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Huawei is perhaps the most enigmatic company on the planet. The Chinese communications firm is not publicly listed, and despite being one of the world’s largest firms, basic information about its structure, ownership and business activities is difficult to unearth. It is not simply opaque from the outside; secrecy also pervades its internal culture. Most of the company’s own employees are reportedly unaware of the details of its inner workings, which are highly centralised within its Shenzhen headquarters.
Huawei’s notorious lack of transparency contrasts with a growing interest in the company throughout the West. Despite the attention the company has drawn, there’s no consensus on its nature. Many in the business sector emphasise its role as a major commercial player and, increasingly, as a technological innovator. In the wake of the government’s August 2018 pronouncement effectively excluding Huawei from Australia’s 5G mobile network, Vodafone’s Dan Lloyd condemned the decision as one that ‘fundamentally undermines Australia’s 5G future’. Other commentators stressed that the decision would increase the costs of developing 5G, which would only result in higher consumer prices.
Some observers downplay the commercial side and instead stress other, non-commercial, characteristics of the company. These analyses tend to emphasise the historical linkages between Huawei and China’s security apparatuses, as well as the capacity for the Chinese Communist Party to influence the company’s activities.
The truth is that Huawei has both commercial and strategic dimensions. It is a huge participant in the global market for communications hardware and of increasing importance in the field of technological innovation. No analysis of the company can neglect this aspect. At the same time, focusing unduly on its commercial characteristics misses a vital feature of Huawei: its function as an instrument of Chinese national strategy. Huawei is a private company that has been nurtured by the Chinese party-state for strategic purposes. Its capabilities, honed in commercial operations, are assets that can be (and in some cases already are) channelled towards China’s strategic goals.
The duality of Huawei’s business may appear novel or contradictory to the liberal West, accustomed as it is to clear lines of demarcation between commerce and government. However, it is not without historical precedent. As ASPI’s latest Strategic Insights paper, published today, demonstrates, Huawei’s development has strong parallels with that of Telefunken—a 20th century German company dedicated to wireless telegraphy.
The most fundamental similarity concerns the companies’ relationship with the state. Though they’re both private enterprises, Huawei and Telefunken received considerable support from the state during their initial growth phase. Hardware sales to the military provided vital early customers and the opportunity to gain practical experience. Protection of the domestic market shielded the infant companies from established overseas competitors, giving them the opportunity to grow. Once they were established, diplomatic support facilitated the opening up of emerging foreign markets not yet captured by international competitors. State support proved essential in boosting the competitiveness of these national firms against foreign competition.
Most importantly of all, both companies emphasised innovation from their inception, and were able to establish themselves at the leading edge of technological sophistication through indirect support from the state. In Telefunken’s case, it was able to access Germany’s national research networks—its world-class university system and the research divisions of electrical giants Siemens and AEG. This gave it an advantage in research and development over its foreign competitors in wireless, which didn’t have access to resources on a national scale. In Huawei’s case, the company’s intense focus on R&D has been facilitated by party-state connections, which kept the company afloat. It has also been able to access international expertise to boost its technological capabilities, particularly in Europe, where it has invested heavily in collaborative R&D facilities.
State support to boost both commercial competitiveness and technological innovation has proven instrumental in the rise of Huawei to global prominence, as was the case with Telefunken in the early 20th century. In both companies’ cases, this served the strategic goals of the state by promoting national capabilities in communications in order to escape dependence on other powers in this vital area.
The paper argues that national communications development for Wilhelmine Germany and contemporary China has two key strategic implications. One is geostrategic, pertaining to the deployment of communications infrastructure as an instrument of control over particular geographic areas. In Germany’s case it was its small and far-flung empire, whereas in China’s case it is an emerging sphere of influence, centred on Eurasia and the Indian Ocean, under the Belt and Road Initiative.
The other strategic implication relates to capacity-building, wherein commercial and technological progress increases national capabilities that can be steered towards non-commercial, particularly military, ends. In Telefunken’s case, the capacity developed during peacetime was a major asset for the German war effort from 1914, facilitating the innovative tactical and operational use of wireless communications on the battlefield. Today, Huawei is heavily involved in ‘civil–military fusion’, designed to facilitate the transfer of technologies between the commercial and military sectors of Chinese society. It is also a major participant in initiatives to develop dual-use technologies that will have significant implications for warfighting, including 5G, quantum cryptography and artificial intelligence.
Historical analysis has strong relevance for contemporary policymakers. Some may be tempted to dismiss it as a luxury or indulgence, of little relevance to the rapidly evolving technologies and circumstances of the 21st century. But historical analysis has an important role to play in relation to comprehending contemporary challenges. It provides a vantage point from which to examine our own times. By analysing past historical dynamics, it’s possible to identify parallels in the contemporary world. These suggest possible outcomes based on how similar situations played out in the past. A relevant historical example can provide hints of what might be around the corner. A heightened awareness of the past can place us in a better position to understand the present and anticipate the future.
The point is encapsulated in an aphorism often misattributed to Mark Twain: ‘History does not repeat itself, but it often rhymes.’ Familiarity with historical precedents can empower policymakers to anticipate the rhymes, and only strengthen policy responses to contemporary challenges.
Chinese President Xi Jinping seems to be on a roll. He has sent a rocket to the dark side of the moon, built artificial islands on contested reefs in the South China Sea and enticed Italy to break ranks with its European partners and sign on to China’s Belt and Road Initiative. Meanwhile, US President Donald Trump’s unilateralist posture has reduced America’s soft power and influence.
China’s economic performance over the past four decades has been truly impressive. It is now the main trading partner for more than a hundred countries compared to about half that number for the United States. Its economic growth has slowed, but its official 6% annual rate is more than twice that of the US. Conventional wisdom projects that China’s economy will surpass that of the US in size in the coming decade.
Perhaps. But it is also possible that Xi has feet of clay.
No one knows what China’s future holds, and there is a long history of faulty predictions of systemic collapse or stagnation. While I don’t think either is likely, the conventional wisdom exaggerates China’s strengths. Westerners see the divisions and polarisation in their democracies, but China’s successful efforts to conceal its problems cannot make them go away. Sinologists who know much more than I do describe at least five major long-term problems confronting China.
First, there is the country’s unfavourable demographic profile. China’s labour force peaked in 2015, and it has passed the point of easy gains from urbanisation. The population is ageing, and China will face major rising health costs for which it is poorly prepared. This will impose a significant burden on the economy and exacerbate growing inequality.
Second, China needs to change its economic model. In 1978, Deng Xiaoping wisely switched China from Maoist autarky to the East Asian export-led growth model successfully pioneered by Japan and Taiwan. Today, however, China has outgrown that model and the tolerance of foreign governments that made it possible. For example, US Trade Representative Robert Lighthizer is focusing on the lack of reciprocity, subsidies to state-owned enterprises (SOEs), and coerced intellectual property transfer that have allowed China to tilt the playing field in its favour. Europeans are also complaining about these issues. China’s intellectual property policies and rule-of-law deficiencies are discouraging foreign investment and costing it the international political support such investment often brings. And China’s high rates of government investment and subsidies to SOEs disguise inefficiency in the allocation of capital.
Third, while China for more than three decades picked the low-hanging fruit of relatively easy reforms, the changes it needs to make now are much more difficult to introduce: an independent judiciary, rationalisation of SOEs, and liberalisation or elimination of the hukou system of residential registration, which limits mobility and fuels inequality. Moreover, Deng’s political reforms to separate the party and the state have been reversed by Xi.
That brings us to the fourth problem. Ironically, China has become a victim of its success. The Leninist model imposed by Mao in 1949 fit well with Chinese imperial tradition, but rapid economic development has changed China and its political needs. China has become an urban middle-class society, but its ruling elites remain trapped in circular political reasoning. They believe that only the Communist Party can save China and that any reforms must strengthen the party’s monopoly on power.
But this is exactly what China does not need. Deep structural reforms that can move China away from reliance on high levels of government investment and SOEs are opposed by party elites who derive tremendous wealth from the existing system. Xi’s anti-corruption campaign can’t overcome this resistance; instead, it is merely discouraging initiative. On a recent visit to Beijing, a Chinese economist told me that Xi’s campaign cost China 1% of GDP per year. A Chinese businessman told me real growth was less than half the official figure. Perhaps this can be countered by the private sector’s dynamism, but even there, fear of losing of control is increasing the party’s role.
Finally, there is China’s soft-power deficit. Xi has proclaimed a ‘Chinese Dream’ of a return to global greatness. As economic growth slows and social problems increase, the party’s legitimacy will increasingly rest on such nationalist appeals. Over the past decade, China has spent billions of dollars to increase its attractiveness to other countries, but international opinion polls show that China has not gained a good return on its investment. Repressing ethnic minorities, jailing human-rights lawyers, creating a surveillance state and alienating creative members of civil society such as renowned artist Ai Weiwei undercut China’s attraction in Europe, Australia and the US.
Such policies may not hurt China’s reputation in some authoritarian states, but modern authoritarianism is not ideologically based the way communism was. Decades ago, young revolutionaries around the world were inspired by Mao’s teachings. Today, although ‘Xi Jinping thought on socialism with Chinese characteristics’ has been enshrined in the party constitution, few young people in other countries are carrying that banner.
China is a country with great strengths, but also important weaknesses. American strategy should avoid exaggerating either. China will increase in importance, and the US–China relationship will be a cooperative rivalry. We must not forget either part of that description. No country, including China, is likely to surpass the US in overall power in the next decade or two, but the US will have to learn to share power as China and others gain strength. By maintaining its international alliances and domestic institutions, America will have a comparative advantage.
There’s been a vigorous debate of late in Australia about the extent of Chinese government interference in domestic politics. Less has been said about what occurs on our university campuses. Pressure from the Chinese government comes in numerous ways, including censoring discussion topics, putting students from China under surveillance, and threatening those who participate in protests or events China deems sensitive.
The Australian government has focused more on Chinese political influence and on criminalising acts of foreign interference. It has also created a register to improve transparency of organisations and institutions working on behalf of foreign governments and political bodies.
Beyond these reforms, colleges and universities can do several practical things to protect academic freedom. After all, Chinese students enrol in our universities to get an Australian education and that should come with a strong guarantee of academic freedom.
Education is now Australia’s third largest export. In 2018, 255,896 Chinese students studied in Australia, nearly a third of the total international student cohort. University officials talk about the risks of being overly financially reliant on these students—but they’re barely talking at all about the risks that students from China are grappling with every day on those campuses.
Last month, Human Rights Watch released a 12-point code of conduct as a guideline for colleges and universities to respond to Chinese government threats to academic freedom. The code is based on more than 100 interviews between 2015 and 2018 in Australia, Canada, France, the United Kingdom and the United States with academics, administrators and students, including some from China.
Our research found that the Chinese state’s repressive apparatus follows students from China to Australia. Some university students from China have reported that other students from China monitor what they say and do. These students have described warnings by Chinese officials to refrain from criticising the Chinese government in classroom discussions. Several academics told Human Rights Watch about incidents in which Chinese students described intimidation of their families in China because of what students had said in the classroom, or because they joined certain activities or demonstrations.
Some China scholars in Australia also censor and self-censor critical discussions. Concerns and fears about getting visas, threats to students or colleagues, and fear of irking administrators and nationalist students are all factors. One academic told me, ‘Increasingly there are these “no-go zones” that very few people are willing to research, to give public comment on, especially controversial issues like Xinjiang and Tibet.’ Another said he had been discouraged from assigning his course a ‘sensitive’ title. Many of those we interviewed said they modified their remarks inside and outside the classroom for fear of not being able to visit China or of losing funding sources, or of causing problems for Chinese students.
Many academics described discomfort with the presence of Confucius Institutes, which offer classes in Chinese language and culture, on their campuses. While this sounds like the British Council or Alliance Française, in fact the institutes are effectively outposts of China’s education ministry and are fundamentally incompatible with a robust commitment to academic freedom.
Confucius Institutes actively take steps to censor certain topics and perspectives in course materials on political grounds and take political loyalty into consideration in hiring decisions. Chinese Communist Party speeches have openly described the institutes as ‘an important part of China’s overseas propaganda set-up’. Victoria University in Melbourne cancelled the screening of a documentary critical of the institutes after the university’s own Confucius Institute complained. In the US, several universities have closed or announced the closure of Confucius Institutes in part because of concerns about academic freedom. The 13 Australian universities with Confucius Institutes should seriously consider following suit.
The code of conduct provides other practical measures that universities can take to support both academic freedom and freedom of expression. For instance, universities can express commitments to these ideals though public documents, institutional policies and internal guidelines. And they should ensure that students are aware of policies in support of academic freedom, by including those commitments in orientation materials, handbooks and honour codes. The code also urges universities to work together and make joint statements and complaints with other universities in response to visa denials or other obstacles to research in China.
Besides these active measures, universities also need to respond forcefully to harassment, intimidation and threats to academic freedom. Tracking incidents of Chinese government infringements against academic freedom, including reporting annually on the number and nature of such incidents, and developing robust independent systems so that acts of retaliation or pressure can be privately or anonymously reported, are key.
Equally important, Australia needs to ensure that students and scholars from China feel truly integrated and supported, so that they are less reliant on organisations with ties to the Chinese government, including the Chinese Students and Scholars Association. Not only should all campus organisations be required to disclose their ties to foreign governments, but universities themselves should annually disclose all sources and amounts of funding that come directly or indirectly from the Chinese government.
Given the behaviour of the Chinese state, having many students from China studying in Australian universities means that safeguarding academic freedom can’t be taken for granted. As one academic told me, ‘One of our biggest failings as universities in Australia is that we don’t try to critically engage with those students in terms of their views about their country. Intimidation but also our increasing dependency on China leads to self-censorship and making decisions that are detrimental to academic freedoms.’
Late last year, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi made his first visit to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. The union territory, far from the Indian mainland and often forgotten in its history, is the location of the Andaman and Nicobar Command (ANC), India’s first and so far its only tri-service command. Modi’s visit highlighted steady security developments in and around the Andaman Sea, reflecting the revival of those waters’ strategic value.
For much of India’s post-independence history, the remote waters of the Andaman Sea remained undisturbed. Now, however, maritime competition in the Indo-Pacific is reversing that status. China and India are jostling for influence in the Indian Ocean. The US, Japan, Australia and ASEAN are in the mix, too.
Subzones such as the Bay of Bengal and the Andaman Sea are important theatres of action. Flanked by littorals to its north and east and the Malacca Strait to the southeast, the Andaman Sea contains strategically indispensable sea lines of communication critical for energy and trade. It’s indubitably a keystone for maritime influence and security in the Indo-Pacific. Consequently, it’s lately become a focus for security developments.
In securing the Andaman Sea, Delhi’s attention has naturally focused on enhancing the capacities of the ANC. Since taking office, the Modi administration has shown a pronounced intent in this regard. In late January, the Indian Navy commissioned its third naval base, INS Kohasa, on North Andaman Island, after a slew of earlier developments there. Last year, the navy established a ‘joint logistics node’ at the ANC to organise tri-service activities, procurement and movement. It also inaugurated a second floating dock at Port Blair to assist in ship repairs for different classes of ships.
In 2017, the navy upgraded the Baaz naval station at Campbell Bay with an extended runway and operating bases. In November 2017, the ANC conducted the five-day ‘Defence of Andaman and Nicobar’ exercise. The operation, involving multiple forces and resources, sought to test the defence response of the ANC through cross-service simulations and drills. The government also gave environmental clearance for a long-range-missile testing facility to be set up at Rutland Island, close to South Andaman Island, in 2018.
However, India doesn’t intend to go it alone. Modi’s first visit to Jakarta in May last year yielded a bilateral ‘Shared Vision for Maritime Cooperation in the Indo-Pacific’. The comprehensive document earmarks Andaman and Nicobar for enhanced connectivity with Indonesia’s Sumatra Island and the port of Sabang in particular. Shortly after Modi’s visit, INS Sumitra, an Indian Navy ship, made a port call at Sabang. More recently, an Indian Coast Guard vessel, INS Vijit, visited Sabang as well. A pending Indo-Japanese acquisition and cross-servicing agreement is also expected to include provisions for the ANC to host Japanese warships.
India is also continuing existing maritime exercises in the zone and looking to develop new ones. The ANC currently carries out the multilateral MILAN exercise in the region, along with annual bilateral ‘coordinated patrols’ in the sea with Thailand, Myanmar and Indonesia. The Singapore–India Maritime Bilateral Exercise (SIMBEX) takes place there as well. The silver jubilee of SIMBEX last year involved the largest participation yet from both sides, including ‘multidimensional drills’ involving several types of ships and aircraft and live weapons firing.
A new trilateral exercise in the Andaman Sea, involving India, Singapore and Thailand, is set to begin in 2019.
India isn’t the only major power paying attention to the Andaman Sea. The presence of the sea lines of communication has long engendered Beijing’s strategic interest in the region. Chinese activities in the zone are notable. There are reports of submarines of the People’s Liberation Army Navy being seen near the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
Concurrently, Beijing has invested in strategic infrastructure projects in littoral states to project influence. One such undertaking is the Kra Canal, which is a means of bypassing the Malacca Strait by a waterway between the South China and Andaman seas. In 2018, Thailand began feasibility studies for the canal, and Chinese investors have reportedly committed US$30 billion towards the project. Under a bilateral agreement signed in 2017, Thailand is also procuring submarines from China to ‘protect [its] natural resources in the Andaman Sea’.
Further north, China is assisting Myanmar in developing Kyaukpyu port. The two sides concluded an agreement to develop the port in November 2018, and China is committing over a billion dollars in investment. Although the objective of these developments is ostensibly to promote trade and commerce, their implications for security in the Andaman Sea are hardly obscure.
The Andaman Sea’s rising profile is also important for countries outside the littoral basin. Australia is a case in point, having thrown its weight behind the Indo-Pacific strategic concept. Experts have already stated that Australia’s Indo-Pacific efforts should be focused in the Bay of Bengal, and Canberra has participated in Indian-led maritime ventures such as MILAN and, from time to time, the Malabar exercises.
Given the increasing strategic value of the Andaman Sea, Australia could look to include it as an area for cooperation under existing mechanisms such as the multilateral Indo-Pacific Endeavour and bilateral AUSINDEX maritime exercises.
China’s problem with terrorism has until recently been largely isolated to the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region in the far northwest of the country. However, that’s been changing as Uyghur militancy and terrorism increasingly impinge on Chinese interests in Central Asia, South Asia and the Middle East. China’s response to terrorism is now marked by domestically and internationally oriented postures.
Domestically, Beijing’s explicit framing of Uyghur opposition as directly inspired or supported by externally based militant jihadist organisations has been used to justify the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP’s) implementation of a pervasive security state in Xinjiang and the mass internment of up to a million Uyghurs in ‘re-education’ facilities.
Internationally, the existence of Uyghur militants abroad (particularly in Afghanistan and Syria, fighting under the banner of the al-Qaeda-affiliated Turkestan Islamic Party), combined with President Xi Jinping’s signature foreign policy agenda, the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), has ensured that counterterrorism is now a prominent interest in Chinese diplomacy throughout Central Asia, South Asia and the Middle East.
Since 9/11, China has labelled incidents of violence in Xinjiang as the work of the al-Qaeda-aligned (and originally Afghanistan-based) East Turkestan Islamic Movement and Turkestan Islamic Party. However, there’s little evidence that either of those groups ever successfully mounted an attack in Xinjiang.
Nonetheless, a number of high-profile terrorist attacks in or related to Xinjiang in recent years—such as the October 2013 SUV attack in Tiananmen Square and the April 2014 Kunming railway station mass stabbing attack—prompted the CCP to embark on a ‘people’s war against terrorism’ that has resulted in significant changes in the ideological, legal and institutional underpinnings of Chinese counterterrorism policy.
The regional government’s expenditure on public security ballooned in 2017, amounting to approximately US$9.1 billion, a 92% increase on such spending in 2016. Much of the money has been absorbed by the development of a pervasive, hi-tech ‘surveillance state’ in the region. The system includes facial-recognition software and iris scanners at checkpoints, train stations and petrol stations; biometric data-collection for passports; mandatory apps to cleanse smartphones of potentially subversive material; surveillance drones.
Significantly, the system relies not only on technology but also on manpower to monitor, analyse and respond to the data it collects. Its rollout has thus coincided with the recruitment of an estimated 90,000 new public security personnel in the region.
Over the past few years, China has introduced a suite of counterterrorism laws, starting with national legislation in December 2015, followed by legislation for Xinjiang in August 2016 and regulations on ‘de-extremification’ in Xinjiang in March 2017. Much of the legislative agenda has been explicitly framed by the Chinese authorities as constituting a preventive approach akin to that undertaken under the rubric of ‘countering violent extremism’ by a variety of other states to address the causes of terrorism.
Central to that approach is the concept of ‘de-extremification’. According to the Xinjiang regional government’s own March 2017 regulations, ‘extremification’ refers to ‘speech and actions under the influence of extremism, that imbue radical religious ideology, and reject and interfere with normal production and livelihood’ and can include 15 ‘primary expressions’ of ‘extremist thinking’, including wearing beards, headscarves and veils and selecting ‘irregular’ names for Uyghur children.
‘Extremism’ is therefore clearly identified as inherent to everyday markers of Uyghur identity, resulting in the securitisation of ‘all religious behaviours, not just violent ones’.
Uyghurs are now conceived of as an almost biological threat to the health of society. Government officials have described Uyghur ‘terrorism’ as a ‘tumour’ to be eradicated and Islamic observance as akin to drug addiction. The mass detention and ‘re-education’ centres thus emerge as part of the CCP’s ‘cure’ for such pathologies.
As dystopian and disturbing as this is, it’s also now clear that China is seeking to both embed its Xinjiang-centric counterterrorism focus within its diplomatic relations and export the methods and technologies that have underpinned its ‘surveillance state’ in Xinjiang.
Beijing has pushed its counterterrorism agenda in the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation in Central Asia since its founding in June 2001, focusing the organisation on combating the ‘three evils’ of ‘separatism, terrorism and extremism’. This has included regular ‘anti-terror’ exercises by SCO militaries, intelligence sharing, and closer police and law enforcement cooperation between Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Of particular note have been agreements for the ‘guaranteed extradition’ of individuals on shared ‘blacklists’ in violation of international law.
China is also seeking to target the Uyghur diaspora beyond its borders—including in Australia—with its system of surveillance by creating ‘a global registry of Uighurs who live outside of China, threatening to detain their relatives if they don’t provide personal and identifying information to Chinese police’.
Potentially more far-reaching is the fact that Xi’s multibillion-dollar BRI is intended to invest not only in physical infrastructure, but also in the infrastructure and technology necessary to create a ‘digital Silk Road’. Much of the investment is coming from many of the same tech companies—such as Alibaba, Huawei and ZTE—that have been heavily involved in establishing the surveillance apparatus in Xinjiang. That experience has enabled them to ‘incubate’ and ‘mature within a strict set of Chinese controls and grow profitable before going global’.
Beijing’s focus on the ‘digital Silk Road’ has provided these companies with expansion opportunities in a variety of BRI partner countries as far afield as Zimbabwe, Venezuela, Malaysia and Mongolia.
Ultimately, the evolution of China’s counterterrorism efforts amounts to a cautionary tale in the ‘war on terror’.
China has effectively instrumentalised the threat of Uyghur ‘terrorism’ both within its domestic governance of Xinjiang and in its diplomacy to repress and control Uyghur identity and autonomist aspirations. Its more recent efforts at forging the ‘digital Silk Road’, meanwhile, raise the possibility that the ‘presence of Chinese engineers, managers, and diplomats will reinforce a tendency among developing countries, especially those with authoritarian governments’, to adopt China’s approach of ensuring that technology serves the interests of a homogeneous state.
Speaking about his politically embattled company’s chances to build national 5G networks, Huawei founder and CEO Ren Zhengfei recently told the BBC, ‘If the lights go out in the West, the East will still shine. And if the North goes dark, there is still the South.’
He’s right. Unless something changes in the near future, Huawei is going to win the fight for 5G in the developing world.
It will win not on political strategy, or on diplomacy, or on bizarre public communications campaigns, but for the same reasons that Chinese companies have come to dominate so many other industries—because it can produce at huge scale for a cheaper price than its competitors.
Huawei isn’t just undercutting its competitors on price; it’s also a leader in the field in 5G research and is playing a central role in setting global standards for the technology. China invested early and deeply in 5G development, and is rapidly moving ahead of other nations in its domestic implementation of 5G networks.
Building 5G networks is extraordinarily expensive. 5G networks are significantly denser than their 3G and 4G predecessors and require the construction of a huge number of additional base stations, particularly in urban environments (because 5G operates at a higher frequency bandwidth which often cannot pass through obstacles such as buildings, for example). It will also require the rollout of massive multiple-input multiple-output (MIMO) antennas and a range of other changes to existing infrastructure, at a cost ranging from the billions to the hundreds of billions depending on the size of the network.
Price, not politics, will be the decisive factor for many nations when deciding which companies will be permitted to tender for their national 5G networks.
Huawei claims that its equipment is smaller, lighter and cheaper than its competitors’ and has 30% lower energy consumption, making it both easier to deploy and less expensive to maintain.
Even some of the wealthiest nations in the world, and the US’s closest allies, are clearly factoring cost into their decisions on whether to follow the US and Australia in banning Huawei from their 5G builds. Germany’s telco companies have been pressuring the German government, which is reportedly seeking a ‘no spy’ deal with China, to allow Huawei to participate in Germany’s national 5G networks.
Meanwhile, Huawei is trumpeting at least 30 5G contracts around the world, from Turkey to Iceland, and from Monaco to South Africa.
If nations as wealthy as Switzerland and Saudi Arabia are picking Huawei (and their bank accounts) in the face of US displeasure, we cannot realistically expect developing countries without such deep pockets to choose differently.
It’s important to avoid making the same mistakes that surrounded the ‘debt-trap diplomacy’ debate, which at times has taken on patronising, paternalistic undertones based on the barely veiled implication that developing nations somehow either don’t know or don’t understand that China’s loan largesse comes with strings attached.
It’s entirely possible, and rational, for governments in developing states to recognise the risks associated with Huawei, and decide that a 5G network which the Chinese government knows a little too much about is still preferable to no 5G network at all. If their budget allows for Huawei or nothing, then it will be Huawei, and no amount of huffing and puffing from the US and its allies will make a difference.
Exactly what action they should take is up for debate. Any option, whether it’s conditional development aid or boosting Huawei’s competitors, will inevitably come with drawbacks as well as benefits, including the risk of further splintering the global internet.
If the US and its allies, including Australia, are serious about trying to limit the global spread of Huawei’s 5G dominance, they need to move beyond simply telling other nations to say ‘No’ and find ways to promote affordable alternative options.
It doesn’t get much bigger than attacking the home of democracy—parliament house—and a country’s major political parties only months out from a federal election.
In his statement on these attacks, Prime Minister Scott Morrison said there was no evidence of ‘electoral interference’. But elections aside, there is a much broader question here about what these attacks might mean.
By being caught with its hands squarely in the cookie jar, this ‘sophisticated state actor’ guaranteed that its actions would garner global media attention. It has also, likely unintentionally, placed itself smack in the middle of an ongoing public debate about ‘foreign interference’ in Australia.
Let’s cut to the chase: Chinese state intelligence was probably involved in the breach. This was a sophisticated attack that used a suite of new malware and techniques that—at the time—weren’t detected by almost all malware-detection software. Building a new toolset of this type takes considerable time and effort, and although Russia, North Korea, Iran and Israel undoubtedly have the capability, Australia is simply not a high enough priority for those countries to expend their finite cyber espionage resources on this kind of advanced attack. The Chinese state, however, has the motive, the capability and an extensive track record.
But we will only know who is responsible for the attacks if the government chooses to tell us, and that’s where things get tricky.
The Australian government has been reluctant to ‘name and shame’ states engaged in cyber operations—what is known as ‘attribution’. It has formally blamed Russia several times for malicious cyber behaviour that hasn’t involved obvious Australian interests, but has named China only once. In that December 2018 attribution, which occurred after Chinese hacking in Australia that affected industry, universities and think tanks, the government focused on the theft of intellectual property for commercial gain and was drawing a distinction between ‘acceptable’ intelligence that seeks to uncover government or military secrets and ‘unacceptable’ intelligence for commercial advantage.
It is also notable that this formal attribution was conducted collectively with many other affected countries. Safety in numbers matters when China’s approach to international engagement is taking an increasingly coercive and vengeful tone. And let’s face it, while it may not be effective in dissuading further attacks, remaining silent is often the more palatable option from a political and diplomatic perspective.
So the first prerequisite for the Australian government to formally name the attacker would be for its purpose to have been ‘unacceptable’ espionage. In parliament and political parties there wouldn’t be much commercially valuable intellectual property at stake, but perhaps this attack could be a form of foreign interference?
It’s clear that this act of cyber espionage isn’t, in and of itself, an act of foreign interference. Intelligence, at least in Western countries, is typically used to gain insights and to inform our government positions and plans. From this perspective, the highest priority targets would be government departments and ministers, but it’s not hard to imagine how information about the powerbrokers and personalities of parliament could be used to refine and hone a foreign government’s posture and diplomatic approach.
Another possibility that doesn’t involve foreign interference is that the hacker was after our political parties’ campaign databases. There is already good evidence that Chinese state intelligence is hoovering up large datasets to enhance its intelligence-gathering and counter-intelligence efforts. If Chinese state intelligence was behind this attack, it’s possible that these comprehensive campaign databases could be a useful addition to the data they have already collected.
It is worrying, however, that the Liberal, Labor and National parties were targeted. The more that intelligence-gathering extends beyond government and parliament, the less likely it is that any intelligence gained will provide any insight into official government positions, and the more useful it would be for interference activities.
One way this espionage could be used for foreign interference is—as seen in the 2016 US presidential election—through the release of stolen campaign emails to damage a particular party or candidate and sway public opinion. But this tactic is now embedded in the public consciousness and our political parties and media could well respond in a way that is detrimental to the attacker.
But a far subtler, more covert, and much more difficult to detect form of foreign interference could be the use of the stolen information to identify politicians and staffers who may be susceptible to influence, enable future relationships with them and find points of leverage that might convince, cajole or coerce them into a supportive position. An in-depth understanding of our political parties and the machinations of parliament—the exact targets of this hack—would be far more helpful in enabling this kind of interference than it would be in illuminating our official decision-making processes.
Forensic investigation of these breaches is difficult and time-consuming, and the attacker took active steps to hide its tracks. The investigation is in its early stages, and the culprit may never be officially identified, but knowing what was stolen will be key to formulating a response and preparing for any interference that may occur in the future.
This attack may never be classified as electoral interference, but the very public statements made by Morrison in parliament—the scene of the crime—make it unlikely that it will be brushed under the carpet. While the short-term focus is on securing the systems in parliament and our political parties, we also need to face the far more difficult, long-term task of protecting our political systems and democracy from undue influence.
Scott Morrison’s shock announcement in parliament that the three major political parties have had their computer systems hacked by a ‘sophisticated state actor’ will have impacts long after the federal election.
There’s a lot that we don’t know, including the identity of the attacker, although it’s likely that the agency with the lead role in ‘protecting Australia from cyber adversaries’, the Australian Signals Directorate, will be able to identify the perpetrator.
Here’s what we can say with certainty. This cyberattack comes hot on the heels of a widespread hack of the parliament’s IT system that is used by members and senators and their staff.
It is a sophisticated, sharply targeted operation that is clearly looking for political information rather than industrial intellectual property or financial information.
We also know that state-based cyberattacks on key Australian agencies, universities and businesses are increasing.
As ASIO’s 2017 annual report clearly stated: ‘The threat from espionage and foreign interference to Australian interests is extensive, unrelenting and increasingly sophisticated.’
We don’t yet know if the attackers were successful in exfiltrating information, but they have been able to get into the Liberal, Nationals and Labor computer networks, infecting those systems with computer codes, presumably to steal information and potentially corrupt data.
The major parties have large databases of information about voters based on the electoral roll and information gleaned through phone calls, doorknocking and other contacts.
These databases shape campaign plans down to individual households. Information on hundreds of thousands of people is recorded.
Political databases would offer intelligence-collection gems every bit as useful to cyber spies as, for example, the 500 million hotel registration records stolen from the Marriott hotel chain last year.
Beyond electoral data, political party IT systems will contain emails between senior officials and politicians, election plans, the files parties maintain about their opponents—all the things that intelligence agencies would want to collect from target countries.
Which country is responsible for this interference in our political system? Finding out is difficult, but there is no agency better placed to forensically identify the attacker than the ASD.
One can speculate about potential perpetrators by applying the well-tried indicators of suspicion in criminal investigation: which country has the means, motive and opportunity to commit the crime?
There are 193 member countries of the UN. Fewer than 10 would have the smarts and scale of cyber-intelligence capability to mount an attack as sophisticated as this. We can discount our allies, the US, Britain, New Zealand and Canada. The Five Eyes partners don’t spy on each other—they have no need to, because our political systems are largely open books to each other.
We know the Russians hacked the Democratic National Committee during the US presidential election in 2016. Russia’s broader intention seems to have been to weaken Hillary Clinton’s campaign and to favour that of Donald Trump.
Canberra has been a vocal critic of the Russian invasion of Crimea and of Moscow’s culpability in shooting down Malaysia Airlines flight MH17.
It’s just possible that Russian intelligence might be engaging in target practice, but the reality is that Russia doesn’t have any substantial stake in the outcome of the Australian election.
The attack is probably beyond the capabilities of the Iranians and North Koreans, nor again is there a motive.
China is the one country with the means and the motive to take on the risk of attacking Australia’s political parties.
We know Chinese intelligence services were responsible for attacks on parliament in the early 2000s, as well as on the Bureau of Meteorology and the Australian National University more recently.
Chinese intelligence tradecraft seeks out big-data holdings such as the Marriott booking records, and Beijing has a pressing interest in trying to halt the international contagion after Australia’s decision to block Chinese companies from the 5G mobile network.
More broadly, agents of the Chinese Communist Party have been seeking to suborn Australian political parties through donations and otherwise engaging in bullying tactics to shut opponents up.
This is the cyber equivalent of a smoking gun. Once the forensic work is done, the prime minister should make public the identity of the cyber attacker and then take steps to secure our political system against any further attempts by the Chinese Communist Party to influence it.
Bill Shorten’s reply to Morrison’s statement had an interesting sting in the tail, by suggesting that the national cyber coordinator role should be taken out of the Department of Home Affairs and report solely to the Australian Signals Directorate.
However it is organised, cybersecurity is a critical priority, including to protect the integrity of our voting systems at state and federal levels.
This attack is intolerable to a democracy and will surely have repercussions for relations with Beijing if, as I think is very likely, China’s Ministry of State Security is the cyber culprit.
If the past year is any indication of the year ahead, US policy in Asia will be erratic and self-serving. The beginnings of an Indo-Pacific strategy notwithstanding, the Trump administration continues to work out its issues with countries in the region bilaterally and sporadically.
Donald Trump’s trade confrontation with China is yet to produce a negotiated solution. The challenge is structural and no amount of Chinese promises to ‘buy American’ will fix the underlying problems.
The challenge posed by Chinese companies is felt far beyond the US government. The Department of Justice’s enforcement of US law on companies accused of commercial espionage and cyber theft is only strengthening. Beyond the high-profile detention in Canada and pending extradition of Huawei’s CFO Meng Wanzhou, numerous indictments of Chinese companies are being pursued.
Without real change in Beijing’s enforcement of intellectual property theft, simply shifting the trade balance towards a more favourable direction for the United States will be insufficient to address the economic strain.
Trump’s approach to China is not only about commerce. Vice President Mike Pence’s speech in October made that clear. A wide-ranging critique of China’s behaviour in the US and efforts to expand its influence abroad, the speech was welcomed by some in Asia as evidence that the US is ready to stand up to China.
But across the Indo-Pacific a more openly pugilistic US relationship with China unsettles nerves. Is it a ‘new cold war’? Not yet, but the US and China are clearly on a deeply contentious path. It’s an open question whether Washington is up to the challenge of engaging in sustained, strategic competition with Beijing and whether it can maintain the like-minded regional coalition that will be necessary.
A second challenge for Washington is realising the promise of threat reduction claimed by Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un in Singapore. The president is fond of declaring his administration’s diplomacy with Kim a success, but his own intelligence agencies disagree that North Korea is prepared to denuclearise.
Over the past year, to be sure, there were no missile or nuclear tests. Yet there was also no progress in getting Pyongyang to catalogue its nuclear and missile facilities or to open its production sites for international inspection. The on-again, off-again diplomacy to set up a second summit suggested a major setback. But Trump and Kim will now meet in Vietnam on 27 and 28 February.
Perhaps the most pervasive problem for US foreign-policymakers is not the behaviour of other global actors, in Asia or elsewhere. Crippling divisions within the Trump administration itself, and between the administration and the legislative and judicial branches of the US government, could make any attempt to marshal US resources into foreign relations almost impossible.
With the government shutdown, the Mueller investigation and its criminal indictments, and the increased scrutiny of Congress on the administration, it will be a year of domestic entanglement for the president and his White House.
The foreign policy consequences of this domestic turbulence cannot be overlooked. Already, the Trump administration’s decision-making has led to the loss of advisers with critical foreign policy expertise, such as former defence secretary Jim Mattis. There also seems to be a much-diminished capacity within the White House for organised intra-agency debate over US strategic priorities.
Some think that the president is now more empowered to act in line with his ambitions, and so foreign policy will become more aligned with his ‘America First’ premise. Perhaps that’s true. But even if there are fewer experts in the government to challenge Trump’s vision, he will still have to implement his goals. And that may become more difficult than ever.
Frustrations at home could just as easily produce even more brittle and reactive decision-making by the president, making it impossible to reach or implement meaningful agreements with others around the globe. Also worrisome is that, with all this domestic contest, the Trump administration will be overly eager to create evidence of foreign policy successes. Prematurely declaring victory in the trade war with China or in negotiations with North Korea could leave the region, and the globe, less stable.
As former deputy secretary of state Antony Blinken pointed out, for all the Trump administration’s breathless talk of crises, the president has yet to face a real challenge to US interests. A crisis could expose the administration’s haphazard decision-making procedures and its intragovernmental divisions. Congress is growing more active in trying to assert its role in a crisis, with some members proposing limits on the president’s use of nuclear weapons.
US success in mitigating strategic tensions with China is unlikely, and no US president has yet found the magic solution to persuading Pyongyang to abandon its nuclear quest.
Nor does Washington seem well placed to assist its friends and allies with their own problems. Of particular concern is the deteriorating relationship between Japan and South Korea. This is a moment that cries out for diplomatic assistance from countries like the US, which see what the heightened risk of a military clash could mean for the future of Northeast Asia.
Add to that the alarming signs that Trump really does want to step back from US treaty commitments to allies in NATO, South Korea and perhaps even Japan, and 2019 could end up being a far bigger watershed in US policy towards Asia than anyone cares to imagine.
One of the proudest boasts of the Coalition government is that it takes national security seriously, and it does. Over the next 10 years, Australia will spend $200 billion on defence in the nation’s largest ever peacetime rearmament program. As the federal election looms, it is fair to ask why we are doing it and what are we getting for it.
In simple terms, we are rearming because the strategic environment has changed dramatically, especially in the maritime domain. Almost half of that $200 billion is earmarked for the navy, $90 billion of which will go to building 56 warships in Australia. Unfortunately, the build won’t be complete until the mid-2050s.
Geography means that Australia’s livelihood is tied to the sea, with our security and prosperity dependent on access to the Pacific and Indian Oceans. Our exports must travel by ship to reach their destinations, and we rely on the sea lanes to import liquid fuel and other vital goods.
Australians tend to pay little attention to this simple fact because we have seldom had reason to. We have always allied with ‘great and powerful friends’ that could be counted on to keep our sea lanes open. Initially, the Royal Navy was Australia’s guarantor. Then the US Navy took its place—and in the 75 years since World War II, it hasn’t faced a peer competitor. But the strategic environment has changed. The US Navy, by its own admission, is not the globally dominant force we have long assumed it to be.
Both warship numbers and capabilities are important, especially if you accept global responsibilities. In 1989, the US Navy had 594 combat ships. Now it has 275. The US plans to rebuild to 355 ships, but admits that this can’t be achieved within 30 years and that the overall cost will be a third higher than that of today’s navy. And recent US defence budget increases are unlikely to last.
The US considers that the West is being challenged by four nations: China, Russia, Iran and North Korea. Both Australia and the US describe our regional geostrategic environment as the Indo-Pacific. Three of those four challengers are in our region. If things go bad, this has major implications for our region, our prosperity and our security.
The biggest challenge for our region and the world is the emergence of China as a great power.
China’s military is being restructured into one with a greater balance between its land, sea, air and rocket components, and we all know how good China’s cyber forces are.
A major part of the restructure is the priority given to the People’s Liberation Army Navy. Recently, Chinese President Xi Jinping declared that ‘the task of building a powerful navy has never been as urgent as it is today’ and urged the PLAN to ‘prepare for war’. Chinese military leaders talk often and openly about the PLAN’s ambition ‘to gain an ability like the US Navy so that it can conduct different operations globally’, and about how to defeat the US in the Pacific by sinking its aircraft carriers. China is investing massive resources into the PLAN, which is growing rapidly in its size and sophistication.
Analysis from the Center for Strategic and International Studies shows that the PLAN already has more deployable vessels than the US Navy. In the past five years, China launched more new vessels than the entire Royal Navy has. It was able to do that through large-scale investment in dual-use shipbuilding facilities as the world’s largest commercial shipbuilder.
China is also developing larger, more advanced vessels capable of longer-range operations. China’s second—and its first domestically built—aircraft carrier will enter service soon. It’s been suggested that the PLAN could eventually field up to six increasingly sophisticated carriers. China is also commissioning new amphibious assault ships capable of transporting marines and helicopters. A new line of cruisers, similar to the US Navy’s Ticonderoga-class Aegis-equipped cruisers, is being launched, as are new models of destroyers, frigates, corvettes and submarines. These are all ‘comparable in many respects to most modern Western warships’. We are witnessing the birth of a Chinese ‘blue water’ navy that will be able to conduct operations far from China’s coastline.
This is not about the South China Sea or other territorial waters claimed by the PRC. It is driven by a desire to project power on a global scale.
While he acknowledges that war is not inevitable, Graham Allison cautions that ‘war between the US and China in the decades ahead is not just possible but much more likely than currently recognized’, and that ‘by underestimating the danger … we add to the risk’. Over the last 500 years, there have been 16 occasions when a rising power has overtaken the dominant power. In 12 of them, war was the result.
It is dangerous to think that the US still dominates the world as it once did, given its global responsibilities, its diminished defence capability, its unpredictable national decision-making and the increasing strength of those that challenge it. This has monumental implications for Australian security when the US is still seen as the ‘centre pole’ of our defence.
The Coalition government’s spending on defence is wise, but a root-and-branch analysis resulting in an Australian national security strategy is the only way that Australia can assess whether our spend is enough, whether what we are buying is appropriate, and if we can afford to wait decades to rearm our military to deter conflict. The last thing we need is a new defence white paper. That would merely delay important decisions that are required now.
Given that anything in Australian defence takes decades to mature, an upcoming election is the perfect time to talk about the issue of defence and security.