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.

Microsoft breakthrough challenges Australia’s quantum strategy

The global strategic landscape is being redrawn not on battlefields, but in the arcane realm of quantum physics. Microsoft’s unveiling last week of Majorana 1 is a technological bombshell: it is the first quantum chip powered by a topological core architecture, ensuring fault resistance.

This breakthrough demands an urgent rethinking of Australia’s move to post-quantum encryption, as it challenges the foundations of our defence and intelligence capabilities.

Quantum computing, with its unparalleled ability to solve problems that are intractable for even the most powerful classical computers, will revolutionise warfare. The potential to break encryption, develop new materials with unprecedented properties and accelerate artificial intelligence has the potential to negate existing strategic advantages and create new vulnerabilities.

The implications are stark and immediate for a nation, such as Australia, that relies heavily on secure communications, advanced materials and cutting-edge intelligence capabilities.

By harnessing the exotic properties of a new type of material called a topoconductor, Microsoft has been able with the Majorana 1 chip to create more reliable and scalable qubits, the fundamental building blocks of quantum computers.

This breakthrough has enabled the company to develop a quantum chip that is not only more stable but also more compact, paving the way for the development of quantum computers capable of tackling real-world problems.

To put this into perspective, the Majorana 1 chip can accommodate eight topological qubits on a chip designed to scale to one million. This is a staggering jump from existing high-end chips, which typically contain only a few dozen qubits. The ability to scale to a million qubits opens up the possibility of solving problems that are currently impossible for even the most powerful supercomputers.

Practical quantum computing has profound implications for Australia’s defence and security.

An advanced ability to break encryption could compromise sensitive government and military communications, as well as critical infrastructure, leaving us even more vulnerable to espionage and sabotage.

The development of new materials with enhanced properties could lead to the creation of advanced weapons systems and defensive technologies, potentially rendering current defence capabilities obsolete and upending the strategic balance.

The acceleration of artificial intelligence could have far-reaching consequences for intelligence gathering, decision-making and autonomous weapons systems, potentially outstripping Australia’s current capabilities and leaving us at a decisive disadvantage.

Advice from the Australian Signals Directorate, as outlined in Australia’s Information Security Manual, and Britain’s National Cyber Security Centre has encouraged the adoption of post-quantum encryption. However, this guidance has often been accompanied by the caveat that the development of cryptographically relevant quantum computers is likely still years away. Consequently, this advice is often framed as relevant for those looking to post-2030 security. The advancements from Microsoft suggest that this timeline may be much shorter than anticipated.

Australia must invest in research and development and devise strategies to mitigate the risks posed by quantum computing. As Microsoft technical fellow Matthias Troyer,  says, ‘From the start, we wanted to make a quantum computer for commercial impact, not just thought leadership. We knew we needed a new qubit. We knew we had to scale.’

Australia needs a proactive and comprehensive approach to quantum computing, encompassing six key elements: accelerated research and development; cybersecurity resilience; strategic partnerships; workforce development; ethical frameworks; and rigorous self-regulation.

Increased investment in quantum computing research and development would ensure that Australia does not fall behind in the technology race. This investment should prioritise the development of quantum hardware and software, as well as the exploration of new applications and mitigation strategies.

Strengthening cybersecurity infrastructure and embracing global standards for quantum-resistant encryption algorithms would protect sensitive data and critical infrastructure from potential attacks. Australia must balance the use of global standards with investment in sovereign capabilities to avoid dependence on foreign technologies, which could be compromised or withheld in a conflict.

Collaboration with allies and partners, particularly the United States and Britain, would allow us to share knowledge, pool resources and develop a coordinated approach to face the challenges and seize the opportunities of quantum computing.

Investing in quantum education and workforce development would ensure that we have a skilled workforce capable of harnessing the potential of quantum. It would also help us to navigate the complexities of this new technology and maintain our competitive edge.

The development and deployment of quantum computing must be guided by robust ethical frameworks, ensuring that the technology is used for the benefit of humanity and does not exacerbate existing inequalities or create new risks.

Fostering a culture of responsible innovation and self-regulation within the quantum computing industry would maintain public trust and ensure ethical development and deployment of quantum capabilities.

Microsoft’s Majorana 1 chip is here and is real. The quantum revolution is not a distant prospect; it is unfolding before our eyes. Its implications for national security and our national well-being are profound and far-reaching. Australia needs to harness the transformative power of quantum computing while mitigating its risks. Our nation’s security, and indeed our place in the world, may depend on it.

DeepSeek is in the driver’s seat. That’s a big security problem

Democratic states have a smart-car problem. For those that don’t act quickly and decisively, it’s about to become a severe national security headache.

Over the past few weeks, about 20 of China’s largest car manufacturers have rushed to sign new strategic partnerships with DeepSeek to integrate its AI technology into their vehicles. This poses immediate security, data and privacy challenges for governments.  While international relations would be easier if it weren’t the case, China’s suite of national security and intelligence laws makes it impossible for Chinese companies to truly protect the data they collect.

China is the world’s largest producer of cars, and is now making good quality, low-cost and tech-heavy vehicles at a pace no country can match. It has also bought European industry stalwarts, including Volvo, MG and Lotus. Through joint ventures, it builds and exports a range of US and European car models back into global markets.

DeepSeek has struck partnerships with many large companies, such as BYD, Great Wall Motor, Chery, SAIC (owner of MG and LDV) and Geely (owner of Volvo and Lotus). In addition, major US, European and Japanese brands, including General Motors, Volkswagen and Nissan, have signed on to integrate DeepSeek via their joint ventures.

Australia is one of the many international markets where Chinese cars have gained enormous traction. More than 210,000 new cars were sold into Australia in 2024, and Chinese brands are set to take almost 20 percent of the market in 2025, up from 1.7 percent in 2019. Part of this new success is due to the government’s financial incentives encouraging Australians to purchase electric vehicles. China now builds about 80 percent of all electric vehicles sold in Australia.

Then, there are global markets where Chinese car brands are not gaining the market share they have in Australia (or in Russia, the Middle East and South America), but where Chinese-made cars are. This is the case in the United States and in Europe, for example. This is because many foreign companies use their joint ventures in China to sell China-made, foreign-branded cars into global markets. Such companies include Volkswagen, Volvo, BMW, Lincoln, Polestar, Hyundai and Kia.

Through its Chinese joint venture, Volkswagen will reportedly partner with DeepSeek. General Motors has also said it will integrate DeepSeek into its next-generation vehicles, including Cadillacs and Buicks. It’s unclear how many such cars may end up in overseas markets this year; that will likely depend on each country’s regulations.

It is not surprising that DeepSeek is a sought-after partner, with companies scrambling to integrate and build off its technology. It also shouldn’t have been a shock to see this AI breakthrough coming out of China—and we should expect a lot more. Chinese companies, universities and scientific institutions made impressive gains over the past two decades across most critical technology areas. Other factors, such as industrial espionage, have also helped.

But widespread integration of Chinese AI systems into products and services carries serious data, privacy, governance, censorship, interference and espionage risks. These risks are unlikely ever to go away, and few government strategies will be able to keep up.

For some nations, especially developing countries, this global integration will be a bit of a non-event. It won’t be seen as a security issue that deserves urgent policy attention above other pressing climate, human security, development and economic challenges.

But for others, it will quickly become a problem—a severe one, given the speed at which this integration could unfold.

Knowing the risks, governments (federal and state), militaries, university groups and companies (such as industrial behemoth Toyota) have moved quickly to ban or limit the use of DeepSeek during work time and via work devices. Regulators, particularly across Europe, are launching official investigations. South Korea has gone further than most and taken it off local app stores after authorities reportedly discovered that DeepSeek was sending South Korean user data to Chinese company ByteDance, whose subsidiaries include including TikTok.

But outside of banning employee use of DeepSeek, the integration of Chinese AI systems and models into data-hungry smart cars has not received due public attention. This quick development will test many governments globally.

Smart cars are packed full of the latest technology and are built to integrate into our personal lives. As users move between work, family and social commitments, they travel with a combination of microphones, cameras, voice recognition technology, radars, GPS trackers and increasingly biometric devices—such as those for fingerprint scanning and facial recognition to track driver behaviour and approve vehicle access. It’s also safe to assume that multiple mobile phones and other smart devices, such as smart watches, are present, some connecting to the car daily.

Then there is the information aspect—a potential influx of new AI assistants who will not always provide drivers with accurate and reliable information. At times, they may censor the truth or provide Chinese Communist Party talking points on major political, economic, security and human rights issues. If such AI models remain unregulated and continue to gain popularity internationally, they will expose future generations to systems that lack information integrity. As China’s internal politics and strategic outlook evolve, the amount of censored and false information provided to users of these systems will likely increase, as it does domestically for Chinese citizens.

Chinese built and maintained AI assistants may soon sit at the heart of a growing number of vehicles driven by politicians, military officers, policymakers, intelligence officials, defence scientists and others who work on sensitive issues. Democratic governments need a realistic and actionable plan to deal with this.

It may be possible to ensure that government-issued devices never connect to Chinese AI systems (although slip-ups can happen when people are busy and rushing), but it’s hard to imagine how users could keep most of their personal data from interacting with such systems. Putting all security obligations on the individual will not be enough.

Australia has been here before. Australia banned ‘high-risk vendors’ in from its 5G telecommunications network in 2018, and the debates leading up to and surrounding that decision taught us how valuable it was for the business community to be given an early and clear decision—something some other countries struggled with. Geostrategic circumstances haven’t improved since Australia banned high-risk vendors from 5G; unfortunately, they’ve worsened.

Australia’s domestic policy settings are also driving consumers towards the very brands that will soon integrate DeepSeek’s technology, which politicians and policymakers have been told not to use. Politicians from all parties test-driving BYD and LDV vehicles highlights that parliamentarians may need greater access to more regular security briefings to ensure they are fully across the risks, with updates provided to them in a timely fashion as and when those risks evolve.

Tackling this latest challenge head-on is a first-order priority that can’t wait until after the 2025 federal election.

Governments must ensure this issue is given immediate attention from their security agencies. This needs to include an in-depth assessment of the risks, as well as a consideration of future challenges. Partners and allies should share their findings with each other. An example of the type of activity that should be incorporated into such an assessment is Australia’s experience in 2017 and 2018 leading up to its 5G decision, when the Australian Signals Directorate conducted technical evaluation and scenario-planning.

There is also a question of choice, or rather lack of it, that needs deeper reflection from governments when it comes to high-risk vendors. Democratic governments should not allow the commercial sector to offer only one product if that product originates from a high-risk vendor. Yet there are major internet providers in Australia which provide only Chinese TP-Link modems for some internet services, and businesses which only sell Hikvision or Dahua surveillance systems (both Chinese companies were added to the US Entity List in 2019 because of their association with human rights abuses and violations).

Not only do the digital rights of consumers have to be better protected; consumers must also be given genuine choices, including the right to not choose high-risk vendors. This is especially important in selecting vendors that will have access to personal data of citizens or connect to national critical infrastructure. Currently, across many countries, those rights are not being adequately protected.

As smart cars integrate AI systems, consumers deserve a choice on the origin of such systems, especially as censorship and information manipulation will be a feature of some products. Governments must also provide a commitment to their citizens that they are only greenlighting AI systems that have met a high standard of data protection, information integrity and privacy safeguards.

Which brings us back to DeepSeek and other AI models that will soon come out of China. If politicians, government officials, companies and universities around the world are being told they cannot use DeepSeek because such use is too high-risk, governments need to ensure they aren’t then forcing their citizens to take on those same risks, simply because they’ve given consumers no other choice.

Trump’s turbulence shifts Australia’s focus to Europe

The SS United States is the largest American ocean liner to be entirely built at home.  To this day, it holds the speed record for crossing the Atlantic Ocean, which it set on its 1952 maiden voyage thanks to its military-grade propulsion.

Informed by a wartime need to move soldiers and materiel to Europe, the luxury liner had been designed to be readily convertible to a troopship that could swiftly deliver a 14,000-strong US Army division anywhere in the world. 

Despite decades of rust and decay, the beauty and power of the now 75-year-old vessel was evident when I had a private tour of United States in Philadelphia some years ago. Once emblematic of US primacy and trans-Atlantic ties, the ship is soon to be an artificial reef off Florida. Its fate and destination—in the re-named ‘Gulf of America’—is a depressingly apt metaphor for what America is becoming. 

The domestic whirlwind sweeping the US is echoed in its foreign policy, with serious implications for Australia’s strategic interests.  President Trump not only has renamed a map feature, he also is opening a gulf between the US and its long-time partners and allies—and Moscow and Beijing are strategic beneficiaries. 

While Australia rightly will remain committed to the Alliance which has underpinned our national security for decades, we must recognise that other countries that share our principled strategic goals will become more important to our national and regional security. 

Regional partnerships remain critical, but European nations—with their own experience of an autocratic neighbour—can help buffer our region against Trumpian caprice and resist growing pressure from a would-be hegemon, China. 

In his first term, Trump’s goading and confrontational bluster was fuelled by his unquenchable thirst for publicity. This time, it is more visceral, informed by conviction (in more than one sense of the word), and underpinned by determined malice and vindictiveness. 

This has been especially evident in his disdain for Ukrainian sovereignty, his dismissive attitude and threats towards NATO and Europe, and his solicitous courting of Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin. 

Barely a month in office, Trump has shifted the strategic balance more decisively in Russia’s favour than the Kremlin had been able to since Putin started his full-fledged, illegal and unjustifiable war of choice against Ukraine in February 2022. Trump deludes himself about the real aggressor, denigrating Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskyy while trying to monetise Ukraine’s existential war and extort an arms-for-minerals deal in a shakedown that would make Don Corleone blush. 

It is shameful that one democracy should be willing thus to abandon another to the predations of an autocracy. 

We are yet to see any strategic quid pro quo for Trump’s unilateral turn towards the Kremlin. His innately mercurial approach and pathological need to ‘win’ yet may disappoint Moscow, but Europe will scramble in the short term to compensate for any abrupt diminution in US commitment to trans-Atlantic security. Decisive leadership and vision will be vital, but the recent German election results underscore that this is not a given. 

In Who Will Defend Europe? Keir Giles, one of Britain’s leading Russia analysts, examines the self-imposed constraints that prevented the EU and NATO from adjusting fast enough to the end of the post-post-Cold War era and the return of strategic competition. At the core was Europe’s lack of military-industrial readiness and political resolve to confront a revanchist Russia. Those shortcomings must now be reddressed with long-overdue urgency. 

Giles usefully illuminates the wider malaise afflicting other nations grappling with the new world disorder and revisionist risk-takers who see strategic gain in near-term opportunism and confrontation. His arguments underscore an important consideration for Australia in coping with the turbulence and disruption emanating from Washington. 

Australia will need to maintain its natural focus on our Indo-Pacific region, but we will benefit at the same time from deeper collaboration with European counterparts in building national resilience here and elsewhere. By pooling our respective experience of autocratic efforts to subvert domestic cohesion and undermine trust in our democratic institutions, we will be better able jointly to contend with what’s become known as the Axis of Upheaval.

We can learn from the forthright approach of NATO’s newest members, Sweden and Finland.  Both use the concept of ‘total defence’, in which aspects of national strength, including social resilience and economic power, contribute to the defence of the nation, and from the honesty with which their governments articulate the challenges their societies face. 

Though varied in size and heft, Norway and the Baltic nations (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania) have deeply relevant and valuable experience as frontline states that share not just a continent but a common border with an imperially-minded power whose strategic goals are misaligned with those of democracies that trust in, and rely on, the international rule of law for their security and prosperity rather than the application of military force. 

Poland is also a valuable exemplar.  Like Estonia and Sweden, it has been pushing back against disinformation for years.  It recently put one of its most seasoned diplomats in charge of countering subversion and is also hosting a multinational Communications Group to better co-ordinate efforts at debunking misleading Russian narratives. 

As the SS United States began its final voyage, Susan Gibbs, the grand-daughter of the ship’s designer observed: ‘The ship will forever symbolize our nation’s strength, innovation, and resilience.’  While we must hope that these qualities will endure in the Alliance, we would be prudent to cultivate them more assiduously in our relations with Europe. 

Sidewinders on P-8s and MH-60Rs: deterring Chinese attacks on Australian aircraft

China’s continued attacks on aircraft patrolling the East Asian waters, including Australian aircraft, are unacceptable. But they’re encouraged by the targeted countries’ failure to equip their aircraft for self-defence.

Australia should rapidly equip its key maritime aircraft with Raytheon AIM‑9X Sidewinder air-to-air missiles. This would make Beijing think twice. Moreover, integrating the AIM-9X should be relatively straightforward and could bring Australia opportunities to help its friends in doing the same.

At least four times since 2022, Australian and Canadian aircraft operating legally in international airspace have been attacked by Chinese fighters. Each time, the fighters dropped projectiles—chaff or flares—close in front of the targeted aircraft, once within 30 metres. The drops were against Australia and Canada’s primary maritime patrol aircraft and naval helicopter types: Royal Australian Air Force P-8A Poseidons in 2022 and 2025, a Royal Australian Navy MH-60R Seahawk in 2023 and a Royal Canadian Air Force CH‑148 Cyclone in 2024.

Make no mistake: such tactics are attacks. They are air-to-air bombing that can severely damage or destroy the target if their projectiles hit. Flares burn hot enough to melt aluminium aircraft skin if embedded in the skin. And if an engine ingests flares or chaff, as happened in 2022, it may fail or catch fire, forcing a mission abort or even a crash.

China uses such aggressive tactics to drive away other nations’ aircraft from where they’re entitled to be but where it wishes they weren’t—such as the South China and Yellow Seas, where the four incidents occurred. Even where the projectiles don’t hit the target aircraft, its crew must take evasive action or go home. Then China has achieved its aim of disrupting foreign operations.

Beijing knows it can get away with it because there is minimal political and operational risk.

Because China hasn’t used normal weapons, such as guns and air-to-air missiles, it can pretend it has made no attack, which would be a severe escalation and risk open conflict. The Australian Department of Defence conforms to China’s pretence with media releases merely describing Chinese fighter pilots’ actions as ‘unsafe and unprofessional’.

Operationally, such attacks bring essentially no risk to Chinese pilots and their valuable aircraft. The fighters are far faster and more manoeuvrable than their targets—which also have no dedicated means of defence against other aircraft. The Chinese pilots need no more caution than is necessary for avoiding collisions. And their government has no reason to desist.

What’s needed is to add risk into Chinese calculations. A prompt, technically promising means of doing so is to undertake basic integration of an air-to-air missile, most obviously the AIM-9X, onto the Poseidon and Seahawk designs.

Even the most limited integration of any air-to-air missile—just enough so it can simply fire forwards from its host aircraft—would dramatically raise the stakes for Beijing. Chinese fighter pilots could not come close enough to bomb the target without knowing they are exposing themselves to being shot down. Their alternative would be to use weapons such as guns or missiles to attack the target from a distance, but thus clearly showing China as the escalatory aggressor.

No other Poseidon or Seahawk users are known to be integrating air-to-air missiles on those types. Canberra going alone might seem foolish given Australia’s poor record in such projects. Yet integrating the AIM-9X should not be unusually difficult.

Electronically, the missile is largely self-contained, with an infrared seeker that can independently find targets. So, a host aircraft needs only basic communications with it to confirm the target and to fire. The AIM-9X is smaller and lighter than various weapons that P‑8As and MH-60Rs already carry externally, suggesting physical factors such as weight and drag would present no great problems.

Moreover, basically the same thing has been done before. Britain rapidly fitted Nimrod maritime patrollers with Sidewinders during the Falkland’s War. And the United States has integrated the AIM-9X onto AH-1Z helicopters, which are smaller and less powerful than the Seahawk.

Finally, the AIM-9X serves with the RAAF and armed forces of 26 other countries. If Australia gains expertise in fitting it to P-8As and MH-60Rs, it can offer the knowhow to friends, including the United States, and maybe do the modification work.

Arming Poseidons and Seahawks cannot be guaranteed to make China back off. But it would at least force it to think twice.

Negotiations can’t end the war in Ukraine; it would just evolve

In the coming days, a slew of commentary will claim that the Russia-Ukraine war may well imminently conclude after three years, following peace talks in Saudi Arabia. Such commentary will be wrong.

Regardless of what agreements the United States and Russia may come to, the war would likely continue; it would just evolve.

The belief that a negotiated end to the war would stabilise the status quo is the same misconception as thinking that the war started with Russia’s invasion in 2022 and that it involves only Ukraine and Russia. It also ignores the opportunities for rebuilding that a break in conventional fighting would present to Russian forces.

Russia’s war against Ukraine did not begin with the start of conventional warfare on 24 February 2022. Rather, it followed soon after the ousting of pro-Russian Ukrainian president, Viktor Yanukovych, on 22 February 2014. Russia annexed the Crimean Peninsula on 18 March 2014 and, through proxies, occupied parts of Ukraine’s Luhansk and Donetsk regions. This began a simmering seven-year-long proxy war in Ukraine’s east, long before the outbreak of conventional warfare.

Russia conducted the proxy war predominantly through grey zone tactics: sabotage, subversion and economic warfare. During what is now 11 years of conflict, tactics have also extended to cyberattacks, disinformation and large-scale combat operations.

Conventional warfare is thus an extension of Russian tactics: its beginning did not mark the start of conflict in Ukraine, nor will the end of conventional warfare necessarily mark its end.

Moreover, the conflict is not, nor has it ever been, just a war in Ukraine. Putin long-ago expanded his confrontation with NATO, challenging European interests through intervention in Syria, Libya, Mali, Sudan, Mozambique and the Central African Republic. Much of this was done surreptitiously through the Wagner Group.

Ukraine responded in Sudan and Syria to block Russian interests via a proxy warfare dynamic. In Syria, Ukrainian support of political organisation Hayat Tahrir al-Sham helped to deny Russia the warm water port of Tartus. But in Sudan, Ukrainian support for the government has so far failed to persuade it to refuse a Russian request to set up a naval base there.

Over the past three years, Russia has engaged in more than 150 subversive activities and sabotage operations in European countries. Further horizontal escalations against NATO began before the 2022 escalation in Ukraine. Russia also has a long-demonstrated pattern of ending active conflicts without establishing peace treaties or frameworks. It then exploits these frozen conflicts to coerce opponents.

Considering this history, believing that a nominal end to the Russia-Ukraine war will bring peace is simply naive.

Putin’s very willingness to negotiate now should give pause. By some accounts, Russia has lost 10,000 tanks and nearly a million personnel in the past three years, in addition to an enormous quantity of other materiel. This will take time to re-build.

Russian losses have weakened domestic support for Putin. Russia’s ability to use conventional warfare as a tool of coercion elsewhere is constrained as long as it remains focused on Ukraine. Russia’s military and security budget present amounts to some 40 per cent of the federal budget, while weathering 10 per cent inflation. Under such pressure, there are signs the Russian economy is reaching its breaking point.

Given these conditions, a negotiated end to conventional hostilities would likely embolden, not discourage, Putin.

Having achieved a supposed peace, Putin could be expected to revert to the practiced political warfare handbook and continue to subvert Ukraine’s institutions, while he rebuilt his military power and revelled in the glory of having defied the West. This increasing strength might dash the hopes of pro-democracy groups in Georgia, Belarus and, indeed, in Russia itself.

Putin will also likely increase coercive pressure against the Baltic States, Ukraine, Georgia, and Central Asian countries. Moldova was the victim of a massive Russian influence campaign in 2024 and will almost certainly face another to sway its 2025 parliamentary election.

Understanding such risks, the Nordic and Baltic States have affirmed their ongoing support to Ukraine.

The one thing that a negotiated snap freeze to the Russia-Ukraine conflict would bring would be a false sense of stability and security. In reality, it would mark a shift in Russia’s tactics and a chance for it to rebuild depleted forces.

Bookshelf: The conscience of the CCP, whose death triggered Tiananmen

Hu Yaobang is one of China’s unsung heroes.

Inside China, anyone who can remember the bloodshed in Tiananmen Square in June 1989 will also remember the well-respected Hu. But outside China, we tend to forget that the violently quelled demonstrations were triggered by his death just seven weeks earlier. The popular Hu served as the head of the Chinese Communist Party from 1980 until 1987, when supreme leader Deng Xiaoping removed him from office for his outspoken views.

For many years the CCP stifled discussion about Hu and downplayed his significance, and it was only in 2015, 100 years after his birth, that his image was officially rehabilitated. Biographies in Chinese are readily available, but an English-language biography is long overdue.

In The Conscience of the Party: Hu Yaobang, China’s communist reformer, Robert Suettinger reconstructs Hu’s life against the backdrop of China’s tumultuous recent history and the deep divide in the CCP between conservatives and reformists. A long-time scholar of Chinese politics, Suettinger has worked for the US State Department and the Central Intelligence Agency, and was director of Asian affairs at the National Security Council under president Bill Clinton.

Hu was born into a poor peasant family in Hunan province and left school at 14 to join the Communist Youth League and Mao Zedong’s revolution. Intellectually gifted and amicable, Hu rose rapidly through the ranks of the People’s Liberation Army and the CCP, spending much of his career handling organisational issues and propaganda. Fifteen years as head of the youth league made him particularly popular among young Chinese.

Early in his career, Hu was an ardent Maoist. But as the chairman’s mistakes piled up during the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution, Hu’s scepticism grew, as did his outspokenness. Mao purged and rehabilitated Hu twice along with several other critics. But between purges, Hu oversaw the rehabilitation of thousands of cadres, which gained him wide support.

Suettinger is at his best detailing the backroom politics within the CCP. To finalise the ouster of Mao’s chosen successor, Hua Guofeng, in 1980 Deng selected Hu to take over as the titular leader. Initially Hu was CCP chairman and, once that title was abolished, became party general secretary. However, there was never any doubt that real power lay with Deng, who needed Hu’s support to stave off his adversaries.

Suettinger also debunks the notion that Deng was Hu’s mentor. Hu and premier Zhao Ziyang both wanted China to cast off the shackles of Maoism and worked closely with Deng in the early 1980s. But differences soon emerged, particularly between Deng and Hu. Unlike Deng, who was focused on reforming the economy, Hu wanted broader political reform, particularly in the CCP.

Hu’s accommodating approach to student demonstrations in 1986 is often cited as the cause for his ouster. However, Suettinger makes a compelling case that Hu’s efforts to reform the party, abolish lifelong tenure for senior cadres and rejuvenate the party leadership were the real reasons. On several occasions Hu suggested that Deng, who was 82 at the time, should lead by example and retire. For Deng, this was a step too far.

The inner workings of the CCP can be brutal. Once Hu’s fate had been decided, he underwent a gruelling life meeting—a gathering where participants engage in self-criticism—to confess his errors and be criticised by a group of leading cadres. The six tortuous days left Hu broken and humiliated, and he tendered his resignation. He was allowed to retain his politburo seat but was otherwise sidelined and ignored.

Suettinger also shines a light on the origins of China’s economic reforms. The CCP’s central committee plenary in December 1978, when Deng launched the reform and opening of the economy and confirmed his position as the country’s leader, is generally heralded as the turning point. Less well known is the fact that Hu did much of the heavy lifting. He was rewarded with a promotion, but the CCP has subsequently played down his role.

Since coming to power in 2012, Xi Jinping has consolidated his grip on the CCP, stacked the leadership with acolytes and removed term-limits on his own tenure. However, tensions between conservatives and reformists are running high behind the scenes. With the economy in trouble, Xi will need to work hard to secure a fourth term at the 2027 party congress. Suettinger’s analysis of the power play within the CCP offers valuable pointers about how an eventual succession might pan out.

Suettinger spent a decade researching Hu’s life, digging into little-known Chinese archives, memoirs and websites. The result is an authoritative biography that at long last gives Hu the credit he deserves.

What if the US leaves the IMF and the World Bank?

After withdrawing the United States from the Paris climate agreement and the World Health Organization, President Donald Trump may pull the country out of more international institutions in the coming months. Notably, Project 2025—the blueprint for his second presidency, developed by the conservative Heritage Foundation—calls for the US to exit the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. Rather than acceding to Trump’s demands, member countries should recognise that a US withdrawal would primarily harm the US and use that to negotiate on their own terms.

On February 4, Trump ordered a sweeping 180-day review of all international organisations to which the US belongs and supports, as well as ‘all conventions and treaties to which the United States is a party.’ The directive aligns with the goals of Project 2025, which dismisses the IMF and World Bank as ‘expensive middlemen’ that ‘intercept’ US funding before they reach projects abroad. If Trump follows this playbook, a US exit would be imminent.

But Project 2025’s authors have clearly misunderstood how these institutions are funded and run. By abandoning the IMF and the World Bank, the US would lose a key source of global influence and economic leverage. In effect, the US would forfeit vital tools for supporting its partners—and withholding financing from its foes.

The proximity of the IMF and World Bank headquarters to the US State Department, Treasury and Congress is no coincidence. The US has consistently maintained tight control over these institutions, shaping their policies and leadership to advance its national interests. The US has always appointed the World Bank’s president, approved Europe’s choice to lead the IMF, and selected the fund’s deputy managing director. It remains the only member country with the power to block major decisions unilaterally, as both the IMF and World Bank require an 85 percent majority.

Unsurprisingly, studies have repeatedly shown that the IMF and World Bank’s lending patterns closely align with US national interests. The US regularly uses the IMF as a ‘first responder’ to protect the US economy. Trump knows this. In his first term, it enabled him to provide his longtime friend, the then-President of Argentina Mauricio Macri, with a US$57 billion IMF program—the largest of its kind in the fund’s history (paid for by all the members of the IMF). Similarly, the US has used the World Bank to bolster security and economic alliances, address terrorism threats and support the postwar reconstruction of countries such as Iraq and Afghanistan following US-led invasions.

Perhaps most importantly, the actual cost of US participation in the IMF and World Bank is far lower than many assume. Every year, the Treasury Department evaluates the financial impact of the country’s contributions to the IMF. In the 2023 fiscal year, it reported an unrealized gain of US$407 million.

The World Bank offers similar opportunities to use US resources. The main arm of the World Bank Group, which has four other subsidiaries, is the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (IBRD). The cost of running the bank is not paid by the US but by major borrower countries such as India, Turkey, Indonesia, Argentina and the Philippines. Their loan repayments, along with the IBRD’s net income from previous years, largely fund the organisation’s headquarters, staff salaries and other operational expenses (most of which flow directly into the economy of Washington, DC).

Unlike many multilateral institutions, the IBRD does not rely on direct country donations. Instead, it raises capital by issuing bonds and then lends the proceeds to developing and emerging economies. In effect, the IBRD finances itself—issuing US$52.4 billion in bonds in 2024. Although its bonds are backed by guarantees from member countries, the IBRD has never tapped its callable capital. Consequently, each shareholder provides a small portion of its committed share as ‘paid-in capital’. For the US, that amounts to US$3.7 billion—about 19 percent of the US$20 billion in subsidies the federal government has given Elon Musk’s SpaceX over the past 15 years.

To be sure, the US contributes to the World Bank in other ways. In 2018, for example, Trump’s first administration approved a US$7.5 billion capital increase for the IBRD. This does not demand more financial contributions from the US. But the US gets much in return. For example, its contributions to the World Bank’s concessional lending arm, the International Development Association, are voluntary and renegotiated every three years, giving the US enormous influence over the association’s lending.

Simply put, withdrawing from the IMF and the World Bank would be a grave mistake, stripping the US of its ability to shape the rules of the international monetary order and pursue its strategic interests. Yet at least some in the Trump administration appear tempted.

Even if the US does not withdraw from the World Bank and instead withholds its funding, member countries representing 70 percent of the total voting power could suspend its voting rights for failing to meet its financial obligations. The US would then lose all rights under the Bank’s Articles of Agreement—except the right to withdraw—while still being bound by its existing commitments. If the suspension lasts more than a year, the US will automatically lose its membership unless the same majority votes to reinstate it.

US President Theodore Roosevelt famously said foreign policy should ‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’ The Trump administration believes in speaking loudly and letting Musk use his big stick to smash things. Other countries may be shocked, but they are not helpless. By staying focused, working together, and acting decisively, they can still salvage the multilateral system.

The trials ahead for Pete Hegseth

Donald Trump’s new defense secretary, Pete Hegseth, has enormous challenges ahead of him—challenges that could seriously affect Australia by upsetting key elements of our ally’s defence position, including its ability to deliver the Virginia class submarines that are so crucial to our AUKUS plans.

At the heart of problem is Trump’s hallmark tax cuts and the space he needs to clear in the federal budget to enable the cuts without driving the deficit much deeper into the red. The Republicans are aiming to get their program through Congress by bundling everything together into one or two big omnibus bills. This should help them manage their narrow majorities in the Senate and the House of Representatives, but it creates potential problems among the deficit hawks on their own right flank who will be stripped of the ability to debate the cost of individual programs.

This group of Republicans insist that changes to taxes and spending must be at least budget neutral. They are deeply disturbed by the fact that, since the end of the Cold War, government debt has grown from about 40 percent of GDP to 123 percent today and is still rising at about 9 percent per annum.  Unchecked, it could get to about 195 percent of GDP by 2050.

The principal threat to an ability to balance the budget is Trump’s desired tax cuts. The Committee for Responsible Federal Budget calculates that they would cost between US$5 trillion and US$11.2 trillion through to 2035, counting both the permanent extension of Trump’s first term tax cuts—which are due to expire at the end of this year—and new cuts he has promised. These have both been flagged as top administration priorities.

Although Trump seems intent on using tariffs to boost revenue—unlike in his first term, when he was motivated by protecting American industry—it is clear his tariff policy will not resolve his deficit problem should he press his tax changes.

The Tax Foundation, an independent non-profit organisation, estimates that a universal 10 percent tariff would raise $2 trillion through to 2034 and a 20 percent tariff $3.3 trillion—though it would be less if, as expected the tariffs shrink the US economy. This would ‘fall well short of what is needed’ to cover the permanent extension of Trump’s first term tax cuts, let alone the new cuts.

Meanwhile, Trump has outsourced the task of cutting spending to self-proclaimed ‘first buddy’ Elon Musk and his Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE.  It reportedly is staffed mostly by young men Musk has brought across from the tech sector who have the job of eliminating programs and public servants. Musk suggests that any serious problems arising from haste will be fixed later. Sometimes, as with the sacking of many of those assigned to the supervision of the nuclear weapons stockpile, they have had to be fixed sooner rather than later.

This is one part of the headache Hegseth will soon have to deal with.  He is responsible for the most complex and expensive department outside those that handle social payments. Defence also has the deepest and strongest cultural disciplines—particularly in the armed services—and the most complex and expensive technologies in the world. Going into the November election, the approved outlays for defence were US$895 billion. Trump promised an increase but has since pointed the DOGE directly at defence.

In an interview on Super Bowl day, Trump said he expected to find ‘billions, hundreds of millions in fraud and abuse’ in defence. His national security advisor, Mike Waltz, suggested in a separate interview that ‘the Pentagon in general is full of unnecessary bloat’ and directed aim particularly at shipbuilding, which he said was ‘a mess’.  Yet that program is at the heart of American power.  It is also quantitively, and increasingly qualitatively, challenged by Chinese programs. The shipbuilding industry and the systems supporting the United States Navy are among the most sensitive that the US has.

They are also particularly vital for Australia. The rate at which the US can build submarines needs to improve if they are to deliver Virginia class boats to the Royal Australian Navy in the 2030s, as planned under AUKUS. Australian Defence Minister Richard Marles made a $500 million down payment to enhance the US submarine industrial base as part of the AUKUS package during his positive meeting with Hegseth in early February—the first Hegseth had with a foreign counterpart. Hegseth committed himself to the AUKUS programme including the sale of Virginias, which will be a formidable deterrent and a critical part of Australia’s defence.

Senior Pentagon official Robert Salesses said in a statement this week that Hegseth had launched a review to find 8 percent of the defence budget for the 2026 financial year—about $50 billion—in offsets that would realign spending towards priorities such as border security, an Iron Dome-style aerial defence system. Hegseth had also ordered an end to ‘diversity, equity and inclusion’ type programs. The Washington Post reported the existence of a memo indicating these offsets—which the news report called ‘cuts’—would continue for five years, though it noted that submarine acquisition was among the categories listed for exemption.

The US submarine output rate has been gradually coming up to the levels of production necessary for the AUKUS timetable. What will happen now?

The shipbuilding program, the assertive posture of DOGE and any cuts to the Pentagon overall, represent for Hegseth a massive difficulty. A defense secretary doesn’t have to be loved, but he or she does have to be respected.  This includes respect for the values the armed services evince. The military is proud of its capacity to incorporate women and people of colour in all facets of command and recruitment. Above all is a requirement that its manifold security arrangements cannot be put in the hands of people not qualified and cleared. The youngsters of DOGE are not. The Pentagon will look to Hegseth for that protection—as indeed will we and all the military allies of the US.

If it is thought in the Pentagon that Hegseth can’t cope with the need to protect both secrecy and capability, he will be lost. For any defense secretary, such a failure would be intolerable. It will be particularly so for congressional Republicans who have had to swallow a great deal to approve the appointments of Trump’s choices in the national security area.

All this will be playing out in an environment in which one or two omnibus bills will be hotly contested in Congress.

It has to be remembered that the US is not at the peak of post-World War II spending.  Were that to be the case, defence spending would not be at $895 billion; it would be closer to $2 trillion. Chinese and Russian expenditures are at least as great as they were during the Cold War.

The US is looking for a massive increase in allied spending. Trump has set targets of at least 3.5 percent of GDP, hopefully 5 percent. The allies are nowhere near these targets. Australia is increasing to 2.4 percent of GDP—far short of what Trump wants. We can expect the US administration to come at us. But our challenge is miniscule compared to that facing Hegseth.