Tag Archive for: ADF

Looking back to look forward, 10 years after the First Principles Review

Exactly 10 years ago, the then minister for defence, Kevin Andrews, released the First Principles Review: Creating One Defence (FPR). With increasing talk about the rising possibility of major power-conflict, calls for Defence funding to increase to at least 3 percent of GDP, and questions raised about Defence’s ability to spend the money appropriated to it, it is the perfect time to assess whether Defence created the sustainable and enduring business model that the Review championed.

The FPR was commissioned in August 2014 by the predecessor of Andrews, David Johnston, as both an election commitment and a response to the 2014 National Commission of Audit’s recommendation for an efficiency review ‘as a pre-condition for setting any new funding profile for Defence under the White Paper’.

Conducted over eight months and chaired by David Peever, the FPR was an end-to-end review of Defence’s business processes, structure and organisation. It was designed to look forward to the challenges Defence would face in the 21st century and structured around the need for a sustainable and enduring business model. The combined effect of the review was supposed to be a more unified and integrated organisation, more consistently linked to strategy and led by its centre.

Key among the FPR’s recommendations were:

—Establishment of a strong, strategic centre to strengthen accountability and top-level decision-making. This would involve a new ‘One Defence’ business model, a streamlined top level management structure, establishment of a strong and credible internal contestability function, and a reduced number of committees;

—The establishment of a single end-to-end capability development function to maximise the efficient, effective and professional delivery of military capability. This included establishing the new Capability Acquisition and Sustainment Group (CASG) with reduced management layers, and transferring accountability for requirements setting and management to the vice chief and the service chiefs;

—The implementation of an enterprise approach to the delivery of services enabling corporate and military operations to maximise their effectiveness and efficiency. This would involve consolidation and standardisation in estate, information management, geospatial intelligence and customer-centric service delivery;

—The creation of a ‘One Defence’ workforce to ensure committed people with the right skills are in appropriate jobs, through the development of a strategic workforce plan for building a highly professional workforce across the Department and the Australian Defence Force; and

—The management of staff resources to deliver optimal use of funds and maximise efficiencies, through stripping back and simplification of overly complicated processes and structures, as well as the introduction of greater transparency, contestability and professionalism.

The review set out an ambitious agenda to ensure that Defence was fit for purpose and able to deliver with the minimum resources necessary. Most of the recommendations were implemented over two years.

At its simplest, the FPR sought to ensure that respective ministers, secretaries and chiefs of defence force would ask themselves every working day: Does this decision (or these options to government) strip back and simplify complicated processes and structures? Do they introduce greater transparency, contestability and professionalism? Do they enforce accountability and leadership?

Against these three questions, sadly, Defence’s implementation did not climb to the ambitions demanded by the review team. Despite the FPR’s intent to dethatch Defence’s hierarchy, devolve accountabilities to the lowest level possible and de-layer the organisation, Defence now has more senior executive service and star-ranked officers and organisational units than it did in 2015.

Committee structures have similarly reverted, though it should be acknowledged that the Investment Committee has been a positive advance for the organisation, though the burden on its members continues to be back-breakingly cumbersome. The behavioural change that is necessary to transform Defence seems to have broken on the rocks of institutional resistance.

The review highlighted ‘an organisational culture within Defence that is risk-averse and resistant to change’. The FPR authors were deeply focused on the risk culture of the organisation and many of their recommendations centred on practical ways to overcome this risk aversion. The simplicity and elegance of their recommendations were certainly lost on the upper floors of the Russell offices during the implementation process.

Defence’s failure to change—with concomitant failure to deliver—represents the organisation’s unwillingness to explore a different concept of risk management. This was also the case with Peever’s subsequent review of Defence innovation in 2021, which called for Defence to embrace a desire to improve (we think—the review was heavily redacted, including all of its recommendations).

Similarly, the concept of a single end-to-end capability development function has not taken root, with the contestability function failing to meet the aim of a ‘robust and disciplined contestability function to provide arm’s-length assurance to the secretary that the capability needs and requirements are aligned with strategy and resources and can be delivered’. Correspondingly, the transfer of accountability to the service chiefs appears to have frustrated the FPR’s aims for an integrated capability management process, in which all the fundamental inputs to capability (including industry support, facilities, ICT and workforce) are managed as a whole.

This has been particularly challenging for the capability managers within CASG, who no longer have all the levers necessary to effectively and efficiently manage the ‘smart buyer’ function. It appears that the common-sense approach to acquiring and sustaining capability—where the full process does not need to be followed when common sense says that the judicious use of a fast-track path is appropriate and risks are acceptable—has struggled. Few are the examples of innovative use of procurement practices, development of fast-track projects, or the creation of novel contractual relationships.

Skill development in CASG, and in Defence more broadly, continues to be a fundamental challenge. The Defence Workforce Plan didn’t emerge until 2024, and we are yet to see whether this plan will effectively deliver the required workforce, identify the critical skills gaps or build those skills and workforce strategies that place ‘the right people with the right skills in the right roles at the right time to deliver Defence’s mission’.

Defence is pursuing yet another strategic reform agenda, set out in Chapter 11 of the National Defence Strategy. It aims to deliver both strategic reform—the transformation of the core elements of Defence that deliver effects to achieve the strategy of denial—and enterprise reform—the transformation of Defence’s enabling elements that drive performance. In doing so, it could do worse than returning to the fundamental first principles that drove the FPR:

—Clear authorities and accountabilities that align with resources (empowering decision-makers to deliver on strategies and plans within agreed resourcing, while also holding them responsible);

—Outcome orientation (delivering what is required with processes, systems and tools being the means, not the end);

—Simplicity (eliminating complicated and unnecessary structures, processes, systems and tools);

—Focus on core business (Defence doing only for itself what no one else can do more effectively and efficiently);

—Professionalism (encouraging committed people with the right skills in appropriate jobs);

—Timely, contestable advice (using internal and external expertise to provide the best advice so that the outcome is delivered in the most cost-effective and efficient manner); and

—Transparency (behaving in a way that enables others to know exactly what Defence is doing and why).

If Australia is to effectively meet the challenges it faces, the government and the public need to have confidence in the combat capabilities of its armed forces, the effectiveness and timeliness of Defence’s decision making and the efficient use of the nation’s treasure.

Peever and his team set up a strong and sensible plan to ensure Defence was able to meet these three demands. Sadly, because of culture, behaviour and bureaucratic malaise, the FPR proved less enduring than the review team—and the Australian public—needed it to be.

3 percent of GDP for defence is no stretch. We did 2.9 percent in the Cold War

Australia has plenty of room to spend more on defence. History shows that 2.9 percent of GDP is no great burden in ordinary times, so pushing spending to 3.0 percent in dangerous times is very achievable.

Budget watchers are quick to cite difficulties amid current pressures on revenue and expenditure. But historical data is more revealing than a nearsighted view down in the weeds of fiscal policy.

Australia just isn’t trying. For all the talk of deteriorating strategic circumstances, the defence share of GDP has been flat for half a decade, wandering between 1.9 and 2.0 percent.

The issues holding Australia back from spending more on its defence are largely political rather than economic.

The 2020 Strategic Defence Update identified an increase in geopolitical risks in our region and noted the possibility of Australia becoming involved in a major conflict without the formerly assumed 10-year warning time. As a result, successive Australian governments have made announcements about lifting defence spending through initiatives such as equipping the army with long-range missiles, expansion of the navy’s surface fleet and, most dramatically, AUKUS.

However, in terms of GDP, the proportion of total economic output that goes into current defence spending per year has not increased in recent years. It continues to hover around 1.9–2.0 percent of GDP. As shown in the chart below, Australia’s average defence spending as proportion of GDP since the Cold War ended has been 1.9 percent.

On 5 March, Elbridge Colby, head of policy at the US Department of Defense, called for Australia to spend 3.0 percent of GDP on defence. Various Australian defence and security figures, including former chief of the Australian Defence Force Angus Houston and former secretary of home affairs Mike Pezzullo have similarly called for defence spending to be lifted to 3.0 percent of GDP.

Economics writer David Uren recently explained that to lift defence spending to 3.0 percent, Australia would have to either take on additional debt, increase taxes or reallocate money from elsewhere in the government budget. All three of these options would be politically difficult.

While this is a point well made, the details of fiscal policy that usually absorb us become less useful for assessing the defence budget as we move into more unstable and dangerous times. History shows us that sustaining 3.0 percent of GDP spending over a period of time is quite achievable for Australia. The most recent example of this is the Cold War, particularly up until the 1970s.

Sources: SIPRI Military Expenditure Index and Australian government projections

As the chart shows, Australia could sustain average defence spending of 2.9 percent of GDP through the Cold War over 40 years from 1950 to 1991. (The Stockholm International Peace Research Institute dataset which the chart is based on only goes back as far as 1950, not quite the beginning of the Cold War.) This is very close to the 3.0 percent currently being advocated for. During the Cold War, Australia responded to the threat of communism expanding into South-East Asia by maintaining significant forces and often deploying these into various conflicts across our region.

This contrasts with the post-Cold War period from 1992 until now, where defence spending has averaged 1.9 percent of GDP. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the United States and its Western allies quickly reduced military spending, enjoying a peace dividend due to reduced global geopolitical tensions. From 1986 to 1996, Australian defence spending dropped 0.6 of a percentage point from 2.5 percent to 1.9 percent of GDP. Over the next few years, defence spending remained consistently below 2.0 percent, even during the years of Australia’s involvement in the global war on terror and peacekeeping operations in our region. In 2013, defence spending reached its lowest share of GDP since 1938, just 1.6 percent of GDP.

The years since have seen great increase in geopolitical tensions, both in our region and globally. Yet defence spending as a proportion of GDP has increased only moderately and slowly since 2013, sitting at 2.0 percent in 2025. Under the government’s projections, spending will continue to slowly increase to 2.3 percent by 2033–34.

This is too little, too late. Under current budget restrictions, new defence announcements largely rely on cannibalising existing funding from sources declared to be of lesser priority, rather than on new funding. A recent example of this is the Redback Infantry Fighting Vehicle, which was cut from 450 vehicles to 129 vehicles, at a much higher per-unit cost.

The proportion of GDP should only be used as a rough guide towards spending on defence. What the money is spent on is important. However, the risk to Australian national security was no greater in the Cold War than it is now, and was arguably much lower. The fact that Australia for several decades maintained defence spending at higher levels than now shows that the country is capable of doing the same again.

China’s warships reveal more than a need to strengthen the ADF

Last month’s circumnavigation by a potent Chinese naval flotilla sent a powerful signal to Canberra about Beijing’s intent. It also demonstrated China’s increasing ability to threaten Australia’s maritime communications, as well as the entirety of its eastern and southern seaboards, where the major population centres and critical infrastructure are concentrated. In a major war, our civilian infrastructure is likely to be targeted, not just military bases.

The deployment further highlighted national resilience vulnerabilities that go well beyond the need to strengthen the Australian Defence Force’s capabilities, overdue and critical though this task undoubtedly is.

While the presence of a Chinese navy task group this far south was unprecedented, and a noteworthy demonstration of China’s reach and sustainment capability, it is important to stress that peacetime signalling through military presence and wartime operations are poles apart. As we are in peacetime, China’s naval flotilla was free to manoeuvre in close formation within Australia’s exclusive economic zone (EEZ) and conduct live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea.

In a crisis or conflict, it is highly unlikely that China’s warships would venture so close to Australia’s continental coastline. Even with Australia’s current, inadequate military capability, the ADF would be able to hold a similar Chinese flotilla at clear risk of annihilation. Surface vessels approaching Australia are easily detected long before they appear in our vicinity, by surveillance systems such as the Jindalee Operational Radar Network. If the navy had not already intercepted a hostile surface action group in Australia’s maritime approaches, the air force would be tasked with responding.

However, such an effort would absorb much of the ADF’s combat capacity. It also assumes a free hand to operate from air bases, when those same, currently unhardened bases could be subjected to preparatory missile strikes launched by China’s long-range aircraft and submarines. China’s most capable warships have stand-off and air-defence weapons of their own, and could still pose a significant threat to ships and coastal targets.

China’s growing fleet of nuclear-propelled attack submarines would be much harder to detect than surface vessels. They would likely operate independently, further stretching the ADF’s resources. Even when threats are detected, gaps will remain in the ADF’s ability to respond to intrusions in our vicinity. After all, while Australia’s extensive continental and island territories create the world’s third-largest EEZ, our navy is and will remain significantly smaller than Japan’s or South Korea’s.

Monitoring and responding to incidents within such vast tracts of sea and air space is challenging even in peacetime. But gaps in capability can be narrowed if Australia invests with greater urgency and purpose to realise the focused, integrated force outlined in the 2023 Defence Strategic Review.

To defend the Australian homeland against China’s power projection, which is only going to grow in scale and frequency, the ADF needs to grow bigger, faster and more lethal. At the same time, Australia’s political and military leaders must avoid being lured into a defensive mindset. Beijing’s ‘I can play in your backyard, if you play in mine’ message is intended to do just that.

An Australia preoccupied with localised defence, less intent on shaping its surrounding region or developing the capabilities and forward posture needed for deterrence, serves Beijing’s interests more than Canberra’s. We need military flexibility, political will and strategic vision to help secure the region and defend ourselves.  We must remember that while China’s navy was sailing around Australia, it had other ships exercising in the South China Sea and near Taiwan. These remain China’s primary areas of military focus and should therefore be an ongoing focus for Australia’s deterrence efforts.

Even as Australia grapples with this unfamiliar challenge—a potential adversary that can project power from all directions and has every motivation to tie down the ADF during a conflict in East Asia—Canberra must continue to align its military efforts with those of our key allies and partners.

Also, the nuclear submarines we’re acquiring under AUKUS are flexible platforms that can be used for sea control. But their primary purpose is not, as sometimes portrayed, to protect and defend Australia’s vital trade routes and sea lines of communication. The massive investment to acquire them will be squandered if they are tied up in the defence of homeland waters or escorting high-value assets. Fundamentally, they are for projecting denial by taking the fight as close to the adversary as physically feasible.

But within the next decade Australia will only have one SSN in service, at best, while the fate of the life extension program for our six old diesel submarines of the Collins class hangs in the balance. China’s uninvited naval presence underscores that even if Australia had an operational AUKUS submarine fleet tomorrow, there would still be a need for a concomitant uplift in the ADF’s conventional capabilities across the board.  Unfortunately, the government has not approached this uplift with the requisite urgency. The opportunity costs of prioritising defence spending increases to fulfil our AUKUS Pillar 1 commitments have come home to roost.

Granted, improvements to the Royal Australian Air Force’s maritime strike capabilities are underway, as evidenced by the recent test-firing of an LRASM anti-ship missile by an F/A-18F Super Hornet, and an associated missile order from the US. The navy is also boosting its inventory of Mark 48 heavyweight torpedos. But the dollar value of such orders tends to obscure their relatively modest scale. For example, A$200 million buys 30 torpedos of the Mark 48 latest variant, based on a unit cost of A$6.7 million.

War stocks are chronically low across the ADF, despite the need to ‘sustain protracted operations during a conflict’ being designated as one of six priority capability effects in the 2024 National Defence Strategy. In addition to boosting its combat power, the navy needs to enhance its undersea surveillance capabilities in Australia’s approaches, to aid submarine detection efforts.

Mike Pezzullo has suggested that Australia acquire B-1B bombers as they are progressively retired from the US air force, and put them into service with Australia’s air force in an anti-ship role. This is a radical idea that deserves serious consideration. While expensive, it could be done on a timeline more relevant to our deteriorating security situation than AUKUS—though AUKUS should still go ahead.

Even then, Australia’s investments in maritime strike from the air will be worth nothing in a war if missile strikes render the air force’s bases inoperable. Base hardening needs to be done in parallel, just as China is doing on a massive scale. Equally, the government’s ambitions to invest in integrated air and missile defence, highlighted as a priority in the Defence Strategic Review, remain just that: ambitions.

In this context, the Australian Army can contribute to securing our surrounding waters and approaches by fielding anti-ship missiles on mobile launchers. This will make our coastal defence thicker, less predictable to enemies and more survivable. But it remains unclear how far down the track the project to implement this, Land 8113 Phase 2, has progressed.

China’s demonstration that it can project and sustain naval power into Australia’s surrounding waters has highlighted our lack of maritime resilience. As the late James Goldrick put it, defending a fortress is pointless without attending to its water supply.

As an island nation, Australia would face profound national sustainment challenges in a wartime environment where prevailing regional trade patterns would be massively disrupted. Shipping would be a key pillar of our national economic security, if not survival. In any prolonged maritime conflict, Australia would have to requisition merchant vessels to sustain the nation’s wartime needs beyond the short term. Australia’s nationally flagged fleet, comprising around 12 vessels and not a single tanker, is risibly inadequate.

The idea that Australia could depend solely on market forces for imports needed for national survival is dangerously complacent, especially given China’s growing dominance in international shipping and port ownership. The fact that the global maritime trading system has absorbed the impact of limited conflict in the Black and Red seas without breaking down owes much to good luck and some wrenching supply-side adjustments.

This is not simply a question of ensuring that Australia maintains maritime imports of essential commodities from across the oceans. Coastal shipping, although out of sight to most of the population, is vital to Australia’s economic functioning. Road haulage is no substitute for bulk transportation by sea. Much of Australia’s critical infrastructure, including our two remaining oil refineries, is vulnerably situated near the coast. We lack the redundancy and stockpiles to absorb damage or cope with sustained supply disruptions. Australia is energy rich. We are a major exporter. But what counts more when it comes to the crunch is our continuing dependence on imported fuels, including 100 percent of our aviation fuel.

The government-commissioned report on a Maritime Strategic Fleet, submitted almost two years ago, needs to be revisited urgently. There is little evidence that its modest suite of recommendations has been adopted. The report assessed that 12 privately owned and commercially operated vessels under the Australian flag and crewed by Australians would be enough to meet emergency needs. This is highly questionable if there were a protracted maritime conflict in the Western Pacific. The strategic fleet needs to include dedicated tankers, as well as more cargo vessels capable of transporting refined fuel products (the navy has two replenishment ships of its own).

By comparison, the US has a fleet of 10 US-registered tankers in its Tanker Security Program. These vessels operate commercially in peacetime, but are essentially reserved for military use to support forward operations in wartime. They are not intended to keep the US’s lights on, or those of its allies. Australia’s need to secure oil and oil products will be far more acute, given our paltry fuel reserves and absence of domestic alternatives.  Deep pockets may not be enough to secure supplies on the spot market at the outset of a conflict, given the attendant competition and dislocation.

There is a case for Australia to consider acquiring its own cable-laying ship, to repair or replace fibre-optic seabed cables cut by an adversary at the onset of a conflict. Such ships are in short supply and their availability would be highly uncertain during wartime. An Australian-flagged specialised seabed cable support vessel would be a strategic asset that Canberra could make available to its closest allies and partners in the Pacific.

If the South China Sea and the major straits connecting it to the Indian Ocean are deemed too hazardous for international shipping, the long diversionary route around Australia will become crucial for Japan, the Philippines, South Korea, Taiwan (unless it’s blockaded) and the US from a military standpoint. From a supply and sustainment perspective, Australia should benefit from such a major realignment of shipping flows. Calling into Australian ports would no longer require a long and tell-tale diversion from major shipping lanes. And, to some extent, there is still safety in numbers, provided shipping is directly or indirectly protected.

The importance of the coastal sea lanes immediately south of Australia provides a strong case for us entering into cooperative arrangements with countries such as Japan and South Korea. India would become Australia’s most obvious substitute source for refined products, assuming that Japan, South Korea and Singapore would be unable or unwilling to meet our needs. And trans-Pacific routes would be vital to maintain communications and reinforcement from the US.

But there are downsides. China’s naval strategists and planners have likely also realised that the southern diversionary route would become a strategic artery for the US and its regional allies and partners, not simply of local importance to Australia. This paints China’s uninvited naval circumnavigation in a more strategic hue.

Australia’s southern and eastern seaboards could become a target for the interdiction of allied supplies, as they were for Germany and Japan in World War II, on and under the surface (Germany mined the Bass Strait during both world wars). Western Australia would be of heightened interest as a military target, given the likely concentration of US, British and Australian submarines at HMAS Stirling. Australia would necessarily have to assume primary responsibility for the protection of shipping passing close to its shores, partly as a quid pro quo to ensure its own supply. This would mean fewer warships and other assets would be available to perform other tasks, such as repelling an invasion of Taiwan or relieving a blockade of the island.

Fortunately, the closer the shipping lanes pass to the coast, the easier they are to defend. A layered defence incorporating assets based on land, air and sea could extend area protection in sufficient depth so that direct escort would be necessary only for the highest-value strategic cargoes or military assets. All three services would need to play an active role in defending Australian coastal waters and approaches for the duration of the conflict. The creative use of uncrewed platforms could alleviate the burden on the navy and air force.

Sustainment during wartime is a whole-of-nation endeavour. China’s recent naval visit, while in no sense a cause for panic, should sound an alarm that echoes beyond Australia’s naval community and the ADF. The defence of the nation during a major conflict will require more than just capable armed forces to succeed, while civilian infrastructure could be exposed as our Achilles’ heel. Australia’s national resilience and readiness will be the main theme of ASPI’s annual defence conference, on 4 June.

Defence budget doesn’t match the threat Australia faces

When Australian Treasurer Jim Chalmers stood at the dispatch box this evening to announce the 2025–26 Budget, he confirmed our worst fears about the government’s commitment to resourcing the Defence budget commensurate with the dangers Australia now faces.

A day earlier, Deputy Prime Minister and Defence Minister Richard Marles had advised that the government’s sole Defence initiative for the 2025–26 budget cycle would be to bring forward a paltry $1 billion from the 2028–29 financial year, shared across 2026–27 and 2027–28.  So, the much vaunted ‘generational investment in Australia’s Defence’ has been put off for a few more years, at least.

This marginal reprofiling of funds ($900 million additional in 2026-27 and $237 million additional in 2027-28 – so, in fact a little more than $1 billion) has been applied to submarine and missile capabilities, which continue to take up an expanded amount of defence capital expenditure

Consolidated funding for Defence, the Australian Signals Directorate and the Australian Submarine Agency in 2025–26 is estimated to be $58,988.7 million. It’s a nominal increase of $2,380.5 million (4.2 percent) over expected 2024–25 spending. Adjusting for expected inflation, as expressed by the 1.0 percent GDP deflator, the real increase will be 3.2 percent.

And to our considerable frustration, a detailed reading of the defence budget highlights that the government continues to pay only lip service to the readiness and sustainability of the current force-in-being, with the largest spending increases on capability sustainment tied to the F-35 Lightning force ($190 million) and Collins-class submarines ($235 million). While $133 million is allocated to sustainment of a new Defence Logistics program, there is little to no change overall to sustainment funding, usage and workforce from last year’s budget.

As we noted in The cost of Defence: ASPI Defence budget brief 2024–2025, the urgency of our current security environment (eloquently expressed in the independent Defence Strategic Review in 2023, confirmed by this government in the National Defence Strategy (NDS) in 2024, and made manifest by the inability to properly track the Chinese naval flotilla’s circumnavigation of Australia just weeks ago) is not being matched by resources from the public coffers.

There are four possible reasons why the government continues to stint on resources that match the threat Australia faces.

Firstly, it may not really believe that the threat is as great as it spelt itself out in the NDS. The rhetoric of Australia ‘facing the most challenging strategic environment since the Second World War’ may conceivably have been used solely as a means of mobilising some action within the government but without any real concern that Australia was becoming increasingly vulnerable.

This would certainly be backed up by this government’s actions: a focus on military capability spending almost entirely as additions to the order of battle well into the 2030s and in the 2040s, while continuing to underspend on the readiness and sustainability of current forces.

A second possible explanation is that the government may not yet trust the Department of Defence’s ability to spend more. Marles has certainly been critical of Defence, claiming that it lacked the culture of excellence necessary to deliver on the government’s agenda.

The NDS speaks to the need for both strategic and enterprise reform of the Defence organisation, and for the organisation to become fit-for-purpose if it is to gain access to the resources needed to build the force set out in the 2024 Integrated Investment Program, the long-term spending plan. This would not be the first government to hold back on funding defence until it actually sees reform resulting in a more effective and efficient delivery of Defence’s outputs.

Thirdly, the government perhaps does not want to be seen responding to the Trump administration’s call for allies to increase defence spending. There has certainly been a huge spike in anti-US, anti-AUKUS commentary since the Trump administration came to office in January.

Fourthly, the government may not believe that the politics of additional funding to Defence make sense less than two months before the election due by May. At a time when average Australians are struggling with cost-of-living challenges, and this pre-election budget seeks to allay concerns within the electorate that the Albanese government has not done enough to meet its previous election commitments to making Australians better off, funding Defence may not be seen as an election winning strategy. A February Ipsos poll shows defence being quite far down the list of concerns that face Australians.

The 2025–26 budget is, sadly, an opportunity lost. In failing to adequately fund defence, the government has lost the opportunity for at least one year to convince our interlocutors in the US that Australia is doing enough to build up its forces. As defence funding will reach only 2.33 percent of GDP in 2033–34, we are still a far from the expectation of the nominated under secretary of defence for policy, Elbridge Colby: that we will spend at least 3 percent of GDP on defence.

The budget is also a lost opportunity for Australian industry, which is becoming increasingly frustrated at slow defence procurement. More and more companies are abandoning the defence market due to the risk averse, overly bureaucratic and delayed or abandoned project cycles they are forced to deal with.  Without market signals that Defence is seriously investing in Australian industry and is committed to building the Australian national support and industrial base it needs to deliver capability, we stand to lose considerable expertise, workforce and sovereign industrial capability, that can never be replaced.

And finally, the budget is a lost opportunity for Australia’s defence and security.  Since the 2020 Defence Update, successive Australian governments have warned that the security environment facing Australia is worsening exponentially. Recent events have demonstrated just how fragile peace and stability is and highlighted the need for Australia to have a force-in-being that is prepared and ready to defend Australia. The ministerial foreword to the NDS started with the axiom that there was no ‘greater responsibility for the Government than defending Australia’.

The failure of this year’s budget to meet that responsibility will make all Australians less secure.

It’s time for the ADF to train in Asia-Pacific languages

The proposed negotiation of an Australia–Papua New Guinea defence treaty will falter unless the Australian Defence Force embraces cultural intelligence and starts being more strategic with teaching languages—starting with Tok Pisin, the most widely spoken language in PNG.

More generally, the ADF needs a language training program focused on its region, shifting from an outdated focus on Middle Eastern languages. Linguistic interoperability and cross-cultural intelligence are necessary for building a trusted, sustainable partnership in the region.

By realigning its language priorities, the ADF can maximise operational effectiveness with minimal investment. At this stage, there is very little known about the defence treaty, outside of its proposed negotiations. Noting PNG’s geographic proximity to Australia, a defined defence treaty is overdue.

Yet despite their historical ties and close geographic proximity, Australia and PNG have a complex and, at times, fragile relationship. From colonial legacies to contemporary frictions over aid, security interventions, and the conduct of ADF personnel, trust cannot be assumed.

For defence cooperation to succeed, Australia must do more than rely on formal agreements or institutional goodwill. True partnership requires social license—genuine, earned trust between military forces, governments and local communities. Language and cultural fluency are fundamental for building that trust.

One of the greatest obstacles to effective Australian military engagement is language training. For two decades, the ADF has prioritised such Middle Eastern languages as Arabic, Urdu, Pashto and Farsi, reflecting what is now a former operational focus. Australia’s strategic priorities have shifted to the Indo-Pacific, so its military language training should, too.

Even harder to justify is continued ADF training in the languages of European countries whose armed forces play a small role on this side of the world and, in any case, use English as a NATO standard.

PNG presents a particularly challenging linguistic environment, with over 840 living languages. But Tok Pisin is a practical choice. As an English-based creole, it is fairly easy to learn for ADF troops and is useful in military, governmental and community settings.

Bahasa, in either its Malay or Indonesian form, should also be considered for wider ADF language training. Though distinct, the two branches of the language are mutually intelligible, enabling communication with around 300 million of Australia’s neighbours across Indonesia and Malaysia. It is a cost-efficient option that is highly relevant to contemporary ADF operations.

Linguistic interoperability alone is not enough; it must be paired with deep cultural understanding. Effective military cooperation is not just about tactics and technology; it is about people. To foster lasting partnerships, ADF personnel must be able to engage with counterparts from neighbouring countries on their terms, understanding local norms, social structures and historical sensitivities.

Missteps in communication and behaviour can rapidly erode trust. Historical examples support the importance of linguistic interoperability: In my role at the Australian War Memorial, I have been reviewing operational benefits of deeper cultural intelligence between British officers and Pacific island troops in World War II. Without cultural fluency, Australia risks being seen as an external force imposing its own agenda, rather than a genuine partner committed to PNG’s sovereignty and security.

The success of the Australia–PNG defence treaty will not be determined by the text of the agreement alone. It will be measured by the strength of relationships built on the ground. To ensure this partnership is meaningful, Australia must move beyond generic regional engagement strategies and make a deliberate investment in linguistic and cultural capability.

The first step in revising ADF language training is clear: Tok Pisin must move to the centre. If funding allows, Bahasa makes sense as a second-order line of effort.

In international military deployments, every word matters, every cultural nuance shapes perception, and every action either builds or erodes trust. If Australia is serious about its commitment to its neighbours, especially PNG, it must invest in linguistic and cultural capabilities.

The ADF reserve system is obsolete. We need a dramatically expanded force

Australia needs to radically reorganise its reserves system to create a latent military force that is much larger, better trained and equipped and deployable within days—not decades.

Our current reserve system is not fit for purpose. It was designed many decades ago to support distant expeditionary operations, not the prospect of major war in our immediate region emphasised in the 2023 Defence Strategic Review (DSR).

With doubts growing about the reliability of our major ally, we have no choice but to prepare to defend ourselves—if necessary, largely on our own. This requires whole-of-nation preparations that were described in the DSR. The driving needs are to deter and provide effective defence against an aggressive China.

But the Review of the ADF Reserves, quietly released before Christmas, addresses none of this. At best, it is an administrative review that describes how management of the current system can be refined. It is an exercise in deck chair rearrangement, when we need a credible plan to build a far larger latent force that can be mobilised to carry much of the load if we must fight alone with little notice.

Commissioning this review of Australian Defence Force reserves was a key recommendation of the DSR. The DSR said:

The strategic risks we face require the implementation of a new approach to planning force posture, force structure, capability development and acquisition… It is clear that a business-as-usual approach is not appropriate.

The DSR said that the force structure was ‘not fit for purpose’ and that the country needed a larger defence force, greater war-fighting endurance and stronger national resilience.

The review of reserves doesn’t address these issues at all but does describe the current reserve system. It states that in early 2024 some 41,000 people were registered as ADF reserves, but they included 10,000 who had never rendered service. Some of the remaining 31,000 provided specialist skills that were in short supply elsewhere in Defence, some filled gaps in permanent units, and a few served as a base for ADF force expansion in future emergencies.

At best, the reserves review performs a process-reform function, suggesting tweaking of current systems for efficiency and effectiveness. It recommends three categories of reserve service, accelerated entry pathways, adoption of an approach of providing minimal essential training, and a further review of conditions of service. However, the review proposes a recruitment target of only another 1000 personnel by 2030.

This is clearly not what the authors of the DSR had in mind.

There are limits on how many permanent ADF personnel can be recruited short of major war.  However, given our strategic circumstances, a steep increase in part-time personnel should be a priority.

Advanced democracies variously use three reserve force models. The first is an expeditionary one suitable for countries which are not directly threatened but whose militaries periodically deploy to fight in distant wars of choice. Britain, Canada, New Zealand and Australia use this model.

The second type is the homeland and theatre defence model. It is used by countries that face serious threats of direct attack with little warning and therefore need to be able to field a very large defence force to fight wars of necessity within a few hours or, at most, a few days.

Examples include: Finland which, with a population of 5.6 million, operates a force of 24,000 permanent military personnel and 254,000 trained and equipped reservists; Israel, which from a population of 9.8 million, fields 170,000 permanent force personnel and 465,000 active reservists; and Singapore, which, with a population of 6 million, can field 51,000 permanent force personnel and 253,000 trained and equipped reservists.

The third type is a hybrid, such as the US model. From a population of 340 million, the United States it has a permanent military force of 1.3 million supported by 807,000 well-trained and well-equipped reservists.

The reserves review should have asked which model was now most suitable. Our expeditionary model, inherited from forward commitments in Korea, Malaysia and Vietnam, is obsolete. It provides some operational capabilities but generates limited resilience and would require many years to expand the reserves to the size needed for major regional war, which we could face before the end of this decade.

We must rapidly transition to a homeland and theatre defence model or, possibly, some sort of hybrid model. We must quickly prepare a reserve force that is much stronger than what we have: better trained, equipped and organised, and much larger. It must be deployable within days.

We must simplify and accelerate the way we bring people into it and improve ADF access to the national skills pool. Many intelligence, cyber, transport, medical, maintenance and other roles can be filled by qualified civilians following short training periods.

This next-generation ADF reserves system demands big changes in leadership, culture and organisational habits. The government must explain the security challenges Australia faces, why major changes are needed and why people should enlist.

What’s needed now is an action plan to quickly develop a much larger ADF reserve force. We needed it yesterday.

FPV drones: transitioning from sport to battle

It’s one thing for military personnel to hone skills with first-person view (FPV) drones in racing competitions. It’s quite another for them to transition to the complexities of the battlefield.

Drone racing has become a valued way for members of armed services, and not just Australia’s, to advance from a beginners’ level in using the little aircraft, which are revolutionising warfare.

But the battlefield is far more complex than the racing environment. Military drone pilots must be ready to fly under pressure, dealing with battlefield stresses and threats.

Australia should take note of evolution of the British armed force’s organisation for training drone operators: it’s now moving to bridge the gap.

FPV drones are attractive because they’re cheap, easy to build and fly and have a huge, supportive online community that shares knowledge. The open-source nature of their design also means they can be quickly adapted and improved, which is great for both racers and soldiers looking for a competitive edge.

In racing, military drone operators learn problem-solving and technical skills by designing, building, operating and maintaining drones and relevant equipment.

But even experienced FPV racing pilots are used to a controlled environment in which safety risks are minimised, letting them concentrate on flying the best possible course. FPV drone racing is a highly structured sport, with rules to manage risks related to the drones, pilots, tracks and environments.

Racing teams have the advantage of managing their own time, resources, training and support, shielding themselves from avoidable outside pressures. Safety measures reduce risks to pilots and ensure fair play.

But knowing how to fly a racing drone is just the first step toward using drones in the military. This is described as the difference between flying and fighting the aircraft.

Military pilots face chaotic situations where their control stations might be unsafe, radio frequencies might be jammed, visibility is limited and the drone might be carrying a lethal payload. On top of all that, the pilot bears the weight of responsibility for mission success or failure.

While racing pilots aim for precision to avoid obstacles on a known track, attack drone pilots need that same precision in unpredictable circumstances, where they may have only one chance to hit their target.

Drone flying, whether for sport or military applications, requires strong decision-making skills and the ability to solve problems quickly. Technically, pilots learn the performance limits of their equipment and how to adapt their drones and flying styles to different conditions.

Understanding the limitations of drone technology is important in both contexts, but especially in a military setting. This understanding is necessary for improving designs, increasing resilience and developing countermeasures against enemy drones. The adaptable nature of FPV drones allows for constant innovation and improvement, which is essential on the ever-changing battlefield.

In 2024, the British armed forces hosted an international drone racing tournament in London, featuring teams such as the championship-winning Australian Defence Force. Britain’s newly established jHub Drone Academy played a key role in organising the tournament and introducing British defence personnel to the sport.

The academy is expanding its training programs, moving beyond racing competitions to military exercises where British combat units compete and refine their drone skills in realistic battlefield scenarios, using both surveillance and attack drones.

The ongoing development of drone technology, coupled with realistic training scenarios such as those fostered by the jHub Drone Academy, is crucial for preparing military personnel to effectively use drones in modern warfare.

Late last year, the Australian Army officer Thomas Gash proposed such a framework for the ADF. The framework’s proposed pathway involved reshaping the ADF’s drone racing community into a military centre of excellence. This recent thought leadership will need to be analysed among the plethora of new capabilities currently being fielded by the ADF with a focus on how they complement the Australian army’s other lethality systems. Bridging the gap between sport and combat drone piloting is a normal process for the army, but it could be enhanced by the current talent pool of drone racing pilots.

Tanks for the memories

The start and the end of two decades of Australia’s Abrams M1A1 tanks came together in a moment of policy symmetry. As Australia shipped 49 retired Abrams to Ukraine at the end of 2024, the National Archives released the 2004 cabinet decision to buy the tanks.

The 2004 choice by the Howard Government is the foundation for what will be, at least, a 40 year commitment to two generations of Abrams. The 2004 purchase of the M1A1 set the ground for the 2022 decision to buy evolved Abrams M1A2 tanks.

Choices of military kit shape the force for decades, as they also decide debates. The Abrams choices give the Australian Army the decisive high ground in a strategic argument that has fizzed and fussed for decades: does the island continent even need tanks?

For tank sceptics, the retired Australian Abrams are going to Ukraine to do what they’re designed to do: fight on the plains of Europe. The new front in the sceptics’ attack is the 2020 decision by the US Marines to scrap all tanks.

The critique is that tanks will be swarmed by drones and mugged by missiles; that the big beasts won’t figure on the future battlefields that Australia cares about; and that the focus should be strategy and force structure, not tactics and tanks. Doubts remain whether mechanisation will ‘cripple the army as a useful, deployable tool of government’.

Army push-back was passionately expressed by a former major-general, Mike Clifford, when he wrote in 2015 that the armour argument was ‘one of the most uninformed policy and capability debates’ in our defence history. Clifford dismissed the push-pull of heavy versus light and high-intensity versus low-intensity as ‘rot’. And tanks not fitting anywhere in our strategic guidance? ‘Again, rot!’

Clifford was closely involved with the Abrams decision in 2004. He summarised Army’s thinking in one sentence: ‘This wasn’t about heavy or light; it was about threat, survivability and risk.’

The 39 pages of army submission for the 9 March 2004 cabinet decision wasn’t about whether Australia needed tanks; the army had won that battle, which is only hinted at in one sentence: ‘All Western countries that operate tanks have been faced with the dual challenges of an increased threat in a more robust operating environment, and the need to upgrade their fleets to accommodate the demands of a more costly and digital battlefield.’

Rather, the recommendation before cabinet was about the best tank—the German Leopard, Swiss Panzer 87 WE, British Challenger 2 or US Abrams. The national security committee accepted the submission conclusion, deciding to pay $571.6 million for 59 Abrams M1A1s to replace Leopards.

The Abrams was judged as having ‘the best overall survivability, through-life support and Network Centric Warfare capability. The tank is in production and in use with the US Army and would be bought predominantly off-the-shelf.’ Army lore is that the figure of 59 Abrams was what was available on the shelf.

The cabinet was told the army ‘identified survivability as the highest priority for the tank replacement’ and this was about more than just the thickness of armour plate. To survive on the modern battlefield, the tank must have greater ability to:

—Avoid detection through signature management;

—Avoid being accurately targeted;

—Avoid being hit;

—Reduce the probability of penetration; and finally

—Mitigate the effects of penetration.

The submission stated Australia would not buy the US Army’s version, fitted with armour made of depleted uranium (DU). Cabinet was told that procuring the Abrams without DU would alter the protection level of the tank, but ‘US advice is that there is little difference in the level of protection between DU and non-DU armour. This is protected information.’

Having won the decisions of whether and what to buy, the submission stuck to the details of performance for price in measured bureaucratese.

The prose poetry about the Abrams tank in 2004 came from another place—writer Lee Child. He nominated the clatter of tank tracks as the signature sound of the 20th century, beating other sounds born in that century such as that of a jet, or helicopter or bombs falling on a city.

The squeal or clatter of tank tracks, Child wrote, is ‘a brutal sound. It’s the sound of fear. It speaks of a massive overwhelming advantage in power.’

Then Child turned to the ‘magnificent sight’ of the Abrams as the ‘ultimate unfair advantage’, writing: ‘The M1A1 Abrams is like a shark, evolved to a point of absolute perfection. It is the undisputed king of the jungle. No other tank on earth can even begin to damage it … Its main trick is to stand off so far that no battlefield shell or rocket or kinetic device can even reach it. It sits there and watches enemy rounds fall short in the dirt. Then it traverses its mighty gun and fires and a second later and a mile-and-a-half in the distance its assailant blows up and burns.’

In such prose, reaching towards the military version of poetry, we see army armour amore.

On the value of military service

In January, I crossed the milestone of 24 years of service in two militaries—the British and Australian armies. It is fair to say that I am a professional soldier. Soldiering has consumed the whole of my adult life. Indeed, it has been a focus since I first put on an army cadet uniform at the age of twelve.

It is also fair to say that the reputation of my profession is under pressure, particularly since the campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. Those wars have challenged the moral foundation of modern soldiering, combining with a sense that the military suffers from a toxic culture, a moral vacuum and poor leadership.

A belief has developed from those campaigns that military service is inherently damaging. This is not unique in history. A similar perspective grew during and after the Vietnam War, one that took a generation to work through.

There is some truth to this negative image of service. I fought in both Iraq and Afghanistan and have written of my own concerns about the morality of the two campaigns. I have seen toxicity in culture and have experienced poor leadership. I have also, at times, likely been guilty of being a poor leader myself.

But this hard truth can exist at the same time as another truth: that I am undoubtedly a better person for my military service. Soldiering has not somehow suppressed my compassion and humanity; it has sharpened them. It has not diluted my values; it has constructed them. It has not fractured my family; it has strengthened us.

Put simply, I wouldn’t be the human I am today without the British and Australian armies.

So, I believe there is deep value in military service. Sometimes this gets lost. My aim in this article is to reflect on and remind of this value. This is not an article about certainty of employment, subsidised housing, or money (although all those certainly helped my family and me to weather wars, the global financial crisis and a pandemic). Instead, I want to talk about the intangibles. The things that really matter. The things that have made me who I am today.

A life of service and purpose

The name ‘military service’ is the right one. ‘Service’ has a dictionary definition of ‘the action of helping or doing work for someone’, and, in military terms, that ‘someone’ is the nation.

The idea of service as being at the core of the military profession is well embedded in history and culture. The rank of sergeant, for example, dates to the 13th century and is traced back to the Latin word serviens, meaning the ‘one who serves’. The motto of the Australian Army is ‘Serving the nation’. The idea of service is at the core of the oath of allegiance of the Australian Army. The mantra of Britain’s Royal Military Academy is famously ‘Serve to lead’.

This is no minor commitment. In 1962, the Australian-born General Sir John Hackett introduced the idea that military service involves a ‘contract of unlimited liability’. Soldiers agree to commit everything to the nation, up to and including sacrificing their own lives and deliberately taking the lives of others. Arguably, there is no profession that matches such a level of commitment. Few soldiers realise the scale of this when they join: it takes a few years, and often a few operations, for it to sink in.

That contract, however, is not a one-way street. You get something remarkable in return: a sense of purpose. There is something special in waking up each morning knowing that my work that day—however hard—will support the defence of the nation and the future security of my children. I have always been paid well as a soldier, but that has never been the point. And I have certainly never worked to make someone else money. I may only nudge the defence of the nation forward an inch on a given day, adding only one more brick to the ramparts, but I will have served, and that has purpose.

Is this worth my death? That is a good question. I have had to ask it several times. So far, the answer has always been ‘yes’. But I am clear that the day it is not, the day I am not willing to accept unlimited liability, is the day I should hang up the uniform. But such a day seems a very long way off, given how much the military has given me so far in terms of service and purpose.

Australian soldiers establish a position after disembarking from a US Army Chinook with Afghan National Security Force partners in Afghanistan, 2012: Department of Defence.

A life guided by values

The second gift of my service has been a life guided by values. Armies have now shaped my values and behaviour for more than 30 years, without doubt the biggest influence on my sense of morality other than my parents. The language used has been pretty consistent. Service. Courage. Excellence. Compassion. Loyalty. Integrity.

None of this has been performative. Far from these ideas being some sort of corporate banner, I have understood from day one that both armies have expected me to live and display the values, tangibly, every day. Nor has this ever been a matter of being in or out of uniform; it is with me 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Perhaps not everyone sees it that way, but I always have.

Aristotle once said, ‘we are what we repeatedly do’—that we are our habits. So, it’s not surprising that those values are now deeply set. In fact, they reflect from top to bottom, most noticeably in the small things. I find myself being unfailingly polite. I open doors and always let others go first. I find it exceptionally difficult to lie or deceive, at least outside of very necessary deception in combat. I tend to look after others. Leaders eat last, always. Some might consider this all to be just old-fashioned. It certainly makes me a terrible businessman. But I am far happier this way, guided as I am by a clear set of values.

How does this work with violence, which sits at the centre of my profession? It helps square the circle. I have always been scared of becoming inured or desensitised to the violence, comfortable with killing. The values reinforced into me by the army have made sure that never happens.

Yes, it is my job to take life if required, in defence of the nation. But every life has value, and the cost of taking it must always be recognised. As Nietzsche wrote, ‘he who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.’ The British and Australian armies taught me this. It is not something I can forget.

The camaraderie of leading and following

Armies are hierarchical creatures, so for the past 24 years I have led, and I have followed, in many teams. Being part of this relationship is the best day-to-day aspect of the profession. I have followed some remarkable people. Tank officers and cavalrymen who took me to war with style. Special forces officers who dared, and won. Fiery frigate captains bringing force from the sea. And, most recently, remarkable senior leaders who have given as much as four decades of their lives to service: almost a third of the history of the Commonwealth of Australia.

I have also led soldiers, sailors and aviators, in both war and peace: teams from as small as 11 to as large as 400. Leading has been the greatest privilege of my life. In his excellent book War in Human Civilisation, Azar Gat describes military groups as primary or fraternal groups. They are as close to family as you can get, without being biological family. Gat is entirely right; my service has allowed me to be part of many families, all of them rich and full of characters.

It is true that military command can be a lonely task. One of the joys, however, is that you never do it alone. As an officer you always do it as a team, paired with a senior soldier of suitable experience and character. The accountabilities of command are rightly all yours, but the burdens of command are shared. This is a wonderful model, born of hundreds of years of tradition and experience: one that also leads to lifelong relationships.

Those connections of leading and following go deep. In September last year, I travelled more than 26,000 kilometres from Australia back to Britain for a 10-year reunion of a particularly lively tour of Afghanistan, where I had been the officer in charge of a 130-strong unit for a nine-month stint. I was in Britain for less than 50 hours. I landed, borrowed my father’s car and by lunchtime was hugging and swapping stories in Warwickshire with the best of men and women.

Sitting in the late autumn sunshine, in a 16th-century English pub in Shakespeare’s county, I couldn’t help but think of how well the Bard captured the feeling of military camaraderie in Henry V; a bond born of shared hardship. Life somehow shone brighter in those nine months in Helmand Province, surrounded by violence and death. As King Henry put it in the play, those days would ‘na’er go by from this day to the ending of the world’ without us remembering them, or each other. We truly were a ‘band of brothers’—and sisters. And, as Shakespeare’s Henry said, ‘He who fought with me that day shall be my brother.’ This was my brotherhood—my family—of Afghanistan veterans.

Three of the family are no longer with us. One was lost on the tour, two in the decade since. But they were there at the reunion, in spirit if not in body. Their photos were carefully laid out on a pub table, resting on our squadron flag. Drinks were bought for them, and glasses raised throughout. Ours is a family for which the phrase ‘we will remember them’ is a promise, not a slogan. Such camaraderie is hard-earned. To be part of it is a privilege.

Tom McDermott in Afghanistan: British Ministry of Defence via author.

Visceral emotions and a true sense of perspective

Over the years, I have thought a lot about visceral emotions, the deep-set, intuitive and powerful ones that strike to your very core. Everyone experiences them at some time: the dual feeling of joy and terror at the birth of your first child, or the feeling of uncertainty and grief when you find that a loved one has died. But true visceral emotions are much rarer than people think.

My service has led to me experiencing many visceral emotions. You might think those were bad, and some were. The terror of hearing a burst of enemy machine-gun fire, followed by a ‘Man down!’ call on the radio. The eviscerating grief of hearing that a comrade is dead. Over the years, I have come to accept those moments as a reality of the profession, just as a doctor must learn to manage death. General William Sherman once said that ‘War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it.’ He is right. One thing I have learned is that two emotions are more dangerous than others: hatred, and disgust. Those are the gateways to revenge, an urge that must be guarded against at all costs.

But those difficult visceral emotions are genuinely offset by the positive ones. The first hug from my wife and then four-year-old daughter after nine months fighting in Afghanistan reached a scale of joy that is difficult to express. The feeling of collective achievement walking out of the back of a Chinook helicopter after a successful operation, the heat of the engines singeing the hairs on the back of my neck. The surge of pride watching one of my brother officers receive a medal from the Queen. Perhaps oddly, those positive emotions include the affirmation of actual combat. Winston Churchill once wrote, ‘nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.’ That is true. The battlefield is the most challenging of human arenas. My experience is that one values life more having endured it.

Those emotions—the good, the bad and the ugly—have had an overall net positive effect. Above all, they have given me perspective. I tend to view life differently now. I have less interest in material things, in the trappings of wealth or success. I am not bothered by the small problems: the traffic, not being able to find a parking space, a lack of phone signal. I am very slow to anger. I am not religious, but I am more spiritual … as the saying goes, ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.’ My use of language has changed. I very rarely use the word ‘hate’; I have felt the glimmers of true hatred, and I know what it really means.

Overall, the idea of a bad day has different context, when you’ve experienced days that are really bad. War has taught me that the Stoics were right, there really are only two things in your control: your thoughts and your actions. War asks you to have the serenity to accept the things you cannot change, the courage to change the things you can, and the wisdom to know the difference. These are lessons you carry for life.

Service, identity and citizenship

The passages above outline (however inadequately) what I have gained from service. The obvious final question though is, ‘Why do you still do it?’ Surely after 24 years, you’ve paid your dues and could do something a little more relaxing? Something a little less burdensome? A little easier on the family?

The simplest answer is that military service is my identity, and has been for more than half my life. I’m not sure how I would go without it. Writing in a different age, Samuel Johnson said, ‘Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier.’ I don’t think that is the case today, but I know I certainly feel better for being one. I think identity is the reason why many soldiers find life hard after they leave the military: the niggling loss of the service motive that has underpinned each day in uniform.

But that simple answer isn’t enough. The second and better answer is because I am needed. The world is clearly a more dangerous place than at any time since I started serving in 2001—indeed, perhaps since my grandfather was in uniform in the Second World War. The return of great-power competition heralds a period of tension that could well lead to armed confrontation or war in the Indo-Pacific.

History tells us that we must prepare for the worst, and that a strong and capable military is a vital part of that preparation. I migrated to Australia to secure a better future for my children, and I believe that future is now under threat. My service in 2025 has more meaning than it did when I arrived in 2015. It is my contribution to securing my children’s future.

This brings me to my final answer: ‘I serve because I am Australian.’ This is a fine place to finish. Migrating to another nation in mid-life has been hard—a core change in identity that led me from being British to becoming Australian. I often reflect that, while I originally served to gain Australian citizenship, I have now become truly Australian due to my service.

My time in the Australian Army has fundamentally connected me to the nation. It has shown me all the different Australias: from Whyalla in the south to the red desert in the Northern Territory, from the beauty of Perth to the Atherton Tableland. I have been privileged to lead the oldest cavalry regiment in the Australian Army, with a history dating back to 1860. I have worn the Australian national flag on my sleeve every day for nearly a decade, a constant reminder of what the country has given my family and me. I would not be the Australian I am today without the Australian Army.

For me, this is one of the most under-recognised benefits of service: an appreciation of and connection to nation. The idea of patriotism is struggling in the modern age, but the definition remains clear: ‘the quality of being devoted to one’s country.’ I am far more devoted to Australia than I expected to be, just 10 years ago. Because I am an Australian soldier. Always.

Too slow and too picky: Defence recruiting isn’t fit for purpose

Australian Defence Force recruiting systems need to be overhauled if the ADF is to sustain and increase its size in the coming years. The ADF also needs to make changes to entry standards so it can take maximum advantage of the pool of applicants.

In early 2024, the ADF was around 4300 people below its authorised strength of 62,700 permanent members. This makes the 2040 target of 80,000 permanent personnel look increasingly difficult to achieve.

While the challenges of recruiting are usually framed in the context of competition with other industries—with the low unemployment rate cited as evidence of labour market tightness—other factors are at play. It is commonly argued that pay and conditions for ADF members need to rise to attract and retain personnel. However, they are already relatively generous: Australia’s median full-time pay is about $88,500 a year. The starting pay of a sergeant or fully qualified officer is higher. A private reaching pay grade 5 will also earn more than the national median. Further increases to pay grades are likely to have diminishing returns.

In 2024, 64,000 people applied to join the ADF. The average time it took to complete a recruitment process was 300 days. These are both surprising figures, in different ways. On one hand, taking just a fraction more of those applicants in a year would bring the ADF up to its authorised strength. On the other hand, the recruitment period shows just how cumbersome and inefficient the recruitment process currently is.

While spending 300 days to decide whether to recruit someone might not have mattered as much in the relatively peaceful era straight after the Cold War, it is unacceptable when geopolitical tensions are increasing and we need expand the ADF quickly. Also, according to both human resources theory and plentiful anecdotal evidence, many of the ADF’s best applicants probably have other job opportunities. The longer the ADF takes to finish the recruitment process, the more likely a high-performing candidate will be frustrated by the bureaucratic delays and go elsewhere.

For those keeping score, some of those 64,000 applicants were successfully recruited and some withdrew their applications partway through. The rest would have been deemed unsuitable and had their application rejected. But could none of those applicants have been able to safely and competently do any of the 4,300 positions that remain unfilled in the ADF? Almost certainly not.

This is where the ADF needs to change its attitude towards recruitment standards: it needs to become less choosy. It is perhaps an uncomfortable truth that many Australian servicepeople who fought and died in World War I and World War II would have been rejected by today’s ADF. At the height of World War II, around one in eight Australians was deemed suitable to serve.

Defence needs to take a less risk-averse attitude towards health issues. There are many stories of potential ADF recruits being rejected for minor or historical physical and mental health reasons. ADF attitudes towards mental health are particularly outdated. Mental health issues are now better recognised and understood by health professionals and the public, increasing diagnosis rates. Despite improvements in the treatment and management of mental conditions, the ADF’s overly conservative attitude towards mental illness is excluding an increasingly large demographic from the recruiting pool. Recruiting from that pool will require improved mental health support both during service and after discharge.

The ADF will have to make changes to improve its recruitment process, starting with greater resource allocation to increase recruiting capacity. Identifying and prioritising high-performing applicants early would further optimise the recruitment process and increase Defence’s chances of securing these candidates. The ADF should also streamline bureaucracy where possible, particularly around document provision and follow-up medical examinations. Managing the contract with Defence’s recruiting service provider, Adecco, will further improve performance.

Defence would benefit from updated recruiting standards around minor or historical health issues. It should adopt a less risk-averse approach centred on an applicant’s ability to do their job at the time of recruitment. In the longer term, Defence should conduct a review into its recruitment processes with the aim of designing a recruiting system that can deliver the personnel needed for the ADF’s future.

Despite perceptions, there is a large pool of applicants who want to join the ADF. With appropriate changes to recruiting systems and standards, that pool should be able to fill the ADF’s expanding requirements. This will help the ADF meet its target of 80,000 permanent personnel by 2040.