Wary of cable sabotage, Taiwan looks to satellites as back-ups

Taiwan is paying attention to seabed risks. It’s suffered undersea cable breaks and it has noted deliberate attacks on such communications lines under the Baltic Sea.

Its response is to build a robust and redundant national system for switching wholly to satellite communications if it must.

All that stands between Taiwan and a near-total internet blackout are 15 undersea cables. In early January, one off Taiwan’s north coast suffered mysterious damage. Taiwan suspected a Chinese-owned ship was responsible. Luckily, the data connections the cable was carrying were immediately rerouted and restored.

The island was not so lucky two years earlier when subsea cables near the outlying Matsu archipelago were cut by two Chinese vessels, perhaps accidentally. Around 14,000 Matsu residents spent more than 50 days with cripplingly slow internet before Taiwan was able to repair the connections.

Elon Musk’s SpaceX, having helped Ukraine, at first seemed like an obvious possible partner for Taiwan. Taiwanese officials even held exploratory talks with the company in 2019. But in early 2022, these talks broke down. SpaceX wanted full ownership of its Taiwanese venture, as it does for such operations in other countries. The government wanted a domestic entity to have at least 50 percent ownership to prevent China from pressuring SpaceX or Musk to withdraw services from Taiwan during a conflict.

Musk also made comments that Taiwan perceived to be pro-Beijing, which soured officials’ feelings. In 2023, he described the rambunctious democracy as an ‘integral part of China’ and suggested the US military was preventing the two sides unifying. As a result, Taiwanese officials are now even leery of relying on Starshield, a business unit of SpaceX in development designed to provide satellite constellations to the US military.

After the dropping the SpaceX project, Taiwan’s digital affairs ministry in 2023 hatched a plan to produce other low earth orbit and medium earth orbit satellite constellations. The program calls for Taiwan to build roughly 700 satellite receivers across the island that will function as hotspots. The plan calls for participation of several satellite providers, both commercial and governmental, to avoid having a single point of failure. ‘The more layers you have, the more resilience you have,’ said Sheu Jyh-shyang, an expert from Taiwan’s Institute for National Defense and Security Research.

As part of this plan, Taiwan’s Chunghwa Telecom, which is one-third owned by the Taiwanese government, signed a deal with London-based Eutelsat OneWeb in 2023 for services from satellites in low Earth orbit. The service began in October. However, the signals were accessed through ground stations in Japan, Thailand and Guam, as Taiwan’s 700 planned receiving stations had not been completed. Chunghwa also signed a deal last August with Luxembourg-based SES to add its medium-orbit satellite services to Taiwan’s space-based communications.

But then, in December, Taiwan’s science and technology minister, Wu Cheng-wen, told foreign reporters that OneWeb’s capacity was too small for the country’s needs. This was hardly surprising: OneWeb’s satellites number in the hundreds, whereas Starlink has more than 6000.

Wu said Taiwan had begun talks with Amazon subsidiary Project Kuiper. This is one of the few ventures that can potentially rival Starlink. Project Kuiper is intended eventually to have more than 3000 satellites in low earth orbit.

However, satellite constellations’ capacity will still be far behind the service offered by Taiwan’s undersea cables, says Sheu. So they will serve as an emergency backup, Sheu says. The project aims to keep government and society working even if all subsea cables are unusable, he says.

The back-up satellite systems would provide internet access for only critical services: government agencies, the military, hospitals and financial institutions. Taiwan would use social media to send messages to the international community about its plight, Sheu says, but the internet would not be used for public entertainment.

Taiwan has pledged almost US$10 billion towards space industry development over the next several years. This includes plans to launch the first of two government-developed indigenous communications satellites by 2026. Taiwan must also develop its own launch rockets. Otherwise, its defence will always be at the mercy of foreign countries, as they will have the final say on Taiwanese satellite launches. Wu said that the government wanted to pick a site in southeast Taiwan for a launch pad and that launches were expected within five years.

In the meantime, the government has come up with interim measures. In October, it unveiled an indigenously developed balloon that acts as a high-altitude communications platform. It can give ground network coverage within 11km and stay airborne for two weeks. Wu describes this as an ‘intermediate solution’ to help quickly restore communications if infrastructure is destroyed in case of natural disasters or ‘other events’.

In January, the defence ministry said it would step up surveillance of areas where subsea cables were located. The navy plans to detect and monitor vessels that are loitering or otherwise engaging in suspicious activities.

Securing Australia’s interests in a Trumpian trade world

Australia must adopt a sophisticated and multi-layered strategy to engage the second Trump administration on trade and security. Australia must frame its trade relationship with the US in terms of its direct contribution to US national security and job creation.

Donald Trump’s second presidency, not yet 100 days old, is already sending shockwaves across the global trade. Australia’s economic and national security and the future of Indo-Pacific security architecture depend on navigating an unpredictable trade landscape. Understanding the new administration’s trade policies and their link to broader security considerations is essential for Australia’s economic prosperity and broader national interests.

The previous Trump administration made clear its perception that many countries were taking advantage of the United States. This concern became a guiding strategic principle, extending beyond trade imbalances to encompass security burden-sharing. Australia has long been a good trade and security partner to the US, and it navigated the first Trump administration with aplomb. While our trade surplus played a role, it was not the decisive factor.

Two elements underpinned Australia’s success. First was Australia’s commitment to defence spending, as evidenced by the 2016 Defence White Paper and its pledge to meet a target of 2 percent of GDP. Second was Australia’s increasingly assertive stance towards China, even at the risk of short-term economic pain. Willingness to prioritise security over immediate economic gain earned Australia considerable respect within the administration.

Australia’s current strategic settings may fall short of the Trump administration’s expectations. While the AUKUS partnership bolsters Australia’s defence credentials, a closer examination of defence spending beyond this high-profile initiative reveals vulnerabilities. Moreover, there is a perception that Australia’s China policy has softened, potentially undermining its standing with the new administration.

Assuring the administration of Australia’s support for the US’s national security and economy requires highlighting sectors where US-Australia economic cooperation directly enhances US defence capabilities. In addition to Australia’s $3 billion investment in expansion of US shipyards, Australian industry and manufacturing has been deeply embedded in the US defence supply chain for many decades.

For instance, as part of a memorandum of understanding with the US, Australia has long supplied parts for F-35 fighters assembled in Texas and bought by Australia. Australian defence firms collaborate with US contractors, providing important components and technology for submarines, warships and cybersecurity solutions. Australia and the US are also deepening critical-minerals cooperation for US military and aerospace applications, including cobalt and lithium for defence-related battery technologies.

This framing must extend beyond specific sectors to encompass the broader alignment between the two countries. Australia’s unwavering commitment to a free and open Indo-Pacific, its willingness to confront Chinese assertiveness and its active participation in regional security initiatives, such as the Quad, contribute to a secure and stable environment conducive to US interests.

While the US may favour bilateral trade arrangements and a tiered system prioritising democratic economies, Australia must continue championing the existing rules-based international trading system. Australia is the 2025 chair of the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership Commission, whose member states accounts for about 14 percent of global GDP. Canberra thereby has a unique opportunity to coordinate action on US tariffs in the group and reaffirm member states’ commitment to free and open trade. Australia is likely to find strong support for this initiative, particularly as members Canada and Mexico face complicated trade disputes with the US.

Australia should use its membership in the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, noting sensitivities with Chinese membership, and engage with European partners through the World Trade Organization to maintain a diversified trade portfolio.

Maintaining close ties with the US administration and avoiding escalatory trade disputes is paramount. With US$77 billion in two-way trade and bilateral investment stock valued at US$1.6 trillion, Australia must emphasise the mutual benefits of the economic relationship and the potential damage that protectionist measures could inflict on both countries.

This engagement will require an understanding of the administration’s priorities and concerns. Australia must communicate its value as a strategic and economic partner, underpinned by a mutually beneficial bilateral free trade agreement and shared history. In Trumpian terms, Australia must be clear that it is no economic or security freeloader; its global influence is due to real expenditure of time, effort and resources at a level well above that expected of a middle power.

While maintaining strong ties with the US is essential, Australia must also enhance its domestic economic resilience and diversify its trade partnerships. This approach should include investing in innovation, developing new industries and strengthening ties with regional partners. Such measures will reduce Australia’s vulnerability to external shocks and enhance its strategic autonomy.

By addressing the new administration’s concerns and demonstrating its value as a reliable ally and economic partner, Australia can secure its interests and navigate the challenges of a Trumpian trade world.

Tanks for the memories

The start and the end of two decades of Australia’s Abrams M1A1 tanks came together in a moment of policy symmetry. As Australia shipped 49 retired Abrams to Ukraine at the end of 2024, the National Archives released the 2004 cabinet decision to buy the tanks.

The 2004 choice by the Howard Government is the foundation for what will be, at least, a 40 year commitment to two generations of Abrams. The 2004 purchase of the M1A1 set the ground for the 2022 decision to buy evolved Abrams M1A2 tanks.

Choices of military kit shape the force for decades, as they also decide debates. The Abrams choices give the Australian Army the decisive high ground in a strategic argument that has fizzed and fussed for decades: does the island continent even need tanks?

For tank sceptics, the retired Australian Abrams are going to Ukraine to do what they’re designed to do: fight on the plains of Europe. The new front in the sceptics’ attack is the 2020 decision by the US Marines to scrap all tanks.

The critique is that tanks will be swarmed by drones and mugged by missiles; that the big beasts won’t figure on the future battlefields that Australia cares about; and that the focus should be strategy and force structure, not tactics and tanks. Doubts remain whether mechanisation will ‘cripple the army as a useful, deployable tool of government’.

Army push-back was passionately expressed by a former major-general, Mike Clifford, when he wrote in 2015 that the armour argument was ‘one of the most uninformed policy and capability debates’ in our defence history. Clifford dismissed the push-pull of heavy versus light and high-intensity versus low-intensity as ‘rot’. And tanks not fitting anywhere in our strategic guidance? ‘Again, rot!’

Clifford was closely involved with the Abrams decision in 2004. He summarised Army’s thinking in one sentence: ‘This wasn’t about heavy or light; it was about threat, survivability and risk.’

The 39 pages of army submission for the 9 March 2004 cabinet decision wasn’t about whether Australia needed tanks; the army had won that battle, which is only hinted at in one sentence: ‘All Western countries that operate tanks have been faced with the dual challenges of an increased threat in a more robust operating environment, and the need to upgrade their fleets to accommodate the demands of a more costly and digital battlefield.’

Rather, the recommendation before cabinet was about the best tank—the German Leopard, Swiss Panzer 87 WE, British Challenger 2 or US Abrams. The national security committee accepted the submission conclusion, deciding to pay $571.6 million for 59 Abrams M1A1s to replace Leopards.

The Abrams was judged as having ‘the best overall survivability, through-life support and Network Centric Warfare capability. The tank is in production and in use with the US Army and would be bought predominantly off-the-shelf.’ Army lore is that the figure of 59 Abrams was what was available on the shelf.

The cabinet was told the army ‘identified survivability as the highest priority for the tank replacement’ and this was about more than just the thickness of armour plate. To survive on the modern battlefield, the tank must have greater ability to:

—Avoid detection through signature management;

—Avoid being accurately targeted;

—Avoid being hit;

—Reduce the probability of penetration; and finally

—Mitigate the effects of penetration.

The submission stated Australia would not buy the US Army’s version, fitted with armour made of depleted uranium (DU). Cabinet was told that procuring the Abrams without DU would alter the protection level of the tank, but ‘US advice is that there is little difference in the level of protection between DU and non-DU armour. This is protected information.’

Having won the decisions of whether and what to buy, the submission stuck to the details of performance for price in measured bureaucratese.

The prose poetry about the Abrams tank in 2004 came from another place—writer Lee Child. He nominated the clatter of tank tracks as the signature sound of the 20th century, beating other sounds born in that century such as that of a jet, or helicopter or bombs falling on a city.

The squeal or clatter of tank tracks, Child wrote, is ‘a brutal sound. It’s the sound of fear. It speaks of a massive overwhelming advantage in power.’

Then Child turned to the ‘magnificent sight’ of the Abrams as the ‘ultimate unfair advantage’, writing: ‘The M1A1 Abrams is like a shark, evolved to a point of absolute perfection. It is the undisputed king of the jungle. No other tank on earth can even begin to damage it … Its main trick is to stand off so far that no battlefield shell or rocket or kinetic device can even reach it. It sits there and watches enemy rounds fall short in the dirt. Then it traverses its mighty gun and fires and a second later and a mile-and-a-half in the distance its assailant blows up and burns.’

In such prose, reaching towards the military version of poetry, we see army armour amore.

Japan navigates a course through Trump-era shoals

Japan’s relationship with the new Trump administration is off to not a bad start: so far, the two countries are agreeing on more than they are disagreeing.

The big development in the relationship since Donald Trump’s inauguration has been Prime Minister Shigeru Ishiba’s meeting with him on 7 February.

Before the visit, there were several apprehensions. Those included Ishiba’s shaky political position at home, China’s status as Japan’s largest trading partner, former president Joe Biden’s blocking of Nippon Steel’s acquisition of US Steel, the persistent threat from North Korea and Trump’s unpredictable approach to Kim Jong-un.

Against this backdrop, Ishiba faced the difficult task of aligning Japan’s strategic priorities with the Trump administration’s policy positions, such as the imposition of tariffs, withdrawal from the World Health Organization, sanctions against the International Criminal Court, and controversial claims over Gaza, Greenland and the Panama Canal. A challenge for Ishiba was to address those issues in a manner that best served Japan’s national interests, while simultaneously building a personal rapport with Trump—similar to the relationship former prime minister Shinzo Abe cultivated—by adopting a conciliatory approach without compromising Japan’s interests.

It appears Ishiba played his cards well. From the outset, he met Trump’s expectations by pledging to increase Japanese investment in the United States to US$1 trillion. This commitment, particularly in the automotive sector, will not only support Trump’s ‘Made in America’ agenda but also create thousands of job opportunities.

Additionally, Ishiba offered to rebalance trade relations by increasing imports of US liquefied natural gas, conforming with a Trump-endorsed slogan, ‘Drill, baby, drill.’ He also skilfully negotiated the previously blocked Nippon Steel investment, agreeing to a compromise whereby the US will retain a majority stake.

Geopolitically, the two leaders agreed on their continuous commitments to a free and open Indo-Pacific, assuring the continuity of Abe’s foreign policy. Japan’s 2022 announcement to double its military spending by 2027, in response to the perceived threat from China and North Korea, aligned with Trump’s tough stance on Beijing—although the level of spending may not satisfy the Trump administration, which demands that NATO members contribute a minimum of 5 percent of GDP. The continued stationing of 54,000 US military personnel in Japan also sent a positive signal of the solid bilateral alliance.

During the meeting, Ishiba cautiously skirted around some of Trump’s other controversial policies—such as the US withdrawal from the World Health Organization, sanctions against the International Criminal Court, and territorial ambitions in Greenland and the Panama Canal. Those issues hold long-term significance for Japan, but do not require immediate action.

Notwithstanding those identified convergences, Japan has to face challenges and difficult decisions in the coming months. A major strategic dilemma for Japan will be balancing rules-based and merit-based approaches.

For instance, the US claims of ‘ownership’ of Gaza may contradict Japan’s support for a two-state solution. In the case of the US-China trade war and the imposition of tariffs, Japan must tread carefully, not only because China remains its largest trading partner and one of its primary investment destinations but also because China has lodged complaints about US tariff measures with the World Trade Organization.

Trump’s proposals to make Canada the 51st US state, gain control over Greenland (an autonomous Danish territory) and reclaim the Panama Canal, combined with China’s ambitions to unify Taiwan with the mainland, present complex challenges. Trump’s possible peace plan for Ukraine should cause concern among those who believe that Ukraine today may be East Asia tomorrow.

While the US-Japan joint statement opposes any attempts to unilaterally change the status quo by force or coercion, Japan will need to decide whether to draw a parallel between the US and China or adopt a double-standard. Alignment with US territorial claims needs careful legal and political scrutiny within the Japanese government. Diplomatically, such alignment could undermine Japan’s support for a rules-based order, complicating its response to similar attempts by China, Russia or North Korea.

Considering the evolving strategic dynamics, it appears that where Japan’s core interests are concerned it is now time for Japan to display its strategic autonomy. This will prove instrumental in enhancing its credibility in the region and expand the area of cooperation with other partners, such as Australia, India, South Korea and ASEAN members.

At the same time, while strategic autonomy may increase Japan’s policy manoeuvrability, it will be meaningless if it has neither its own principles nor policy alternatives. Regardless of the US policy, Japan’s facilitation of a free and open Indo-Pacific, including through the provision of development assistance and capacity-building based on the interests of recipient states, should not only stabilise regions where the US is expected to reduce its commitment; it should also make Japan a reliable and responsible guardian of the rules-based order.

The fight for Syria

The collapse of Syria’s al-Assad dynasty, which had ruled for more than a half-century, was always going to represent a daunting challenge for the country and its neighbours. But the escalating conflict over Syria’s future between Turkey and Israel compounds the risks considerably.

In Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s view, Syria could not have emerged from its ‘dark era’ had he not lent support to the militias that brought down Syrian dictator Bashar al-Assad. Now, Erdogan sees himself as the patron of Syria’s new president, Ahmed al-Sharaa (also known as Abu Mohammad al-Jolani), and he is eager to shape the new ‘bright’ Syria in Turkey’s image—and promote Turkey’s interests along the way.

For Erdogan, one of those interests is to repatriate the three million Syrian refugees currently in Turkey. Another key priority is preventing Kurdish nationalism from spilling over in Turkey, even if that means taking military action against Kurdish forces in Syria. Moreover, Erdogan is reportedly negotiating a defence pact with Sharaa, which would allow Turkey to establish air bases in Syria and provide training to Syria’s military. As Iranian and most Russian military forces are pulling out, Turkey’s are moving in.

But Israel believes that it, too, deserves credit for Assad’s fall, which probably would not have happened if Israeli military action had not weakened Iran—including by degrading its air-defense capabilities—and devastated its Lebanon-based proxy, Hezbollah. So, why should Turkey be permitted to use the regime change to become the Levant’s new hegemon and attack Israel’s and the United States’ traditional Kurdish allies in northern Syria?

Already, Israeli forces have seized territory in Syria’s south, supposedly to secure the area temporarily. Meanwhile, Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Saar has pledged to ‘reach out and strengthen our ties’ with the Kurds. And the Committee for the Evaluation of the Defense Establishment Budget and the Balance of Power has recommended that Israel prepare for a possible military confrontation with Turkey in the Kurdish regions of Syria’s north, where Turkey has long supported local armed groups.

In the wake of Assad’s ouster, Israel clearly sees Turkey’s rising regional clout as a threat. But whether Israel likes it or not, Turkey is better positioned to dominate in Syria. And if it succeeds, the implications will reverberate well beyond both countries’ borders.

Napoleon said that a state’s policy ‘lies in its geography’. For Erdogan, this means historical geography: his foreign policy has Turkey straddling the Caucasus, the Middle East and the Balkans, which were once largely under Ottoman rule. After the June 2011 parliamentary election, Erdogan boasted, ‘Sarajevo won today as much as Istanbul. Beirut won as much as Izmir. Damascus won as much as Ankara.’

Now, Erdogan has a chance to realise his long-standing dream of using Turkey’s model of Islamic democracy as a vehicle for diplomatic outreach across the region and positioning the country as a key intermediary between East and West. But he is likely to take a calibrated approach in pursuing his neo-Ottoman ambitions, not least because they have historically drawn bitter opposition from other Sunni powers in the region, especially Egypt.

For Egyptian President Abdel Fattah al-Sisi, containing the Muslim Brotherhood—which led the government that Sisi ousted in 2013—is a matter of existential importance. It was differences over the Muslim Brotherhood that drove him to collaborate with Cyprus, Greece and Israel in 2019 to exclude Turkey from the East Mediterranean Gas Forum. So, Sisi was hardly pleased to witness Assad’s fall, fearing that it might open the door for the Muslim Brotherhood’s resurgence in Egypt.

Rather than jeopardise the nascent thaw in bilateral relations, Erdogan met with Sisi in December to underscore his commitment to supporting Syria’s reconstruction and reconciliation, while allowing Syrians to decide their own future. Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan was even more explicit, noting that the new Syria should be pluralistic, with all ethnic and religious groups—including Alawites, Christians, and Kurdish minorities—represented.

This is what Sharaa is apparently trying to build. Seeking to position himself as a moderate leader of a multiethnic country, he has severed all ties with al-Qaeda and the Islamic State, and declared that all rebel groups that fought against Assad would be dissolved and integrated into state institutions. This vision cannot work without the Kurds. Even if it could, Sharaa, who has been working hard to amplify his international legitimacy, would not want to target US allies who played a decisive role in the defeat of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria.

Overcoming the legacy of centuries-long colonial rule, decades of brutal dictatorship, a civil war and the risk of state failure would be a daunting challenge for Syria’s new rulers even under ideal conditions. But the geopolitical ambitions of Syria’s neighbours risk making a difficult task impossible. Adding to the list of regional powers with such ambitions, Qatar and Saudi Arabia, representing two irreconcilable political visions, also aspire to influence the outcome.

In any case, Syria’s stability is in Turkey’s best interest. The Syrian state’s collapse would mean a new influx of refugees and the emergence of a Kurdish proto-state along the Turkish border, with the likely backing of Israel and the US. Turkey could not tolerate a Kurd-controlled statelet in northern Syria, but it could live with a semi-autonomous Kurdish region fully integrated into a unified Syrian state.

A stable Syria is also in Israel’s best interest. In lieu of a Western-style democracy—which is not in the offing anywhere in the Arab world—an Islamist regime whose leader has announced the disbanding of 18 armed militias and called for peace with Israel is about the best outcome Israel could hope for. Instead of encroaching on Syrian territory and cultivating potentially self-fulfilling prophecies about war with Turkey, it should be doing everything it can to support this outcome.

The underexploited potential of Ukrainian defence tech

Western companies and entrepreneurs are largely missing a chance to invest in the thriving and innovative Ukrainian defence tech industry and take its experience back to their home markets.

Failure of foreign investors to put even modest sums into the Ukrainian defence industry also means that Western armed forces are missing out on rapid developments, for example in drone technology. Foreign drone programs developed in peacetime conditions don’t have the benefit of insights and innovation from the pressure-cooker of the war in Ukraine.

Ukraine’s own companies dominate its industry, with 1.5 million first-person-view drones built by Ukrainian firms in 2024. Yet Ukrainian producers would welcome further mutually beneficial cooperation with Western companies.

According to Brave1, a state-run innovation cluster, the number of defence tech startups it encompasses more than doubled in 2024 and now totals 1500. Some of these firms develop multiple products. Products include unjammable drones directed through fibre optic cords instead of radio signals; remotely-controlled machine gun turrets on uncrewed ground vehicles; and anti-drone drones, which intercept uncrewed Russian reconnaissance aircraft.

Although manufacturers must put Ukrainian defence needs first, they’re also looking at export markets and even civil applications for their products.

Take, for instance, the startup Farsight Vision. It combines a software platform with a tiny hardware device that together can quickly create a 3D model of an area from drone-captured footage. Such models allow unit commanders to keep up with the constantly changing terrain in their area of operations—something that satellite imagery fails to provide due to longer production cycles. At the same time, such 3D models have non-defence applications, including monitoring environmental changes in areas that are hard to access, or scouting locations for offshore construction projects.

2025 is likely to become a turning point for Ukrainian defence tech: startups will appear more slowly, and established firms will cooperate more. Smaller teams may be absorbed by bigger companies, leading to concentration and, thus, faster sharing of frontline experience.

Yet foreign investors’ commitment to the industry remains half-hearted.

Kyiv School Economics calculated that in 2024 US$25 million was invested in the Ukrainian defence tech industry by both Ukrainians and foreigners. In other words, all Ukrainian companies were able to attract four times less capital than Helsing, a German defence AI startup, got in its first investment round.

The chair of NATO’s Military Committee, Admiral Rob Bauer, asked whether European investors were ‘stupid’, because they looked away from defence industry altogether.

To be fair, rethinking is underway, as more private money is directed into defence innovation globally. More investors now recognise that security, not other forms of wellbeing, will be the most important commodity in the coming quarter of the century.

Yet very little defence capital makes it to Ukraine, with most investors deterred by various misconceptions and some legitimate concerns. To them the Ukrainian startup ecosystem remains terra incognita. But local actors, including  Brave1 and funds already active in Ukraine, can help foreign private capital make the most of opportunities in Ukraine.

Finally, foreign-built drones have sometimes underperformed in Ukraine. A US producer said it had failed to anticipate the intensity of electronic warfare in the war. That failure prompted the company to scout for Ukrainian talent.

Without battlefield pressure, Western companies cannot innovate and respond to changing technology and techniques as quickly as Ukrainian firms do simply because they must.

On the other hand, those fast-moving, sleep-deprived Ukrainian innovators, constantly incorporating feedback from the frontlines into their tech, have no time for the cumbersome procurement procedures of Western defence ministries.

Thus, win-win partnerships can spring up. Ukrainian startups can bring fresh ideas while well-established foreign defence contractors use their experience with officialdom to export the technology into Western armed forces. Exposed to wartime industry, the foreign firms would themselves build expertise faster.

So far, they are missing the opportunity.

‘Battle-tested in Ukraine’ has become a marketing label in the arms industry. It can be applied more widely with greater cooperation between Ukrainian and Western companies.

China is exporting its model of political authoritarianism to Africa

To expand its influence in Africa, China has stepped up its elite capture programs from hosting delegations and training to exporting its authoritarian model of governance. 

Graduates are now emerging from a school for politicians and officials in Tanzania, the first of its kind that China has set up in Africa. More may follow.  

By providing training, China ingratiates itself, creating interpersonal links with future leaders. As the school has started training those leaders in the Chinese Communist Party’s ways of maintaining political and social control, it raises the prospect of greater oppression on the continent. 

In the last decade, China has adopted several novel foreign policy tools and doctrines of influence, such as its signature Belt and Road Initiative, largely known for building mega infrastructure projects. In recent years, it has gradually transitioned into an influence operation, encouraging, for example, people-to-people exchange. 

Chinese influence in Africa has been constantly deepening through both economic diplomacy and security cooperation. This has fostered a favourable image of China among African people. Now, as China is reorienting its Africa policy away from geoeconomics towards geopolitics, it must win the political class. 

China has strongly emphasised on elite capture strategies, upgrading its model of domestically run governance training schools to political party training schools in a target country. The Tanzanian political party training school, set up in 2022, is an example.  

Located only 40 kilometres from Tanzania’s commercial capital, Dar es Salaam, the Mwalimu Julius Nyerere Leadership School was established as a collaboration between the CCP and the Former Liberation Movements of Southern Africa—an informal coalition of liberation parties from six southern African countries. They are Angola, Mozambique, Namibia, South Africa, Tanzania and Zimbabwe. 

The campus has more than 10 hectares of land and boasts a modern and technically well-equipped building for classrooms. Additionally, the school has a dormitory, canteen, service building and facility building and can accommodate 200 people. It’s offering year-round short leadership training courses, which include CCP-arranged tours in China. Run by the CCP, the school is designed to teach Chinese ways of maintaining political and social control, thereby promoting authoritarianism. 

In 2023, China refurbished the Herbert Chitepo School of Ideology in Zimbabwe, a similar school meant to train ruling party cadres. A greater CCP involvement in the curriculum of the school can be expected. China may establish more such schools in other African nations including in Burundi, Republic of the Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Morocco and Uganda. 

Over the years, China has trumpeted non-interference as a key tenet of its foreign policy. Political training schools arguably show China moving away from the principle of non-interference. Perhaps China would argue that, since the investment of approximately US$40 million came from the CCP, not the state government directly, so it does not constitute state interference. 

By teaching the virtues of party-state fusion to local political leaders, China aims to activate personal and professional bonds. This should help it to build a more expansive network of ties in the long run. Moreover, for some African countries with political oppositions, the school in Tanzania accepts students from both sides—so China will benefit regardless of who wins future elections.  

China’s engagement in African politics is not a new development. Beijing has historically supported African independence movements, military endeavours and governance structures. 

Over the years, it has invested in several influence operations in Africa through its media and generous scholarships, with the objective of telling China’s story better. China expects to reap significant geoeconomic and political payoffs from these investments, allowing China to entrench its network among African political elites. 

However, as the school trains present and future leaders of Africa, it risks greater oppression on the continent. The Chinese model of governance threatens African societies because it challenges the inherent multiethnic compacts of post-colonial African states. 

Already, conflict across the continent often reflects ethnic tensions, including the Rwandan genocide, 2007 post-election violence in Kenya, and crises in northern Nigeria, in Ethiopia and in Darfur in Sudan.  

Because support for political parties in Africa tend to be based on particular ethnicities, rather than ideologies, entrenching any of them in power with the CCP’s methods would also mean suppression of rival ethnicities. This will be dangerous, creating ethnically based unrest in many of these already fragmented societies. 

However, for China, policies that promoted the interests of local leaders with such destructive tactics would still count as successes. They would consolidate its friends in power.

China drops flares ahead of RAAF plane, sends ships to Australia’s northern approaches

Highly provocative and unprofessional action by the Chinese military has again put the Albanese government’s approach to relations with Beijing under pressure. So has deployment of a powerful Chinese naval flotilla close to Australia.

China’s aggressive actions in the South China Sea and beyond make it much harder for the government to stabilise the relationship with Beijing—under its formula of ‘cooperate where we can, disagree where we must, and engage in the national interest’.

On 11 February, a Chinese air force J-16 fighter released flares just 30 metres in front of an Australian P-8A Poseidon surveillance aircraft, in what the Department of Defence has described as an ‘unsafe and unprofessional’ interaction. Such interactions with China’s military are now becoming normal. The flare release, reported on 13 February, was the fifth known incident of unsafe behavior by the Chinese military towards the Australian Defence Force since 2022.

It should reinforce the need for caution by the current, and indeed any future Australian government, in approaching its relationship with China.

In another statement on the same day the department said a Chinese naval task group was operating in Australia’s northeastern maritime approaches. Among the ships was a Jiangkai-class frigate, a Fuchi-class replenishment vessel and a Type 055 Renhai cruiser.

Deployment of the cruiser is important. It is likely the first ship of its class to have operated so close to Australia. Renhais are among the most formidable warships afloat. Each has 112 vertical-launch missile cells and can carry a large load of weapons, including anti-ship cruise missiles, surface-to-air missiles, torpedoes and anti-submarine weapons. Although it’s not yet clear whether China is incorporating land-attack cruise missiles in the Renhai class, room for them could easily be found in a vessel with so many launch cells.

It is important to emphasise that the flotilla is operating within international law, just as it’s important to note that Australian warships and aircraft in the South China Sea operate in international waters and airspace—as they have done for decades.

The two developments announced on 13 February send important signals regarding China’s future military posture. Firstly, deployment of the cruiser-led flotilla sends a message to Australia that China can and will project power and presence into our maritime approaches. As the Chinese navy works towards becoming a global force, it will continue to perform more missions beyond the First Island Chain, the string of islands from Japan to Indonesia. Since the Covid-19 pandemic, we have seen the Chinese navy operate off the West Australian coast and through the Torres Strait in 2022, sit off north-eastern Australia during the Talisman Sabre military exercise in 2023 and sail a Renhai and an advanced destroyer through the Coral Sea on their way to Vanuatu in 2024.

Moreover, the Chinese military seems to be applying its unsafe and unprofessional South China Sea tactics closer to Australia. Indeed, its first publicly reported unsafe incident in relation to Australia occurred in our northern approaches on 17 February 2022.

This global ambition by the Chinese navy means that the Department of Defence cannot assume that Australia will always have a degree of isolation across a strategic moat, epitomised by the notional sea-air gap that an adversary supposedly cannot cross. The Renhai deployment reinforces the shrinking relevance of geographic isolation in Australian defence planning. The ship could, in a crisis, hold at risk any Royal Australian Navy warships within range of its YJ-18 anti-ship missiles, and Royal Australian Air Force aircraft could be threatened by its HHQ-9 air-defence missiles.

Australia must expect more aggression by Chinese fighter pilots against RAAF maritime patrol aircraft in international airspace over the South China Sea. Beijing has a reputation for such provocations, especially against US allies. Defence needs to think about a response if an incident leads to the loss of an aircraft and crew or forces them to land on a Chinese-occupied feature in the South China Sea.

In relation to the new Trump administration, China probably wants to keep its powder dry, seeking to minimise an impending trade conflict and to manage a deteriorating economy that relies heavily on exports. However, we should expect that China’s military will continue to target smaller countries, such as Australia, to end their long-standing military presence in the First Island Chain.

Thus, even though China’s military has recently softened its approach towards the United States, it continues to target the militaries of smaller countries exercising freedom of navigation and overflight in the South China Sea. In addition to Australia, Canada, the Netherlands and the Philippines have all been subjected to unsafe actions from China’s military in the past 18 months.

Notice the contrast between how China treats foreign military forces operating in its vicinity and how others treat China when it approaches them. China engages in dangerous intimidation and invariably blames the other party.

But when China deploys a powerful naval flotilla close to Australia, Canberra’s response is cautious and subdued. After all, there’s no indication that the Chinese ships were not in international waters.

‘Australia respects the rights of all states to exercise freedom of navigation and overflight in accordance with international law, just as we expect others to respect Australia’s right to do the same,’ the department said.

But it must be asked whether anyone in the Chinese leadership listens to Australia’s polite statements?  These incidents over the South China Sea keep on happening, suggesting that our current approach to deterring future incidents simply isn’t effective.

The Pacific needs greater cyber resilience as malicious actors break into networks

Samoa and Papua New Guinea’s recent experiences with cyber intrusions are the latest reminders of the urgent need for enhanced cybersecurity resilience in the Pacific. What’s needed is capacity building and coordinated response initiatives.

On 11 February Samoa’s Computer Emergency Response Team (SamCERT) issued an advisory warning about APT40, a Chinese state-backed hacking group operating in the region. Days later, reports emerged that Papua New Guinea had suffered an unattributed cyberattack on its tax office, the Internal Revenue Commission, in late January.

SamCERT’s advisory marks the first time a Pacific island country has formally attributed a cyberattack to a China-linked group. While the advisory does not directly name China, it identifies APT40 as the perpetrator behind the cyber intrusion and provides a link to the Australian Signal Directorate’s website that details APT40’s connection with the Ministry of State Security, China’s foreign intelligence agency.

The advisory also warns that the hacking group conducts ‘operations directed at sensitive networks administered by Pacific Island nations’. While this reflects a growing awareness of foreign cyber influence in the Pacific, it also shows the caution that smaller nations exercise when publicly attributing cyber threats to state actors.

APT40, classified as an advanced persistent threat, conducts cyber operations by infiltrating networks and maintaining access. By loitering, it can monitor activity, collect data and carry out more sophisticated attacks targeting high-value accounts, including those of government officials.

This group and this method of operation are not new. Australia, the United States and New Zealand have all previously attributed cyberattacks to APT40. In the Pacific, Palau is the only country that has openly accused China of targeting its digital infrastructure, but didn’t issue technical attribution. Samoa’s willingness to publicly acknowledge this threat is a step towards greater cyber transparency in the Pacific and encourages more open discussions among regional leaders and cybersecurity experts.

Beyond the immediate implications of cyber espionage, these incidents highlight the broader hybrid threats Pacific nations face. Malicious actors often exploit weaknesses in cyber hygiene, including in server exploitation, phishing campaigns and web compromises, to gain initial access to networks. The intersection of cyber operations, economic dependencies and diplomatic sensitivities creates a complex security environment for the Pacific. While raising awareness of cyber threats is crucial, strategic communication must be handled in a way that fosters regional cooperation and builds cyber resilience without unnecessarily escalating geopolitical tensions.

Australia has worked with Pacific nations to enhance their incident response capabilities, provide technical assistance and facilitate information sharing. It has supported initiatives such as the Pacific Cyber Security Operational Network and the Cyber Rapid Assistance to Pacific Incidents and Disasters team. Samoa’s ability to issue a public advisory is, in part, a testament to such capacity-building efforts.

In contrast, Papua New Guinea communicated poorly following a cyberattack on its Internal Revenue Commission that paralysed tax administration functions and potentially exposed sensitive financial data. The commission first characterised the 29 January attack as a ‘system outage’, reflecting deeper structural challenges in the region’s cyber resilience framework, such as infrastructure gaps and bureaucratic red tape.

While it’s ideal for organisations to be transparent about being victims of a cyberattack, this requires a level of cyber maturity. Doing so effectively would require a level of technical capability and strategic communications preparedness to manage public awareness and response that many of these institutions in the Pacific have not yet built.

Governments in the Pacific recognise the importance of cybersecurity. PNG launched its National Cyber Security Strategy in 2024 joining several other countries who have published or are drafting their own. But many still face limitations in resources, technical expertise and infrastructure.

Pacific nations and international partners need to prioritise strengthening national computer emergency response teams and fostering regional cooperation. Enhancing incident detection and response capability, as well as promoting intelligence sharing across borders will help mitigate future cyber threats.

Arguably, Australia’s strategic investments in the region’s digital infrastructure, including high-capacity subsea cables, are important to digital transformation in the region. But transformation is outpacing cybersecurity preparedness, creating a widening gap that exposes critical institutions to cyber threats. Support must be matched with comprehensive and sustained cybersecurity capacity-building programs that raise Pacific nations’ agency—not just token efforts.

Although Australia has committed to building cyber capacity across the region, its support should extend beyond government networks to include businesses, critical infrastructure operators and civil society. Long-term resilience will come from increasing public awareness, developing a skilled cybersecurity workforce and integrating cyber resilience into national security strategies.

At least, Australia needs to gather like-minded partners, such as Japan, France and India, to coordinate investment in Pacific cybersecurity, ensuring that the region is equipped with the necessary tools and expertise to counter the growing sophistication of cyber adversaries.

We can predict Trump’s military policy. Here’s how Europe must react

We now know the main strategist in US President Donald Trump’s administration will be Elbridge Colby, nominated as undersecretary of defense for policy.

Colby is one of the most outspoken and transparent policy leaders in the Trump team, so European capitals can easily assess his worldview and likely moves. They must appreciate his perspective, which prioritises China as the United States’ main threat, and so they must do more in terms of defence.

From my own interactions with him, here is how I understand his big-picture assessment:

First, China is the ultimate threat to the US. China is an urgent threat, as it is outpacing the US in many key indicators and is clearly preparing for a global war. China could win such a war against the US, whereas other countries couldn’t.

Second, Colby believes the US is overstretched strategically and militarily. The US has overpromised security in many places and does not have the capacity to deliver on all its commitments. So it must prioritise. Almost everything the US will do strategically and militarily must be aimed at countering China and deterring it from launching a kinetic war.

Third, many US allies, from Europe to East Asia, are asking for US protection but not sufficiently funding their own defence, in Colby’s view. Defence spending of two percent of GDP in Europe or Japan is clearly not enough given current strategic threats.

The US defence industry base is weak, underfunded and poorly managed, Colby believes. It must be boosted and put on track, with a focus on building up the military power of the US and of core allies, power that is needed to confront China.

This world view of the incoming undersecretary will shape Trump’s expectations of European nations, and it suggests what they should do.

First and foremost, European defence spending must at least double. Trump has indicated a target of 5 percent of GDP, but only Poland is on track to reach it soon. Most NATO allies are only just finally meeting the 2 percent, deep-peace era minimum of 1990s.

Northern, central and eastern European countries—which have real fears of a possible Russian military attack—are urgently boosting their defence spending. For them, 4 percent sounds realistic.

Yet many western and southern European NATO members—facing economic problems and lacking the such fear of Russia—will surely reject such high spending targets. This may create a rift inside NATO between the eastern flank states and the rest of Europe. We may see Trump’s threats last year come to reality—that the US will protect only allies who spend enough.

Second, European states must expect that the war in Ukraine will be almost entirely their problem, not a transatlantic issue. If rich European states want Ukraine to survive, they must put their money where their proclamations about the epoch-deciding Russian war in Europe are. European capitals should offer to buy US weapons and ammunition for Ukraine. This is a deal the Trump administration may accept in exchange for its continued support of Kyiv.

European states need to send significant equipment and ammunition reinforcement to Ukraine for its immediate defence and to hold any potential future frozen contact line in its territory. If European NATO countries don’t, we will just keep watching Russia destroy brave yet exhausted Ukraine piece by piece.

Third, central and eastern European states should see a chance to transform themselves from beggars for US protection to active supporters of the US in its primary theatre as it confronts China.

To be valued in global US military strategy, they need to lift defence spending to between 4 and 5 percent of GDP and scale up their arms industries to reinforce their own forces and Ukraine’s. Moreover, they should become involved in East Asian security, giving Washington another reason to care about them as they face the Russian threat. They could, for example, help train Japanese, South Korean, Philippine or Taiwanese soldiers in such areas as cyber, coast guard, air defence, military logistics and civil-military preparations.

NATO’s eastern flank is preparing for a large defensive war against Russia, while East Asian states must change their defensive postures considering the threats from China, Russia and North Korea.

We can expect the Trump administration to focus on deterring China from taking hostile action against Taiwan. So that is where smaller central and eastern European allies should look to help. They can provide direct political support. They could put particular effort into training Taiwanese troops on US soil, and they could build many thousands of drones for a US strategy of turning the Taiwan Strait into a hellscape for a Chinese invasion force.

Trump, and Colby, would be pleased.