When Ambiguity is No Longer Strategic
Once, this approach prevented conflict between two world heavyweights. No longer.

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For decades, American policy toward Taiwan has been a highly successful tightrope balancing act. The doctrine of “strategic ambiguity,” a deliberate refusal to say whether the United States would defend Taiwan from a Chinese invasion, was designed to keep all parties guessing. It deterred Beijing from attacking and, simultaneously, restrained Taipei from declaring formal independence. For a generation, this delicate act preserved a fragile peace.
That era is over. What was once a strategic advantage has become a dangerous albatross, increasing the likelihood of the very miscalculation it was designed to prevent. In a world of broken communication channels, incoherent political signaling, and isolated leadership, ambiguity is no longer a tool of stability. It is a catalyst for catastrophic conflict. The time has come for the United States to make a choice, and to proclaim it loudly.
The old strategy worked for the world in which it was born. Crafted in the wake of President Nixon’s opening to China, the policy was codified in the Taiwan Relations Act and a series of communiqués with Beijing. It allowed Washington to formally recognize the People’s Republic of China while maintaining robust unofficial ties with the self-governing island of Taiwan. This dual deterrence worked because it relied on a shared, unspoken agreement between Washington and Beijing. Even amidst global instability, the red lines on Taiwan were broadly understood and the diplomatic channels for managing the issue remained open.
Today, the foundation of that system has crumbled, and three dangerous cracks have appeared.
First, the American signal is lost in the noise. Strategic ambiguity requires careful, unified messaging to be effective. Instead, America’s foreign policy now broadcasts a cacophony of contradiction. Presidents have repeatedly appeared to abandon the policy in impromptu statements, only to have their staff walk them back hours later. Congress, meanwhile, sends a steady stream of high-profile delegations to Taipei, signaling ironclad support. The president proudly proclaims himself the “Peace President,” unwilling to involve America in foreign wars, yet greenlights strikes in Iran and Nigeria, as well as the overthrow of Nicolás Maduro. The publicly-released 2025 National Security Strategy signals that Russia and China are no longer our problem as we focus on the Western Hemisphere. What, then, should our adversaries make of the arms shipments to Taiwan and Ukraine? What should have been calculated ambiguity has quickly devolved into dangerous incoherence, leaving both allies and adversaries unclear on our true intentions.
Second, the lines of communication are dead. When signals become muddled, reliable channels are needed to clarify intent and de-escalate crises. These channels have atrophied. Military-to-military hotlines between the Pentagon and the People’s Liberation Army are routinely ignored by Beijing. High-level American diplomatic engagement has become sporadic and fraught with tension. Even more dangerously, the primary channel for de-escalation is silent. The direct lines of communication between Taipei and Beijing, once a critical safety valve, have been functionally severed for nearly a decade. In a crisis, there is no reliable way for leaders in Washington, Beijing, or Taipei to ask the most important question of all: “What do you mean by that?”
Finally, the structure of power in both nations creates a profound danger of leadership echo chambers. In Beijing, political purges and a demand for absolute loyalty have cultivated an environment where dissent is impossible and unwelcome information is suppressed. In Washington, a new and similar propensity to favor personal loyalty over institutional expertise can leave a leader surrounded by yes-men, cut off from the grounding assessments of career diplomats and intelligence officials. In both capitals, leaders are at risk of becoming overconfident, fed by sycophants who reinforce their preconceptions. Beijing may convince itself that America has neither the capability nor the will to intervene. Washington may fatally underestimate the scale of China’s military modernization, falsely believing that they are still working with cheap imitations of American tech. When both sides believe they understand the other, but are operating on flawed assumptions, the risk of a disastrous misstep becomes grave.
To continue this policy is to wager that all sides will guess correctly. This is no longer responsible. The alternative, what some have called “strategic clarity,” is fraught with its own perils, but is now less risky than the status quo. It presents two stark, difficult paths.
The first path is a clear commitment to defend Taiwan. A formal security guarantee would end all speculation and present Beijing with an unambiguous deterrent. The primary risk, cited for decades, is that such a move would embolden pro-independence factions in Taiwan and trap the United States in a conflict not of its choosing. This is a serious concern, but one that can be managed with precision. A defense commitment could be explicitly conditional, applying only to the defense of Taiwan as it currently exists. Such a clause would make clear that the American security guarantee does not extend to a future, formally independent state, reassuring Beijing that our goal is preservation, not provocation.
The second path is a clear statement that America will not defend Taiwan militarily. This would force Taiwan to confront a reality our current policy allows it to avoid: that its long-term survival rests entirely in its own hands. Forced to abandon any hope of American rescue, Taipei would face a stark choice. It could accelerate its transformation into a defensive “porcupine,” bristling with enough weaponry to make an invasion prohibitively costly for Beijing. Or it could choose to negotiate a political settlement, perhaps a version of the “one country, two systems” framework now dismantled in Hong Kong. While deeply unpalatable, either choice would be of Taiwan’s own choosing—a better fate than being marched into a devastating war based on a miscalculated guess about American intentions. For the United States, it would avert a superpower conflict, but the cost would be a catastrophic retreat from leadership, shattering our credibility with key allies like Japan and South Korea.
Neither path is easy, and both carry undeniable risks. But the greatest danger now lies not in the choice itself, but in the failure to make one. The conditions that made strategic ambiguity a success have vanished. The United States owes it to the world to replace this dangerous gamble with the difficult responsibility of clarity. We must ensure that Taipei, Washington, and, most importantly, Beijing, understand the precise consequences of their actions before a decision is made that will change the world. By making our position clear, we place the final, heavy choice on Beijing: Will you shatter the peace of this century just to settle a grievance from the last?
Shahn Louis is the founder of Anansi Strategic Intelligence LLC, a Washington, D.C.-based geopolitical risk firm. A former senior intelligence analyst with experience across the Department of Defense and the Intelligence Community, he specializes in China analysis and East Asian regional dynamics.
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