If Taiwan is the spark, Micronesia is the tinder

TSMC is Taiwan's largest company, with headquarters and main operations located in the Hsinchu Science Park in Hsinchu, Taiwan. Photo by Mar-Vic Cagurangan

Inside the Reef By Joyce McClure

Recently I watched the documentary "Invisible Nation," which downplays the centrality of Taiwan’s semiconductor industry in the standoff with Beijing. I also listened to a conversation between American diplomat Eric S. Edelman and Michael Hunzeker on The Bulwark’s Shield of the Republic podcast.

Hunzeker, co-author of America’s "Taiwan Dilemma," warned that if China takes Taiwan, the island’s chip industry—and with it a large portion of the global economy—would almost certainly collapse.

Two smart analyses. Two different readings of what’s at stake. Yet both share the same omission: neither spends any time on the places that would feel the first shockwaves—Guam, the freely associated states and their Pacific neighbors.

From this part of the world, Taiwan is not an abstract flashpoint; it is a flight path.

Guam is already living with the consequences of strategic anxiety. The U.S. is in the middle of a once-in-a-generation military buildup: thousands of Marines shifting from Okinawa to Camp Blaz, expanded Air Force and Navy facilities, and what’s being described as an integrated missile defense system. Washington speaks of “defending the homeland” and “deterring China.” For people on Guam, it also means more construction, more land for the military and the reality that in any war over Taiwan, Guam is a target.

The Federated States of Micronesia is different—sovereign but bound to the U.S. through the Compact of Free Association—yet just as strategically central.

Analysts describe the freely associated states as essential for U.S. power projection and early warning capabilities across the Western Pacific. That may sound abstract, but it translates to something very concrete: pressure on small governments, competition for influence and a constant expectation to signal allegiance.

While the military buildup is the visible front of the Taiwan issue, the quieter battle is in Pacific diplomacy.

Over the past decade, Beijing has chipped away at Taipei’s few remaining diplomatic supporters in the region. Solomon Islands and Kiribati switched recognition from Taiwan to China in 2019, reorienting the region’s political map and opening the door to Beijing-backed security arrangements. Politicians in Solomon Islands have alleged that both Beijing and Taipei engaged in inducements to win support. Taiwan rejects the claims, accusing Beijing of its own “dollar diplomacy.”

This is the part of the Taiwan story the Pacific understands all too well: before any conflict begins, the region becomes a marketplace for influence, where the highest bidder often wins.

Taiwan’s diplomatic vulnerability stems partly from a historical quirk that has become a geopolitical trap: the island is still officially called the Republic of China. The name dates back to 1949, when the defeated Nationalist government fled to Taiwan but kept the title of the state it once ruled on the mainland.

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Most people in Taiwan now identify simply as Taiwanese. But renaming the country is the one action Beijing says will trigger war, and even the United States discourages such a move. Taiwan functions as an independent nation while carrying a name that suggests otherwise—a name Beijing uses to pressure Pacific governments and block Taiwan from regional forums.

The consequences are visible. When the Solomon Islands hosted the Pacific Islands Forum and barred all external partners—including Taiwan—the move was widely seen as reflecting Beijing’s influence. Tuvalu, one of Taiwan’s remaining allies, even considered boycotting. Taiwan’s exclusion is not just symbolic; it demonstrates how effectively China shapes regional institutions.

The contrast between narratives sharpens when Hunzeker’s warning is set beside the documentary’s framing. As he put it, “the harsh reality is if Taiwan falls… that semiconductor production capability is gone.” In his view, it is not only Taiwan’s democracy at risk but the global tech supply chain that powers everything from smartphones to weapons systems. A Chinese takeover would not preserve that capacity—it would obliterate it.

Yet “Invisible Nation” offers only a brief reference to the silicon shield, despite the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company producing 90 percent of the world’s smartphone chips. A reviewer for The Asian Cut noted that the world’s most important chipmaker receives only a five-second mention in the film. If semiconductors are central, why downplay them? And if they are not, why are militaries across the Indo-Pacific—including those building out Guam—organizing around the assumption that they are?

From Guam, the pattern is unmistakable. The island and its neighbors are physically embedded in global strategy, yet politically absent from the decisions shaping it. Whether experts frame Taiwan as a democracy to defend, a chip hub to protect or a symbol of American credibility, places like Guam and the FSM appear mostly as scenery: runways, refueling points, radar sites.

The same dynamic plays out across smaller Pacific nations courted—sometimes aggressively—by both Beijing and Taipei. Researchers and civil society groups have documented years of checkbook diplomacy, opaque infrastructure projects and elite capture. Ordinary people, meanwhile, contend with rising costs of living, climate threats and social tensions tied to these geopolitical maneuvers.

On Guam, residents must accept increased militarization with little clarity about evacuation plans, shelter capacity and missile defense limits. In the FSM, leaders try to balance U.S. security guarantees with China’s expanding regional footprint without compromising sovereignty.

Which circles back to the semiconductor debate. If Hunzeker is right and a Chinese takeover would shatter global chip production, Guam’s buildup is preparation for a world-changing crisis. If the documentary is right and chips are only part of the story, then the buildup still assumes conflict is increasingly plausible and that the Pacific remain acceptable collateral geography.

Either way, the story Washington and Beijing tell is about stakes. The story lived in Guam and the FAS is about consent.

A different narrative would begin by treating Pacific peoples as subjects, not staging grounds. It would require honest conversations about risk, transparent diplomacy and regional decision-making that centers on Pacific self-determination. The Taiwan–China conflict is already shaping Micronesia. The question is not whether the islands will feel the impact—they will—but whether they get to define their role rather than serve as forward areas in someone else’s script.

If Taiwan is the spark, Micronesia is the tinder. And the people deserve a say in how much of their future they are willing to let burn.

 Joyce McClure is a former senior marketing executive and former Peace Corps volunteer in Yap. Transitioning to freelance writing, she moved to Guam in 2021 and recently relocated back to the mainland. Send feedback to joycemcc62@yahoo.com 

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