"No Appeasement!" Taiwan’s Lai Draws Red Line with Massive Defense Plan

Paul Riverbank, 11/27/2025 Facing growing Chinese military pressure, Taiwan plans a major boost to its defense spending, sparking fierce domestic debate and raising regional tensions. As President Lai seeks unity in the face of external threats, Taiwan’s future hinges on balancing defense, diplomacy, and the pursuit of a fragile peace across the Strait.

Taiwan, an island perennially sitting in the shadow of its vast neighbor, is on the cusp of what could be its boldest military spending push in modern memory. President Lai Ching-te has set his sights on a major increase—$40 billion, staggering by Taiwan standards, especially when you recall how small the territory is compared to the aggressor lurking on its doorstep. Lai makes his case with some force, pointing to China’s relentless sabre-rattling and painting a picture that feels uncomfortably similar to Europe in the late 1930s: “Compromising with aggressors ultimately brings only endless aftermaths of war and subjugation,” he warned recently, invoking the ghosts of Munich and appeasement.

Change won’t land all at once. Lai aims to transform Taiwan’s domestic defense industry over the next decade, a slow-burn approach rather than a frenzied dash. In the immediate term, regular defense spending is expected to jump by 2026, possibly topping 3.3 percent of GDP—a record for Taiwan, but still beneath what American officials would like to see. For context, U.S. advisors—used to thinking in terms of their own massive budgets—have gently, and sometimes not-so-gently, nudged Taipei closer to a 5 percent commitment.

The urgency feels new but isn’t. Chinese warships weave tight circles around the island with a frequency that borders on routine, and Beijing’s fighter jets test the nerves of Taiwanese defense operators nearly every week. The regional temperature is rising in other capitals, too. Japan’s recently-elected Prime Minister, Sanae Takaichi, lashed out this summer with rhetoric most of her predecessors avoided. She hinted that Japanese troops might not merely stand idly by if Beijing pulls the trigger—an extraordinary statement, one that immediately sparked fury in China. Beijing fired back with the usual playbook: economic retaliation, this time travel bans targeting Japanese tourism. Still, the domestic mood in Japan seems to support Takaichi’s toughened approach if recent polling numbers hold.

For Taiwan, turning ambition into reality isn’t just a matter of cutting bigger checks. The Lai government points to drones, unmanned vessels, and missile defense networks as the backbone of a credible deterrent. These choices echo Pentagon talking points, though insiders admit privately that Taiwan’s traditionalists remain attached to tanks and F-16 jets—for all their habit-forming appeal and photographic drama.

But here’s the hitch: intricate gear isn’t much use without human mastery. Lin Ying-yu, who lectures at Tamkang University, has been candid about the gap. “I believe this area still requires considerable work on our part,” he noted at a recent defense forum—a dig aimed as much at military planning habits as at procurement procedures.

Standing in Lai’s way isn’t just geography or technology but the sometimes-baffling world of Taiwanese domestic politics. With his party—the Democratic Progressives—lacking a legislative majority, key elements of Lai’s roadmap are vulnerable. The Nationalists, or Kuomintang, aren’t exactly cheerleading for an arms race. Criticism bubbled up before debate in the legislature, not least because Lai announced the plan to an eager press before consulting lawmakers. Slowdowns in U.S. weapon shipments—particularly high-profile ones like fighter jets—only give the opposition more ammunition.

Opposition leader Cheng Li-wun is careful on television. “Support for reasonable spending,” she claims, “but the priority lies in a political approach, not substantial increases in military spending.” To an international audience, this line sounds almost inevitable—a familiar refrain across democracies from Seoul to Stockholm.

Still, the United States is watching closely and publicly. The chief U.S. diplomatic representative in Taipei, Raymond Greene, has spent more time than usual in front of the cameras, nudging Taiwan’s political elite to close ranks behind the budget increase.

Beijing, meanwhile, continues a delicate choreography of carrot and stick. Xi Jinping openly prefers negotiation—at least in the language of summitry—but has never taken “use of force” off the table. Intelligence sources in Taiwan murmur about thousands of Chinese operatives embedded, murmuring and watching, while the constant buzz of foreign aircraft keeps the population on edge.

Taiwan does face an excruciating equilibrium. Every new missile contract signed, every drone delivered, is both a promise of greater security and a reminder that peace is never assumed. There are moments—even from those deeply invested in the project—where you sense exhaustion. The opposition’s refrain that dialogue matters resonates with ordinary people, not just party strategists. Yet here again is President Lai, sounding almost weary, reminding everyone in earshot: “Defending Taiwan must be the shared responsibility of the government, opposition parties, and all Taiwanese people.”

There is no perfect answer. Alliances, new technologies, old grievances—each weighs on the options available. But one truth is difficult to deny: if Taiwan’s leaders cannot find consensus soon, the island’s security and stability may prove impossible to safeguard, no matter how sophisticated its hardware or how heroic its intentions. For all the drama of headlines, it is the slow, often agonizing work of political compromise that may decide the region’s fate.

The smell of smoke still lingers in Hong Kong, where families search for loved ones after a blaze swept through a cluster of high-rises. Headlines, for now, are filled with reports of the fire—its aftermath, its victims—yet just across the sea, another crisis bubbles, though further from the reach of the cameras.Taiwan, an island perennially sitting in the shadow of its vast neighbor, is on the cusp of what could be its boldest military spending push in modern memory. President Lai Ching-te has set his sights on a major increase—$40 billion, staggering by Taiwan standards, especially when you recall how small the territory is compared to the aggressor lurking on its doorstep. Lai makes his case with some force, pointing to China’s relentless sabre-rattling and painting a picture that feels uncomfortably similar to Europe in the late 1930s: “Compromising with aggressors ultimately brings only endless aftermaths of war and subjugation,” he warned recently, invoking the ghosts of Munich and appeasement.Change won’t land all at once. Lai aims to transform Taiwan’s domestic defense industry over the next decade, a slow-burn approach rather than a frenzied dash. In the immediate term, regular defense spending is expected to jump by 2026, possibly topping 3.3 percent of GDP—a record for Taiwan, but still beneath what American officials would like to see. For context, U.S. advisors—used to thinking in terms of their own massive budgets—have gently, and sometimes not-so-gently, nudged Taipei closer to a 5 percent commitment.The urgency feels new but isn’t. Chinese warships weave tight circles around the island with a frequency that borders on routine, and Beijing’s fighter jets test the nerves of Taiwanese defense operators nearly every week. The regional temperature is rising in other capitals, too. Japan’s recently-elected Prime Minister, Sanae Takaichi, lashed out this summer with rhetoric most of her predecessors avoided. She hinted that Japanese troops might not merely stand idly by if Beijing pulls the trigger—an extraordinary statement, one that immediately sparked fury in China. Beijing fired back with the usual playbook: economic retaliation, this time travel bans targeting Japanese tourism. Still, the domestic mood in Japan seems to support Takaichi’s toughened approach if recent polling numbers hold.For Taiwan, turning ambition into reality isn’t just a matter of cutting bigger checks. The Lai government points to drones, unmanned vessels, and missile defense networks as the backbone of a credible deterrent. These choices echo Pentagon talking points, though insiders admit privately that Taiwan’s traditionalists remain attached to tanks and F-16 jets—for all their habit-forming appeal and photographic drama.But here’s the hitch: intricate gear isn’t much use without human mastery. Lin Ying-yu, who lectures at Tamkang University, has been candid about the gap. “I believe this area still requires considerable work on our part,” he noted at a recent defense forum—a dig aimed as much at military planning habits as at procurement procedures.Standing in Lai’s way isn’t just geography or technology but the sometimes-baffling world of Taiwanese domestic politics. With his party—the Democratic Progressives—lacking a legislative majority, key elements of Lai’s roadmap are vulnerable. The Nationalists, or Kuomintang, aren’t exactly cheerleading for an arms race. Criticism bubbled up before debate in the legislature, not least because Lai announced the plan to an eager press before consulting lawmakers. Slowdowns in U.S. weapon shipments—particularly high-profile ones like fighter jets—only give the opposition more ammunition.Opposition leader Cheng Li-wun is careful on television. “Support for reasonable spending,” she claims, “but the priority lies in a political approach, not substantial increases in military spending.” To an international audience, this line sounds almost inevitable—a familiar refrain across democracies from Seoul to Stockholm.Still, the United States is watching closely and publicly. The chief U.S. diplomatic representative in Taipei, Raymond Greene, has spent more time than usual in front of the cameras, nudging Taiwan’s political elite to close ranks behind the budget increase.Beijing, meanwhile, continues a delicate choreography of carrot and stick. Xi Jinping openly prefers negotiation—at least in the language of summitry—but has never taken “use of force” off the table. Intelligence sources in Taiwan murmur about thousands of Chinese operatives embedded, murmuring and watching, while the constant buzz of foreign aircraft keeps the population on edge.Taiwan does face an excruciating equilibrium. Every new missile contract signed, every drone delivered, is both a promise of greater security and a reminder that peace is never assumed. There are moments—even from those deeply invested in the project—where you sense exhaustion. The opposition’s refrain that dialogue matters resonates with ordinary people, not just party strategists. Yet here again is President Lai, sounding almost weary, reminding everyone in earshot: “Defending Taiwan must be the shared responsibility of the government, opposition parties, and all Taiwanese people.”There is no perfect answer. Alliances, new technologies, old grievances—each weighs on the options available. But one truth is difficult to deny: if Taiwan’s leaders cannot find consensus soon, the island’s security and stability may prove impossible to safeguard, no matter how sophisticated its hardware or how heroic its intentions. For all the drama of headlines, it is the slow, often agonizing work of political compromise that may decide the region’s fate.