When my close friend Mr. Tong Zhaoqin—the 'Oppenheimer of Taiwan,' as I call him—handed me the manuscript of 'Taiwan's Nuclear Bomb,' a work forty years in the making and forged with immense dedication, I fell into prolonged contemplation. This is not merely a record of science and engineering, but a historical portrait of Taiwan’s struggle for survival between energy self-reliance and national defense security under the shadow of the Cold War, ultimately tossed by the tides of international politics.
In recent years, the film 'Oppenheimer' has sparked global discussion. The movie opens with a reference to Greek mythology: Prometheus stole 'fire' from the gods and gave it to humanity. This fire ignited civilization, yet also unleashed the potential for destruction. And Prometheus himself was condemned to eternal torment, his liver devoured daily by an eagle. To me, nuclear energy is precisely the 'fire' that modern humanity has taken from the divine. It brings the blessings of energy and medicine, yet simultaneously unleashes the destructive forces from Pandora’s box. Once the spark is lit, humanity can never return to the way things were.
Mr. Tong’s inner struggle over these past four decades mirrors that of the bound Prometheus. He has since achieved great success across multiple fields, yet why does he remain so deeply attached to this nuclear chapter? Clearly, this history has left an indelible mark on his soul, becoming a passage in life that cannot be easily overcome. Having served in politics and cared deeply about national affairs, I fully understand the immense difficulty leaders face when confronting matters of national survival.
Revisiting Taiwan in the 1960s and 1970s, it was an extremely precarious era. China’s successful nuclear test in 1964 exerted tremendous strategic and psychological pressure on Taiwan. Then, in 1971, Kissinger’s visit to China, followed by Nixon’s in 1972, destabilized Taiwan’s international standing, sparking deep fears of being abandoned by allies.
In this atmosphere of 'relying on oneself rather than others,' developing nuclear energy became a critical decision for the leadership. Two strategic considerations underpinned this: first, energy security. Taiwan, lacking natural resources and heavily dependent on imported oil and gas, viewed nuclear energy as a stable and sustainable lifeline. Second, defense autonomy. In the gray zone between civilian and military applications, Taiwan sought to develop technological capabilities that could serve as a 'bargaining chip' to deter adversaries. Mr. Tong was at the heart of this storm, personally experiencing how Taiwan’s scientific elite navigated the perilous terrain between U.S. investigations and international embargoes.
After the U.S.-Taiwan diplomatic break in 1978, hawkish voices within Taiwan’s military grew stronger. They argued that with diplomatic ties severed, Taiwan should have greater autonomy to develop nuclear weapons without constant consultation with the U.S. Although President Chiang Ching-kuo publicly declared, 'We have the capability to develop, but we will not manufacture,' military leaders believed that as long as the red line of 'manufacturing' was not crossed, expanding research capabilities to their limits served the nation’s highest interests.
Yet this gamble ended dramatically in 1988. The defection of Chang Hsien-i convinced the U.S. that Taiwan had crossed the red line. Amid the turmoil of President Chiang’s death and a leadership transition, the Reagan administration took decisive action, dispatching a delegation to forcibly dismantle equipment such as the heavy water reactor at the Chungshan Institute of Science and Technology. David Dean, then director of the American Institute in Taiwan, even brought a letter of assurance demanding that incoming President Lee Teng-hui sign it, bluntly stating that if President Lee refused, he would not return to the U.S. Taiwan’s nuclear dream was thus extinguished in that moment by international power.
At the end of 'Oppenheimer,' the protagonist tells Einstein: 'When I brought those calculations to you, we thought it might trigger a chain reaction that could destroy the entire world.' 'So what?' Einstein replies. 'I believe we did,' says Oppenheimer. This metaphor of 'I believe we did' does not refer to the success of the nuclear explosion, but to the irreversible historical consequences once unleashed. Einstein also tells Oppenheimer: 'When they need you, they use you to build weapons; when they feel threatened or guilty, they make you bear all the blame.' This tension between national honor and historical guilt is the deepest shadow in the hearts of scientists like Mr. Tong.
Today, looking back on this sealed history, several ultimate questions arise: Was the forced termination of Taiwan’s nuclear program ultimately beneficial or detrimental to its long-term development and security? If we had truly taken that final step, would Taiwan today be in a position like Iran or North Korea, or would it have achieved a different level of stability?
Even now, the issues raised in this book remain with us. How can energy policy balance safety, stability, and sustainability? How should technological development navigate the relationship between national interest and international norms? And how should Taiwan chart its course amid shifting global dynamics? These remain enduring and vital questions. While history cannot be replayed, historical experience can inform future judgment.
I believe the value of Mr. Tong’s book lies in preserving a rare testimony for society and providing a foundation for rethinking these critical issues. For readers concerned with Taiwan’s history, energy policy, technological development, and national security, this book is well worth careful reading.
*The author is former Presidential Advisor and current Chairman of National Biotechnology, Inc. This article is excerpted from the foreword to 'Taiwan's Nuclear Bomb: A Dream of Nuclear Weapons and Human Struggle' (CommonWealth Publishing).
FACT BOX
- Source: PR Times
- Category: News