What Drives the Taiwanese Fighting in Ukraine?

The timing and setting of an event in Taipei to mark the first anniversary of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine couldn’t have been more appropriate. Organized by Taiwan Stands With Ukraine (TSWU), a civil society movement that sprang up in the wake of the invasion, the event coincided with a four-day national holiday in Taiwan commemorating the February 28 Incident – known locally as 228.

This 1947 uprising against – and subsequent crackdown by – the Kuomintang (KMT) government, which claimed thousands of lives, marked the beginning of the White Terror period and four decades of martial law. As such, it has become a focal point in Taiwanese consciousness.

Until 2007, the name of Chiang Kai-shek, the man responsible for these abuses, was emblazoned on the panel at the central archway where the crowd assembled for the event in support of Ukraine. These days, the sign reads “Liberty Square,” in reference to large plaza it opens onto. From the 1980s onwards, the square became a locus for dissent, with the Wild Lily student movement of 1990 being the most prominent protest. But, despite the square’s current association with democratization, the grounds in their entirety and the nearby metro station remain dedicated to Chiang. From a pavilion atop a platform at the southern end of the square, a huge bronze effigy of the late dictator still presides over a space that now represents values he opposed.

Further highlighting this complicated aspect of Taiwanese history, Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an, who claims to be Chiang Kai-shek’s great-grandson, spoke at a commemoration at the nearby 228 Peace Memorial Park the following day. He issued an apology of sorts for White Terror excess, which he called “historical pain,” but for some his presence at such a location on the anniversary was too much.

“It’s a provocation,” said a journalist with the local Liberty Times newspaper who was in the square on his day off to show solidarity with Ukraine. “And, let’s face it, he probably won’t even really say sorry,” he added, correctly anticipating one of the main critiques of Chiang Wang-an’s address.  

For those assembled in front of the arch, the significance of such juxtaposed symbols of freedom and repression was not lost. Parallels between Taiwan and Ukraine can be overplayed, but the bond felt by attendees of both nationalities in the face of authoritarian aggression is undeniable.

“It’s great to have this event at such a meaningful place as Liberty Square,” said TSWU organizer Alex Khomenko. “The news cycle moves on, and people naturally forget, so to have politicians and others here speaking so strongly in favor of Ukraine, one year on, means a lot.”

While all attendees were passionate in their support for Ukraine, three men stood out in their commitment to the cause. Dressed in army fatigues, they stood to one side of the stage, largely content to let the others do the talking. They were a slightly odd bunch – different shapes and sizes, contrasting characters and motivations – but united by their decision to serve in the defense of Ukraine.

Tony Lu’s inspiration was simple: to alleviate suffering. Images of besieged Ukrainian cities had aroused his indignation. “I felt like I had to help,” said Lu, who was working as a butcher when he made the decision to travel to Ukraine. “I was imagining this happening in Taiwan.”

He saw clear parallels between his country and Ukraine. “It’s just a case of a big country trying to dominate a smaller one,” he said.

At 34, Lu was old enough to have been part of the generation of Taiwanese that was required to perform a year of military service. In 2013, the mandated period was reduced to four months for people born after 1994, and many of these conscripts performed so-called substitute military service, which involved clerical civil service duties. Then, in December 2022, Taiwan’s legislature reversed the changes, reintroducing a 12-month period of military service, effective from January 2024.

This came after years of criticism over both the standard and duration of the training. Numerous personal accounts have indicated that it is woefully insufficient, particularly in terms of live-fire experience. This is also set to be addressed by the December legislation, as it requires each conscript to shoot at least 800 rounds over the course of the year.

Unlike some, who have called their training practically worthless, Lu believes his year’s service was of basic value. “It will at least help you know how to hold a gun and protect your family,” he said. However, he is not certain the training is keeping apace with developments across the Taiwan Strait. “Times are different, and China’s forces continue to expand and strengthen,” he said. “We must, too.”

With a little bit of hunting experience, Lu was perhaps slightly more prepared that the average Taiwanese. Yet, when he set off for Ukraine in March 2022, the front lines were far from his thoughts. Altruism, courage, and perhaps foolhardiness spurred his decision, but he apparently lacked a coherent plan.

“I didn’t go there to fight, but just hoped to carry supplies and assist civilians in need,” he explained. “But I soon found out that the front line was where the help was needed. Those who had escaped from there were already considered safe.”

As Ukraine was not permitting regular civilians to serve at the front, Lu said he decided to join the international legion. Over a period of three months, he received training and served as a regular rifleman in the cities of Irpin and Izium, both of which saw ferocious fighting and atrocities against civilians.

After Izium was recaptured by Ukrainian forces in September 2022 – by which time Lu had returned to Taiwan – several mass graves were uncovered in woodlands on the outskirts of the city. The largest contained the bodies of 440 civilians, including women and children, leading to renewed calls for a war crimes tribunal.

While Lu showed a sense of pride in having been involved in the liberation of these two key cities, he expressed anguish at the thought of the families that suffered there.

Despite his undoubted bravery, there is a sense that Lu felt some kind of moral pressure – whether internal or from without – to sign up, perhaps against his better judgment. One thing is clear: The experience affected him deeply.

In Izium, a large artillery shell landed right next to his unit’s trench but failed to explode – an incident that he has recounted several times in local and international media, still incredulous at his good fortune. If the shell had gone off, Lu is quite certain he wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.

More than single events, though, it was the daily pounding from Russian artillery fire, and the constant death and destruction that surrounded him, that took their toll. “I still have trouble sleeping,” he said.

Friends of various nationalities died during and since his period of service, and he described some of these fallen comrades wistfully. In the months since I first met him at the anniversary event, Lu has sent me images of some of his brothers-in-arms.

Prominent among them was an Australian named Trevor Kjedal, who drew a sizable online following with his social media updates. Nicknamed “Ninja,” the 40-year-old sniper spoke Mandarin. The bond between the pair was further cemented by Lu’s familiarity with Australia, thanks to a working holiday he spent in the country between 2014-2018.

Recalling how Kjedal had helped protect him under heavy artillery and tank fire in Izium, Lu spoke about the Australian in fraternal terms. “He was a funny, crazy guy,” said Lu. “Just like an older brother.”

Lu was crushed to learn that Kjedal had been killed in a mortar attack in the Donbas region in November. Following a request from other members of their unit, Lu sent a cap to Australia to be signed by friends and given to Kjedal’s mother. The cap features the Ukrainian coat of arms, the tryzub (or trident) – a ubiquitous symbol of Ukraine’s resistance to Russian aggression.

“When I have time, I will go to Australia and bring flowers to his mother,” Lu promised another friend in a text message. “I’m looking [out] for all you.” 

Lee Chen-ling is the same age as Lu and from the same city, Taichung, in central Taiwan, but the two are poles apart in terms of personality. While Lu’s soft half-smile and weary, regretful eyes communicated empathy and a sense of trauma, Lee came across as far tougher. A look of intense concentration marked his face as he answered questions with terse responses. Occasionally, a cynical grin breached this stony reserve.

Following four years’ service as in Taiwan’s army, Lee did a further year in the French

Foreign Legion, a period that he described as “really difficult, with so much training.” A friend later described Lee as a career soldier who “wouldn’t really know what to do if you put him in a regular job.” Before journeying to Ukraine, he had been working in a maritime security role and as an UberEats driver.

When news of Russia’s invasion broke, Lee did not hesitate to sign up. During his eight months in Ukraine, he worked as a drone operator. He declined to talk about where he was based, saying only “we moved around a lot.” He was also cautious in describing the exact circumstances that drove his decision to enlist, though I later learned that he had the backing of private sponsors.

Most of his work under Ukrainian command and control (C2) was reconnaissance-based, though on at least one occasion, he flew an attack drone to destroy a Russian BMP-1, an an amphibious Soviet infantry fighting vehicle.

He was phlegmatic and straightforward in describing his contribution. “I was basically following orders from Ukrainian C2,” he said. “Right, left, move ahead, take photos, engage. Whatever they directed, I did.”        

While Lee echoed Lu’s comments about parallels with Taiwan and wanting to support those in need, there was another motive behind his decision to serve. “I think this is important to Taiwan’s defense, because it’s been almost 70 years since the Taiwanese army had any experience of fighting,” he said.

The reference here is to the 1949 Battle of Kuningtou, which took place on Taiwan’s outlying island of Kinmen, just off China’s coast. Since that attempted invasion by People’s Liberation Army (PLA) forces was thwarted, Taiwan’s military has not seen combat action – indirect participation in the wars in Korea and Vietnam notwithstanding. (It should be noted the PLA has not seen action since its ill-fated invasion of Vietnam in 1979.) 

“When you look at the United States over the last 20 years, it has been fighting the Taliban and ISIS in Iraq,” said Lee. “That’s just a different level.”

He also believes Taiwan’s armed forces are hampered by outmoded methods and structures that date from the Cold War era. “The training for the army has so many problems. It’s partly because we still have the old Soviet model in the armed forces,” said Lee. “It’s all about the army looking beautiful, but, that’s fucking bullshit. If this doesn’t change, a lot people will end up dead.”

While Lee’s point focused on a “Communist” obsession with appearances at the expense of expertise, it raised an uncomfortable point about vestiges of the Kuomintang’s political warfare system, with its commissars monitoring for “correct” ideology. A comprehensive report published by the London School of Economics (LSE) Ideas think tank in March 2023 highlighted how this relic continues to permeate the methods of the armed forces in not altogether desirable ways.

As part of ideological education sessions, trainees continue to undergo review by political officers, argued author Mariah Thornton. “If trainees exhibit thoughts or behaviors deemed ‘problematic’ or ‘risky’ for the operations of the political warfare system, they will either undergo further ideological education or be removed from the military,” Thornton wrote in the report, part of the China Foresight series published by LSE Ideas.

The third of the trio at the 228 weekend gathering was Chuang Yu-wei from the northern city of Taoyuan. Considerably chunkier and older than his two compatriots, he cut a jovial, avuncular figure as he described his participation in the five-week Battle of Kyiv. He offered similar reasons to Lee for his decision to join the international legion.

“We Taiwanese haven’t had the experience of war for a long time,” said the 52-year-old Chuang. “We don’t know about modern warfare, so it’s important to get some idea. I wanted to get some training and experience and, then, if I survived, I could share this with my fellow Taiwanese,” he said. “And I did survive!”

A former tour guide who now identifies himself as a “cultural studies major,” Chuang said he killed “a few” Russians while sniping from buildings in Kyiv with his Soviet SVD rifle. “I like the SVD very much,” he added. “It shoots well. Accurate.”

The biggest benefit of his time in Ukraine, said Chuang, was interacting with such an eclectic group. Each soldier brought something unique to the table. “I liked the fact that there were people from so many different backgrounds and nationalities,” said Chuang, “All brave men with great abilities and different types of military skills. Before we engaged the enemy we often discussed what type of tactics we should use – American, German, English?” He chuckled at this last reflection.

Chuang described the successful defense of Kyiv with exhilaration. “When at last we beat them, the feeling was ‘Oh, shit – we won! Yeeeah!’”

In contrast to his two compatriots, Chuang’s manner conveyed an enthusiasm that could be taken almost as enjoyment. Elsewhere, he has spoken only of non-combat duties in Kharkiv. Privately, some people have cast doubt on some his claims, suggesting they may be embellished. “His story seems to change a lot,” said one observer, while others noted that in media appearances, he seemed to handle replica weapons rather clumsily.

These three men, with very distinct characters, offered overlapping but diverging reasons for their decision to fight for Ukraine. But there are many thousands of other Taiwanese who share their love of homeland – and concerns about the competence of Taiwan’s military – who did not travel to take up arms in defense of Ukraine. What made these three different?

“Are they trying to earn money? Definitely not,” said one Ukrainian academic with knowledge of Taiwan and China. “Trying to protect someone? Perhaps. Some might be ideological. But maybe they just feel that being in a war coincides with their personality type.”

He referred to his own difficulties as a researcher seeking to frame survey questions in a way that will elicit trustworthy responses. “Sometimes the way people answer could be a kind of excuse,” he said. “They might not really know themselves why they chose this path. Maybe because of a boring life in their own country. Maybe they’re still looking for something in their lives.”

Richard Limon, an ex-U.S. Marine, agreed. “Each person has their reason,” said Limon, a shooting instructor and adviser with the National Defense Shooting and Education Center, an airsoft and civil defense training facility in New Taipei City. “But plenty of people join a foreign legion because there’s something missing that they’re just trying to find.”

Dissecting some of the proffered reasons, the Ukrainian researcher found them unconvincing. “It’s pretty normal for people to have empathy for others in these situations, so that first reason makes a certain amount of sense,” he said. “But in terms of gaining useful war experience, does it make much difference to the overall armed forces of Taiwan if one soldier gets better preparation? I’m not so sure.”

As for the argument for the advantages of exposure to a multinational mix, he was equally dubious. “If you want to engage with the international community, go to National Taiwan University. You’ll be improving your language skills, interaction, and communication. I’m not saying these people are wrong, but I’m not sure they all understand their real goals.”

This might fairly describe Tony Lu, said Su Yi, who operates the National Defense Shooting and Education Center. Having hosted presentations by Lu at the facility and developed a close friendship with him, Su admires Lu’s courage and humanitarian ideals. He noted that Lu “spent his own money,” while Lee and Chuang had financial support and received payment for their services.

“But Tony didn’t really understand how bad it was,” said Su. “He signed up to help save people, but was sent to the front line where he had to learn in the face of life or death, every second he was there.”

The harsh reality has caused a change in Lu, said his friend. “In the beginning, Tony told other Taiwanese, if you want to support Ukraine, I have some resources to help you come here,” said Su. “But when he got to the front line and lost a few friends, he thought differently.”

Lu began questioning how he would live with himself if he encouraged others to enlist and they lost their lives. “How could I face their parents?” Su recalled him asking.

From that point on, said Su, Lu began cautioning others about recklessly heading off to Ukraine. Instead, he recommended alternatives such as “sending supplies, donating or doing some social media campaigns.” In conjunction with the staff at the training facility, Lu’s efforts have helped prevent at least one naive high school student from heading to Ukraine.

Yet, like his two countrymen, Lu has expressed an intention to return to Ukraine and help the country win the war.

Whether the experience of the three men, and the other Taiwanese who have served in Ukraine, will amount to a net benefit to Taiwan remains unclear. But, despite their different outlooks, they all agreed that Taiwan must replicate the spirit of unity they encountered in Ukraine.

The challenges to achieving this were evident at the 228 Peace Memorial Park event, the day after the Ukraine gathering. As Chiang Wan-an attempted to deliver his supposedly conciliatory speech, protesters broke a police cordon and rushed his podium. They were eventually contained by security, but the message was clear: Historical grievances have not yet been adequately addressed and social divisions still cleave Taiwanese society.

These fractures should not be overstated, though. “Russia made this mistake in Ukraine,” said the Ukrainian academic. “They thought society was so divided that it would collapse and wouldn’t resist the invasion. But they completely underestimated the unity and cooperation that the war would create.”