A pointed sentiment is circulating on American social media: People say they now support a military strike on Iran—on one condition. If President Donald Trump is so committed to making America great again, let him lead by example and send his son Barron to the front lines first.
Across the Pacific, Taiwanese citizens are asking a strikingly similar question of President Lai Ching-te. His administration has built its political identity around the rallying cry of resisting China and defending Taiwan. So, the public wants to know: When does he plan to bring his two sons home from the United States to stand alongside everyone else?
The question is pointed because it exposes a glaring double standard. It targets not just the men in question, but the system that protects them.
America's Military: An Economic Draft
There is an open secret about the United States military: It runs on economic conscription.
According to demographic data from the Department of Defense, a significant portion of the enlisted force comes from lower- and middle-income neighborhoods. For many young people in rural and economically depressed areas, enlisting is less about abstract patriotism and more about limited alternatives.
The numbers from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics make the calculus plain. In 2024, the median weekly wage for an adult with only a high school diploma was $930. For a college graduate, it was $1,543. That gap of over $600 a week—more than $30,000 a year—is pocket change for an elite family. For a working-class kid, it is the difference between staying put and moving up. The military offers a path: steady pay, housing, healthcare, and tuition benefits after discharge.
The children of wealthy families, meanwhile, pursue careers conducted in air-conditioned offices, far from any battlefield.
This dynamic was laid bare by filmmaker Michael Moore in his 2004 Palme d'Or-winning documentary,Fahrenheit 9/11. In one memorable sequence, Moore stood outside the U.S. Capitol and asked members of Congress who had voted for the Iraq War: "Have you sent your own child to Iraq?" Most smiled politely and walked away.
Moore's conclusion was blunt: If politicians' own children were dying in these wars, they would think twice before starting them. But that was never the arrangement.
The Politicians Who Found Ways Out
What makes this pattern especially corrosive is the historical record of those most willing to send others to war while exempting themselves from it.
Bill Clinton avoided Vietnam-era service through a series of maneuvers, ultimately escaping the draft through a favorable lottery number.
George W. Bush served in the Air National Guard—a domestic posting that kept him out of Vietnam—though his service record contains a notable gap.
Joe Biden received five educational deferments during the Vietnam War and was ultimately classified unfit for service due to asthma.
Dick Cheney, a principal architect of the Iraq War, secured five separate deferments between the ages of 18 and 26. He later acknowledged he had "other priorities."
Donald Trump received a medical deferment citing bone spurs in his feet.
The pattern is consistent: Those most eager to deploy military force have historically been the most resourceful in avoiding it themselves.
The Same Script in Taiwan
The parallels in Taiwan are difficult to ignore.
Lai has built his presidency around the imperative of resisting Chinese pressure. But the public question—where are his sons?—has proven stubborn.
When a retired major general stated on television that Lai's sons were living in the U.S. and had not returned to fulfill military service obligations, Lai's office demanded an apology. The retired officer apologized but immediately added that as commander-in-chief of a military facing severe manpower shortages, Lai owes the public a direct answer.
The less polite version of the question is:You are asking us to die. Where are your children?
Commentators have contrasted this with Israel, where 11 of 12 current cabinet ministers have children serving in the military. In Taiwan, media personalities have directly called for the children of the political elite to return home rather than enjoying safety abroad, while their parents advocate confrontation.
The public mood is clear. A recent survey published byGlobal Views Monthly found that if a cross-strait conflict broke out, 51.3% of Taiwanese respondents—and a staggering 70.2% of those aged 20 to 29—said they would be unwilling to have themselves or family members serve in combat.
Young people can read the script: The powerful give the orders, the ordinary absorb the casualties, and someone else collects the political dividends.
The Same Rats Under Every Roof
Placed side by side, the American and Taiwanese cases reveal a structural logic that transcends domestic politics.
War and confrontation, for the powerful, are often instruments of political management—tools to redirect public frustration, consolidate authority, and win elections. For everyone else, they are a matter of life and death.
When Americans demand that Trump send his son to the front, or when Taiwanese citizens ask where Lai's sons are, they are not filing conscription requests. They are puncturing an abstraction and making a moral demand: If you are going to incite others toward sacrifice, can your own family at least remain within range of the consequences?
The obscenity of this dynamic is consistent across borders: Those who call for sacrifice are always standing in the safe zone, while those charging forward are the ones life has backed into a corner.
Blood runs hot in political rhetoric. It just never flows through the gates of the powerful.
*The author is a U.S. Certified Public Accountant and publisher of the Hawaii Pan-Pacific News. This article was originally published in the Hawaii Pan-Pacific News and is reprinted with permission. （Related： Musk Eyes $25B “Terafab” to Rival TSMC and Samsung in AI Chips ｜ Latest ）
