Artificial intelligence (AI) is already reshaping Taiwan’s hospital wards. Squeezed by an aging population, nursing shortages and grueling paperwork, major medical centers are rapidly deploying algorithms. National Taiwan University Hospital uses large language models for medical records and International Classification of Diseases (ICD). Chang Gung Memorial Hospital integrates machine learning into disease prediction and triage.
Meanwhile, Taipei Veterans General Hospital has set up dedicated clinical review panels to audit algorithms throughout their lifecycle.
Most hospital AI tools in Taiwan still handle paperwork and triage, but that administrative line is already blurring. Systems are moving directly into diagnostic assistance and treatment pathways. Algorithms might not issue oncology diagnoses on their own, but they already prioritize which people gets urgent CT scans, flag suspicious lesions and suggest chemotherapy regimens.
When an algorithm errs, where does the liability fall? On the attending physician who trusted the screen? The hospital that procured the software? Or the vendor that wrote the black-box code? The danger in clinical AI is not only bad calculations; it is also the diffusion of responsibility.
Healthcare has paid dearly for overestimating software before. The Therac-25 radiation accidents in the 1980s killed and maimed people precisely because human oversight gave way to blind faith in automated code. The failure of IBM Watson for Oncology proved that sophisticated software collapses in real clinics when recommendations depart from clinical context and proven practice.
As legal academic Frank Pasquale wrote in New Laws of Robotics, AI must augment clinical judgement, not supplant it.
Pasquale’s core insight is straightforward: attribution must precede autonomy. In a hospital, an algorithm cannot be cross-examined and a providers cannot hide behind a proprietary model. Legal and moral responsibility must stay tethered to recognizable institutions and clinicians.
Aviation solved a similar dilemma years ago. When the US Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) introduced SMART — an automated tool for rerouting air traffic around severe weather — commercial airlines pushed back hard. Their concern was not whether the software worked, but who was on the hook if an automated route steered an airliner into a storm.
The FAA responded with a deliberate “start, crawl, walk, run” deployment: keeping human controllers firmly at the center of final routing choices until the operational logic was proven.
Clinical medicine needs the same posture.
The newly passed Artificial Intelligence Basic Act (人工智慧基本法) sets down broad principles: human oversight, transparency and accountability. However, broad statutory text does not tell an intensive care unit how to handle a conflicting drug alert.
Because fully autonomous clinical AI is not yet the standard of care in Taiwan, policymakers have a brief window to get the rules right.
Translating rules into clinical reality requires three concrete shifts:
First, tiered, risk-based oversight. Administrative tools for hospital bed tracking should not face the same regulatory friction as diagnostic algorithms that recommend surgery or radiation doses. Regulators must require rigorous clinical validation on local patient populations, transparent training datasets and an unobstructed right for clinicians to question and override recommendations.
Second, unbundled lifecycle liability. Responsibility must be divided by role, not blurred together. Developers must answer for model integrity and dataset bias. Hospitals must take ownership of local deployment and clinician training. Clinicians remain responsible for final treatment decisions within the software’s validated scope.
Third, post-market surveillance: Governance cannot stop at regulatory approval. Algorithms suffer from “data drift” as clinical protocols shift. Hospitals need multidisciplinary committees to track real-world errors, review patient outcomes and audit systems after vendor updates.
The transition toward healthcare AI is not an engineering race. It is a test of institutional credibility. The societies that thrive in the age of algorithmic medicine would not be those with the fastest processors, but those with the discipline to demand human accountability before automation outpaces oversight.
Hanson Wu is a healthcare policy professional with experience in pharmaceutical policy, health security and public affairs. He is a graduate healthcare policy researcher at National Taiwan University.
The FBI on Sunday arrested Wanying “Heather” Chang (張婉瑩) on suspicion of surveiling the family of the son of President William Lai (賴清德) on behalf of China, an example of “transnational repression” to suppress dissent in Taiwan and abroad. Zhang, a 34-year old realtor in California, was arrested on charges of working as an unregistered agent for China. She and an accomplice were accused of taking photos and videos of Lai’s son and his family, and sending information about their whereabouts and license plates to Chinese officials. “The information could be used by China to gain leverage over the Taiwanese president
On Oct. 10, 1911, gunfire in Wuchang (武昌) shattered the stillness of late-Qing China. What began as a regional uprising quickly ignited a chain reaction across the empire, toppling a dynastic order that had endured for more than two millennia and ushering in one of Asia’s first republics — the Republic of China (ROC). From that moment, the 10th day of the 10th month became a date of epochal significance, not merely in Chinese history, but in the broader arc of Asia’s encounter with modernity. Yet today, as Taiwan marks Double Ten National Day, the holiday’s meaning has undergone a transformation
A few days ago, we left our breakfast midway to catch a glimpse of the fighter jets in formation. It was a spectacular sight. We knew it was part of practice drills for Double Ten National Day celebrations and reminded us of the Annual Republic day celebration in India. While channel surfing, I came across a news debate about immigration laws, where an academic asked a fellow panelist: “Why should we be interested in your point of view when you don’t even belong here?” That got me thinking. Was our enthusiasm about the upcoming Double Ten celebrations unwarranted? Was this
Taiwan might just give up. That’s the argument Simon Shuster made in The Atlantic’s October issue. The US is unreliable, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) leadership is aligned with the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), and Taiwan does not have the military capability to defend itself in a prolonged war without help. What hope does Taiwan have? Quite a bit more, in fact, than Shuster lets on. Shuster points to genuine problems. The first Donald Trump administration had a mostly positive record on Taiwan policy. It regularized the arms sales process, enhanced the military-to-military relationship, and treated Taiwan more like a normal