Tag Archive for: ADF

Women in combat roles strengthen our defence force

The Ukraine war has been called the bloodiest conflict since World War II. As of July 2024, 10,000 women were serving in frontline combat roles. Try telling them—from the safety of an Australian lounge room—they don’t belong there. But that’s exactly what the now disendorsed Liberal candidate for Whitlam, Benjamin Britton, did last week when he doubled down on his claim that women didn’t belong in combat.

The idea of women in combat is not new; it dates back centuries. That this topic has re-entered mainstream political debate is dangerous and damaging. It risks undermining the morale of our defence force and stoking a culture war at precisely the moment when we should be focused on enhancing capability.

National security is a bipartisan priority, with both sides acknowledging the strategic uncertainty Australia faces: war in Europe, instability in the Middle East and China’s assertiveness in the Indo-Pacific.

Yet instead of strengthening our defence capability, recent political discourse risks undermining it. The resurfacing of comments from Britton—calling for the removal of women from combat roles to ‘fix the military’—and a 2018 interview in which opposition defence spokesman Andrew Hastie claimed the ‘fighting DNA’ of close combat units was ‘best preserved when exclusively male’ do exactly that.

It’s important to clarify what combat roles actually entail. These are positions that engage directly with enemy forces—traditionally found on warships, in fighter aircraft and on the battlefield. But as the character of war has evolved across the five domains—land, sea, air, cyber and space—so too has the nature of combat. The lines are increasingly blurred, exemplified by growing recognition of drone operators as combat roles. Today, defining a combat role is far less clear-cut than it once was. Which only reinforces how ludicrous it is to exclude 50 percent of the Australian population from these roles.

Australia’s journey towards fully integrating women has been a long one. Women have proudly supported Australian military operations since the Boer War in 1899. In 1990, the chief of navy lifted restrictions on women serving at sea, with Royal Australian Navy women deploying in frontline roles during the Gulf War aboard HMAS Westralia. By 1998, the navy allowed women to serve on submarines.

In 1992, most Australian Defence Force roles were opened to women, with only a few exceptions remaining: clearance divers, combat engineers, infantry, artillery, airfield defence and special forces.

In 1992 the Royal Australian Air Force opened fighter pilot roles to women, though uptake has been slow because of cultural barriers rather than capability. Yet even before that, in 1990, female RAAF pilots were already flying C-130s in combat-related roles, and by 2000 women were serving as navigators in Australia’s F-111 strike aircraft.

While admittedly the nature of conflict across the domains is different, these are combat roles where women’s lives are on the line and the sacrifices are just as real.

The journey towards the inclusion of women in land combat roles in Australia has been slower. While ADF women have made key contributions to peacekeeping missions since the 1990s, it wasn’t until 2011 that the formal ban on women serving in land combat roles was lifted, followed by special forces roles in 2014.

This was despite the first woman earning her commando green beret as early as 1981 and women serving as combat medics alongside special forces in Afghanistan before the policy change.

But what of Britton’s specific comments? Setting aside his apparent misunderstanding of the broad range of combat roles, he expressed concern about ‘women’s hips’.

It’s true that studies in Australia and Britain have found that body armour designed for men can have adverse physical impacts on women. But these same studies conclude that such issues can be resolved through improved design. It’s not a reduction in protection, just a redesign to fit the body it’s intended for.

And what about the success rates of women in these physically arduous roles? In 2018, the director of workforce strategy for the army told a parliamentary committee that attrition rates for women in combat roles were broadly the same as those for men.

Likewise, the proportion of applicants, male and female, who fail to meet the physical employment standards for these roles shows no significant gender difference.

As for the so-called fighting DNA of close combat units—I’ve never served in land combat—it’s an experience that deserves the respect of a grateful nation. But based on my operational experience, from service at sea during the second Gulf War to chasing armed drug smugglers in the Caribbean, I can say this: the fighting DNA of a warship is strengthened, not weakened, by diversity of all kinds—including gender.

Australia faces the real prospect of conflict in our region. Faux culture wars such as this serve only to distract from the serious task of preparing our defence force for the challenges ahead.

Oliver’s struggle: a case study in the frustration of trying to join the ADF

If you’re a qualified individual looking to join the Australian Army, prepare for a world of frustration over the next 12 to 18 months. While thorough vetting is essential, the inefficiency of the Australian Defence Force’s recruitment process is inexcusable.

Communication between recruits and the ADF is disorganised and inefficient. The system seems designed to test patience rather than welcome recruits.

What follows is a case study. It’s the miserable experience of 22-year-old Oliver from Sydney, an entirely suitable recruit who struggled for 12 months to be recruited—by an organisation that says it can’t get enough people. (‘Oliver’ is not his real name.)

Oliver’s application process was so riddled with complications that he lost count. A particular issue was constant turnover of recruiters. Oliver went through four different recruiters in 12 months.

Twice, his file was reassigned without any notice, and on two other occasions, he had to personally track down his new recruiter’s details and make the first contact. He discovered that his recruiter was no longer handling his case only when his emails and calls began to go unanswered. Each time, he had to call the general recruiting phone line just to get an update on his application and find out who his new case manager was.

On top of that, poor record-keeping led to lost documents, adding unnecessary delays. But the most frustrating part was the medical clearance process, which became an administrative nightmare.

‘Every time I followed up [on the medical clearance], I’d find out they had either lost my documents again or hadn’t even checked them since last uploading them,’ Oliver says. ‘It felt like I was stuck in an endless loop of submitting paperwork with no progress.’

Recruiter turnover meant that each of Oliver’s follow-ups were with a new person with no understanding of his case, causing misunderstandings surrounding his medical history. Oliver had undergone leg surgery in the past, so he understood that some delay arising from it was inevitable. However, he didn’t expect simple administrative tasks to be mishandled so often.

For instance, he was required to complete a second pre-entry fitness assessment two weeks before his enlistment. When he arrived at the test location, he discovered he wasn’t on the list. His recruiter had forgotten to book him in, despite assuring him otherwise. Fortunately, the assessment staff, whom he happened to know, allowed him to take the test and promptly submitted his scores. Without their help, his enlistment date would have been delayed yet again.

After everything he had been through, it was no surprise that his medical approval took six months: if they couldn’t even book a basic fitness test, how could he trust them to handle something as important as his medical history?

Prolonged uncertainty keeps recruits in limbo, disrupting their personal lives. Oliver, for instance, chose not to renew his residential lease for another year, because thought he might soon need to leave town for a life in the army. Instead, he moved frequently and cycled through jobs, always on edge: at any moment, he could be called and told to ship out. Had he known the process would drag on, or had he received a firm departure date, he could have signed the lease and avoided a year of instability.

His impression was that the ADF was indifferent to the hardship its process takes on applicants. This leaves a negative impression on recruits, already part of a generation less inclined to serve than their forebears were and sends a clear message that their commitment is met with bureaucracy rather than support.

Oliver, a dual citizen of Australia and the United States, became so frustrated that he nearly enlisted in the US military instead. In the US Army, recruits can receive up to US$50,000 (nearly AU$80,000) in bonuses, including a US$15,000 (AU$24,000) Quick Ship Bonus for those who start basic training within 30 days.

In contrast, the average enlistment process in Australia takes about 300 days—but it doesn’t have to. If Australia is serious about addressing its recruitment crisis, the first step is fixing a system that almost seems designed to push recruits away.

Oliver was finally accepted September 2024. He’s now in infantry.

If not for a determination to serve, which he had held since the age of 15, he likely wouldn’t have made it through the process. This begs the question: how many potential recruits, uncertain about enlisting, abandon their applications in frustration? Stories like Oliver’s seem countless.

The ADF’s failure to efficiently vet qualified recruits isn’t just a bureaucratic hiccup; it’s a fundamental flaw costing valuable soldiers. Fixing this requires prioritising high-performing applicants like Oliver, reducing bureaucratic hurdles and improving recruitment capacity. If Australia wants a strong, capable military force, it needs to start by proving to recruits that their time, dedication and service are valued—not wasted.

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.