Mr Hegseth seemed to anticipate that his silence on Taiwan would raise questions about America’s commitments to its friends and allies in Asia. (They grew nervous when, in February, it emerged that Mr Trump had delayed a congressionally approved sale of arms to Taiwan; they were shocked when Mr Trump revealed he had discussed sales to the island with Xi Jinping, China’s leader, at a summit in May.) So Mr Hegseth sought to frame his silence as a principled effort to lower tensions, suggesting (implausibly) that the Trump administration did not practise “peacocking”. In fact Mr Hegseth was probably trying to avoid saying anything that might cause a fuss before the next planned meeting between Mr Trump and Mr Xi, taking place in America in September. Chinese officials liked what they heard (or, more precisely, what they did not). South-East Asian bigwigs report they are happy that tensions between the world’s two big powers seem lowered. But Richard Haass, a former president of the Council on Foreign Relations, compares Mr Hegseth’s silence on Taiwan to that of Dean Acheson in January 1950. Acheson was America’s secretary of state in the early days of the cold war; he failed to say that South Korea sat within America’s “defensive perimeter” in a grand speech setting out America’s policy in Asia. Two weeks later, Joseph Stalin approved a North Korean invasion of the south. There is some sense in the Pentagon’s evolving approach to Asia. A strategy focused on the first island chain, and on hard military power, stands a good chance of deterring Chinese adventurism. If allies can increase their defence spending, that too will boost deterrence. Quizzed directly by journalists as he prepared to fly out of Singapore, Mr Hegseth insisted that America’s policies towards Taiwan have not changed. But permitting any confusion on this matter is extremely risky. It invites the very challenges that the Pentagon’s strategy is designed to ward off. ■ For exclusive coverage of Asian politics, economics and security, sign up to Asia Bulletin, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//asia/2026/06/04/americas-secretary-of-war-pulls-his- punches-on-china
Worries about migrants imperil South Korea’s shipbuilding boom Compared with most rich countries, the foreign workforce is still small June 4th 2026 “THERE’S NO WORK back home,” says Wichit, a welder from Thailand. In Ulsan, a city in south-eastern South Korea, he’s found plenty. He works for HD Hyundai Heavy Industries (HHI), a South Korean shipbuilder. Migrants such as Wichit are helping companies like HHI fulfil a boom in orders from foreign buyers for liquefied-natural-gas carriers and fuel- efficient container ships. Now their presence is making waves. In 2025 South Korean shipbuilders took 21% of all global orders, the largest share after China, according to Clarksons, a British maritime-research firm. The government has recently offered to share the country’s know-how to help Donald Trump “Make American Shipbuilding Great Again”. Last year
it pledged to invest $150bn in shipbuilding projects in America as part of its effort to wriggle out of tariffs. Yet the yards face a big staffing problem. South Korea’s population is one of the world’s fastest-ageing. Many of the workers who powered the industry through a previous boom in the 2000s have retired or moved into management. Young South Koreans see shipbuilding as dangerous, laborious and low-paying: the fatality rate at shipyards is four times higher than in the average industrial workplace. So they have left shipbuilding regions in droves. In Ulsan only 24% of adults are under the age of 40. That has decreased by six percentage points in a decade. Instead, shipbuilders have courted workers from countries such as Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Thailand and Vietnam. These days close to a quarter of the shipbuilding workforce is foreign—four times the share ten years ago. The government has encouraged this through changes to visa rules for skilled workers passed in 2022. While shipbuilding bosses welcome the new arrivals, locals in places such as Ulsan are feeling miffed. Boom times for the maritime industry used to be good for many smaller businesses in coastal communities, says Lee Soo- won, an estate agent in Ulsan. Eateries near HHI always filled up when shifts finished. That is no longer so true. The migrant workers “barely spend and hardly eat out”, says Ms Lee. Many of them have to pay thousands of dollars to brokers who help them secure their visas, saddling them with debt before they even enter the country. They are also inclined to send much of their income home, rather than splash out in seaside towns. Wichit says that each month he sends 30,000 baht ($920) back to his family in Pattaya, his home in Thailand. That is roughly two-fifths of what he makes. Locals’ grievances are becoming more difficult to ignore. Recently Lee Jae Myung, the president, appeared to criticise shipbuilders’ hiring and pay practices. Under pressure, the companies have started talking about giving contractors bonuses. They are promising to do more to help migrant workers move their families to South Korea (with the idea that this would reduce their desire to send money out of the country). Shipbuilding bosses have also
started to make noises about reducing the overall size of their foreign workforces. Yet there is only so much they can do to tempt young South Koreans back. ■ For exclusive coverage of Asian politics, economics and security, sign up to Asia Bulletin, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//asia/2026/06/04/worries-about-migrants-imperil-south- koreas-shipbuilding-boom
Sex tourists fuel outrage about vice in Japan The debates do not have women’s interests at heart June 4th 2026 MAI, a 34-year-old woman in Tokyo, used to work at a hospital. But when covid-19 overwhelmed the wards, she found her work too stressful. A single mother, she also needed money for her family. Lured by higher pay, she entered the sex trade, first working as a porn actress before becoming a deriheru or “delivery health” worker—slang for call-girls who visit clients at home or in hotels. For a two-hour session, she earns ¥30,000 ($190). Mai is among hundreds of thousands of women working in Japan’s sprawling sex industry. The business, thought to be worth ¥2trn-5trn ($12bn- 31bn) a year, is woven into male social life. One study in 2022 found that 48% of Japanese men had paid for sex at some point, compared with 11% in Britain. Hagiwara, a 63-year-old man in Tokyo, recalls being taken to a
brothel by senior colleagues after joining a company, as a rite of passage. Emu, a man in his 30s, says “most men around me have been at least once.” Lately, however, lawmakers’ tolerance for the industry has come under much strain. Two recent triggers have encouraged Japanese to re-examine the confusing thicket of laws and conventions that govern how sex work is policed. One was an outrageous crime: last year authorities rescued a 12- year-old Thai girl who had been trafficked to Japan and forced to work at a sex shop in Tokyo. The second concern has been the growing visibility of women who sell sex around Okubo Park, near Tokyo’s red-light district (where the haggling more ordinarily goes on behind neon-lit doors). Relatively few women are involved in this. Nonetheless, solicitation (waiting for or approaching clients in public) is illegal in Japan. The sight of women openly waiting for clients has unsettled the public. Compounding the public debate is the fact that some of their customers are foreign tourists, lured to Japan by the cheapness of the yen. Videos of them approaching women in Okubo Park have spread rapidly online. “It is truly lamentable,” said Kamiya Sohei, leader of the right-wing populist Sanseito party, in a video. Behind the outrage lies a sense of wounded pride: during Japan’s boom years in the 1970s and 1980s, it was Japanese men who went abroad for sex. The authorities have decided to act—at least where the streetwalkers are concerned. Recently women around Okubo Park have been detained or arrested. Yet campaigners say it is unfair that authorities have not also been trying to punish the buyers. “Women are taken away by the police—while the men who buy sex stand beside them smirking,” says Kanajiri Kazuna of PAPS, a women’s-rights group. In November an opposition lawmaker raised this disparity in parliament. In response Takaichi Sanae, the prime minister, ordered the justice ministry to re-examine current practices and consider reforms. The prospect of change has sparked very broad debate about how Japan could improve its policing of sex work. Some Japanese feminists would like their country to implement the Nordic style of regulation adopted by
Sweden, France and others, which criminalises buying sex while shielding sellers themselves from prosecution. “Buying sex is a form of violence against women,” says Ms Kanajiri. Other Japanese argue that getting tougher on buyers will drive sex work underground, leaving women more exposed to violence. Some want the industry fully legalised and regulated, as in Germany and the Netherlands. Nakayama Misato of Siente, a sex-work advocacy group, argues that criminalisation can mean that women are treated merely as victims, ignoring their agency. “Doing sex work is not a bad thing—it’s a valid way of making a living.” To be more than skin deep, any changes would have to apply not only to streetwalking but to Japan’s vast indoor sex-industry, the laws for which are riddled with loopholes and selectively enforced. Consider the practice of “soapland”, in which customers ostensibly pay to be bathed; if sex happens to take place in the process, officials generally turn a blind eye. Takao Yasuo of Curtin University says this is typical of Japan’s approach to regulating the sex industry. The priority is to keep vice decorously out of public view. A big rethink seems unlikely. For now, the justice ministry is narrowly focused on street prostitution. Taking care of that is “the lowest-cost, highest-visibility form of enforcement available to the state”, notes Mr Takao. “Many lawmakers, especially conservatives, are sensitive to the idea of women becoming sexually promiscuous,” says Shiomura Ayaka, a lawmaker. Women openly soliciting sex in public have become symbols of social disorder. ■ For exclusive coverage of Asian politics, economics and security, sign up to Asia Bulletin, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//asia/2026/06/04/sex-tourists-fuel-outrage-about-vice-in- japan