History, it turns out, does not end; it mocks those who try to write its final chapter too early.
Nearly four decades after Francis Fukuyama argued that liberal democracy represented the endpoint of ideological evolution, the political scientist has reportedly begun revisiting his famous “End of History” thesis. Confronted by China’s economic rise and technological ambitions, he has described the “China model” as a “pretty impressive system” and a “real alternative” to the West.
Predictably, Beijing’s propaganda apparatus has seized on such remarks as evidence that authoritarian state capitalism has succeeded where liberal democracy has failed.
Both Fukuyama’s reassessment and Beijing’s celebration rest on a flawed assumption: that China’s rapid modernization proves the superiority of its political system.
It does not.
What many Western observers mistake for authoritarian efficiency is often a classic example of what economic historians call the “advantage of backwardness.” Nations that industrialize later can adopt technologies, infrastructure, and production methods that others spent decades, or even centuries, developing through costly experimentation.
China did not need to invent the modern railway, the semiconductor, the jet engine, or the internet. It entered the race after much of the track had already been laid.
Its spectacular urban transformation is undeniably real. Yet gleaming skyscrapers and high-speed rail lines do not, by themselves, demonstrate political superiority any more than a newly built airport proves the superiority of the government that commissioned it.
The comparison is often misleading. The subway systems of New York and London are century-old networks operating beneath dense cities that evolved over generations.
China’s modern transit systems were largely built from scratch using the latest available technology. To treat this contrast as proof that authoritarian governance is inherently more effective is to confuse timing with institutional excellence.
Nor was China’s rise the product of a self-contained engine of innovation. It emerged from a unique convergence of circumstances: a vast labor force moving from rural poverty into manufacturing, access to wealthy Western consumer markets, massive inflows of foreign investment, and integration into the global trading system after China entered the World Trade Organization in 2001.
Technology transfer played a significant role as well. Through joint ventures, foreign partnerships, overseas acquisitions, and other channels, China absorbed and adapted knowledge developed elsewhere.
The result was not an economic miracle created in isolation, but an extraordinary period of catch-up growth fueled by global integration.
None of this diminishes China’s achievements. Lifting hundreds of millions of people out of poverty remains one of the most significant economic transformations in human history.
Acknowledging China’s success, however, is not the same as concluding that authoritarian governance caused it.
The model’s limitations become more visible when examining the sectors Beijing most proudly showcases. Consider the COMAC C919 passenger jet, often presented as China’s answer to Boeing and Airbus.
Despite its symbolic importance, the aircraft remains heavily dependent on Western engines, avionics, and other critical systems.
Similarly, while China has become exceptionally skilled at scaling technologies through state support and industrial policy, many foundational breakthroughs in advanced semiconductor manufacturing, aerospace engineering, and generative artificial intelligence continue to emerge from the open research environments of democratic societies.
This brings us to the question that both Beijing and many Western admirers of the China model often avoid: How should success be measured?
If success is defined primarily by metrics that serve the state — gross domestic product, infrastructure built, industrial output, or military capacity — authoritarian systems can appear remarkably efficient. Governments unconstrained by elections, public scrutiny, independent courts, or organized opposition can mobilize resources with impressive speed.
If success is measured from the perspective of ordinary citizens, the picture becomes more complicated.
Wealth matters. So do personal liberty, legal protections, freedom of expression, government accountability, and the ability to criticize those in power without fear of political retaliation.
Here, the China model encounters its greatest challenge.
That challenge is Taiwan.
The most compelling rebuttal to Beijing’s authoritarian thesis does not come from Washington, London, or Brussels. It comes from Taipei.
For decades, defenders of the China model have argued that liberal democracy is fundamentally a Western concept ill-suited to Chinese societies. Stability, prosperity, and social harmony, they contend, require centralized political control rooted in Chinese cultural traditions.
Taiwan quietly disproves this proposition every day.
Taiwan shares many elements of China’s cultural heritage, language, and historical traditions. Yet it has built one of Asia’s most vibrant democracies while becoming a technological powerhouse at the center of the global semiconductor industry.
It enjoys higher living standards, stronger protections for civil liberties, greater government transparency, and a healthcare system admired around the world.
This matters because it isolates the critical variable. If two societies share a broadly similar cultural foundation but produce radically different political outcomes, culture cannot be the explanation.
The debate then shifts to institutions, incentives, and governance.
Taiwan demonstrates that Chinese culture is not incompatible with democracy. It demonstrates that prosperity does not require authoritarianism.
Most importantly, it demonstrates that innovation can flourish without political conformity.
The significance of Taiwan extends beyond economics. Despite relentless diplomatic pressure from Beijing, Taiwan commands international goodwill disproportionate to its size.
Its partnerships are built less on coercion than on trust, reliability, and shared values. While China often relies on economic leverage to secure political influence abroad, Taiwan’s influence stems largely from the strength of its institutions and the credibility of its democratic system.
Fukuyama’s original error was assuming that liberal democracy represented the inevitable endpoint of human political development. Those who now celebrate China’s rise as proof of authoritarian superiority risk committing the same mistake in reverse.
They mistake a period of extraordinary catch-up growth for evidence of a universally superior political model.
History rarely moves in straight lines. Political systems should be judged not only by their ability to build infrastructure or mobilize capital, but by their capacity to foster innovation, protect individual dignity, correct their own mistakes, and adapt to changing circumstances.
Democracies are messy. They are often frustratingly slow, divided, and inefficient.
Yet their openness allows criticism, experimentation, and self-correction in ways authoritarian systems frequently struggle to replicate.
The future will not be decided by which system can pour the most concrete or construct the tallest skyline. It will be determined by which system can best balance prosperity, innovation, accountability, and human freedom.
On that test, Taiwan remains not only a challenge to the China model, but perhaps its most powerful refutation.
John Cheng is a retired businessman from Hong Kong now living in Taiwan and author of “Taiwan Is Taiwan.”
