Tag Archive for: China

Cybersecurity and geopolitics: why Southeast Asia is wary of a Huawei ban

‘The race to 5G is a race America must win’, US President Donald Trump said on 12 April. Just over a month later, on 15 May, he issued an executive order banning Huawei equipment in US networks. That decision has since been rippling well beyond Sino-US relations and will have an impact on the digital future of many other countries.

The US ban fuelled the already lively debate about the world facing a possible ‘digital iron curtain The implications go beyond wireless providers and could lead to a division of countries between ‘Team America’ and ‘Team China’ in terms of technology.

The fear of an unwanted digital bipolarity is already present in Southeast Asia, where some countries have military-cooperation or intelligence-sharing arrangements with the US, forcing them to make what some see as an impossible choice between Washington and Beijing.

US concerns about China on such issues as unequal market access, forced technology transfer, human and cyber-enabled state-supported theft of intellectual property, currency manipulation and state subsidies—as well as China’s expansive conception of state security and its belief that individuals and organisations should support state espionage—are all legitimate. But Trump’s ban on Huawei doesn’t address these concerns effectively, nor has it been communicated sufficiently to other countries, such as those in Southeast Asia.

US security concerns about Huawei, ZTE and other Chinese technology companies are shared by its closest allies in Asia—Australia and Japan. But while the debate has spread globally, the ban has also created a rift with other allies and partners, making the picture in the Indo-Pacific region, as well as Europe, more complicated.

Countries in Southeast Asia can be divided into three categories: allies and partners of the US with a strong sense of strategic convergence; countries with some convergence with the US in strategic interests; and countries that are distant from the US in the traditional sense of alignment. Put in the language of international relationships, there are those who side with a major power of their choice, those who hedge between two or more major powers, and those who balance against a major power that is seen as threatening.

In the controversy surrounding the 5G rollout and future digital technology, we see a similar pattern in how countries are reacting to US pressure over Huawei. It is a palpable dilemma in some Southeast Asian countries.

Among those that have embraced Chinese tech companies are two US treaty allies, Thailand and the Philippines, along with Cambodia and Myanmar.

In February, the Thai government launched a test of 5G and is promoting 5G infrastructure investment in its planned ‘eastern economic corridor’. According to a report in The Diplomat, the Thai government’s Digital Economy and Society Ministry has convened a committee on 5G with 29 members, both local and international, including Huawei.

In the Philippines, market leader Globe Telecom has confirmed a partnership with Huawei to develop 5G. On top of improving relations between Manila and Beijing since Rodrigo Duterte became president, Huawei has also supported the Philippines’ controversial public safety campaign related to Duterte’s so-called drug war, which the government claims is about cleaning up drug-related crime. A US$383 million deal was signed last year with China Telecom and Huawei to create a video surveillance system in Metro Manila and the city of Davao with a view to reducing crime rates.

Cambodia’s Smart Axiata announced in April that it had partnered with Huawei to develop a 5G solution. Prime Minister Hun Sen has said he wants Cambodia to be the first ASEAN country to launch 5G—with the help of Huawei and ZTE. While the state of Cambodia’s telecoms doesn’t suggest it would be an early adopter of 5G, the political will of Phnom Penh—whose relations with Beijing are increasingly good—is behind the effort to leapfrog into the new technology.

In Myanmar, ZTE has signed a memorandum of understating with the country’s Ooredoo to launch a 5G mobile network. In fact, all four mobile carriers in Myanmar are believed to use equipment made by ZTE or Huawei, mainly because of its accessibility and affordability.

Huawei representatives, meanwhile, have confirmed they are supporting digital transformation in Laos. With a market share of 15%, the company is the country’s third-largest mobile vendor, after Samsung (37%) and Apple (22%).

Among those that are more hesitant about adopting Chinese technology are Malaysia, Singapore and Indoneisa, which have signed up for 5G trials with Huawei, but are still cautious about considering a 5G network involving the company.

Huawei has a long history and strong foundations in Southeast Asia. It entered the region some 20 years ago—relatively early on and with competitive financial assistance. Its presence goes beyond wireless communications. The company provides funds for disaster relief, for example. In Malaysia, it has collaborated with Telekom Malaysia and Celcom Axiata to provide US$121,000 in assistance to communities affected by floods. Few other telecom giants have offered that.

Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad said at an event in Tokyo in May, ‘Malaysia is too small to have an effect on a huge company like Huawei, whose research is far bigger than the whole of Malaysia’s research capability, so we try to make use of their technology as much as possible. Yes, there may be some spying, but what is there to spy on in Malaysia? We are an open book.’

Days later, Singaporean Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong noted in a speech at the Shangri-La Dialogue that Singapore is carefully studying the impact of 5G. However, he downplayed the security challenges posed by Huawei, emphasising that it’s not a ‘black-white’ issue, but rather a matter of degrees: ‘I would also say from the technical point of view, it is quite unrealistic to expect 100% security from any telecoms system you buy. Even the hand phone you buy is not 100%  secure, much less the entire telephone network. It does not matter whom you buy it from; it can be a friendly country, it can be a hostile country, or you can design it yourself—every system will have vulnerabilities.’

Indonesia’s minister of communications, Rudiantara, has also seemed to defuse fears of Huawei-enabled espionage, telling Reuters in February that Indonesia cannot be ‘paranoid’ about curbing Huawei. There are some 300 base transceiver stations in Indonesia that use foreign technology already, so excluding one foreign company would be a political decision rather than a practical one, he said.

Another important factor is the drive for smart cities. Southeast Asia is urbanising at one of the world’s fastest rates. Thailand and Malaysia are exploring the benefits of 5G broadband in building their Smart Cities networks and Smart Government initiatives, as well as disaster management preparedness. With Indonesian President Joko Widodo’s recent announcement of a project for a new capital city, as well as ongoing efforts to upgrade Jakarta, there are likely to be plenty of new opportunities for both ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ infrastructure investment.

Southeast Asian leaders are clearly downplaying the US government’s security arguments about the trustworthiness of Huawei’s 5G network. But given China’s ranking in the World Justice Project Rule of Law Index—82nd out of 126 countries ranked—Southeast Asian countries, many of them ranking in similar brackets, are also less alarmed at the prospect of using technology from Western liberal democracies.

Vietnam is the only country in Southeast Asia that is avoiding Huawei technology based on security concerns, although without an explicit ban. Instead, Vietnam wants to be among the very first in the world to develop its own 5G technology. State-owned telecom Viettel, in cooperation with Sweden’s Ericsson, has developed a network that was successfully tested earlier this year in Hanoi. Planned to be launched by 2021, if successful, it may be a model for other countries.

It’s worth noting that Chinese state companies have had access to Vietnamese telecoms before. ZTE partnered in the past with Viettel in developing 3G. But in developing 4G, Viettel already relied on its own self-produced base stations.

Vietnam’s plans for wireless communications aren’t purely based on rejecting the Chinese Communist Party–linked Huawei. It is also an integral part of the country’s national strategy for succeeding in the fourth industrial revolution—a key focus of Prime Minister Nguyen Xuan Phuc. It fits in with Vietnam’s efforts to reform its economy and make the high-tech manufacturing sector a key pillar of economic development. Hanoi’s decision has little to do with Trump’s ban, but rather comes from a long-term strategic awareness of security challenges coming from the big northern neighbour.

There’s no doubt that the young, vibrant population of Southeast Asia will remain one of the most dynamic markets in the internet economy, which was estimated at US$50 billion in 2017 and is expected to quadruple by 2025 to US$200 billion. According to Huawei estimates, Southeast Asia provides opportunities worth US$1.2 trillion, with a potential 80 million 5G service subscribers. This is an attractive region worth competing for.

If the estimates of the distribution of subscribers worldwide by 2023 are correct (see Figure 1), then the market will be shared, rather than dominated, by Huawei. The digital future of Southeast Asia will most likely be very competitive. But one thing is certain: a viable US alternative is missing from the picture. Unless countries are willing to invest in developing their own networks, either on their own or in cooperation with other global providers as Vietnam did, there are few options to consider. Currently, Huawei has an advantage because it is available now, offers competitive rates and is easily accessible.

The deciding factor for the future of 5G in Southeast Asia is not political alignment or even security concerns; it’s about the practical needs of these economies.

The level of development, infrastructure and connectivity among Southeast Asia’s economies is very unequal. There’s also a vast disparity between cities and remote areas. Given the region’s young population and large proportion of mobile networks, most capital cities boast good connectivity and network coverage.

For many in the region, Huawei’s technology is more advanced than its Western competitors’ offerings, but it also comes at a fraction of the cost. Huawei is certainly bearing the fruits of Chinese government subsidies, and the security argument is often dismissed not because of a lack of awareness, but because, as one analyst says, ‘Huawei is the most efficient and cost-effective platform available to us.’

Will the US pressure backfire? Even America’s long-term European allies and liberal democracies such as the UK and Germany have resisted the ban. Out of the 10 ASEAN countries, two of which are treaty allies of the US, no one is willing to blindly follow Washington’s ban on Huawei.

The implications of how Southeast Asia responds is beyond just 5G technology, or even Huawei’s services. It is ultimately about the technological dominance and the success of China’s digital silk road. While infrastructure is the main area of competition, the soft infrastructure is no less crucial.

Individual Southeast Asian countries will of course make their own decisions. But so far no country in the region, including US treaty allies, is willing to support the ban for political reasons.

The hyper-focus on 5G is counterproductive. Security concerns are legitimate and need to be addressed in the same way as concerns about privacy protections related to internet applications. At the same time, Southeast Asian nations should treat seriously the possibility that China-linked technology that penetrates their critical infrastructure could be used for coercive purposes in the future.

The conversation about 5G choices in Southeast Asia is not divorced from the larger issue of Sino-US competition and the debate about choosing one side or the other. But, can the issue of high-speed internet connections be disconnected from the wider context of cyber norms and cyber laws in the region?

The cybersecurity warnings coming from the US are too focused on Huawei. Online restrictions and recent cyber laws across a number of countries, including those in Southeast Asia, legitimise censorship, restrict data flows and certain content, allow for the collection of personal information or constrain foreign companies from storing data offshore. These also should be part of the debate.

Recent regulations and cyber laws in Malaysia, Thailand and Vietnam reflect this trend. Cyber-enabled authoritarianism, in fact, seems rather attractive to many Southeast Asian governments.

The political implications of the presence of US companies, or pressure from the US government, in the telecoms sector in Southeast Asia go much further than the ability to block Huawei. 5G is another key example of a standard-setting opportunity that was missed. As with the Trans-Pacific Partnership—the trade deal that involved 12 Pacific Rim economies before Trump pulled the US out of the deal—the decision by the US to withdraw from the agreement has been held up as one of key examples of a lack of US commitment to the region.

The TPP wasn’t only about trade and economic benefits. It was also about the ability to set and enforce standards. An example is Vietnam, which had to go through a number of economic reforms—including workforce rules and regulations on specific industries—in order to join the TPP. But once the US pulled out, it no longer had the ability to influence that sphere.

A similar logic applies to high-speed internet in Southeast Asia, or anywhere. If American technology providers are not offering an alternative to Huawei—the two other major players are Nokia and Ericsson—the US won’t have a say in setting standards of cybersecurity. To avoid a repeat of the TPP lesson—where the US withdrew for the sake of domestic interests—the US 5G strategy needs to go beyond banning Huawei and asking partners and allies to do the same. It needs to have a horse in the race.

Most Southeast Asians are not comfortable choosing sides in the great-power competition between China and the US. So, if this is a race where the US has to work harder to find partners in Southeast Asia, Washington needs to remind itself that much of its global primacy has been based on its technological prowess and that the innovation imperative is the only way to sustain its position.

A version of this piece was published in Global Asia’s September 2019 issue; it has been republished with permission.

Beijing’s show of military might is a wake-up call for Australia

The massive military parade on the 70th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China generated a huge amount of interest, mostly because of the slew of new military capabilities on display. The parade in Beijing demonstrated the cutting edge of the Chinese state’s military capability, with some key weapons systems on show that haven’t been seen before.

These new military capabilities—once deployed operationally—will increase the Chinese state’s ability to undertake anti-access and area-denial (A2/AD) operations so that it can deter and deny US and allied military intervention into the western Pacific in a future crisis.

Most notable was the DF-17 hypersonic glide vehicle. An HGV is launched by a traditional ballistic missile and then follows a flight path within the atmosphere, at velocities of up to Mach 10 (approximately 12,350 kilometres per hour). HGVs are designed to manoeuvre in a way that enables them to evade ballistic-missile and naval air-defence systems. Although the DF-17 could carry a nuclear warhead, it’s more likely to carry a conventional one in order to maximise the system’s operational utility. The system on display was atop a DF-16, which normally has a range of between 800 and 1,000 kilometres; the HGV would extend that somewhat.

China’s deployment of the DF-17, along with Russia’s deployment of its Avanguard HGV, means the US is trailing both its peer adversaries in this critical capability area. The US is focusing its efforts on deploying a ‘common HGV’ that could be launched from land, sea and air platforms as early as 2023.

Systems like the DF-17 need effective and timely intelligence on possible targets like US aircraft carrier battlegroups, for example. The WZ-8 rocket drone is designed for very high altitude supersonic flight and could fill this role. Two WZ-8s were on display during the parade. The drone shouldn’t be confused with the GJ-11 ‘Sharp Sword’ unmanned combat aerial vehicle, which was also shown for the first time. The WZ-8 is a rocket-powered reconnaissance platform designed to be air-launched and operate at approximately 46 kilometres above the earth (that’s halfway to space). Tyler Rogoway of The War Zone estimates that its airspeed at altitude would be 5,287 kilometres per hour, or around Mach 4.5.

The WZ-8 would act as high-speed eyes for long-range A2/AD systems such as the DF-17 or the DF-26 anti-ship missile. It could cover a large maritime region quickly, identify a target, and share that information with ‘shooters’ such as People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force ballistic missile units. Its high altitude, high speed and stealthy design would make it virtually impossible to intercept.

Another interesting weapon system on show was the YJ-100 cruise missile. This appears to be a ground-launched system that would fly at high supersonic or hypersonic velocities to strike either land- or sea-based targets. Analysis in The War Zone suggests it’s a large two-stage missile, with an air-breathing ramjet for long-range, high-speed flight.

In the air, the PLA Air Force flew a formation of H-6K and H-6N bombers. The H-6N is the most interesting platform to consider, given that it has an airborne refuelling capability and is reputed to be able to carry an air-launched ballistic missile known as the CH-AS-X-13, which is thought to be based on the ground-launched DF-21D anti-ship ballistic missile system.

Such a capability would give China the ability to launch ALBMs from beyond the first island chain at an opponent’s naval carrier battlegroups or land bases. The CH-AS-X-13 is reported to have twice the range of the DF-21D, and could strike targets about 3,000 kilometres further on from its launch from an H-6N, which itself has a range of 6,000 kilometres.

All of these new capabilities were accompanied by other systems that have been displayed before, including the DF-26 and the YJ-18 long-range anti-ship cruise missile, as well as a plethora of long-range nuclear missiles. Among those was the DF-41, which went on show for the first time, and is considered the world’s most powerful intercontinental ballistic missile, supplanting the Soviet Union’s SS-18 ‘Satan’. Large numbers of tanks and armoured vehicles, electronic warfare capabilities, and mobile surface-to-air missile systems were also on show.

Watching the PLA showcase its new hardware was interesting, but the key issue to consider is the military and strategic implications of the parade. Is there a policy ‘so what’ for Australia and others to all this Chinese military grandiosity?

First, while Beijing’s diplomatic representations to Canberra argue that we should eschew ‘Cold War mindsets’, nothing screams a Cold War mentality more than nuclear missiles rolling through Tiananmen Square.

Second, the 70th anniversary parade wasn’t about the success of the Chinese people but about the continued dominance of the Chinese Communist Party over the people. Parading vast military power sends signals of both weakness and strength. The emphasis by President Xi Jinping was on the PLA as the party’s army and its function in maintaining the CCP’s—and his own—grip on power. Having to demonstrate that power to both the Chinese people and the international community suggests regime insecurity, even in a newly developed state like China, which boasts an economy second only in overall size to that of the US.

At the same time, the new capabilities on display can’t be dismissed as inconsequential for the US and its allies. It’s important that Australia, along with the US and its strategic partners, begins to consider how to contend with some of these advanced military capabilities.

Finally, those planning the future structure of the Australian Defence Force should take on board the key systems that were on show in Beijing. In particular, it’s clear that China is seeking to enhance and extend its A2/AD capability in a manner that will make it more difficult for the US and its allies, including Australia, to project power throughout the Indo-Pacific.

How the ADF responds to the increasing range, speed and striking power of Chinese air, naval and missile capabilities has to be a key priority for our defence planners and should affect our thinking about our own naval and air operations in the region. The parade is a wake-up call that we ignore at our peril.

The coming crisis of China’s one-party regime

On 1 October, to mark the 70th anniversary of the People’s Republic of China, President Xi Jinping will deliver a speech that unreservedly celebrates the Chinese Communist Party’s record since 1949. But, despite Xi’s apparent confidence and optimism, the CCP’s rank and file are increasingly concerned about the regime’s future prospects—with good reason.

In 2012, when Xi took the reins of the CCP, he promised that the party would strive to deliver great successes in advance of two upcoming centennials, marking the founding of the CCP in 1921 and the PRC in 1949. But a persistent economic slowdown and rising tensions with the United States will likely sour the CCP’s mood during the 2021 celebrations. And the one-party regime may not even survive until 2049.

While there’s technically no time limit on dictatorship, the CCP is approaching the longevity frontier for one-party regimes. Mexico’s Institutional Revolutionary Party retained power for 71 years (1929–2000); the Communist Party of the Soviet Union ruled for 74 years (1917–1991); and Taiwan’s Kuomintang held on for 73 years (from 1927 to 1949 on the mainland and from 1949 to 2000 in Taiwan). The North Korean regime, a Stalinist family dynasty that has ruled for 71 years, is China’s only contemporary competition.

But historical patterns aren’t the only reason the CCP has to be worried. The conditions that enabled the regime to recover from the self-inflicted disasters of Maoism and to prosper over the past four decades have largely been replaced by a less favourable—and in some senses more hostile—environment.

The greatest threat to the party’s long-term survival lies in the unfolding cold war with the US. During most of the post-Mao era, China’s leaders kept a low profile on the international stage, painstakingly avoiding conflict while building strength at home. But by 2010, China had become an economic powerhouse, pursuing an increasingly muscular foreign policy. That drew the ire of the US, which began gradually to shift from a policy of engagement towards the confrontational approach evident today.

With its superior military capabilities, technology, economic efficiency and alliance networks (which remain robust, despite President Donald Trump’s destructive leadership), the US is far more likely to prevail in the Sino-American cold war than China. Though an American victory could be Pyrrhic, it would more than likely seal the CCP’s fate.

The party also faces strong economic headwinds. The so-called Chinese miracle was fuelled by a large and youthful labour force, rapid urbanisation, large-scale infrastructure investment, market liberalisation and globalisation—all factors that have either diminished or disappeared.

Radical reforms—in particular, the privatisation of inefficient state-owned enterprises and the end of neo-mercantilist trading practices—could sustain growth. But, despite paying lip service to further market reforms, the CCP has been reluctant to implement them, instead clinging to policies that favour state-owned entities at the expense of private entrepreneurs. Because the state-owned sector forms the economic foundation of one-party rule, the prospect that CCP leaders will suddenly embrace radical economic reform is dim.

Domestic political trends are similarly worrying. Under Xi, the CCP has abandoned the pragmatism, ideological flexibility and collective leadership that served it so well in the past. With the party’s neo-Maoist turn—including strict ideological conformity, rigid organisational discipline and fear-based strongman rule—the risks of catastrophic policy mistakes are rising.

To be sure, the CCP will not go down without a fight. As its grip on power weakens, it will probably attempt to stoke nationalism among its supporters, while intensifying repression of its opponents.

But this strategy cannot save China’s one-party regime. While nationalism may boost support for the CCP in the short term, its energy will eventually dissipate, especially if the party fails to deliver continued improvement in living standards. And a regime that is dependent on coercion and violence will pay dearly in the form of depressed economic activity, rising popular resistance, escalating security costs and international isolation.

This is hardly the uplifting picture Xi will present to the Chinese people on 1 October. But no amount of nationalist posturing can change the fact that the unravelling of the CCP’s rule appears closer than at any time since the end of the Mao era.

Sanctions on China aren’t the answer to Australia’s opioid problem

The US is in the midst of an opioid epidemic that is showing no signs of abating. In 2017, more than 70,000 Americans died from drug overdoses, around 40% of which were linked to synthetic opioids like fentanyl. Most of the synthetic opioids consumed in the US are manufactured in labs in mainland China. So last month, after years of repeated warnings, US President Donald Trump banned all imports of the drug from China.

As Australia’s own fentanyl problem grows, the Morrison government will need to consider whether our strategies for reducing the supply of opioids will coalesce around sanctions or cooperation with Chinese authorities.

Fentanyl is 50 times stronger than heroin. In the US in 2016–17, the rate of overdose deaths from heroin had plateaued, while deaths from synthetic drugs like fentanyl increased by 45%.

In October 2017, Trump declared his nation’s opioid crisis a public health emergency and committed to use the federal government’s legal powers to ‘pursue companies that helped fuel the epidemic’.

The US immediately started a legislative process to introduce sanctions against Chinese entities involved in the production of fentanyl or fentanyl analogues. However, the bill is not law yet.

If passed, the bill will require the secretaries of state and treasury to submit an annual report identifying each person in China, including any Chinese government officials, involved in the production and distribution of fentanyl to the US.

At the same time, Trump, in his typical brusque fashion, promised to raise the issue with Chinese President Xi Jinping, saying, ‘he will do something about it’.

In December last year, in response to Trump’s demands, Xi’s government committed to cracking down on the production and shipment of fentanyl.

On 23 August, with trade tensions between China and the US increasing, Trump announced that he was ‘ordering’ the US Postal Service and express shipping companies to search for and refuse all deliveries of fentanyl.

Closer to home, the Australian Criminal Intelligence Commission reported earlier this year that data from its national wastewater monitoring program shows a noticeable increase in fentanyl use over the past two years in several locations across Australia.

The Pennington Institute’s Australian annual overdose report 2019 notes that that in 2017 there were 904 unintentional opioid-induced deaths, equating to 56% of all unintentional overdose deaths for that year. Between 2005 and 2017, the number of deaths from fentanyl overdoses increased by more than 1,000% (from 12 to 198).

The possibility of a large-scale Australian opioid crisis seems very real, but would a sanctions regime for Chinese fentanyl manufacturers be possible or appropriate here?

Australia currently operates an autonomous sanctions regime—separate from its obligations to implement UN Security Council sanctions—through legislative instruments associated with the Autonomous Sanctions Act 2011.

Although parliament created the regime, it doesn’t oversee its implementation. That responsibility rests solely with the foreign minister, who can create legislative instruments to add countries and associated entities into the framework. The minister would therefore have oversight of any trade sanctions imposed against China.

Trade sanctions under the Autonomous Sanctions Act are currently in force against Iran, Myanmar, Russia, Syria and Zimbabwe, as well as Crimea and the peninsula’s main city of Sevastopol.

The two primary reasons trade sanctions are imposed are for breaches of the territorial integrity or sovereignty of another country (as in the case of the Crimea, Russia and Sevastopol sanctions) or for human rights abuses and the use of violence against civilians (as with Syria).

So imposing trade sanctions under this regime against foreign drug and precursor manufacturers would represent a significant departure from how it has previously been used. Such a move could be viewed as equating the poor regulation and enforcement of China’s licit and illicit pharmaceutical industry with the Russian invasion of Crimea or the current situation in Syria—and that’s not something Australia is likely to do anytime soon.

Fundamentally, the purpose of sanctions is punitive. They have significant normative weight in international affairs. While invoking sanctions in this case would signal how serious Australia is about the need to combat the drug crisis, it would be a significant escalation in an already tense relationship with the Chinese government. And it would have little impact on fentanyl supply chains.

In our opinion, sanctions against Chinese pharmaceutical and chemical manufacturers would be unwieldy and difficult to manage.

The size and opaqueness of the Chinese illicit drug industry, and its supply chains, would make it difficult to apply sanctions effectively. Identifying and monitoring entities and individuals involved in the production of synthetic illicit drugs in China, without Chinese government assistance, would be resource-intensive and challenging.

It also seems unlikely that Australia’s sanctions regime would be agile enough to respond to the constant changes in China’s industrial landscape in which the labs and people involved in producing these substances are always evolving.

As the Chinese government continues to crack down on the country’s illicit drug supply, the production of fentanyl and its analogues is likely to move to neighbouring countries in the Mekong region.

Instead of sanctions, Australia would be much better served by bolstering resources to inspect incoming mail—particularly mail from China and smaller packages ordered from dark online markets. Australia could also focus on building on the success of existing bilateral law enforcement and border management arrangements.

The Strategist Six: Iván Duque Márquez, president of Colombia

Welcome to ‘The Strategist Six’, a feature that provides a glimpse into the thinking of prominent academics, government officials, military officers, reporters and interesting individuals from around the world.

1. How is your government coping with the Venezuelan crisis?

We have been suffering what we consider the most dramatic humanitarian and migration crisis in Latin American history. We host today more than 1.3 million Venezuelan brothers and sisters. Most of the Venezuelan brothers and sisters who have come to Colombia have come with broken bones; they come to Colombia with hunger and despair.

They have been flying away from the most brutal dictatorship that we have seen in Latin America. And when you look at the report that was issued recently by the Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, these are exactly the same patterns that we saw with Milosevic. We have a war criminal continuously hurting the Venezuelan people. And we hope that with all this diplomatic pressure and the recognition of President Juan Guaidó as the legitimate president of Venezuela and the national assembly, we will be able to put enough pressure so that three goals are met: the end of the dictatorship, a transition government with broad participation, and a call for a free election.

2. Coca crops have reached unprecedented levels. How did your country end up in this situation?

Many things were done wrong in the last few years. From 2000 when Plan Colombia began until 2012, the area of illegal crops reduced from more than 180,000 hectares to almost 50,000. But in the last four years, before we took office, they increased again from less than 60,000 hectares to 209,000.

Manual eradication groups were downsized severely, aerial spraying stopped, and incentives were created to essentially exchange coca for subsidies. This naturally gave birth to a vicious cycle.

That’s why, when I came into office, I said that we needed an integrated approach. And by that I mean the use of substitution, manual eradication, the payment for environmental services, alternative development programs, the use of precise aerial spraying in harmony with the environment, and social protection.

We need the whole toolkit. That’s why we also talk about interdiction, anti-money laundering and disruption of smuggling structures. We need to take those who are selling drugs in our streets to jail, because we are also a consumer country. And at the same time, we need to treat the addict. That’s why we insist on this integrated approach.

3. After one year in office, is this paying dividends?

For the first time in seven years we have stopped the upward trend of illicit crops in Colombia, and we actually have a reduction. Not a substantial reduction, but one that signals the change in the trajectory. That’s why we have to persevere day by day to do much better.

We have improved our interdiction capacity. Only this year, by market value, or street value, we have seized the equivalent of the money made by Goldman Sachs, more than US$9 billion.

Colombia represents more than 50% of the seizure of drugs in the western hemisphere. There’s no country in the world that seizes the amount of drugs that we do. For every ton of cocaine that the US seizes, we seize 18. And we do it not to please anyone, but because this is our moral duty and because the future that I want for Colombia is not the future of cartels or drug addiction.

4. What is your view on China’s economic dominance and its role in Latin America?

This year we will be celebrating 40 years of bilateral relations between Colombia and the People’s Republic of China. I don’t look at the relationship with China in terms of dominance. What I look at is the need for countries like Colombia to diversify exports. And I think being able to open the Asian markets is very important for us.

We have a free-trade agreement with South Korea, we have a long relationship with Japan, and when it comes to China we have to be able to do much better when it comes to trade. So I think Colombia can be able to participate in that market. And I think rather than dominance, this has to be more about multilateralism, more about constructivism, more about looking at trade as a way to generate bonds between nations.

5. You wanted to amend the peace accords signed by your predecessor with the FARC. What is your approach to peace and how is the implementation of those accords going?

I have always said: ‘Peace with legality.’ The essence of peace with legality is that when people are genuinely on the path to reintegration, it has to succeed. We want them to have productive lives. That’s why, when it comes to reintegration, our administration in just one year has done more than what was done during the last two years after the implementation of the agreements began under the previous administration. Before we took office, just one or two projects were attended by a small number of people. We have now 25 productive projects that are attended by 1,500 people.

But obviously, if there’s a repeat of the past, if people want to go back to criminal activities, we’re going to be very tough with the rule of law because the essence of peace with legality is that you have genuine truth, justice, reparation and non-repetition. My administration works under those principles.

6. Your country recently hosted the first Australia–Colombia Dialogue. What are some of the opportunities you see for Australian–Colombian relations?

I think in the last decade the bonds between Australia and Colombia have strengthened a lot. But I think we should do much better. In terms of trade, our exports to Australia are valued at only $50 million, which is tiny. I also think we should look at a long-term investment relationship. We have a lot of Australian companies turning their gaze to Colombia for sustainable mining and energy generation. And I am very happy that the interest that we are seeing is also connected with principles on the environment.

We also see the interest of Australian companies wanting to invest in our road and port systems. So I think there is an area that is open to be developed in the following years. The bonds between Australia and Colombia have to be strengthened every day, and I have made this a priority in my foreign policy.

Avoiding war must be Australia’s chief strategic goal

In How to defend Australia, Hugh White refers to the ‘deepest national objectives: security, prosperity and identity’, observing that states seem ‘willing to risk war to pursue these objectives, even at potentially appalling cost’. Security, prosperity and identity are often interleaved and interconnected in indiscernible and inextricable ways. They won’t be advanced in a war.

Historical examples or analogies of how wars start and how particular battles and campaigns are won abound. Yet there is only one universally applicable lesson from history: wars never bring about the strategic objectives the protagonists desire. That’s obviously true for the losers, but also for the victors. Wars have disruptive and transformative consequences that affect the domestic arrangements and the international relations of the participants.

Napoleon’s complex career was inseparable from the French Revolution. Although it encountered religious and monarchist resistance, a new French identity of secular, liberal republicanism began to emerge following the revolution. During his ascendancy from soldier to emperor, Napoleon added a new political outcome to the ongoing transformation of France—that of elevating the state above society.

Napoleon not only fostered the elements of the modern administrative nation-state in France, but through his conquests introduced recognisably modern administrative institutions across much of Europe. He inherited and then expanded and introduced to Europe ‘the first modern bureaucracy’. He instituted the first recognisable ‘“security state”, with its unprecedented levels of administrative surveillance and police repression’. The Napoleonic wars transformed Europe in ways that the victorious monarchs, emperors and tsars would be unable to reverse. In the wake of Napoleon, European identities were transforming into something different and unexpected.

World War I provides an even starker example of conflict not producing expected outcomes for the identity or security of the participants. As a result of the war, ‘The pre-war state system was destroyed and the prestige of the major European powers throughout the world was undermined.’ The war created the opportunity for the Bolsheviks to seize power in Russia. The German, Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires collapsed. The colonial powers France and Britain were weakened financially and economically by the conflict. Millions of Europeans formerly in subject populations found themselves the citizens of new nations. Japan’s star rose in Asia to the ruin and subjugation of Korea and much of China.

World War I made the participants less, not more, secure. It radically changed the identities of the nations involved. And it laid the path to World War II. Again, major war had failed to achieve for the antagonists their ‘security, prosperity and identity’. World War II would be no different. Europe was divided, the European empires entered their terminal phase, the Cold War began, China fell to the communists, and the world teetered on the brink of nuclear war for the next four decades. The US national security state was born.

Now we hear again the voices of those willing to go to war to defend Australia’s ‘security, prosperity and identity’. Is it reasonable to expect, despite the historical examples to the contrary, that this time the deepest national objectives could be achieved by a major war?

The problem with most proposals for ramping up or reforming Australia’s strategic policy is that they hold out the prospect of success. They posit that the right strategy, capability, planning, preparedness and force posture can lead to the successful defence of Australia against a great power. They hold out confidently the prospect that Australia can be defended somewhere off shore—in the sea approaches or through alliance operations in the Northeast Asian maritime periphery.

There are two options in this narrative. One is what might be called the prudent White version, where Australia needs to seriously consider the prospect of defending itself against China after the US withdraws, becomes impotent or is unwilling to contest with China and defend its ally. To examine White’s ‘security, prosperity and identity’ claim under these circumstances from China’s perspective, it would seem that, if the Chinese were determined to launch an attack on Australia, they would be pursuing strategic military objectives tied closely to their own ‘deepest national objectives’.

In that case, the Chinese wouldn’t be likely to come under-resourced and with a strategy that optimised Australia’s chances of succeeding. They wouldn’t play into Australia’s hands. They presumably would have the sense to manoeuvre forces and attack weaknesses—or simply overwhelm or use attrition—to succeed in the campaign. They would come to win.

The other option is that the US regains so-called leadership in the Asia–Pacific in a definitive conflict with China. If it didn’t go nuclear, that would undoubtedly be a protracted and destructive war involving massive casualties, the displacement of huge populations, and the destruction of large amounts of civil and military industrial, transport, communications and service-delivery infrastructure. It would almost certainly extend to space and would inevitably envelop Korea, Japan and Taiwan. The legacy would feed regional antagonism for generations.

Like with other major wars before it, the world would be transformed and the protagonists badly weakened. After the conflict, those great powers that sat it out—perhaps India, Russia and Europe—would find their relative global strength greatly increased. The capacity of the US to exercise influence in the Middle East, Latin America or other regions could be greatly diminished. China’s economy and political stability, and perhaps its unity, would suffer. The aftermath would be unpredictable.

Security, prosperity and identity would suffer in either case.

It’s not that Australia doesn’t need a capable defence force. We do. And there are many roles for it. The danger is that political leaders will come to believe that Australia is defensible against a great power. That belief simply encourages reckless decision-making.

Australia’s deepest national objectives can only be preserved if avoiding war is the overriding strategic goal.

Policy, Guns and Money: Hong Kong and opioids

In this episode, ASPI’s Michael Shoebridge and Marcus Hellyer discuss the pro-democracy protests rocking Hong Kong and the likelihood of a violent intervention from Beijing.

Later on in the podcast, Renee Jones talks to Canadian senator and former Ottawa police chief, Vern White, about the challenges of modern policing, the opioid crisis and pill testing.

You can view links to the articles mentioned in this week’s episode here.

Bringing Hong Kong back from the brink

After 13 straight weekends of unrelenting protests and an increasingly harsh police response, Hong Kong’s worst political crisis since its reversion to Chinese sovereignty in 1997 appears to have become an intractable stalemate with no clear way out.

The territory’s Beijing-backed chief executive, Carrie Lam, has openly rejected all the protesters’ demands, including a formal withdrawal of her widely reviled China extradition bill, which triggered the unrest; an independent inquiry into police violence; amnesty for arrested demonstrators and dropping the labelling of the protests as ‘riots’; and restarting Hong Kong’s stalled political reform process. Lam seems to believe that she can quell the protests through attrition, waning public support and brutal police force, including mass arrests.

The protesters, on the other hand, seem undeterred by the escalating police actions. At the weekend, riot police raided subway stations and train carriages, indiscriminately clubbing suspected demonstrators with batons, and widely firing tear gas, rubber bullets and chemical dye from water cannon. Public support seems undampened and popular ire is directed more at the police than at the handful of radical demonstrators.

But there is a way out of the impasse, before violence takes Hong Kong into the abyss. It’s a solution that would require a series of compromises from both sides, involving painful short-term and long-term concessions that both sides might be loath to accept. It may just bring Hong Kong back from the brink.

The first step is the easiest: Lam must formally withdraw the extradition bill. She has already announced that the bill is suspended, or in her words ‘dead’. But she’s playing semantic games. ‘Dead’ is not a legal term. The public fears that, without a formal withdrawal, she could bring it up again for a second and decisive reading before the current legislature’s term expires next summer.

By avoiding the formality of an official withdrawal, Lam is clearly only trying to save face—either her own, or that of the Chinese Communist Party leaders in Beijing, who are reportedly averse to any sign of concession to protesters. Withdrawal would amount to a public admission that the bill was unnecessary and a mistake. But the time for face-saving is long past. In the current atmosphere of mistrust, failure to withdraw the bill only fuels suspicion that Lam has a hidden agenda to reintroduce it once passions cool.

The second concession is far more difficult. The government should establish an independent commission to investigate violence on all sides—by the protesters and police—and then grant amnesty from prosecution to anyone who engaged in unlawful acts.

People on both sides are likely to be critical of any such arrangement. Ordinary citizens want to see prosecutions for police who hid their identification numbers and beat subdued demonstrators with batons, who sprayed tear gas inside of subway stations and shopping malls, and who appeared to collude with gangsters by deliberately delaying their response to a 21 July triad attack on commuters at Yuen Long.

Likewise, police and government supporters will be incensed to see amnesty given to young protestors who defaced the Chinese emblem and threw the Chinese flag into the harbour, who threw bricks and other projectiles at police, and who defied police bans to organise large-scale marches.

There is a precedent; South Africa in the 1990s, after the end of apartheid, launched a ‘Truth and Reconciliation Commission’ to help heal the wounds of that divided country. The idea was that the commission would allow for a public airing of all crimes committed, but that the polarised country could only move forward if amnesty were granted to both sides.

At the time, the South African panel was derided by some as a ‘Kleenex Commission’ that would merely whitewash away the many sins of the violent apartheid era. But I covered South Africa in the lead-up to the first democratic elections, and I thought a race war seemed inevitable. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission, it turned out, was a brilliant way to resolve lingering grievances and allow the country to heal.

Perhaps the most difficult final step in Hong Kong will be to restart the political reform process, and here, too, both sides must accept painful concessions. The protesters must recognise that Beijing will never allow any future electoral system that leaves the outcome unknown. And Beijing’s communist leaders must accept that Hong Kong’s unrest will never be contained until people are given some say in how they are governed.

The concession will look much like the reforms rejected in 2014, which launched the Umbrella Movement, five years ago this month. Beijing could set up a selection committee that vets all the candidates for Hong Kong chief executive. Candidates would have to swear allegiance to the Chinese constitution and disavow independence—Beijing’s main ‘red line’. Then Hong Kong’s people should be given a free vote to choose among the approved candidates.

Would that be truly democratic? Not by a long shot. Is it better than the system now, where the leader is chosen by just 1,200 people, mostly pro-China figures, sitting as an ‘electoral college’? Absolutely.

Hong Kong’s current crisis is the result of the absence of politics. The chief executive and the cabinet were never elected, are unrepresentative and do not have to answer to ordinary Hong Kongers. Average citizens also feel they have no stake in a leadership system that ignores their needs, serves mostly the wealthy elite, and is answerable only to Beijing. Even a partially democratic system that lets people choose from among approved candidates is better than people having no vote and no stake at all. And that system would allow Hong Kong’s leader to claim a mandate to govern.

All of these steps would require compromise and clear-headed thinking. They can still pull Hong Kong back from the brink—if it’s not already too late.

What Vietnam is looking for from Scott Morrison’s visit

In March last year, Australia and Vietnam upgraded their diplomatic relations to a strategic partnership, stressing among other things the importance of a region ‘shaped by rules and norms’ and annual meetings between their defence ministers. The agreement is a shared vision for a regional security outlook that trumps the differences in political systems. In one of his first official trips as the re-elected prime minister of Australia, Scott Morrison is set to arrive in Hanoi on Thursday amid tensions roiling in the South China Sea.

There are many highlights in the relationship. Australia has been a reliable partner in providing assistance to Vietnamese UN peacekeeping forces, and it has supported infrastructure in the vulnerable Mekong region, including completion of the Cao Lanh Bridge last year—Canberra’s largest single aid project in mainland Southeast Asia. Trade and economic ties are the key areas of mutual interest. Vietnam is our second-fastest-growing trade partner, and the bilateral trade volume has been consistently growing—by 12% in the past five years. But there’s more that Australian businesses can do.

Vietnam is an attractive market. It is one of seven economies, according to Standard Chartered Bank, whose GDP growth will remain at about 7% through the 2020s, provided there are no major disruptions from the trade war. A youthful population will fuel significant consumption growth—Vietnam’s GDP per capita is expected to increase four-fold by 2030. Australian brands are among the most trusted in agriculture, medicine and education by a Vietnamese middle class of 33 million people, a number that continues to grow by 1.5 million each year. Around 30,000 Vietnamese are currently studying in Australia and the potential is much higher. There is high demand for both English-language and digital-literacy training. The Australian and Vietnamese economies are very complementary.

But beyond flourishing opportunities, there are also mounting geostrategic challenges. Since the signing of the partnership, the strategic environment has considerably deteriorated. Back then, the concept of the ‘Indo-Pacific’ was still in its infancy and the US–China trade war had not fully begun.

As Hanoi welcomes Morrison, Vietnam faces Chinese coercion as maritime militia and coastguard forces escort Chinese petroleum survey ships into Vietnam’s exclusive economic zone. Outside the US, international reaction to continuing incidents at sea has been relatively muted. Australia is yet to explicitly condemn Beijing’s action. Canberra signed the recent collective statements from AUSMIN and the US–Australia–Japan strategic dialogue that alluded to the event as ‘disruptive activities’ related to oil and gas projects and fisheries in the South China Sea.

The Morrison government took office at a time when Australia’s relations with China were becoming increasingly difficult to manage, on multiple fronts. When the prime minister sits down in talks with Vietnam’s leaders in Hanoi this week, he can expect to face questions on the consistency of Australia’s South China Sea policy. Ideally, the Vietnamese would like more diplomatic and practical support from Canberra, backed up by Australian oil and gas exploration companies commercially partnering with Vietnamese ones in the disputed waters. Just how strategic is the strategic partnership between the two if they can’t count on each other in the key security agenda?

Vietnam’s independent spirit is reflected not only in traditional issues of sovereignty, but also in how it manages the impact of new technology. Vietnam has 5G network ambitions but shares concerns about Huawei technology. Vietnamese telecommunications companies have partnered with Ericsson and have successfully tested the network in Hanoi. If the second phase is completed, Vietnam will be among the first to have a 5G network not reliant on Huawei—something of interest to Australia given its rejection of Chinese equipment for its network.

Vietnam is now the world’s second largest exporter of smartphones, and the current tariff restrictions on China’s electronic components have boosted its numbers. South Korea’s Samsung and LG have also shifted manufacturing of semiconductors to Vietnam. The Vietnamese government, under Prime Minister Nguyen Xuan Phuc—who signed the strategic partnership with Australia last year—has made seizing the opportunities of the fourth industrial revolution a priority for the country.

For Canberra, Vietnam’s importance goes beyond just its bilateral relations with China; it is increasingly a key diplomatic and strategic actor in the region. As Vietnam prepared to take up the ASEAN chairmanship in 2020 (along with sitting on the UN Security Council as a non-permanent member), how Hanoi regards the Indo-Pacific concept will be important for the future of the idea. Noting that Vietnam will be the first ASEAN chair following the release of the organisation’s ‘outlook on the Indo-Pacific’, this is an opportunity for Morrison to communicate Australia’s own guiding principles in the fast-changing Indo-Pacific region.

A new Australian way of war

Australia’s traditional way of war is to send expeditionary forces abroad to fight in a coalition—to secure the continent by fighting far from it.

For more than a century, a central tension of Oz strategic debate has been aligning the expeditionary/alliance history and the defence of the continent.

‘Fortress Australia’ fits the logic of our geography, yet alliance pulls towards the expeditionary answer. When confidence in alliance falters, the fortress Australia arguments grow louder.

Such a loss of faith in the US was why Malcolm Fraser became the first (former) prime minister to call for armed neutrality, arguing in his book Dangerous allies that Australia had to escape its cage as a ‘strategic captive’ of the US. Even Fraser, though, didn’t go the full fortress. He just wanted new friends in Asia.

Hugh White’s How to defend Australia is a deeper argument about Australia’s strategic options than Fraser’s 2014 effort. The former prime minister hacked hard at the shackles of the alliance, but offered little detail about what should come next. White, by contrast, follows the logic of his thinking to explosive (even nuclear) conclusions.

Where Fraser wanted to abandon the alliance, White thinks it’s the alliance that’s leaving Australia: see my previous column and the first of these ASPI interviews for White’s discussion of the dangers of alliance entrapment or abandonment.

White’s prescription for a new Australian way of war is for a fortress Oz (his preferred term is strategic independence), but a fortress with a long military reach. That independence would be built on a strategy of ‘maritime denial’—involving sea denial and air control—to prevent any adversary from arriving on the shores of the fortress.

Maritime denial will be Australia’s best bet in coming decades, White argues, because it exploits our geography and the technological advantage of defence over attack in maritime warfare. A denial strategy narrows possible targets to increase effectiveness. And ‘a defensive posture with a narrow focus limits the risk of escalation, which is a central priority for a middle power confronting a great power’.

White offers several versions of how this well-armed, independent Australia could deal with the circumstances it faces in the region.

Adopting armed neutrality: In this scenario, Australia and New Zealand would avoid all other alliances and alignments and only fight to defend their own territories. ‘The downside’, White writes, ‘is that we would miss the chance to work with others to keep a threat further from our shores and sharply reduce the chances that anyone else would support us if we were attacked.’

Adopting extended neutrality: Here, Australia would widen the area it defends to cover small island neighbours, ‘to keep them out of an adversary’s hands’.

Aligning with Indonesia: ‘If Indonesia were willing, there would be obvious advantages in fighting alongside it to keep an adversary out of the archipelago to our north. The downside is that we would embroil ourselves in major wars that we might otherwise avoid.’

Aligning with China, India or Japan: ‘We might be drawn into their wars against our interests; and they might fail to come to our aid when we needed them. Moreover, the more closely we align ourselves with one major power, the more likely we are to face hostility from its rivals.’

Remaining a US ally: A US that stays in Asia ‘would not be the ally we have known for so long’. Either it would be ‘locked in a bitter, costly and dangerous rivalry with China’, White writes, or the two giants will reach ‘an edgy and probably unstable accommodation’.

White says that none of these options is ideal and Australia will probably try versions of all of them in the decades ahead. And none of these options ‘will work for Australia unless we have the strategic weight that only substantial independent military power can provide’.

The choice Australia confronts in considering a new way of war is, ultimately, what sort of player it wants to be in the Asian century—a middle power or a small power.

If Australia wants to remain a middle power, White writes, it must build strategic independence so it has a significant capacity to fight alone:

Middle powers can stand up to a great power without the backing of another great power, while small powers cannot. Middle powers can shape the way the international order affects them; small powers must take what comes. Middle powers have choices to make, even if they are often very difficult ones; small powers do not.

To discuss the new Australian way of war, here’s the second in my series of interviews with Hugh White.