In a speech kicking off his ‘10 Talks on the Country’ series on 22 June, Taiwanese President Lai Ching-te declared that Taiwan ‘is of course a country’, citing its democratic system and separate history, and Beijing’s lack of jurisdiction over the island. It was one of his clearest affirmations yet of Taiwan’s national identity: not a call for change, but a statement of present-day fact.

Beijing reacted with fury. Its Taiwan Affairs Office condemned Lai’s remarks as a ‘declaration of Taiwan independence’ filled with ‘heresies’, accusing him of inciting separatism and ‘leading Taiwan toward war’. Chinese state media warned that such speeches would be ‘swept into the rubbish heap of history’, and added that Lai’s inflammatory remarks disregarded the strong desire of the Taiwanese public for peace.

This cycle—a democratic leader reaffirming Taiwan’s sovereignty, met with Beijing branding it a provocation—has become increasingly routine. Lai’s predecessor, Tsai Ing-wen, said in 2020:  ‘We are an independent country already and we call ourselves the Republic of China, Taiwan.’ Even former president Ma Ying-jeou of the Kuomintang said in 2010: ‘The Republic of China on Taiwan has been an independent sovereign state for 99 years. There’s no reason to declare independence twice.’ In fact, every single democratically elected leader in Taiwan’s history has made similar statements.

But all this overlooks something deeper: Taiwan cannot make a unilateral declaration of independence—not because it lacks the will, capacity, or public mandate, but because the entire concept is a Beijing talking point.

First, Taiwan already meets the definition of a sovereign state. As the Republic of China (ROC), Taiwan has all the attributes of statehood under international law: a defined territory, a permanent population, a functioning government and the capacity to engage internationally. It collects taxes, conducts elections, maintains a military, trades globally and operates de jure embassies in 12 countries and de facto embassies in dozens more.

What it lacks is widespread formal recognition—not because of governance shortcomings, but because of diplomatic pressure from the People’s Republic of China (PRC). Since 1971, most countries have adopted a ‘One China’ policy, acknowledging Beijing as the sole legal government of China. But that hasn’t changed reality: the ROC governs independently and has never been ruled by the PRC.

The idea that Taiwan might one day declare independence misses the core of the cross-strait issue. For many Taiwanese, especially those born after martial law, independence isn’t a destination; it’s the condition they already live under.

Second, there is no obvious legal or constitutional mechanism for Taiwan to declare independence. Taiwan’s constitution, inherited from the ROC’s 1947 charter, does not include any clause or mechanism for declaring independence.

Moreover, any such declaration raises unresolvable questions around what is being declared: that the ROC no longer exists, or that the PRC has no claim? These are political statements, not legal acts. Taiwan already functions as an independent state. Declaring it again changes nothing except how Beijing might choose to react.

Even so-called pro-independence candidates, including in the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), run on defending democracy and maintaining the cross-strait status quo. In practice, Taiwanese voters back the strategic ambiguity of the status quo: assertive autonomy without triggering war.  They know an unnecessary declaration won’t make Taiwan safer, but may instead do the opposite.

A unilateral declaration of independence is a construction that allows Beijing to decide what Taiwanese actions—law, election or speech—can be used as a pretext for potential violence. It’s not a legal option so much as a rhetorical trap. The term doesn’t appear in Taiwanese law, yet it looms large in Beijing’s, especially in its 2005 Anti-Secession Law, which authorises ‘non-peaceful means’ if Taiwan takes steps toward separation. But what counts as such a step is vague by design.

All this means that Beijing gets to define what constitutes a declaration, and it moves the goalposts constantly. A DPP president? Independence. A trade deal that doesn’t use ‘Chinese Taipei’? Independence. Participating in multilateral organisations? Independence. The very fact of Taiwan’s democracy is treated as a provocation.

These angry reactions also serve as warnings to the international community: engage with Taiwan only on Beijing’s terms, or risk being accused of supporting separatism. This is what makes the concept dangerous: it lets Beijing frame Taiwan’s democratic acts—every election, every speech—as a potential trigger for war. The idea of a unilateral declaration of independence gives China both a justification for aggression and a narrative that blames Taiwan for its own undoing.

In truth, there is no need for Taiwan to declare independence. Taiwan is of course a country. But the space to affirm that fact is shrinking—not because of Taiwan’s laws, but because of political conditions imposed from Beijing. Until those conditions change, the phrase ‘unilateral declaration of independence’ will remain less a legal act than a political fiction—one defined entirely by Beijing, for Beijing’s benefit.

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