Walking towards Democracy:
Taiwan and Ukraine after the U.S. Presidential Election
By ｜ Kolas Yotaka
Kolas is an author, and co-founder of Solutions for Energy Security (SENSEC).Her interests cover national security, energy security, emerging technologies, international relations and international press. She is a former legislator and Presidential Office spokesperson.Ms. Kolas holds a certificate from the Harvard Kennedy School Executive Program and a Masters degree in Sociology from TungHai University.
Kolas is an author, and co-founder of Solutions for Energy Security (SENSEC).Her interests cover national security, energy security, emerging technologies, international relations and international press. She is a former legislator and Presidential Office spokesperson.Ms. Kolas holds a certificate from the Harvard Kennedy School Executive Program and a Masters degree in Sociology from TungHai University.
"Good morning!"
On a dry December morning in Cambridge, I took the shuttle to the Harvard Kennedy School building. As I was getting off the bus, I suddenly heard a voice with a strong Eastern European accent behind me on the right: "Good morning." I turned around to see a tall man, at least six feet, wearing a short black winter coat and carrying a bag over his left shoulder. It was the Army commander who had introduced himself in class the day before—the one who said he had been assigned by his superiors to leave the battlefield in Ukraine to take this course in the United States.
I recalled that during the introductions, he hadn’t been very expressive. He smiled slightly when the teachers and students made jokes in class, but not much more than that. After traveling to different countries over the years, I’ve noticed that people from colder regions often have a reserved demeanor. Given that he was an officer coming from an active war zone, it was easy to see why he didn’t smile much and seemed preoccupied.
"Good morning. How are you?" I asked.
That’s how our conversation started. He didn’t share his name right away, so I didn’t ask. He chose his words carefully. He and the other Ukrainian students seemed eager to talk to me, probably because I was from Taiwan. Later, he mentioned that if I needed to refer to him, I could call him Volodymyr, and I agreed. But I knew Volodymyr wasn’t his real name. It’s a common male name in Slavic languages, though it has different spellings in different countries. Interestingly, it’s not only Vladimir Putin’s name but also Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s. The only difference is their last names.
When I met Volodymyr at the end of 2024, several significant events were unfolding on the world stage. First, the November 2024 U.S. presidential election saw Trump winning dramatically, raising concerns that he might halt support for Ukraine. Then, on December 3, South Korean President Yun Seok-yeol unexpectedly declared martial law, a dramatic move that was swiftly reversed by the National Assembly. On December 8, Syria's rebel army, after more than a decade of civil war since the 2011 Arab Spring protests, finally captured the capital, Damascus, overthrowing Bashar al-Assad’s government, a strong ally of Russia and Iran. Assad fled the country and was confirmed to have sought political asylum in Moscow.
Meanwhile, in France, President Macron made headlines by using the inauguration of the newly reconstructed Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris as backdrop for a joint meeting with U.S. president-elect Trump and Ukrainian President Zelensky. During this event, Trump, who had yet to be sworn in, shook hands with Zelensky in front of the gathered global media. The handshake sparked speculation that the long-running conflict in Ukraine, now over two years old and exhausting both sides, might finally be approaching a resolution. The moment suggested that the possibility of peace talks was increasing, leading to questions about whether the Trump administration might actively encourage Ukraine to accept Russia's terms for negotiations.
Presidential elections in the United States have repercussions that reach far beyond its borders. This reality, whether one likes it or not, cannot be overlooked.
In the current geopolitical climate, when viewing Asia through the lens of U.S. national interests, countering China emerges as America's top priority. Yet, Taiwan, alongside Korea and Japan, is regarded as "weak," despite their pro-American stances—an assessment that presents significant concerns for Washington. The phrase "the government is small but the opposition is big" is apt here: the ruling parties in these nations have seen their parliamentary power diminish, undermining their ability to effectively steer national defense policies. This reality creates an opening for political factions that are less amenable to U.S. interests.
As we reflect on the outcomes of the recent elections, an urgent question arises: what lies ahead? The path forward must lead us toward strengthening democracy.
I told Volodymyr that I was writing a guest column and occasional special reports for the Taiwanese magazine *People Fish Poetry and Life,* and I asked if he would be open to a conversation. I wanted readers in Taiwan to understand his perspective on the situations in Ukraine, Taiwan, and the United States.
"Yes!" he replied without hesitation. "Taiwanese people need to know everything about Ukraine."
Volodymyr, an upper-middle-rank commander in the Ukrainian military, agreed to the interview but mentioned he couldn't use his real name. Being an active officer, revealing his identity could put him at risk of becoming a target for the Russians.
I suggest using the name Volodymyr. This is the name of my friend and comrade. He was an officer and died in 2022 during our mission in southern Ukraine, where I was his commander. A missile hit the basement where Volodymyr and another comrade, Artem, were. Both of them died. Another soldier and I retrieved their bodies.
His choice to call himself Volodymyr meant a lot.
Volodymyr was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of Ukraine, and a street in Zaporizhzhia was named after him.
After the real Volodymyr’s death, the "Volodymyr" in front of me kept going back to the front lines, always proud of his fallen comrades. He carried with him a sense of responsibility and a heavy mental burden, his thoughts always on the battlefield. Still, he had to take his superiors' orders and fly to the U.S. to study. When he had a chance to talk to outsiders about the world's focus on the Ukrainian War, he wanted to honor his fellow soldiers who gave their lives.
“What's your name?” Volodymyr asked me.
“Kolas,” I replied.
He burst out laughing. Ukraine is known as the breadbasket of Europe, he said, and "Kolas," written in Ukrainian as "Колос," means kernels of wheat, which is an important staple crop.
“Very important food!” Volodymyr said. My name is the golden color on the lower half of the Ukrainian flag. We both laughed at the coincidence.
One of us is from Taiwan and the other from Ukraine. Our countries are both facing serious challenges. In this special report, I want to share firsthand observations about Ukraine, Taiwan, and how a U.S. election could affect countries like ours, through the eyes of a Ukrainian military officer.
On a dry December morning in Cambridge, I took the shuttle to the Harvard Kennedy School building. As I was getting off the bus, I suddenly heard a voice with a strong Eastern European accent behind me on the right: "Good morning." I turned around to see a tall man, at least six feet, wearing a short black winter coat and carrying a bag over his left shoulder. It was the Army commander who had introduced himself in class the day before—the one who said he had been assigned by his superiors to leave the battlefield in Ukraine to take this course in the United States.
I recalled that during the introductions, he hadn’t been very expressive. He smiled slightly when the teachers and students made jokes in class, but not much more than that. After traveling to different countries over the years, I’ve noticed that people from colder regions often have a reserved demeanor. Given that he was an officer coming from an active war zone, it was easy to see why he didn’t smile much and seemed preoccupied.
"Good morning. How are you?" I asked.
That’s how our conversation started. He didn’t share his name right away, so I didn’t ask. He chose his words carefully. He and the other Ukrainian students seemed eager to talk to me, probably because I was from Taiwan. Later, he mentioned that if I needed to refer to him, I could call him Volodymyr, and I agreed. But I knew Volodymyr wasn’t his real name. It’s a common male name in Slavic languages, though it has different spellings in different countries. Interestingly, it’s not only Vladimir Putin’s name but also Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s. The only difference is their last names.
When I met Volodymyr at the end of 2024, several significant events were unfolding on the world stage. First, the November 2024 U.S. presidential election saw Trump winning dramatically, raising concerns that he might halt support for Ukraine. Then, on December 3, South Korean President Yun Seok-yeol unexpectedly declared martial law, a dramatic move that was swiftly reversed by the National Assembly. On December 8, Syria's rebel army, after more than a decade of civil war since the 2011 Arab Spring protests, finally captured the capital, Damascus, overthrowing Bashar al-Assad’s government, a strong ally of Russia and Iran. Assad fled the country and was confirmed to have sought political asylum in Moscow.
Meanwhile, in France, President Macron made headlines by using the inauguration of the newly reconstructed Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris as backdrop for a joint meeting with U.S. president-elect Trump and Ukrainian President Zelensky. During this event, Trump, who had yet to be sworn in, shook hands with Zelensky in front of the gathered global media. The handshake sparked speculation that the long-running conflict in Ukraine, now over two years old and exhausting both sides, might finally be approaching a resolution. The moment suggested that the possibility of peace talks was increasing, leading to questions about whether the Trump administration might actively encourage Ukraine to accept Russia's terms for negotiations.
Presidential elections in the United States have repercussions that reach far beyond its borders. This reality, whether one likes it or not, cannot be overlooked.
In the current geopolitical climate, when viewing Asia through the lens of U.S. national interests, countering China emerges as America's top priority. Yet, Taiwan, alongside Korea and Japan, is regarded as "weak," despite their pro-American stances—an assessment that presents significant concerns for Washington. The phrase "the government is small but the opposition is big" is apt here: the ruling parties in these nations have seen their parliamentary power diminish, undermining their ability to effectively steer national defense policies. This reality creates an opening for political factions that are less amenable to U.S. interests.
As we reflect on the outcomes of the recent elections, an urgent question arises: what lies ahead? The path forward must lead us toward strengthening democracy.
I told Volodymyr that I was writing a guest column and occasional special reports for the Taiwanese magazine *People Fish Poetry and Life,* and I asked if he would be open to a conversation. I wanted readers in Taiwan to understand his perspective on the situations in Ukraine, Taiwan, and the United States.
"Yes!" he replied without hesitation. "Taiwanese people need to know everything about Ukraine."
Volodymyr, an upper-middle-rank commander in the Ukrainian military, agreed to the interview but mentioned he couldn't use his real name. Being an active officer, revealing his identity could put him at risk of becoming a target for the Russians.
I suggest using the name Volodymyr. This is the name of my friend and comrade. He was an officer and died in 2022 during our mission in southern Ukraine, where I was his commander. A missile hit the basement where Volodymyr and another comrade, Artem, were. Both of them died. Another soldier and I retrieved their bodies.
His choice to call himself Volodymyr meant a lot.
Volodymyr was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of Ukraine, and a street in Zaporizhzhia was named after him.
After the real Volodymyr’s death, the "Volodymyr" in front of me kept going back to the front lines, always proud of his fallen comrades. He carried with him a sense of responsibility and a heavy mental burden, his thoughts always on the battlefield. Still, he had to take his superiors' orders and fly to the U.S. to study. When he had a chance to talk to outsiders about the world's focus on the Ukrainian War, he wanted to honor his fellow soldiers who gave their lives.
“What's your name?” Volodymyr asked me.
“Kolas,” I replied.
He burst out laughing. Ukraine is known as the breadbasket of Europe, he said, and "Kolas," written in Ukrainian as "Колос," means kernels of wheat, which is an important staple crop.
“Very important food!” Volodymyr said. My name is the golden color on the lower half of the Ukrainian flag. We both laughed at the coincidence.
One of us is from Taiwan and the other from Ukraine. Our countries are both facing serious challenges. In this special report, I want to share firsthand observations about Ukraine, Taiwan, and how a U.S. election could affect countries like ours, through the eyes of a Ukrainian military officer.
