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Asia Times
7 hours ago
- Politics
- Asia Times
The next Taiwan crisis may begin in the digital public sphere
Commentators on strategic defense have outlined China's strategy to deter or delay US intervention in a Taiwan contingency. Most deserving of serious attention is not Beijing's advocacy of 'strategic deterrence' per se but what that reveals about the narrowing space for diplomacy and the expanding appetite for risk in US-China security thinking. Yes, rather than relying solely on a 'bolt from the blue' missile strike, Beijing may turn to 'strategic deterrence' – leveraging cyber, space, nuclear, and conventional tools to pressure the American homeland and sway the political decision-making calculus of a sitting US president. China's evolving toolkit to prevent or delay US military intervention in a Taiwan conflict is broader than missile salvos: It spans cyber disruption, satellite interference, economic coercion and calibrated nuclear signaling. But framing the center of gravity as the 'American political will' risks misdiagnosing the real danger – not a president 'balking,' but a president escalating in haste to avoid looking weak. There's a growing consensus in defense circles: The center of gravity in a Taiwan contingency may not lie on the battlefield but in the political will of the United States. Yet much analysis betrays a troubling assumption – that conflict between the US and China is fast becoming a matter of when, not if, and that strategic signaling through threat escalation is the most effective means of managing it. What's missing from the analysis is the feedback loop between US and Chinese signaling, and how each side's attempts at deterrence can rapidly spiral into misperception. A focus on 'strategic deterrence' overlooks how information warfare, civilian targeting and economic sabotage could erode legitimacy and provoke disproportionate retaliation. More fundamentally, these analyses assume a conflict logic that makes strategic war planning seem inevitable. But if the center of gravity is truly political and strategic deterrence is now the currency of crisis management, we must confront a deeper reality: The next Taiwan crisis will not begin with missile launches or air defense alerts. It will begin in the digital public sphere – on platforms like TikTok, WeChat, and X—where information, misinformation, and political perception collide in real time. Why aren't we investing more in political deterrence – crisis communication channels, deconfliction protocols and norms of cyber/nuclear restraint? From a policy perspective, the upcoming US National Defense Strategy must absolutely prepare for gray zone and strategic-level risks. But it must also signal that the US seeks stability, not dominance. Strategic ambiguity cannot mean strategic provocation. Ultimately, both Washington and Beijing need to ask: What's the political theory of victory in a Taiwan scenario that doesn't end in catastrophic loss for all? If neither side can answer that, deterrence is no longer a tool of prudence – it's a countdown clock. As a researcher of China's inter-network society and the global digital public sphere, I study how Chinese citizens and diaspora communities use technology both to navigate state power and to build grassroots advocacy networks. This often unfolds through rights-based civic engagement, what I call Dao (倡道), which emerges even under authoritarian constraints. These digital expressions may seem peripheral to hard-power debates, but in reality, they constitute a non-kinetic front line in any strategic conflict. Indeed, China has long recognized this. Its military doctrine emphasizes 'informatized warfare,' in which narrative control, platform dominance and cyber disruption are as decisive as kinetic capabilities. In a Taiwan scenario, Beijing would almost certainly begin by shaping the information space – disrupting communications, hijacking social media narratives and using influence operations to sow confusion across Taiwanese society, US domestic politics and the broader global public. This is not speculation – it's precedent. During the early Covid-19 outbreak, WeChat and TikTok became dual-use tools: conduits for real-time grassroots reporting and civic organization in China, but also vehicles for censorship, disinformation and state-guided messaging. In the US, TikTok has emerged as both a creative outlet and a national security flashpoint. Its content moderation policies and opaque algorithms have triggered bipartisan concern, culminating in legislation threatening to ban the app altogether. The power of digital narrative is visible in the rise of viral online consensus, often mistaken for spontaneous public sentiment. During the 2022 Taiwan Strait tensions following then-House Speaker Nancy Pelosi's visit, nationalist sentiment surged on Weibo and WeChat, where hashtags like '统一台湾是历史必然' ('Unification with Taiwan is historically inevitable') dominated discussion. Millions of shares and state-amplified comments created a feedback loop that pressured Chinese officials to escalate their posture while sidelining dissenting voices. In any Taiwan crisis, diaspora communities would be among the first to feel the pressure. They would become both targets and transmitters of contested narratives: accused of dual loyalty, pulled into surveillance dragnets or misrepresented in media coverage. This is already happening. Chinese American researchers, journalists, and public servants have been wrongfully investigated or publicly vilified in the name of national security. The result is a chilling effect on civic engagement and a fraying of the very democratic norms the US claims to defend. Elsewhere in the world, during the early months of Russia's war in Ukraine, TikTok and X were flooded with first-person videos, maps, memes and emotional appeals. These helped form a pro-Ukraine online consensus that shaped public support and policy responses in the US and Europe. Yet such consensus can also be manipulated or distorted, as seen with viral conspiracy theories about biolabs or false flag operations. In the event of a Taiwan contingency, we can expect similar digital battlegrounds. Pro-China influencers may flood platforms with claims of provocations by Taipei or Washington, while nationalist US accounts amplify calls for swift military response. Diaspora voices – especially those of Taiwanese, Chinese and Asian American communities – will be caught in the crossfire: accused of dual loyalty, targeted with misinformation, or silenced out of fear. Taiwan in 2025: a proposal to build peace, not walls That's why banning platforms like TikTok or clamping down on diaspora communities is the wrong approach. It risks pushing users into more opaque, unregulated spaces while feeding narratives of tech nationalism and public distrust. More importantly, it ignores how civic networks and transnational voices can serve as early warning systems and counterweights to propaganda – on both sides. Since the strategic center of gravity is political, narrative warfare and digital public trust have not been side concerns – they are dominating the main arena. 'Strategic deterrence' must be understood to include media narratives, online consensus formation, digital infrastructure and civic legitimacy. Who controls the story? Who can mobilize public support? Who can maintain trust in moments of crisis? From a policy standpoint, the upcoming US National Defense Strategy must look beyond traditional counter-intervention doctrines. It must invest in civil resilience – supporting independent journalism, digital literacy, platform transparency and diaspora inclusion. It must build safeguards against both foreign interference and domestic overreach. And it must articulate a strategy for non-kinetic deterrence that does not fall into the trap of mirroring authoritarian tactics. That means resisting the urge to out-censor, out-surveil or out-propagandize adversaries. It also means acknowledging that deterrence by threat is a blunt instrument in a hyper-networked world where escalation may be emotional, viral or accidental. Strategic ambiguity is not a license for strategic provocation. Ultimately, if the Taiwan Strait is becoming the front line of a broader ideological struggle, the true test will not be military dominance but democratic cohesion. China's leadership may gamble that a US president will balk in the face of strategic risks. But a greater danger is that leaders on either side act too quickly – trapped by a narrative of inevitability, fueled by fear and devoid of credible off-ramps. We still have a choice: to reaffirm diplomacy, invest in civic trust and shape digital infrastructure as a space for shared understanding, instead of getting stuck in zero-sum competition. Making the right choice begins with recognizing that the most consequential battles may be fought not in the skies above Taiwan, but in the public consciousness across Beijing, Taipei and Washington. READ: New McCarthyism: Trump's America turns to racialized persecution Yujing Shentu, PhD, is an independent scholar and writer on digital politics, international political economy and US-China strategic competition.
Asia Times
8 hours ago
- Business
- Asia Times
Soaring rice prices are stirring political trouble in Japan
Japan's agriculture minister, Taku Eto, resigned on May 21 just six months into his term, following a public backlash to his joke that he never buys rice because supporters give it to him for free. Gaffes are by no means uncommon in Japanese politics. Controversial remarks by one former prime minister, Taro Aso, were routinely followed by retractions – and the ruling Liberal Democratic party (LDP) even distributed a gaffe-prevention manual to its members in 2019. But amid a severe rice shortage, which has seen prices surge to 90% higher than they were a year ago, Eto's quip was seen by the Japanese public as more than just an offhand comment. Rice has been a significant part of life in Japan for nearly 3,000 years. This deep connection is reflected in the Japanese word gohan, which means 'cooked rice' but is often used simply to refer to a meal. Rice has also shaped the foundations of Japanese cuisine and farming culture. Such is the importance of rice to Japanese people that a spike in prices in 1918 led to a nationwide wave of protest. The so-called rice riots forced then-Prime Minister Terauchi Masatake,to resign. However, despite the grain's obvious importance, Japanese government policy in recent decades has been focused on tightly controlling and regulating the production of rice. It has endeavoured to keep prices high, partly to reward farmers – who are an important support base for the LDP. This means consumers have paid a premium, contributing to a downward trend in rice consumption alongside other factors such as dietary diversification. By 2022, annual rice consumption in Japan had fallen to 51kg per person, less than half of what it was at its 1962 peak. In this context, the public reaction to Eto's comment was understandable. Japan's current prime minister, Shigeru Ishiba, initially seemed prepared to weather the storm, advising Eto to retract his 'problematic' remarks and remain in his post. But with elections approaching in July and Ishiba's approval rating sinking to a record low of 21%, his administration was left with little choice and Eto ultimately resigned. The rice crisis has emerged as one of the defining issues of the upcoming election, which will determine whether Ishiba's ruling coalition can secure a majority in the upper house of parliament. Having already lost its majority in the lower house in October 2024, the government may be set for another crushing defeat at the polls. Japan's rice crisis A few factors have combined over the past year to cause rice prices to increase unexpectedly. Japan's hottest September in 125 years resulted in poor harvests, while government warnings that a major earthquake off the country's Pacific coast could be imminent triggered panic buying. The agriculture ministry also says that a surge in inbound tourism contributed to a sudden rise in rice consumption. However, the rice crisis is not fundamentally the result of climate volatility or increased demand. It is the product of decades of self-defeating agricultural policy that has prioritized institutional interests over national food security. Rice production caps, which were introduced in 1971 to control supply and prices, have never been fully dismantled even as domestic consumption has changed and the farming population decreased. This artificial control of output has left the country ill-prepared for demand surges. Compounding these issues are entrenched protectionist measures designed to shield small-scale rice farmers through high tariffs and rigid distribution systems. These distortions have prioritized institutional stability and political patronage over food security reform, leaving Japan increasingly vulnerable in an era of climate disruption and supply chain instability. Having struggled with low wages for years, many sectors of Japan's population are now grappling with inflation. The government has dug into its emergency rice reserves in an attempt to alleviate the problem, but the grain has been slow to reach supermarket shelves. And some farmers, increasingly frustrated by regulations limiting how much rice they can grow, have even organized demonstrations. Under current conditions, imported rice is becoming an unavoidable fallback. Japan is importing rice from South Korea for the first time in over 25 years, while Japanese tourists are reportedly filling their suitcases with Korean rice – despite deep-seated skepticism toward anything not domestically grown. Political change looming? With rice prices soaring and public discontent mounting, this beloved everyday grain is once again at the center of Japanese politics – just as it was more than a century ago during the 1918 rice riots. Despite the complexities of modern economies, connected to global systems of market exchange, Japanese consumers understand that government policies have played an oversized role in creating the current crisis. It is largely policy that has kept their wages low and failed to rein in inflation. Consumers are also keenly aware that the LDP's rice policy has worked to protect its critical agricultural support base, a situation strongly reflected in Eto's joke. As the government scrambles to get its house in order and put more affordable rice back on the table, a deeper reflection of the past seems advisable. Historical precedents, such as the 1918 riots, suggest that strong public distrust of a government's rice policy results in profound political change. Ming Gao is a research scholar of East Asia studies, Lund University; and Timothy Amos is a senior lecturer in Japanese studies, University of Sydney. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
Asia Times
10 hours ago
- Politics
- Asia Times
Soldiers have a huge stake in Ukraine-Russia drone-tech arms race
Ukrainian drone warfare has evolved from improvisation to a high‑volume, precision‑strike ecosystem that Russia often struggles to match. With some operators flying up to 15 missions a day and factories now producing millions of drones, Ukraine's domestic drone production has reached an unprecedented scale. These drones have become central to Ukraine's battlefield strategy – pinpointing, punishing and relentlessly pushing back Russian forces – even as some analysts question how long Ukraine can hold its technological advantage. Russian troops, by contrast, are often starved for drones. Some battalions receive just 10 to 15 FPV (first-person view) drones per week. 'We know where they are flying from, but there is nothing to kill with,' lamented one Russian operator. A Russian drone developer recently admitted, 'Modern combat realities prompt us to modernize and iterate on drones practically every month.' Regulatory bottlenecks have made matters worse. 'Heavy drones now require state approval,' wrote a Russian blogger, noting that units have begun constructing their own drones to fill the vacuum left by the faltering domestic drone industry. An FPV drone is being prepared for combat operations in Eastern Ukraine. Photo: David Kirichenko One of the standout innovations has been Ukraine's development of the Vampire – a heavy multirotor drone the Russians have nicknamed Baba Yaga after a mythical Slavic witch. Russian forces have attempted crude countermeasures, attaching long sticks to their FPV drones to intercept Ukraine's bulky bombers. Russian soldiers, when the Baba Yaga drone flies overhead, are terrified of the resulting impact. While Ukraine continues to develop newer platforms, it has also refined older systems to enhance their impact on the battlefield. Mavic drones pioneered the use of light bombing in Ukraine, serving as lethal anti-personnel systems early in the war. But FPVs have since taken over the role, offering greater payload capacity and flexibility. Some FPV drones now carry up to six VOG high-explosive grenade bombs – compared with the two typically deployed by Mavics – allowing for more impactful strikes with greater reach and frequency. Ukrainian drone operators are loading T-62 anti-tank mines onto a heavy bomber drone. Photo: David Kirichenko One of the more recent innovations pushing that edge is the emergence of mothership drones. Ukraine is using mothership drones – large unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV) capable of carrying and launching multiple FPV drones – to conduct long-range strikes behind enemy lines. In the (translated) words of one Russian commentator, FPV drones are about tactical dominance. They bring chaos, fear and uncertainty to close combat. They are not feared, they are hated. They are cheap, massive and deadly effective. And their potential grows with each passing day: AI guidance, automated launches, swarms. These are no longer makeshift weapons, but new close-combat artillery. FPV drones have emerged as a key interceptor weapon to target Russian reconnaissance drones for the Ukrainian military. The Russians use the FPV drones to target Ukrainian Baba Yaga drones. Yurii, a drone pilot in Ukraine's 23rd Mechanized Brigade, has been fighting since 2014 and is regarded as one of the best pilots in the unit. Photo: David Kirichenko Much of Ukraine's operational drone success stems from specialized units. The Birds of Magyar, one of Ukraine's most prolific drone units, released some data from the outfit's drone operations. In March 2025 alone, the unit executed more than 11,600 sorties, hitting over 5,300 targets. Most of these were achieved with FPV drones (67%) and heavy bombers (31%). While viral FPV strike videos captivate online audiences, the less glamorous Baba Yaga night bombers may in fact inflict the bulk of real-world damage. These UAVs specialize in demolishing infrastructure and personnel shelters, not just enemy armour. The March tally: 1,701 strikes on Russian infantry, resulting in 1,002 confirmed kills, and dozens of bunker-busting missions. Furthermore, in April, Ukrainian drone brigades reported striking 83,000 Russian targets – marking a 5 percent increase compared to March. Dmytro Lysenko, a drone pilot with the 109th Separate Territorial Defense Brigade, before he was killed in combat in 2024 stated: 'Even when we drop explosives from drones on Russians, I sometimes shiver and feel discomfort because I remember all those times I was sitting in a trench.' He added, 'The Russians would shoot at us with everything possible. But the drone was the scariest. A shell can fly and miss and that's it. But a drone pilot aims and will be very accurate when they drop an explosive.' Russian milblogger 'Vault 8' highlighted how Ukrainian FPV and reconnaissance drones dominate territory up to 25 kilometers behind the front line, making road travel highly dangerous and turning rear areas into what he calls a 'highway of death,' where even vehicles far from the front are frequently destroyed. Both sides are having to adapt to this reality. In 2024, one drone pilot told me that at some point in the near future, heavy armor won't be able to get within 10km (six miles) of the front and that 'Autonomous drones will patrol the skies and will be taking out all the heavy armor.' Now, Ukraine is using these drones to build a 'drone wall' along the front line, extending the no-man's land for dozens of kilometers and deterring Russian advances through constant aerial threat. Russia, for months, has been using motorcycles to spearhead its suicidal offensives, mainly due to a shortage of armored vehicles because of Ukrainian drones. Ukraine's 425th Skala Assault Regiment recently established its own motorcycle assault company. With FPV drones acting as the new artillery of modern warfare, motorcycles now offer one of the best chances for assault units to quickly break through. A Ukrainian FPV drone loaded with small explosives in Chasiv Yar. Photo: David Kirichenko Beyond direct attacks, the unit also lays mines, conducts drone reconnaissance (more than 10,000 missions to date) and is testing jamming-resistant drones. With national production surging to 200,000 drones a month, the kill rate of Birds of Magyar has soared, from under 300 targets a year ago to over 5,000 now. The drone unit is now averaging one Russian killed every 6.5 minutes. Even Ukraine's logistics have gone airborne. 'Vampire drones have now started to be used as logistics drones in some directions,' said Oleksii, a drone unit commander in the 108th Separate Territorial Defense Brigade. (The Ukrainian military protocol is for active duty personnel to provide only their given names.) They carry food and ammunition to frontline units, flying at low altitudes to avoid detection. 'FPVs ranging from 10 to 15 inches are being used,' Oleksii said. 'Unlike the Vampire, the FPV crew is much more mobile.' And while bombers must drop payloads from high altitudes to avoid small arms fire, FPVs can dive directly into a one-meter target. 'They're both effective, but each has its nuances,' said Danilo, a drone pilot for the 108th. 'FPVs are more effective against pinpoint targets, where the scale of damage doesn't matter but accuracy does.' For hardened positions, Danilo adds, FPVs fall short: 'A Vampire drone can drop a couple of TM-62 mines and take care of it. But it's a big drone, bulky, and requires a crew. It's harder to work with.' Oleksii further described the challenge: 'With a Vampire, you still need to transport it by vehicle. That means you either have to get close to the position or fly it from a long distance. At long range, it's very visible in thermal cameras and can be intercepted, even shot down by another FPV, before it even crosses the line of contact.' In some cases, however, FPVs outperform the Baba Yaga. 'FPVs, even with an effectiveness rate of 30-40%, cause more damage than the Vampire,' said Andrii of the 59th Brigade (Da Vinci Wolves). That's because Russian vehicles often stay far from the frontline. 'Not every Vampire can reach that far, but most FPVs can.' Moreover, FPVs fare better under Russian jamming, as they can switch control frequencies mid-flight, something the Vampire cannot do. One Russian reported that Ukraine's heavy drone bombers – targeting artillery crews, tanks, and command posts – offer a major strategic advantage due to Ukraine's systematic development and deployment methods. Ukraine also recently recorded its first confirmed kill using a drone-mounted grenade launcher, highlighting how the technological drone race continues to evolve. Even Ukraine's logistics have gone airborne. 'Vampires have now started to be used as logistics drones in some directions,' said Oleksii. They carry food and ammunition to frontline units, flying at low altitudes to avoid detection. 'FPVs ranging from 10 to 15 inches are being used. Unlike the Vampire, the FPV crew is much more mobile.' And while bombers must drop payloads from high altitudes to avoid small arms fire, FPVs can dive directly into a one-meter target. Soldiers from Ukraine's 23rd Mechanized Brigade are setting up a heavy bomber drone to conduct operations in Chasiv Yar. Photo David Kirichenko Russia, meanwhile, is still scrambling to respond. It lacks anything comparable to the Vampire/Baba Yaga. 'Ukraine invested in its fleet of larger, long-range drones as a response to Russia's investment in Shahed/Geran drones,' observed Samuel Bendett, an adjunct senior fellow at the Center for a New American Security. 'Russia seems to be satisfied with Geran performance to date, has invested heavily in their mass production (many thousands to date) and seems to be content with their relatively low cost,' said Bendett. However, he also noted that 'since these drones have different ranges and different missions, they should not be compared to smaller FPVs, which have a different range and different tactical applications.' 'Ukrainian Vampire-type heavy drones have a complementary role to FPVs,' explained Roy Gardiner, an open-source weapons researcher and former Canadian officer. 'While FPVs attack Russian logistics vehicles during the day, heavy drones attack the same vehicles at night by precision mining Russian roads. The Russians complain the Ukrainian Baba Yagas have significantly increased in numbers, sometimes attacking several at a time and increasingly during the day.' 'There have been indications that Russian drone units have been forbidden to make direct purchases without permission from above,' said Gardiner. In the meantime, Russian units have resorted to bizarre improvisations, including the 'Vobla,' a jerry-rigged drone with four quadcopters connected to a single flight controller. 'Russia has made a lot of noise about developing a domestic drone industry, which of course has failed to deliver,' wrote Gardiner. With its drone innovation, Ukraine is positioning itself as a future defense hub for Europe. 'Ukrainians are training NATO in Poland and the UK, and have consulted with the Pentagon about their innovative use of US equipment,' said Branislav Slantchev, a political science professor at UC San Diego. 'Ukraine's defense industry will be massive,' he added. Ukraine 'was a critical hub in Soviet production and will now be part of Europe's.' Valerii Zaluzhnyi, Ukraine's former commander-in-chief, said, 'Europe needs Ukraine as a shield. We have the biggest army on the continent. We are the only one with an army that knows how to contain Russia.' Zaluzhnyi added, 'The only one with an army that knows how to wage modern, high-tech warfare.' An associate research fellow of the London-based Henry Jackson Society think tank, David Kirichenko is a Ukrainian-American freelance journalist, activist and security engineer who, multiple times during the Ukraine War, has traveled to and worked in the areas being fought over. He can be found on the social media platform X @DVKirichenko
Asia Times
18 hours ago
- Science
- Asia Times
SpaceX rocket fails pile on Musk's Tesla troubles
What goes up must come down, and earlier this week yet another of SpaceX's Starships, the biggest and most powerful type of rocket ever built, came back down to Earth in spectacular fashion. In the sky above the Indian Ocean, it exploded. This was the ninth test flight for the rocket, and the third catastrophic failure in a row, just this year. Is this what we should expect from the very ship some are counting on to take humans further than we've ever been in the solar system? Or does this failure point to deeper concerns within the broader program? The Starship program from Elon Musk's space technology company, SpaceX, has been in development for more than a decade now and has undergone many iterations in its overall design and goals. The Starship concept is based on the SpaceX Raptor engines to be used in a multistage system. In a multistage rocket system, there are often two or three separate blocks with their own engine and fuel reserves. These are particularly important for leaving Earth's orbit and traveling to the Moon, Mars and beyond. With Starship, the key factor is the ability to land and reuse vast amounts of the rocket stages again and again. The company's Falcon 9 vehicles, which used this model, were fantastically successful. Initial tests of Starship began in 2018 with two low-altitude flights showing early success. Subsequent flights have faced numerous challenges with now four complete failures, two partial failures and three successes overall. Just two days ago, during the latest failed attempt, I watched alongside more than 200 other space industry experts at the Australian Space Summit in Sydney. Broadcast live on a giant screen, the launch generated an excited buzz – which soon turned to reserved murmurs. Of course, designing and launching rockets is hard, and failures are to be expected. However, a third catastrophic failure within six months demands a pause for reflection. On this particular test flight, as Starship positioned itself for atmospheric re-entry, one of its 13 engines failed to ignite. Shortly after, a booster appeared to explode, leading to a complete loss of control. The rocket ultimately broke apart over the Indian Ocean, which tonnes of debris will now call home. We don't know the exact financial cost of each test flight. But Musk has previously said it is about US$50–100 million. The exact environmental cost of the Starship program – and its repeated failures – is even harder to quantify. For example, a failed test flight in 2023 left the town of Port Isabel, Texas, which is located beside the launch site, shaking and covered in a thick cloud of dirt. Debris from the exploded rocket smashed cars. Residents told the New York Times they were terrified. They also had to clean up the mess from the flight. Then, in September 2024, SpaceX was fined by the US Environmental Protection Agency and the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality for 14 separate incidents since 2022, where the launch facilities discharged polluted water into Texas waterways. Musk denied these claims. That same month, the US Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) proposed a fine of US$633,009 in civil penalties should be issued to SpaceX. This was on the grounds of using an unapproved launch control room and other violations during 2023. Musk denied these claims too and threatened to countersue the FAA for 'regulatory overreach.' It's unclear if this suit was ever filed. Two other failed launches in January and March this year also rained rocket debris over the Caribbean, and disrupted hundreds of commercial flights, including 80 which needed to be diverted and more than 400 requiring delayed takeoff to ensure they were entering safe air space. Until last year, the FAA allowed SpaceX to try up to five Starship launches a year. This month, the figure was increased to 25. A lot can go wrong during the launch of a vehicle into space. And there is a long way to go until we can properly judge whether Starship successfully meets its mission goals. We can, however, look at past programs to understand typical success rates seen across different rocketry programs. The Saturn V rocket, the workhorse of the Apollo era, had a total of 13 launches, with only one partial failure. It underwent three full ground tests before flight. SpaceX's own Falcon 9 rocket, has had more than 478 successful launches, only two in flight failures, one partial failure and one pre-flight destruction. The Antares rocket, by Orbital Sciences Corporation (later Orbital ATK and Northrop Grumman) launched a total of 18 times, with one failure. The Soyuz rocket, originally a Soviet expendable carrier rocket designed in the 1960s, launched a total of 32 times, with two failures. Of course, we can't fairly compare all other rockets with the Starship. Its goals are certainly novel as a reusable heavy-class rocket. But this latest failure does raise some questions. Will the Starship program ever see success, and if so, when? And what are the limits of our tolerance as a society to the pollution of Earth in the pursuit of the goal to space? For a rocketry program that's moving so fast, developing novel and complex technology, and experiencing several repeated failures, many people might expect caution from now on. Musk, however, has other plans. Shortly after the most recent Starship failure, he announced on X (formerly Twitter), that the next test flights would occur at a faster pace: one every three to four weeks. Sara Webb is lecturer, Center for Astrophysics and Supercomputing, Swinburne University of Technology This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
Asia Times
a day ago
- Business
- Asia Times
For Ukraine, the worst is yet to come
Subscribe now with a one-month trial for only $1, then enjoy the first year at an exclusive rate of just $99. Ukraine, Russia trade blows amid diplomatic non-starters James Davis analyzes the sharp escalation in the Russia-Ukraine war as Kiev intensifies drone attacks on Russian territory, trying to provoke a retaliatory response that could reignite Western support amid mounting battlefield losses and dwindling manpower. Thyssenkrupp's breakup in the shadow of Europe's militarization Diego Faßnacht examines Thyssenkrupp's transformation into a 'lean financial holding' as a stark emblem of Germany's evolving industrial landscape, one marked by the fragmentation of its industrial core and a growing subordination to geopolitical and military imperatives. ASEAN, China, GCC summit shifts the strategic balance Scott Foster sees the recent ASEAN-China-GCC summit in Malaysia as a watershed moment demonstrating how the parties involved are forging a new axis of influence centered on economic connectivity, multipolar diplomacy, and strategic autonomy from the West.
