Tag Archive for: Defence

In national security, governments still struggle to work with startups

AUKUS governments began 25 years ago trying to draw in a greater range of possible defence suppliers beyond the traditional big contractors. It is an important objective, and some progress has been made, but governments still lack key processes for getting technologies from disparate new suppliers into service.

This is leaving security gaps. Even if they are building economical dual-use products that should be easily adapted for national security purposes, many companies find it hard to work with the government.

For example, an intelligence service may be better able to detect a hostile state threat if it could use an investigative tool already sold to banks for monitoring financial transactions. But if working for the government takes too long, the vendor will simply stick with its financial customers.

The issues are complex, but the ball is in governments’ court. If governments want to benefit from vendor diversification in defence and security, they’ll have to be more open on the problems they are trying to solve, quicker to contract with startups and more willing to learn through rapid iteration.

Governments can seek to solve their hardest security-technology challenges in a few ways. They have traditionally tried to build the solution in house or have paid a large defence prime to do it. This century they’ve slowly realised that their hard problems are not always unique and that solutions already exist in the marketplace—just not within their traditional supplier base.

In 1999, the CIA set up In-Q-Tel and in 2004 US Grand Challenges were established; these were competitions open to many entrants, often newcomers. Britain has published technology challenges since 2008 and recently set up a Co-Creation Centre. Australia joined In-Q-Tel International in 2018 and has similar programs to engage the startup community.

That’s a lot of effort in the right direction. Yet governments still find it hard to engage with non-traditional suppliers. One reason stands out: officials trying to pull-through new capabilities have to fight against the system to take a risk on a novel supplier.

Venture capitalists, on the other hand, are prepared to take risks early, backing a company with millions of dollars based on potential sales. Many Silicon Valley investors actually discourage startups from trying to sell to governments, even if the products are directly relevant to national security or defence. Government sales are too sporadic and slow for them.

Unfortunately, the best choice for many companies is often to stick with making products for commercial customers and just being ready for government customers to turn up if they want to. The attitude is: ‘build it and (maybe) they will come.’

Governments would ideally be able to exploit a product for defence and security operational advantage before it reaches the open market. They now regretfully acknowledge that game-changing products are being sold before they can be exploited in secret.

The best approach to solving this is countercultural to organisations who want to keep everything under wraps secret and built in-house. The answer is to be more open, less secretive and to accept more risk.

Governments openly talk about what technologies they care about in the longer term (such as quantum or synthetic biology) and how they are improving what’s called ‘pull-through’—the gap between technology demonstration and deployment. The mechanisms include grand challenges, grants, co-investments and quick contracting.

But governments are not good at explaining why some technologies are important and where they will be deployed operationally, often because of a preference for secrecy. If a government takes years to build a technology platform in secret, the result is likely to be secure but will be quickly overtaken by commercial technology.

The conflict in Ukraine means military technology is being conceived, developed, tested and deployed at eye-watering speeds in front of social media and the public. Governments are only now being more open about the operational context in which the technology will be deployed, share specific requirements and constraints openly and upfront (that is, explain the why); meaning the right solution can be developed more quickly.

Britain is leading the way. For instance, the Ministry of Defence has publicly tendered for one way attack drones and autonomous maritime weapons for Ukraine.

Sharing of why and where technology will be deployed results in quicker operationalisation. New and better versions can be created with user feedback; the first version can be discarded and replaced with a new one, which itself might not last long as iterations appear. In this paradigm, the rapidity of pull-through becomes a source of operational security, because the adversary is forever trying to catch up on what you’re doing.

With more global competition and the West’s diminishing technological superiority demands government embrace proper processes to harness dual-use commercial technology—of the speed and scale that nimble companies normally focused on private customers can deliver. We must make it work.

Technology can make Team Australia fit for strategic competition

In the late 1970s Australian sport underwent institutional innovation propelling it to new heights. Today, Australia must urgently adapt to a contested and confronting strategic environment.

Contributing to this, a new ASPI research project will examine technology’s role in fostering national security innovation, particularly in transcending business as usual.

Australians love sport, especially the Olympics. They particularly love winning—even if they only beat New Zealand. Between 1956 and 1972 Australia won at least five golds (and 17 medals) at each summer games. This seemingly confirmed how effortless national success, prosperity and development were for the post-war ‘lucky country’.

And then the world changed.

Australia returned from Montreal 1976 with zero golds and just five medals. Humiliation was exacerbated by it being the first games broadcast in colour on Australian television. Worse, the Kiwis won two golds—even beating the Kookaburras at hockey.

Australia had missed the global shift in sports to professionalism and (sometimes questionable) sports science. Post-Montreal disquiet motivated Malcolm Fraser to reverse planned cuts and to establish the Australian Institute of Sport in 1981. Beyond the dollars, Australian sport underwent a profound cultural and psychological shift and continued to evolve: in May 2024 the Albanese government invested almost $250 million in the sport institute’s modernisation.

The result? Since 1981 Australia has won at least 20 medals at each summer games except 1988’s. We’ve even become regular winter medallists. Adaptation, innovation and commitment paid off.

Today much more consequential shockwaves are bearing upon Australian prosperity and sovereignty: the prospect of Chinese hegemony in our hemisphere; convulsions in US policy and relationships; and the metastasising threat environment described in the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation’s 2025 Annual Threat Assessment.

Since the late 2010s, governments of both persuasions have rhetorically recognised the magnitude of the challenge. In 2020, the then prime minister said Australia was facing ‘one of the most challenging times we have known since the 1930s and the early 1940s’. According to a press release from Defence Minister Richard Marles, ‘Australia faces the most complex and challenging strategic environment since the Second World War.’ Prime Minister Anthony Albanese describes ‘a time of profound geopolitical uncertainty’. Foreign Minister Penny Wong says it’s ‘nothing less than a contest over the way our region and our world work’.

So, where’s the imperative to address this ‘new world disorder’? We’re still not organising like a nation under this sort of challenge—despite warnings in ASIO’s threat assessments, the Defence Strategic Review and the National Defence Strategy. How do we create traction? How do we overcome the capacity gap of a nation of 26 million in a region of 4.3 billion?

Like after the 1976 Olympics, this isn’t just about budgets. It’s about creating cultural shift and encouraging and implementing novel, innovative ways of working—particularly through opportunities presented by technology.

A new research project by ASPI’s Statecraft & Intelligence Centre, in collaboration with Australian technologists Penten, is exploring the application of Australian sovereign technologies (including secure mobility) to business-as-usual work practices inside national security agencies. This aims to show how technology may foster innovation, bridge the capacity gap and sustain capabilities.

The project also explores how agencies and staff can access effective, secure tools so that ‘working better’ doesn’t become ‘working around’—which would introduce security and governance risks highlighted in a recent report by the Office of the Australian Information Commissioner and shown by the Signalgate debacle in the United States.

Agency-level focus recognises that national adaptation will need to be comprehensive, including not just big-picture government and societal changes but organisational and workplace-level reforms. What’s more, it comes as historically significant investments are creating opportunities to transform default ways of working. This is also happening as the recently released Independent Intelligence Review finds that ‘the business model for meeting the intelligence needs of executive government is no longer keeping up with demand and needs re-imagining’ and, separately, that the National Intelligence Community must ‘work hard at recruitment and retention’.

Using internationally tested secure mobility options inside and outside high security spaces doesn’t simply promise convenience and speed. They offer possibilities for better bridging the interface between intelligence producers and consumers—moving beyond pieces of paper (and electronic versions of pieces of paper) to meet actual information preferences of a new generation of ministers, officials and war fighters. This in turn will transform how intelligence is generated, presented and evaluated.

Making IT use and IT-linked work practices inside national security facilities look more like 2025 and less like 1995 isn’t a nice-to-have. It’s an important shift towards meeting expectations of current and future workforce talent. Meeting their needs would improve retention and thereby addresses a key national security vulnerability.

These are just two examples of possibilities being explored as part of the ASPI-Penten project, which will report later this year and provide practical, implementable advice to the broader national security community – while building on the IIR’s findings and recommendations.

Business as usual didn’t cut it in sport 50 years ago. It definitely won’t cut it in the unforgiving international arena today—or tomorrow.

Think laterally: government air and shipping services can boost Australian defence

US President Donald Trump’s unconventional methods of conducting international relations will compel the next federal government to reassess whether the United States’ presence in the region and its security assurances provide a reliable basis for Australia’s national defence strategy. There is reason to doubt that Trump’s US would unequivocally help defend Australia in a war.

Australia must become more self-reliant in defence while increasingly demonstrating that it is a valuable ally to the US worth American commitment to its security. A dilemma is how to strengthen defence while minimising cost.

Imaginative thinking is needed. Conventional boundaries between the civil and military domains should be removed.

The federal government recently said it was prepared to acquire Regional Express to avoid the airline’s financial collapse. But the government could nationalise the airline as a defence enterprise. The airline’s staff—including pilots, engineers and air and ground crews—could mainly be permanent and reserve defence personnel. It could provide passenger and freight services to all major remote and regional Australian communities, improving their access to essential services and markets. The airline could also provide transport for defence personnel and stores, and for their families on remote bases. The resource and other sectors could also be incentivised to use the airline.

The airline could eventually take over national responsibility for emergency aeromedical services, search and rescue, border security, maritime surveillance, aerial firefighting and other specialised national aviation tasks. It would benefit from an expansion of the federal government’s remote airstrip upgrade program. The airline, its facilities, and personnel would also be available for use in civil defence such as national emergencies and in wartime.

Such an airline would effectively be an auxiliary air force. It would provide new options for government, and increased capability for defence planners if the aircraft types that were operated also had useful military variants. The cost of operating the airline would be covered by revenue and from other parts of the federal budget.

The federal government announced a pilot program in September to create a ‘maritime strategic fleet’ to ensure supply of essential resources during national emergencies. If this strategic fleet were a defence enterprise, the ships could be captained and principally crewed by permanent and reserve defence personnel, with a narrower focus on providing support to our naval operations as well as those of the US and other allies.

The concept of a strategic fleet could be changed to that of an auxiliary naval fleet, still using defence personnel, which conducted commercial-like activities that supported Australia’s engagement and geostrategic interests in our near regions. This could also reduce some of the pressures on the navy.

The icebreaker operated by the government’s Antarctic Division could become one of several that are used to increase Australia’s presence and activities in Antarctica. The US and other allies could contribute to the cost of operating icebreakers, as these vessels would support their own Antarctic programs. And Australia could have cruise and cargo ships support our Pacific development and engagement programs. The ships could also be partly crewed by Pacific islanders to maximise regional economic benefits. They would also be designed to support humanitarian, littoral and supply operations. Such commercial activities would cover some of the operating costs of these ships.

Our defence force must be based on a new form of service, where our personnel are neither permanent nor reserve as organised by the current model. A new model of service would attract people because it offers a mixture of civil and military opportunities, more career options and longevity and does not isolate the person from broader civil occupations or professions. The defence force would increase its size and broadening its skills and experience while contributing to the national economy.

National mobilisation cannot meet the sudden needs of national defence. And conscription or requisition won’t be accepted if the foundations for civil defence are not already there. Mixed purpose industries can foster a civic culture of service. They would also ensure broader skills and training in defence personnel and broader society.

We need to change our thinking about defence spending as another demand on strained budgets to how defence and the economy support and reinforce each other. Our national activities should act as triple levers, adding to our means of defence, national resilience and thus to strategic deterrence.

Australia must become more self-reliant for our national defence while meaningfully contributing more to collective security. That requires us to become more imaginative with how we respond to our strategic risks, and exploit our strategic advantages, to avoid simply burdening the national economy further. Australia needs to bring together its civil and military domains. Only then can we remain a free, prosperous and secure nation.

Life after D-notices: Australia can learn from Britain’s updated system

For decades, Britain and Australia had much the same process for regulating media handling of defence secrets. It was the D-notice system, under which media would be asked not to publish.

The two countries diverged when, around 1982, Australia’s much-maligned D-notice system fell into disuse. Britain kept but progressively overhauled its framework, eventually creating the Defence and Security Media Advisory (DSMA) system in 2015.

Something like Britain’s DSMA system could have significant benefits for Australian government and media and has been recommended by, for instance, the Independent National Security Legislation Monitor. Although the present monitor, Jake Blight, assesses that Australian government and media don’t trust each other enough to make it work.

A successful Australian system would require deliberate steps to build the trust which underpins the British system. But this could be achievable through: careful appointments, a media-led approach (including a media-majority committee), a clear separation from national security laws, and ongoing engagement between the press and national security agencies.

A healthy tension between government and the media is fundamental to democracy, ensuring transparency while holding power to account. In national security, however, this balance is particularly delicate—too much disclosure can compromise capabilities and lives, while excessive secrecy risks unchecked power, eroding public trust and democratic oversight. Balance is essential to safeguard national security and maintain confidence in the institutions that protect it.

A structured space for dialogue between government and media could help balance openness and security by allowing the government to convey national security concerns and ensuring the media’s editorial independence.

Today in Britain, the DSMA Committee oversees a voluntary system centred on five standing DSMA-notices covering military operations, weapons systems, military and intelligence techniques, physical property and assets, and personnel (and their families) who work in sensitive positions.

Each notice sets out why inadvertent disclosure of certain information should be prevented and requests that editors and journalists seek advice from the DSMA secretary before publicly disclosing related material. The DSMA Committee meets twice a year (and other times as necessary) to consider these notices, the system as a whole and requests for advice.

The DSMA Secretariat comprises Secretary Brigadier (Retired) Geoffrey Dodds, assisted by Deputy Secretaries Captain (Retired) Jon Perkins and Lieutenant Commander (Retired) Stephen Dudley. The wider committee includes senior officials from the Home Office, Ministry of Defence, Foreign Office and Cabinet Office on the government side.

Balancing this, 20 senior media representatives—including chief editors from major print and digital outlets—ensure broad industry engagement and representation. The committee operates at the intersection of national security and press freedom: it is chaired by the Ministry of Defence’s director general of security policy, supported by ITN’s head of compliance as vice-chair.

In contrast to the now defunct D-notice approach, the DSMA system is widely regarded in a positive light by, remarkably, both media and government actors. It holds significant promise for Australia, which could learn four key lessons from Britain.

First, the secretary must have full security access and extensive experience and must earn the trust and backing of media representatives. This is an important but challenging requirement. The appointment of trusted individuals shifts the focus away from the unrealistic goal of full institutional trust and instead ensures credibility through the reputation and independence of key personnel.

Second, the committee must be media-led. It consists of a strong majority of respected industry professionals who uphold press freedom, public interest and expertise in media practices.

Third, the DSMA system must remain advisory. It operates within the editorial sphere to balance national security and public access to information, free from legal enforcement or censorship. Clear separation between the system and national security laws prevents legal entanglements and ensures the process remains advisory rather than regulatory, let alone investigative or prosecutorial.

Finally, the system must be genuinely voluntary. An editor or journalist can choose to ignore DSMA advice. Trust will develop in practice rather than existing as a prerequisite through education and ongoing engagement between media and security officials.

Altogether, the idea of ‘slapping a D-notice’ on something as a form of censorship does not apply. The committee’s media-led nature means the secretariat draws insights from leading editors and media players in formulating its advice, which carries the weight of those actors as well as the secretariat itself.

Ultimately, the DSMA system’s relative success lies in trust, respect and shared interests. At their core, media and government serve the public interest. Neither is interested in unethical (or even sloppy) journalism. Both pursue the well-being and security of the nation and its people.

What can emerge from the DSMA system are negotiated outcomes in which crucial parts of a story can be told (from a journalist’s perspective) without disclosing truly problematic information (from a security standpoint). That discussion must be had from a position of mutual trust and respect.

This article has been corrected to say that the Australian D-notice system fell into disuse around 1982 and to correctly state the title ‘Independent National Security Legislation Monitor’.

Looking back to look forward, 10 years after the First Principles Review

Exactly 10 years ago, the then minister for defence, Kevin Andrews, released the First Principles Review: Creating One Defence (FPR). With increasing talk about the rising possibility of major power-conflict, calls for Defence funding to increase to at least 3 percent of GDP, and questions raised about Defence’s ability to spend the money appropriated to it, it is the perfect time to assess whether Defence created the sustainable and enduring business model that the Review championed.

The FPR was commissioned in August 2014 by the predecessor of Andrews, David Johnston, as both an election commitment and a response to the 2014 National Commission of Audit’s recommendation for an efficiency review ‘as a pre-condition for setting any new funding profile for Defence under the White Paper’.

Conducted over eight months and chaired by David Peever, the FPR was an end-to-end review of Defence’s business processes, structure and organisation. It was designed to look forward to the challenges Defence would face in the 21st century and structured around the need for a sustainable and enduring business model. The combined effect of the review was supposed to be a more unified and integrated organisation, more consistently linked to strategy and led by its centre.

Key among the FPR’s recommendations were:

—Establishment of a strong, strategic centre to strengthen accountability and top-level decision-making. This would involve a new ‘One Defence’ business model, a streamlined top level management structure, establishment of a strong and credible internal contestability function, and a reduced number of committees;

—The establishment of a single end-to-end capability development function to maximise the efficient, effective and professional delivery of military capability. This included establishing the new Capability Acquisition and Sustainment Group (CASG) with reduced management layers, and transferring accountability for requirements setting and management to the vice chief and the service chiefs;

—The implementation of an enterprise approach to the delivery of services enabling corporate and military operations to maximise their effectiveness and efficiency. This would involve consolidation and standardisation in estate, information management, geospatial intelligence and customer-centric service delivery;

—The creation of a ‘One Defence’ workforce to ensure committed people with the right skills are in appropriate jobs, through the development of a strategic workforce plan for building a highly professional workforce across the Department and the Australian Defence Force; and

—The management of staff resources to deliver optimal use of funds and maximise efficiencies, through stripping back and simplification of overly complicated processes and structures, as well as the introduction of greater transparency, contestability and professionalism.

The review set out an ambitious agenda to ensure that Defence was fit for purpose and able to deliver with the minimum resources necessary. Most of the recommendations were implemented over two years.

At its simplest, the FPR sought to ensure that respective ministers, secretaries and chiefs of defence force would ask themselves every working day: Does this decision (or these options to government) strip back and simplify complicated processes and structures? Do they introduce greater transparency, contestability and professionalism? Do they enforce accountability and leadership?

Against these three questions, sadly, Defence’s implementation did not climb to the ambitions demanded by the review team. Despite the FPR’s intent to dethatch Defence’s hierarchy, devolve accountabilities to the lowest level possible and de-layer the organisation, Defence now has more senior executive service and star-ranked officers and organisational units than it did in 2015.

Committee structures have similarly reverted, though it should be acknowledged that the Investment Committee has been a positive advance for the organisation, though the burden on its members continues to be back-breakingly cumbersome. The behavioural change that is necessary to transform Defence seems to have broken on the rocks of institutional resistance.

The review highlighted ‘an organisational culture within Defence that is risk-averse and resistant to change’. The FPR authors were deeply focused on the risk culture of the organisation and many of their recommendations centred on practical ways to overcome this risk aversion. The simplicity and elegance of their recommendations were certainly lost on the upper floors of the Russell offices during the implementation process.

Defence’s failure to change—with concomitant failure to deliver—represents the organisation’s unwillingness to explore a different concept of risk management. This was also the case with Peever’s subsequent review of Defence innovation in 2021, which called for Defence to embrace a desire to improve (we think—the review was heavily redacted, including all of its recommendations).

Similarly, the concept of a single end-to-end capability development function has not taken root, with the contestability function failing to meet the aim of a ‘robust and disciplined contestability function to provide arm’s-length assurance to the secretary that the capability needs and requirements are aligned with strategy and resources and can be delivered’. Correspondingly, the transfer of accountability to the service chiefs appears to have frustrated the FPR’s aims for an integrated capability management process, in which all the fundamental inputs to capability (including industry support, facilities, ICT and workforce) are managed as a whole.

This has been particularly challenging for the capability managers within CASG, who no longer have all the levers necessary to effectively and efficiently manage the ‘smart buyer’ function. It appears that the common-sense approach to acquiring and sustaining capability—where the full process does not need to be followed when common sense says that the judicious use of a fast-track path is appropriate and risks are acceptable—has struggled. Few are the examples of innovative use of procurement practices, development of fast-track projects, or the creation of novel contractual relationships.

Skill development in CASG, and in Defence more broadly, continues to be a fundamental challenge. The Defence Workforce Plan didn’t emerge until 2024, and we are yet to see whether this plan will effectively deliver the required workforce, identify the critical skills gaps or build those skills and workforce strategies that place ‘the right people with the right skills in the right roles at the right time to deliver Defence’s mission’.

Defence is pursuing yet another strategic reform agenda, set out in Chapter 11 of the National Defence Strategy. It aims to deliver both strategic reform—the transformation of the core elements of Defence that deliver effects to achieve the strategy of denial—and enterprise reform—the transformation of Defence’s enabling elements that drive performance. In doing so, it could do worse than returning to the fundamental first principles that drove the FPR:

—Clear authorities and accountabilities that align with resources (empowering decision-makers to deliver on strategies and plans within agreed resourcing, while also holding them responsible);

—Outcome orientation (delivering what is required with processes, systems and tools being the means, not the end);

—Simplicity (eliminating complicated and unnecessary structures, processes, systems and tools);

—Focus on core business (Defence doing only for itself what no one else can do more effectively and efficiently);

—Professionalism (encouraging committed people with the right skills in appropriate jobs);

—Timely, contestable advice (using internal and external expertise to provide the best advice so that the outcome is delivered in the most cost-effective and efficient manner); and

—Transparency (behaving in a way that enables others to know exactly what Defence is doing and why).

If Australia is to effectively meet the challenges it faces, the government and the public need to have confidence in the combat capabilities of its armed forces, the effectiveness and timeliness of Defence’s decision making and the efficient use of the nation’s treasure.

Peever and his team set up a strong and sensible plan to ensure Defence was able to meet these three demands. Sadly, because of culture, behaviour and bureaucratic malaise, the FPR proved less enduring than the review team—and the Australian public—needed it to be.

China’s navy sends a steady drumbeat of ships around Australia

China’s deployment of a potent surface action group around Australia over the past two weeks is unprecedented but not unique. Over the past few years, China’s navy has deployed a range of vessels in Australia’s vicinity, including state-of-the-art warships, replenishment ships, intelligence-gathering ships, survey ships, satellite support ships and hospital ships.

Together, these deployments paint a picture of a country that is undertaking sweeping efforts to transform its navy into a formidable blue water force, capable of regularly projecting hard and soft power to our region.

China’s navy, now the largest in the world by number of vessels, has a vast range of ships that can undertake a broad scope of tasks and we have seen nearly all varieties of ship in our region in the past five years.

In October, China put on a show of force in the South Pacific by sending two warships to Port Vila in Vanuatu. One was a Type 055 cruiser, marking the first known deployment of this advanced warship class to the South Pacific. The deployment was intended to send a clear signal of China’s ability to project power beyond its traditional areas of influence.

Unlike the current action group circumnavigating Australia, Chinese warships are not typically accompanied by replenishment ships (the exception being a 2019 deployment that appeared in Sydney Harbour after conducting operations in the Gulf of Aden). The addition of replenishment ships to Chinese action groups enables greater force projection into the Pacific.

Chinese Type 815 intelligence ships are regular visitors to our region. Since 2017, China has been sending at least one such ship to Australia’s north to electronically eavesdrop on our biennial Talisman Sabre military exercise with the United States and other partners.  At the most recent Senate estimates hearing, Chief of Defence Force Admiral David Johnston noted that an intelligence ship had travelled as far as Sydney after the 2023 Talisman Sabre exercise.

China is also developing a habit of sending naval ships to our region during election periods. While many commentators have understood the significance of the timing of the current deployment around Australia, it has yet to be noted that China’s navy was also present in the weeks before the 2022 federal election. In May that year, China sent an intelligence ship to Australia’s north-west, including near the Harold E Holt Communication Station, a sensitive defence facility near Exmouth, Western Australia. At the time, that was already significant. Now China has upped the ante in 2025.

China’s navy sends a range of vessels to the Pacific for port calls and good-will visits. Last year China sent an air-defence destroyer to Tonga, joining 11 other navies in celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Tonga Royal Navy. We now see regular Chinese navy visits to the Pacific, especially to the Pacific island countries that have militaries: Papua New Guinea, Fiji and Tonga.

China also pursues soft power in the Pacific through the deployment of the Peace Ark. The Peace Ark is one of two hospital ships that China’s navy uses to provide health services as part its soft-power diplomacy in the region. In 2023, the Peace Ark paid friendly visits to Kiribati, Tonga, Vanuatu, Solomon Islands and East Timor. It stayed for around a week in each port, offering free medical services to local populations.

China’s navy also has a range of ships that are used for tracking satellites and intercontinental ballistic missiles—large ships with impressive arrays of dishes and scanners. Tracking ships of the Yuan Wang class regularly operate in the southern Pacific Ocean and the Indian Ocean west of Australia. Since China lacks ground stations elsewhere, these ships give it the ability to track launches and satellites that are not over its territory. (China operated a ground station in Kiribati for six years, but it closed in 2003.)

Finally, China has developed the world’s largest fleet of civilian research vessels. While many undertake missions for peaceful purposes, they also provide China’s military with important data about the world’s oceans. The Hidden Reach project of the Center for Strategic and International Studies does an amazing job of tracking these vessels and their ties to China’s military.

We are seeing more of these vessels in our vicinity, including off the north-west shelf of Australia. In early 2020, officials tracked the movements of a Chinese research vessel as it conducted deepwater surveys near Christmas Island. A Defence official said the ship was mapping waters used by Australian submarines to get to the South China Sea. It also spent much time in waters not far from the Harold E Holt Communication Station.

Like the current deployment, China’s naval activities in our region are consistent with international law. Operating a range of ships is also not unique to China. Most large countries, such as the US, Russia and France, maintain a variety of warships, space support vessels and research vessels that support military activities. However, the increasing number and variety of ships in our region sends a strong signal of China’s ability and intent to project hard and soft power.

This is our new reality. Monitoring and managing China’s growing naval presence in our region will place increasing strain on our military for years to come.

For a faster solution to nearby maritime threats, look to the Australian Army

China’s not-so-subtle attempt at gunboat diplomacy over the past two weeks has encountered various levels of indignation in Australia and throughout the region. Many have pointed out that the passage of a three-ship naval task group about 500 kilometres off Australia’s east coast took place in international waters, a comment echoed in China, where officials have accused Australian politicians of ‘deliberately hyping’ the issue.

Many commentators have seized this opportunity to highlight the failure of Australia’s naval shipbuilding program over generations to meet the necessary ship production numbers for national security. They also point out that the current surface-ship building program will not take effect until the 2030s.

This misses a deeper point, however: what if the Chinese navy did sortie into our waters, or worse still, decided to interfere with our air and maritime movements by declaring, for instance, an air defence identification zone, similar to what occurs in the waters off Taiwan every time the Taiwanese disturb the Chinese Communist Party? Could we take any action?

The answer to this question goes to the core of Australian defence policy in 2025.

Military strategy is often described as ‘ends, ways, and means’, which serves as a useful model for understanding the application of strategy. In this context, the ends represent the ambitions of the 2024 National Defence Strategy, which aims to deter any hostile acts against Australian territory, its people and international interests. Deterrence is achieved through effective diplomacy, a strong economy and, in this case, military hard power.

With deterrence established in policy as an end, the ways logically follow. Referring to our observations from the past two weeks, ways would manifest as an operational concept or plan to deny the Chinese open access to our home waters. This might involve an Australian-flagged maritime task group that could be rapidly deployed and capable of shadowing and deterring the Chinese. Typically, this task group would consist of frigates, submarines and supply ships. Other methods would include air power, such as maritime surveillance and strike aircraft from the Royal Australian Air Force.

With ends and ways established, the final element of applying military strategy is the means, which essentially represent the forces and platforms necessary to carry out military operations. Here, the Australian Defence Force may face some challenges in the period leading up to 2030, as much of the capability being acquired by the government through its National Defence Strategy is not scheduled to become operational before the end of the decade. While the National Defence Strategy outlines ends, ways and means for the early 2030s, there is some risk in generating the tools for military strategy in the interim.

This brings us back to the dilemma posed by the Chinese naval group off Australia over the past two weeks. Despite the fleet of ships remaining in international waters and the comments from many that this activity raises no concerns for our future defence capability plans, it nonetheless does reflect on our current military capacity and highlights the urgent need for ongoing improvements in force projection, sea control and, where necessary, maritime strike.

More ships, submarines and long-range missiles will be essential for future solutions beyond 2030. But what about the present? One potential solution is to use the Australian Army, whose advancements in developing a future force focused on Australia’s maritime and littoral approaches are often overlooked in political discussions regarding the nation’s defence forces.

In the realm of land-based maritime strike, the government could accept some capability risk to expedite the acquisition of land-based anti-ship missiles. These systems can deter any foreign navy or future hostile power from entering home waters. The army could deter a blue-water navy in local waters, much as the Ukrainian Army has driven off the Russian Black Sea Fleet. While the Pacific Ocean is vast and land-based strike has its limitations, this strategy offers an immediate capability for defending home waters and addressing recent events, in contrast to ships and missiles not scheduled to arrive until 2030.

With the rapid acquisition of an army system to complement developments in the navy and the air force, Australia could calibrate its ends, ways and means both now and beyond 2030 as major projects are delivered.

The presence last week of a Chinese naval task group off our east coast in international waters demonstrates the sudden and dramatic pressure the Chinese navy can exert on our neighbourhood. Australia must implement an effective military strategy now; it cannot wait until 2030.

The geography of American power

The United States is a secure power. Situated in a hemispheric citadel, and protected by wide oceans, the US could comfortably withdraw from being the arbiter of the geopolitical fate of Eurasia and still enjoy a significant margin of security. Such a US could still project power around the globe. However, it would do so selectively, in the pursuit of narrowly defined interests and objectives. It would need few, if any, allies.  It would remain a powerful global economic actor—fuelled by a massive domestic market, deep private wealth, leading edge innovation, and high population growth.

A locationally withdrawn US would have to be willing to accept the risk of the likely emergence of a hegemonic power in Eurasia. Such a hegemon would be able to establish strategic and military dominion over the population, resources, markets, infrastructure, and polities of Eurasia – from Vladivostok in Pacific Russia to Lisbon in Portugal, and from Nordkapp in Norway to Cape Town in South Africa. It could do so by way of intimidation, coercion, and leverage, where this was necessary. However, such sharp strategies would not be necessarily needed in significant measure. Many nations of Eurasia would probably resign themselves to a new strategic reality, as they came to accept, over time, the reality of economic and military overlordship.

Such a hegemon would become the leading global power. The goal of ‘making America great again’ would ring hollow in a world where a Eurasian hegemon dominated the heartland of the world, and where it could almost always deliver a ‘better deal’ to nations under its dominion—whether or not they were pleased with the terms of the deal.

If the US was not willing to accept its own subordination, it would have to continue to engage ‘forward’ in the affairs of Eurasia, including by way leveraging the significant economic and military resources of the European Union, Britain, Japan, India, Australia, South Korea, Canada, and others to contain the emergence of such a hegemonic power.

This would be a sound geopolitical strategy. Geopolitics is the intersection of geography and power. It is concerned with questions of world order, national power, and coalitions of power. Separately, and irrespectively of whether or not the US continues to engage ‘forward’, there is a related geostrategic issue that confronts Washington. Geostrategy is the intersection of geography and capability, and especially military power. Whether the US withdraws, or continues to lean forward, it must build a sea-air barrier around Eurasia. It has to do so for its own defence and security, and in order to project power into, and around, Eurasia, should it have to do so.

In order to explain the idea of such a sea-air barrier, we need to start with a map.  Specifically, the map projection that US geographer Richard Edes Harrison made famous in 1942, which is known as the ‘One World, One War’ map. Harrison argued that on the traditional Mercator projection of the world, the US appeared to be isolated from the two major wartime strategic theatres of Europe and Asia. Harrison argued that while the Mercator projection was useful in the age of sail and steam, with the advent of air power, an ‘azimuthal equidistant projection’, pivoted around the North Pole, was required to better depict the strategic position of the US in the 1940s. Such a spherical conception of the Earth, viewed from above the North Pole, would better reveal the strong points, the sea areas, and the lines of approach that the US would have to secure and protect for its own defence, as well as for broader strategic purposes. With the coming of the missile age in the 1950s, Harrison’s theories were proven correct.

At the same time as Harrison was working on his maps, Nicolas J. Spykman was coming to similar conclusions, which he laid out in his last book, The Geography of the Peace, in 1944. For Spykman, the geography of Eurasia and the Western Hemisphere was the engine room of history. He argued that history was the eternal process of great powers clashing with one another in the rimlands of Eurasia—that is, Europe, the Middle East, the Indian sub-continent, East Asia, and the littoral ‘inner seas’ of the Mediterranean, the South China Sea, the Philippine Sea, and the East China Sea. The recurring question for US strategy would always be the same—how to control the rimlands and littoral seas of Eurasia, in order to contain and, if necessary, defeat emerging powers, and whether to do so from afar, or in close?

Adapting this thinking, we can today describe a modern sea-air barrier around Eurasia as a series of strong points and areas of control that trace a line around these contested areas. Control of this barrier would allow the US to protect itself from approaching threats, and to more securely project power, whether in its own defence, or for broader purposes, such as protecting its allies.

What line would such a sea-air barrier follow? Starting along the length of Canada’s Arctic coast, the line would run through Greenland, Iceland, the Faroe Islands (which belong to Denmark), and Scotland, an area that forms the ‘GIUK Gap’ (to use its Cold War title).  The US needs to control the GIUK Gap, and have access to Svalbard (which belongs to Norway), in order to contain the threat of Russian sea power in the Atlantic.  From Britain, the line would run to Gibraltar and then to the British bases in Cyprus, so that the US could access the Mediterranean and protect the northern end of the Suez Canal. Through the canal, the line would run through the Red Sea to Diego Garcia, which is the most important US strategic base in the Indian Ocean, vital for projecting power into the Middle East, Central Asia, and eastern Africa.

From there the line would run to Cocos (Keeling) and Christmas Islands, which are Australian offshore territories.  The line would then run through Exmouth, Darwin, and Townsville (which are all in Australia), up to Manus Island in Papua New Guinea, and then to Guam and other key US island territories in the Pacific, as well as the US state of Hawaii.  Finally, the line would run along the Aleutian chain, and then through the US state of Alaska proper, and before linking with the starting point of the line, Canada’s Arctic coast.

From the security of this barrier, the US could project power and protect its approaches, especially in the North Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Arctic Ocean, protect its trade routes and its undersea infrastructure, secure itself in relation to space warfare and missile attack, launch military operations in Europe, the Middle East, Central Asia and Africa, rescue its citizens, and strike at its adversaries.

Control of the barrier would require the sustainment of a few trusted relationships, especially with Canada, Britain, and Australia (which would become the CAUKUS grouping), and with Norway and Denmark. The barrier would be built upon a global network of key points of presence, and would not require the US to hold significant amounts of territory, or maintain an extensive network of expensive overseas bases. Coupled with its nuclear forces, and its space and cyber defences, the barrier would render the US virtually invulnerable, outside of a massive, planet-destroying nuclear strike, which would also see the attacker destroyed.

Australia’s geography is an integral part of the barrier, as it provides a vital base for US operations around the rimlands and littoral waters of southeastern Eurasia, and a swing point for power projection from the Pacific Ocean into the Indian Ocean. The immense value of Australia’s strategic geography is better appreciated in Washington and Beijing than it is in Canberra. In any US-China military conflict, PLA strikes would be conducted against Australian bases and facilities, including in the southern parts of Australia, the latter of which would provide depth and security for US-led coalition operations in the Indo-Pacific region. The recent PLAN task group mission to waters off Australia would have had as its principal military operational objective the conduct of land attack rehearsal activities, targeting bases, facilities, and infrastructure across Australia.

The Western Hemisphere is also crucial for the US from a geostrategic point of view.  Even with the sea-air barrier in place, the US would not be fully secure were Mexico, the Caribbean (especially Cuba), Central America, the Panama Canal zone, northern South America (especially Venezuela), and Brazil to be in various states of dysfunctionality, or were they to be actively hostile to the US, perhaps to the extent of hosting significant Russian or Chinese forces, or both. Further south, the Falkland Islands are critically located for sea control in the South Atlantic, should the Panama Canal become inoperable. Hemispheric defence on the near side of the sea-air barrier would therefore remain an important task for the US.

Whether the US remains forward, or it consolidates itself in its citadel, it has to secure this sea-air barrier.  Being forward makes more sense, as it allows the US to create more favourable strategic positions of strength, to the benefit of US trade, technology, and investment, and for its own security and defence. Being forward is in the interests of the US. However, being forward means that the US has to rely on more partners, most of whom have not been willing, until recently at least, to take on a greater share of the common burden of defence and security. Most have instead preferred to expand social benefits for their own citizens, and pursue economic development, while selfishly consuming US security.

Put another way, the US would be more secure if it were able to control the rimlands and littorals of Eurasia on the far side of its protective oceans—in places such as Japan, Taiwan, The Philippines, Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, India, the Gulf States, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Poland, Ukraine, the Baltics, and the Nordic countries. However, such a grand strategy would require constant alliance management, and a willingness on the part of US allies and partners to be prepared to significantly enhance their military capabilities, and to do more to counter the emergence of a hegemonic power in Eurasia. Were the US to decide one day that it could effectively secure itself behind its sea-air barrier, withdraw from Eurasia’s contested zones, and partner with a handful of geostrategically critical allies, many of these beneficiaries of US security would long for the glory days of US primacy and preponderance.

With Chinese warships nearby, Australia needs to step up as a maritime power

China now fields the world’s largest navy, and last week’s rare foray into our exclusive economic zone should be a wake-up call for Australians. Our most critical economic and security interests travel by sea, and in a rapidly deteriorating strategic environment, we can’t afford complacency. It’s time for Australia to step up as a genuine maritime power.

Over the last decade, China has morphed from a modest coastal navy into a true blue-water force. In 2015, its navy’s battle force—submarines, surface combatants and aircraft carriers—stood at 255 vessels, according to the US Congressional Research Office. That figure has soared to 400 in 2025, with further growth on the horizon. The fleet’s quality has also jumped, with around 70 per cent of China’s current battle force built since 2010.

The Royal Australian Navy fields just 16 battle-force vessels—its smallest and oldest in decades. That includes six submarines aged 22 to 29 years, seven Anzac-class frigates (19 years to 27 years old), and three much newer Hobart-class destroyers that lack the firepower of true destroyers. While the government plans to grow the fleet by the 2030s and 2040s to levels not seen in decades, the current shortfall is compounded by dwindling support capabilities—such as replenishment, hydrography and mine warfare—after decades of underinvestment by successive governments.

Comparing ship counts alone may be crude, but it highlights China’s drive to become a true blue-water maritime power. Its rapid fleet expansion goes hand in hand with sweeping structural reforms, including the creation of a coast guard in 2013—now the world’s largest maritime law enforcement outfit, boasting more than 142 vessels.

Among them is the so-called monster ship 5901 Nansha—nearly four times the size of an Anzac-class frigate, which form the backbone of our surface combatant fleet.

The growth and modernisation of China’s navy has gone hand-in-hand with an increasingly expeditionary strategy. Chinese naval deployments to the Indian and Pacific oceans are on the rise, marked by the establishment of a naval base in Djibouti in 2017 and increasingly common Pacific port visits, including stops in Vanuatu and Papua New Guinea as well as hospital ship deployments to the South Pacific. Against this backdrop, Australia shouldn’t be shocked to see a Chinese navy task group off our east coast.

It’s rightly considered an uncommon occurrence, particularly since Australia’s east coast isn’t exactly on the way to anywhere—making it clear this was a deliberate show of capability. But we should expect it to become increasingly common.

Why should Australia care about China’s growing naval and maritime power? Because our core vulnerabilities lie at sea. Some 99 per cent of our trade travels by ship, and 99 per cent of our data travelling to the rest of the world passes through undersea cables. But it’s not just about data and trade generally; it’s particularly the critical goods that keep our economy running and ensure our security, from fuel and ammunition to pharmaceuticals and fertiliser. Cut off those supplies, and we cripple our economy and security: no fuel means grounded F-35s and idle trucks nationwide.

In a crisis or conflict, an adversary wouldn’t need to invade our shores to bring Australia’s economy—and by extension, our defence—to its knees. All it would have to do would be to cut off our critical seaborne supplies: fuel, fertiliser, ammunition, pharmaceuticals, and more. In a rapidly deteriorating strategic environment, Australia must be able to defend its maritime domain.

Recognising this vulnerability means Australia must develop the capacity to protect critical seaborne supplies in a crisis. It demands focus, structural reform, speed and investment. The 2021 announcement of AUKUS (our nuclear-powered submarine pathway), the planned surface combatant fleet expansion and the army’s move to adopt maritime strike are all crucial steps, but they aren’t enough. We must address the wider gaps in the fleet, and do it at speed.

We must recognise that maritime capability isn’t just hardware; it’s also structure and mindset. We need to reform our civil maritime security, establish a coastguard to free the Royal Australian Navy from border policing and adjust our legislative architecture to build a genuinely capable maritime strategic fleet.

Australia shouldn’t, and can’t, hope to match China’s naval might. Our maritime strategy hinges on alliances and partnerships across the region, including deeper co-operation with partners like the United States, Japan, and India. Yet to safeguard our vital interests at sea, we must demonstrate self-reliance within our alliances – we must develop a comprehensive maritime strategy and resource it.

China’s naval demonstration on Australia’s east coast should serve a reminder of our vulnerability, and a warning that addressing this vulnerability requires Australia to truly recognise its place as a maritime power. Our future prosperity and security depend on it.

China’s ships near Australia. Challenges in the South China Sea. Get used to it

Australia can take three lessons from Chinese military behaviour in the past two weeks.

China will keep conducting dangerous military manoeuvres against us and other countries in the South China Sea; its actions will continue to differ from its words; and it is likely to send advanced Chinese warships to our region more often and for longer.

It has been an eventful fortnight in the China-Australia military relationship. First, on 11 February the Department of Defence reported the fifth known incident of unsafe behavior by China’s military towards the Australian Defence Force. On the same day the department reported that a powerful Chinese naval task group was operating in Australia’s northeastern maritime approaches.

On 17 February, Defence reported that it had restarted senior military talks with China. Talks were held at the level of vice chief of defence and this marked the first time that senior-level dialogue had been held between militaries since 2019 (Previous talks had occurred at the level of chief of defence, and working level talks have been held twice since 2019.

Finally, on 21 February and the following two days, the Chinese task group conducted not one but two live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea, between Australia’s most populous region and New Zealand. These unprecedented exercises, while consistent with international law, came with limited notice, meaning commercial aircraft had to quickly change flight paths to avoid potential danger. Foreign Minister Wong challenged her Chinese counterpart over the incident on the margins of a G20 meeting in South Africa.

Expect China’s military to keep targeting Australia, as well as other US allies and partners that uphold freedom of navigation and overflight in the South China Sea. In the coming month, ASPI will release a live tracker of military incidents to outline frightening trends of unsafe behavior by China’s military towards Australia, the US, Canada, the Netherlands, the Philippines and any other country that challenges Beijing’s excessive maritime claims.

Second, this fortnight reminds us of the vast gulf between China’s words and actions. China’s readout of the 17 February defence talks noted that both sides had ‘agreed to continue strengthening strategic communication … properly handle disputes and differences, and carry out exchanges and cooperation.’ Its South China Sea challenges are the cause of dispute, while its far seas deployments lack transparency and communication.

This lesson also reminds us that while China’s tactics may change, its strategy does not. We may have ups and downs in our diplomatic, economic and military relations with China, but long-term trends reflect a deteriorating relationship with a global power set on expanding its influence. The past fortnight has provided a snapshot of China’s ability to deploy a variety of tactics, which in this case were designed to signal its military reach and test Australia’s military and diplomatic responses.

The third lesson is that we should expect more Chinese naval deployments in and around Australia’s exclusive economic zone. This trend has been evident since 2022, but there are broader developments underway in China’s military that indicate Beijing’s ambition to develop a global navy that will be able to project power into our region more frequently and for longer periods at a time.

China’s naval strategy for most of the 20th century was focused on coastal defence. However, since 2008, it has deployed naval task groups to the Gulf of Aden for counter-piracy operations. These have typically been made up of two combatant ships and an oiler for logistical support. Each task group can stay in the gulf for about four months.

Due to a lack of support ships or a network of overseas support bases, we haven’t seen regular and sustained deployments by China’s navy to other areas of the globe. But this trend is changing.

In December 2024, the US Department of Defense reported that ‘China is expected to build additional fleet replenishment oilers soon to support its expanding long-duration combatant ship deployments.’ China has 12 replenishment oilers that support long-distance, long-duration deployments. (The US Navy operates 15 replenishment oilers and and can also use the allies’ ports ). Construction of new oilers has become a priority for China, especially given its lack of overseas logistics facilities.

China had initial success in establishing an overseas base at Djibouti, which now provides some logistical support to China’s naval deployments. China also maintains a regular military presence at the Ream naval base in Cambodia. However, despite efforts to persuade other countries, including Pacific Islands countries, China has yet to establish military bases or logistical facilities elsewhere.

As China’s navy improves its logistics and defensive capabilities, a lack of overseas bases will only slow, not stop, China’s ambition to project naval forces into global environs (including Australia’s) more often and for longer durations. This will have implications for Australia’s own limited naval capabilities, which will come under pressure to monitor more Chinese ships in our region, while continuing operations that support freedom of navigation and overflight in the South China Sea.