Australia should seize the chance to be an undersea cable hub for the region

Australia has an opportunity to strengthen its position as a regional digital hub in the Indo-Pacific, as the submarine cable industry undergoes a transformation. Capitalising on this chance will take strategic focus and decisive action.

The rise of United States-based hyperscalers—Google, Meta, Microsoft, and Amazon—alongside intensifying geopolitical tensions, particularly between the US and China, is reshaping the global digital landscape.

This presents both risks and opportunities for Australia, as we explain in our report released today, Connecting the Indo-Pacific: the future of subsea cables and opportunities for Australia. The globe’s relentless demand for data has transformed submarine telecommunications cables, which have grown in number from 130 cables networks in 2010 to more than 550 today. Submarine cables are the fastest and most cost-efficient means to transport data internationally, with a capacity that far surpasses satellites. They carry 99 percent of transoceanic public internet and private network data traffic, facilitating critical global economic and financial activity as well as government and military communications and operations.

The proliferation of submarine data cables in the Indo-Pacific is opening up unparalleled information access, communication and technological opportunities. The demand for data will grow with advances such as 6G, which is expected to enter pre-commercial trial from 2028, continuing advances in artificial intelligence, and the uptake of burgeoning technologies such as holographic communications. Business analysts estimate that the global subcable system market will grow at a compound annual rate of 10.3 percent in the period to 2029.

Previously the domain of telecommunications carriers, today the industry is increasingly being shaped by a small group of US-based hyperscalers—the cloud and content services giants—as well as the strategic actions of major powers and minilateral groups. Hyperscale cloud and content providers bring unprecedented capital investments. And as their needs increase, hyperscalers are transitioning from being primary purchasers of network capacity to owning and operating subcable systems. These hyperscalers have an increasing influence on the subcable industry that hasn’t yet been fully recognised or seriously considered; they account for the majority of total submarine cable capacity usage, with that share continuing to grow.

This shift means that an increasing portion of the world’s data is under the stewardship of only a few entities, making the availability of that data highly dependent on their seamless operation. Such a concentration creates a digital supply-chain dependency risk, in which potential disruptions could lead to widespread consequences. The flip side of this is that hyperscalers are now increasingly in control of the ‘internet services stack’—content services, data centres and now network transport. This consolidation of control additionally raises concerns about the principle of an open internet.

The increasing presence of hyperscalers is occurring at a time of heightened political tension between major powers the US and China. That tension is most acute in the Indo-Pacific. The control of data—in this case manifested in the routing, laying, landing and repair of subcables—has been used as one of many platforms for political signalling. For example, in the South China Sea, China’s permit requirements for subcables traversing
its claimed territorial waters and exclusive economic zone—an area marked by territorial disputes—allow Chinese authorities to influence the management of those cables and to secure the involvement of Chinese companies.

But within this changing environment, Australia is well positioned to secure its emerging role as a regional digital hub for subcables, and for AI and cloud-data centres in the Indo-Pacific. It should capitalise on this increased subcable connectivity and these digital investments by leveraging its secure and resilient digital infrastructure to offer alternative routes for global data traffic, away from tense geographic choke points, which would help foster better regional connectivity.

To enable this outcome, our report makes five key recommendations, including that the Australian Government supports and strengthens regional repair and maintenance capabilities, and ensures that the management and protection of cables remains best practice, while it continues to work with regional partners to shape the regulatory norms and standards of the region.

To manage risks to Australia’s data security and economic ambitions, the report also recommends that the Australian Government engages more closely with industry, and maintains oversight and vigilance to digital supply-chain dependency risks and anticompetitive behaviour. Not only will those measures build connectivity and resilience domestically and regionally, but they align with Australia’s foreign policy, development, security, and cyber objectives.

It also ensures that Australia’s subcable network, and that of the region, is as resilient as possible in the face of a tense geopolitical future.

‘You’ll shut me down with a push of your button’: 21st century sabotage

Hezbollah’s pagers and radios surreptitiously changed into anti-personnel explosive devices and detonated across Lebanon and Syria. Russia-linked fires plague European and American factories supporting Ukraine’s defence. Ukrainian nationals implicated in the Nord Stream 2 pipeline bombing. Concerns raised about Chinese components in systems internationally, at moments of future crisis. Alarm on the Olympics’ opening day, as arsonists strike France’s high-speed railway network.

Sabotage—destroying, damaging or obstructing for military and/or political advantage—is back.

Australia needs to learn from these events and adopt such responses as checking equipment and keeping an eye on supply chains.

In fact, sabotage never really went away. Just as we’ve become habituated to fraud in a digital society, we became tolerant of sabotage. Until Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Europe accepted too many acts against it. We should not repeat these mistakes in the Indo-Pacific.

Sabotage for military advantage had its heyday during World War II when Britain’s Special Operations Executive (SOE) was instructed to set occupied Europe ablaze. During the early Cold War, western security services focused on protecting industrial plants. This interest was deepened in the 1970s by revelations of Soviet planning for sabotage in Britain and elsewhere should the Cold War turn hot.

Until recently, modern sabotage was conceived as a matter of ones and zeroes. Even during the Cold War, the best-known example of anti-USSR sabotage was in the 1980s, when the CIA modified software destined for Soviet gas pipeline controls. Once installed, it caused explosions resulting in massive system malfunctions and devastating damage, undermining the commercial viability of energy exports and wasting Moscow’s limited hard currency.

Then there was Stuxnet, an early 21st century computer virus that was designed to destroy Iran’s nuclear centrifuges and was attributed to both the US and Israel by media reporting.

Sabotaging hardware is much more logistically difficult than sabotaging software. At the scale used against Hezbollah, it’s extraordinary.

Imagine what this would have required: detailed real-time intelligence insights into Hezbollah’s logistics and operations; sustained, clandestine access to the target equipment, and the right skills to emplace and conceal the explosives; rigorous operational security; and plenty of luck.

Should we be worried about such a tactic being used against Australians, including by terrorists?

At this scale, supply chain interference with such lethality is likely only a capability for sophisticated state actors. Yes, there have been terrorist concealments beyond the stereotypical placement of explosives in luggage—notably in a meat grinder in 2017, printer cartridges in 2010, and worn shoes and clothing—but these didn’t involve intruding into supply chains. Also, there are cheaper and easier supply-chain opportunities for terrorists, such as copying the lacing of Tylenol with cyanide in Chicago in 1982.

The fundamental answer, especially in an Australian context, is prosaic but also more insidious. When your manufacturing base exists almost wholly outside of your borders and includes potential adversaries, you’re unavoidably vulnerable. While state actors may not have the intent now, they certainly could in a conflict scenario, hence why ‘suppliers of concern’ were excluded from our 5G communications systems.

This asks a hard question of government: to what extent are the supply chains of our critical infrastructure dominated by rivals or adversaries who might wish to harm us, perhaps even before a conflict?

There are other lessons:

—Cyber threats can’t be avoided simply by retrogression (for example, Hezbollah trading smart phones for pagers). It’s worth remembering that even carrier pigeons can conceivably be a vector for sabotage: MI4d, responsible for Britain’s World War II pigeon capability, took precautions when retrieving messages from birds returning from Europe, fearing German tampering.

—Entangling counterintelligence and sabotage (and hybrid warfare) threatens to degrade norms of intelligence contest that eschew violence (such as those observed in the Cold War, or at least in its more gentlemanly theatres). The mannered boulevards of international espionage could end up looking more like the rougher alleyways of counterterrorism.

—Indeed, there can be an intended auxiliary intelligence objective to sabotage such as that directed against Hezbollah. It drives targets to use communication methods that are less efficient and maybe more conducive to intelligence collection. It also sows distrust and internal conflict, distancing targets from their support networks internally and externally.

What should be done to guard against sabotage like this?

Be more security conscious in government procurement. Think about security in the same way we typically think about insurance: as an investment in addressing risk. Test procured equipment randomly and systematically and have standing technical capabilities to do so.

Know your supply chain, as difficult as this is amid the lack of clarity inherent in globalisation.

Randomise and obfuscate sensitive procurement channels and destinations. And recognise the potential value of seemingly benign logistical and technical information and take appropriate steps to protect it.

However, also be clear-eyed. There are economic costs that must be balanced against considered risks and the opportunity costs of using security resources in this way. Those costs reveal an additional objective to sabotage: diverting resources away from defence capability to securing supply chains and inventories.

These are the difficult choices of the new age when our ‘crystal ball ain’t so crystal clear’.

PIF hack highlights the need for cyber capacity building

The public revelation this month that the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) Secretariat had been hacked has exposed significant cybersecurity vulnerabilities in the region.

This breach, which possibly went undetected for months, has again thrust the Pacific islands into the middle of a cyber blame game between China and Australia. Australian government cyber experts believe, according to media reports, that the attack was the work of hacker group linked to China—though China has denied any such claim, dismissing the allegations as disinformation.

The incident underscores an urgent need for the Pacific nations to invest in cyber defences and capacity-building efforts to defend against and deter future actions.

The timeline of the attack—it was discovered in February 2024 but only revealed publicly after the PIF Leaders Meeting in September—shows how easily malicious actors can infiltrate the networks of vulnerable states and regional organisations. Classified as an advanced persistent threat (APT), it granted the perpetrators long-term, unauthorised access to the secretariat’s communications, enabling them to quietly monitor, steal and manipulate sensitive information.

Given the geopolitical importance of Pacific nations and their strategic partnerships with major powers, they are increasingly becoming targets of cyber espionage.

What is particularly troubling is the complexity of attribution in this case. Australia reportedly identified the group behind the attack, but China’s swift denial and accusation of ‘fake news’ have muddied the waters of responsibility. The Chinese embassy in Fiji called the accusation a ‘purely made-up story’ and warned against spreading disinformation. China’s rebuttal was quickly picked up by Pacific media, as China sought to reframe the incident as part of the broader competition between China and the West.

This divide puts Pacific leaders in a difficult position. While they value Australia’s cybersecurity expertise and support, they must also navigate the political sensitivities of China, a major power. China’s deep involvement in economic projects in the region gives it significant diplomatic weight. For many countries, calling out China would risk alienating a crucial partner, while staying silent could undermine the region’s growing commitment to transparency and democratic governance.

If the PIF had more robust cyber capacities, it could have responded differently. It is important to note that Australia and New Zealand are also members of the PIF, and have contributed expertise, skills and funds through initiative like Pacific Cyber Security Operational Network.

However, due to limited resources, it remains challenging for Pacific nations to achieve self-reliance in this domain. Maintaining strong collaborations, not only with regional powers such as Australia and New Zealand, but also with the major tech companies, such as Microsoft’s Digital Crime Unit, is therefore crucial for strengthening the region’s cyber defences.

The PIF secretariat hack is not an isolated incident, either. Earlier this year, Palau accused China of stealing more than 20,000 documents related to its relations with the US, Japan and Taiwan. Although less evidence was provided in Palau’s case, the region’s increasing cyber vulnerabilities are well-documented.

These cyberattacks are more than data theft. They reflect broader strategies aimed at weakening regional cohesion, manipulating political processes and disrupting alliances via hybrid tactics. The Pacific islands are becoming increasingly entangled in this web of great power competition, and without the means to defend themselves, Pacific nations risk becoming coerced pawns in a larger geopolitical game.

While Australia’s conclusion that China was responsible for the PIF hack may be correct, a more transparent and collaborative approach to cyber intelligence sharing would benefit all parties involved. As would the creation of local capacities to deter, detect and attribute attacks in quick order. It would also allow them to achieve full digital sovereignty and minimise their own future vulnerabilities.

Building cyber capacity in the Pacific is no simple task, given the region’s economies, cultures and levels of digital infrastructure. Any capacity-building effort must be multifaceted and adaptable. The PIF can pursue several approaches, including cybersecurity partnerships with extra-regional countries, such as Japan and India, and engagement with international organisations to provide long-term funding, technical expertise and training. The International Telecommunication Union, for example, provides assistance to small developing island states. Additionally, existing mechanisms like the Pacific Fusion Centre could host technical experts to upskill local professionals.

Establishing cybersecurity policy and governance is also crucial. The PIF could support its members in drafting comprehensive national cybersecurity strategies, outlining legal frameworks and emergency response protocols. These policies should include clear guidelines for cooperation with partners and pathways to attribution in a transparent, multilateral manner.

As technical investigation into the PIF hack continues, Pacific leaders will carefully assess the findings. While this cautious approach reflects the delicate geopolitical balance in the region, its inaction reinforces the Pacific’s vulnerabilities. By investing in cyber capacity now, Pacific nations can ensure that the next time a breach occurs, they will be ready to respond.

  • This report has been slightly amended to clarify that the Australian government has not formally attributed the hacking attack to a Chinese state-backed group. 

Remotely exploding pagers highlight supply chain risks

The attacks against Hezbollah using weaponised pagers and walkie talkies serve as a stark reminder of the dangers of compromised supply chains and why Australia must secure its own against the threats from China.

While the full details about the devices are yet to emerge, the operation—presumed to be carried out by Israel though not declared as such—indicates what could happen if supply chains were exploited in more subtle but equally insidious ways. For nations like Australia, the consequences could be just as catastrophic.

While infiltrating electronic supply chains is not a new tactic, these incidents highlight the dramatically growing sophistication of supply chain attacks. Prior to this operation, the most famous one was the Shin Bet’s 1996 assassination of Hamas’s chief bombmaker, Yahya Ayyash, using a rigged mobile phone.

With rising geopolitical tensions, particularly involving China, the risk of compromised hardware bound for Australia is alarmingly real, particularly considering China’s industrial capacity to produce at mass quantities.

China, as the world’s largest maker of electronic devices, plays a pivotal role in the global supply chain. But its dominance raises concerns, especially given its growing assertiveness and accusations of espionage and sabotage. There are genuine fears that China could exploit its control over the supply chain to insert vulnerabilities into hardware bound for Australia, whether for surveillance or sabotage.

A much-debated Bloomberg article of 2018, ‘The Big Hack’, brought hardware-based supply chain attacks into the public consciousness, citing Chinese involvement in planting microchips in American servers. Although the report’s validity remains contested, classified intelligence has long suggested that China’s role in compromised supply chains represents a significant and ongoing threat. While awareness of these threats has grown, action to mitigate them has not kept pace.

As early as 2011, the US Department of Defense warned that supply chain vulnerabilities were a ‘central aspect of the cyber threat’, stressing that over-reliance on foreign factories ‘provides broad opportunities for foreign actors to subvert US supply chains’. More than a decade later, this warning is more relevant than ever. Yet little progress has been made to secure critical infrastructure components that remain vulnerable to supply chain threats.

In Australia, the challenge is even more pressing. As a nation that relies heavily on imports for essential goods, from consumer electronics to military hardware, the potential for supply chain interdiction looms large, especially given that much of this equipment is manufactured in China.

Some action has been taken in the software sector, including by Australia and other countries prohibiting the involvement of Chinese suppliers in 5G networks due to concerns about disruption of critical telecommunications infrastructure. But securing one sector or one piece of software must be replicated in all sensitive areas and across both software and hardware.

Electronic devices such as routers, phones and even cars could be compromised at any stage in their journey from the manufacturer to the end user. Interdiction attacks, where hardware is tampered with during transport, are not difficult to execute, especially along complex shipping routes.

The consequences of such breaches extend beyond malfunctioning devices. Compromised electronics can open the door to espionage, sabotage and cyber-attacks, with potentially catastrophic implications for national security. If malicious actors, especially those backed by states, tamper with hardware on a large scale, they could gain access to sensitive data, disrupt critical infrastructure or even disable essential services.

Given these growing threats, Australia must take urgent action to safeguard its supply chains. One critical step is reducing dependence on Chinese manufacturing by investing in local production. For years, Australia has relied on foreign factories, particularly in China, for vital goods. While this reliance has driven down costs, it has exposed the country to risks of foreign tampering. Diversifying supply chains and building capabilities domestically and with close friends will reduce China’s leverage and improve Australia and the regions’ security.

But domestic production alone won’t solve the problem. Australia must also implement more rigorous inspection and testing protocols for imported goods. Currently, shipments pass through multiple jurisdictions, leaving opportunities for tampering along the way. Such advanced technologies as blockchain-based tracking systems can ensure shipments remain untampered with during transport, while hardware integrity testing can catch compromised devices before they reach critical infrastructure.

While no single measure will eliminate the risk of supply chain attacks, a combination of strategies can significantly reduce the danger. This will include strengthening domestic manufacturing, enhancing import inspection protocols, collaborating with trusted allies and adopting cutting-edge security technologies. The threat posed by compromised supply chains, particularly from China, is real. These vulnerabilities only become more urgent as the geopolitical situation becomes more volatile.

The recent events in Lebanon shouldn’t be seen only as distant and against a terrorist organisation but rather a stark reminder of what can happen when supply chains are compromised. For Australia, the stakes are too high to ignore. By taking proactive steps now to secure our supply chains from potential threats the country can protect our critical infrastructure, safeguard our national security, and ensure our future remains in our own hands, not China’s.

Envisioning a better peace in Ukraine

With Russian President Vladimir Putin’s war of aggression against Ukraine now well into its third year, there are mounting questions about whether any sort of peace or victory is possible.

Much depends, of course, on how one defines those terms. For Putin, the explicitly stated objective is to eliminate Ukraine as an independent nation-state and subject it to Russian control. Yet after two and a half years and a massive mobilisation of military resources and manpower, Russia controls only around 18 percent of Ukraine’s territory, and most of that was grabbed in 2014. Set against Putin’s war aims, the invasion has been a miserable failure.

Could this change? For a Russian victory to be even remotely possible, the West would need to end all forms of support—financial as well as military—to Ukraine, and the Ukrainian people would need to lose their will to resist. Absent either—or probably both—of these outcomes, Putin’s war aim seems unachievable.

There are no signs of a loss of will on the Ukrainians’ part. While a minority of respondents in opinion polls say they could accept some territorial concessions as a price for ending the war, these losses would fall far short of anything that would eliminate Ukraine from the map.

The many billions of dollars that have been flowing into Ukraine from Europe, the United States and elsewhere have been crucial, and there are indeed questions about whether such support would continue if former US President Donald Trump retakes the White House in November. But one must remember that the even larger sums coming from the European Union represent little more than 0.3 percent of GDP for each member state, on average. With no sign that Europeans’ political will is weakening, this support could perhaps be increased if necessary.

Moreover, Europe’s production of ammunition is expanding, with projections that output will reach two million artillery rounds next year. Russia, meanwhile, seems to be struggling to increase production, and has become increasingly reliant on ammunition from North Korea.

This is part of a larger pattern. The Russian armed forces have consistently failed to pull off any successful large-scale offensive operations since the first weeks of the war. Though they have certainly tried—setting their sights on Kharkiv this summer—they have failed time and again. The bulk of Russian advances have been made by pulverizing smaller cities.

To be sure, the Ukrainian army has had its challenges. It succeeded in pushing Russia back around Kherson and Kharkiv in 2022, but then its highly anticipated counteroffensive in the summer of 2023 failed spectacularly. Still, the sudden offensive into Russia’s Kursk region last month has demonstrated new and impressive capabilities, as well as reminding the world of the Ukrainian forces’ sheer grit and adaptability.

As matters stand, however, the Ukrainian army appears to have little chance of retaking the territory that Russia has occupied. It might well repeat the success of the Kursk operation somewhere along the front lines, which would have important political implications, but achieving sustained results beyond that will be challenging.

As long as Putin and his inner circle believe that they can grind down the will of the Ukrainians and their Western backers, they will continue the war. But when it dawns on them that this will not happen, and that Russia is on a path of increasingly rapid decline, things will change. Though it probably won’t happen this year, it is not unlikely in 2025. Then, perhaps, one can envisage some sort of interim arrangement that ends the fighting, albeit without delivering victory to either side.

A lasting peace, however, is a more challenging prospect. I don’t think it will be possible until two conditions are met. First, Putin would have to lose power. He controls the Kremlin and Russian society with an iron grip, and he is far too wedded to his imperial obsession ever to accept a real peace. Second, Ukraine’s future must be firmly secured by membership in the EU and reliable Western security arrangements.

Then, and only then, might peace be possible. Such an outcome would be a victory not only for Ukraine, but also for Russia. Freed from self-destructive imperial projects, it could finally start to work on becoming a normal, prosperous, 21st-century nation-state.

A Turkish brick in the BRICS bloc—is Turkey choosing between East and West?

Recent reports suggest that Turkey is positioning itself to join BRICS, the political-economic bloc founded by Brazil, Russia, India and China in the mid-2000s. Speculation that Turkey has made a formal application to join comes several months after Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan’s attendance at a BRICS summit in Russia. When Fidan met Vladamir Putin, the Russian president is said to have applauded Turkey’s increasing engagement with the bloc.

Accepting Turkey—a state with 85 million citizens and the world’s 19th largest economy—would add geopolitical heft to BRICS, which is actively looking to expand its membership and is often viewed as a counterweight to the Western-led G7.

These developments come at a time when Turkey’s strategic allegiances appear to be wavering. US-Turkey relations were recently at rock-bottom, and in the last year Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan has threatened to ‘part ways’ with the EU and announced aspirations to permanent membership of the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO).

Some observers warn—somewhat extravagantly—that Turkey placing all its geopolitical eggs in the BRICS basket would be a step towards the collapse of the US-led world order. It has been a long-standing pastime for pundits to fret about Turkey’s strategic direction: in 2009, when Erdogan was deemed to have taken Iran’s side during nuclear negotiations, the first round of melodramatic ‘who lost Turkey?’ articles appeared.

Prior to this, Turkey’s westward inclinations were generally taken for granted. The Republic of Turkey’s founding president, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, built a secular order and worked to establish what he saw as Turkey’s rightful place within Europe and the West. This came to fruition when, in 1952, Ankara accepted an offer to join NATO.

Half a century later, the Turkish foreign ministry sought closer relations with its Muslim neighbours at the direction of Erdogan, who has always asserted his Islamic identity, leading some to fear that Turkey’s secular politics might be quashed and its foreign policy derailed by Islamist sensibilities. Such fears proved largely overblown. Then-foreign minister Ahmet Davutoglu’s zero-problems-with-neighbours approach was as much guided by pragmatism as by ideology.

There is similar pragmatism in Ankara’s recent overtures to BRICS. As its economy developed in the first two decades of the 21st century, Turkey grew more confident on the international stage. It now has fewer qualms about pursuing a foreign policy that does not toe the line of its Western partners. Meanwhile, Ankara has grown increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress on its EU membership. Accession talks began in 2005 but have been moribund for some time.

European misgivings about admitting Turkey to the EU are not without foundation. A European Parliament report on Turkey published in 2023 set out a laundry list of concerns, including restrictions placed upon media, the opposition and the Kurdish population; deteriorating rights for women; a lack of judicial independence; and Ankara’s refusal to comply with European Court of Human Rights ruling.

BRICS offers Turkey a political-economic alternative to the EU, one that may prove more immediately welcoming. It can be assumed that Turkey’s accession to BRICS would face less stringent conditions. BRICS is neither a ‘Christian club’—an accusation Erdogan once levelled at the EU—nor is it likely to have quibbles over the human rights and rule of law violations in Turkey that are red flags for EU bureaucrats.

Turkey’s warming relationship with China is also significant. Turkey’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs highlights that trade with China has grown rapidly, such that the superpower is now its second biggest trade partner, with Ankara hoping to expand agricultural exports to Beijing. Turkey is also part of China’s Belt and Road Initiative, connecting it with several of its brethren Turkic Central Asian states, which are also members of the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation. Accordingly, seeking membership of BRICS and/or the Organisation makes sense to Turkish policymakers.

A Turkish scholar has pointed out that, as the global centre of geopolitical gravity shifts from the western hemisphere to the Indo-Pacific, Turkey may well be losing strategic leverage: its oft-touted status as a bridge between East and West. Here, again, joining BRICS will afford Ankara benefits, enmeshing it in an emerging bloc that straddles regions and connects burgeoning economies.

Of course, Turkey’s accession to BRICS is not a given—all current members must approve its application. But even if it does join, this should not be regarded as a repudiation of the West. Erdogan recently remarked that Turkey will not be forced into choosing between Europe or the SCO, but could maintain relations and cooperate with both. A parallel may be drawn here with India, which is a founding member of BRICS and a full member of the SCO, but also a member of the Quad with the US, Japan and Australia.

Ultimately, Western policymakers should not view Turkey’s geopolitical leanings as a zero-sum game. Jarring as it may be to some observers, a Turkey ensconced in BRICS has the opportunity to reprise its role as a bridge—not between continents but between geopolitical blocs.

Balancing justice and maturity: the contradiction in Australia’s youth crime and social media policies

According to current Australian political discourse, a 10-year-old is too young for social media, yet old enough to be imprisoned. This inconsistency should be a sign to policymakers that significant changes must be made to our youth justice system.

Australia is taking a prominent role internationally in the conversation about restricting social media use for children, particularly those under 16. It became a political issue in June 2024, when federal opposition leader Peter Dutton announced it as a key election commitment. Since then, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has championed the idea of setting a minimum age for platforms like TikTok and Instagram, citing concerns over social media’s impact on young people’s mental health and development.

When discussing social media, we appreciate the vulnerability of young people. Yet our northern jurisdictional debates on criminality and youth detention are very different: in Western Australia the age of criminal responsibility is only 10 years old, and currently the Northern Territory’s Country Liberal Party is proposing lowering the age of criminal responsibility to 10. Similarly in Queensland, the Liberal National Party opposition is advocating for ‘adult crime, adult time’, pushing for tougher penalties for youth offenders.

While these approaches tap into public frustrations about crime, they overlook the importance of addressing the root causes of youth offending. Early intervention, not harsher penalties, is the key to real change.

This is not to say that NT Chief Minister Lia Finocchiaro or Queensland opposition leader David Crisafulli intend to abandon early intervention strategies or aim to imprison young children. Both leaders have emphasised their commitment to implementing programs that address the root causes of youth crime. Nevertheless, their prioritisation of punitive measures will mean that youth detention becomes a default solution. Despite best intentions, children could end up funnelled into the criminal justice system, potentially leading to harsher outcomes rather than focusing on rehabilitative support.

The inconsistencies between the social media and criminal responsibility debates raise questions about how we view childhood maturity across policy areas; 13 to 15-year-olds are too immature for social media, but 10-year-olds can be fully accountable for criminal actions?

Studies show that children under 14 often lack the cognitive development to grasp the consequences of their actions and involving them in the criminal justice system can worsen recidivism. Youth crime is often a symptom of deeper social issues such as poverty, family instability and limited access to education or healthcare. First Nations children, who are disproportionately represented in the criminal justice system, face additional layers of disadvantage, including intergenerational trauma. Addressing these underlying issues demands a coordinated approach involving early intervention, community-driven solutions and sustained investment in social services.

Queensland has introduced programs aimed at keeping young people out of the justice system, but these have had mixed results, partly due to disruptions caused by the COVID-19 pandemic. Many critical services, including foster care and mental health support, were paused, leading to gaps that exacerbated youth crime issues. While the state’s Community Safety Strategy seeks to rebuild these services, punitive measures such as tougher sentencing are gaining traction, risking a reliance on the criminal justice system.

Examples of successful community-driven programs, such as Youth Justice Conferencing in Queensland and justice reinvestment models from the Northern Territory, show the value of restorative approaches. However, without addressing broader social issues like housing instability and education, these gains will be short-lived.

The failures of youth justice policies can be traced to poor coordination and a lack of resourcing. While early intervention programs have demonstrated their effectiveness, they are often underfunded, especially in regional and remote areas. The availability of critical services, such as mental health care, housing, and education, is limited in these areas, undermining the potential impact of well-designed policies. Without adequate, long-term funding, many of these initiatives cannot deliver the sustainable change they promise.

What is needed is a whole-of-government approach that integrates health, education, housing and welfare services into a cohesive safety net for at-risk youth. In the Northern Territory, a region with complex and unique challenges, a one-size-fits-all solution is unlikely to work. Programs must be tailored to the local context, particularly for First Nations communities, and must involve sustained investment over the long term.

Crucially, raising the age of criminal responsibility to at least 14—as recommended by the United Nations—will ensure that young offenders are treated in ways that prioritise rehabilitation.

Governments at both the federal and state levels must ensure that resources are directed where they are needed most. Empowering local communities, particularly Indigenous leaders, to take control of youth justice in their regions will be key to success. By prioritising prevention, raising the age of criminal responsibility and investing in community-driven solutions, Australia can begin to build a justice system that supports young people rather than punishing them for life’s early missteps.

AUKUS and US forces: the question of independence

One does not have to agree with those who think that AUKUS is an abomination to be similarly concerned about AUKUS cost and schedule uncertainties, and the significant trade-offs that will have to be made in the Defence budget to accommodate the acquisition of nuclear-propelled submarines.  These issues should be the subject of public scrutiny and debate. 

However, the far more vital issue that the critics raise is how, in their view, the AUKUS technology partnership, and the new basing arrangements for US nuclear-capable bombers, attack submarines, and other forces, will undermine Australia’s sovereignty and independence; are contrary to the national interest of seeking ‘security in Asia’; and affront our sense of national pride. 

If this were the 1990s, there might be a point to this criticism.  At the time, the policy of seeking ‘security in Asia’ made sense. Acquiring nuclear-propelled submarines, and hosting US combat forces, did not. However, after 2000, ‘security in Asia’ started to become a mirage, once a militarising, and increasingly belligerent, China began to fracture the peace of Asia. 

Debates about sovereignty and independence should not be treated as tests of patriotism or ‘national pride’. What is in issue is a hard strategic reality: seeking ‘security in Asia’ will be meaningless for as long as China continues to act coercively, even while still calibrating its actions so as to avoid, for the moment, direct confrontation. It has expansionist designs to displace the United States as the primary regional power. It is in our interests to work with others to prevent this. Absent US strategic primacy, there is no credible collective counterbalance to China. The choice is therefore a binary one: between being in partnership with an engaged and regionally dominant US, or taking our chances with China as the pre-eminent regional power. 

Acquiring long-range nuclear-propelled submarines under AUKUS, transforming ANZUS into an operational military alliance, and hosting US combat forces in Australia are better policies for the times. These initiatives will help to build regional deterrence, and harden Australia as a secure bastion, should tragically war come. They should be seen as an independent decision on Australia’s part to band together with others in a deliberate strategy to deter Chinese aggression and resist Chinese regional hegemony. 

This need not entail global confrontation, and proxy wars of the kind seen in the Cold War. Competition with China can be best managed through diplomacy, and trade, investment and technology policies. Where this will not work is in the ‘Quad arc’ of the Asian periphery, from Japan to Australia, and around to India. In this arc, hard military power will count most.    

Unfortunately, the missing element in this mix is the lamentable erosion of our own defence capability. Australia’s military power is at least a percentage point of GDP below its required fighting weight when we face the prospect of what the 1987 Defence White Paper termed ‘more substantial conflict’—where Australia would be at risk of being attacked by a major power. As a consequence, Australia is contributing more to facing the China challenge by providing access to geography than it is through hard military power—when we should be doing both.  

Deterrence entails being prepared to engage in warfighting, because the adversary has to understand that those seeking to deter it are willing to use force, if necessary. Alliances and military coalitions are collective endeavours. Strength comes from banding together to confront difficult strategic challenges, a sovereign act where the alternative is worse. 

I agree with the critics who say that our ability to now abstain from a future US-China war is only nominal, notwithstanding the platitudes about Australia reserving its sovereign rights. True enough on paper, but a fuller and more honest explanation is required.  For Australia to actively decline to take part in a US-China war, it would have to deny the US access to the use of facilities in Australia, whether those that were established in the 1960s (Pine Gap being the best known), or more critically any that might be used for mounting combat operations through or from Australia. Washington would heap enormous pressure on Canberra to allow just that, as Australia’s strategic geography would be vital terrain for the US in any such war.   

The critics bemoan the fact that, accordingly, Australia is now ‘locked in’. While they will point to Vietnam, the Gulf War, and Iraq as instances of the ‘folly’ of blindly following the United States (a topic for another day), those were not great power conflicts that could profoundly shape our own security. Today, Australia is demonstrating resolve, and unity of purpose, with others who similarly fear that the greater risk lies in an unchecked and dominant China. Thwarting the establishment of Chinese regional hegemony—which would be the inevitable consequence of a US withdrawal from, or defeat in, the Western Pacific—is in Australia’s national interest. While more analysis needs to be done of what Chinese hegemony might mean specifically for Australian sovereignty and independence, the best instinctive conclusion would be that our interests would be harmed far more than they would be advantaged. 

An accommodation of China’s interests should be attempted, by way of the skillful creation of a regional order that is accepted by all as being legitimate, in equilibrium, and thus at peace. However, given China’s belligerence, and the worrying degree of its war preparations, we are a very long way from achieving that order. One day, ‘security in Asia’ might again be in prospect. In this respect, perhaps the 2030s or the 2040s will be an echo of the optimistic 1990s.

First, however, the imminent China challenge has to be seen off, by a coalition that is prepared to pool its strength in a collective endeavour, preferably without war. We can make an independent choice today to collectively resist future subordination, or we can harm our national interest in the pursuit of outdated policies.

First they take Geneva, then they take New York

The creation of multilateral institutions was the natural response to the horrific destruction wrought during World War II. As global attention swings to New York with the UN General Assembly leaders’ week kicking off on Monday, it’s worth remembering the principled protection that multilateral institutions have for generations offered against malign behaviour by rogue states and bullies that want to bend the international system to suit themselves at the expense of others. 

Yet today, these institutions are failing to protect free and fair trade, dignified labour, human rights, orderly migration, non-proliferation of indiscriminate weapons and other shared goals. The multilateral system, in short, is failing right at the time we need it to respond to a world in which major state conflict is back and nations are testing international rules and the institutions themselves.  

The answer is not to give up and let the multilateral system, including the United Nations and the many organisations that sit under it, be taken over and weaponised by authoritarian powers like China and Russia. Some form of global co-operation will continue to exist. If rule-abiding states vacate the field, it will be left to those who want to bend and distort these institutions so that they unilaterally suit these powerful players’ narrow causes and ultimately prop up their illiberal systems of government. 

The answer, rather, is to do the hard work to reform these institutions, to make them legitimate and relevant so that they serve the majority of nations that want a functioning international system that respects the rights and interests of all states, large and small. As the institutions re-energise, they can compel the attention of capitals that multilateralism is worth the investment of time and resources, creating a virtuous cycle that serves all our interests. 

Yet what we are seeing is that nations and industries are prioritising unilateral policies and minilateral groupings that are proving more agile in adapting to modern day realities over engagement in New York and Geneva. 

We are in this miserable situation because liberal democracies have been complacent about the infallibility of institutional power, failing to recognise that institutions are only as strong as the determination of their most active members. Meanwhile, authoritarian nations led by China and Russia, and supported by the likes of Iran, have identified and exploited structural weaknesses, reshaping the institutions, bending the rules and co-opting or coercing smaller and more vulnerable member states. Some of these smaller states, it is true, have historically felt they weren’t being heard—again a problem that engagement by rule-abiding countries could help rectify by putting greater effort into inclusive reform. 

Beijing has been especially adept at constructive sabotage from within. After being allowed to join institutions without being required to meet appropriate standards—as an optimistic world hoped a growing China would also be a liberalising China—it then proceeded to weaken key institutions from within. 

It has offered unprecedented numbers of what are known as Junior Professional Officers to UN secretariats while also vying to put Chinese nationals in senior roles, effectively stacking the organisations. This has meant that discussions on Beijing’s malign activities are shut down, often before they begin. And when recommendations are made, their implementation is blocked. 

It’s worth pointing out a distinction here from the way the United States has acted as a permanent member of the Security Council, such as vetoing resolutions supporting full UN membership for a state of Palestine. The US does not seek to quash the drafting and discussion of resolutions before they ever see the light of day. It votes against measures that it cannot support—and if its P5 power status is a matter of frustration for other nations, that’s a question of the need for long term reform. 

Tough love will be needed to fix these institutions, starting with acknowledgement of the problem. Unlike the US, Beijing is breaching just about every international rule it has signed onto, including in space, cyberspace, the maritime domain—below and above water—through covert foreign interference in democratic institutions, transnational repression and most recently in the supply of dual-use goods and manufacturing equipment to support Russia’s illegal war on Ukraine.  

Human rights abuses in Xinjiang are a case in point. In 2022, UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Michelle Bachelet released a report on her last day in office that found human rights violations were being committed against Uyghurs and other predominantly Muslim communities, which might constitute crimes against humanity. But discussion of the report has been voted down and there seems an unwillingness even to try to act.  

Despite the OHCHR’s findings about human slavery, China was allowed to ratify two International Labour Organization conventions on Forced Labour and the Abolition of Forced Labour that said China was committed to ending the practice but, incredibly, required no actions from Beijing. 

Then there’s the World Trade Organization, which is supposed to stand for free and fair trade. Yet the body and its member states seem to work harder to explain why such unfair practices as economic coercion and intellectual property theft fall outside its remit than it does trying to adapt to capture these trade-related abuses. Every serious strategic thinker now accepts we can no longer treat economics and security separately, and yet our global institutions are failing to catch up. 

This helps explain why countries are losing faith in the WTO’s mechanisms. The European Union launched a case against China for clear economic coercion of Lithuania. But it has suspended its action, apparently fearing that it would lose the case because China’s conduct is beyond the WTO’s remit.  

Countries that believe in multilateralism need to back the key organisations by demonstrating their faith in them. Australia missed a chance to do this when it withdrew its two WTO cases against China—on barley and wine—as a misguided gesture to Beijing to help ‘stabilise’ the relationship. Likewise, Brussels could have seen its Lithuania case through and, if it ended in a technical dismissal, pointed to the failure as a demonstration of the need for WTO reform. 

Rebuilding trust in international institutions also means member countries posting representatives to Geneva and New York who firmly believe in their missions and purpose—not people who are cynical about multilateralism or who maintain a quixotic and antiquated view of multilateralism. 

Institutions need staff with expertise in both foreign affairs and security. Having such staff defending these institutions from within, and pushing the tough but necessary reform, would be the most effective way to ensure they are fit for purpose. These believers need to be our megaphones on the importance of the rules, the need to defend them, and the importance of holding states to account for non-compliance. 

In parallel, we should continue to strengthen minilateral groupings to demonstrate that collective action is possible, and to achieve outcomes that might remain simply out of reach of much bigger global institutions. 

For NATO, it took the crisis of Russia’s war on Ukraine to revive its sense of purpose and unity.  

Having China and Russia working together and constantly breaching international norms, rules and laws ought to be enough to encourage other countries to put some elbow grease into resourcing and reforming multilateral institutions in the name of global security and prosperity. 

Australian Army chief prioritises trust, the study of war and military professionalism

On 12 September, Land Forces 2024, Australia’s largest defence conference and industry exposition, opened to the Chief of Army Symposium for the first time. The symposium brought together almost 2000 attendees from across the Service, allied and partner forces, defence industry and academia for thematic talks on the human face of battle and the state of the army profession.

In his keynote address, the Chief of Army Lieutenant General Simon Stuart, delivered a rousing organisational and public message: the Australian Army will ‘weave together the [intellectual and the moral] elements of fighting power with the physical elements’ to meet Australia’s strategic challenges. This means building public trust and social license, elevating the study of classical military history and theory in army education and training, and strengthening the standard of professionalism expected of soldiers in action.

While not deliberate or planned, the timing of this message coincided with the government’s removal of medals from some senior officers over alleged war crimes committed in Afghanistan under their command. This backdrop worked to highlight the responsibility of Army service personnel to show restraint and good judgement in morally demanding environments. In every sense the address proved a natural successor to Stuart’s 2023 response to the defence strategic review, which put people at the center of the army’s ongoing technological and doctrinal transformation.

The Army’s new capstone document is the best reference point for Australians to understand how the Service will contribute to the national defence strategy. As a vital component of Australia’s national power, the Army is being optimised to secure and control strategic land positions in the littoral and areas inland from the coast. This will involve using long-range strike weapons, battlefield aviation platforms, the combined arms land system and landing craft. With the largest equipment recapitalisation now well in-hand, trust has become the ‘central strategic priority’.

For Stuart, trust can’t be decoupled from social license. Maintaining social license will require building trust between the Army’s teams and with Australian communities—noting that the army serves, and recruits from, the citizenry. The Army is well-placed to leverage this connection. Around 43,500 soldiers operate from 157 bases nationwide, many of which are in the north, and all live and work in their community. And every soldier accepts a responsibility to ethically apply lethal force and may give their lives to defend Australia and its interests—the two sides of the ‘unlimited liability contract’, as first outlined by General Sir John Hackett in 1962. Both the army and society writ large are obliged to honour that commitment.

Responding to the release of final royal commission report into veteran suicide, Stuart reasoned that new learning systems were needed to hard-wire adaptation into the soldiering profession. Leading by example, Stuart quoted or cited at least 10 scholarly works in his remarks; a tactic reinforcing the idea that soldiers should be avid readers and students of military history, theory and philosophy. That less than 10 percent of graduates at the Australian Defence Force Academy elect to study Australian military history each year drove the point home. In his experience, a deep understanding of the art and science of war is vital to ensure soldiers are equipped to reconcile their instinct for self-preservation and sense of honour on the battlefield.

Alongside more thorough learning, the Army will engage in period of reflection to move beyond what Stuart called the ‘Long Shadow of Afghanistan’ in preparation for the future fight. To this end, Stuart committed to undertake a ‘first principles’ review of the key elements of the profession—the first since 1947.

The remainder of the symposium featured presentations from Dr Jack Watling, Senior Research Fellow for Land Warfare, Royal United Services Institute, and General David H. Berger, the former 38th Commandant of the United States Marine Corps, and architect of the USMC’s ‘Future Force 2030’ transformation.

Two moderated panels with civilians and senior ranking military officials from allied and partner nations then considered the need to do things differently amidst increasing great power competition and risks of conflict. The discussions explored novel ways to promote readiness, resource stewardship and the importance of land forces to regional stability and security.

The public can expect an update from Stuart on progress in the coming months and further detail outlining next steps to achieve the Army’s strategic priorities sometime in 2025.

It’s clear the Army is embracing its role as an essential enabler of force protection and projection for the ADF with maturity and humility. Stuart’s remarks should give the public and the international community confidence that the Australian Army will realise the full potential of the profession. In this, as in war, according to Stuart, there can be no substitute for victory.