From bus drivers rushing yellow lights, frontline workers pushing through exhaustion, to people choosing not to have children—what do we truly need: a population that endures more, or a system with better backup?

In recent days, cities across Taiwan have been conducting "urban resilience drills." From air raid evacuations and traffic control to this year’s newly added mobile network slowdown simulation, the state is reminding citizens: when real crisis strikes, cities must not stop, and society must keep functioning.Preparedness is undoubtedly necessary. Yet, as society enthusiastically discusses "resilience," we must look beyond wartime scenarios and examine a deeper, everyday issue: how much of Taiwan’s celebrated "resilience" comes from the system itself, and how much is simply due to people constantly enduring?

It’s not that the system eliminates risk—it distributes it to individuals.A recent report on bus drivers is highly representative.A master’s student from National Yang Ming Chiao Tung University drove buses for two months during summer break. Initially believing in "drive slowly, safety first," he eventually found himself rushing yellow lights. Not due to moral laxity, but harsh reality: if he truly drove the safest way, he couldn’t complete his schedule; the slower he drove, the more his rest time was compressed.Ironically, when road design, scheduling, and staffing shortages collectively create risk, it’s still the driver who ultimately pays the price when accidents occur.A systemic issue that should be solved by institutions ends up being reframed as "the driver should be more careful."This is precisely the kind of resilience Taiwan is deeply familiar with—not risk eliminated by systems, but risk absorbed by individuals.The same structure appears everywhere: police supervisors on long standby for public safety, sacrificing family life; school staff continuing work after hours to ensure public services run smoothly; understaffed public services demanding more from frontline workers.But there’s an even more critical contradiction here.Many organizations in Taiwan don’t collapse immediately when a key person leaves. On the contrary, even with managerial changes, senior staff departures, or full team rotations, organizations often continue operating.This isn’t because any one person is irreplaceable, but because systems, processes, experience, and accumulated organizational memory allow work to continue.This is, in fact, a precious form of resilience in Taiwanese society.The problem is: functioning and functioning at a reasonable cost are two different things.A system may allow new staff to take over and keep operations going, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t shifting extra costs onto those who remain.Someone leaves—hire a replacement. Someone takes leave—colleagues cover. Someone’s unfamiliar—seniors guide them. Tasks get done, reports submitted, services delivered. Outsiders barely notice the immense pressure the system has endured.But the costs not reflected in statistics—longer hours, less rest, higher mental load, and responsibilities that shouldn’t fall on individuals—accumulate silently.Thus, a truly mature system isn’t just one where "work gets done even if someone leaves," but one where "work gets done without requiring others to constantly sacrifice more."These two may seem only a hair’s breadth apart, but they represent entirely different levels of institutional quality.Low birthrate: a silent warning from society about the limits of endurance-based systemsAt the national governance level, the phenomenon of "systems sustained by individual endurance" is even more alarming.Public discourse often praises Taiwanese people for being "very resilient": handling earthquakes independently, weathering typhoons locally, medical staff working overtime during pandemics, frontline workers covering gaps in public services, families adjusting to rising living costs. Over time, "figuring it out ourselves" has become a somewhat romanticized local culture.Yet, when resilience always depends on individual extra effort, a dangerous illusion arises: as long as people can still endure, the system appears fine.Until one day, people no longer wish to endure.The declining birthrate may be the quietest, yet most serious, warning of this phenomenon.Today’s younger generation may not strongly protest the government, and may even appreciate the convenience, healthcare, safety, and living environment. Yet many make a clear choice: "not to add another life that I’ll have to be responsible for over twenty years."This isn’t necessarily political—it’s individuals acutely aware of their limits and lack of life margin.Work fatigue, housing burden, elder care, uncertain future—if maintaining current life already requires extreme discipline and constant endurance, what does having a child mean?

It means adding another long-term, irreversible, and nearly non-exitable responsibility.At this point, government policies like "subsidy X for one child, more for two" may not address core concerns.Because subsidies lower the "price" of childbirth, but not the "cost of living" afterward. What young people truly fear isn’t spending a few extra ten thousand dollars, but losing sleep, time, career options, and basic life margin.Low birthrate isn’t just "young people don’t want kids"—it’s society’s silent feedback to the system: when individuals have a choice, they may not want to bring the next generation into an environment that requires constant personal endurance to survive.True national resilience: society doesn’t collapse even when ordinary people can’t endure"Resilience" must not be reduced to "people must endure more."To genuinely discuss national resilience, we must first ask: which risks should never fall on individuals?

Bus drivers shouldn’t rush yellow lights to gain rest; police shouldn’t sacrifice family to prove responsibility; frontline workers shouldn’t use personal time to fill staffing gaps; families shouldn’t always be the final risk absorber for public policy.This isn’t demanding a "zero-risk" society, but asking: when risks occur, who bears the cost?

Does the system have backup? Can problems be corrected, or do we just search for someone else who can endure more?

This is exactly where urban resilience drills should be extended in thinking.This year’s drills even included mobile network slowdown testing—a good reminder: resilience isn’t about "the system always working," but about "someone being there to catch when it fails."Thus, the drills’ purpose isn’t just to confirm whether people will take shelter when alarms sound, or verify how to maintain basic operations during communication blackouts.The more critical test is: if the people who usually endure the most suddenly can’t endure anymore, can society still function?

If key supervisors can’t be on duty, who takes over? If a batch of bus drivers all need rest at once, how are schedules adjusted? If medical, transportation, and power personnel are already exhausted, where’s the backup? If families themselves have no margin left, who catches the most vulnerable during crises?

If school starts and teacher vacancies remain unfilled, even if existing teachers work overtime, who bears the cost?

This is true resilience.Not finding a group of people who can endure the most, but building a system where even ordinary people can live normally, take occasional leave, need rest, or even break down—yet society still doesn’t collapse.Taiwan has never lacked resilience. In fact, the strength of its people has been a key reason this society has come this far.Yet, we must be more cautious: not to mistake "people can endure" for "the system is strong."A nation’s strength shouldn’t be measured by how much sleep, family, and health people sacrifice to keep cities running.True resilience to be proud of is this: even if no one has to constantly endure, society still functions well.The purpose of a city has never been to turn people into screws maintaining the system, but to let people live securely within it.*Author: Social Observer