Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘Three concessions after three weeks: Prabowo leans China’s way’

Originally published on 15 November 2024.

Indonesia’s new president, Prabowo Subianto, needed only three weeks in office to make three big concessions to China.

In a joint statement with President Xi Jinping in Beijing on 9 November, Prabowo acknowledged Chinese maritime claims that Indonesia had long rejected. Despite leading the most populous Muslim-majority country, he affirmed China’s right to deal with Xinjiang as it pleased. He also endorsed China’s vague vision of the geopolitical order, something that Indonesia has long been wary of.

Indonesia has long rejected China’s nearby territorial assertions in the South China Sea, arguing that they have no basis under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. A 2016 Permanent Court of Arbitration ruling against China, which declared its claims illegitimate, became the basis for Indonesia’s campaign against the nine-dash line.

That hasn’t deterred China. Rejecting the ruling, Beijing has persisted in seeking recognition of its claims, particularly from Southeast Asian nations. For years, Indonesia’s diplomats have challenged Beijing, but now the Prabowo-Xi joint statement has sparked fears that this may change.

It said the two nations had ‘reached important common understanding on joint development in areas of overlapping claims.’ The key point is that Indonesia thereby acknowledged China’s claim, giving them some legitimacy. The statement further mentioned an agreement to ‘establish an Inter-governmental Joint Steering Committee to explore and advance relevant cooperation’, indicating mutual interest in jointly exploiting resources in the sea.

The Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs later released a statement clarifying that Indonesia still did not recognise China’s nine-dash line. That won’t stop Beijing from using the joint statement as expressing Indonesia’s capitulation.

This has implications for Indonesia’s broader interests in the South China Sea disputes, including how Indonesia has framed itself as a non-claimant in the disputed waters.

As for Xinjiang, the joint statement affirmed it was an issue of ‘internal affairs of China’ and said that Indonesia ‘firmly supports China’s efforts to maintain development and stability in Xinjiang.’

While Indonesia has always recognised Beijing’s sovereignty over Xinjiang, the province has not previously been directly mentioned in a joint statement by the two countries. This contrasts with Jakarta’s solidarity with the Muslim world in opposing Israel’s war against Hamas in Gaza.

The joint statement seemed to present some new enthusiasm from Indonesia for China’s Global Security Initiative and Global Civilization Initiative, two of three major Chinese initiatives, the third being the Global Development Initiative, that present a Chinese vision of the international order. Indonesia has been willing to support the Global Development Initiative because of potential economic benefits. But it has been reluctant to endorse the other two initiatives due to their vagueness and a concern that doing so may undermine its non-aligned position in world affairs.

Overall, the joint statement reads as a turn towards China, particularly by diminishing the long-term efforts of Indonesian diplomats to preserve the sanctity of international maritime law. Not only does it harm Indonesia’s ability to counter to Chinese claims; it also affects the recently resolved maritime boundary dispute with Vietnam.

The shift is all the more demeaning for Indonesia because it closely followed a series of Chinese coast guard intrusions in late October, the same week Prabowo assumed the presidency.

It had always been apparent that the new Indonesian president, despite his strongman image and past criticism of his predecessor’s approach to the South China Sea, would deal with China cordially. Indonesia has security concerns about Chinese maritime claims, but Prabowo’s concessions was probably economically motivated. This motivation will continue to dominate, since Prabowo is aiming to achieve 8 percent annual economic growth. Indeed, the Beijing visit came with considerable pledges for economic cooperation on green energy and tech, amounting to US$10 billion.

But economic gain does not need to come at the cost of sovereignty. Past Indonesian administrations were able to get economic benefits from China and even the Soviet Union without sacrificing sovereignty.

The joint statement reflects poorly on Indonesia’s new non-career foreign minister, Sugiono. It was likely agreed upon without consulting senior foreign affairs officials. They have worked tirelessly to fight the proposition that China and Indonesia have overlapping claims in the South China Sea and to prevent Indonesia from embracing China’s vision of the international order and its narratives on Xinjiang. If they were consulted, then they were likely overruled.

These developments reflect the diminished role in foreign policymaking of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs under Prabowo’s leadership—a risk that we have identified in the past. Traditionally, the ministry has acted as a check on the ability of any single president to unilaterally direct Indonesia’s foreign policy away from its principle of non-alignment.

With the foreign minister now seemingly an extension of Prabowo, but the foreign affairs ministry likely to keep defending long-standing positions, the country’s foreign policy may start to look inconsistent.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘Military challenges to Beijing’s South China Sea claims are increasing’

Originally published on 22 October 2024.

Deployments of ships and aircraft to challenge China’s illegal claims in the South China Sea are increasing. European ships are appearing more often, while Asia-Pacific countries are increasingly conducting activities in areas that China regards as sensitive.

Several nations have claims in the South China Sea, but China’s claim is the most extensive and controversial. Beijing seeks to enforce sovereign rights and jurisdiction over all features within the nine-dash line, including the islands, rocks and atolls that make up the Paracel and Spratly Islands. China claims this territory despite a 2016 ruling that found that China’s claims had no basis in international law.

With international law doing little to curb China’s ambitions, more countries are using their militaries to challenge China’s claims. In 2024, more European navies operated in the South China Sea than previously in recent years, with Britain, France, Germany, Italy and the Netherlands all sending ships to the region. Meanwhile regional counties, such as Japan, Canada, New Zealand and Australia, stepped up their engagement, including via joint sailings with the Philippines in the South China Sea.

Different countries take different approaches to challenging China’s illegal claims in the South China Sea. Some militaries are operating within the nine-dash line. Others sail naval ships directly through the Spratly Islands. Some advertise their activities; others do not.

Only a few have conducted activities close to the Paracels, because doing so is unusually risky. A 2022 incident in which a Chinese pilot dumped chaff in front of an Australian P-8 Poseidon surveillance aircraft is an example of the risk.

The US is the only country to send aircraft or ships within 12 nautical miles of claimed features. By doing so, it would be entering territorial waters if China did in fact own the territory.

These military activities to challenge China’s claims have occurred since 2015:

Country
Military activities in the SCS
Challenges Spratly claims
Challenges Paracel claims
Challenges within 12nm
Publicises challenges
USA

✓

 ✓ ✓ ✓

✓
Canada

✓

 ✓

✓
Australia

✓

 ✓* ✓*

NZ

✓

 ✓*

Japan

✓

 ✓*

UK

✓

 ✓ ✓

✓
France

✓

 ✓ ✓

✓
Germany

✓

Netherlands

✓

Italy

✓

*Challenges are likely but cannot be confirmed

Apart from countries around the South China Sea, which must routinely operate on or over it, the US has by far the most public and active military presence. In 2023, the US military conducted 107 activities, including six specific operations to challenge China’s illegal claims under the US Freedom of Navigation program. US activities are always accompanied by strong public statements.

France and Canada are both active in the region, including within the Spratlys. Both advertise their military presence and actions. Canada now carries journalists on some South China Sea transits. It has operated close to the Paracel Islands, but, as demonstrated when a Chinese fighter fired flares near a Canadian helicopter in 2023, doing so comes with risks. In 2015, France boldly exercised its right to freedom of navigation by sailing a task force through the Paracels.

Australia has an active military presence in the South China Sea. There’s evidence that Australia operates close to China’s illegal claims. However, the tempo and nature of its military challenges are hard to determine, because Canberra does not advertise them. China’s military has been aggressive in seeking to deter Australia from operating near the two island groups by engaging in unsafe intercepts.

New Zealand has a semi-regular presence inside the nine-dash line, commensurate with the size of its armed forces. Meanwhile, Japan has a growing military presence in the region and is increasingly working with partners, such as the US, Australia and the Philippines. As with Australia, there are signs that Japan and New Zealand operate close to, or within, the Spratly group, but neither publicise specific actions, so the nature of them is hard to determine.

Britain sent a carrier strike group through the South China Sea in 2021 and intends to do so again next year. The British military operates close to the Spratly and Paracel Islands and uses public messaging to reinforce the importance of sailing in these areas.

Signalling growing European interest in the region, Germany, the Netherlands and Italy sent navy ships to the area in 2024. But none seems to have overtly challenged China’s claims within the Spratlys or Paracels.

The most notable regional absentee is South Korea. In 2018, a South Korean destroyer, Munmu the Great, took refuge from a typhoon in the Paracel Islands. But Seoul quickly clarified that the ship was not there to challenge China’s claims. Likewise, when the littoral states of South East Asia routinely operate there, they do not directly challenge China’s claims via freedom of navigation transits.

The growing presence of European navies in the South China Sea and stepped-up activity of Asia-Pacific countries there is welcome. It’s helping to push back on China’s growing aggression and reinforce longstanding rules and norms that underpin regional prosperity.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘As important as Ukraine is, a Taiwan war must be Australia’s biggest worry’

Originally published on 30 September 2024.

Other than the Middle East, the world faces the possibility of two major wars escalating in Europe and East Asia, over Ukraine and Taiwan.

Australia must worry about either of those wars, but ultimately it’s the possible loss of Taiwan to China that could be the front-and-centre issue for our national security.

Ukraine and Taiwan each face a military threat from a large neighbouring great power that is nuclear armed. In Ukraine’s case, Russia has already invaded, and the two have been at war for more than two-and-a-half years. In Taiwan’s case, communist China’s President Xi Jinping is making increasing threats that China should integrate Taiwan, and he reserves the right to use force to occupy it.

In Russia’s case, Putin is bogged down in a slow war of attrition, which he did not expect. And he is making increasing threats of the use of nuclear weapons. Ukraine’s recent occupation of Russian territory in the Kursk oblast (region) is the first time that a non-nuclear power has invaded the territory of a nuclear superpower. One of Putin’s self-proclaimed advisors, Sergei Karaganov, has recently said, ‘Any attack on our territory must get a nuclear response.’

There are, however, some obvious differences between Ukraine and Taiwan. First, Ukraine is an internationally recognised independent state, and we should remember that post-communist Russia recognised it as such in the 1994 Minsk Agreement.

In the case of Taiwan, there is no such recognition that it is an independent country. To the contrary, nearly every major power in the world does not recognise Taiwan as a separate independent nation state. Even so, more than 70 percent of Taiwanese identify themselves as being Taiwanese—not Chinese.

This leads us to another significant difference. Ukraine cannot yet be recognised as a full democracy free from corruption and having an independent judiciary. Quite the opposite. After Ukraine became a separate country, it suffered prolonged instability and violence due to the rise of oligarchs and widespread corruption involving criminal gangs. Corruption continues to be a major impediment against it joining the European Union.

By comparison, Taiwan is not only a much longer established democracy, but it does much better in surveys about corruption and has a basically independent judiciary.

Both these countries have a chequered recent history. Ukraine declared its independence from Russia in 1990. Yeltsin was so anxious to be president of a separate Russia that despite being reminded by one of his senior advisers to raise the issue of Crimea with the new Ukrainian president, Leonid Kravchuk, Yeltsin hastily remarked that Crimea could be settled later.

In January 1994, Ukraine agreed to cease being a nuclear power; it transferred 1300 strategic nuclear warheads to Russia in exchange for security reassurances from the US and Russia about Ukrainian sovereignty. Had Ukraine retained some nuclear weapons, it would probably not have faced the humiliation of being invaded by Russia.

In Taiwan’s case, it was effectively under ruthless martial law from 1949 under the dictator Chiang Kai-shek until the demise of the KMT single-party system and the rise of the democracy movement in the 1980s. Martial law was eventually lifted by Chiang’s son, president Chiang Ching-kuo, in 1987, and constitutional democracy was restored.

We have now seen a vibrant democracy in Taiwan with routine, peaceful changes of government over the past 37 years. The success of democracy in Taiwan has contradicted an old assertion that Chinese people, including those in Singapore and Hong Kong, would never be able to make democracy work properly.

This brings us to the crucial issue of all-out military contingencies involving the survival of both countries and their differing strategic implications for Australia. In the case of Ukraine, the big question is what Australia would do if Russia’s war with Ukraine escalated into a full-blown military confrontation between Russia and NATO. From a moral and international legal perspective, there would be pressure on us to make some sort of contribution. But Ukraine is not in our region of broader strategic concern in the Asia-Pacific region. Moreover, if the war in Europe were to escalate to include Russian attacks on neighbouring NATO members, such as Poland and the Baltic countries, it would involve high intensity land-based military conflict for which the Australian Defence Force is not structured. We could make no more than a limited military contribution.

But such an escalated European war might create an opportunity for China to attack Taiwan. China could perhaps attack Taiwan at the same time as Russia expanded its war to neighbouring NATO countries. Although Taiwan itself is not in Australia’s area of immediate strategic interest (Southeast Asia and the South Pacific) a successful conquest of Taiwan and defeat of America by China would raise potentially first-order strategic threats to Australia, and our own survival as a fully independent state, for the following reasons.

First, if China decisively defeated the United States in such a war, then there might be nothing to stop China from expanding southwards and establishing military bases in our immediate vicinity. And a beaten US might retract into one of its historic phases of isolationism. Australia would then be strategically isolated and without a protector. Southeast Asia and the South Pacific would effectively come into China’s sphere of influence.

Second, such a shock defeat of the US would have grave consequences for Japan and South Korea. It would involve them conceding sea and air control of the East China Sea and the South China Sea to China. A China commanding the island of Taiwan would have military dominance over the South China Sea and Southeast Asia. A new China-centric geopolitical order would then most likely prevail throughout East Asia. Such a crisis might reasonably drive Japan and South Korea into acquiring a reliable retaliatory nuclear strike capability of their own.

Third, Australia would have to consider where its future lied under the jackboot of a dominant Beijing. Without the US alliance and our critical access to American intelligence, surveillance, targeting, weapon systems and world-beating military platforms, we would no longer have credible military capabilities. Would we then retreat into a neutral posture with only the pathetic remains of a credible military force?

Fourth, the truly nightmare scenario would be a conjoining of Russian military successes against contiguous NATO members such as the Baltic countries and Poland with China’s defeat of America over Taiwan and the resulting dominance of Japan and South Korea. This wicked brew then drums up the ultimate contingency of an all-out nuclear war.

Those Australians who carelessly proclaim that the United States is finished, that China will inevitably dominate the entire Asia-Pacific region and that our only survival will be to get out of the ANZUS partnership need to think again. Theirs is a value-free world where we would be on the receiving end of communist China’s dominance.

So, in the event of a US war with China over Taiwan, what could Australia contribute? Our defence force is of a modest size but we have considerable potential to defend ourselves if, instead of just waiting for AUKUS submarines, we rapidly acquire sufficient long-range anti-ship missiles with ranges of more than 2000km.

We would, however, require access to airfields and ports—for example in Okinawa, which is less than 600km from Taiwan. But a more credible military mission for us would be to deny the narrow straits of Southeast Asia (Malacca, Sunda and Lombok) to China’s maritime traffic—including the 80 percent of its oil imports.

The purpose of this analysis has been to demonstrate the dangers of listening to those who focus only on the risks of resisting and deterring China. Instead, my analysis here concentrates on the dangers of not resisting and not deterring China.

Moreover, when strategic push comes to shove, we need to recognise that, unlike Ukraine, Taiwan may become directly important in our defence planning priorities. Even so, we do have a strong national interest in seeing Ukraine liberated from Russia’s illegal invasion and we should do what we can to bring that about.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘The danger of AI in war: it doesn’t care about self-preservation’

Originally published on 30 August 2024.

Recent wargames using artificial-intelligence models from OpenAI, Meta and Anthropic revealed a troubling trend: AI models are more likely than humans to escalate conflicts to kinetic, even nuclear, war.

This outcome highlights a fundamental difference in the nature of war between humans and AI. For humans, war is a means to impose will for survival; for AI the calculus of risk and reward is entirely different, because, as the pioneering scientist Geoffrey Hinton noted, ‘we’re biological systems, and these are digital systems.’

Regardless of how much control humans exercise over AI systems, we cannot stop the widening divergence between their behaviour and ours, because AI neural networks are moving towards autonomy and are increasingly hard to explain.

To put it bluntly, whereas human wargames and war itself entail the deliberate use of force to compel an enemy to our will, AI is not bound to the core of human instincts, self-preservation. The human desire for survival opens the door for diplomacy and conflict resolution, but whether and to what extent AI models can be trusted to handle the nuances of negotiation that align with human values is unknown.

The potential for catastrophic harm from advanced AI is real, as underscored by the Bletchley Declaration on AI, signed by nearly 30 countries, including Australia, China, the US and Britain. The declaration emphasises the need for responsible AI development and control over the tools of war we create.

Similarly, ongoing UN discussions on lethal autonomous weapons stress that algorithms should not have full control over decisions involving life and death. This concern mirrors past efforts to regulate or ban certain weapons. However, what sets AI-enabled autonomous weapons apart is the extent to which they remove human oversight from the use of force.

A major issue with AI is what’s called the explainability paradox: even its developers often cannot explain why AI systems make certain decisions. This lack of transparency is a significant problem in high-stakes areas, including military and diplomatic decision-making, where it could exacerbate existing geopolitical tensions. As Mustafa Suleyman, co-founder of DeepMind, pointed out, AI’s opaque nature means we are unable to decode the decisions of AI to explain precisely why an algorithm produced a particular result.

Rather than seeing AI as a mere tool, it’s more accurate to view it as an agent capable of making independent judgments and decisions. This capability is unprecedented, as AI can generate new ideas and interact with other AI agents autonomously, beyond direct human control. The potential for AI agents to make decisions without human input raises significant concerns about the control of these powerful technologies—a problem that even the developers of the first nuclear weapons grappled with.

While some want to impose regulation on AI somewhat like the nuclear non-proliferation regime, which has so far limited nuclear weapons to nine states, AI poses unique challenges. Unlike nuclear technology, its development and deployment are decentralized and driven by private entities and individuals, so its inherently hard to regulate. The technology is spreading universally and rapidly with little government oversight. It’s open to malicious use by state and nonstate actors.

As AI systems grow more advanced, they introduce new risks, including elevating misinformation and disinformation to unprecedented levels.

AI’s application to biotech opens new avenues for terrorist groups and individuals to develop advanced biological weapons. That could encourage malign actors, lowering the threshold for conflict and making attacks more likely.

Keeping a human in the loop is vital as AI systems increasingly influence critical decisions. Even when humans are involved, their role in oversight may diminish as trust in AI output grows, despite AI’s known issues with hallucinations and errors. The reliance on AI could lead to a dangerous overconfidence in its decisions, especially in military contexts where speed and efficiency often trump caution.

As AI becomes ubiquitous, human involvement in decision-making processes may dwindle due to the costs and inefficiencies associated with human oversight. In military scenarios, speed is a critical factor, and AI’s ability to perform complex tasks rapidly can provide a decisive edge. However, this speed advantage may come at the cost of surrendering human control, raising ethical and strategic dilemmas about the extent to which we allow machines to dictate the course of human conflict.

The accelerating pace at which AI operates could ultimately pressure the role of humans in decision-making loops, as the demand for faster responses might lead to sidelining human judgment. This dynamic could create a precarious situation where the quest for speed and efficiency undermines the very human oversight needed to ensure that the use of AI aligns with our values and safety standards.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ’20 years after the first Australian meth epidemic, another is upon us’

Originally published on 29 August 2024.

Australian communities are teetering on the edge of a second methylamphetamine crisis that, if not addressed urgently, will lead to widespread health and safety issues.

To deal with this emerging epidemic, the Albanese government must formally recognise the findings of the latest Australian Criminal Intelligence Commission (ACIC) report on wastewater monitoring, released in July 2024, and demonstrate a commitment to decisive action.

Methylamphetamine, a potent synthetic stimulant, has a profound impact on the central nervous system of the human body. It induces heightened wakefulness, intense euphoria and increased physical activity. It poses serious health risks, including cardiovascular problems, neurotoxicity and addiction. The widespread use of methylamphetamine significantly affects Australian communities through elevated rates of crime, social disruption and an increased burden on healthcare systems.

Australia’s first methylamphetamine epidemic began in the early 2000s, with a marked increase in both the availability and use of crystal methamphetamine, commonly known as ‘ice’. The crisis peaked around 2014 to 2015, when the drug’s purity and consumption rates soared, leading to widespread public health and safety concerns.

During the first epidemic, police drug seizure data, arrest records, health reports and drug user surveys underpinned our knowledge of the scope and scale of the problem. Today, Australia has a much more effective early warning system for illicit drug epidemics: the ACIC National Wastewater Drug Monitoring Program. And this canary in the coal mine is warning us.

The wastewater monitoring program is a comprehensive surveillance initiative that systematically analyses samples to detect and quantify a range of contaminants, including pharmaceuticals and illicit substances. These samples are examined to determine the concentration of drug metabolites, from which estimates of population-scale consumption are derived based on wastewater volume, population size and substance metabolism. The program monitors trends in the use of 12 licit and illicit substances. Wastewater analysis provides essential insights for law enforcement, health agencies and policymakers, enabling them to tailor drug demand reduction and harm mitigation strategies. Continuous wastewater analysis provides the necessary quantitative data to ensure policy responses can adapt to evolving drug market trends and effectively address the impact of drug abuse on communities.

The report indicates a significant rise in methylamphetamine consumption over the past two years, with peak levels observed in regional areas across all states and territories. Western Australia, South Australia and Queensland report notably high levels. Furthermore, the December 2023 results showed the highest average consumption in capital cities since the program’s inception in 2016. Australia now ranks among the highest globally for illicit stimulant use. Its per capita consumption of methylamphetamine is second highest among 30 countries. This highlights the drug’s prominence in the Australian drug market.

This latest report emphasises the pressing need for more effective strategies to deal with the escalating challenge of methylamphetamine use in Australia.

On the supply side, the volume of methylamphetamine entering the country is staggering, with the Australian Federal Police and international partners seizing up to 49 tonnes of illicit drugs in the 2022–23 financial year. Yet, despite these seizures, consumption continues to grow. From August 2023 to April 2024, Australians consumed 17 percent more methamphetamine than in the year before and more than double the amount of cocaine.

The potential profound social and economic impacts of a second methylamphetamine epidemic, including heightened crime rates, health issues and the strain on marginalised communities, highlight the need for a significant policy shift and increased international collaboration.

The Australian approach to addressing illicit drugs is guided by its National Drug Strategy 2017–2026. It’s built on three main pillars. The first is demand reduction, which focuses on decreasing the desire for drug use through prevention and education. The second is supply reduction, which aims to limit availability of drugs by disrupting trafficking and production. The third is harm minimisation, which seeks to reduce the adverse health and social impacts of drug use on individuals and communities.

The Commonwealth Law Enforcement International Engagement Methylamphetamine Disruption Strategy complements this by focusing on four key areas:

—Understanding the global drug landscape;

—Enhancing law enforcement and border security cooperation;

—Developing targeted capacity-building initiatives; and

—Boosting advocacy and political engagement.

Despite all this good work, based on best practices, there is now clear data that we are on the verge of a second methylamphetamine epidemic and that our current approaches have not been effective at preventing this.

While health and law enforcement agencies are dedicated to implementing the National Drug Strategy, they often lack the capacity and capability to respond to emerging trends effectively. It’s time for these agencies to come together and think outside the box. We need a new, potentially more innovative strategy to tackle the growing challenge of methylamphetamine.

Before taking any policy action, it’s crucial for the government to acknowledge the existence of a problem, as this provides the foundational understanding required to develop a targeted and effective response. The Albanese government must formally recognise the implications of the latest Wastewater Monitoring Report and commit to taking action.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘Floating piers and sinking hopes: China’s logistics challenge in invading Taiwan’

Originally published on 27 August 2024.

No doubt the Chinese military was paying attention.

Last month the United States disassembled and removed the floating pier it had assembled at a Gaza beach to take aid deliveries.

Heavy seas beat it. Such a pier supposedly can be assembled in hours, but this one took almost a month. When it was operational, waves damaged it, and it repeatedly had to be pulled away from the beach to prevent its destruction. Once it had to be towed to a port for repairs. Waves drove ashore boats that serviced it.

And all that was nothing compared with the challenges that China’s armed forces would face in trying to deliver a mountain of personnel, equipment and supplies in an invasion of Taiwan. The pier’s lesson for China is that invading the island would be a doomed endeavour.

The weather of the Taiwan Strait makes the eastern Mediterranean look like a bathtub. Defenders would attack China’s piers. Almost every beach where China might want to build floating piers is overlooked by terrain that would turn the unloading zones into kill zones.

Even before those problems arise, building and installing a floating pier is a huge exercise. The US Department of Defense budgeted $230 million for the one at Gaza, called the Trident Pier. It was operational for 20 days—less than half of the time after it was positioned—and handled only about 9000 tonnes of supplies.

Logistics is almost always harder than planned, but joint logistics over the shore (JLOTS)— moving people and things from ships to land without a port—is subject to innumerable kinds of friction.

Any Chinese invasion of Taiwan would require improvised piers in many locations simultaneously. They’d be part of a logistical effort that would be enormously larger than anything the Chinese navy has attempted. Even optimistic estimates of just 300,000 personnel for an invasion force would be double the international forces fighting in Afghanistan at the height of the global war on terror.

Higher estimates suggest an invasion of Taiwan could need as many as 2 million soldiers. Few of them, and very little of their equipment and supplies, could go by air. Almost everything would have to cross the strait in ships.

Taiwan’s seven major ports would almost certainly be contested, guarded by sea drones and subject to sabotage.

The island has 14 beaches usable for military landings. All but one are surrounded by cliffs and urban jungles, perfect places for the Taiwanese army to hide forces that would attack anything coming ashore and anything used in bringing it ashore, including the piers themselves.

Mother Nature would be doing her bit, too. Indeed, her efforts may be enough to prevent using the beaches in the first place.

Also called the Black Ditch, the strait is known for ‘… strong winds, wave swells, and fog…’ half the year. The storms, heavy rain and squally winds of monsoon seasons sweep it and the coasts on either side. An average of six typhoons hit the strait each year. As Ian Easton details in his book The Chinese Invasion Threat, the weather of the strait shrinks the windows available for an invasion to just two months of ‘good suitability’: April and October. That is a narrow time constraint that worsens a vast logistics challenge.

Apart from soldiers and their equipment, the Chinese navy would need to ferry food, fuel and ammunition to them. The landing alone could require 30 million tonnes going ashore, which far outstrips the capacity of the Chinese navy’s amphibious transport fleet.

Recognising this, the navy is incorporating civilian roll-on, roll-off ferries (roros) as reinforcements. While China has fewer than 50 roros today, it could have two or three times as many by 2032.

That still leaves the problem of getting over the beach. China should view the story of the Trident Pier as a cautionary tale. JLOTS operations are technically complex, costly and risky. The security threat to the improvised pier at Gaza was hardly comparable to the one that Taiwan and its friends would present to a Chinese cross-strait amphibious operation. Nor were the weather challenges comparable, though the sea state off Gaza was still bad enough to ensure the US pier was usually not functional.

The money that the US spent on the pier also paid to show China just how hard JLOTS can be. If that lesson deters war, it was a cheap price to pay.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘GCAP: a big fighter designed for Pacific (and Australian) distances’

Originally published on 21 August 2024.

BAE Systems and its Global Combat Air Programme (GCAP) partners pulled off a coup of technology theatre at the Farnborough air show in July, unveiling a new design for their GCAP figher, in full-scale model form, that looked very different from any other existing or proposed aircraft. Surprises for the combat aircraft community included the aircraft’s size, much larger than the Typhoon or F-35 fighters, and a quite enormous, moderately swept delta wing.

GCAP is supposed to become the mainstay of Japan’s combat aircraft force after entering service in 2035, as well as the chief fighter of partners Britain and Italy. The stealthy aircraft is also a clear candidate as Australia’s next fighter.

What we see from the design is a long-range fighter that far better suits Pacific (and Australian) distances than aircraft now available, though it lacks extreme flight performance, which is looking ever less useful in air combat.

GCAP also has room for growth in capability.

The team at the air show did not disclose dimensions, and a journalist who produced a tape measure in the exhibit was, I am told, encouraged to leave at his earliest convenience. GCAP has been described as one-third bigger than Typhoon—roughly F-15 size, perhaps 20 metres long, but with a 50-degree swept classic delta wing spanning around 16.5 metres and having twice the area of the F-15’s.

GCAP leaders were firm that the model reflected the evolution of the design. The design has probably changed to meet changing requirements.

First macro-observation: the requirements are different from anything else. The last generation of European fighters were essentially F-16 or F/A-18-type fighters with added capabilities. South Korean and Turkish designs today, and the Shenyang FC-31, are US-inspired. Not so GCAP, formed to a Euro-Japanese requirement that edges towards the light-bomber end of the fighter spectrum, with an emphasis on payload and range, in a way we have not seen since the 1960s and the (much bigger) F-111.

The wing’s shape and size contribute to performance in two ways: massive fuel volume and low drag in cruising flight. Both promote range. It’s not a classic delta in the style of the Mirage III’s; it’s more like the capacious wing of the promising but never built F-16U, from 1995, or that of the Boeing X-32 contender for the Joint Strike Fighter program. The F-16U carried 80 percent more internal fuel than the standard aircraft; the X-32 wing, only half the area of the GCAP wing, could accommodate 9 tonnes of fuel, compared with 3.2 tonnes in the F-16C, for example.

The GCAP should have a usefully greater combat radius on internal fuel than most other current combat aircraft can manage with external tanks, while leaving space in the lower fuselage for weapons. That makes a lot of sense for a stealth aircraft, where fuel and bulky weapons must be carried internally.

Among the tactical opportunities of greater range is use of bases farther from the territory of the opponent–say, China. They would be more costly to attack with missiles and easier to defend.

The large span and area of the GCAP’s wing contribute to efficiency in cruising flight and good turn performance. The relative size of the engine inlets and exhausts and the smallness of the vertical stabilisers suggest that, to dominate the fight, the designers are not going for ultimate agility but are relying on sensors, long-range weapons and even teaming the fighter with uncrewed aircraft. (An aircraft this size could carry uncrewed vehicles into the fight under its wings, releasing them outside detection range.)

One wonders whether the European and Japanese planners have read the air combat study by researcher and former US Air Force pilot John Stillion, which pointed to a trend to longer-range engagements and declining instances of turning fights.

The wing sweep angle doesn’t seem to be optimised for supersonic cruise—supercruise. A fighter that can supercruise has much greater opportunity to make intercepts, but the feature has costs: it needs either an engine design that isn’t ideal for subsonic speed (one reason for the F-22’s non-stellar range) or one that has the complex and costly feature called ‘variable cycle’ (which has not been mentioned at all in the GCAP context).

Supercruise makes the airframe hot and therefore detectable, with a unique thermal signature that can be used to identify the aircraft. GCAP planners appreciate this: mindful of high-power radar-jamming from Soviet strike aircraft in the Cold War, the Royal Air Force was eager to get an infra-red search and track sensor (IRST) for the Typhoon. The one that’s on the Typhoon, the Leonardo Pirate, is as good as IRST gets, with a neural-net processor to filter false alarms.

Against such sensors, supercruising aircraft are not stealthy. That explains the apparent decision to forgo the capability.

Managing heat inside a fighter is a huge challenge. If it builds up faster than it can be dissipated through the skin, it can be stored for a while in the fuel. The Lockheed Martin F-35 program has struggled with this, but GCAP will try to get it right at the outset.

Engine company Rolls-Royce has demonstrated an embedded starter-generator and describes a system in which fuel and oil pumps are electrically driven and energy storage is provided for peak requirements. Meanwhile, the wing’s large surface area will help to offload heat without the skin getting too hot (and therefore too detectable).

Size and integrated energy and cooling will give GCAP room for growth. There is an interesting lesson here from the F-35. The JSF requirement was written when the Moore’s-law-driven development of electronics over two decades had vastly improved the F-16’s capabilities; it seemed clear that the development of electronic technology would continue, and it did. But what was not recognised was that, in a tightly packed and thermally sealed airframe, the limit on increased performance of electronics was not their volume and weight but getting rid of their heat. GCAP’s designers seem to have taken this to heart.

The power could be used in novel ways. There have been persistent reports of British work on high-power microwave (HPM) technology since the early 2000s. And Leonardo and the British Ministry of Defence expensively launched development of the latest radar for the Typhoon without foreign cooperation. A radar antenna could become an HPM weapon—and now Rolls-Royce says GCAP needs generators with the extraordinary output of around 2 megawatts. All that seems to add up to GCAP using HPM.

HPM attack can disrupt or damage radio-frequency systems—sensors and communications. HPM systems have challenges, including a risk of damaging friendly aircraft, but if they can be made to work they could be a powerful weapon for suppressing ground defences.

GCAP is different, better adapted to the Pacific than shorter-range jets, and has growth potential. As the largest Europe–Asia joint defense project and a major technological advance for all parties, the program faces challenges. But the design seen at Farnborough suggests that the requirement has been well thought through. It’s a promising start.

China’s big new combat aircraft: a technical assessment

China’s aircraft industry celebrated Mao Zedong’s birthday in style, unveiling three aircraft developments that will comprise an air warfare family of systems for the 2030s and beyond. One, from Shenyang, looks like a demonstrator for a fighter-size aircraft with next-generation stealth, possibly carrier-compatible. Also new was an airborne warning and control variant of the Xi’an Y-20 airlifter, the latest in an unparalleled air-surveillance line-up.

The most spectacular debutant, making its maiden flight on December 26 was from Chengdu Aircraft Industry Group: a stealth combat aircraft that various anonymous commenters on the Chinese internet identify as the J-36. It is the largest combat aircraft designed and developed in China, and the second-largest to fly anywhere in 35 years.

The J-36 (if that really is its name) is designed to combine supersonic performance with all-aspect stealth. That’s also the goal of the US Next Generation Air Dominance program, currently stalled by budget and policy issues. (A second article in this series looks at the J-36’s roles.)

There may be more. Anonymous Chinese internet commenters with better records for accuracy than others say that the new arrivals are part of an air warfare ‘tea set’ and that we have not yet seen the ‘teapot’—the long-expected H-20 stealth bomber; this will probably be an analogue to the Northrop Grumman B-21. Nonetheless, the J-36 alone has given observers enough to chew on.

Its revelation followed the pattern as the appearance of the J-20 fighter exactly 14 years earlier. No technical details have been released officially, and it’s unlikely that any will be soon, but a prototype for the design flew in daylight from an airfield in a dense urban area, and the Chinese government permitted images to be released.

The aircraft was chased by a two-seat J-20B, giving a good indication of its size. It’s longer than the J-20—about 23 metres—and its double-delta wing spans an estimated 19 metres, with around 200 square metres of wing area. (The F-22’s wing area is 78 square metres.) As I commented on the Global Combat Aircraft Program’s Tempest design, large, moderately swept deltas can accommodate a lot of fuel and are very useful if the designer is looking for long range.

The tandem-wheel main landing gear units point to a big aircraft, since single wheel, tyre and brake units are inadequate at weights above about 35 tonnes. The main weapon bay, about 7.6 metres long, and supplementary side bays for smaller weapons also suggest considerable size. A 55-tonne take-off weight is a reasonable guess, two-thirds more than the J-20 and compared with an estimated 82 tonnes for the Northrop Grumman B-21.

The J-36 planform unequivocally speaks of stealth and supersonic speed. It is a modified version of the Hopeless Diamond, the first shot by Lockheed’s Skunk Works at all-aspect stealth, which got that name because it could not be made to fly with 1970s technology. Another variation on the planform was tried in 2003 with Northrop Grumman’s X-47A Pegasus unmanned combat aircraft demonstrator, which did fly. Once.

On the J-36, the diamond is stretched into a double-delta to reduce transonic and supersonic drag. It has a leading-edge kink, a change in sweep angle. That’s not ideal from the standpoint of radar cross-section but, as Northrop Grumman’s cranked-arrow designs have shown, it can be lived with. There is an unbroken edge and chine line around the aircraft, and all sensor apertures are inside it (not the case with the J-20 and other fighters). That is the foundation of all-aspect stealth.

There are no vertical tail surfaces and no visible control surfaces other than the wing trailing edges, with five moving panels on each side and one behind each engine; such surfaces are called ‘elevons’. (It’s possible that there are flight-control effectors that we have not yet seen, such as inlaid panels in the upper surface of the wing.) The hinge lines of trailing-edge surfaces appear to be covered by flexible skins. The outer pair of surfaces are split horizontally to form brake-rudders, as on the B-2 and B-21, and were fully open in all pictures of the first flight.

Elevons have reliably provided pitch and roll control since the 1950s, but dispensing with the vertical tail is a challenge, and more so with a supersonic aircraft. The J-36 can rely on its brake-rudders when it is not close to an enemy. But, for stealth in a threat zone, it will need to keep them closed and use both aerodynamic and propulsive effects to keep the pointy end in front—which brings us to another almost unique feature.

J-36 has three engines, side-by-side at the rear of the broad centre-body. F-22-like inlets of caret shape, with swept and canted lips, under the wing leading edge, supply the left and right engines, and the center engine is fed by a diverterless supersonic inlet above the body.

The three engine exhausts are ahead of and above the trailing edge, which comprises what appear to be articulating panels. Full turbofan reheat boost would impose scary thermal and acoustic loads on the trailing edge structure. (The trenches at the rear of the Northrop YF-23 into which its engines exhausted did not endure the environment as well as expected.) This tends to support the idea that the J-36’s engines are either non-afterburning or have limited afterburning used for transonic acceleration.

Some commentators have suggested that the J-36 has three engines because China does not have an engine design large enough to power it in a twin installation. This doesn’t seem likely. Even if your available engines were delivering only two-thirds of the thrust required for a production-size twin-engine aeroplane, you could build an 80 percent linear-scale demonstrator with two-thirds the wetted area, and it would be both easier to develop and more representative of the final configuration.

There has to be a good reason to justify the added complexity. One possibility is that the two outer engines provide enough thrust for subsonic flight, while operating at full thrust and peak efficiency, and the third cuts in for supersonic cruise.

A variation on this theme would be to have a center engine optimized for supersonic flight, which would deliver some of the advantages of a variable-cycle engine without its complexity and risk (I can hear the logisticians screaming, 12,000km away) but in a configuration that could be fitted later with a VCE.

One former combat aircraft designer suggests that the trijet arrangement could be influenced by stability and control considerations, allowing for symmetrical thrust vectoring in pitch with one engine inoperative.

The trailing edge flaps would provide thrust vectoring in pitch when used symmetrically and in roll with the outer engines’ exhaust deflected asymmetrically (while still using the center engine for pitch). It is entirely possible that fluidic control (injecting fan-stream air asymmetrically into the nozzle) could be used in the yaw axis.

Three engines in the thrust class of 22,000 lb (10,000kg or 100-kilonewtons) should be enough to make the J-36 a supercruiser—an aircraft that can fly supersonically without using fuel-guzzling afterburning. Its sweep angles point to doing this at Mach 1.8 to Mach 2.0 (1900km/h to 2200km/h, depending on altitude). The key is not so much achieving enough static thrust but building the engine to withstand the high temperatures at the exit of its compressor. China’s engine technology has been headed in this direction.

Agility? High maneuverability is in opposition to combining supersonic cruise and range—the F-22 being deficient in the latter—because it demands large control forces and high installed thrust (and the weight it brings). Physics are a limitation: the J-36’s trailing-edge controls and thrust-vectoring systems must provide all the control force for the aircraft, unassisted by vertical stabilizers, canards or pitch-recovery devices like the Sukhoi Su-57’s movable leading-edge root extensions.

As for the need for maneuverability by a supersonic stealth aircraft packing a heavy weapon load and long-range sensors, the reader is referred to the classic movie short, Bambi Meets Godzilla.

We will learn more about the J-36 as it follows the pattern of the J-20 through a pre-production and service test phase. There are other puzzles about the design: apparently large electro-optical sensor windows on either side of the nose, and a dark-tinted canopy that wouldn’t be road-legal in many US states. But one thing can be said firmly: those who accuse Chengdu chief engineer Yang Wei and other Chinese designers of being copyists need to take a seat.

Baltic subsea sabotage: We’re letting Russia (and China) undertake target practice

Weak-kneed responses to attacks on Baltic cables risk allowing the Russia-China axis to conduct free target practice against NATO critical infrastructure, promoting the two countries’ proficiency, interoperability and lethality.

Thanks to this opportunity, Russian crews and their masters ashore will become much better at crippling critical infrastructure connecting NATO states just as Europe is preparing for a defensive war against Moscow’s aggression. And Chinese planners and crews will similarly become more adept at waging this form of hybrid warfare in the Indo-Pacific.

The presence of China-flagged vessels near disruptions to undersea cable infrastructure in Europe in 2024 raises questions about whether Beijing’s involvement was accidental, surveillance-related or part of a coordinated effort. That Beijing calls itself Moscow’s ‘no-limits’ partner suggest its involvement in the suspected sabotage was plausible, if not probable. Even if China wasn’t involved, it will be eager and able to learn from Russia’s experience.

China has been the main enabler of Putin’s war of aggression against Ukraine, precisely because the conflict is in Beijing’s interests. It makes Moscow more reliant on China, normalises the use of might over right, and so undermines the liberal world order.

Undersea cables are crucial for internet connectivity and energy transmission. Attacking them is highly disruptive and has the potential to cripple societies and hobble economies. Russia has a history of threatening undersea infrastructure, such as monitoring or tampering with cables near the Arctic and Baltic seas. China’s involvement in the latest episodes need not have been direct; it could have been through providing logistics, technology or intelligence.

By attacking Baltic undersea infrastructure, Russia can hope to sow discord and create uncertainty within Europe, disrupting the cohesion of NATO and the European Union. This would suit China, too. The attacks are also testing and probing defences. Russia and China are noting European countries’ vulnerabilities, resilience and capacity for response.

By coordinating or supporting such actions, Beijing and Moscow can amplify their individual strategies, all while maintaining plausible deniability. Both are showing a growing inclination to challenge the West through unconventional means.

Indo-Pacific countries should take note. They should also bear in mind that Russia stepped up military activity in their part of the world in 2024, conducting a large Pacific naval exercise with China in October and simulating joint attacks with a Chinese destroyer near Taiwan in December. Also in December, Japan for the first time detected a Russian submarine just east of Taiwan.

Responses to attacks on Baltic subsea infrastructure seem so far to focus on mitigation rather than deterrence. NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte’s comments in early December reiterated this, mentioning preparedness measures, including intelligence sharing and protection of critical infrastructure.

But vessels should not be free to enter another country’s territorial waters, damage critical infrastructure, get caught and still face no consequences. Finland’s bold actions in boarding and seizing control of a Russia-operated (but not Russia-flagged) tanker on suspicion of it deliberately cutting undersea cables shows what countries can do if political will exists.

Finland’s responses pose a question: are other Western countries unable to hold malign actors accountable or just too timid to do so? Western politicians have sought to reduce threats to data security and privacy, but the greater threat is the physical disruption and sabotage which Russia is already carrying out and which China could do whenever it wanted.

A key problem is the right of a ship’s flag country to refuse cooperation with an investigation, which China has exploited in relation to one of the suspect ships. This should change. But while that obstacle remains, we should also be willing to use those political levers presently available to us, such as economic sanctions.

Unfortunately, the will to make Beijing accountable for its non-cooperation seems absent. Non-military deterrence is failing. We should change this, too. Too many governments are instead prioritising the promise of supposed stabilisation in relationships with China. They worry about Chinese influence and fear disruption to business with so large a trading partner, especially amid high inflation. It looks like a security strategy of buying time, hoping China will not deploy its disruptive capabilities anytime soon.

The cycle of words without consequences leaves us vulnerable. It tells Beijing and Moscow they can get away with anything.

We should see the recent cable-cutting incidents as an opportunity to do better, applying emerging political will to re-shape a strengthened response—in the Indo-Pacific just as much as in Europe. We should ensure such actions where they occur are called out and addressed transparently and consistently. Resolution should be prioritised as part of bilateral and multilateral agendas, with economic sanctions to be used as a means to secure full and genuine cooperation and deter recurrence. We should ensure malign actors like Beijing and Moscow face real and meaningful costs in attacking such critical infrastructure, otherwise neither will have reason to stop.

The recent incidents ultimately show why bold and direct action taken in concert, synchronised across NATO, European and frontline Indo-Pacific democracies, is vital to confronting malign behaviour.

Manmohan Singh leaves a large strategic legacy

Former Indian prime minister Manmohan Singh, who has died aged 92, made an impressive contribution to contemporary India. As finance minister, he was the architect of the country’s economic liberalisation. As prime minister, he championed a deal with the United States on India’s nuclear energy program.

Both represented fundamental shifts in India’s direction with long-lasting effects. His apparently apolitical, academic background made him appear as a mild, risk-averse leader, but both the liberalisation and the India-US nuclear deal took India into unchartered and potentially risky waters.

Singh was born in a village in what is now Pakistan’s Punjab province. His family moved to India after the partitioning of what had been British India. Educated in Pakistan and India and later at Cambridge and Oxford—from where he received his doctorate in economics—he worked as an academic and in various policymaking institutions, including as governor of the Reserve Bank of India and deputy chairman of the Planning Commission. In 1991, P V Narasimha Rao, prime minister of a newly elected Congress-led coalition government, made him minister of finance.

This led to Singh’s first and the most important contribution, his pivotal role in the opening of the Indian economy and the liberalisation process from 1991 to 1996. The drastic economic and foreign-exchange situation that the country faced—India had barely enough US dollars to pay for a couple of weeks of imports—demanded equally drastic solutions. His economic reforms changed India’s development trajectory, moving India’s economy up from the what had been derided as the Hindu growth rate to more than 7 percent a year.

Shifting the focus from the public to private sector, it was a radical change of direction. India’s new economic dynamism and its status as a rising power resulted from Singh’s policies. Also for the first time, India began to look for international economic collaboration, initiating the Look East policy to build closer linkages with dynamic Southeast Asian economies.

In 2004, a Congress-led coalition unexpectedly won power. Equally unexpectedly, the unassuming non-politician Singh was nominated as prime minister. This set the stage for his second transformative achievement, the India-US civil nuclear deal, which changed the course of India’s relationship with the global nuclear non-proliferation architecture. India had refused to sign the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) and in 1998 had conducted nuclear tests and declared itself a nuclear power. But this required some acceptance from the US, the reigning unipolar power.

Building on initiatives by the previous government of Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Singh reached agreement with the US to normalise India’s civil nuclear activities. More importantly, this transformed relations with Washington. It removed India’s pariah status in the global nuclear order even if it did not remove India’s non-nuclear weapon status under the NPT. India went on to be recognised for its exceptionally clean record in nuclear non-proliferation. The civil nuclear agreement, signed in 2008, was critical in opening nuclear commerce opportunities with the rest of the world.

As prime minister, Singh recognised the need for a closer and warmer relationship with the US, for both economic and strategic reasons. He found a willing partner in US president George W Bush, who was keen to see India at the centre of Asian security order. The US and India each had an eye on China as they built this relationship.

India’s changed relationship with Australia was also a consequence. Singh, along with then prime minister Kevin Rudd, elevated the Australia-India relationship to a strategic partnership in 2009, setting the scene for strengthened relations. Though, to be fair, the modern day comprehensive partnership, including regeneration of the Quad, did not take hold until later under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who, unlike Singh, visited Australia.

The Bush administration took the leadership in getting various exemptions required within the US domestic legal structure as well as the global ones at the Nuclear Suppliers Group, the member countries of which seek to support nuclear non-proliferation. Neither was easy.

Singh also faced challenges, leading a disparate coalition government in the Indian parliament that included communist parties that unrelentingly opposed the deal. His own party was less than supportive, not understanding why the government had to be risked for a deal for closer ties with the US. But Singh was equally determined, reportedly threatening to step down as prime minister if his party didn’t support him; this forced the Congress party leadership to back him. The communists withdrew their support to the coalition, but the coalition, and the nuclear deal, survived.

He remained prime minister until 2014.

Singh had his share of disappointments too. The vaunted economic liberalisation hasn’t entirely dismantled the central economic and market role of the Indian government, with bureaucratic obstructionism and red tape still a serious problem. Equally, he was unable to prevent his own party from undermining his nuclear deal with a destructive nuclear liability law that negated much of the benefits of nuclear commerce that the deal promised.

But probably his biggest failure was in failing to respond forcefully to the Mumbai terror attack, when Pakistani terrorists held the city to ransom for two days. His failure led to an image of Indian impotence that no doubt led to greater support for the much more assertively nationalist turn in Indian politics.

Singh was known as the accidental prime minister, a characterisation that he appeared to like. This was both his strength and his limitation. But, as he himself asserted at his last press conference as prime minister, history will no doubt prove kinder to his record and achievements.

Manmohan Singh, born on 26 September 1932, died in Delhi on 26 December 2024.