Tag Archive for: China

Unlike China’s flotilla, the Great White Fleet came in friendship

When the US Navy’s Great White Fleet sailed into Sydney Harbour in 1908, it was an unmistakeable signal of imperial might, a flexing of America’s newfound naval muscle. More than a century later, the Chinese navy has been executing its own form of gunboat diplomacy by circumnavigating Australia—but without a welcome. The similarities and differences between these episodes tell us a lot about the new age of empires in which Australia now finds itself.

Both were shows of force. The former expressed President Teddy Roosevelt’s foreign policy of speaking softly while carrying a big stick—the original version of peace through strength—while the latter aimed at disturbing the peace.

The Great White Fleet’s visit was a spectacle. Australians cheered as 16 gleaming battleships, painted white and with shiny trim, paraded into Sydney Harbour. A flight of steps, the Fleet Steps, was specially built in the Royal Botanic gardens to receive the American visitors.

The visit was a calculated diplomatic manoeuvre by Prime Minister Alfred Deakin in making the invitation and by US President Teddy Roosevelt in accepting it. Both Australia, a young federation deeply tied to the British Empire, and the United States, a rising but not yet super power, saw value in signalling US Pacific presence to Japan.

For Roosevelt, the fleet also presented his big-stick foreign policy to European nations: the US had arrived as a global power. Just as important, he saw the fleet’s world tour as helpful in explaining to the American people why they needed to spend money on defence, including ships, as their country opened up to global opportunities but also threats. Deterrence, preparation, social licence all strengthened national resilience.

Deakin saw the chance and didn’t just invite the fleet to Australia but engineered the visit. He wanted the visit to kindle the notion in Australia that it should have its own fleet. Irregular Royal Navy deployments to the Far East could not guarantee Australian security.

Also like Roosevelt, Deakin knew that a passive approach to defence policy would not keep the nation safe in an era of rising military powers, with a strategic shift to proactive engagement needed urgently, not only once a crisis had begun. He was especially concerned about Japan’s growing sea power but, again like Roosevelt, he also had an eye on Russian and (later) German sea power.

While Deakin wanted a national navy and was an empire man, he thought it prudent to start building a partnership with the US. Not yet replacing Britain as global leader, it had burst on to the strategic scene only a decade earlier. It had annexed the Philippines in 1898 in the Spanish-American War and, in the same year, the Hawaiian Islands. These made the US a Pacific power.

Both men in the early 1900s understood the connection between European and Pacific security and both set out to protect their national interests by working together against European and Asian powers seeking to create instability and spheres of influence.

As Russell Parkins well describes in Great White Fleet to Coral Sea, Deakin noted in one of his written invitations to the US that ‘No other Federation in the world possesses so many features of likeness to that of the United States as does the Commonwealth of Australia’. Roosevelt later acknowledged he had not originally planned for the fleet to visit Australia but that Deakin’s invitation had confirmed his ‘hearty admiration for, and fellow feeling with, Australia, and I believe that America should be ready to stand back of Australia in any serious emergency’.

This was naval might wielded with soft edges: immense firepower floating on the harbour, and friendly chats over tea ashore.

Today the strategic environment again involves European and Asian powers—Russia and China—seeking spheres of influence, only the dynamics of the naval visit couldn’t be more different. No time for afternoon tea, just the reality that Australia faces a security threat from Beijing that demands national preparedness and international friendships and alliances.

When Australia and China encounter each other at sea, the interactions are adversarial, accompanied by dangerous Chinese manoeuvres, high-powered lasers shining into cockpits, chaff dropped into Australian aircraft engines and sonar injuring Australian navy divers. These are not friendly port calls but dangerous military activities and displays of coercive statecraft.

The Great White Fleet sought goodwill and alliances. China’s naval behaviour is an assertion of dominance. If the Australian public were in any doubt about how Beijing intended to interact with the region, China’s behaviour in this most recent episode should be instructive. The lack of warning given to Australia was a warning itself of what is to come. Beijing wants us to heed it and submit.

We must not submit. We must learn from the incident and change Beijing’s behaviour.

When a Chinese naval flotilla last made a port call to Sydney, in 2019, it was met with some public unease, if not alarm. Australia had, after all, approved the visit. But through a combination of Canberra’s ignorance of history and Beijing’s aim of rewriting it, the visit was approved without recognising that it coincided with the 30th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre.

Not long after the negotiated port visit, China suspended ministerial-level engagement as part of coercion to bring Australia into line. Despite some warming in relations in recent years, Beijing chose not to give Australia advance notice of live-fire exercises. The same Beijing that only a few years ago gave notice of a visit now has the confidence to fire at will.

Australia must stop being surprised by every new Chinese military or hybrid warfare development. Beijing’s confidence is growing in all domains, including cyberspace. With intrusions known as Volt Typhoon, China’s intelligence agencies were outed in 2023 as having pre-positioned malware for disrupting and destroying our critical infrastructure. This should also be seen as a rehearsal for later cyber moves.

And now, for the first time in the modern era, we have seen a potential adversary rehearse its wartime kinetic strategy against Australia. Yes, the Japanese did surveillance and intelligence gathering before World War II, but this circumnavigation with live-fire exercises takes us well beyond intelligence collection. Beijing has been undertaking ‘intelligence preparation of the battlespace’ for some time with ships it frequently sends to Australian waters to observe our exercises or to conduct oceanographic studies (which improve submarine operations).

Just as the Great White Fleet helped to inspire the development of an Australian navy, the Chinese flotilla should warn us that our own fleet needs to be larger and ready to assure our security. The rhyme of history is that distant fleets operating in Australian waters matter and should spur our own thinking (and act as catalysts for action) regarding Australian sovereign capabilities.

After all, these episodes underscore an enduring truth about Australia’s geopolitical reality: we are a regional power situated between global hegemons and their very large navies. One could even say that we are girt by sea power. But this is not new territory; it is the blessing and burden of geography and history.

Whether it was navigating the transitions from British to American primacy in the Pacific or more recently adjusting to China’s challenge to the US-led order, Australia has always had to manage its strategic relationships with agility and nuance.

The key difference, of course, is that Australia welcomed the Great White Fleet in 1908 with open arms. Today, Australia finds itself on the receiving end of an unwelcome presence by ships that appear uninterested in friendly port visits. This demands a response that is not reckless but is firm enough to avoid being feckless.

Although the position is difficult, the Australian government should not think it must walk a tightrope in dealing with China. The strength of response to Beijing’s aggression should depend on the minimum needed to deter more aggression, not by a perceived maximum that will leave trade and diplomatic relations unharmed. European countries have made such mistakes in handling Russia—declining to hold it to account in the hope that Putin would keep selling gas to them and delay military action.

There’s no use in pretending or hoping there is nothing to see here except one-off instances of unpleasant behaviour. China’s aggression follows its concept of dealing with the rest of the world, and it won’t stop. Quiet diplomacy won’t deter Beijing from more dangerous behaviour but will embolden it to repeat its actions. Each instance will show Australia is incapable of doing anything about it until Beijing—mistakenly or intentionally—goes so far as to make conflict inevitable. Australia’s time to stand up cannot wait until a live fire drill becomes just live fire.

As Teddy Roosevelt put it, big-stick foreign policy involves ‘the exercise of intelligent forethought and of decisive action sufficiently far in advance of any likely crisis’. Navigating the best response to aggression therefore requires clarity about what is at stake.

What Australia does in the South China Sea—where it operates in accordance with international law alongside allies—is not equivalent to China’s recent foray into the Tasman Sea. Beijing’s actions represent yet another demonstration of reckless behaviour, following its dangerous harassment of Australian forces. By making various attacks—with lasers, chaff or sonar—China shows an undeniable pattern of attempted intimidation. When Australia sails into international waters, we do so to maintain the rules-based order and promote regional stability, yet when China does the same it is often to undermine the rules and destabilise the region.

The intimidation is in fact regional; it’s not just about Australia. Just as the Great White Fleet demonstrated America’s arrival as a Pacific power, China’s naval activities signal Beijing’s intent to reshape the region’s strategic balance. Australia, as it has done before, must adapt. It must spend more on its own defence capabilities, deepen relationships with like-minded democracies and maintain the diplomatic dexterity that has long supported its survival in a world of rising and falling empires.

Most importantly, the government must bring the Australian public along for the voyage. The threat from China should surprise Australians no more than the threat from Putin should surprise Europeans.

Knowledge is power and the Australian public can be empowered, and therefore prepared, not to be shell-shocked by China’s aggression. It should instead be reassured that the Australian government has the situation in hand and that defence investment is a downpayment on our future security. It should be reassured that the spending makes conflict less likely.

Australia is not a major power, but we have the world’s 13th largest economy and are not without influence. We should stop seeing ourselves as a middling middle power. We definitely shouldn’t act as a small power. We should be confident as a regional power. Our voice, actions and choices matter at home and abroad. It’s why Washington wants us as an active partner and Beijing wants us to be a silent one. Australia’s global advocacy for a rules-based system, and its public calling out of Beijing’s wrongdoing have been highly valued in Europe, Asia and North America.

Smaller regional countries rely on us to stand up to Beijing where they feel unable, while Europe increasingly knows the fight against Russia is also a fight against Russia’s ‘no-limits’ partner, China. And an Australia that stands up for itself and our friends will again demonstrate the value of partnerships to our ally the US.

Roosevelt’s Great White Fleet epitomised show of force as a means to deter conflict as well as preparation should deterrence fail. (Its cruise was also an exercise in long-range deployment.) The time for deterrence and preparation is with us once again. A Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson said this month that China was ready for war, ‘be it a tariff war, a trade war or any other type of war, we’re ready to fight till the end.’

We need to show, along with our ally the US and other partners, that war is not what we want but is something we are prepared for. If we cannot show that we have a capable stick, and the intention to use it if required, we will be defeated with or without a fight.

As Teddy Roosevelt said: ‘Peace is a great good; and doubly harmful, therefore, is the attitude of those who advocate it in terms that would make it synonymous with selfish and cowardly shrinking from warring against the existence of evil.’

The past tells us that navigating strategic competition requires a blend of strategic foresight and political agility. The echoes of 1908 should serve as both warning and guidepost for the uncertain waters ahead.

Sharing security interests, ASEAN’s big three step up cooperation

Southeast Asia’s three most populous countries are tightening their security relationships, evidently in response to China’s aggression in the South China Sea. This is most obvious in increased cooperation between the coast guards of the three countries – Indonesia, the Philippines and Vietnam.

But the three are moving closer together in bilateral arrangements, not as anything like a united trio. Going that far would be too damaging for their relations with China.

The obvious, though unstated, reason for collaboration is that all three have shared interests in a rules-based maritime order in the South China Sea. China’s widely disputed nine-dash line overlaps some territorial claims of Vietnam, the Philippines, Malaysia and Brunei. China also claims that areas of Indonesia’s exclusive economic zone in the North Natuna Sea slightly overlap its claims.

Principally due to Beijing’s increasingly assertive behaviour in the region, there has been an escalation of military standoffs between China and each of Indonesia, the Philippines and Vietnam.

The three are members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, but the grouping  has been unable to collectively act on territorial disputes in the South China Sea. Indonesia, Vietnam and the Philippines have instead found security cooperation on a bilateral level much more effective in advancing their domestic security interests. This is understandable as ASEAN is not a security alliance like NATO. Its principal focus and greatest success has been in economic development and trade.

For instance, amid the growing instability in the region, Jakarta has strengthened bilateral defence ties with both Manila and Hanoi. In 2022, Indonesia and Vietnam agreed to the boundaries of their exclusive economic zones in accordance with the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). Before the deal, they had overlapping claims in the North Natuna Sea.

In October, the Indonesian and Vietnamese coast guards jointly exercised off Ba Ria-Vung Tau, a southern Vietnamese province. The occasion also marked the first visit by an Indonesian coast guard ship to a Vietnamese port since a 2021 memorandum of understanding on maritime security and safety cooperation.

Last  month the two countries elevated their ties to a Comprehensive Strategic Partnership and committed to strengthening defence cooperation, particularly in maritime security.

Furthermore, Indonesia and the Philippines have deepened their security ties through the 2022 Indonesia-Philippines Defence Agreement. The Philippines and Indonesia run regular maritime border patrols in their respective maritime boundaries. In 2014, the two neighbours resolved their existing overlapping maritime claims under UNCLOS.

Working with Malaysia under a trilateral cooperative arrangement, Indonesia and the Philippines have run regular joint maritime patrols since 2017. This arrangement shows both Manila and Jakarta are willing and able to conduct a trilateral maritime cooperation with a third ASEAN country.

Also last month, the Philippines and Vietnam participated in the Indonesian navy’s annual multilateral naval exercise, Komodo, in Bali. In January, coast guard personnel from the US, Vietnam, Indonesia, and the Philippines took part in a two-week maritime training course in Mindanao in the Philippines.

The Philippines and Vietnam have reinforced their maritime security awareness capabilities. Early last year, they signed a landmark maritime security deal. In it, Hanoi and Manila agreed to enhance maritime cooperation between their coastguards in the South China Sea, with a particular focus on working together to prevent and manage incidents in disputed waters.

However, the three countries may be reluctant to go as far as establishing a trilateral arrangement, because doing so could further provoke China, which now has the world’s largest navy. For instance, in 2023 China’s Nansha, the largest coast guard ship in the world, was sent to the North Natuna Sea. The incident occurred shortly after the Indonesia-Vietnam agreement on the boundaries of their exclusive economic zones. Some maritime security experts interpreted the deployment of the vessel as evidence that the new deal discomforted Beijing, which counts on intra-ASEAN divisions to prevent the emergence of a united front of claimant states against China over territorial disputes in the South China Sea.

Another major obstacle to such a trilateral arrangement could be the three countries’ significant economic relationships with China. China remains the largest trading partner for both Indonesia and Vietnam. It is also one of the Philippines top trading partners.

Nonetheless, the three strategic partners have accepted that they cannot leave it to ASEAN multilateralism to advance their shared security interests in the South China Sea. Deepening bilateral defence ties between the trio could be an incentive to build toward a united and effective trilateral maritime partnership.

It’s time to imagine how China would act as regional hegemon

Regional hegemons come in different shapes and sizes. Australia needs to think about what kind of hegemon China would be, and become, should it succeed in displacing the United States in Asia.

It’s time to think about this awful prospect because under President Donald Trump the US’s commitment to alliances is suddenly looking shaky. And there’s also the risk that even a fully committed US could try and fail to restrain China militarily—for example, in the crucial scenario of defending Taiwan.

Regardless of whether overt military force had been needed to supplant the US in Asia, leaders of a newly hegemonic China would likely initially try to portray the country as a much less aggressive and far more tolerable alternative keeper of the regional peace than the sceptics had thought.

With the region cowered and everyone else anxiously looking on, it would make great sense for a triumphant and unchallenged China to project a strong but benign image of itself to the world. Such a phase could last years and even decades, but it would not last forever.

Ideally, China’s leaders want China to be a regional hegemon that has tremendous military capabilities that it rarely, if ever, needs to use to get what it wants, principally because it is unmatched.

The prospect of the use of overwhelming military force combined with the usual economic carrots and means of political and social control across the region would, they’d hope, ensure that a hegemonic China’s interests automatically featured in the decision making of all regional countries.

That would be plan A.

China’s problem and ours is that most regional countries and the people that live in them would eventually tire of that dynamic and start pushing back.

That is problematic mainly because deference lies at the heart of Beijing’s conceptions of the virtues of a historically China-led regional order, making anything short of absolute submission difficult to tolerate.

China’s leaders are not looking to break new ground by seeking regional hegemony. Rather, they are trying to return China to a position of dominance that enables it to control what those in its orbit think, say and do.

Many of China’s coercive and technological means and methods to secure that high degree of external influence and control are new. Its desire to have them is not.

Working from the assumption that China won’t compromise on the deference front, Canberra and other regional capitals need to think about how much direction from Beijing they could stomach and how push-back might manifest itself.

This is where it starts to get messy.

The less China is challenged by a regional peer competitor, the more unacceptable even the smallest external acts of defiance will seem to a domestic Chinese audience. This means that for reasons of domestic political legitimacy alone, leaders of a hegemonic China will want to deal with any afront in a way that is seen to effectively deter others.

With internal pressure to act like a proper hegemon and no credible external checks and balances on its behaviour, it is not hard to imagine China’s leaders pursuing increasingly overt and punitive methods to compel obedience and engineer thought beyond its borders.

It is also not difficult to imagine that effort backfiring on Beijing sooner than it expected, leaving it with no apparent choice other than to use military force to achieve outcomes.

A hegemonic China would eventually overstep, eliciting a collective regional reaction that from Beijing’s perspective will need to be quashed. This would provide a pretext for China to become the expansionist and authoritarian power that it would say it never intended to become but now must to preserve regional stability.

Thinking about how far the leaders of a hegemonic China would want to go to avoid reaching that conclusion, and exactly what they would do when they reach it is anxiety inducing and unpleasant.  But it’s a task policy planners need to take on instead of wilfully avoid.

China is clearly committed to its objective of kicking the US out of Asia and assuming what it feels is China’s rightful place in the region. But it is important to remember that China’s leaders too would be unsure and anxious about how an outcome in China’s favour would play out.

For us, facing the challenges posed by the potential emergence of a hegemonic China means thinking ahead and imagining ways to move forward in different circumstances without getting stuck.

Luck will play a role.

How world order changes

After the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, and almost a year before the Soviet Union collapsed in late 1991, US President George H W Bush proclaimed a ‘new world order’. Now, just two months into Donald Trump’s second presidency, Kaja Kallas, the European Union’s top diplomat, has declared that ‘the international order is undergoing changes of a magnitude not seen since 1945.’ But what is ‘world order’, and how is it maintained or disrupted?

In everyday language, order refers to a stable arrangement of items, functions, or relations. Thus, in domestic affairs, we speak of an ‘orderly society’ and its government. But in international affairs, there is no overarching government. With arrangements among states always subject to change, the world is, in a sense, ‘anarchic’.

Anarchy is not the same as chaos, though. Order is a matter of degree: it varies over time. In domestic affairs, a stable polity can persist despite a degree of ungoverned violence. After all, organised and unorganised violent crime remain a fact of life in most countries. But when violence reaches too high a level, it is seen as an indication of a failed state. Somalia may have a common language and ethnicity, but it has long been a site of battling clans; the ‘national’ government in Mogadishu has little authority outside the capital.

The German sociologist Max Weber famously defined the modern state as a political institution with a monopoly on the legitimate use of force. But our understanding of legitimate authority rests on ideas and norms that can change. Thus, a legitimate order stems from judgments about the strength of norms, as well as simple descriptions about the amount and nature of violence within a state.

When it comes to world order, we can measure changes in the distribution of power and resources, as well as in adherence to the norms that establish legitimacy. We can also measure the frequency and intensity of violent conflict.

A stable distribution of power among states often involves wars that clarify a perceived balance of power. But views about the legitimacy of war have evolved over time. For example, in 18th-century Europe, when Prussia’s King Frederick the Great wanted to take the province of Silesia from neighboring Austria, he simply took it. But after World War II, states created the United Nations, which defined only wars of self-defense as legitimate (unless otherwise authorised by the Security Council).

To be sure, when Russian President Vladimir Putin invaded Ukraine and occupied its territory, he claimed that he was acting in self-defense against the eastward expansion of NATO. But most UN members voted to condemn his behavior, and those that did not—such as China, North Korea, and Iran—share his interest in counterbalancing American power.

While states can lodge complaints against others in international courts, these tribunals have no capacity to enforce their decisions. Similarly, while the UN Security Council can authorise states to enforce collective security, it has rarely done so. The five permanent members (Britain, China, France, Russia, and the United States) each wield a veto, and they have not wanted to risk a major war. The veto functions like a fuse or circuit-breaker in an electrical system: it is better to have the lights go out than to have the house burn down.

Moreover, a world order may become stronger or weaker because of technological changes that alter the distribution of military and economic power; domestic social and political changes that alter a major state’s foreign policy; or transnational forces like ideas or revolutionary movements, which can spread beyond governments’ control and alter public perceptions of the prevailing order’s legitimacy.

For example, after the 1648 Peace of Westphalia, which ended the European wars of religion, the principle of state sovereignty became enshrined in the normative world order. But in addition to changes in the principles of legitimacy are changes in the distribution of power resources. By the time of World War I, the US had become the world’s largest economy, allowing it to determine the outcome of the war by intervening militarily. Although US President Woodrow Wilson tried to change the normative order with his League of Nations, US domestic politics pushed the country toward isolationism, which allowed the Axis powers to attempt to impose their own order in the 1930s.

After World War II, the US accounted for half of the world economy, but its military power was balanced by the Soviet Union’s, and the UN’s normative power was weak. With the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1991, the US enjoyed a brief unipolar moment, only to overextend itself in the Middle East while permitting the financial mismanagement that culminated in the 2008 financial crisis. Believing the US was in decline, Russia and China changed their own policies. Putin ordered an invasion of neighboring Georgia, and China replaced Deng Xiaoping’s cautious foreign policy with a more assertive approach. Meanwhile, China’s robust economic growth allowed it to close the power gap with America.

Relative to China, American power did decline; but its share of the world economy has remained at around 25 percent. As long as the US maintained strong alliances with Japan and Europe, they would represent more than half the world economy, compared to a mere 20 percent for China and Russia.

Will the Trump administration maintain this unique source of America’s continued power, or is Kallas right that we are at a turning point? The years 1945, 1991, and 2008 were also turning points. If future historians add 2025 to the list, it will be a result of US policy—a self-inflicted wound—rather than any inevitable secular development.

To counter China’s coercion of Taiwan, we must track it better

The threat of a Chinese military invasion of Taiwan dominates global discussion about the Taiwan Strait. Far less attention is paid to what is already happening—Beijing is slowly squeezing Taiwan into submission without firing a shot.

Instead of launching a full-blown attack, China is ramping up a full spectrum of coercion: political meddling, economic pressure, information operations, legal manoeuvres, cyberattacks and diplomatic isolation, all conducted within the pressure cooker of constant military threats. The goal? Wear Taiwan down bit by bit until it has no choice but to give in to Beijing’s demand for unification.

ASPI has launched State of the Strait, a weekly Substack that keeps track of all the ways China is putting the squeeze on Taiwan. The international community can’t afford to ignore China’s evolving tactics. These coercive strategies don’t just increase tensions; they create a serious risk of miscalculation that could spiral into a larger conflict. That’s why it’s important to keep a close watch on these developments. By tracking China’s actions, policymakers can better understand where the red lines are, strengthen deterrence efforts and help Taiwan remain a resilient democracy.

Chinese President Xi Jinping’s approach is clear: he’d rather pressure Taiwan into submission over time than launch an all-out invasion. In late 2024, US intelligence reported that while Beijing is still committed to taking control of Taiwan, it’s hesitant to start a direct war. China’s coercion tactics are carefully calibrated to stay just below the threshold of outright war, creating a new normal that benefits the Chinese Communist Party while avoiding an immediate international crisis, reflecting Sun Tzu’s principle of ‘subduing the enemy without fighting’.

Taiwan’s fall would have devastating consequences. A war over Taiwan could cost the global economy up to $10 trillion—far more than the economic damage caused by the war in Ukraine or the Covid-19 pandemic. Even without an actual war, ongoing tensions could cause financial chaos, with global markets taking a hit and a potential $358 billion trade disruption if China were to block imports from G7 nations. If China manages to annex Taiwan without starting a war, this would also send a dangerous message to authoritarian regimes everywhere that democracies aren’t willing to stand up against territorial expansion.

While other think tanks and intelligence analysts do a great job covering China’s military and paramilitary moves, there’s no widely trusted platform that tracks the full range of coercion tactics in one place. That’s where State of the Strait comes in. By compiling and analysing data on all aspects of China’s coercive strategy—not just military actions—it fills a crucial gap and gives a more complete picture of what’s happening.

One example of coercion is when countries engage with Taiwan in ways deemed unacceptable, Beijing typically responds with strong rhetoric in official statements designed to deter further interaction. As the graph below shows, in 2024, Beijing’s most common grievance (representing 48 percent of observations) was foreign governments ‘violating China’s One-China principle’—a broad category that encompassed any action perceived as recognising Taiwan as distinct or autonomous, even if it fell short of full diplomatic recognition. Another 22 percent of criticisms stemmed from foreign officials meeting with Taiwanese counterparts, reflecting former president Tsai Ing-wen’s increased participation in international security forums.

What are China’s reasons for criticising countries engaging with Taiwan in 2024? (Source: ASPI’s State of the Strait Database.)

In another form of coercion, Beijing consistently and deliberately revokes the tariff-free status of Taiwanese exports as a means of leverage and punishment, as indicated in the graph below. Taiwan’s Mainland Affairs Council, which is responsible for cross-strait relations policy, has characterised this form of coercion as ‘economic oppression’. In 2024 alone, China imposed trade restrictions on 169 Taiwanese exports, primarily through the removal of tariff-free status; the only exception was polycarbonate, which faced anti-dumping tariffs. Machinery and parts constituted the largest category of Taiwanese exports, followed by plastics.

China lifted its ban on the import of wendan pomelos, a type of citrus fruit from Taiwan, in 2024. That occurred two weeks before the Mid-Autumn Festival (2 September), but the ban was reinstated a week after the holiday (25 September), along with bans on 33 other Taiwanese imports. The pomelo symbolises prosperity and good fortune in Chinese culture and is often given as a gift during festival times.

On which Taiwanese exports did China put new trade restrictions in 2024? (Source: ASPI’s State of the Strait Database)

This is only data on two coercion tactics from one year. In future, ASPI intends to expand State of the Strait by developing a searchable public database and assessment platform. That interactive tool will visualise coercion data across domains and years, distil key insights and help policymakers track long-term trends with greater clarity.

The goal is simple: to help decision-makers and the public understand how China is ramping up the pressure, how close we are to a tipping point, and how these tactics are affecting Taiwan’s government, society, and decision-making. Over time, State of the Strait will become an essential resource for tracking China’s tactics and shaping the strategies to counter them.

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.

Pressure Points: The importance of Australia’s military presence in East and Southeast Asia

This week ASPI launched Pressure Points, an interactive website that analyses the Chinese military’s use of air and maritime coercion to enforce Beijing’s excessive territorial claims and advance its security interests in the Indo-Pacific.

The project highlights and analyses open-source data, military imagery, satellite footage, official government responses and other resources to provide the public with a reliable and accurate account of Chinese regional activity, from its intercept tactics to its excessive claims. It analyses China’s unsafe military interactions with a range of countries, and looks at the way countries use (or don’t use) their military forces to challenge China’s excessive claims in the South China Sea.

A powerful Chinese task group recently circumnavigated Australia, energising debate among Australian commentators and politicians. Canberra was provided a close-up view of Beijing’s rapidly expanding military capability and intent to deploy forces that could—under different circumstances—threaten our cities, population and vital supply routes.

Coupled with growing anxiety around the US alliance and the state of our own aging fleet, the circumnavigation led some to question the activities of Australia’s military, including our commitments within the Indo-Pacific region. Why is Australia deploying military forces to China’s backyard? Aren’t our forces better used closer to home? Why are we provoking our largest trading partner?

These anxieties discount three important facts:

First, Australia’s economic and security interests are intertwined with the Indo-Pacific region. The Indo-Pacific has prospered for decades on the back of international law and rules and norms that have helped to shape the behaviour of states, both large and small. As outlined on Pressure Points, China is increasingly using its military and tactics below the threshold of war to challenge these rules and norms, coerce and deter other countries, and advance its strategic interests.

Regional deployment of Australia’s military helps push back on China’s unwanted advances and protect existing rules and norms, especially when our military conducts activities that challenge China’s excessive territorial claims (such as transits through the Spratly or Paracel Islands). International law is only likely to hold if countries such as Australia are willing to physically enforce it. But, as we have seen on five separate occasions since early 2022, these activities are not without risk. We should expect China to continue to use aggressive and unsafe behaviour to deter our military presence.

But the risk is worth it. Australia cannot afford the continued expansion of China’s excessive claims and the development of a Sinocentric order, which prioritises laws that favour Beijing’s interests, rather than an agreed set of international rules and norms. A continued military presence that supports international law and Australia’s partnerships is firmly in our interest.

Second, we should take stock that it is Beijing’s behaviour that is changing, not our own. Australia’s military has a long history in the Indo-Pacific region. Our warships have been sailing through the South China Sea since World War II. Our defence force has worked with partners across East and Southeast Asia (including China) for decades to increase common understanding and build military interoperability. Our military presence has been longstanding and consistent, and it is founded on longstanding regional partnerships with countries that want Australia to remain militarily engaged in the region.

In comparison, since late 2021 China has used unsafe military manoeuvres to coerce and deter the armed forces of the United States, Australia, Canada, the Philippines and the Netherlands. The actions of China’s Coast Guard and maritime militia have mirrored this increase in aggressive military behaviour, but they rarely project beyond the first island chain.

We are not provoking China—China is provoking us. Beijing seeks to disrupt and deter our longstanding military presence, as well as the presence of other militaries. Thankfully, the tide isn’t necessarily flowing in China’s favour. We have seen more countries deploy military forces to East and Southeast Asia in 2024 than in the previous decade. This presence acts as a bulwark against China’s aggressive behaviour.

Third, China has shown its ability to project military force into our region. We can expect this to continue. The circumnavigation was not a quid pro quo—Beijing was not trying to say ‘if you stay out of our backyard, we’ll stay out of yours’. China’s development of a blue-water navy capable of undertaking extended deployments in our region is part of a broader strategy of national rejuvenation, in which China becomes the pre-eminent global military and economic power.

The pursuit of this strategy will increasingly challenge Australia’s interests. But if we are going to challenge military actions from China, this is best done transparently with partners in the South China Sea, rather than on our own doorstep. China has demonstrated its ability to employ multifaced and flexible tactics to achieve incremental advances over time.

It is necessary to challenge China’s excessive claims in the region, while also responding to its increased military presence in our immediate vicinity. But to do both, Australia must dramatically boost the currently depleted capacity of the Australian Defence Force.

China’s shadow fleet threatens Indo-Pacific communications

China is using increasingly sophisticated grey-zone tactics against subsea cables in the waters around Taiwan, using a shadow-fleet playbook that could be expanded across the Indo-Pacific.

On 25 February, Taiwan’s coast guard detained the Hong Tai 58 after a subsea cable was cut in the Taiwan Strait. The vessel was registered to Togo but crewed entirely by Chinese nationals. It had Chinese characters on its hull and operated under multiple identities with conflicting markings, documentation and tracking data. In another incident in early January, the Shunxing 39—a Chinese-owned vessel flagged under both Cameroon and Tanzania—was implicated in damaging a section of the Trans-Pacific Express subsea cable, an important telecommunications link between Taiwan and the United States.

While China has targeted Taiwan’s undersea cables for years as part of its grey-zone operations, it has subtly shifted tactics. Previously, vessels involved in suspected acts of sabotage were registered to China. Now, they are increasingly operating under foreign flags, forming a shadow fleet. This strategy resembles Russia’s subsea cable tactics in the Baltic Sea.

States such as North Korea and Iran often use shadow fleets—ageing vessels registered under flags of convenience—to get around sanctions, to trade or transport illegal or prohibited goods, or to undertake illegal fishing. The vessels are operated through intricate corporate structures, with shell companies established in one country, management based in another and vessels registered elsewhere again, providing states with deniability. They use deceptive tactics including manipulating identification systems, turning off tracking systems and changing names and flags. If caught, vessels can be easily abandoned and their legal entities dissolved, rendering traditional countermeasures such as sanctions largely ineffective.

Since its invasion of Ukraine, Russia has relied on a large shadow fleet, not only to evade oil sanctions but also to conduct a campaign of hybrid warfare against NATO—including allegedly damaging European subsea cables and critical infrastructure. For example, in December, Finnish authorities seized the Eagle S after it allegedly damaged five subsea cables. The tanker was flagged under the Cook Islands but operated by a Dubai-based company with Indian management. Moscow denied any involvement, pointing to the vessel’s non-Russian links.

China has also surfaced in Russia’s operations. In November, the Chinese-flagged Yi Peng 3—which had departed from a Russian port—was suspected of severing two undersea cables, one linking Lithuania to Sweden and another connecting Germany to Finland. In 2023, the NewNew Polar Bear, a Chinese-flagged but Russian-crewed vessel, was responsible for damaging Baltic subsea cables and a gas pipeline. China admitted the vessel was responsible for the damage, but claimed it was accidental.

These cases highlight the value of shadow fleets as tools of hybrid warfare. Subsea cables are notoriously susceptible to accidental and environmental damage. Proving intent to sabotage and holding parties accountable is very difficult.

Despite this, NATO has been working to expose and deter Russia’s hybrid warfare tactics.

Taiwan has taken note. In January, it blacklisted 52 Chinese-owned vessels suspected of operating as its shadow fleet registered in countries such as Cameroon, Tanzania, Mongolia, Togo and Sierra Leone. Following the recent cable-cutting incidents, Taiwanese authorities publicised detailed evidence—including vessel ownership, flag state and tracking system manipulation details—to pre-empt China’s denial. They have also been tracking and boarding suspicious vessels. Taiwan recently raised the alarm about a Russian-flagged vessel lurking for weeks over a subsea cable, recognising the growing coordination between China and Russia in hybrid warfare operations.

While Taiwan has borne the brunt of these efforts so far, China is unlikely to be overly concerned about deniability over future subsea cable sabotage affecting Taiwan. After all, Beijing’s primary goal is to exert pressure on the island, not conceal its intentions.

However, what happens in the Taiwan Strait will not stay in the Taiwan Strait. China’s shadow-fleet tactics are likely to expand across the Indo-Pacific, where maintaining a level of deniability would be beneficial. China already deploys grey-zone tactics in the region, from intimidation of vessels in the South China Sea and targeted incursions in disputed territorial waters, to strategic infrastructure investments that create leverage over its neighbours. Targeting subsea cable infrastructure is another tactic in Beijing’s coercion toolkit—one that targets connectivity while maintaining plausible deniability and operating in the grey-zones of international law and accountability.

The Indo-Pacific—with its vast maritime distances, congested shipping lanes and uneven surveillance capabilities—is fertile ground for such operations. Frequent accidental cable damage and existing territorial disputes may further complicate attribution and response. The region’s economic ties with China would make coordinating any responses even harder.

From filing patents on subsea cutting technology to unveiling a powerful new deep-sea cable cutting device, China’s clearly gearing up to expand its subsea cable operations. As Taiwan works to protect its critical infrastructure, the rest of the Indo-Pacific should enhance regional cooperation and reassess existing deterrence strategies.

If recent incidents in the Baltic Sea and around Taiwan are any indication, disruptions in the Indo-Pacific are not a question of if, but when. The most effective counter to Beijing’s shadow-fleet operations is exposure through public attribution and communication. After all, a vessel cutting cables near a state’s shores may well be flying a neighbour’s flag but taking its orders from Beijing.

The permanent Australia-China contest in the South Pacific

Foreign Minister Penny Wong in 2024 said that ‘we’re in a state of permanent contest in the Pacific—that’s the reality.’

China’s arrogance hurts it in the South Pacific. Mark that as a strong Australian card in this permanent contest.

The Chinese navy’s no-notice live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea have become another talking point in Australia’s effort to deny Beijing a Pacific island naval base.

Canberra can offer the South Pacific this argument: ‘Do you want to host Chinese warships so they can play deadly cowboy games in your waters?’

As Australia prepares for a national election in May, China’s Pacific ambitions are again making headlines. During the 2022 election campaign, Wong lashed the Coalition government after Solomon Islands signed a security agreement with China, calling it ‘the worst Australian foreign policy blunder in the Pacific since the end of World War II’. Around that time, China sent a surveillance ship down Australia’s west coast.

Australia must become used to China’s blue water navy noodling around our shores, and not just during elections.

As with its navy, China’s Pacific ambitions have expanded. In the past 10 to 15 years, Beijing has shifted from pursuing one core aim in the islands—the diplomatic contest with Taiwan. Now it seeks, even demands, great power entitlements. My rough timeline for the shift says the great power assertiveness has been to the fore for the past 10 to 15 years.

In 1975, Fiji became the first Pacific islands state to give diplomatic recognition to the People’s Republic of China. For the next 40 years, China’s overriding purpose was to beat Taiwan in the cheque-book battle for diplomatic recognition. By 2005, China was ahead: seven island states recognised the PRC while six recognised Taiwan. Today, only three island states have diplomatic ties with Taiwan.

With the flag battle mostly won, China has settled into the permanent contest. That’s why Wong has made more visits to the islands than any previous Australian foreign minister. Taking up the diplomatic duel, Wong headed to Fiji in her first week as minister, saying:  ‘Strategic contest will challenge us in new ways. We understand that the security of any one Pacific family member rests on security for all.’

As China probes, Australia steadily responds, building on what we already have.  As Sean Dorney, one of Australia’s great Pacific correspondents, said: ‘Thank God for China! Now Australia has to pay attention.’

Dorney’s point is simply that China reminds Australia of what we should be doing anyway. When Australia speaks of being the region’s partner of choice–economically, politically and strategically—it defines a lesser role for China.

Australia’s response draws on the calm approach used to stare down coercion and sanctions during the five-year icy age from 2017 to 2022, and three years of slow rebalance.

In this grand competition, Australia has the huge multilateral advantage of being in the region. Canberra strives to win the bilateral contests. More than Beijing, Canberra is explicit in stating its defence aims, signing agreements with Nauru and Tuvalu giving Australia veto rights over security partnerships with other countries. The response to claims of paternalism or colonialism is that Australia holds up island states by holding them close.

The next step is negotiation of a defence treaty with Papua New Guinea, building on the 2023 Australia-PNG security agreement.  China has changed the level of the security pledge Australia offers PNG.

Because of PNG’s shared border with Indonesia, Canberra had always been cautious about a full defence treaty with Port Moresby. The moral hazard fear was that PNG might take risks Australia would have to cover, and Australia was wary of going to war with Indonesia because of PNG’s actions.

Paul Dibb tells the story of accompanying Australia’s then defence minister, Kim Beazley, to a Jakarta meeting with Benny Moerdani in the 1980s. Indonesia’s defence chief asked if Australia would fight for PNG, to which Beazley replied: ‘We’d fight to the last man, but we wouldn’t tell them that.’ Such are the contortions when moral hazard meets strategic imperative. China has wiped away that old caution.

When PNG Prime Minister James Marape addressed the Australian parliament last year, he spoke of Australia’s history as a ‘big brother’. This year marks the 50th anniversary of PNG’s independence from Australia, and Marape joined Wong in Canberra on 24 February to welcome Somare-Whitlam scholars, named after the prime ministers of Australia and PNG in 1975.

In her speech, Wong went first to the people dimension: ‘Neighbours, friends, equal partners. One of the nicest things in my job is that the prime minister of Papua New Guinea calls me “sister”.’

In this permanent contest, Australia has unique assets. China makes ambitious offers to South Pacific states. Australia’s great counter-offer is to South Pacific people, as Labor and Coalition governments embrace Australia’s role in the Pacific family.

China’s military spending rises should prompt regional budget responses

China’s defence budget is rising heftily yet again. The 2025 rise will be 7.2 percent, the same as in 2024, the government said on 5 March. But the allocation, officially US$245 billion, is just the public disclosure of what is likely far greater spending within China’s opaque system.

What we do know is that China has the second-biggest military expenditure in the world, behind the United States’. This year’s budget is another demonstration of the high goals that Beijing has set out for itself in military and geopolitical terms.

This should push others in the region to spend more on their militaries. Too many nations fear an arms race in the Indo-Pacific and beyond, whereas in fact it is just what’s needed. Beijing will keep building up its offensive power regardless of what the rest of us do. By holding down defence spending, we only put ourselves at risk.

The 7.2 percent rises in China’s defence budget for 2024 and 2025 imply a rising share of the economy going to the military. In 2024 GDP officially grew 5.0 percent (after adjustment for inflation) and is supposed to do so again this year.  Since China’s inflation rate was just 0.2 percent last year and is forecast by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development at 0.6 percent this year, the real rises in Beijing’s defence spending are not much below the nominal (unadjusted) budget increases. And they’re faster than GDP growth.

With conflict and tension across Europe, Middle East and the Indo-Pacific, the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) estimates global military spending rose a spectacular 6.8 percent in real (inflation-adjusted) terms from 2022 to 2023, reaching US$2.44 trillion in 2023. It was the largest annual rise since 2009—though measuring defence spending is notoriously difficult, partly because the budgets of some countries, particularly China, are opaque.

In its latest China Military Power report, the US Department of Defense said China was spending somewhere between 40 and 90 percent more on defence than the public budget figure. That implies 2024 spending of US$330 billion to US$450 billion. According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, China’s 2024 defence budget rose 7.4 percent, far outstripping the regional average of 3.9 percent.

Despite Asia’s relatively strong economic growth, the region’s share of global military spending fell from 25.9 percent in 2021 to 21.7 percent in 2024, because of wars and associated spending increases in Europe and Middle East. Additions to China’s spending as well as North Korean developments will likely drive up Asia’s share of defence spending, however. According to SIPRI, China in 2023 allocated US$296 billion to defence, 6.0 percent more than in 2022.

China’s relentless build-up has prompted its neighbours to increase their own military spending. An assessment by a few well-known China specialists last year suggested that China’s 2024 was actually US$471 billion (though their accounting methods also assessed US 2024 defence spending at US$1.3 trillion instead of the official US$825 billion).

Even if China’s neighbours accept its implausible claim to be spending less than 1.5 percent of GDP on defence, they can hardly be reassured as the capability of the Chinese armed forces grows and as that military and supposedly civilian agencies act with aggression in the region. Anyway, 1.5 percent of so large an economy would still be alarming.

As China’s economic growth slows, we should expect the defence share of GDP to continue to rise.

China likes to mention that the 2025 defence budget is the 10th in a row to show single-digit percentage growth. Yet these growth rates are still large by international standards and build on the much larger expansions of earlier years. In 2014, China had a 12.2 percent increase in defence spending, declining to 10.1 percent in 2015 and to 7.6 percent in 2016.

The opaqueness of China’s military spending is a particular cause for concern.

China usually attributes the increase in spending to the various military exercises it is engaged in as well as maintenance and upkeep of its military forces. The implication is that the increments are mostly going to salaries and pensions. It is true Chinese military personnel numbers are very large, but its equipment is improving dramatically. Just this last year, China demonstrated two new stealth fighters; a stealth bomber is in the works. And China is building a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier that will rival the latest US carriers in size.

The government’s Xinhua News Agency justifies China’s defence budget as paying for a ‘national defense policy that is defensive in nature, with its military spending mainly focusing on protecting its sovereignty, security and development interests … and the country will never seek hegemony or engage in expansionism no matter what stage of development it reaches.’

But China’s actions do not suggest a purely defensive motivation. Such claims should be no more truthful than Vladimir Putin’s claims that Russia’s military build-ups on the Russian border with Ukraine in 2021 and 2022 were only exercises.

When China sends its naval forces to intimidate neighbours and engages in military exercises that suddenly force rerouting of commercial flights, more regional countries should speak up. And the type of language that Beijing understands is an increase in our own defence spending.

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