There is no agreed definition of hybrid warfare. We’re essentially talking about warfare across more than one dimension—including across our political, economic and civil spheres—which is sometimes integrated with traditional warfare, and ultimately blurs distinctions between periods of peace and war. Hybrid warfare sounds very postmodern, but it’s nothing new. The art of moving between conventional and non-conventional modes of warfare while manipulating an opponent’s specific vulnerabilities is well documented throughout history. Hybrid warfare was not born out of Russian activity on the Crimean Peninsula in 2014.

Framing the hybrid warfare challenge as something looming, or a future development in security thinking here in Australia, clouds the reality that this threat has always existed. Components of hybrid warfare such as strategies of disinformation and propaganda are age-old tools of warfare. Delivery in terms of speed and impact with regards to the unapparelled reach of social media today, means that these tools of hybrid warfare feel new.

Hybrid warfare garners a false sense of newness thanks to advances in technology which allow for the same strategies to be executed on a new front—the cyber environment. Hybrid warfare is further veiled as new given the rapid speeds at which objectives can be accomplished as a further result of this technological change.

What is new, however, is that Australia is taking hybrid warfare seriously. We are finally examining our own vulnerabilities and points of weaknesses in our critical infrastructure, including cyber systems and civil relations. It’s a tentative start, and there’s still a lot of non–hybrid warfare thinking to be found in our doctrine and force structure. When the time comes for the next defence white paper, we should build upon recent momentum and bring the ethos of hybrid warfare to the forefront of defence planning. Hybrid warfare calls for an update to Australia’s defence and security planning. It’s how we need to frame the security challenge from the outside world to credibly plan the defence of our interests.

As well as starting to think about hybrid warfare as an externality, there’s also an increasingly robust discussion around our own hybrid strategy (but not so much that it will seriously threaten existing major elements of the Australian Defence Force). In fact, we should double down and approach hybrid warfare as our ‘new normal’. As important as developing our own countermeasures and bolstering our security infrastructure to deter or defeat such threats is, the priority also appears to be a psychological one in terms of how we think about hybrid warfare. Australia needs to shift its defence narrative to one which accepts that hybrid warfare is not a passing fad, but a persistent threat with more supporting capabilities than ever. Further advances in technology will no doubt continue to give hybrid warfare new capacities to distract security planners.

Although Australian defence planners are waking up to this new normal, our current planning appears to focus solely on the narrow cyber component of hybrid warfare. The 2016 defence white paper made no mention of hybrid warfare as a security challenge in itself. Instead, cyber and electronic warfare were singled out as the focal point for strengthening ADF capabilities. The 2017 foreign policy white paper also showed that Canberra is yet to grasp the immediate reality of hybrid warfare. It did a better job of fleshing out the technological aspects of hybrid warfare and the threat posed by foreign interference in our cyber realm.

Hybrid warfare will be at the forefront of international security for the foreseeable future and will characterise both conflict and cooperation between states with different or aligned interests. Tellingly, our global institutions, including NATO and the US network of alliances in the Asia–Pacific, aren’t proving agile enough to adapt to the new security climate headlined by hybrid warfare. We should stop distracting ourselves with debates on whether hybrid warfare is anything new or focusing solely on the strategies of known hybrid warfare aggressors, such as Russia and North Korea.

Australian policymakers face an overarching strategic challenge given the sheer complexity of developing a national defence capacity that’s able to deter the multipronged, multifaceted, synchronised security threats facing our nation. Rapid advances in technology and the speeds at which information can be sent around the world mean that the ability to spread disinformation, interfere with elections and hijack the domestic political narrative will continue to flourish even in the absence of more ‘traditional’ sabre rattling or physical aggression. We are at risk, but at least we are starting to talk about hybrid warfare.

The next step is to work out what we’re going to do about it.

‘Relations with Indonesia have provided the crucible of modern Australian foreign policy.’ —Bruce Grant, 1972

The great Australian scribe, Bruce Grant, penned that thought about Indonesia–Australia tests and trials in the year of a seminal election for Australia.

Elections are again with us—this time for both Indonesia and Australia. These two most different neighbours now share democracy as well as geography. As ever, the contrasts are far greater than the similarities.

The title of Grant’s 1972 study of Oz foreign policy, The crisis of loyalty, echoes today amid an international bonfire of certainties. And the three-part Indonesia–Australia frame that Grant described still fits.

Precise foreign policy tests: ‘Indonesia has brought home to Australians the concreteness of foreign policy problems … Australia was presented with issues in which it had a specific and acknowledged interest. So there has been a non-proxy, direct and pragmatic flavour about Australian thinking and acting, in official and professional circles, on Indonesia.’

Strategic geography: Indonesia ‘acted as a “locum” for the abstract threats which Australians sensed in their bones. Indonesia gave substance to what has long been called in Australia “the threat from the north”. It brought into focus the vague and undifferentiated fears about “Asians” which Australians have traditionally held. As voyeurs, rather than participants, Australians have nurtured weird ideas about the peoples of Asia … So Indonesia was not only a test of our professionals and decision-makers; it presented an emotional challenge to come to terms with a turbulent and perhaps threatening part of the world.’

The ‘idea’ of Indonesia: The size and potential of Indonesia have intellectual and psychological influence. ‘On the one hand, Australia has learned to respect Indonesian nationalism. It wants Indonesia to be a successful nation, stable and prosperous. Australia has no designs on Indonesian territory and it has no wish to see Indonesia dismembered. On the other hand, Australia does not want Indonesia to become dominant in South-East Asia.’

Remember Grant’s Indonesia–Australia appreciation was penned nearly 50 years ago, near the start of Suharto’s long rule and before Indonesia invaded East Timor. Deep thinking and good writing can have a long shelf life. Australia now is participant, not voyeur, but the rest of Grant’s description is as fresh as today’s election headlines.

As an example of the next foreign policy test, Australia and Indonesia last month signed a free trade agreement. That deal awaits ratification on the other side of the twin elections.

On the larger and longer term destinies of strategic geography and Indonesia’s potential, consider that this giant neighbour is on track ‘to pass Australia in economic size in the 2020s and eventually in military capabilities by the 2040s’.

The economic/military projection is from Kevin Rudd. In his memoirs, Rudd joins Paul Keating to become the second former prime minister to argue that Australia should join ASEAN, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations.

Rudd follows Keating in stating that the fundamental importance of Indonesia to Australia is at the heart of the argument for Oz membership of ASEAN. (My ASPI paper on why Australia should seek that membership is here.)

Rudd raised the idea of Australia entering ASEAN during his second, short stint as prime minister in 2013, when visiting Indonesia for the annual leaders’ dialogue. He records the response from President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and Foreign Minister Marty Natalegawa.

I will always remember SBY and Marty, looking up from their meal, staring at me, smiling broadly, and saying, ‘Pak Kevin, we might be ready for you. I’m not sure that the rest of the ASEANs are ready for you, at least at this stage.’ We all laughed. But there was a method in my madness.

The vision, as Rudd writes, is to multilateralise Australia’s relationship with Indonesia while the neighbours are of similar economic size and no fundamental problems exist.

If by mid-century, the tables were radically reversed in the power relativities between the two countries, and if in the meantime the relationship between Canberra and Jakarta remained entirely bilateralised, the future health of the relationship would depend entirely on the prevailing political dynamics of each country at the time. By contrast, if both countries by then had become members of ASEAN, where bilateral relationships between member states have always been tempered by the collaborative practices, habits and culture of a wider regional institution, it would enhance the long-term stability of the Canberra–Jakarta relationship. There is a continuing complacency in Australia about how the dynamics of the Indonesia relationship will change as Indonesia becomes more powerful in its own right. The time to act in seeking to institutionalise this critical relationship within the wider framework of ASEAN is now.

Australia entering ASEAN would change and enlarge the conception of Southeast Asia. Equally, it’d change and enlarge Australia.

Having Australia and Indonesia as the great twin democracies in ASEAN would give new dimensions to this destined but disparate relationship—still the crucible of modern Oz foreign policy.

‘The only way to deal with these people is to bring them to justice. You can’t talk to them, you can’t negotiate with them.’ —US President George H.W. Bush, 2003

Negotiations between the US and the Taliban are set to continue later this month with a new round of talks planned. This marks a significant shift from a longstanding policy of never negotiating with terrorists. The talks demonstrate that political solutions are needed to end political conflicts.

Democratic governments have historically de-escalated a number of conflicts through negotiations with terrorist actors, including the Irish Republican Army, the Basque ETA and the FARC in Colombia. A RAND study has found that 43% of terrorist campaigns ended through some kind of negotiation.

As terrorism in the Asia–Pacific increases, the time is right to consider such an approach.

The region has a long history of terrorist activity, mainly by groups seeking independence from post-colonial centralised governments.

While global deaths from terrorism fell by 27% in the past year, they rose by 30% in the Asia–Pacific. The increase has been centred in three countries: the Philippines, Myanmar and Thailand have together experienced nearly 4,000 attacks over the past five years (see figure below).

This rise has broadly corresponded with the expansion of transnational terrorist franchises, such as al-Qaeda and Islamic State, into the region. Those organisations have provided local groups with funding and material support while integrating their conflicts into the struggle for a global pan-Islamic caliphate.

IS, in particular, has demonstrated an exceptional capacity to mobilise disparate local movements under its banner of jihad. In 2016, a video featured militants from Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines pledging allegiance to the group. A year later, IS-affiliated and -trained militants captured the city of Marawi in the Philippines. In the ensuing battle, 603 Filipino soldiers were killed.

The involvement of absolutist religious elements makes these groups difficult to eliminate. Because religious combatants see their cause as having transcendental significance, they’re unlikely to negotiate a political solution. Tactics employed by these groups, such as using women and children as suicide bombers and beheading prisoners, can further entrench conflict.

As IS faces territorial decline in the Middle East, it is deploying more resources and fighters to what it considers its East Asia province. That shift poses a significant risk for countries that are dealing with ongoing regional conflicts. It also reinforces the regional influence of an actor that has shown the will and capacity to harm Australians.

Separatist terrorist groups use violence to push for autonomous control over their regions. State violence to counter terrorism can also lead to greater support for the terrorist groups, furthering conflict.

Terrorist groups generally look to abandon violence if they’re in military retreat, they perceive themselves to be in a good negotiating position, or they are given enough incentives to negotiate.

Increasing internationalisation of conflicts changes the incentives to negotiate for both parties.

Local groups risk their separatist and nationalist goals being subsumed into or competing with the agenda of international terrorist franchises. Affiliation with IS or al-Qaeda may also hamper open dialogue with government. Groups may be more willing to compromise so that their political objectives are at least partially met.

There are also changed incentives for governments, which may be more willing to compromise to prevent international groups from gaining footholds.

This has already happened. A recent peace deal in Bangsamoro in the southern Philippines brokered by Malaysia came about in part because of a fear of local groups aligning with IS.

Australia has an active and ongoing interest in the stability of the Asia–Pacific. It is currently promoting peacebuilding in Myanmar and peace and security initiatives in the Philippines. Examples include expenditure of $52.6 million on Operation Augury in the Philippines and $24 million on conflict resolution efforts in Marawi. Further expenditure is planned to promote stability in the Philippines, including $90 million on childhood education in conflict-affected areas.

Australia could expand on this contribution by adopting the role of a good-faith mediator between states and local terrorist groups.

In the short term, Australia can support the conditions needed to bring all parties to the negotiating table. This includes promoting confidence-building measures, such as weapons hand-ins or releases of political prisoners.

Australia can also share its domestic experiences and expertise to reduce the risk of internationalisation of terrorist groups. Greater resources and cooperation will help to reduce access to terrorist propaganda and prevent fighters from travelling to conflict zones in the Asia–Pacific.

Among the many reasons I’m an optimist is the decades I’ve spent inside two strange but wonderful Australian institutions.

One magnificent institution is the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, where I toiled as a journalist for 33 happy years. Most of my time as an ABC hack was in Canberra—in the old parliament, then up the hill to the giant flag and the unique building that has the House of Representatives and Senate on its wings and the executive in the rear.

Only in Oz would the prime minister and all other ministers get to their offices through the back door.

For years I’ve struggled feebly for a punchline about the PM and cabinet residing out the back: rear-mounted engine … the ultimate backseat drivers … how do you see the way ahead from the arse-end of the building?

There must be a metaphor to fit. Please advise.

The ABC and Parliament House are marvellous while also being maddening and mysterious. Maybe that’s how it is with all major institutions, which brings me to my jest about how these two great entities have shaped my optimism.

A while ago, when I wrote a cynical piece on the three unholy rules that govern Canberra, I was tackled on my sunny self-characterisation: ‘If you’re such a congenital optimist, how can you write this dark stuff?’

The answer is simple: I’m an optimist because of decades in the ABC and covering the Oz parliament. And, of course, I’m a dark realist because of decades in the ABC and covering the Oz parliament.

When they’re at the best, both institutions make you rejoice. At their worst, when they mangle their purpose and mislay their principles, the proper response is rage.

For the last couple of years I’ve raged at the ABC and Canberra for the disastrous dismantling of Oz international broadcasting.

Gutting international TV, ending shortwave and exiting the news and journalism contest in the Asia–Pacific is lousy policy and appalling judgement, hugely damaging to Australian foreign policy. I’ve inflicted many columns on The Strategist, testified to one Senate hearing and made submissions to three inquiries. For an overview of the recent dumbness and optimistic prescriptions for a better broadcasting future, see ASPI’s paper Hard news and free media as the sharp edge of Australian soft power.

In the way of Canberra, bad policy is slowly being confronted. The ABC is dimly grasping how much it has abandoned its charter responsibility, enacted by parliament, ‘to transmit to countries outside Australia broadcasting programs of news, current affairs, entertainment and cultural enrichment’.

The ABC is putting its leadership back together after last year losing both its chair and managing director in the same week. The chairman fired the managing director because she wouldn’t bend to his will; then the chair had to go because he was too eager to bend to the government’s will. Sad, bad days for Aunty.

The ABC rebuild has taken a significant step with the appointment of Ita Buttrose as the new chair. At last, the ABC board has a chair who actually knows journalism and media! How novel. And promising.

The main cause for optimism is that both sides of Oz politics have grasped that the destruction of Australia’s international broadcasting voice in the South Pacific and Southeast Asia hurts our foreign policy interests.

The government’s announcement of $17.1 million, over three years, to supply Australian commercial television programs to broadcasters in the South Pacific is a facile and clumsy initiative that doesn’t amount to strategy.

The positive point is that it’s a sign of a government that understands Australia needs to get back into the media game in its region. A strange first step is at least a step. The opposition also embraces an international broadcasting rethink and rebuild.

A new political consensus is forming on international broadcasting, as one element of Canberra’s darkening view of international prospects.

Australia proclaims its first strategic priority now is to manage great-power competition. The Oz step-up in the South Pacific—the Pacific pivot—is the response of a nation that sees its strategic interests in Papua New Guinea and the islands directly challenged by China.

Australia proclaims its enduring fidelity to the alliance as it grapples with the arrival of the post-American world, a multipolar era of shifting power where US military dominance doesn’t translate to other dimensions.

Tough times demand hard thinking and good policy.

Australia is awaking to the costs of absent-mindedly discarding an 80-year tradition of broadcasting to the Asia–Pacific.

My preferred label for this new era is hot peace, not the new cold war. But the cold war elements remind Canberra of a time when international broadcasting was a vital instrument of state policy. Look around today and note China’s arrival as a major international media player, the big Russian effort, and how Britain is boosting the BBC World Service.

In an era of power completion and contest over the nature of the international system, Australia must again power up its voice to serve its interests, influence and values.

The most recent meeting of the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue on the sidelines of the East Asia Summit in Singapore last November suggests that the US, India, Japan and Australia regard the initiative as a geostrategic multiplier in the Indo-Pacific. Despite the evident convergence, there have been few signs of a genuine renewal of the Quad’s purpose since it was resuscitated in 2017 after a decade-long hiatus.

This is underscored by the absence of a unified declaration following the Quad’s meetings in 2017 and 2018. Although individual statements released by the four members after the meetings agreed on the importance of a free and open Indo-Pacific, they overlapped on few points of detail. And although Quad boosters assert that its foundations are stronger today than they were a decade ago, the absence of a single joint statement betrays the inherent limits of the initiative.

The recent revival of the Quad was triggered by the return of Shinzo Abe as Japanese prime minister in 2012. Shortly after returning to office, Abe wrote an essay promoting a ‘democratic Asian security diamond’ to forestall Chinese ‘coercion’.  The proposal endorsed the view that the US, Japan, Australia and India should cooperate to ‘safeguard the maritime commons stretching from the Indian Ocean region to the western Pacific’.

India’s threat perception vis-à-vis China has increased in the decade since the Quad was first initiated, pushing it closer to Washington and US allies in Asia like Australia and Japan. The increase in Chinese naval deployments in the Indian Ocean and the rapid modernisation of China’s nuclear weapons program, including its sea-launched ballistic-missile capabilities, have exercised Indian planners and provoked a greater emphasis on the link between national strategy and maritime force projection. These concerns have been overlaid by India’s apprehension about the growing reach of China’s Belt and Road Initiative.

Australia’s concerns over China’s strategic posture in the Indo-Pacific and its overt militarisation activities in the South China Sea have been reinforced by revelations of interference by Beijing in Australian domestic affairs. Disclosures of the Chinese Communist Party’s influence in Australia have included attempts to bribe high-level officials, pressure for Chinese-language media outlets to toe the line on key issues, monitoring of Chinese students in Australian universities, and recruitment of sympathetic advocates to articulate the CCP’s position in the media.

These factors have coalesced to create a more permissive environment for Australia’s participation in the Quad and other minilateral security initiatives. The Quad has the support of the opposition Labor Party as well as the Coalition government.

For the US, returning to the Quad after a 10-year hiatus dovetails with the Trump administration’s preference for a more explicit acknowledgement of competition with Beijing, not just in the strategic arena but also in the economic domain. Washington’s continuation of freedom-of-navigation operations in the South China Sea—notwithstanding the clear risks of military escalation—and the Trump administration’s appetite for zero-sum confrontation with Beijing over trade, signal a renewed determination by the US to contain Chinese great-power ambitions.

While Trump is less focused than his predecessors on promoting the idea of a concert of democracies in the Indo-Pacific, the Quad aligns with his disdain for large-scale multilateralism and his fixation on burden-sharing with allies and security partners. Perhaps more importantly, the Quad maps closely to the Pentagon’s vision of developing America’s Indo-Pacific alliances and partnerships ‘into a networked security architecture capable of deterring aggression, maintaining stability, and ensuring free access to common domains’.

However, given the Quad’s history, there are serious doubts about whether it can be sustained. As La Trobe University’s Nick Bisley has argued, ‘there is not a single vital national interest that all four share’. Perhaps tellingly, in contrast to 2007, the resurrection of the Quad in 2017 elicited very little apparent concern on the part of Beijing. This reflects China’s broader reaction to US-led minilateral initiatives, as distinct from specific initiatives taken as part of US bilateral security alliances, which tend to attract vociferous condemnation from China.

Beijing probably feels reasonably confident that underlying divisions between US allies will prevent an Asian NATO from emerging and that most, if not all, American allies in the region (and those not allied to the US, such as India and Indonesia) will avoid formal multilateral security commitments because of their acute dependence on Chinese trade and investment. Ultimately, Beijing’s reading of minilateralism’s (and, by extension, the Quad’s) prospects may be close to the mark.

All four parties have clear incentives to constrain, and in some cases push back against, Beijing’s growing assertiveness, but that won’t necessarily sustain the Quad beyond its recent resurrection. There’s little indication that members are serious about mapping the Quad’s future in detail, and while perspectives within ASEAN are mixed, Singaporeans (perhaps surprisingly) remain the most sceptical about Quad.

One school of thought may be that the Quad parties will discover a renewed purpose only if Beijing uses force in a regional contingency. That may be credible, but it’s more likely that the US, Japan and Australia will focus all their efforts on leveraging existing bilateral security alliances in response to a major uptick in Chinese military activity. And it is difficult to envisage India seriously buying into a conflict in the South China Sea when even Japan and Australia place caveats on how much their alliances with the US formally commit them to do in certain scenarios.

In the final analysis, we’re likely to look back on the Quad’s resurrection in 2017 as another false dawn for the development of meaningful security arrangements outside formal alliances in the Indo-Pacific.