Europe needs shared defence capabilities

Following Donald Trump’s victory in the US presidential election, Europe has recognised the need to strengthen its security and bolster its economic resilience. European defence industry leaders have called for more investment in the sector, and defence ministries are spending more on science and technology to ensure their countries’ readiness for the wars of today and tomorrow.

But it is not enough for each country to act alone. The European Union and Britain must approach technological innovation with the goal of building shared defence capabilities. Recent moves in this direction are promising: the German defence company Rheinmetall said it would open a new factory in Britain in 2027, as part of a landmark defence agreement between the two countries. Britain’s BAE Systems, Italy’s Leonardo and Japan’s Mitsubishi Heavy Industries are collaborating to develop a next-generation fighter aircraft. Germany’s Helsing, which specialises in AI-based defence software, is working closely with Swedish defence giant Saab and plans to expanded its presence in Britain.

Focusing on collective, rather than national, interests would enable large economies of scale. Each country could build on its comparative advantages, both in technological innovation and military capabilities, and thus strengthen European resilience for decades to come. This would also ensure that Europe serves as a strong partner to the US, contributing its unique defence expertise and industrial base.

Advanced European technological capabilities also form the foundation of economic prosperity, as reflected in Mario Draghi’s recent report on the future of European competitiveness and the European Commission’s policy agenda. But national policies continue to focus on technological sovereignty, with the goal of strengthening and protecting domestic industry, at the expense of sharing resources and information with allies.

This is the wrong approach. The proliferation of critical technologies means that even the strongest European economies cannot build an advantage on their own. Moreover, each country going it alone would stifle growth opportunities by inadvertently limiting exports and reducing market size below what is economically efficient or desirable.

Gaining a technological edge requires building European alliances that promote and protect shared capabilities. This collective statecraft would allow smaller economies such as Denmark, Norway and Estonia, which are home to innovative entrepreneurs working in quantum, space, and cyber technologies, to contribute to Europe’s sovereignty. These countries are too small to support a broad-based tech sector; working more closely with European allies would help them build their industrial base and boost domestic economic growth.

The idea is far from new. During World War II, the British shared extraordinary advances in radar with the United States under the auspices of the Tizard Mission. Today, NATO allies are developing drones with Ukraine. But to adopt a more consistent approach to pursuing collective sovereignty over tech outside of wartime, European governments must consider two factors: dependency and vulnerability.

Becoming a leader in critical technologies requires mutual dependence in terms of expertise, geographic advantage, and cumulative production. For example, quantum-computing systems rely on expertise in a wide range of areas, from superconducting materials to cryogenic engineering, which is usually spread across countries, highlighting the importance of alliances. Other innovations, such as space-launch technology, depend largely on geography: Norway’s Andoya spaceport, inside the Arctic Circle, will be essential for European space sovereignty. Lastly, some countries, after years of investment, have a cumulative advantage in production, such as Taiwan with semiconductors. Here, well-established manufacturing operations in Germany and Britain could be complementary.

Equally important is the question of vulnerability, which can stem from dependence. The war in Ukraine, for example, has highlighted Europe’s vulnerability to Russia’s control over natural gas (as well as supply-chain vulnerabilities in drone components). As the energy transition accelerates, the region will need to ensure that it can access critical material inputs and technology—which requires a shared effort.

Multilateral institutions can facilitate such collaboration. For example, the AUKUS security alliance, established in 2021 by Australia, Britain and the US, is committed to delivering advanced capabilities and ensuring license-free defence trade. Likewise, NATO should enable the sharing of non-military technologies.

Fortunately, some progress is already being made on this front. Last year, NATO established an innovation fund to invest in technologies that advance security goals. More recently, the European Commission launched a Trusted Investors Network to remove barriers to co-investing in breakthrough technologies with the European Innovation Council Fund.

At its core, collective economic statecraft means recognising that one country might be better served by supporting industry in another. Only by developing a collaborative framework that enables capital from across Europe (and the US) to be channeled to the most promising ventures can Europe gain the technological advantages that will help it meet important military challenges.

Such bold action would resolve a fundamental tension that has beset discussions of national security and economic competitiveness in Europe. Shifting the conversation from defending the homeland or strengthening its competitiveness to a discussion of how to advance collective interests would lead to measures that both promote and protect Europe’s sovereignty and economy. But first, each European country must be clear about its technological, geographic and production advantages and about how it can best contribute to collective peace and prosperity.

In dealing with China, Trump just needs to step up his first-term approach

As in his first term, Donald Trump should continue a resolute approach toward China in his second term. This approach was and is grounded in the belief that a more assertive posture will deter China’s expansionist ambitions, reinforce US credibility among allies and safeguard economic and technological leadership.

Trump’s track record and cabinet nominations suggest a consistent approach moving forward, with several initiatives needing only formal adoption or targeted reinforcement of existing policies.

The United States should, and under Trump’s leadership again probably will, prioritise four key objectives: counter Chinese advances in the Indo-Pacific, insist on Taiwanese self-defence, oppose Beijing’s predatory economic practices, and compete in economic and technological development.

Key priorities of the first administration included promoting US interests, economic prosperity and preserving peace through strength. Trump’s proposed foreign policy team for his second administration, including Senator Marco Rubio as secretary of state and Michael Waltz as national security advisor, signals a maintained firm stance on China, reflecting the general trajectory of the first term.

Their records suggest the new administration’s priorities will include more stringent economic and cybersecurity policies to address evolving challenges posed by China. As secretary of state, Rubio may also spotlight China’s human rights violations, potentially amplifying international pressure on Beijing. Overall, however, the tone and intent will likely follow Trump’s previous hardline approach.

One of the most pressing foreign policy challenges is China’s growing global influence through economic coercion. The first Trump administration’s recalibration of US-China relations included confronting predatory economic practices, prioritising US business interests and asserting technological leadership.

The Biden administration largely continued these strategies, affirming their effectiveness. The incoming administration is likely to build on this foundation, focusing on peace through strength, advancing technological competitiveness and bolstering economic resilience.

Countering China’s advances in the Indo-Pacific is another priority. To do so, the US military will need to modernise key capabilities such as space, cyber and missile defence systems. Since Trump promoted military modernisation in the 2017 National Security Strategy and 2018 National Defense Strategy, it’s likely to be a key strategy under his second administration.

Trump’s first-term efforts to push allies to share the financial and operational burdens of defending the free world have yielded results, particularly among NATO members. NATO’s annual defence spending increased due to additional contributions from several European allies, while Germany committed to significant military spending hikes. Expect more of this in Trump’s second term, strengthening collective security and alleviating the US’s disproportionate burden.

To confront China’s ambitions in the Indo-Pacific, the US needs to deepen cooperation with allies through joint exercises, intelligence-sharing and expanded base access. NATO and like-minded democracies have expressed shared commitment to a free and open Indo-Pacific, presenting an opportunity for unified action. Trump has endorsed AUKUS, talks for which began under his first administration.

Taiwan remains a flashpoint. Since 1972, the US’s One China policy has insisted that the Taiwan question must be solved peacefully by the two sides themselves. Accordingly, one of the main provisions of the 1979 Taiwan Relations Act places the burden of defending the island on Taiwan. Trump’s demonstrated expectation that allies must help themselves indicates he will expect Taipei to do more.

Taiwan must strengthen its military capacity, harden key infrastructure and reduce its reliance on foreign military support. Previous administrations have rarely demanded this, but the incoming administration should strongly encourage Taiwan’s self-reliance in defence matters. Enhanced self-sufficiency and readiness are essential to preserving peace and minimising the risk that the US would have to intervene to defend the island. Taiwan must make the costs of invasion and occupation prohibitively high for China.

The US must also lead in countering China’s predatory economic practices, including forced technology transfers and state subsidies. Promoting compliance with international trade rules, diversifying supply chains and supporting US businesses will strengthen the global economic order. Free-market principles and expanded trade partnerships will challenge China’s state-driven model and showcase the benefits of an open, rules-based system.

To outpace China’s ambitions, the US must invest in critical technologies—such as AI, quantum computing and advanced manufacturing—and diversify critical mineral supply chains. Trump’s 2017 National Security Strategy emphasised the strategic value of innovation, underscoring the need for continued investment in research and development to protect US security, create jobs and drive economic growth. In 2017 Trump signed an executive order addressing the US’s reliance on foreign sources of critical minerals.

Strengthening public-private partnerships and securing supply chains will safeguard US infrastructure and economic independence. Trump is likely to continue this trend in his second term.

This cohesive strategy—one that’s designed to counter China’s influence, strengthen alliances and promote peace—is a vision for the incoming administration that’s consistent with the core principles of Trump’s first term.

China takes aim at Philippine democracy

In April 2024, a spokesperson for former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte suggested that the Philippines and China had entered into an undisclosed ‘gentleman’s agreement’ between 2016 and 2022. China would not challenge the status quo in the West Philippine Sea, and the Philippines would send only basic supplies to its personnel and facilities on the Ayungin Shoal. But now, the Philippines is emerging as an essential player in resisting China’s strategic ambitions in the region, with President Ferdinand Marcos’s administration asserting Philippine maritime claims through naval confrontations and new legislation.

This comes at a time when the country is facing a quieter, but equally serious, threat at home. The recent, high-profile case of Alice Guo—a former mayor accused of graft, money laundering, and espionage—shows how domestic corruption leaves the Philippines vulnerable to Chinese infiltration and subterfuge. How the Philippines navigates this challenge could shape not only its future but also the broader stability of Southeast Asia.

In addition to conducting aggressive military manoeuvres in the surrounding seas, China is also pursuing strategic investments and subtler forms of manipulation to push Philippine leaders (at all levels of government) into a more China-friendly stance. This is in keeping with its global strategy of building influence through clandestine business alliances, economic incentives, and investments targeting other countries’ elites. As the Philippines approaches critical elections in 2025 and 2028, China will try to befriend or otherwise gain sway over anyone who is open to its overtures.

Given these efforts, one cannot rule out a future Philippine government that adopts China’s own model of governance, state control and mass surveillance. Such a government might not only consult China’s authoritarian playbook to quash dissent; it could also leverage China’s resources and international political support to evade scrutiny and accountability. Institutions meant to serve the Philippine people would become tools for monitoring and restricting opponents and critics, and China will have secured itself a valuable foothold in Southeast Asia.

China has been stepping up its information operations globally, using the Philippines as a testing ground for tactics designed to propagate anti-American narratives and build pro-Chinese sentiment. Through platforms such as Facebook and TikTok, which many Filipinos rely on for news, Chinese accounts amplify content that casts doubt on Philippine-US relations and erodes social trust within Philippine society.

By exploiting internal instability, Chinese influence operations aim to distract Philippine authorities from China’s own aggression in the surrounding seas. One potential source of disruption is the lead-up to the elections in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM). Should an ongoing peace process there falter, the region would inevitably demand much more of the national government’s attention and resources.

What can be done? Even if US investments do not match the scale of China’s infrastructure projects in the Philippines, Western strategic aid can help by presenting a clear alternative to China’s debt-driven model. Such a strategy would not only support Philippine sovereignty but also strengthen America’s network of alliances in the Indo-Pacific.

Specifically, to counter Chinese interference, the US and its allies should direct investments and support to advance five priorities. First, since corruption is a national security threat, they should fund programs to ensure disclosures of beneficial ownership (who ultimately owns private businesses), debt transparency, and the integrity of public procurement and tendering processes. This would not only create a level playing field for all businesses; it would also help safeguard Philippine institutions and political processes from covert foreign manipulation.

Second, the integrity of elections must be strengthened. Long-term election monitoring can help expose and counter covert foreign influence efforts and misuses of resources, ensuring transparency beyond election day. If sufficiently supported, citizen-led observation efforts can reinforce the sense that the process is fair, making electoral institutions more resilient against external pressures.

Third, the Philippines’ allies need to protect the BARMM peace process, such as by funding initiatives that strengthen local governance and security institutions in the region.

The peace process, and the country more broadly, would also benefit from enhanced information security, including targeted support for local initiatives to improve the public’s digital news literacy.

Lastly, the Philippines needs help countering Chinese surveillance of its citizens and officials. US support for cybersecurity and programs to protect digital rights can frustrate Chinese influence tactics and provide more transparency on major digital platforms.

A stable, democratic Philippines is vital to US interests and regional security. America and its Indo-Pacific partners and allies must do more to help the country build resilience against Chinese aggression not only in its territorial waters, but also in its politics.

Innovation for security: why Australia needs its own DARPA

Australia should establish a national centre for breakthrough technologies along the lines of the US Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA).

An Australian Advanced Research Projects Agency (AARPA) is needed to stay competitive with other powers in the Indo-Pacific in artificial intelligence (AI), quantum computing and biotechnology.

China, well aware of the power of state guidance and funding for high-risk, high-reward technological development, aims to position itself as a world leader in those technologies. It has spent more than US$15 billion on quantum computing, US$220 billion on biotech and US$184 billion on AI, guided by the Chinese Communist Party’s five-year strategic plans.

In 2023, Britain established its own DARPA equivalent, the Advanced Research and Invention Agency (ARIA). So an AARPA would be the third leg of a tripod of AUKUS organisations. It would enhance collaboration on breakthrough technologies under pillar 2 of the AUKUS agreement.

In December, the Australian government announced a review of the Australian research-and-development landscape. If it is serious about technological collaboration within the AUKUS agreement and being a key player in Indo-Pacific security, it will need to back that up with serious changes to Australian research funding.

Australia has the potential for greater contribution to global research. However, it has historically failed to spend much on science. Government research and development spending has been less than 0.2 percent of GDP for years. Even gross R&D spending, which includes business, is only 1.68 percent of GDP, well below the OECD average of 2.7 percent. China is spending 2.4 percent and the US 3.5 percent.

Despite that, Australia publishes more papers per capita than Britain, the US or China. Imagine the volume and impact of high-value inventions that we could be producing if we invested properly in research and translation.

Australia consistently underestimates itself. Selling minerals to China shouldn’t be our future. Economic de-coupling from Chinese growth is essential for Australia’s national security and sovereignty. In a more fragmented world, where nations are increasingly investing in onshoring advanced manufacturing, investing in critical technologies is essential. Establishing an AARPA would be a big step in that direction.

The Chinese Communist Party’s five-year plan for the period to 2025 has outlined China’s ambition to become the world leader in AI, biotech and quantum technologies.

AI is already rapidly accelerating progress in biotechnology, enabling the design of new drugs. However, those technologies have dual-use potential, enabling the design of advanced bioweapons. BGI Group, which has ties to the Chinese military, collected vast amounts of genetic information globally during the Covid-19 pandemic, raising concerns about potential misuse. BGI was recently restricted from doing business with US companies due to serious national-security concerns.

In response to the threat of Chinese dominance of biotechnologies, the US has established the National Security Commission on Emerging Biotechnology. The commission’s first report highlighted the convergence of biotechnology with AI and quantum computing and the ability of those technologies to rapidly transform the security landscape.

Western democracies must respond to these emerging threats by maintaining a technological advantage and reducing dependence on Chinese supply chains. That can be done only through strategic investment in sovereign technological capability.

The current government research funding model is broken. The success rate for government grants was below one in five in 2024 and has fallen steadily for the past two decades. Continuing decline risks serious brain drain to other countries.

To understand the value that an AARPA would bring, consider that, for decades, DARPA has been the world leader in funding transformative technologies. It created programs that gave us mRNA vaccines, GPS, drones, the internet and many other technologies that define the 21st century.

In contrast to the Australian government’s Defence Science Technology Group (DSTG), which directly employs scientists to conduct research, an organisation using the DARPA model would employ sector experts as term-limited program managers who are given autonomy in the design of funding programs. They would focus on high-risk, high-reward projects, creating breakthrough technologies for national security. In the US, DARPA’s independence enables it to respond to new developments and bet on technologies with transformational potential that would otherwise go unfunded. AARPA would complement DSTG by acting as a dynamic funding body able in invest in research across academia, government and industry.

The 21st century will be defined by advances in AI, biotech and quantum technologies, which are quickly combining to create faster advances than previously predicted. Those technologies have huge national-security implications. They will fundamentally change the security risks to Australia and our allies in ways that we can’t yet foresee. Australia is already a hub of innovation in these technologies, and our researchers can deliver projects faster than global competitors. Establishing an AARPA will ensure that Australia is able to continue to innovate and compete in a rapidly changing security environment.

BRICS is hardly a new fulcrum of world politics

One question that 2025 may begin to answer is whether the BRICS group (Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa) is becoming the new center of power in world politics. Now that it has added new members (Egypt, Ethiopia, Iran and the United Arab Emirates) and come to represent 45 percent of the world population, some believe that it is consolidating the (misleadingly named) Global South and posing a serious challenge to US and Western power. But I remain skeptical of such claims.

When Jim O’Neill, then the chief economist at Goldman Sachs, coined the ‘BRIC’ acronym in 2001, his aim was simply to identify the four emerging economies that were most likely to dominate global economic growth by 2050. But the label soon acquired a political relevance. BRIC became an informal diplomatic grouping at the 2006 United Nations General Assembly and then a formal organisation in 2009, with the first BRIC Summit. Hosted in Russia, the focus then, as it is now, was on advancing a multipolar world order. At the end of the following year, the group got its ‘S’ when South Africa joined.

A Wall Street asset class evolved into an international organisation partly because it aligned with Russia’s and China’s own aspirations to lead the developing world. The BRICS 16th summit in Russia in October 2024 was the first to include its new members. (Saudi Arabia has not yet decided whether to accept the group’s invitation to join, and Argentina’s new government declined.) Some 36 national leaders attended, as did representatives from many international organisations, including UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, and Turkey used the occasion to present its own application for membership.

The 2024 summit focused on fostering ties across the Global South and building a multipolar world, with Russian President Vladimir Putin using the occasion to demonstrate his global diplomatic relevance despite Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022.

With more countries showing an interest in joining, it looks like the BRICS could indeed present itself as a leader of the resistance to the US-dominated international order. Some even see it as the successor to the Cold War-era Non-Aligned Movement, whose members refused to choose between the United States and the Soviet Union. But while NAM had a shared interest in resisting the US, it did not have Russia and China as founding members.

In any case, the BRICS is unlikely to succeed in formally organising the so-called Global South. Not only do its largest and most important members—China, India and Russia—all lie north of the equator, but the three are competing for leadership.

Russia and China do have a common interest in countering what they see as an American threat, and they have declared an ‘alliance without limits’. But such slogans mask major differences in their strategic perspectives. While Russia took vast swaths of territory from China in the 19th century, when the Qing dynasty was weak, China’s economy is now 10 times the size of Russia’s. Both countries are vying for influence in Central Asia, and China is uneasy about Russia’s recruitment of its neighbor North Korea to fight in Ukraine.

An even more important limit on the BRICS as an organisation is the rivalry between China and India, which is now the world’s most populous country. Although China is much wealthier than India, it is experiencing demographic decline (like Russia), while India’s population and workforce continue to grow.

Moreover, China and India share a disputed boundary in the Himalayas, where their forces have clashed repeatedly, and the situation is further complicated by China’s traditional friendship with Pakistan. In fact, an abiding concern about China is one reason why India participates in the BRICS in the first place. While it avoids formal alliances, it has also stepped up its participation in the Quad (whose other members are the US, Japan and Australia) for the same reason.

Rather than making the BRICS stronger, the admission of new members merely imports more rivalries. Egypt and Ethiopia are locked in a dispute over a dam that Ethiopia is building on the Nile River, and Iran has long-standing disputes with the UAE and prospective member Saudi Arabia. Far from making the BRICS more effective, these new intra-organisational rivalries will hamper its efforts. The Group of 77 developing countries has even more members, and it is chronically limited by internal divisions.

At their 2024 summit, BRICS+ discussed matters such as economic and security cooperation, promotion of cultural exchanges, and joint development projects focused on infrastructure and sustainability. But such talk usually does not yield significant results. In 2014, the group established the New Development Bank, which is headquartered in Shanghai; but the institution has had only modest results to date.

Likewise, the group’s stated intention of avoiding the dollar and clearing more of its members’ bilateral trade in their own currencies has made only limited headway. Any serious attempt to replace the dollar as a global reserve currency would require China to back the yuan with deep, flexible capital markets and the rule of law—and those conditions are nowhere close to being met.

So, what is the BRICS good for? As a means of escaping diplomatic isolation, it is certainly useful to Russia. As a diplomatic device for projecting leadership of the developing world, it also has been useful to China. As a channel through which to counterbalance China, it has its uses for India. And as a modest stage for touting national development, it has sometimes been useful to Brazil and South Africa. But do these functions make it a new fulcrum of world politics? I think not.

The next Australian government needs a bolder plan for the navy

The past year brought a renewed focus on Australia’s deteriorating security situation and maritime capability. Despite the maritime emphasis in Australia’s 2024 defence announcements, the country remains far from being adequately positioned to defend its extensive sea lines of communication, subsea cables and broader national interests at sea.

With a federal election due by May, the next Australian government must spend on the navy, address the capability gaps and make timely decisions on future capability.

In the past 12 months, the oceans on which we depend for our protection and prosperity have experi­enced a dramatic deteriora­tion in security terms, unseen in recent decades. Globally, from the Black Sea to the Red Sea, maritime trade is under pressure. Europe has experienced further attacks on critical maritime infrastructure, including subsea cables – the backbone of internet connectivity.

Closer to home, we’ve witnessed escalating aggression from China’s coastguard, which regularly has attacked Philippine vessels in the West Philippine Sea.

Australian sailors have been placed at risk, most recently when a Chinese fighter pilot inexplicably deployed flares in front of an Australian helicopter operating in international airspace. This is not simply a canary in the coalmine; it means the breakdown of global norms.

If a conflict arises in the Indo-Pacific, it will be inherently maritime in nature and we will be compelled to fight with the capabilities we have at the time.

In February 2024, the government announced a historic expansion of the surface combatant fleet—the destroyers and frigates of the Royal Australian Navy equipped with offensive and defensive weapons including missiles and torpedoes. But this expansion is not expected to materialise until the 2030s.

During the past 12 months there has been an integration of new missile capabilities in the navy’s small fleet. Announcements have included the acceleration of building ships for the army and key achievements in training, treaties and export controls to support Australia’s acquisition of nuclear-powered submarines. In fact, 38 percent of Defence’s spending plan, the Integrated Investment Program, across the next decade will be directed towards maritime capabilities.

These developments are positive, but they have not shifted the needle in the near term to address Australia’s vulnerabilities in the maritime domain.

Australia’s surface combatant fleet has been reduced from 11 to 10 with the decommissioning of HMAS Anzac because of its age. The mine-hunting fleet also has been diminished, leaving only two vessels remaining after a mid-year decision to cancel their replacements. Australia’s two tankers, critical for replenishing fuel, food and ammunition for naval ships, have been laid up for most of 2024 because of defects. Additionally, much of Australia’s hydrographic capability, vital for surveying beneath the surface of the water, has been decommissioned, leaving only one ship in operation.

The list goes on. These issues are the product of decades of delayed and indecisive decision-making compounded by a lack of investment. The increasing frequency of attacks in the maritime domain, coupled with the absence of strategic warning time for a potential regional conflict, highlights the urgent need to address Australia’s waning maritime power. This is not simply a nice-to-have but an essential requirement for an island nation when global security norms are being redefined.

In 2025 a timely decision on Australia’s future frigate design will be critical to achieving the planned 2029 delivery of the first of 11 ships. This decision must prioritise the option that minimises delivery risks, ensures operational capability by 2029 (or sooner), maximises commonality with existing Australian systems and offers the design flexibility to accommodate future upgrades.

We must be even bolder than this. While the thought of another review may make us groan, the next government must conduct a thorough assessment of our broader naval and maritime capabilities. If we acknowledge that we’re not currently equipped to protect our trade routes or subsea cables, we must critically examine the composition of the wider fleet—not just the surface combatants but also our mine warfare, hydrographic, amphibious, replenishment and clearance diving capabilities.

Finally, we must confront the difficult conversation about spending to deliver these capabilities at speed. While the current government has made the first substantial increase to the defence budget in nearly a decade—projecting defence spending to rise from the current 2 per cent of GDP to 2.4 per cent by the end of the next decade—this will not be enough to revitalise our defence, particularly our naval capabilities.

During the Cold War, Australia consistently spent an average of 2.7 percent of GDP on defence, with spending exceeding that level during major naval construction efforts. If Australia is truly facing its most complex and challenging strategic environment since World War II, as outlined in the 2024 National Defence Strategy, we cannot afford to continue underspending.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘Australia’s climate ambitions have a modern slavery problem: examining the origins of our big batteries’

Originally published on 6 September 2024. Republication of this report today follows news on 6 January 2025 that the US Defense Department had added CATL to its list of companies that work with the Chinese military.

Several big battery projects in Australia vital for storing renewable energy to meet the nation’s climate goals are highly likely to be using materials sourced through the forced labour of Uyghur and other Turkic ethnic groups in China, ASPI research has found.

ASPI has examined the supply chains for big battery projects across various Australian states and found that, even when the batteries are sourced from US-based companies, critical components are still obtained from Chinese suppliers. These suppliers carry well-documented risks of involvement in human rights abuses.

Australia needs big batteries because its renewable energy plans require storage for intermittent sources such as wind, solar and hydro. That’s why state and territory governments are pouring billions of dollars into battery energy storage systems (BESS), also known as big batteries.

However, most of the global battery supply is controlled by companies based in the People’s Republic of China and is dependent on raw materials mined and processed in Xinjiang Uyghur autonomous region (XUAR).  Two of the largest companies that supply batteries and lithium cells for batteries—Contemporary Amperex Technology Co. Ltd. (CATL) and EVE—are used in Australian projects in spite of having been reported to be implicated in grave human rights violations, notably forced labour of Uyghur and other Turkic ethnic groups in the manufacturing and processing of raw materials. In a damning 2022 report, the United Nations stated that such violations might constitute crimes against humanity.

Our findings indicate that a legislative or policy directive is required to ensure that the default for Australian companies and governments is to source batteries that are guaranteed not to involve forced labour. Only then can Australia reach its climate goals without that success coming at the expense of human rights.

This directive should compel Australian governments to act as model contractors and incentivise and require private sector partners to undertake appropriate due diligence. It would mean mandating that project owners and operators know the origins, sources and supply chains of the batteries and their materials and are able to confirm they do not carry the risk of human rights abuses. When dealing with countries known to engage in modern slavery, such as China, it cannot be sufficient to say there is no evidence of forced labour. Rather, the supply chain must be known to be free of these risks.

If this work does not provide complete confidence, then the battery suppliers should not be used.

Understanding Chinese battery supply chains is indeed notoriously difficult. Faced with scrutiny from foreign governments and non-government researchers, Chinese companies often obscure their supply chains through intricate webs of suppliers and corporate affiliations, creating significant challenges for consumers and regulators trying to trace the origins of materials and labour. But difficult doesn’t mean impossible.

In June 2022, The New York Times uncovered that Xinjiang Nonferrous Metal Industry (Group), a Chinese state-owned enterprise, was directly exploiting forced Uyghur labour in the mining sector under the guise of a surplus labour transfer program. And in September 2023, the Washington Post detailed concerns about forced labour within the supply chains of several electric vehicle companies, including Tesla, Ford and Volkswagen.

One of the supply chains examined by the Washington Post involved CATL (宁德时代新能源科技股份有限公司), the world’s largest EV battery maker, which has contracts with seven major global automakers.

CATL attracted the scrutiny of US lawmakers in February 2023 after it struck a deal with automaker Ford. The scrutiny prompted the battery company to ostensibly divest its ownership stake in Xinjiang Zhicun Lithium (新疆志存锂业有限公司), a company reported to be connected to forced labour practices in Xinjiang. Zhicun produces lithium carbonate, which is central to the manufacture of lithium-ion batteries, from its facilities in Xinjiang.

However, while CATL officially divested from Zhicun, it continued to exercise significant control or guidance over the company’s operations through a series of holding companies and by the appointment of Guan Chaoyu as a manager of Zhicun’s new shareholder company, Chendao Capital. Guan also holds positions in several companies where CATL has invested, according to two US House of Representatives’ Select Committees.

ASPI’s research now reveals that despite the official divestment, CATL and Zhicun also continue to collaborate through a joint subsidiary, Wanzai Shidai Zhicun New Energy Materials Co., Ltd. (万载时代志存新能源材料有限公司), established in July 2022 with a registered capital of 1 billion yuan (A$211 million). This company is jointly held by Yichun Shidai New Energy Resources Co., Ltd., which is fully owned by CATL, and Zhicun Lithium Industry, with shareholding ratios of 80 percent and 20 percent, respectively.

In August 2023, a group of Republican lawmakers called on the US Department of Homeland Security to add CATL and associated companies to the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act Entity List, citing their connections to coercive labour transfer programs in Xinjiang that were first outlined in a December 2022 report by Laura T. Murphy and others at Sheffield Hallam University. In June, lawmakers accused CATL and another Chinese firm Gotion of ‘state-sponsored slave labour’ and called for them to be added to a US import ban list.

While the spotlight on companies like CATL and their potential reliance on modern slavery has focused on the electric vehicle industry and the involvement of companies like Ford, Tesla and BYD, the overlap of supply chains means the same human rights risks extend to large-scale battery energy storage systems, such as those being constructed across Australia.

Despite what is publicly known, Australian governments and companies in almost all states are readily engaging with CATL, EVE and companies that use their products.

The responsibility for the projects and the selection of providers is complex.

At Collie, in Western Australia, two major battery projects are being built.

One is being built by French company NEOEN using Tesla Megapack batteries. The project is split into stage 1 and stage 2—with the contracts for both awarded by the Australian Energy Market Operator (AEMO), which is jointly operated by the Commonwealth, state and territory governments, and industry.

The second project is being developed by energy company Synergy, which is wholly owned by the WA government. In September 2023, the WA government announced it had awarded contracts exceeding $1 billion to CATL directly for the Synergy projects at Collie and another site, Kwinana. Both stages one and two of the Kwinana project use CATL batteries.

Meanwhile, in New South Wales, the most significant project is the 850-MWh Waratah Super Battery near Newcastle, supplied by Powin, a US-based company. Powin’s batteries are supplied with lithium cells made by CATL and EVE, another Chinese battery manufacturer. A quick Google search would have revealed that, earlier this year, Swedish research on human rights due diligence found that ‘through equity ownership, joint operations, and collaborations, EVE’s products are also linked to the oppression of ethnic Turkic groups in Xinjiang’.

In Queensland, the government is building a 300MWh big battery through the publicly owned energy company Stanwell, in partnership with Tesla, near Rockhampton. These Tesla Megapack big batteries and EV batteries are made with lithium-ion cells that are made by CATL.

CATL batteries have also been used in other renewable energy projects in Victoria, such as the Phillip Island Battery Energy Storage System, established in 2022, and the IKEA power project in South Australia, established in 2020. NEOEN also operates the Victorian Big Battery, the largest BESS in Victoria.

This raises the question of what requirements governments are putting on major battery suppliers such as Tesla and Powin, and the project owners and operators. There is ample public documentation to show that projects in WA, SA, NSW, VIC and QLD are using battery packs with lithium cells produced by CATL and EVE.

Australia’s stance against human rights abuses and proclaimed global leadership in combating modern slavery should dictate that both governments and companies make it a condition of their contracts with suppliers—even US companies such as Tesla and Powin—that the battery packs provided to Australia are not sourced from any country that engages in these human rights violations. Yes, such goods made in North America and Europe may be more expensive, but that is in part because corporations from these regions have to abide by stricter labour laws and human rights protections.

ASPI sought responses from a wide range of Australian and international entities responsible for the projects, including state governments, energy companies and the Australian Energy Market Operator.

The Victorian Department of Energy, Environment and Climate Action referred questions to NEOEN. The Clean Energy Finance Corporation, a federal government green bank that invests in clean energy and contributed $160 million in investment to the Victorian Big Battery, said it made risk-based assessments of the modern slavery risk associated with investments by conducting due diligence on relevant partners and supply chain participants. It said this included consideration of publicly available information such as academic and international reports including ASPI’s own research. It also queried suppliers about their modern slavery risk management practices.

NSW EnergyCo, the statutory authority responsible for the state’s renewable energy project planning, provided a background statement pointing to the Renewable Energy Sector Board plan that states project proponents are required to provide evidence that they have registered a modern slavery statement with the Australian Border Force and that their registered modern slavery statement is compliant with the Commonwealth Modern Slavery Act. (2018) It referred questions about batteries’ manufacturing to Powin.

The WA Department of Energy, Mines, Industry, Regulation and Safety referred questions to public company Synergy, which did not respond by the deadline, and to NEOEN.

The Queensland Department of Energy and Climate referred questions to public company Stanwell, which pointed us to its modern slavery statement. The most recent statement, covering 2022-23, said that of their ‘tier two’ suppliers—that is, those that are one step removed from directly supplying Stanwell—70 percent had suppliers in countries considered high risk for slavery, but none of the key suppliers had self-reported any problems. However, Stanwell did not respond to our direct written questions about Tesla and CATL.

NEOEN declined to comment. Tesla and Powin did not respond to written questions.

AEMO said it could not comment on specific projects and referred questions to project owners for queries on investment and materials.

CATL provided a written statement saying that it has never bought any products from Xinjiang Zhicun. It said it had never owned any interest nor exercised control in its operations. It further said that based on its ‘investigation and fact-checking, Xinjiang Zhicun has never engaged in any forced labor activities’. It said it worked with Jiangxi Jinhui, a subsidiary of Xinjiang Zhicun’s parent company Jiangxi Zhicun, to process lepidolite, which is a lithium-bearing mineral, in Jiangxi Province. CATL’s emphatic response contradicts the substantial media reporting, academic research and investigations done by members of the US Congress, making it highly doubtful that Australian governments and companies should derive any confidence from it as a guide to the risks of these supply chains.

This is a known problem with a known solution. It requires Australian governments and their contracted suppliers to do adequate due diligence. When battery supply chains involve Chinese suppliers, there is a high risk of exposure to forced labour that is deliberately hidden through shell companies and obscured local ownership and shareholder arrangements. This necessitates a different approach to due diligence: not  a ‘tick-box’ approach to compliance but one that puts a burden of proof on suppliers and procurers to assure supply chains are verifiably free from modern slavery. If that can’t be done, these products should not be permitted in Australia.

With China’s dominance of the battery supply chain, sourcing from other countries is difficult, though not impossible—at least not yet. Australia could introduce a procurement requirement that companies and governments building and operating big battery projects stipulate in contracts that their suppliers source all components through processes and from regions that are free from forced labour risks.

The Australian government and its partners—in particular the US, Japan and Korea, all of whom have some capacity in this area—should collaborate to reduce the near-monopoly level of Chinese control (which begins at the scientific research stage). This would be the only way the Australian government could achieve its stated objectives to ‘diversify global battery supply chains’ and ‘to ensure Australia builds sovereign capabilities’, while also ‘taking a global leadership role in combating modern slavery’.

In addition, given the known threat of economic coercion from Beijing, Australia should consider its reliance on Chinese battery suppliers as a strategic vulnerability, against our national interest. The nation’s climate goals necessitate robust energy storage solutions, but they cannot come at the expense of human rights. The documented use of forced Uyghur labour in Chinese battery supply chains, potentially constituting crimes against humanity, underscores the urgency for Australian companies and policymakers to prioritise trusted, reliable and secure sourcing. By prioritising alternatives to Chinese batteries, Australia can lead not only in renewable energy innovation but also in upholding global standards of human dignity and justice.

In 2024, a global anti-incumbent election wave

In a year in which political incumbents around the world were either voted out of office or forcibly removed from power, one statement, repeated in various forms by Mohammad Al Gergawi, the United Arab Emirates’ minister of cabinet affairs, stands out: ‘The role of government is to design a future which gives citizens hope.’ Looking ahead to 2025, political leaders should take this message to heart and shift their focus from constant crisis management to crafting a bold, hopeful agenda.

The global anti-incumbent wave has been breathtaking. In March, Senegalese President Macky Sall was decisively defeated after trying and failing to postpone the presidential election. In June, the African National Congress, which had ruled South Africa since the end of apartheid, lost its majority for the first time in three decades, forcing the party to form a coalition government. The same month, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party also lost its parliamentary majority.

This trend continued through the summer and fall. In July, the Labour Party won Britain’s general election in a landslide, ending the Conservative Party’s 14-year rule. In October, Japanese Prime Minister Ishiba Shigeru’s ruling Liberal Democratic Party lost its majority for the first time since 2009. Then, earlier this month, Michel Barnier became the first French prime minister to be ousted by a no-confidence vote since 1962. A few days later, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz lost a vote of confidence, paving the way for an early election, while Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau fired his finance minister, plunging his country into political uncertainty.

Other established leaders were ousted by popular uprisings. In August, Bangladeshi Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina fled the country aboard a military helicopter as protesters stormed her official residence. And Syrian President Bashar al-Assad was forced to flee to Russia after his regime collapsed in December.

Why are incumbents losing? One possible explanation is social media. Studies have shown that increased internet access often erodes trust in government and deepens political polarisation. In the United States, for example, Democratic and Republican-leaning voters have become increasingly polarised, with each side becoming more deeply entrenched in its partisanship.

Social media fosters connection between people who consume similar content, reinforcing their worldviews and amplifying the psychological effect known as ‘conformity’. Social media algorithms act as powerful megaphones for simple, emotionally charged messages, making these platforms fertile ground for conspiracy theories and fearmongering.

But while early evidence suggests that social media bolsters support for far-right populists, recent election results show that this is not always enough to gain power. In Mexico, Spain, Greece, Ireland, Britain, Japan and South Africa, incumbents or other mainstream parties won, albeit significantly weakened.

Consequently, one clear takeaway from this historic election year is that governments must learn to use social media more effectively. A good place to start is to engage directly with voters’ concerns. Earlier this year, two advisers to Prime Minister Sir Kier Starmer visited the town of Grimsby in northeastern England and asked residents to describe the government in one word. The responses they received mirror what I have heard in many other countries: ‘irrelevant’, ‘authoritarian’, ‘distant’, ‘elitist’, ‘inaccessible’, ‘self-serving’, ‘unambitious’, ‘untrustworthy’, a ‘joke’.

Another major takeaway is that to restore trust, leaders should focus on economic growth and citizens’ empowerment. A comprehensive 2022 study of the political economy of populism highlights strong evidence that economic conditions, such as rising unemployment and cuts to social spending, have a profound impact on people’s views of government.

This helps explain why voters in Spain and Greece in 2023 and in Ireland this year chose to re-elect incumbent leaders, while French voters rejected the ruling party. In 2022, Spain’s economy grew by 5.7 percent and Greece’s by 6.2 percent. By contrast, in Germany, which will hold an early election after the government lost a parliamentary no-confidence vote, the economy shrank by 0.3 percent in 2023 and is expected to contract by 0.1 percent in 2024. France fared slightly better, with GDP projected to grow by 1.1 percent this year, after growing by 0.9 percent in 2023.

Beyond boosting short-term economic growth, political leaders must consider the future they are offering their citizens. Too many politicians’ and policymakers’ plans are limited to annual budget cycles and focused largely on cuts. Meanwhile, voters—grappling with rising living costs, post-pandemic austerity and a pervasive sense that they have lost control over their lives—need leaders who give them reasons for hope.

Budgetary constraints should not be an excuse for failing to envision a better future. Some of the boldest government initiatives have been conceived during times of economic hardship. Notable examples include US President Franklin D Roosevelt’s New Deal in the 1930s, Britain’s postwar welfare state, Dubai’s post-1958 infrastructure boom and Singapore’s rapid development after 1959.

Political leaders must draw inspiration from these bold programs and be more ambitious in addressing the root causes of their citizens’ frustrations. The good news is that every country and community has creative individuals, in both the private and public sectors, whose work requires them to think ahead and plan for the future. Leaders must identify and reach out to such visionaries, who are rarely included in policy discussions, and leverage their expertise.

A politics of hope is essential to restoring faith in democratic institutions. In Grimsby, local residents said they longed for a politics that is ‘realistic’, ‘meaningful’, ‘passionate’, ‘hopeful’, and ‘empowering’. A government that can fulfill these aspirations will prove itself worthy of its citizens’ trust.

From the bookshelf: ‘The Taiwan Story: how a small island will dictate the global future’

Among the most complex foreign policy challenges facing President Donald Trump following his inauguration on 20 January will be relations with China and the US’s position relative to Taiwan.

Perhaps no better book informs political debate and public opinion than Kerry Brown’s The Taiwan Story:  How a small island will dictate the global future (Viking, 2024). Brown is a prolific author of books on Chinese politics, currently based at King’s College, London, following a stint at the University of Sydney.

The Taiwan Story begins with the Chinese Civil War (1945–49), in which Mao Zedong’s communists ousted Chiang Kai-shek’s nationalists from the mainland and establish the People’s Republic of China. Chiang’s forces retreated to the island of Taiwan as the Republic of China. The US government sided with the Republic of China, with which it maintained diplomatic relations, not recognising Beijing.

The story evolves when the US switches recognition from Taipei to Beijing, following the 1972 visit to China by US President Richard Nixon and his national security advisor, Henry Kissinger. Thus began the US ‘acknowledgement’ of the one-China policy. According to the Shanghai Communique of 1972, ‘the United States acknowledges that Chinese on either side of the Taiwan Strait maintain there is but one China and that Taiwan is a part of China.’

Beijing’s insistence that Taiwan be united with the mainland has made the island Asia’s political flash point. A plethora of books have been published on Taiwan issues. What is most interesting about Brown’s is that he goes into the lives of the Taiwanese people and how Taiwanese politics, society and cultural identity have evolved quite differently to the mainland’s.

Chiang Kai-shek’s government on Taiwan was just as authoritarian as that of Mao Zedong on the Chinese mainland. But Taiwan democratised, holding its first presidential elections in 1996. Democracy is now firmly entrenched in Taiwan, as the presidency has alternated between the two leading political parties, the Kuomintang (the nationalists) and the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP).

The Economist Intelligence Unit ranks Taiwan as the most democratic place in Asia and 10th in the world. Democratisation means that Taiwan has aligned its values with the West and distinguishes itself from China, which has become ever more authoritarian. Taiwan also has a rich, open and free civil society, something that is very much lacking on the mainland.

Taiwan has also established itself among Asia’s technology leaders.  Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company produces more than 90 percent of the world’s most advanced semiconductors. Under US pressure, the company will not supply them to Chinese customers.

While Taiwan may be diplomatically isolated, with only 12 countries recognising it as the Republic of China, much of the world economy is depends on its technological prowess. And over the generations, a distinct Taiwanese cultural identity has developed, with the vast majority of Taiwanese people identifying as Taiwanese, rather than Chinese or both Chinese and Taiwanese.

Meanwhile, there is a growing risk of military conflict involving China and Taiwan. Chinese leader Xi Jinping is increasingly impatient for Taiwan to be unified with the mainland. As China–US relations have deteriorated, high-level US support for Taiwan has grown, even though Washington maintains its policy of ‘strategic ambiguity’ concerning its willingness to defend Taiwan. Most Taiwanese prefer the political status quo of de facto independence, as do the current president and his predecessor (both from the Democratic Progressive Party). In response, Beijing has cut off all official contact with Taipei.

What future for relations across the Taiwan Straits?

Brown explores issues and risks of a military conflict over Taiwan. It would be massively risky and costly, not only for the countries directly involved but for the whole world economy. Brown sees no possibility of reconciliation between China and Taiwan. But he does argue that peace across the Taiwan Straits has been ensured for seven decades by accepting the status quo and that sticking with it is the only realistic option. This would involve all sides dialling down the tensions, however.

Brown notes that both China and Taiwan have undergone radical change over the past half a century or more. Looking further ahead, he argues that it is highly possible that continued radical change will throw up new ideas which could offer a longer term solution to the Taiwan problem.

China’s big new combat aircraft: an airborne cruiser against air and surface targets

The speed, agility, range and stealth of an individual aircraft type are still important, but they’re no longer the whole story of air combat. Advances in sensing, processing and communications are changing military operations.

The Chengdu J-36, the big Chinese combat aircraft that first appeared on 26 December, has been developed to exploit these changes and support China’s strategic goal: to establish regional dominance, including the ability to annex Taiwan by force.

If J-36s can fly supersonically without using afterburning, as the prototype’s shape suggests they will, each will be able to get into and out of battle faster and more safely than conventional fighters and bombers, which cruise subsonically. A high degree of stealth will greatly help J-36s in penetrating defences. Supersonic cruise would also mean each J-36 could fly more missions in a given period.

The design’s big main weapon bays are sized for considerable air-to-surface missiles, which J-36s could launch against such targets as airfields, aircraft carriers and air-defence batteries. With great speed and height, J-36s could also throw inexpensive glide bombs farther than other aircraft could.

The main weapon bays are big enough to carry unusually large air-to-air missiles for engaging aircraft at great range, including vital support units such as tankers and air-surveillance radar planes. Targeting data for this might come from other aircraft, ships, satellites or ground sources. The missiles might also be launched at fighters at ranges that keep J-36s safe from counterattack.

J-36s are themselves likely to be sources of targeting data for other aircraft and for ships, using large passive and active sensors that aircraft of such size can easily carry. They may command aircraft that fly with them. In all this, they’d use radio links that are hard for an enemy to detect.

To call the J-36 an airborne cruiser may not be far off the mark—and may call into question the West’s decision to prioritise development and production of fighters that are, by comparison, mere torpedo boats.

(An earlier article in this series technically assesses the design of the J-36. The type’s designation is likely but not certain.)

For the Taiwan mission, China’s principal opposing force is US-led air power, comprising the US Air Force and the US Navy’s aircraft carriers, with support from Japan, Australia, Taiwan and maybe South Korea and others. Air power from China’s opponents can hinder its maritime and amphibious operations, resulting in slower progress and higher casualties.

So, counter-air capability is crucial for China. This is what the US thinks of as China’s anti-access and area denial capability. It includes surface-to-air weapons, fighters, air-base attacks and the information realm.

To understand where the J-36 fits in, start by considering China’s current force, of which the Chengdu J-20 is the spearhead. The J-20 is fast and stealthy, with good range for a fighter, but its weapon bays are limited to short-range and medium-range air-to-air weapons. Like the F-35, it is more detectable outside its forward quadrant. That becomes a greater vulnerability in a networked environment, where a sensor platform on your beam may not be well placed to launch a weapon but will pass your track to one that is.

The long-range Xi’an H-6 bomber, used as a missile carrier, can launch attacks at air bases throughout the Western Pacific. But its effect is limited to the warheads of up to six costly missiles that must fly far enough to keep their vulnerable launch aircraft safe.

The J-36 combines speed and range with all-aspect stealth. Potential internal loads include such long-range air-to-air missiles as the PL-17, which the J-20 cannot carry internally. Heavier, air-to-surface missiles would be aimed at airfields and warships. It also probably supports the kind of mass-precision attacks made possible by accurate, more autonomous weapons, or—as autonomous technology advances—the carriage of loitering munitions and jammers.

The J-36’s smaller outboard weapon bays might accommodate defensive and support weapons, possibly on extending rails like the J-20’s side bays.

The large transparent side apertures in the forward fuselage could be wide-field-of-view passive warning and cueing systems. But there’s another possibility: if you wanted to integrate a high-energy anti-missile laser into an aircraft, with a hemisphere-plus field of fire but without unstealthy turrets, it might from the outside look like those transparencies. A single optical chain could feed left and right steerable heads under the conformal windows. Cue panic.

Speed is not just valuable for survivability, although it does erode missile engagement envelopes. Even Mach 1.8 supersonic cruise halves flight time and greatly increases sortie rate compared with a subsonic-cruise aircraft.

The US considered developing a supersonic strike aircraft in the early 2000s. But with 9/11 and the cost of the F-35 program, a high-speed project could not get funded. ‘Response time, and cost per target killed, were the two holy grails,’ a Northrop Grumman engineer commented in early 2001. The supersonic aircraft was big and complex, but the sortie generation rate was far higher than that of subsonic alternatives, and fewer aircraft were needed. And it could use cheap, unpowered glide weapons with a stand-off range estimated at 170km from a Mach 2 launch.

Speed on one side of a conflict is an important advantage. If the J-36 can penetrate to threaten bases in the second island chain, forcing the US to move B-21s, B-52s and other high-value assets further back, US strike sortie rate and effectiveness will diminish.

It’s important to keep in mind that the J-36 will be part of a family of systems and a network of capabilities. The appearance over the holiday season of the KJ-3000 airborne early warning and control system, based on the Xi’an Y-20 airlifter, is significant.

China has produced five different airborne radar systems since 2003, more than any other nation, all based on the technology of active electronically scanned arrays (AESAs). It has expanded their role beyond that of forward-passing adversary track data to fighter aircraft. AESA radars can update tracks much faster than a rotating-antenna radar, so these systems can provide guidance-quality midcourse updates to missiles.

Compared with the propeller-driven KJ-500, the KJ-3000 can be moved faster and farther forward to support an operation, and it can fly higher for greater sensor range. Working with a KJ-3000, the J-36s could launch missiles while remaining radar-silent.

If its speed and stealth allow it safely to get close to the enemy, a J-36 itself will be able to provide targeting data to other weapons, such as missiles launched by H-6s that prudently stay well behind it. It will also be the command and control hub for other aircraft, crewed and uncrewed. If it is a two-seater, the second crew member will likely be a force manager.

As for how to classify the J-36, too many people have rushed to call it a ‘sixth-generation fighter’.

The ‘fifth-generation’ term, invented in Russia, was picked up by Lockheed Martin as a marketing tool in the early 2000s. What Lockheed Martin would call 5-gen fighters combine supersonic speed and maneuverability with some degree of stealth. The Chengdu J-20 fighter is fifth-generation by that standard.

But this ‘generation’ taxonomy misleads more than it informs, because combat aircraft designs need not and do not fall into discrete sequential groups of characteristics.

And ‘fighter’, ‘bomber’ and ‘strike’ definitions are getting less clear. Most Boeing F-15s, nominally fighters, have been built as strike aircraft, and the fighter-derived Sukhoi Su-34 is another step down the same path. Designed against air and land threats, the J-36 is even larger than the Su-34. Its size and flight performance put it into its own category, for which there is no name. Maybe ‘airborne cruiser’ will catch on.