We can't change the broader environment, so we prepare ourselves as best we can
On a Saturday afternoon in Taipei, ordinary Taiwanese citizens — teenagers, retirees, office workers — are learning to pilot drones, not out of militarism, but out of a quiet civic reckoning with vulnerability. Inspired by Ukraine's demonstration that small machines and prepared civilians can reshape the calculus of war, Taiwan's civil defence movement is asking a timeless question in a new register: what does an individual owe to the place they call home when the larger forces of history draw near? The answer, for thousands on a growing waiting list, is showing up and learning something useful.
- China's military pressure on Taiwan is no longer abstract — it is the unspoken reason a 65-year-old retiree and a 48-year-old food company employee are both gripping drone controllers on a Saturday afternoon.
- Ukraine's war proved that drones piloted by ordinary people can account for 60% of enemy casualties, and Taiwan's civil society absorbed that lesson faster than its legislature did.
- Taiwan's domestic drone ambitions are being quietly undermined from within — opposition lawmakers stripped defence budget funding for local production, and a $14 billion US arms package remains unsigned after Trump's meeting with Xi.
- Over 30 volunteer civil defence groups have spread across the island, shifting the culture of preparedness from passive shelter-seeking toward active observation, information-sharing, and hands-on skill-building.
- The training deliberately uses manual, GPS-free, sub-100-gram Taiwanese-made drones — a tactical and political choice that prepares pilots for electronic jamming while advancing a 'China-free' supply chain.
- What unites participants is not military ambition but a pragmatic resignation: they cannot move geopolitics, so they are moving themselves — one drone circuit, one Saturday at a time.
In a training room in Taipei, Pan Chien-chin guides a small drone around a course of traffic cones, his fingers working the joysticks with careful concentration. When he completes the circuit without crashing, the room erupts. Around him sit two dozen others — teenagers, thirty-somethings, a woman in her sixties — all enrolled in Taiwan's first civil defence drone training programme, launched in May. Pan, 48, works at a food company. He sees the course as insurance. "The war in Ukraine has really changed how drones are used," he says. "It's like giving myself another skill."
That conditional thinking — preparing for something that may or may not come — defines Taiwan's civil defence moment. China's military threat has been building for years, but Ukraine accelerated the island's response. Since Russia's 2022 invasion, drones have accounted for an estimated 60 percent of Russian killed and wounded. Taiwan watched and began asking what its own citizens could do. More than 30 volunteer-led civil defence groups have since emerged, offering first aid, casualty evacuation, and emergency rescue training. The drone programme is the newest addition.
Karren Wang, a 65-year-old retiree in the same Saturday class, rated her first attempt "not too bad," crediting the supportive atmosphere. The participants who spoke to journalists had all completed other civil defence training — more than half were women, ages ranging from teenagers to people in their sixties. What united them was not military background but civic responsibility and a quiet underlying anxiety.
The drones used are lightweight, under 100 grams, entirely Taiwanese-made, and deliberately GPS-free. In modern warfare, automated commercial drones fail under electronic jamming; pilots must fly by sight and reflex alone. The choice also reflects Taiwan's push to build a "China-free" supply chain for unmanned aircraft — though that ambition faces headwinds. A recent defence budget passed by the opposition-dominated legislature stripped funding for domestic drone production, and a $14 billion US arms package remains unsigned after Trump met Xi Jinping in Beijing.
Kuma Academy, the NGO running the programme, frames the goal not as arming civilians but as moving people "from passive defence like sheltering to a more active role in observing risks and sharing information." One participant, who works at a defence-linked company, put it simply: "I may not be a soldier, but if an invasion ever happened, I'd like to have the ability to help."
For Pan, political divisions at home and uncertainty about American support only sharpen the impulse. "We can't change the broader environment," he says, "so the only thing we can do is prepare ourselves as best we can." It is pragmatism and resignation in equal measure — an acknowledgment that citizens cannot control geopolitics, but they can control whether they show up on a Saturday and learn to fly.
In a cramped training room in Taipei, Pan Chien-chin grips a controller and watches an insect-sized drone lift into the air. He has never flown one before. His fingers work the joysticks with the concentration of someone learning a new language, guiding the humming machine around a course marked by traffic cones. When he completes the circuit without crashing, the room erupts. Around him sit about two dozen others—teenagers, people in their thirties, a woman in her sixties—all here for the same reason: Taiwan's first civil defence drone training programme, launched just weeks earlier in May.
Pan, 48, works at a food company. He sees the drone course as insurance. "The war in Ukraine has really changed how drones are used," he says. "It's like giving myself another skill, something I can use if it's ever needed one day." That conditional phrasing—if it's ever needed—hangs over everything happening in Taiwan right now. The island faces a growing military threat from China. The courses are selling out through August. About 75 people can train each month. The waiting list is long.
Taiwan's civil defence movement has been building for years, but Ukraine accelerated it. Since Russia's invasion in 2022, drones have become central to the fighting. Military officials estimate they account for 60 percent of Russian killed and wounded. Thousands of attack missions fly daily. Taiwan watched, learned, and began asking what its own citizens could do. Over the past few years, more than 30 local volunteer-led civil defence groups have sprouted across the island, offering first aid training, casualty evacuation courses, emergency rescue instruction. The drone programme is the newest addition to this toolkit.
Karren Wang, a 65-year-old retiree, attended the same Saturday afternoon class as Pan. She rated her first attempt "not too bad," she said afterward, crediting the supportive atmosphere. "Even if you crashed terribly, they would still say: 'Great job.'" The five participants who spoke to journalists had all completed other civil defence training. They were a mixed group—more than half were women. The ages ranged from teenagers to people in their sixties. What united them was not military background but a sense of civic responsibility and, underneath that, a quiet anxiety about what might come.
The drones used in training are lightweight, under 100 grams, and entirely Taiwanese-made. They have no GPS, no self-driving capability. This is deliberate. In modern warfare, automated commercial drones fail when electronic jamming kicks in. Operators need to fly by sight and manual reflexes alone. The choice also reflects Taiwan's recent push to build what officials call a "China-free" global supply chain for unmanned aerial vehicles. But that ambition faces real obstacles. A special defence budget recently passed by the opposition-dominated legislature stripped out funding for domestic drone production. Taiwan makes some weapons at home but remains heavily dependent on American arms sales for major defence systems. And there is uncertainty there too: Donald Trump has yet to sign a $14 billion arms package for the island after meeting with Chinese leader Xi Jinping in Beijing last month.
Tang Tsung-yi, a spokesperson for Kuma Academy, the civil defence NGO running the training, says the course teaches beginner pilots what drones can actually do on a battlefield. The goal is not to arm civilians but to move people "from passive defence like sheltering to a more active role in observing risks and sharing information." One anonymous participant, who works at a defence company with government ties, put it plainly: "I may not be a soldier, but if a China invasion ever happened here, as a citizen, I'd like to have the ability to help in some way."
For people like Pan, the political divisions at home and the uncertainty about American support reinforce the impulse to act. "We can't change the broader environment," he says, "so the only thing we can do is prepare ourselves as best we can." It is a statement of pragmatism and resignation mixed together—an acknowledgment that individual citizens cannot control geopolitics, but they can control whether they show up to a training room on a Saturday afternoon and learn to fly a drone. Thousands of Taiwanese are making that choice.
Citas Notables
The war in Ukraine has really changed how drones are used. It's like giving myself another skill, something I can use if it's ever needed one day.— Pan Chien-chin, 48, food company worker
I may not be a soldier, but if a China invasion ever happened here, as a citizen, I'd like to have the ability to help in some way.— Anonymous defence company employee
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why drones specifically? Why not just teach people first aid and evacuation?
First aid saves lives in any crisis. But drones change what's possible in a conflict. In Ukraine, they became eyes—surveillance, reconnaissance, coordination. Taiwan's terrain is mountainous. Drones can see what soldiers on the ground cannot. A trained civilian network could provide real-time information across the island.
But these are untrained civilians. How useful can they really be?
That's the point of the training. You're not making them soldiers. You're teaching them to observe, to fly by manual control when systems fail, to think about what information matters. In Ukraine, civilians with drones have been essential. Taiwan is learning from that.
The article mentions Trump hasn't signed the arms package. Does that change the calculus here?
It does. If you can't rely on American weapons arriving on schedule, you have to think about what your own people can do with what you have. Drones are cheap. They're teachable. A 65-year-old retiree can learn to fly one. That's different from waiting for a weapons shipment.
Is this actually about defence, or is it about managing fear?
Both. Fear is real—the threat from China is real. But channeling that fear into preparation, into skill-building, into community—that's not nothing. It gives people agency. It says: you are not helpless. You can learn something that matters.
What happens if the invasion never comes?
Then you have a population that knows how to fly drones, that has trained together, that understands emergency response. That's not wasted. That's a more resilient society.