Whenever the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) stages major military drills around Taiwan, public discussion tends to fixate on “this time”: How close did they come? How large was the formation? Which waters were declared restricted zones? Which aircraft approached from which direction?
Those details matter, because high-intensity operations press into Taiwan-adjacent waters and airspace inevitably increase the likelihood of miscalculation, accidents and irreversible harm.
Yet the deeper danger lies elsewhere. The core threat comes from a system that treats military spectacles as a routine instrument of governance. Once an authoritarian regime makes muscle-flexing a standard policy tool, risk stops being episodic. Instead, it becomes institutionalized, repeatable and cumulative.
Importantly, this is no longer a matter of impression. Reuters, citing a Taiwanese military study and officials, reported that China’s drills and related operations across the Taiwan Strait, the East China Sea, the South China Sea, and the western Pacific Ocean in 2024 cost an estimated US$21.25 billion, about 40 percent more than the year before. The same estimate suggested these activities accounted for about 9 percent of China’s publicly stated 2024 defense budget, up from about 7 percent the previous year. Put differently, coercive operations around Taiwan and nearby waters increasingly resemble a standing budget line, not sporadic surges.
Within this governance logic, drills serve purposes beyond training. They mobilize domestic audiences while simultaneously shaping foreign decisionmaking. At home, they offer a visible narrative of “toughness” that can redirect attention from governance stress and reinforce political loyalty. Abroad, they create a predictable rhythm of tension that pressures neighbors and partners to limit their actions in the face of higher costs and greater uncertainty. Sustained activity functions as a policy instrument: It turns crises into background noise and normalizes elevated risk as the new baseline.
This evolution also appears in the language Beijing chooses. Recent drill names such as “Joint Sword” and “Strait Thunder” emphasized capability and operational posture — sharp tools, striking power, the implied message of “we can hit.” By contrast, this time’s label, “Justice Mission,” signals a different ambition. “Justice” is a moral classification; it asserts purpose and presumed legitimacy. It recasts coercion as action taken under a higher mandate. That shift matters, because moralized framing tends to lower the political threshold for use. It becomes easier to present intimidation as “necessary,” and to portray regional tension as an administrative requirement rather than a deliberate choice.
The same system logic extends into information operations. Beijing’s military propaganda often highlights city skylines and critical civilian nodes, pushing the sense of threat into people’s imagination and daily life.
Taiwan’s releases, by contrast, typically concentrate on the military picture itself, fighters and surveillance aircraft being tracked and monitored, signaling situational awareness and disciplined responses. This contrast points to an uncomfortable reality: Much of the propaganda value lies in emotional manipulation. Photos and videos become tools for shaping fear and uncertainty, nudging society toward self-doubt. Once fear is treated as a governing resource, citizens begin to adjust their routines, their expectations and eventually their sense of freedom under persistent pressure. That psychological effect is a central objective of coercion.
For these reasons, the regional risk curve does not simply drop once any single drill ends. A system designed to produce recurring coercion steadily pushes the baseline upward. The probability of miscalculation grows with accumulated hours in the air and at sea. Meanwhile, the costs of tension radiate outward, through shipping routes, civil aviation planning and political decisionmaking across the Indo-Pacific region. Repeated signals of “avoid provoking trouble” encourage incremental concession, and self-restraint pushes higher and higher.
Taiwan’s response must match the structural nature of the challenge. The priority should be steady, transparent resilience: safeguarding maritime and air order, clearly disclosing coercive behavior, coordinating agencies to reduce miscalculation, and preventing intimidation from being converted into political gain. International partners, too, need a clear diagnosis. The root of long-term uncertainty in the western Pacific stems from an authoritarian system that treats military intimidation as a routine method of governance. The costs are not confined to one side of the Strait; they are borne, in different ways, by the entire region.
Gahon Chiang is a staff member for Democratic Progressive Party Legislator Chen Kuan-ting, focusing on national security policy.
Jan. 1 marks a decade since China repealed its one-child policy. Just 10 days before, Peng Peiyun (彭珮雲), who long oversaw the often-brutal enforcement of China’s family-planning rules, died at the age of 96, having never been held accountable for her actions. Obituaries praised Peng for being “reform-minded,” even though, in practice, she only perpetuated an utterly inhumane policy, whose consequences have barely begun to materialize. It was Vice Premier Chen Muhua (陳慕華) who first proposed the one-child policy in 1979, with the endorsement of China’s then-top leaders, Chen Yun (陳雲) and Deng Xiaoping (鄧小平), as a means of avoiding the
The last foreign delegation Nicolas Maduro met before he went to bed Friday night (January 2) was led by China’s top Latin America diplomat. “I had a pleasant meeting with Qiu Xiaoqi (邱小琪), Special Envoy of President Xi Jinping (習近平),” Venezuela’s soon-to-be ex-president tweeted on Telegram, “and we reaffirmed our commitment to the strategic relationship that is progressing and strengthening in various areas for building a multipolar world of development and peace.” Judging by how minutely the Central Intelligence Agency was monitoring Maduro’s every move on Friday, President Trump himself was certainly aware of Maduro’s felicitations to his Chinese guest. Just
A recent piece of international news has drawn surprisingly little attention, yet it deserves far closer scrutiny. German industrial heavyweight Siemens Mobility has reportedly outmaneuvered long-entrenched Chinese competitors in Southeast Asian infrastructure to secure a strategic partnership with Vietnam’s largest private conglomerate, Vingroup. The agreement positions Siemens to participate in the construction of a high-speed rail link between Hanoi and Ha Long Bay. German media were blunt in their assessment: This was not merely a commercial win, but has symbolic significance in “reshaping geopolitical influence.” At first glance, this might look like a routine outcome of corporate bidding. However, placed in
China often describes itself as the natural leader of the global south: a power that respects sovereignty, rejects coercion and offers developing countries an alternative to Western pressure. For years, Venezuela was held up — implicitly and sometimes explicitly — as proof that this model worked. Today, Venezuela is exposing the limits of that claim. Beijing’s response to the latest crisis in Venezuela has been striking not only for its content, but for its tone. Chinese officials have abandoned their usual restrained diplomatic phrasing and adopted language that is unusually direct by Beijing’s standards. The Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs described the