political reality that makes them difficult to sustain. Despite his firm stance externally, Lai’s domestic position is precarious. Following the 2024 national elections, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) kept the presidency but lost control of the Legislative Yuan, handing the opposition Kuomintang (KMT) the power to block or water down key initiatives.
A series of failed recall campaigns launched against KMT legislators, which were backed by the DPP, have further weakened Lai. Instead of showcasing political strength, these efforts backfired, leaving his administration with record-low approval ratings.
Even the military establishment, which should be central to Taiwan’s defense reforms, has proven reluctant, as institutional inertia and cultural conservatism remain obstacles. Lai has found himself pushing against not just Beijing’s threats, but also an uncooperative defense bureaucracy.
It is important to note that this is not simply Lai’s fault. In many ways, he inherited a disaster waiting to happen. His predecessor, Tsai Ing-wen, enjoyed stronger domestic legitimacy and an international environment that, while hardly stable, was less chaotic than today.
Crucially, Tsai also had control of the Legislative Yuan for her two terms, giving her the political leverage to push through difficult reforms that Lai might not be able to replicate. And the KMT bears significant responsibility as well, treating defense reform less as a national security imperative and more as a partisan battleground.
The structural problems – a partisan political system, a reluctant military, and a public unwilling to embrace the reality of permanent crisis – were already entrenched before Lai was even inaugurated. As president, his cards are far weaker than Tsai’s, leaving him with less room to maneuver.
The United States, for its part, has also struggled to deliver on its promises. Despite repeated pledges of support, Washington has often failed to back words with timely actions, whether in arms deliveries or broader strategic assurances. This gap between rhetoric and reality has further compounded Taiwan’s sense of vulnerability.
Constrained at home and pressured from abroad, Lai has been forced into a strategy of dual signaling: project calm and stability domestically while demonstrating resolve to Washington. In practice, this means reassuring Taiwanese society that peace remains within reach, while simultaneously telling U.S. policymakers that deterrence is being taken seriously.
This is, in effect, a politics of illusion. It buys short-term stability, but at the cost of long-term credibility. Government actions and statements project a façade of readiness, but structural follow-through has so far lagged. Society’s perception of preparedness often reflects wishful thinking more than real capacity, while elites at times engage in strategic self-deception to avoid the costs of immediate reform. Lai is active and assertive, but the scale of his actions remains insufficient to fully match the growing threat.
If Lai pushes too openly for reform and mobilization, he risks triggering public anxiety, economic disruption, and further political erosion. Yet if he does too little, he risks alienating his own voters and betraying the mandate they gave him, while Washington will see him as complacent and Beijing will read his restraint as weakness. He is caught between domestic expectations and external pressures, with every move risking either political loss at home or strategic vulnerability abroad.
The line often attributed to George Orwell goes, “In a time of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” For Lai, the truth is simple but untenable: Taiwan faces an existential threat from Beijing that requires urgent, society-wide preparation. Acknowledging this truth would mean telling citizens that a confrontation is not only possible but increasingly likely, and that sacrifice will be required to strengthen resilience.
Yet Lai cannot deliver that message directly. Taiwan’s society, conditioned to decades of suspended crisis, resists the idea of living in permanent mobilization. His political weakness leaves him without the capital to withstand a backlash. Thus, Lai’s public rhetoric must emphasize continuity, calm, and the maintenance of peace, even as his policies inch toward preparation.
Pretending may buy time, but it cannot substitute for transformation. Taiwan’s security environment is deteriorating faster than its domestic politics can adapt. What is required is not only frank discussion, but sweeping reforms to the military and a genuine effort to prepare society for the possibility of war.
By delaying bolder action, Lai risks a society that remains psychologically underprepared for crisis. By failing to build bipartisan consensus, he leaves defense vulnerable to partisanship rather than securing it as a matter of national survival. And by managing the threat instead of dramatizing it, he risks eroding Taiwan’s credibility in Washington at precisely the moment when U.S. confidence is most vital.
Pretending stability is, in the end, exactly what Beijing hopes for. It lulls Taiwan into complacency while China accelerates its military buildup. It constrains Taipei’s ability to rally international support. And it leaves Lai open to charges of doing too little at home, narrowing his political space for the decisive steps that will eventually be unavoidable.
Lai Ching-te did not create this paradox, but he must live with it. He is tasked with preparing Taiwan for its gravest challenge in decades, while holding rather weak political cards. But the burden does not rest on his shoulders alone. Taiwan’s predicament is also the product of a political opposition that treats national security as partisan competition, a defense establishment that resists reform, and a society that prefers the comfort of normalcy over the hard work of preparedness. All must share responsibility for the risks that Taiwan faces.
There is no easy way out of this catch-22. Any path carries risks. Yet the strategy of illusion, façade, and partial action may prove the most dangerous of all, for it postpones necessary choices until they can no longer be avoided. Breaking the cycle will require more than presidential resolve; it demands that all stakeholders, political parties, institutions, and citizens place their country above party, power, money, or convenience.
As the Taiwan Strait grows more perilous, the reckoning of this paradox will come sooner rather than later. The real question is not whether Taiwan can escape it, but whether its leaders and people are willing to face it together.