Nothing Found
Sorry, no posts matched your criteria
Sorry, no posts matched your criteria
The new Australian government has thought hard about the South Pacific and is already repairing the gap between Australian policy and South Pacific nations’ core issue of climate change. Foreign Minister Penny Wong has already provided this message and is about to do the other key thing Labor promised during the election campaign: turn up in person and engage with Pacific leaders.
The problem is that Beijing is moving faster and bigger in the South Pacific than Canberra may have expected and isn’t waiting to see what the Albanese government does.
The Sogavare–Beijing security pact has highly adverse strategic implications for Australia and the region, because it is set to bring the aggressive Chinese military—including its navy—into our near neighbourhood as a matter of routine. Making the South Pacific an arena of military tension like the South China Sea is a disturbing implication Solomons PM Manasseh Sogavare is bringing to everyone in our region.
But China’s foreign minister, Wang Yi, has just put a much larger, nastier deal on the table for 10 Pacific states to sign up to on his visit to the region that’s happening in parallel to Wong’s. He’s using his unprecedented trip to the Pacific to put forward a region-wide deal with a five-year action plan. China’s plan gets right to the heart of how Pacific states are governed and controlled, and he would cement Chinese technologies and Chinese security agencies into the daily experiences of Pacific people.
It reportedly covers policing, security and communications cooperation, and involves China giving Pacific governments cybersecurity tools, police training and digital surveillance and communications systems to power their governments, economies and security regimes. As a further enticement, Beijing is also offering a China–Pacific islands free-trade agreement.
Wang’s eight-country Pacific visit and the proposed deal show the scale and speed of Beijing’s ambitions in the South Pacific. It’s a dystopian future the Chinese Communist Party is offering the people of the region. Backed by seemingly free but opaque concessional loans and packaged with lots of schmoozing and cash for Pacific political figures (as we’ve already seen in Solomon Islands), it’s got a gravitational attraction that audited investment and aid spending from Australia doesn’t.
The key judgement Pacific leaders must make is whether the highly intrusive authoritarian presence Beijing brings is worth the cash.
Leaders, like Sogavare, who sign their countries up to these deals risk separating themselves from their people. That’s what bringing Chinese state surveillance tools and Chinese authoritarian security practices and personnel into their communities will mean.
Hong Kong is a place leaders can look at to see security and surveillance assistance from Beijing in action. That once vibrant international city has become a silenced, controlled place just like any other city on the Chinese mainland. Sri Lanka shows the damage to an already vulnerable economy and political system from an over-indulgence in concessional loans.
Given the strategic ambition, speed and scale we are seeing from Beijing in our near neighbourhood, what Australia is offering in contrast is not enough. If we believe that, once we get the climate change policy right, just doing a bit more of what we’ve been doing for years will give us different results, we need to think again. What we have been doing has led us here.
And beyond climate change, the Labor government’s Pacific policy looks eerily similar to what former PM Scott Morrison was doing with his Pacific step-up—with close connections to the Gillard and Rudd government policies before that. In fact, for all the domestic noise about Morrison as an individual, he had invested a lot of personal time and political capital in his own engagement with Pacific leaders. Wong will be welcomed by Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama in Fiji. That’s because of who she is and what her government is offering, but it also builds on the relationship Morrison worked to develop in some important ways.
In both the South Pacific and Southeast Asia, we’ll see the limits of just doing a little more of the same—aid and engagement. Alignment with South Pacific governments and populations on climate change is a plus and is important given the rolling natural disasters we and our region are already facing. But we need a bigger imagination of a shared region with our Pacific neighbours, not incremental expansion of existing schemes like seasonal workers, limited extra numbers of permanent visas and student programs, and more defence training.
We don’t need to compete directly with Beijing on cash, corruption and schmoozing. We are already the largest aid provider to the Pacific and we can connect in a unique, invaluable way with our Pacific neighbours. That’s possible if our offer and ambition for our future with Pacific island states is a form of the hugely successful Closer Economic Relations and visa-free work and travel framework we have built between Australia and New Zealand.
The model between two proudly sovereign states of Australia and New Zealand is powerfully attractive. It has deepened economic, social, political and sporting connections between us and driven our prosperity and our security. Broadening this deal to the South Pacific can do the same for us and for our near neighbours.
Opening up Australia’s economy and labour market to South Pacific people through this big new deal will matter much more than any amount of aid money and any amount of rapidly built large infrastructure and debt from our friends in Beijing.
Developing, negotiating and delivering such an initiative will take all the skills Wong possesses and the buy-in of South Pacific leaders and people, along with the wider cabinet, parliament and public here in Australia. It’ll also take public clarity from our political leaders and parliament on the downsides for our near region from entanglement with an authoritarian Chinese state.
There is a strategic choice for Pacific leaders as they meet with State Councillor Wang and see lots more of Australian leaders. To say there’s not is dishonest. But the choice is between a dystopian future for their peoples by entangling their governments and societies into China’s overbearing and intrusive authoritarian security machinery, or forging a much more direct and integrated future with Australia and New Zealand that delivers prosperity and supports the freedoms that Pacific island peoples value.
The first step is our own government having the wisdom, ambition and urgency to build on—but go well beyond—the plan we have right now.
With global attention focused on Russia’s war in Ukraine, China’s territorial expansionism in Asia—especially its expanding border conflict with India—has largely fallen off the international community’s radar. Yet, in the vast glaciated heights of the Himalayas, the world’s demographic titans have been on a war footing for more than two years, and the chances of violent clashes rise almost by the day.
The confrontation began in May 2020. When thawing ice reopened access routes after a brutal winter, India was shocked to discover that the People’s Liberation Army had stealthily occupied hundreds of square miles of the borderlands in its Ladakh region. This triggered a series of military clashes, which resulted in China’s first combat deaths in over four decades and prompted the fastest-ever rival troop build-up in the Himalayan region.
India’s counterattacks eventually drove the PLA back from some areas, and the two sides agreed to transform two battlegrounds into buffer zones. But, over the past 15 months, little progress has been made to defuse tensions in other areas. With tens of thousands of Chinese and Indian troops standing virtually at attention along the long-disputed border, a military stalemate has emerged.
But stalemate is not stagnation. China has continued to alter the Himalayan landscape rapidly and profoundly in its favour, including by establishing 624 militarised border villages—mirroring its strategy of creating artificial militarised islands in the South China Sea—and constructing new warfare infrastructure near the frontier.
As part of this effort, China recently completed a bridge over Pangong Lake—the site of past military clashes—that promises to strengthen its position in a disputed area of Ladakh. It has also built roads and security installations on territory that belongs to Bhutan, in order to gain access to a particularly vulnerable section of India’s border overlooking a narrow corridor known as the Chicken Neck, which connects its far northeast to the heartland.
All of this, China hopes, will enable it to dictate terms to India: accept the new status quo, with China keeping the territory it has grabbed, or risk a full-scale war in which China has maximised its advantage. China’s expansionism relies on deception, stealth and surprise, and on apparent indifference to the risks of military escalation. The aim of its brinkmanship is to confound the other side’s deterrence strategy and leave it with no real options.
China learned from its strategic folly of invading Vietnam in 1979 and has become adept at waging asymmetric or hybrid warfare, usually below the threshold of overt armed conflict. This enables it to advance its strategic objectives, including land grabs, incrementally. Coercive bargaining and overt intimidation also help to overcome resistance.
This salami-slicing strategy has already enabled Chinese President Xi Jinping to redraw the geopolitical map in the South China Sea. And the terrestrial application of this approach being deployed against India, Bhutan and Nepal is proving just as difficult to counter. As India is learning firsthand, countries have virtually no options other than the use of force.
One thing is certain: simply hoping that China will stop encroaching on Indian territory will do India little good. After all, India got into this situation precisely because its political and military leadership failed to take heed of China’s military activities near the frontier. On the contrary, while China was laying the groundwork for its territorial grabs, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi was bending over backwards to befriend Xi. In the five years before the first clashes flared in May 2020, Modi met with his Chinese counterpart 18 times. Even a 2017 standoff on a remote Himalayan plateau didn’t dissuade Modi from pursuing his appeasement policy.
Seeking to protect his image as a strong leader, Modi has not acknowledged the loss of Indian territories. India’s media enables this evasion by amplifying government-coined euphemisms: China’s aggression is a ‘unilateral change of status quo’, and the PLA-seized areas are ‘friction points’. Meanwhile, Modi has allowed China’s trade surplus with India to rise so rapidly—it now exceeds India’s total defence budget (the world’s third largest)—that his government is, in a sense, underwriting China’s aggression.
But none of this should be mistaken for unwillingness to fight. India is committed to restoring the status quo ante and is at its ‘highest level’ of military readiness. This is no empty declaration. If Xi seeks to break the stalemate by waging war, both sides will suffer heavy losses, with no victor emerging.
In other words, Xi has picked a border fight that he can’t win and transformed a conciliatory India into a long-term foe. This amounts to an even bigger miscalculation than Modi’s policy incoherence. The price China will pay for Xi’s mistake will far outweigh the perceived benefits of some stealthy land grabs.
In a sense, China’s territorial expansionism represents a shrewder, broader and slower version of Russia’s conventional war on Ukraine—and could provoke a similar international backlash against Xi’s neo-imperial agenda. Already, China’s aggression has prompted Indo-Pacific powers to strengthen their military capabilities and cooperation, including with the United States. All of this will undercut Xi’s effort to fashion a Sino-centric Asia and, ultimately, achieve China’s goal of global pre-eminence.
Xi might recognize that he has made a strategic blunder in the Himalayas. But, at a time when he’s preparing to secure a precedent-defying third term as leader of the Chinese Communist Party, he has little room to change course, and the costs will continue to mount.
In this episode, Alex Bristow, deputy director of ASPI’s defence, strategy and national security program, speaks to Euan Graham, Shangri-La Dialogue senior fellow for Asia–Pacific security at the International Institute for Strategic Studies about the security pact between China and Solomon Islands. Their conversation considers China’s strategic objectives, the different responses to the agreement and its implications for security in the South Pacific.
A senior Asian diplomat quips that China’s leadership fears the numbers two, three, four, five and seven.
The superstition is the way the numbers are stacking up.
China agonises over the bilateral alliances represented by the number two (US–Japan, US – South Korea, US–Australia), three represents the members of AUKUS, four is the Quad, five is the Five Eyes intelligence community and seven is the G7.
I’d add to the list the number one, which is too serious for any jest. Beijing wants to be number one. And it wants to enforce the one-China policy on Taiwan. Beijing’s great fear is Taiwan’s growing singularity. China and Taiwan peer intently at Ukraine: the wolf warrior and the porcupine seek invasion lessons.
The way the numbers stack up was the theme last week of an ASPI masterclass, offering an accounting of China’s emerging military and strategic capabilities.
The conference star was former prime minister Kevin Rudd, who noted that China is constantly counting, measuring its ‘comprehensive national power’, judging the power balance with the US. It was a notable ‘twins’ moment having the two ASPIs together for a session—Peter Jennings for the Australian Strategic Policy Institute and Rudd as head of the Asia Society Policy Institute.
Characteristically, Rudd is doing two things simultaneously as he zips around the wide brown land. He’s campaigning for Labor in the federal election and promoting his new book, The avoidable war. The book is Rudd at his best: deeply detailed at 400 pages, but vivid and driven in its discussion of the ‘unfolding crisis’ between the US and China and the danger of ‘global carnage on an industrial scale’. The Strategist’s Jack Norton reported on Rudd’s presentation, including his comments on the controversial deal between China and Solomon Islands.
From Washington, ASPI’s Mark Watson offered the masterclass a US perspective, describing the American shift from engagement to competition to deterrence. The engagement decade (2000–2010) was defined by economics as China joined the World Trade Organization. The competition decade (2010–2020) saw economic cooperation bumping against China’s rising military capability and the arrival of Xi Jinping.
Now in the deterrence decade, Watson said, the US ‘no longer sees China as a constructive player but as an outlaw’. China is one of the few things Democrats and Republicans in Washington agree on. Despite Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Watson said, the US remains focused on the Indo-Pacific: ‘Long term, China is still the main game.’
John Lee, former senior national security adviser to foreign minister Julie Bishop, described a reversal of the mindset of the past three decades where cooperation with China was an ‘absolute good’ and Asia was ‘sleepwalking into becoming a Sino-centric region’.
Lee stressed the limited but important ability of other powers to shape China’s understanding of the costs of its actions. ‘One of the tricks China plays on the world is to suggest it can’t be deterred,’ Lee said. ‘We do have the weight to significantly change the cost calculations of the Chinese Communist Party.’
The University of Sydney’s Gorana Grgic offered a range of conceptual frames for the future that’s coming into view:
Grgic’s bet discounts both the charter and concert outcomes. The charter future asks too much of a deeply troubled multilateral system. And attempts at concert will suffer because of domestic politics and the difficulty getting agreement between different regime types.
The Biden administration is using both club and coalition approaches, Grgic judged, with a high-minded appeal to democratic renewal as the principled lodestar, linked to a pragmatic effort to gather teammates.
Amid the domestic hand-to-hand of an election, Australia is giving some attention to the way the international system is shifting (or cracking). ASPI’s agenda paper for the federal election comes at this future from several directions.
ASPI’s Michael Shoebridge judges that globalisation is ‘dead, not resting’, a victim of a divided and dangerous world. He sees a great decoupling of economies and supply chains, notably in the digital world and in key inputs (critical minerals, semiconductors, rare earths, software and, increasingly, the big tech actors and their platforms):
This fracturing of globalisation isn’t just about grievance and increased state-based competition. It’s a response to its inherent flaws, exposed by Covid’s shattering of brittle supply chains and by the ruthless intervention of state power into markets and longstanding business relationships (whether the more egregious, aggressive type we’ve seen from Beijing using trade as a weapon, or the ‘America first’ and ‘EU first’ behaviours seen with vaccine supply early in the pandemic).
Jennings sees politicians increasingly frustrated with a defence organisation that must move beyond the language of crisis and turbulence, to act with urgency and purpose:
Whoever is in government after the next election will face immense policy challenges. How best to strengthen Australia’s position against an angry, nationalist China? How best to shape and support American engagement? How to strengthen our regional friends and how to rapidly boost the capabilities of the ADF, and plan for nuclear submarines.
Time for an independent review of Australia’s defence capabilities, Jennings says, ‘the like of which we haven’t seen since Paul Dibb’s review in 1986’.
Fergus Hanson, of ASPI’s International Cyber Policy Centre, says Australia must look outward to a regional battle that will be about democratic values as well as interests. The Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade must be given the cash and mandate for a contest that’s not a clash of arms, Hanson writes, but a regional contest that ‘will require diplomatic expertise and scale to win’.
DFAT, I’ve argued, is a great department with an anaemia problem, its budget squeezed for decades. Nobody wants to pay for good foreign policy, but everybody pays for poor foreign policy. See James Wise’s ASPI report on how Australia underappreciates and underinvests in diplomacy.
As with Defence, Hanson says DFAT’s role needs a big rethink:
A lingering problem has been an inability to identify clear objectives that DFAT can pursue and achieve, thereby justifying its funding to government. The failure to do this has seen national security agencies increasingly ascendant in the Canberra policy ecosystem. As dismal as DFAT has been in justifying its own existence, the dynamics of competition in the region demand a well-resourced and high-functioning Australian foreign service. If DFAT can’t demonstrate the ability to evolve, a high-level review should look at a complete overhaul of the organisation to make it fit for purpose.
On 21 May, voters will pencil the numbers on their ballot papers, giving their score on our politics, but also on how the numbers are adding up beyond our shores.
In Solomon Islands and the Torres Strait and in every other state and territory of the Pacific, China’s government is sponsoring political interference activities that undermine democracy and weaken already fragile political systems. The Solomons’ signing of a security agreement with Beijing is the most public recent example.
A concerted response by Western democracies to deal with the challenges of the Chinese Communist Party’s increased grey-zone activities is underway, both in targeted Pacific nations and via external joint efforts. But, so far, local governments and civil society don’t appear to have been invited to join some of the most pertinent discussions on what to do about it.
In September 2018, the members of the Five Eyes intelligence-gathering network (Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the UK and the US) established a counter-foreign-interference group with France, Germany, Japan and other like-minded countries—essentially an informal expansion of Five Eyes, centred on foreign interference. The actions of China and, for some states, Russia are the main focus. In 2019, the Pacific Islands Forum states signed the Boe Declaration, which expanded the forum’s concept of security and highlighted foreign interference as a specific concern.
Identifying and countering foreign interference requires an internal, classified assessment by government agencies and a factual, public conversation on the activities and tactics involved. Yet Pacific island nations often lack the capacity to address these challenges. In some, notably Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Vanuatu, CCP political interference may have so weakened democracy that there appears to be next to no political will to examine China’s interference activities.
China’s broad approach to political interference makes extensive use of assets, disinformation, ‘useful idiots’ and proxies. Carried out by the united front system, a grouping of Chinese party and state agencies, the CCP’s official catch-all term for those activities is ‘united front work’. Such interference and influence work, however, is not limited to the united front; it can also involve entities from China’s propaganda, trade, foreign affairs and intelligence agencies. The CCP’s broad approach to espionage and foreign interference makes traditional counterintelligence difficult.
Targeting subnational entities is an effective way for the CCP to pursue foreign policy and military agendas that would be more readily thwarted at the national level, so united front work is often directed at local government and local authorities. The CCP calls this ‘using the local to surround the central; using the countryside to surround the cities’ (nongcun baowei chengshi; difang baowei zhongyang).
As a covert tool, the united front’s purpose and tactics are highly secret. Yet, because it requires coalition-building, many of its activities are quite visible and frequently involve public events where foreign economic and political elites endorse the CCP’s policies and agenda.
United front work is designed to corrode and corrupt democratic political systems, to weaken communities and divide them against each other, and to erode the critical voice of the media. It turns elites into clients of the CCP through financial and other inducements. It’s also used to develop asset relationships, to access sensitive technology and to promote the CCP’s foreign policy agenda.
The Chinese People’s Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries (commonly known as the Friendship Association, or Youxie) manages subnational relationships and coordinates friendship associations and relations with pro-China elites in almost every country and territory. Even tiny Niue, population 1,644, has a China friendship association, with 15 members. It’s headed by a former premier and the secretary-general is Niue’s sole Chinese resident.
The Friendship Association is a hybrid party–state organisation with three ‘mothers-in-law’ (to use the argot of the CCP system): the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; the CCP united front organisation, the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference; and the CCP’s International Liaison Department, which the party uses to conduct foreign policy discussions with foreign political parties.
The Friendship Association manages relations with countries that recognise Taiwan and encourages them to switch recognition. China currently has diplomatic relations with 12 of the 16 states in the Pacific Islands Forum. Only Marshall Islands, Nauru, Palau and Tuvalu retain diplomatic relations with Taiwan, and together they make up almost a third of its diplomatic partners. In August 2019, the Friendship Association hosted a delegation of Solomon Islands ministers and backbenchers to China, just weeks before the government suddenly switched recognition from Taipei to Beijing.
‘Friendship’ (youyi), ‘friendship relations’ (youhao guanxi) and ‘old friends of China’ (Zhongguo renmin de lao pengyou) are all CCP political terms. The terminology and approach come from the Soviet Union, which had a major influence on the CCP’s foreign affairs system.
The Pacific China Friendship Association connects 15 pro-China friendship associations in Pacific nations and territories. Some have only one or two members, but the organisation has high-level connections in China, and throughout the Pacific. Tonga’s Princess Royal Salote Mafile’o Pilolevu Tuita, the chair and 60% owner of satellite communications company Tongasat, is its patron. Tongasat controls six equatorial satellite slots and a single satellite. Several Chinese government corporations, and one linked to the Chinese military, use Tongasat slots.
The Pacific China Friendship Association’s founding president is Hiria Ottino, a China adviser to successive French Polynesian presidents. Anthony Leong is the association’s secretary-general while also leading the Australian association.
United front work is ‘all domain’ and involves a whole range of non-governmental groups from businesses to cultural groups in pursuit of CCP goals. So it’s essential to bring civil society, think tanks, academia and NGOs into the conversation about CCP political interference and grey-zone activities, to inform these sectors and to allow conversations to be held beyond the limitations of governmental bodies. An informed society is a resilient society.
Bringing the Pacific into the foreign interference conversation will be a visible demonstration that the US, and other partners in the Pacific, really are seeking to strengthen the region, and that their recent actions and policies are not a return to the exploitative patterns of the past.
China’s treaty on security cooperation with Solomon Islands has two key purposes. First, it helps to extend the military reach of the People’s Liberation Army, complicating America’s task of moving its own forces through the Pacific. Second, Beijing gets the joy of damaging Australia’s security interests, because now we must plan on a threat from the east that can watch and potentially target our military bases.
Nothing could amuse Xi Jinping more than to see Labor blame Prime Minister Scott Morrison for failing to stop China from undermining the sovereignty of the Solomons by co-opting its prime minister.
It turns out the members of our ‘Pacific family’ have minds and agendas of their own.
The real test for the Australian government is to develop a strategy to ensure that a Chinese military base isn’t built and that Honiara decides by itself to embrace a closer security relationship with us. Securing that outcome will be difficult because Beijing will move quickly to create ‘facts on the ground’. Probably before our 21 May federal election is over, PLA cargo aircraft and ships will arrive in Honiara with material to provide the ‘logistical replenishment’, ‘stopover and transition in Solomon Islands’ and to carry out the ‘major projects’ described in the leaked draft agreement.
Australia’s policy failure is not that we failed to disrupt a Chinese covert operation. It’s much broader than that. For decades, we have overestimated our influence in the Pacific, underinvested in promoting our security and failed to appreciate China’s strategic intent.
Australia’s defence policy, released in 2020, sets three fundamental goals: to shape Australia’s strategic environment; to deter actions against our interests; and to respond with credible military force, when required.
We have failed in all three aims. We are not shaping the views of our neighbours and we have failed to deter Chinese adventurism in any practical sense. Our ‘credible military force’ is as busy as a defence force could be doing disaster relief and helping with the Covid-19 response, but when it comes to operating in the region, Defence is slow, hesitant, late and limited.
After the election, the Solomons’ lesson should force an immediate and urgent rethink about how to add grunt to the ‘shape, deter, respond’ mantra. The starting point should be to act with focused intensity to shore up our threatened strategic interests in the Pacific. We need to stop wringing our hands about China’s money politics in the region and accept that the leadership we claim will cost money.
This week Morrison announced that an extra two patrol boats will be built for the navy. Defence Minister Peter Dutton should go to Honiara and offer to base them there in a shared Australia–Solomons facility.
Diplomatically, we should be working with other Pacific island governments to develop a shared view of the risks China presents to the region. This means dropping the usual niceties behind closed doors to set out in stark terms how a micro-state can be subverted with Beijing’s money, lose its sovereignty and find itself beholden to the bosses of the Chinese Communist Party.
Morrison’s extra patrol boat announcement is a great example of what can be done if the focus is building more defence capability for the short term rather than the 2030s. The government should reverse its ill-considered decision to scrap the SkyGuardian plan for armed Reaper drones operating by 2025.
That would make it possible for the Australian Border Force to buy the maritime version of the same drone—a plan it has been forced to shelve because of the Reaper decision. Putting aside the Australian Greens—who are also happy to blame Beijing’s perfidy on our own government—does anyone doubt the need for stronger maritime surveillance to our east?
Solomon Islands can be persuaded to shelve the China deal. It will take focused effort on our part and more money than we would like to spend, but we have been short-changing defence for decades—another achievement of the great Australian bipartisan project to be asleep at the wheel of our own security.
In the Xi Jinping era, the Chinese People’s Association for Friendship with Foreign Countries (commonly known as the Friendship Association, or Youxie) promotes the Belt and Road Initiative, a strategic, political and economic vehicle driving towards a China-centred global order.
The Friendship Association is a hybrid party–state organisation with three ‘mothers-in-law’ (to use the argot of the Chinese Communist Party system): the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; the CCP united front organisation, the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference; and the CCP’s International Liaison Department, which the party uses to conduct foreign policy discussions with foreign political parties.
The Pacific China Friendship Association is China’s main point of contact for rolling out the Belt and Road Initiative in the Southwest Pacific.
The Pacific ‘branch’ has been busy.
In 2018, at a meeting of friendship associations from the Americas and Oceania in Hainan, China, Tonga’s Princess Royal Salote Mafile’o Pilolevu Tuita proposed establishing a Pearl Maritime Road Initiative, extending the BRI into the Southwest Pacific.
Soon after that, all of Beijing’s Pacific island diplomatic partners signed agreements on the BRI, with infrastructure development the main theme. Some have already started BRI projects.
In 2019, Siamelie Latu, secretary-general of the Tonga China Friendship Association and a former Tongan ambassador to China, announced that the Pacific China Friendship Association was working on a feasibility study for a regional airline to connect all Pacific Islands Forum countries with China.
From Kiribati, to Vanuatu, to French Polynesia, China has repeatedly tried to gain access to militarily significant airfields and ports, all in the name of BRI. Beijing has established military cooperation relations with Fiji, Papua New Guinea and Tonga, and provided police support to Vanuatu and Solomon Islands, frequently in combination with humanitarian aid activities. Just this week, China and Solomon Islands signed a security agreement, despite the protestations of the Australian and US governments.
China is rolling out the Digital Silk Road in the Pacific, using its Pacific embassies to set up ground stations for its Beidou satellite navigation system. Meanwhile, China makes use of commercial operations for Beidou-equipped reference stations in the Pacific. Ground stations and reference stations work together to provide centimetre-level accuracy for satellites. Beidou is China’s GPS equivalent, and it is now on a par with, if not better than, GPS. Like GPS, it’s a military technology, crucial for missile targeting and timing.
The CCP’s political interference and grey-zone activities aim to co-opt Oceanian political and economic elites and to access strategic information, sites and resources in the Southwest Pacific. The establishment of military installations in Oceania could substantially alter the balance of power in the Indo-Pacific. It could cut off the Pacific island nations, Australia and New Zealand from the US and other partners, turning the region into a China-dominated vassal zone.
South Pacific leaders meet regularly to discuss collective security and geostrategic matters—in other words, joint concerns about China. However, their worries about this relationship are usually only hinted at and rarely made public, and their overriding priority tends to be development. China offers assistance with development projects but, unlike most donors, the loan must be paid back, with interest. The Cook Islands, Fiji, Samoa, Tonga and Vanuatu all have crippling levels of debt to China.
Pacific island leaders tend to have a strong sense of history. Few would welcome dependency on China, or the Pacific turning into a Sinocentric order. Yet a degree of reactivity towards calls for vigilance about the CCP’s malign activities is usually couched in anti-European, anti-colonial rhetoric.
Given the continued presence of historic colonial powers in the region, it’s been easy for some to conflate concern about the real dangers of CCP political interference and grey-zone activities—when expressed by ‘Western’ actors—with neo-colonialism and calls of ‘whataboutism’.
This conflation plays into CCP narratives seeking to equate the party with the Chinese people, recasting any critique that it’s inherently racist. But imperial power and racism are by no means a monopoly of Western powers.
There’s real a danger that in their kneejerk response against Western colonialism, Pacific elites will embrace external domination in a new and more dangerous form. The air of schadenfreude that some segments of the Pacific elite display towards ‘traditional’ Pacific powers will be a short-lived pleasure if they can’t transcend this reactionism and recognise the need to plan a way forward in an era of dangerous strategic competition.
Perhaps surprisingly to some, the return of a more active role of the US, UK, Japan, India and the EU in the Pacific, and a resurgence of Australian, New Zealand and French presence and assistance, has been appreciated and welcomed by many Pacific governments. But Pacific leaders want to be treated as equals, not pawns in an international power play, and not as some nameless group of islands in a strategically important region. The US, EU and other partners need to take the time to better understand the individual countries of the Pacific, their histories and their concerns.
It’s especially important that Pacific nations not just be the subject of analysis about CCP political interference in the region. They should be drawn into the international conversation. Pacific civil society must be engaged in this work too, not just governments. In many of the Pacific states, elements within the government are already compromised, and they will not welcome discussions on CCP political interference. Further, CCP united front work is often comingled into corruption and organised crime, which has entangled many political and policy actors, making raising the issues even more difficult.
Pacific journalists also need more support so they can do the due diligence that will enable a factual, informed, depoliticised and public conversation about the CCP’s foreign interference activities in their respective states and territories.
A subset of a pro–Chinese Communist Party network, known for disseminating disinformation on US-based social media platforms, is breaking away from its usual narratives in order to interfere in the Quad partnership of Australia, India, Japan and the United States and oppose Japanese plans to deploy missile units in southern Okinawa Prefecture.
‘Osborn Roland’ joined Twitter in August 2021 and claims to be concerned about the military deployments in Okinawa. A Facebook account named ‘Vivi Wu’—who apparently speaks German, Spanish, French, English and Chinese—says that the Japanese ‘are treated as dogs by the United States’. Korean-named ‘Hag Yoenghui’, who has an Arabic profile description, tweeted: ‘We in Australia originally supported the United States to fight against China, and the relationship with China was extremely tense … Why does our government help the United States to deal with China?’
So far, ASPI’s International Cyber Policy Centre researchers have uncovered 80 accounts—and counting—across Twitter, Facebook, Reddit and YouTube that since December have posted in multiple languages opposing Japan’s military activities and the Quad. The timelines of these accounts show they previously posted content consistent with the pro-CCP Spamouflage network, which typically targets topics relevant to Chinese diaspora communities and amplifies narratives that align with the CCP’s geopolitical goals.
Past campaigns have focused on smearing Chinese dissident Guo Wengui, denying human rights abuses in Xinjiang and Hong Kong, promoting Buddhist sects supported by the CCP’s United Front Work Department, co-opting the StopAsianHate hashtag and disseminating Covid-19 origin conspiracy theories.
Like with previous campaigns, this network is poorly operated. Errors in hashtags, incomplete URLs to Chinese state media articles and evidence of instructions posted in a tweet are clear indications of coordination and possible automation. One Twitter account named ‘Catherine’ posted a screenshot of their working environment while sharing a Facebook post from ‘Vivi Wu’. The image revealed that the operator of this account saved bookmarks to an ‘offshore navigation and internet access’ (境外导航 –上网从) website and two Canadian Chinese news websites, ‘Anpopo Chinese News’ (安婆婆华人网) and ‘Fenghua Media’ (枫华网), and was closely monitoring Chinese virologist Yan Limeng’s multiple Twitter accounts.
In August last year, Defence Minister Nobuo Kishi confirmed that Japan was emplacing anti-aircraft and anti-ship missiles on Ishigaki Island to defend Japan’s contested southwestern islands and counter Chinese anti-access and area-denial (A2/AD) capabilities that could prevent the US from intervening in a regional conflict. This followed a broader shift in Japanese foreign policy in 2021 which described China’s military assertiveness as a ‘strong concern’ and provoked Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi to suggest Japan was being ‘misled by some countries holding biased view against China’.
In response to these announcements, the network of pro-CCP accounts leveraged local concerns about the environment and the tourism industry in Ishigaki to try to prevent the missile emplacement and suggested Japan ‘was acting as a pawn for the United States’ in an attempt to undermine the bilateral relationship. This included posting photos of atomic bomb mushroom clouds over Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Other accounts in the network posed as citizens in Australia, India, Japan and the US to criticise the Quad diplomatic partnership by spruiking their economic relationships with China. These covert efforts coincided with a Chinese state media article posted in December arguing that Japanese politicians are ‘attempting to interfere in the Taiwan Straits’ and the ‘international community should be highly vigilant about Japanese right-wing forces’ mentality of playing with fire’.
Some accounts amplified Change.org petitions created in 2019 that sought to stop the construction of missile bases on Ishigaki. By this month, the English-language petition had 312 signatures while the Japanese-language version had more than 6,000. Based on our analysis of previous CCP information operations, we expect pro-CCP accounts in this network to co-opt other similar local petitions and protests. One account has already amplified reporting of a December protest over the use of private ports in Ishigaki by the Japan Self-Defense Forces.
This emerging reiteration of the Spamouflage network has only recently started replenishing with newly created accounts and content, so the impact of the campaign has been low. Most tweets have received at most two interactions and most accounts have fewer than 10 followers. These types of networks, however, can quickly scale up to tens of thousands of accounts and persist on US-based social media platforms for years before being retweeted or amplified by an influential opinion leader or government official. It took Russia’s Internet Research Agency at least two years to prepare before it interfered in the 2016 US election.
Twitter has previously attributed these networks to the Chinese government, which makes them useful for gaining insights into the CCP’s broader political and psychological warfare strategies.
Overall, the campaign indicates that the CCP is concerned about the strengthening alignment between countries in Europe, NATO, Asia and the Indo-Pacific following the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Eroding alliances such as the Quad, AUKUS, ANZUS and NATO will remain the CCP’s main strategic goal.
It also demonstrates that the network is highly agile and can switch quickly from targeting Chinese diaspora and disseminating propaganda to engaging in military-related information operations and interference in foreign force posturing. Aspects of this campaign sought to shape local domestic Japanese sentiment through intimidation, which is more akin to psychological warfare than propaganda.
Led by United Front Work Departments of Chinese Communist Party committees at each echelon of government, the united front system is a complex and opaque set of organisations designed to advance the CCP’s influence in industry and civil society. Within China, the united front system has several responsibilities, which range from repressing ethnic minorities in Tibet and Xinjiang to grooming members of China’s minor political parties to take up positions in government.
But in addition to its extensive activities inside the country, the united front system acts as a liaison and amplifier for many other official and unofficial Chinese organisations engaged in shaping international public opinion of China, monitoring and reporting on the activities of the Chinese diaspora, and serving as access points for foreign technology transfer.
Many Chinese government-affiliated agencies that are not directly part of the united front system also work to advance the CCP’s influence abroad. A recent study by Sinopsis demonstrates the involvement of entities from united front, propaganda, trade, foreign affairs and intelligence agencies in CCP influence work, indicating that it’s not centralised in one specific, dedicated organ.
This article, however, focuses narrowly on the united front system and its foreign-facing role, and highlights examples of its activities in Europe and North America.
One of the united front system’s most important tasks is to shape international public opinion of China—through both elite capture and public diplomacy. Sometimes, this influence is exercised overtly. In January 2022, for example, the United Kingdom’s security service warned that a solicitor affiliated with the united front system had donated £420,000 to a British MP. In other cases, united front affiliates have offered foreign politicians campaign contributions, engaged directly in lobbying and made significant investments in overseas media outlets.
More often, however, the united front system prefers to operate with some plausible deniability, by funding or co-opting interest groups designed to promote solidarity among members of the Chinese diaspora. In some cases, these organisations—such as trade guilds, student groups and ‘friendship associations’—engage in political activity designed to shield the CCP from criticism, or to protest policies unfavourable to the Chinese government. In the US and UK, for example, Chinese student and scholar associations have pressured university administrators to cancel visits from the Dalai Lama, counter-protest the CCP’s annexation of Hong Kong and censor artwork criticising the party’s actions in Xinjiang.
Public records confirm that, in some cases like that of the Hunan Overseas Friendship Association, these organisations are simply run and paid for by United Front Work Departments of the CCP; more often, however, the party acts to co-opt and politicise groups that operate independently, by offering media promotion and financial or logistical support from the local Chinese embassy or consulate.
Although many organisations affiliated with the united front system are not directly controlled by the CCP or Chinese government, they are best viewed as government-organised non-governmental organisations (GONGOs). These groups also aid in the united front system’s second major overseas mission—monitoring the activities of the Chinese diaspora and silencing dissidents based abroad. In 2020 and 2021, for example, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Canadian Security Intelligence Service both warned that the Chinese government was using ‘state entities and non-state proxies’ to ‘threaten and intimidate’ activists and Chinese dissidents in the US and Canada. Under the guise of a global anti-corruption campaign called ‘Operation Fox Hunt’, Chinese authorities have succeeded in repatriating 680 individuals back to China, including by threatening their family members.
Not all the united front system’s overseas activities are concerned with the above-mentioned forms of malign influence. Perhaps least appreciated is its role in China’s quest to absorb foreign technology. Local budget documents clarify that the Chinese Ministry of Science and Technology coordinates with united front–affiliated GONGOs to promote ‘scientific and technological cooperation and talent development’.
Moreover, as my colleagues and I wrote last year for the Center for Security and Emerging Technology, China’s ‘science and technology diplomats’ (科技外交官)—staff based in the science and technology directorates of Chinese embassies and consulates worldwide—often interface with elements of the united front system in the countries where they are stationed, and rely on their references to identify technology projects of strategic consequence to the Chinese government. Some group members consult remotely for state-owned tech companies in China, while others act as talent scouts and encourage Chinese living abroad to apply for state-run talent recruitment plans. Prior research identified such united front–affiliated groups operating in France, Germany, Italy, Switzerland and the UK and across Scandinavia, though the number of target countries and active organisations increases each year.
On balance, the united front system represents a formidable tool to advance Chinese influence, power and access to technology abroad. Many of its activities are best described as extralegal or ‘grey zone’ operations and are difficult to mitigate at scale. Liberal democracies should coordinate and think of novel ways to blunt the impact of China’s influence operations and stymie unwanted technology outflows.
Russia’s terrible invasion of Ukraine is looming over the Indo-Pacific with its lessons for Taiwan’s relations with China. Some of those lessons are important reality checks. Assumptions about a nominally superior military force have been tempered by a recognition that the details of logistics, tactics, morale and the utility of weapons systems can shift the military balance.
Similarly, Ukraine shows how the impact of economic disruption and sanctions from a regional conflict is global. Taiwan by itself accounts for a greater percentage of global trade than all of Russia, and in sectors critical to global innovation and technological progress, so the disruption of a cross-strait war would also be global and measured in decades.
And the invasion demonstrates how history and identity mobilise states and peoples. Military aggression in the name of former empires and defence in the name of democracy are a reminder of history’s shadow and the moral force of modernisation, which shapes modern Asia as clearly as it does modern Europe.
But there is a key lesson that distinguishes Taiwan’s circumstances from Ukraine’s that is at once prosaic and consequential: international representation matters.
As a state in the international system seeking support for its defence, Ukraine has benefited from a host of international organisations: the UN, both the Security Council and the General Assembly; NATO and the EU; and numerous individual states, including Australia. Ukraine’s charismatic president, Volodymyr Zelensky, has addressed parliaments around the world and met with European leaders as the elected president of a sovereign nation with a UN seat and the instruments of diplomatic relations.
The international response in support of Ukraine is an expression of the functioning of the international system itself. Despite the many depredations against it over many decades, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is an assault on that system and the belief that, for all its faults, it remains the best way of organising the affairs of nations.
But unlike Ukraine, Taiwan is largely excluded from the international system. It has diplomatic relations with only 14 countries and no seat at the United Nations. It has membership of some key multilateral trade organisations, including the World Trade Organization and APEC, as ‘Chinese Taipei’, not Taiwan, but no state-to-state security alliances or defence treaties.
By its very existence as a sovereign, democratic state standing outside the international system, Taiwan expresses the system’s failure to properly account for occluded histories and its willingness to compromise state power and economic opportunity with the national sovereignty upon which it depends.
But, in practice, Taiwan’s place outside the international system means that in the event of military action by China, the system cannot rally in support in the name of its own integrity. There will be no powerful speeches in defence of Taiwan’s sovereignty at the UN, like that offered by Kenya for Ukraine, that are implicitly a defence of the international order itself.
Instead, any support for Taiwan around the world will be improvised. It will be reliant on the United States, Taiwan’s longstanding supporter, and probably Japan, and their capacity to exercise global leverage. But without recognised statehood for Taiwan, a cross-strait crisis falls into being seen as simply as a contest between great powers, undermining the principles of the international system rather than validating them.
Neither will Taiwan benefit from unequivocal popular political support around the world, despite its achievements as the most progressive democracy in Asia being threatened by an authoritarian state.
When the international system is projected onto domestic politics, it is mapped onto a moral terrain of metaphor and symbolism. For Taiwan, its place outside the international system is read morally, as a place that, for significant political constituencies, is not worth, or is even unworthy of, political support. Disparaging Taiwan’s identity or simply ignoring it are expressions of this domestic moral representation of Taiwan’s international marginality.
Unlike Ukraine, whose existence as a state is a given despite being at war with a nuclear-armed power, the Taiwanese are tasked with arguing from the most foundational principles of democratic sovereignty and self-determination why Taiwan should exist at all.
As a result, despite Taiwan providing a compelling democratic story from which many countries should learn and making a vital contribution to the global economy, the kind of political rallying and popular sentiment that has benefited Ukraine in the domestic politics of many nations will be divided and equivocal for Taiwan.
The key lesson, then, from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is sobering for Taiwan.
In Australia, it points to the need for policies that support Taiwan’s international representation. Even within Australia’s existing policy architecture, this can include actively promoting Taiwan’s membership of multilateral trade and economic groupings, with the goal of conceptualising the kind of international coalition that could support Taiwan in a crisis. It includes setting aside the current passive approach to cultural and education links and actively prompting Australian public institutions, and the university sector in particular, to set aside their reflexive antipathy to Taiwan and to develop partnerships.
But any steps require a clear-eyed understanding in Australia of the failures of the international system to account for Taiwan’s de facto sovereignty and a recognition that the region will not return to a new equilibrium if China annexes Taiwan. Australian policy is premised on equivocation on the status of Taiwan, which Beijing has always sought to leverage, and this remains part of Taiwan’s security calculus.