Amusing ourselves to death

Forty years ago, in a seminal masterpiece titled Amusing Ourselves to Death, US author Neil Postman warned that we had entered a brave new world in which people were enslaved by television and other technology-driven entertainment. The threat of subjugation comes not from the oppressive arm of authoritarian regimes and concentration camps but from our own willing submission and surrender.

‘Big brother does not watch us, by his choice. We watch him, by ours’, Postman wrote in 1985.

There is no need for wardens or gates or Ministries of Truth. When a population becomes distract­ed by trivia, when cultural life is redefined as a perpetual round of entertainments, when serious public conversation becomes a form of baby-talk, when, in short, people become an audience and their public business a vaudeville act, then a nation finds itself at risk; culture-death is a clear possibility.

Postman’s insight would have been spot-on had he written this today about TikTok. Postman was mostly thinking about mass media with a commercial imperative. People would be enslaved to superficial consumerism. But add a technologically advanced authoritarian power with platforms that—unlike terrestrial TV—are essentially borderless and can reach around the globe, and you have George Orwell’s Big Brother put together with Aldous Huxley’s cultural and spiritual entropy.

Addictive digital entertainment can be corrosive even without a malign puppeteer. But with an entity such as the Chinese Communist Party fiddling the algorithms, it could be catastrophic.

Just in 2025, we have seen much of the Western world so spellbound by TikTok that the thought of living without it brought on the anguish normally reserved for the impact of conflict. ‘TikTok refugees’ became a description, as though they had been displaced like Jews fleeing Europe or Yazidis escaping Islamic State.

Postman noted that we were innately prepared to ‘resist a prison when the gates begin to close around us … But what if there are no cries of anguish to be heard? Who is prepared to take arms against a sea of amusements?’

The cries of anguish were depressingly muted as TikTok built up a following in Western countries that now means four in 10 Americans aged under 30 get their news from TikTok, according to a recent survey by the Pew Research Center.

When a ban was flagged, the cries came from those who couldn’t bear to give up the platform and from free speech absolutists who believed any rules amounted to government overreach. If our most popular radio stations had been based in Germany in the late 1930s, the Soviet Union during the Cold War or Syria during the ISIS caliphate, our leaders would have protected the public, regardless of popularity and notwithstanding that it would constitute government intervention in the so-called free market of ideas.

In fact, the market isn’t free because powerful actors can man­ipulate the information landscape.

Billionaire Elon Musk gives free-speech advocates a bad name by posting not just different opinions but promoting false content on issues such as Ukraine on his platform X. But more sinister is a platform such as TikTok, which is headquartered in authoritarian China and ultim­ately at the control of the CCP, with algorithms that have been demonstrated to manipulate audiences by privileging posts that serve Beijing’s strategic interests and downgrading content that does not.

Despite such threats, we have no clear framework to protect ourselves from powerful information platforms, including the newest generative artificial intelligence models such as DeepSeek, which will be increasingly available—and, thanks to their affordability, attractive—despite operating under Chinese government control. As a US court declared in upholding the congressional ban on TikTok, giving a foreign power a vector to shape and influence people’s thinking was a constraint on free speech, not an enabler of it.

Freedoms of speech and expression are core democratic principles but they need active protection. This means the involvement of governments.

US Vice-President JD Vance told the Munich Security Conference that Donald Trump represented a ‘new sheriff in town’ who would defend free speech and ‘will fight to defend your right to offer it in the public square, agree or disagree’. It was an admirable derivative of the quote attributed to Evelyn Beatrice Hall describing Voltaire’s principle of ‘I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it’. But just as we have regulators for financial and other markets, we need regulation of our information markets.

By all means, speech should be as free as possible. Awful mustn’t equal unlawful, to borrow Australian Security Intelligence Organisation boss Mike Burgess’ phrase. Speech that hurts the feelings of others or advocates unpopular views cannot be the threshold for censorship. Such lazy and faint-hearted policymaking creates only a more brittle society. But that doesn’t mean we should make ourselves fish in a barrel for malign foreign powers.

Anarchy is not freedom. Governments need to brave the minefield that is modern information technology. If a platform poses risks that cannot be avoided, as with TikTok, it should be banned.

Other platforms that sit within democratic nations’ jurisdictions should be subjected to risk mitigations such as content moderation to deter and punish criminal activity. X, Facebook, Instagram and YouTube can be used as avenues for information operations, as shown by Russia buying advertisements on Facebook or CCP-backed trolls posting on X and YouTube, or be used as vectors for organised crime. Even the most ardent free-speech advocates would agree that drug trafficking, child abuse or joining a terrorist group are illegal offline and therefore should be illegal online.

No marketplace remains free and fair when governments overregulate or abdicate responsibility.

The once-free markets of trade and investment have been eroded by China to such an extent that just this week Trump issued a foreign investment policy to protect US ‘critical technology, critical infrastructure, personal data, and other sensitive areas’ from ‘foreign adversaries such as the PRC’, including by making ‘foreign investment subject to appropriate security provisions’.

A key principle of the new presidential policy is that ‘investment at all costs is not always in the national interest’.

In other words, security measures and rules keep US critical infrastructure free.

While it has not yet gained much media attention, it is among the most important economic security policies ever taken to counter Beijing’s objective to ‘systematically direct and facilitate investment in United States companies and assets to obtain cutting-edge technologies, intellectual property and leverage in strategic industries’, and all of the US’s allies and democratic partners should publicly support it and implement it domestically.

We like to think that technologies are neutral mediums that are only vehicles for improvement. As Postman wrote, this belief often rises to the status of an ideology or faith.

‘All that is required to make it stick is a population that devoutly believes in the inevitability of progress’, he wrote. ‘And in this sense … history is moving us toward some preordained paradise and that technology is the force behind that movement.’

Science and technology have of course delivered extraordinary improvements to our health, our economic productivity, our access to information and our ability to connect with other people regardless of geography—provided we engage with it wisely. We must not become cynical about technology entirely, which is why we must maintain control over it and ensure it serves our interests.

The ultimate solution is knowledge and participation. As Postman concluded, the answer must be found in ‘how we watch’. With no discussion on how to use technology, there has been no ‘public understanding of what information is and how it gives direction to a culture’.

Postman wrote that ‘no medium is excessively dangerous if its users understand what its dangers are’. For that to happen, education was the ‘solution to all dangerous social problems’.

He insisted we were ‘in a race between education and disaster’.

To give education a fighting chance, especially against the predations of technologically capable authoritarian powers, democratic governments need to exert responsible and judicious regulation of technology to perform their most basic duty of protecting the freedom of their citizens.

The US is gone—Europe must replace it

Donald Trump and JD Vance’s verbal assault on Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky in the Oval Office will mark 28 February 2025 as an infamous moment in US and world history. The United States is rapidly destroying its good name and alienating everyone except the world’s most brutal dictators. The damage to the US’s credibility and reputation will take decades to repair—and may be irreparable.

More broadly, with the end of the postwar US-centred international order, we are witnessing the collapse of any global authority. As rogue states seek to capitalise on the chaos, Europe must step up and assume the role once played by the US. That starts by fully supporting Ukraine in the face of Russian aggression.

Yes, Europe is not as powerful as the US militarily; but that does not mean it is weak. In fact, it holds all the cards that it needs. Its combined military forces are among the world’s strongest, most experienced and most innovative. The Oval Office quarrel—which Trump and Vance seemed all too eager to provoke—should be the final impetus for Europe to get its act together, after decades of complacency. It has everything it needs to stand on its own, to support Ukraine and to deter Russia.

Moreover, Trump’s shameful behaviour is pushing the US’s dearest ally, Britain, closer to Europe, helping to bridge the post-Brexit divide. It is galvanising the forces of democracy and compelling political elites to wake up. Europe may soon have a moderate two-party ruling coalition in Germany and a committed democratic one in Austria. After a terrible year, French President Emmanuel Macron’s star is rising again.

Europe has a half-billion people and a GDP comparable to the US. We may not be as innovative, but the gap is not as large as pundits would have you believe. If we forge a coalition with Japan, Taiwan and South Korea, we can close it soon—especially now that Trump, Vance and Elon Musk are destroying the pillars of US power with their own cultural revolution.

In addition to raising costs for US consumers with tariffs, the Trump administration is waging a war on immigrants—long a unique source of US strength. Europe should capitalise by welcoming the best and brightest—including those being hounded out of the US’s world-class federal agencies.

As for defence capabilities, Germany’s industrial base is sufficient to arm the continent, while France and Britain’s nuclear umbrella can replace the US’s. The five largest European countries and Britain all currently have responsible, predictable governments that make a mockery of those now in power in Washington.

Poland has an especially important role to play in what happens next. Economic trends are on our side. Our army is growing. We made the right arms purchases while there was still time. Not even Trump can find a bad word to say about us. All of Europe can see this. The French (slightly jealous) speak of le moment polonais. Poland’s current leaders are among the most experienced, respected and resolute statesmen to be found anywhere.

At the recent Munich Security Conference, I spoke with many US politicians—including those, such as Senator Lindsey Graham, who are bending the knee to Trump—and I did not see much self-confidence. Rather than saying what they really think, they debased themselves and toed the Dear Leader’s line. It was embarrassing to watch.

When the Trump administration’s Ukraine envoy, Keith Kellogg, was asked backstage whether ‘we still have an alliance’, he admitted that he himself doesn’t know. Power in Washington is now completely concentrated in Trump. There are no longer any ‘adults in the room’, only sycophantic parrots competing to amplify their foolish master the loudest.

The historian Timothy Snyder struck the right note in arguing that 2025 is not about what America thinks; it is about what Europe can do. The Trump policy (a generous term) can only be profitable in the short term; for now, no one will dare to go head-to-head with the US. In the long run, however, the dismantling of the US state, the pointless tariffs and the alienation of friends and allies will cause lasting damage.

This is the moment to stand behind Ukraine. The treatment that Zelensky received was an absolute disgrace, loudly cheered by Russia. And no, he would not have gotten a better result if he had let himself be pushed around. This US government has shown where its loyalties lie. The same thing happened with the critical minerals agreement that Trump’s advisers have been forcing on Ukraine. The first version amounted to mafia-style extortion and Zelensky rightly rejected it. When a follow-up deal came, it was much better.

I will not be surprised if Trump and Vance’s disgusting behaviour provokes a backlash from the US public. But Europeans cannot afford to wait. With Trump back in the White House, Americans will have their own very big problems to worry about. Europeans must take our future into our own hands.

House of cards: northern Australia’s liquid fuel resilience

Northern Australia’s liquid fuel infrastructure is the backbone of defence capability, national resilience, and economic prosperity. Yet, it faces mounting pressure from increasing demand, supply chain vulnerabilities and logistical fragilities.

Fuel security is not just about stockpiling: it hinges on accessibility when and where it’s needed, diversity in suppliers and supply routes, and adaptability to changing circumstances to maintain a stable supply, even in times of crisis.

Australia should consider activating dormant fuel reserves, developing a domestic fuel refinery, hardening logistics chains and preparing contingency measures.

At first glance, northern Australia’s fuel security appears robust, with key Defence bases (HMAS Coonawarra, RAAF Darwin and RAAF Tindal) providing guaranteed demand. Meanwhile, regional economic activity is sustained by reserves at Melville Bay, Nhulunbuy and Darwin’s East Arm Precinct, which includes both Vopak’s commercial and Crowley’s eventual Defence reserves.

Crowley’s East Arm facility will, when complete, be the linchpin of the region’s fuel security, holding 300 million litres of jet fuel, 90 percent allocated to defence operations. By comparison, RAAF Darwin’s 12 million litres and RAAF Tindal’s 14 million litres are fully committed to military use, while HMAS Coonawarra contributes 6 million litres of diesel for naval readiness. Civilian infrastructure supports industry and local communities, including reserves such as Vopak’s 174 million litres, Melville Bay’s 30 million litres of commercial diesel and Nhulunbuy’s estimated 20 million litres.

This dual-purpose system attempts to balance military preparedness with economic necessity, yet these figures tell only part of the story. The apparent stability of northern Australia’s fuel network is an illusion: the system works well only without supply disruptions or rapid demand increases.

90 percent of all liquid fuel is imported and northern Australia remains highly vulnerable to supply disruptions. Seasonal flooding can sever road links between Darwin, Tindal and the air force’s bare bases (RAAF Curtin, Learmonth and Scherger). This shows up a fragile logistics network that adversaries could exploit, or natural disasters could disrupt.

Australia’s national fuel security has been steadily eroding for years, with national stockpiles consistently falling short of the International Energy Agency’s 90-day benchmark. The 2022 Russia-Ukraine war highlighted these vulnerabilities. As global supply chains tightened, Australia’s limited reserves became more apparent. While additional storage alone couldn’t eliminate supply shocks, in a crisis it would provide an important time buffer.

The risks are particularly acute in the Top End. Disruptions in Asian refineries, blockages in key shipping lanes such, as those through the South China Sea, or a severe cyclone hitting Darwin’s port could cripple fuel supplies, leaving aircraft grounded, naval operations stalled, and communities isolated. The region’s dependence on limited road transport further amplifies the challenge, particularly when considering fuel delivery to the air force’s northern bare bases.

To address these vulnerabilities, Australia should activate Melville Island’s dormant fuel reserves; develop a domestic fuel refinery in the Northern Territory; harden the logistics backbone; and integrate Vopak and Nhulunbuy into a contingency network.

Just 80 kilometres from Darwin, Melville Island’s port and 30 million litres of existing fuel storage could be a valuable defence asset. With infrastructure upgrades, including new pipelines, tanker berths and integrated defence agreements, Melville could evolve into a dual-purpose hub, reinforcing Australian Defence Force operations and supporting regional economic activity. Increasing redundancy in supply locations enhances operational flexibility and minimises the risks posed by bottlenecks in a single storage site.

Australia’s dependence on imported aviation fuel is a glaring strategic risk, so it should consider a domestic fuel refinery in the Northern Territory. Even a modest refinery capable of processing 10,000 barrels (1.6 million litres) per day could meet at least half of RAAF Tindal’s requirements. While refining capability is not a silver bullet, it would strengthen Australia’s self-sufficiency, ensure a baseline level of operational continuity in a prolonged crisis and reduce Australia’s fuel vulnerabilities.

The Northern Territory’s logistics backbone should be hardened, as it is highly vulnerable to seasonal disruptions: the 320 kilometre highway connecting Darwin and Tindal is a single, flood-prone artery. The government should consider paying for all-weather road upgrades, developing redundant transport routes and exploring alternative logistics solutions, such as a dedicated rail spur. Prepositioned fuel caches near the RAAF’s bare bases could provide a buffer in times of crisis, ensuring operational continuity when primary supply lines are compromised.

Finally, integrating Vopak and Nhulunbuy into a contingency network would establish a reliable fallback system. Nhulunbuy’s fuel capacity of 20 million litres presents a potential strategic reserve but is geographically isolated. Infrastructure improvements, combined with an ADF contingency agreement to access Vopak’s 174 million litres, could ensure continued fuel availability if Darwin’s primary storage and distribution networks were disrupted. A dispersed and resilient fuel network minimises single points of failure, reinforcing Australia’s ability to sustain prolonged operations.

Fuel security demands long-term commitment, but it would reinforce Australia’s defence capabilities. Without assured fuel supply, even the most advanced military platforms become useless.

Without further investment in supply chain resilience, infrastructure modernisation and domestic production, fuel shortages will continue to undermine Australia’s capacity to project force and sustain operations. It is time to double down on what works and strengthen what does not.

The battle for the internet

Democracies and authoritarian states are battling over the future of the internet in a little-known UN process.

The United Nations is conducting a 20-year review of its World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS), a landmark series of meetings that, among other achievements, formally established today’s multistakeholder model of internet governance. This model ensures the internet remains open, global and not controlled by any single entity.

This model is now at the centre of a fierce geopolitical struggle. Authoritarian countries are pushing for a multilateral governance approach—one that shifts control of the internet firmly into the hands of governments. This shift would legitimise crackdowns on dissent, expand online surveillance, enable internet shutdowns, weaken human rights, and accelerate the global spread of digital authoritarianism.

Unfortunately, the WSIS+20 review comes as this approach to internet and digital governance is increasingly popular. In recent years China and Russia have made significant inroads in the UN in advancing their interests for greater state control over the internet and digital governance. In 2024, the UN Cybercrime Treaty granted governments new powers over online activity, sparking concerns it could facilitate digital surveillance and legitimise restrictions on human rights and freedoms, while the UN Global Digital Compact also shifted toward a larger state role in digital governance issues.

These developments set a troubling precedent as WSIS+20 unfolds, raising the question of whether the internet remains free and open, or whether the UN will legitimise digital authoritarianism on a global scale.

What is WSIS?

WSIS, held in two phases in 2003 and 2005, was a landmark UN summit that brought the international community together to ‘build a people-centred, inclusive and development-oriented Information Society.’ It established 11 action lines to use information communication technologies for global development and tasked various UN agencies with overseeing their implementation.

In 2005, WSIS’s Tunis Agenda formally established the multistakeholder model of internet governance that had emerged since the internet was created, emphasising the inclusion of governments, civil society, technical experts, academia and the private sector. This recognised that the internet is a network of networks, with multiple stakeholders facilitating its operation. This model—by design—also prevented any single entity, particularly states, exerting undue control or influence over the internet’s architecture. Among WSIS’s achievements was the creation of the UN’s Internet Governance Forum (IGF), a platform where governments, civil society, the private sector, technical experts and academia could engage and collaborate on internet governance issues.

Two decades later, the 2025 WSIS+20 review will revisit established principles and assess progress against the WSIS action lines. The review will consider the extension of WSIS’s mandate, the future of the IGF (whose mandate also expires in 2025) and, potentially, the expansion of WSIS’s mandate to cover emerging technologies such as AI.

The review process has multiple components. UN agencies are conducting reviews of their respective WSIS action lines. The UN Commission on Science and Technology for Development is coordinating input from stakeholders and preparing a report to be released in April. This report will inform negotiations at the UN General Assembly, culminating in a resolution to be presented for adoption by the UN in December. Throughout the year, events such as June’s IGF in Norway (the last before the forum’s mandate expires) and July’s WSIS+20 High-Level Event in Geneva will also provide important opportunities for the multistakeholder community to provide input into the review process before intergovernmental negotiations ramp up.

WSIS and geopolitical competition

With digital technologies playing an ever-growing role in the modern world, the WSIS+20 review is an opportunity to shape the future of the internet and ensure it remains open, inclusive and development-oriented. The aims and ideals of WSIS have never been so important. However, WSIS has become a complicated geopolitical battleground because of its central role in the multistakeholder model of internet governance.

For years, countries such as China and Russia have pushed for a multilateral approach, arguing that internet and broader digital governance should be controlled by states rather than through the multistakeholder model.

Some criticism of the multistakeholder system is warranted. While the model has fostered an open and innovative internet for decades, it has been dominated by Western governments and major corporations, leaving many countries—particularly in the Global South—feeling sidelined in discussions. Its fragmented and complex processes can be difficult and expensive to navigate, limiting meaningful participation. As digital challenges such as AI governance grow more urgent, many countries also see a need for stronger state engagement to protect national sovereignty and counter the unchecked power of Big Tech. Even democracies, historically the strongest proponents of the multistakeholder model, are increasingly drawn to multilateral approaches to rein in tech giants and address digital challenges more effectively.

China and Russia have skilfully and strategically used these criticisms to advance their own agendas, framing multilateralism as a more inclusive and equitable alternative to the multistakeholder model.

However, their push for multilateral governance ultimately serves to entrench authoritarian control over the internet. Both nations promote ‘cyber sovereignty’ or ‘internet sovereignty’ concepts, arguing that states should have absolute control over their domestic internet governance and effectively justifying their digital authoritarian practices.

While their push for increased multilateral cooperation may appear constructive on the surface—multilateral cooperation is normally a good thing—it aims to concentrate power in forums where only nation-states have voting authority, effectively sidelining civil society and other stakeholders. This has serious implications for global human rights and freedoms.

Over the past year, authoritarian states have made significant strides in advancing this multilateral vision within the UN system through processes such as the Global Digital Compact and the Cybercrime Treaty. WSIS+20 is an opportunity for them to consolidate these gains and fundamentally reshape global digital governance in their interests.

What authoritarians want

Authoritarians’ approach to WSIS will likely focus on four broad strategic areas.

First, they will likely push for new initiatives or for inclusion of language that strengthens multilateral cooperation and action, aiming to concentrate power in forums where only nation-states have voting authority, effectively sidelining other stakeholders. This could include attempts to position WSIS as implementing the Global Digital Compact (GDC)—a nation-state negotiated framework—or trying to subordinate WSIS under this framework, despite WSIS’s independent mandate. This could also include attempts to strengthen the newly established UN Office of Emerging and Digital Technologies, an outcome of the GDC. The office has faced controversy over a lack of transparency about its mandate and its potential to not only further centralise internet governance within the UN in New York, but to centre it within the UN secretariat.

Second, they will likely target the IGF. While preventing its extension seems unlikely, authoritarian governments may work to shift its functions to other UN bodies where only states have voting power—a move China has long advocated for. Alternatively, they may seek to weaken the IGF’s effectiveness by maintaining voluntary funding or creating competing multilateral mechanisms that duplicate its functions.

Third, they will likely push to extend WSIS’s mandate to include emerging technologies, particularly through initiatives that emphasise multilateral involvement. This would create opportunities to shape the governance of AI, data, biotechnology and other emerging fields across multiple disparate forums, making it difficult to track developments and coordinate responses.

Fourth, authoritarian states, particularly China, will likely capitalise on WSIS+20’s development-focused agenda. China has promoted the right to development to justify its prioritisation of state-led economic growth over other universal human rights and freedoms, serving as a strategic tool to strengthen China’s domestic authoritarian model in the name of economic progress. WSIS+20’s emphasis on development, and the urgent need to close the global digital divide, creates a risk that this concept could spread to global digital governance. This would provide a framework for other governments to adopt digital authoritarian practices under the guise of national development priorities.

The central role of the Global South in the review process makes this more concerning. China wields considerable influence through this group, including via the G77+China group, which represents 134 of the 193 UN member states—a majority of UN votes if they negotiate or vote as a bloc, as they did in last year’s GDC negotiations.

The structural elements of the WSIS+20 review further tilt the process in favour of authoritarian interests. The outcome document will be presented for adoption by the UN General Assembly’s Second Committee. Beijing has historically wielded significant influence in this forum, increasing the risk that WSIS+20 shifts toward a state-centric model at the expense of the multistakeholder model.

WSIS isn’t happening in a vacuum

While the WSIS+20 review may seem like an abstract UN process, it’s unfolding in a rapidly changing internet and digital landscape.

The internet is becoming less open and less global as national governments—including democracies—assert greater control over digital spaces. Global internet freedom is in decline, with China and Russia advancing their state-centric visions for digital governance—not only within the UN but also through influential groups like BRICS and the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation. Meanwhile, China is exporting its digital authoritarian model worldwide via the Digital Silk Road, embedding rules and technologies that entrench state control.

This shift isn’t just happening at a normative or policy level. Technical standards—long an area of geopolitical competition—are beginning to split. The technical foundations of the global internet are also beginning to fracture. For instance, China’s proposed IPv6+ initiative introduces protocols that enable greater state control over internet traffic, raising concerns about its potential global adoption through the spread of Chinese technology.

The internet’s physical infrastructure is also splintering. Subsea cables, telecommunications networks and satellite systems are increasingly fragmented along geopolitical divides. Efforts to decouple technology supply chains—including critical minerals, semiconductors, and advanced chips—are further deepening these divisions.

Conclusion

WSIS+20 is not just another review.  It is a crossroads for the future of the internet.

For democracies, WSIS represents the last major opportunity to defend the multistakeholder model of internet governance. Democracies must lead efforts to improve the multistakeholder model, making it more inclusive and responsive to the needs and interests of the Global South with clear ideas about how to harness digital technologies for development. WSIS is an opportunity to genuinely collaborate with these nations to evolve the system and address developmental challenges, all while countering the narratives promoted by authoritarian regimes.

Multistakeholder bodies, such as ICANN, as well as the technical community and civil society, mobilised ahead of the GDC negotiations last year to push back on attempts to erode the open and global internet and shape discussions on how the multistakeholder model could evolve. They are likewise approaching WSIS with the gravity it deserves. Democracies must do the same.

If democracies fail to approach WSIS with the magnitude it deserves, 2025 may well mark the end of the open global internet. The battle for the internet is not just about digital governance- it’s the frontline of the broader struggle over the global order.

Authoritarian states recognise this. It’s time democracies did too.

China wins from Australian overreaction to warship presence

The deployment of a Chinese naval task group in our region is clearly aimed at sending a message and testing Australia’s responses—not only on the military front, but socially and politically. The worst misstep would be to overreact and hand China a propaganda win that could undermine Australia’s legitimate military activities in the South China Sea and North-East Asia.

Australia has long thrived on the freedom and prosperity we’ve enjoyed since World War II. Our distance from Europe’s and the Middle East’s flashpoints made conflict seem remote. We’ve ingrained the notion that while our people fight in distant conflicts, the threat never reaches home.

Yet the deployment of a Chinese naval task group off our east coast has exposed our vulnerabilities as a maritime nation reliant on trade. While this reality is felt acutely, our proper response is to invest in the ships, aircraft and submarines needed to safeguard our maritime interests—not to manufacture a crisis that undermines our societal resilience and political capacity to respond to genuine challenges.

Australia isn’t on a major trade route or a transit point. Naval task groups rarely operate in our region—unless they’re visiting Australia—so a Chinese task group is especially notable. Deployed more than 8000 kilometres from China’s coast, this three-ship task group—including one of the world’s most advanced warships—was clearly meant to send a message.

Under international law, China’s warships can operate on the high seas (beyond 200 nautical miles from our coast). They can also conduct exercises within Australia’s exclusive economic zone (up to 200 nautical miles from our coast). They can even operate in our territorial sea (within 12 nautical miles of our coast), provided their transit is continuous, expeditious and does not disrupt Australia’s good order. This isn’t legal semantics—it’s a fundamental aspect of the freedom of the seas that Australia regularly exercises through our naval deployments.

While it may be surprising to see naval task groups conducting live-fire exercises in our region, warships—including Australia’s—regularly do so on long deployments for training, maintaining skills or a myriad of other reasons. This is simply what warships do.

China’s gunnery firing took place on the high seas, about 640 kilometres (340 nautical miles) from our coast—the distance from Canberra to Melbourne. China is well within its rights to conduct such exercises without informing Australia or New Zealand.

While no international law requires it, best practice, having undertaken many gunnery firings at sea, is that warships maintain at least 18 kilometres (10 nautical miles) from known civilian air routes during live-fire exercises. Air Services Australia reported that 49 aircraft had to be diverted because of the Chinese warships’ firing exercise. Clearly, these warships were too close to these flight paths.

This diversion is a nuisance, but aircraft are routinely diverted for various reasons, and there’s no evidence they were at risk. The Chinese warships’ radars would have continuously tracked the aircraft, ensuring they stopped the gunnery if the aircraft approached their safety zone—just as any responsible warship would.

Warships should also issue warnings to civilian aircraft and vessels several hours in advance—and at regular intervals—during the exercise. It remains unclear how early Chinese warships issued this warning, but we know from Senate estimates that it was first heard by a Virgin Airlines aircraft 30 minutes after the warships began their drills.

The Chinese warships’ close proximity to civilian air routes—and their apparent failure to provide timely warnings—deserves diplomatic rebuke. However, their presence and live-fire exercise on the high seas do not.

The freedom of the seas is fundamental to our security as a maritime trading nation. Claims that China’s warships shouldn’t be operating in our exclusive economic zone or conducting live-fire exercises on the high seas undermines this principle, giving China a propaganda win to challenge our necessary deployments to North-East Asia and the South China Sea—routes that carry two-thirds of our maritime trade.

This is not a crisis. Treating it as one with over-the-top indignation diminishes our capacity to tackle real crises as the region deteriorates. Moreover, since this deployment was meant to test us, it signals to China that we lack societal resilience and a genuine perspective on what is a threat.

If the Chinese naval task group deployment is meant to signal that they can operate in our region, sustain a presence and threaten our critical sea supply lines, how should we respond to the vulnerability we’ve felt these past two weeks? We must respond by heeding the message—mitigating our vulnerabilities and investing in our maritime capability. At our most challenging strategic moment since WWII, our current surface combatant fleet is the smallest and oldest we’ve had since 1950.

Our warships have limited endurance at sea due to inadequate numbers of replenishment ships, and our ability to protect sea lanes from mines is also limited—to name but a few of our challenges. We must address this and swiftly, and that means having a hard look at our defence spending.

At only 2 percent of GDP, defence spending falls well short of our Cold War average of 2.7 percent. It’s also time to ramp up our industrial capacity and engage in genuine discussions about societal and industrial mobilisation. That means, if we were to be in a conflict, how would we mobilise the civilian population to support our forces and home defence, and how would we mobilise industries to produce what we need to sustain the conflict?

We must respond by enhancing our preparedness and military capability, not by handing China a propaganda victory that undermines our ability to tackle real crises and the fundamental principle of freedom of the seas.

While conflict in our region isn’t inevitable, the threat is real and demands a measured response underpinned by preparedness, investment and partnerships. Warships have the right to freedom of navigation. Live gunnery firings are common. Overreaction and panic will only undermine our efforts.

Independence under Merz is entirely possible

Could 23 February 2025 become known as Europe’s Independence Day? It might as well be if the winner of Germany’s election, Friedrich Merz, has his way.

It was striking that Merz, the quintessential German Atlanticist and fiscal hawk who many considered hopelessly stuck in the 1980s, should celebrate his victory by knocking away one of the fundamental pillars of German conservative politics since Konrad Adenauer, the country’s first postwar chancellor. ‘My absolute priority will be to strengthen Europe as quickly as possible so that, step by step, we can really achieve independence from the USA’, he said in his first post-election interview.

Some other leaders are still trying to have their cake and eat it: talking about defending Europe while working with the United States. Not Merz, who has launched what amounts to a full-frontal attack on Germany’s closest ally, even going so far as to accuse the US of election interference, on par with Russia.

Since Donald Trump’s return to the White House, US-Europe relations have been mired in a fundamental paradox. On one hand, Europeans are trying to demonstrate to Trump that they are willing to do more in exchange for US security guarantees. On the other hand, the US whose protection they seek is trying to force a NATO ally to give up its own territory and pressing Ukraine to consent to its own economic rape and plunder. Demanding that a desperate, war-ravaged country sign over half of its revenues from critical minerals and rare-earth metals in perpetuity is a shakedown that would make even a mob boss blush.

Perhaps this is why Merz has gone where angels fear to tread, insisting that Europe will need to find a way to move from total dependence on the US to some sort of independence.

At my think tank, the European Council on Foreign Relations, we have launched a European Security Initiative to explore what this might look like. Before Trump’s election victory, we talked about how we can defend Europe with less America. But Europeans are increasingly wondering how to defend themselves from America.

Merz seems to be clear-eyed about the fact that becoming the leader Europe needs doesn’t just mean recasting Germany’s relationships with France and Poland, but also working out a completely different relationship with Britain. Once British Prime Minister Keir Starmer returns from what will surely be an intensely frustrating first trip to Washington, he might see things this way as well.

But, to have any chance of success, Merz will also have to overcome the self-harm of German economic ultra-orthodoxy. Scrapping the constitutional debt brake, introduced by his predecessor and party colleague, Angela Merkel, is necessary not just to enable Europe to rearm but also to finance urgently needed investment in infrastructure, renewables and digitalisation.

Merz has been adamant that mainstream parties in Europe need to rethink their approach to immigration. But he has been much less clear about how to do that in a way that reflects Europe’s demographic challenges. Ultimately, what is needed is a set of policies that re-establishes control over borders and population flows, limits the negative impact of those flows on the most vulnerable members of society and simultaneously considers the workforce necessary for economic growth, innovation and public services.

Looking at green policy and the environment, the question for Germany and Europe will be how to avoid a zero-sum trade-off between reducing emissions and reducing prices. The only answer is to create an environmental policy which is also an industrial policy.

But how? A fundamental question behind all these issues, from immigration and the green transition to trade and defence, is how to make interdependence less risky. How do you give people who have been left behind the sense that the government will keep them safe in a dangerous world, without walling ourselves off?

The independence Merz is promising will force Europe to rethink many of its relationships, including with China, Israel, India and, of course, the US. And we will need a political class that is able to see things clearly and make radical changes. Merz will not be alone in leading Germany to a new consensus. He will almost certainly need to lead a coalition with the Social Democrats (SPD), which may actually help him to bring his party to a different place—especially on the debt brake. Germany’s coalitions have often been a source of government weakness, but in this case a grand coalition of the main centre-right and centre-left parties could be a source of strength.

Merz is an unlikely candidate for this shift. His main critique of Merkel when they were both vying for the Christian Democratic Union’s leadership was that she had strayed dangerously far from the party’s orthodoxy. But just as it took an SPD chancellor, the outgoing Olaf Scholz, to start increasing defence investment and cut the country’s ties with Russia, Merz, the uber-Atlanticist and fiscal conservative, might be the only German politician who can credibly bury the debt brake and pave the way for a truly independent Europe.

Trump’s AI strategy puts the Indo-Pacific at a crossroads

The United States’ refusal to sign the recent AI Action Summit declaration should be seen as a strategic shift rather than a diplomatic snub to the rest of the world. AI is as much about innovation as it is about driving economic security and military power. Therefore, Washington’s decision reflects its intent to maintain an edge in AI development, free from global constraints.

For Indo-Pacific nations, this shift deepens their strategic dilemma. The region risks being caught between emerging doctrines—balancing between Europe, China and the US, between regulate and don’t regulate, between mitigating social harms and advancing military capabilities.

Meanwhile, China’s influence over AI rules and standards continues to grow. Beijing has embedded itself in global rule-setting bodies and the launch of DeepSeek, further demonstrates China’s ability to develop and scale competitive AI applications commercially.

If regional democracies want to avoid being absorbed into Beijing’s AI orbit, they must take US and Chinese interests at face value and take ownership of a governance model that is neither US-centric nor China-dominated.

The AI Action Summit, convened by French President Emmanuel Macron and Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 10–11 February, was the latest in a series of leader-level AI summits. Britain and South Korea hosted AI safety summits in 2023 and 2024, expanding commitments towards responsible AI development.

For the Trump administration, the Paris summit was an early opportunity to lay out its vision for AI and technology governance. Vice President JD Vance did not mince words when he delivered four messages:

First, the US is not ready to share. The US is still an AI leader and the administration will ensure the US dominates the full technology development chain—from semiconductors to algorithm design, applications and compute power.

Second, halt the regulators. The US takes a pro-growth approach to AI policies; deregulation will give big tech, little tech, start-ups and students free reign with some of the most groundbreaking applications. Other states are welcome to join but shouldn’t be ‘handwringing’ about safety. Above all, other states should refrain from ‘tightening the screws on US tech companies’.

Third, don’t worry about disinformation and AI-enabled interference. ‘We can trust our people to think, to consume information, to develop their own ideas, and to debate with one another in the open marketplace of ideas’, Vance said.

And finally, AI is a jobs-creator not an employment-eraser.

Vance’s anti-regulation message of ‘free-for-all AI’ is quite the about-face in US tech policy, even compared to Trump’s first term. Some countries in the Indo-Pacific will see the US’s message as an opportunity for economic gains, but many others will be concerned about the potential disruptive effects on social cohesion and national security.

We should expect Beijing to capitalise on US messaging, doubling down on its narratives of Global South solidarity, respect for sovereignty and AI for the purpose of sustainable development, despite being known for embedding surveillance and state control into its governance model.

China has already laid the groundwork for future leadership in AI. ASPI’s Critical Technology Tracker shows that, between 2019 and 2023, Chinese institutions have produced 36.5 percent of the world’s high-impact AI research, more than double the US’s 15.4 percent. This is the result of sustained investment and strategic planning.

Also, as other ASPI research has shown, the development of AI and other persuasive technologies in China has already progressed substantially enough that it now offers Beijing tools to dictate the information space.

The Pentagon is convinced it needs AI to maintain a competitive edge against China. According to Commander of US Indo-Pacific Command Admiral Sam Paparo, without it, the US cannot keep pace with China’s expanding military capabilities. The Trump administration believes that regulation would curb the potential of US innovation, which is predominantly undertaken by the private sector, and put the US at a commercial and strategic disadvantage. In a deregulated environment, this means it must restrict competitors—particularly China—from accessing the AI supply chain, including advanced semiconductors and research collaborations.

With the US resisting regulation and China assertively setting rules—both in pursuit of their narrower self-interests—the Indo-Pacific nations stand at a crossroads. While China may have signed the AI Action Summit declaration, there’s no guarantee that Beijing will follow through on its commitments.

To avoid being pulled into either the current US or Chinese AI orbit, the technology-mature nations of the region—such as Japan, India, Australia, South Korea and Singapore—need to acknowledge that a one-size-fits-all global AI governance approach isn’t feasible, and they must work towards a regional AI compact. Such a compact should recognise the security and military dynamics of AI but respect democratic values, promote responsible innovation and adhere to consensual international collaboration.

If Indo-Pacific nations don’t take matters into their own hands now, they risk being passive adopters of AI governance models that don’t reflect their interests—further eroding their digital sovereignty and strategic autonomy.

States vulnerable to foreign aggression embrace the cloud: lessons from Taiwan

Taiwan is among nations pioneering the adoption of hyperscale cloud services to achieve national digital resilience.

The island faces two major digital threats: digital isolation, in which international connectivity is intentionally severed or significantly degraded (for instance, if all submarine cables are cut), and digital disruption, in which local infrastructure, such as data centres, is inoperable.

To counter this, Taipei is shifting critical public systems and government data to global cloud platforms, and turning global cloud providers Microsoft, Google, and Amazon into partners in national resilience. But this reliance on foreign tech giants raises questions about sustained sovereignty in times of crisis.

Taiwan has learned from Ukraine’s digital survival before and right after Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022. When threats to Ukraine’s physical and digital critical infrastructure escalated, the government in Kyiv rushed through amendments to its data protection law, permitting government data to be stored on public cloud platforms. This amendment allowed Ukraine to shift critical data and services to cloud infrastructure across Europe. So essential government functions, public services and important private sector functions remained available even when its local physical infrastructure was under siege.

Building on these insights, Taiwan in 2023 launched a four-year, NT1.34 billion ($65.7 million) plan to transition 18 critical civilian government information systems to the cloud in 2023. This includes services such as national health insurance, vehicle management and border control systems. The effort is intended to ensure continuity of essential digital services during disasters and emergencies and to enable swift operational recovery in the case of outages.

According to a press release, this involves ‘cryptographic splitting and data backup mechanisms’. Although details are scarce, the Taiwanese government is presumably distributing encrypted backups of critical national data offshore stored across various cloud providers and retaining exclusive access to the decryption key. As part of this effort, former minister of the Ministry of Digital Affairs Audrey Tang suggested Taiwan would conduct contingency drills that would involve rerouting operations to alternative locations, such as Japan or Australia.

While hyperscale cloud services offer resilience against cyber and physical threats, they prompt questions around data sovereignty and personal data protection: how can a government keep control over data and services managed through foreign commercial infrastructure? How can privacy laws be enforced when data is outside of a nation’s physical jurisdiction?

Taiwan has taken a pragmatic approach, allowing data-holding entities to use foreign cloud infrastructure as long as they can strictly adhere to Taiwan’s privacy requirements. For instance, in 2023 the Financial Supervisory Commission amended its rules to allow the financial industry to use foreign cloud platforms for some operations, provided they met information security regulations, particularly regarding de-identification processes and personal data protection.

Cloud providers are acutely aware of contentions around digital sovereignty and have responded by offering ‘sovereign hyperscale cloud’ solutions. These involve security controls specifically implemented to meet local regulations and requirements, such as restricting data access and management to security-cleared local personnel operating from their national jurisdiction. The Australian Department of Defence is one enterprise that intends to implement sovereign hyperscale cloud, alongside sovereign cloud from domestic cloud providers as part of its cloud strategy. The willingness of global hyperscale cloud providers to adapt their offerings reflects their increasing role in national security.

In Taiwan, the Ministry of Digital Affairs is taking advantage of this adaptability. They have worked to bring the three major cloud providers (Google, AWS, Microsoft) into Taiwan and are actively encouraging them to build local partnerships with the satellite communication vendors to create locally resilient systems that can switch to satellite communications during emergencies and prioritise essential data transmission. These measures are particularly important for a country that imports 98 percent of its energy and faces regular challenges from natural disasters, such as earthquakes and typhoons, as well as military and hybrid threats. By establishing redundant systems through cloud and satellite infrastructure, Taiwan can maintain critical government functions even when local systems are compromised.

Cloud providers face operational risks when supporting nations vulnerable to aggression. When AWS and Azure took over the hosting of Ukraine’s critical systems and data, their cloud infrastructure became a target of state and non-state cyberattacks. Yet this exposure provides valuable cyber threat intelligence, which is then used to improve security products, benefitting other customers.

The deepening integration of technology in national security and digital resilience introduces new dynamics to the relationship between states and global technology providers. These companies are no longer just technology providers; they are custodians of critical national assets. This shift demands a mature framework of collaboration: one that considers tech companies as potentially essential partners in national resilience, including as part of the digital supply chain. This inherently comes with mutual commitments centred around trust, accountability, oversight and responsibility that are sustainable during times of crisis.

Taiwan’s integration of hyperscale cloud into their national resilience strategy shows how nations can leverage leading global technological capabilities while maintaining oversight over their critical systems and sensitive data. This model may well define strategic autonomy in an age where digital resilience depends on foreign-provider infrastructure.

Mogami class offers strong technical advantages in Australia’s frigate competition

Japan’s Mogami class is clearly the best choice for Australia’s general-purpose frigate program. Compared with its very capable competitor, the Meko A-200 from Germany, the Mogami design needs a smaller crew, offers deeper magazines and has a newer system for combat control.

The project, Sea 3000, is intended to replace the Anzac-class general-purpose frigates with as many as 11 ships, part of a larger program to expand the Royal Australian Navy’s surface fleet. TKMS’s Meko A-200 and Mitsubishi Heavy Industries’ Mogami class are the shortlisted contenders. Australia plans to order three ships of the chosen design from the winning contractor’s shipyard, taking first delivery in 2029, and build the rest locally. A decision is expected this year.

(An accompanying article looks at industrial and strategic factors in the decision.)

The Australian Defence Force has been suffering from a recruitment and retention shortfall, and the Royal Australian Navy has been especially troubled in finding and keeping people.

Minimising crew sizes is therefore more important than ever as the RAN builds up to an expanded fleet of surface combatants and nuclear-powered submarines. Because the Mogami class is designed for greater automation than the Meko A-200, it has a crew of only 90 instead of 120. So Australia’s frigates could be crewed more easily if they were Mogamis and, should the government expand the program, the smaller crew improves the practicability of operating more than 11 ships.

Alternatively, it would be more feasible for the RAN to give each frigate two rotating crews,  maximising each ship’s operational availability. The United States does this with some submarines and surface ships to reduce crew fatigue and the time ships are unavailable due to crew training requirements.

Implementing a strategy of deterrence by denial requires an ability to rapidly shift mission sets, so the enemy must be wary of complex threats. If recent experience in the Red Sea is any indicator, modern naval warfare will be frenetic and victory will hinge not only on which side has the better equipment but which has the greater magazine depth.

The upgraded Mogami design offered to Australia has 32 vertical-launch system (VLS) missile cells, twice as many as the Meko A-200. Mogamis would therefore spend less time shuttling back to port for re-arming, or, if Australia follows intended US replenishment practice, undertaking exceptionally difficult reloads at sea.

The increase VLS count also gives greater flexibility in loadouts. After accounting for self-defence, the Mogamis would have greater capacity for offensive missiles than the Meko A-200. This means they can be readily retasked and kept in the fight. While frigates can’t carry as many long-range strike missiles as heavier surface combatants can, the magazine depth of the Mogami design allows for a greater distribution of weapons through the fleet, maximizing distributed lethality.

By one important measure, the combination of a small crew and deep magazines results in high efficiency: a Mogami of the upgraded design has only 2.8 crew members per missile cell, compared with 3.4 for the US Arleigh Burke class and 7.5 for the Meko A-200. Between the higher efficiency and magazine depth, the Mogami is well positioned to support the Australian strategy of defence by denial.

A ship is only as capable as the combat management system that ties everything together, however. The Meko A-200 is presumably being offered with a combat control system developed from the one that the RAN already uses in the Anzacs, offering more-seamless integration. While the current system has been improved since its initial release, its age does raise the issue of long-term upgrade costs. The price associated with updating an older baseline rapidly increases and runs into hardware limitations. A case in point is the United States’ destroyer modernisation program, which is costing an estimated $17 billion for 20 ships.

The combat management system the Mogami utilizes was developed alongside the frigate, with initial designs beginning in 2015. This newer baseline means there are potentially large long-term cost savings to be had from the Mogami class.

The RAN would need time to adjust to the new Japanese combat management system, and there would be additional costs associated with integrating weapons  that Australia uses but Japan doesn’t. But these growing pains would better position the fleet for the future. Rather than presenting challenges of backwards compatibility, the combat management system would launch the RAN cleanly into the next generation of fighting ships.

Underpinning the better fit for the RAN is that cooperation with the Japanese strengthens a key geostrategic alliance between Australia and Japan. The shared operating area, threat assessments, and threat capabilities means that the Mogami is already tailor made for fighting and winning in the Indo-Pacific.

The Meko-A200 is a capable platform, and replacing the Anzac class with an upgraded variant wouldn’t be the worst choice. The Japanese bid for the Sea 3000 project, however, represents the stronger choice for Australia. The Mogami offers enhanced flexibility across the board. And there’s icing on the cake: reported costs are lower for Mogamis than for Meko A-200s.

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.