Defence budget doesn’t match the threat Australia faces

When Australian Treasurer Jim Chalmers stood at the dispatch box this evening to announce the 2025–26 Budget, he confirmed our worst fears about the government’s commitment to resourcing the Defence budget commensurate with the dangers Australia now faces.

A day earlier, Deputy Prime Minister and Defence Minister Richard Marles had advised that the government’s sole Defence initiative for the 2025–26 budget cycle would be to bring forward a paltry $1 billion from the 2028–29 financial year, shared across 2026–27 and 2027–28.  So, the much vaunted ‘generational investment in Australia’s Defence’ has been put off for a few more years, at least.

This marginal reprofiling of funds ($900 million additional in 2026-27 and $237 million additional in 2027-28 – so, in fact a little more than $1 billion) has been applied to submarine and missile capabilities, which continue to take up an expanded amount of defence capital expenditure

Consolidated funding for Defence, the Australian Signals Directorate and the Australian Submarine Agency in 2025–26 is estimated to be $58,988.7 million. It’s a nominal increase of $2,380.5 million (4.2 percent) over expected 2024–25 spending. Adjusting for expected inflation, as expressed by the 1.0 percent GDP deflator, the real increase will be 3.2 percent.

And to our considerable frustration, a detailed reading of the defence budget highlights that the government continues to pay only lip service to the readiness and sustainability of the current force-in-being, with the largest spending increases on capability sustainment tied to the F-35 Lightning force ($190 million) and Collins-class submarines ($235 million). While $133 million is allocated to sustainment of a new Defence Logistics program, there is little to no change overall to sustainment funding, usage and workforce from last year’s budget.

As we noted in The cost of Defence: ASPI Defence budget brief 2024–2025, the urgency of our current security environment (eloquently expressed in the independent Defence Strategic Review in 2023, confirmed by this government in the National Defence Strategy (NDS) in 2024, and made manifest by the inability to properly track the Chinese naval flotilla’s circumnavigation of Australia just weeks ago) is not being matched by resources from the public coffers.

There are four possible reasons why the government continues to stint on resources that match the threat Australia faces.

Firstly, it may not really believe that the threat is as great as it spelt itself out in the NDS. The rhetoric of Australia ‘facing the most challenging strategic environment since the Second World War’ may conceivably have been used solely as a means of mobilising some action within the government but without any real concern that Australia was becoming increasingly vulnerable.

This would certainly be backed up by this government’s actions: a focus on military capability spending almost entirely as additions to the order of battle well into the 2030s and in the 2040s, while continuing to underspend on the readiness and sustainability of current forces.

A second possible explanation is that the government may not yet trust the Department of Defence’s ability to spend more. Marles has certainly been critical of Defence, claiming that it lacked the culture of excellence necessary to deliver on the government’s agenda.

The NDS speaks to the need for both strategic and enterprise reform of the Defence organisation, and for the organisation to become fit-for-purpose if it is to gain access to the resources needed to build the force set out in the 2024 Integrated Investment Program, the long-term spending plan. This would not be the first government to hold back on funding defence until it actually sees reform resulting in a more effective and efficient delivery of Defence’s outputs.

Thirdly, the government perhaps does not want to be seen responding to the Trump administration’s call for allies to increase defence spending. There has certainly been a huge spike in anti-US, anti-AUKUS commentary since the Trump administration came to office in January.

Fourthly, the government may not believe that the politics of additional funding to Defence make sense less than two months before the election due by May. At a time when average Australians are struggling with cost-of-living challenges, and this pre-election budget seeks to allay concerns within the electorate that the Albanese government has not done enough to meet its previous election commitments to making Australians better off, funding Defence may not be seen as an election winning strategy. A February Ipsos poll shows defence being quite far down the list of concerns that face Australians.

The 2025–26 budget is, sadly, an opportunity lost. In failing to adequately fund defence, the government has lost the opportunity for at least one year to convince our interlocutors in the US that Australia is doing enough to build up its forces. As defence funding will reach only 2.33 percent of GDP in 2033–34, we are still a far from the expectation of the nominated under secretary of defence for policy, Elbridge Colby: that we will spend at least 3 percent of GDP on defence.

The budget is also a lost opportunity for Australian industry, which is becoming increasingly frustrated at slow defence procurement. More and more companies are abandoning the defence market due to the risk averse, overly bureaucratic and delayed or abandoned project cycles they are forced to deal with.  Without market signals that Defence is seriously investing in Australian industry and is committed to building the Australian national support and industrial base it needs to deliver capability, we stand to lose considerable expertise, workforce and sovereign industrial capability, that can never be replaced.

And finally, the budget is a lost opportunity for Australia’s defence and security.  Since the 2020 Defence Update, successive Australian governments have warned that the security environment facing Australia is worsening exponentially. Recent events have demonstrated just how fragile peace and stability is and highlighted the need for Australia to have a force-in-being that is prepared and ready to defend Australia. The ministerial foreword to the NDS started with the axiom that there was no ‘greater responsibility for the Government than defending Australia’.

The failure of this year’s budget to meet that responsibility will make all Australians less secure.

It’s time for the ADF to train in Asia-Pacific languages

The proposed negotiation of an Australia–Papua New Guinea defence treaty will falter unless the Australian Defence Force embraces cultural intelligence and starts being more strategic with teaching languages—starting with Tok Pisin, the most widely spoken language in PNG.

More generally, the ADF needs a language training program focused on its region, shifting from an outdated focus on Middle Eastern languages. Linguistic interoperability and cross-cultural intelligence are necessary for building a trusted, sustainable partnership in the region.

By realigning its language priorities, the ADF can maximise operational effectiveness with minimal investment. At this stage, there is very little known about the defence treaty, outside of its proposed negotiations. Noting PNG’s geographic proximity to Australia, a defined defence treaty is overdue.

Yet despite their historical ties and close geographic proximity, Australia and PNG have a complex and, at times, fragile relationship. From colonial legacies to contemporary frictions over aid, security interventions, and the conduct of ADF personnel, trust cannot be assumed.

For defence cooperation to succeed, Australia must do more than rely on formal agreements or institutional goodwill. True partnership requires social license—genuine, earned trust between military forces, governments and local communities. Language and cultural fluency are fundamental for building that trust.

One of the greatest obstacles to effective Australian military engagement is language training. For two decades, the ADF has prioritised such Middle Eastern languages as Arabic, Urdu, Pashto and Farsi, reflecting what is now a former operational focus. Australia’s strategic priorities have shifted to the Indo-Pacific, so its military language training should, too.

Even harder to justify is continued ADF training in the languages of European countries whose armed forces play a small role on this side of the world and, in any case, use English as a NATO standard.

PNG presents a particularly challenging linguistic environment, with over 840 living languages. But Tok Pisin is a practical choice. As an English-based creole, it is fairly easy to learn for ADF troops and is useful in military, governmental and community settings.

Bahasa, in either its Malay or Indonesian form, should also be considered for wider ADF language training. Though distinct, the two branches of the language are mutually intelligible, enabling communication with around 300 million of Australia’s neighbours across Indonesia and Malaysia. It is a cost-efficient option that is highly relevant to contemporary ADF operations.

Linguistic interoperability alone is not enough; it must be paired with deep cultural understanding. Effective military cooperation is not just about tactics and technology; it is about people. To foster lasting partnerships, ADF personnel must be able to engage with counterparts from neighbouring countries on their terms, understanding local norms, social structures and historical sensitivities.

Missteps in communication and behaviour can rapidly erode trust. Historical examples support the importance of linguistic interoperability: In my role at the Australian War Memorial, I have been reviewing operational benefits of deeper cultural intelligence between British officers and Pacific island troops in World War II. Without cultural fluency, Australia risks being seen as an external force imposing its own agenda, rather than a genuine partner committed to PNG’s sovereignty and security.

The success of the Australia–PNG defence treaty will not be determined by the text of the agreement alone. It will be measured by the strength of relationships built on the ground. To ensure this partnership is meaningful, Australia must move beyond generic regional engagement strategies and make a deliberate investment in linguistic and cultural capability.

The first step in revising ADF language training is clear: Tok Pisin must move to the centre. If funding allows, Bahasa makes sense as a second-order line of effort.

In international military deployments, every word matters, every cultural nuance shapes perception, and every action either builds or erodes trust. If Australia is serious about its commitment to its neighbours, especially PNG, it must invest in linguistic and cultural capabilities.

China’s shadow fleet threatens Indo-Pacific communications

China is using increasingly sophisticated grey-zone tactics against subsea cables in the waters around Taiwan, using a shadow-fleet playbook that could be expanded across the Indo-Pacific.

On 25 February, Taiwan’s coast guard detained the Hong Tai 58 after a subsea cable was cut in the Taiwan Strait. The vessel was registered to Togo but crewed entirely by Chinese nationals. It had Chinese characters on its hull and operated under multiple identities with conflicting markings, documentation and tracking data. In another incident in early January, the Shunxing 39—a Chinese-owned vessel flagged under both Cameroon and Tanzania—was implicated in damaging a section of the Trans-Pacific Express subsea cable, an important telecommunications link between Taiwan and the United States.

While China has targeted Taiwan’s undersea cables for years as part of its grey-zone operations, it has subtly shifted tactics. Previously, vessels involved in suspected acts of sabotage were registered to China. Now, they are increasingly operating under foreign flags, forming a shadow fleet. This strategy resembles Russia’s subsea cable tactics in the Baltic Sea.

States such as North Korea and Iran often use shadow fleets—ageing vessels registered under flags of convenience—to get around sanctions, to trade or transport illegal or prohibited goods, or to undertake illegal fishing. The vessels are operated through intricate corporate structures, with shell companies established in one country, management based in another and vessels registered elsewhere again, providing states with deniability. They use deceptive tactics including manipulating identification systems, turning off tracking systems and changing names and flags. If caught, vessels can be easily abandoned and their legal entities dissolved, rendering traditional countermeasures such as sanctions largely ineffective.

Since its invasion of Ukraine, Russia has relied on a large shadow fleet, not only to evade oil sanctions but also to conduct a campaign of hybrid warfare against NATO—including allegedly damaging European subsea cables and critical infrastructure. For example, in December, Finnish authorities seized the Eagle S after it allegedly damaged five subsea cables. The tanker was flagged under the Cook Islands but operated by a Dubai-based company with Indian management. Moscow denied any involvement, pointing to the vessel’s non-Russian links.

China has also surfaced in Russia’s operations. In November, the Chinese-flagged Yi Peng 3—which had departed from a Russian port—was suspected of severing two undersea cables, one linking Lithuania to Sweden and another connecting Germany to Finland. In 2023, the NewNew Polar Bear, a Chinese-flagged but Russian-crewed vessel, was responsible for damaging Baltic subsea cables and a gas pipeline. China admitted the vessel was responsible for the damage, but claimed it was accidental.

These cases highlight the value of shadow fleets as tools of hybrid warfare. Subsea cables are notoriously susceptible to accidental and environmental damage. Proving intent to sabotage and holding parties accountable is very difficult.

Despite this, NATO has been working to expose and deter Russia’s hybrid warfare tactics.

Taiwan has taken note. In January, it blacklisted 52 Chinese-owned vessels suspected of operating as its shadow fleet registered in countries such as Cameroon, Tanzania, Mongolia, Togo and Sierra Leone. Following the recent cable-cutting incidents, Taiwanese authorities publicised detailed evidence—including vessel ownership, flag state and tracking system manipulation details—to pre-empt China’s denial. They have also been tracking and boarding suspicious vessels. Taiwan recently raised the alarm about a Russian-flagged vessel lurking for weeks over a subsea cable, recognising the growing coordination between China and Russia in hybrid warfare operations.

While Taiwan has borne the brunt of these efforts so far, China is unlikely to be overly concerned about deniability over future subsea cable sabotage affecting Taiwan. After all, Beijing’s primary goal is to exert pressure on the island, not conceal its intentions.

However, what happens in the Taiwan Strait will not stay in the Taiwan Strait. China’s shadow-fleet tactics are likely to expand across the Indo-Pacific, where maintaining a level of deniability would be beneficial. China already deploys grey-zone tactics in the region, from intimidation of vessels in the South China Sea and targeted incursions in disputed territorial waters, to strategic infrastructure investments that create leverage over its neighbours. Targeting subsea cable infrastructure is another tactic in Beijing’s coercion toolkit—one that targets connectivity while maintaining plausible deniability and operating in the grey-zones of international law and accountability.

The Indo-Pacific—with its vast maritime distances, congested shipping lanes and uneven surveillance capabilities—is fertile ground for such operations. Frequent accidental cable damage and existing territorial disputes may further complicate attribution and response. The region’s economic ties with China would make coordinating any responses even harder.

From filing patents on subsea cutting technology to unveiling a powerful new deep-sea cable cutting device, China’s clearly gearing up to expand its subsea cable operations. As Taiwan works to protect its critical infrastructure, the rest of the Indo-Pacific should enhance regional cooperation and reassess existing deterrence strategies.

If recent incidents in the Baltic Sea and around Taiwan are any indication, disruptions in the Indo-Pacific are not a question of if, but when. The most effective counter to Beijing’s shadow-fleet operations is exposure through public attribution and communication. After all, a vessel cutting cables near a state’s shores may well be flying a neighbour’s flag but taking its orders from Beijing.

Indonesia wants an aircraft carrier. No one knows why

When it comes to fleet modernisation program, the Indonesian navy seems to be biting off more than it can chew. It is not even clear why the navy is taking the bite. The news that it wants to buy the Italian navy’s decommissioned aircraft carrier Giuseppe Garibaldi came as a surprise.

Operating such a ship with helicopters is a big enough challenge in itself, but now we hear from media reports that the navy also wants to operate Harrier fighters from it.

Despite the challenges, the Indonesian navy isn’t saying why it needs such capability. Neither current planning documents nor the recently ended Minimum Essential Force modernisation program outlined plans for Indonesia to acquire an aircraft carrier.

Still, this isn’t the first time we hear of an Indonesian aircraft carrier plan. In 2013, Indonesia expressed interest in purchasing the then recently retired Spanish navy aircraft carrier, Principe de Asturias. For unspecified reasons, Indonesia ultimately decided against buying the ship. Furthermore, PT PAL, a state-owned  shipbuilding company, has unveiled an indigenous design for a helicopter carrier, which it claims to be ready for production by 2028, should the navy decide to make an order.

For a country that straddles two vast oceans and aspires to project force beyond its exclusive economic zone, the acquisition of at least one aircraft carrier may seem like a sound policy. However, consideration of practicalities reveals that this is more like a case of blind ambition.

The wartime missions of fighters on an aircraft carrier’s can include air defence of a fleet, strike against enemy ships, ground units and fixed installations, and reconnaissance. A carrier can also operate helicopters, usually for hunting submarines. Because these aircraft are on a ship, these operations can be undertaken much farther from home than is possible with aircraft tied to air bases.

Aircraft from Garibaldi, for example, undertook combat operations over Afghanistan—far beyond the practical reach of Italian air force aircraft flying from their home air bases.

Peacetime aircraft missions include humanitarian assistance and disaster relief (HADR). This appears to be the main appeal of an aircraft carrier acquisition for Indonesia’s Chief of Navy Admiral Muhammad Ali.

Yet this hardly gels with the reported plan to include several Italian navy AV-8B Harrier aircraft in the deal. They would have little or nothing to contribute to HADR operations.

The Indonesian navy’s Naval Aviation Centre last operated offensive aerial assets in preparation of Operation Trikora in West Papua in 1961–1962, using land-based Il-28 bombers. These assets were retired in 1969. Reintroducing offensive aerial capabilities, particularly with second-hand Harriers, would be highly costly, and doing it at sea would be highly difficult. The inexperienced Thai navy, for example, struggled to operate Harriers on its aircraft carrier, HTMS Chakri Naruebet, from 1997 to 2006 and finally gave up.

In addition to that, what message would Indonesia be sending to its immediate neighbours if it were to equip itself with such capabilities? Indonesia has already voiced concerns over neighbours acquiring advanced F-35 Lightning fighters, and was also perturbed by the AUKUS announcement. Indonesia’s pursuit of an aircraft carrier could also be perceived as an unnecessarily aggressive acquisition.

An aircraft carrier equipped with offensive aerial assets is vastly different from one operating solely with rotary-wing aircraft for military operations other than war. Indonesia has ample experience in operating unwarlike vessels. The navy’s Makassar-class LPDs, though retaining an amphibious assault capability, have been extensively used for HADR.

If the Indonesian navy is determined to acquire an offensive aircraft carrier, it must first define the role it seeks to play in the global maritime domain. Given current geopolitical complexities in the Indo-Pacific, Indonesia should act with caution.

The acquisition of a highly sophisticated asset such as an aircraft carrier must be driven by a strategy of cooperation first, and military posturing second. Without a clear need for the ship, Jakarta would risk ending up with an aircraft carrier serving as a static tourist attraction.

Australia should work with South Korea to secure undersea cables

South Korea and Australia should enhance their cooperation to secure submarine cables, which carry more than 95 percent of global data traffic.

As tensions in the Indo-Pacific intensify, these vital connections face risks from cyber intrusions, sabotage and state-backed interference, particularly amid China’s growing maritime influence. South Korea boasts advanced technical expertise, while Australia has strong maritime capabilities and intelligence connections and is geographically well-placed. The two countries should combine these strengths to secure undersea infrastructure.

South Korea’s digital expertise is highly valuable. Integrating South Korea’s AI-based threat detection with Australia’s intelligence-sharing networks will enable both countries to identify and respond to cyber threats more effectively. The geographic advantages of Australia—and, to some extent, South Korea—can facilitate joint maritime patrols to protect cables, as well as diversification of infrastructure, including alternative cable routes and land-based backups.

Legal reforms and stricter cybersecurity regulations for telecom operators are necessary, alongside public-private partnerships in encryption and threat detection.

Submarine cables are a strategic asset that could be targeted in times of crisis. China’s maritime expansion and technological capabilities heighten concerns over potential data interception and infrastructure disruption.

South Korea’s advanced position in telecommunications technology and cybersecurity is a strength in digital infrastructure resilience. Australia is in a key position in the global cable network because of its geographical position.

Currently, there is no comprehensive global governance framework to secure submarine cables. The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) provides some legal protection but does not adequately address emerging threats such as cyberattacks and hybrid warfare tactics.

Additionally, jurisdictional complexities and private ownership of most submarine cables mean there are gaps in coordinated response mechanisms. Furthermore, many regional states, including South Korea and Australia, have historically prioritised military security over digital infrastructure resilience, leading to insufficient attention to undersea vulnerabilities.

Existing security and economic partnerships could fill these framework gaps, facilitating intelligence-sharing, cyber defence initiatives and coordinated threat assessments. This would help facilitate preventative threat management, rather than relying on reactive measures.

Bilaterally, a South Korea-Australia cybersecurity pact could further enhance coordination on emerging threats. A comprehensive pact would include provisions for physical elements of cyber infrastructure, such as subsea cables. Collaborative projects, such as the development of regionally secured data hubs, could protect sensitive information flows from geopolitical disruptions.

Joint surveillance efforts through AI-based monitoring systems and satellite tracking could strengthen real-time detection of disruptions. Both countries’ navies should also expand maritime patrols along key submarine cable routes to deter adversarial interference. A regional submarine cable security task force could also be established to ensure ongoing coordination and rapid response to emerging threats.

South Korea and Australia must work together to build resilience through infrastructure diversification. They could, for example, support alternative cable routes, reducing dependency on single points of failure or a monopoly of control. Investment in land-based backup systems and secure satellite communication should also be prioritised. Governments should provide financial incentives to private sector companies investing in resilient cable infrastructure and establish joint research initiatives to develop advanced protective measures against cyber threats and physical disruptions.

Legal and policy advancements should accompany these efforts. South Korea and Australia must push for amendments to UNCLOS that address modern cyber threats and advocate for international agreements that criminalise malicious activities targeting undersea infrastructure. A bilateral treaty specifically focused on the protection of submarine cables in the region could establish clear rules and mutual obligations, setting a regional example.

At the national level, stricter regulations on private telecommunications operators, including mandatory cybersecurity protocols and compliance standards, would further enhance resilience. Both governments should also establish mandatory reporting mechanisms for cable operators to immediately share information on potential threats.

Public-private partnerships will be essential in this effort. Governments, technology firms and telecommunications providers should collaborate on encrypted data transmission protocols and conduct regular cybersecurity simulations to prepare for potential attacks. Joint research and development efforts in cable security technologies, including quantum encryption and automated anomaly detection, could position South Korea and Australia as global leaders in digital infrastructure protection.

Establishing a joint Indo-Pacific digital security forum would further institutionalise collaboration and knowledge-sharing on best practices. Increased investment in training programs for cyber resilience experts could also ensure that both countries maintain highly skilled personnel to respond to future challenges.

Securing submarine cables is not just a strategic choice but a necessity for economic stability and regional security. South Korea and Australia should create a long-term roadmap for continued investment in submarine cable security, ensuring sustained cooperation and adaptation to evolving threats.

Bolt from the blue: what we know (and don’t know) about the US’s powerful F-47 fighter

When the F-47 enters service, at a date to be disclosed, it will be a new factor in US air warfare.

A decision to proceed with development, deferred since July, was unexpectedly announced on 21 March. Boeing will be the prime contractor.

The design will have much more range than earlier fighters, both at supersonic and subsonic speed. But it is not even a fighter as it is generally understood. It will be more stealthy. It will be larger, trading dogfight manoeuvrability for reach, and it will be designed to work within a family of systems, many of them unmanned.

Range and speed are defensive attributes, allowing the aircraft to be based farther from Chinese air and missile bases and keeping tankers at a greater distance from interceptors: the air force has backed away from trying to make a more survivable tanker. But range and speed are offensive characteristics, too: while no aircraft can be in two places at once, fast and long-range aircraft can cover a wide area and sustain high sortie rates.

The F-47 is the centrepiece of the US Air Force’s Next Generation Air Dominance (NGAD) effort. The intended fighter design, now the F-47, has also been called NGAD. And the name Penetrating Counter-Air has been attached to it, too.

Former secretary of the air force Frank Kendall characterised NGAD as large and costly, and the F-47 will have retained these attributes. Although Kendall and USAF chief of staff General Dave Allvin raised the idea of a less costly NGAD last year, it never got near the stage of an amendment to the initial request for proposals that was issued in 2023.

Stealth: the F-22 and F-35 are classic applications of bowtie stealth design, their vertical tails causing stronger radar reflections when viewed from the side than from in front or behind. (A graph of this looks like a bowtie.) The problem in the Western Pacific is China’s numerous long-range airborne radars and air-warfare destroyers, which make it next to impossible to avoid being illuminated from all angles.

Expanding the envelope of tailless flight in terms of speed and manoeuvrability was almost certainly a focus of the classified Aerospace Innovation Initiative (AII) demonstration program that led to Boeing and Lockheed Martin AII-X prototypes. (AII was run by the Aerospace Projects Office, specially established within the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency.)

The USAF sees a program for fighter-like drones, the Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA), as an integral part of NGAD, with two or more uncrewed aircraft teamed with each F-47. The Increment 1 CCAs (the General Atomics YFQ-42 and Anduril YFQ-44) are being used to evaluate their role as air-to-air missile carriers, augmenting the F-47’s weapon capability and taking close-range shots; Increment 2 will be designed to target surface emitters—making it an unmanned and attritable wild weasel, a traditional category of aircraft assigned to dealing with air defences. As reported earlier, simulation tests are showing that pilots can manage more than two CCAs.

USAF Lieutenant General Alex ‘Grinch’ Grynkewich, in 2015 and 2016 led the service’s Air Superiority 2030 study that defined NGAD as what was called a Penetrating Counter-Air aircraft. He discussed the reasoning behind Penetrating Counter Air (what’s become the F-47) in a public essay in 2017, by which time AII had been under way for two years.

Grynkewich’s team had started with a range of options, including reliance on standoff weapons and what he termed a ‘Gen6’ concept with F-22-like fighter attributes—which turned out to be far too expensive. The Penetrating Counter Air identity, Grynkewich wrote, avoided both ‘Gen6’ and ‘fighter’ which presupposed ‘a short-range, highly manoeuvrable, supersonic, manned aircraft, typically armed with a limited number of missiles and a gun’.

We know something about the F-47’s size from open-source discussion of its engines.  A 2018 presentation includes a slide outlining the goals of the USAF’s variable-cycle engine program, and it makes a clear distinction between engines of the 200 kilonewton (45,000 lb) thrust class (the General Electric XA100 and Pratt & Whitney XA101) sized for the F-35, smaller ‘scaled core’ engines for what has become the F-47—engines now known as GE XA102 and P&W XA103—and a derivative for retrofit to F-15s and F-16s.

That implies a maximum thrust around 160 kilonewtons (35,000 lb) for the F-47 engine. Given a requirement for less manoeuvre and more range, that points to an aircraft with a loaded weight of about 45 tonnes (much like an F-111, which will please some Australian readers.) But the importance of the adaptive engine is that it allows a supersonic-cruise aircraft to minimise the use of afterburning, even for transonic acceleration, while still being efficient in subsonic flight.

Legions of would-be R. V. Joneses have spent the weekend poring over the F-47 artwork released by the Pentagon. I would advise caution: what we don’t know about its shape is still more important than what we do know, even before we take account of what we do know for certain but ain’t so.

But there are aspects of the artwork that call to mind the work of the late Alan Wiechman, who joined McDonnell Douglas from the Lockheed Skunk Works in the mid-1980s and headed the company’s stealth work until his retirement in 2014. His work included the X-36 tailless prototype, and the Bird Of Prey, demonstrating optical and radar stealth. His obituary in 2023 noted that he had ‘most recently’ been an adviser on stealth to the USAF Rapid Capabilities Office.

As with anything in the United States these days, there is much uncertainty ahead for the F-47. Boeing’s bid was submitted well before new CEO Kelly Ortberg joined, and the company has a painful history of low bidding and poor performance. The requirement may be sound and the technology may be good, but the F-47 is another pull on an overstressed air force budget, and by the time it enters service (not in Trump’s second term) it will face challenges, including whatever F-35X ideas emerge from Fort Worth.

But let’s get back to that surprise announcement on Friday by   President Donald Trump. It came as a surprise for good reasons.

Defying decades of practice, the F-47 was launched by an empty Pentagon C-suite: nominees for the chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (CJCS), Air Force secretary, and undersecretaries for acquisition, and research and engineering, are all awaiting confirmation. Defense secretary, infantry major and TV host Pete Hegseth was the sole source selection authority.

Air force leaders had lobbied Trump personally to get his approval for the project, which Kendall put on hold in July. With no CJCS, the lead defense adviser to Hegseth is the director of operations for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, appointed last May: Grynkewich, the author of that NGAD-defining Air Superiority 2030 study.

Was this a Machiavellian plan by Kendall? Delaying the NGAD decision last year looks like a coup, allowing the air force to dazzle the president with secret technology, while talking up the threat of China’s new J-36 to inspire a sense of urgency, permitting Trump to present it as his own idea and calling it F-47. Conveniently, the sceptical Elon Musk, usually omnipresent at big occasions, was busy at a briefing at the Pentagon.

The transatlantic world will never be the same

Once upon a time, the United States saw the contest between democracy and authoritarianism as a singularly defining issue. It was this outlook, forged in the crucible of World War II, that created such strong transatlantic bonds. For many decades, the US-European alliance was not only about security, but ideology and shared values. That is why the relationship endured for 80 years.

But now, thanks to US President Donald Trump, the world of just two months ago has already come to feel like distant history. The very nature of the West is changing at lightning speed before our eyes. So sudden and disorienting is the disruption that many have been left grasping for an anchor. The new reality became apparent when the US joined Russia and a few other outcast authoritarian countries to vote against a UN General Assembly resolution condemning Russia’s aggression against Ukraine on the third anniversary of the full-scale invasion. That was a watershed—a date that will live in infamy.

Obviously, the implications of the new US foreign policy are profound. No one can deny that the transatlantic security alliance is fraying. Political leaders might feel a duty to insist publicly that the old mutual defence commitments remain solid; but they are not fooling anyone—not even themselves. The credibility of the alliance depends on the person in the White House, and that person has no credibility when it comes to matters of transatlantic security.

Moreover, we are witnessing a marked departure from the first Trump administration, which at least kept the transatlantic ideological alliance largely intact. Vice President J D Vance’s speech at the Munich Security Conference indicated that this time is different. His message sent shockwaves through European security, defence, and foreign policy circles. Not only did he dismiss as irrelevant the security issues that have anchored NATO for three-quarters of a century; he completely redrew the ideological map in such a way as to pit Europe and the US against each other. Suddenly, the US looked not like an ally, but like an adversary.

The MAGA fundamentalists at the core of the Trump administration are engaged in a culture war that aims to transform US society. Their project is largely a reactionary counterrevolution against liberal tendencies that they believe have subverted their country. MAGA wants to return to a more martial, conservative and semi-isolationist version of American exceptionalism. As such, its defining struggle has nothing to do with the contest between democracy and authoritarianism. Those words hardly figure in its narratives.

Given the nature of its culture-war project, MAGA sees Europe as an adversary. Vance, who has aligned his rhetoric with European right-wing extremists, argues that Europe is ‘at risk [of] engaging in civilisational suicide.’ Similarly, Elon Musk, Trump’s top financial backer and aide, has openly campaigned for far-right parties in Germany and Britain. Looking ahead, we will almost certainly see more of this advocacy in countries like Poland and Romania (where a court annulled a first-round election result last year, citing Russian interference). Since MAGA ideologues see open, liberal European societies as extensions of their enemies at home, their support for illiberal, anti-democratic forces is perfectly logical.

They also have a fundamentally different view of Russia. It is no coincidence that their rhetoric often echoes that of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s regime (sometimes almost word for word). MAGA and Putin alike espouse aggressive nationalism and hostility toward liberal values; they both carry on endlessly about sovereignty and the role of strong leaders and strong nations in shaping the future. Whether you are in the Kremlin or the White House, the so-called globalists are the enemy.

Whereas the Biden administration obviously wished for regime change in Russia—even if this was never expressed as an official policy goal—the Trump administration wants regime change in Europe. Europe is no longer an ally, but an enemy; and though Russia might not (yet) be a full US ally, nor is it an adversary. Putin’s regime has a closer ideological affinity with the current US administration than the Europeans ever will.

If there is any hope for the transatlantic world, it lies in the fact that the US is not uniform. Contrary to what he claims, Trump has no mandate to do what he is doing. But with US society so polarised, its political trajectory is not easy to predict. Even if a partial return to the old order is still possible, the forces driving the reactionary counterrevolution will be around for years to come.

The world must take note and shape its policies accordingly. Europeans can hope for the best, but they must prepare for the worst. What once seemed impossible—a rogue US—has become all too likely.

The permanent Australia-China contest in the South Pacific

Foreign Minister Penny Wong in 2024 said that ‘we’re in a state of permanent contest in the Pacific—that’s the reality.’

China’s arrogance hurts it in the South Pacific. Mark that as a strong Australian card in this permanent contest.

The Chinese navy’s no-notice live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea have become another talking point in Australia’s effort to deny Beijing a Pacific island naval base.

Canberra can offer the South Pacific this argument: ‘Do you want to host Chinese warships so they can play deadly cowboy games in your waters?’

As Australia prepares for a national election in May, China’s Pacific ambitions are again making headlines. During the 2022 election campaign, Wong lashed the Coalition government after Solomon Islands signed a security agreement with China, calling it ‘the worst Australian foreign policy blunder in the Pacific since the end of World War II’. Around that time, China sent a surveillance ship down Australia’s west coast.

Australia must become used to China’s blue water navy noodling around our shores, and not just during elections.

As with its navy, China’s Pacific ambitions have expanded. In the past 10 to 15 years, Beijing has shifted from pursuing one core aim in the islands—the diplomatic contest with Taiwan. Now it seeks, even demands, great power entitlements. My rough timeline for the shift says the great power assertiveness has been to the fore for the past 10 to 15 years.

In 1975, Fiji became the first Pacific islands state to give diplomatic recognition to the People’s Republic of China. For the next 40 years, China’s overriding purpose was to beat Taiwan in the cheque-book battle for diplomatic recognition. By 2005, China was ahead: seven island states recognised the PRC while six recognised Taiwan. Today, only three island states have diplomatic ties with Taiwan.

With the flag battle mostly won, China has settled into the permanent contest. That’s why Wong has made more visits to the islands than any previous Australian foreign minister. Taking up the diplomatic duel, Wong headed to Fiji in her first week as minister, saying:  ‘Strategic contest will challenge us in new ways. We understand that the security of any one Pacific family member rests on security for all.’

As China probes, Australia steadily responds, building on what we already have.  As Sean Dorney, one of Australia’s great Pacific correspondents, said: ‘Thank God for China! Now Australia has to pay attention.’

Dorney’s point is simply that China reminds Australia of what we should be doing anyway. When Australia speaks of being the region’s partner of choice–economically, politically and strategically—it defines a lesser role for China.

Australia’s response draws on the calm approach used to stare down coercion and sanctions during the five-year icy age from 2017 to 2022, and three years of slow rebalance.

In this grand competition, Australia has the huge multilateral advantage of being in the region. Canberra strives to win the bilateral contests. More than Beijing, Canberra is explicit in stating its defence aims, signing agreements with Nauru and Tuvalu giving Australia veto rights over security partnerships with other countries. The response to claims of paternalism or colonialism is that Australia holds up island states by holding them close.

The next step is negotiation of a defence treaty with Papua New Guinea, building on the 2023 Australia-PNG security agreement.  China has changed the level of the security pledge Australia offers PNG.

Because of PNG’s shared border with Indonesia, Canberra had always been cautious about a full defence treaty with Port Moresby. The moral hazard fear was that PNG might take risks Australia would have to cover, and Australia was wary of going to war with Indonesia because of PNG’s actions.

Paul Dibb tells the story of accompanying Australia’s then defence minister, Kim Beazley, to a Jakarta meeting with Benny Moerdani in the 1980s. Indonesia’s defence chief asked if Australia would fight for PNG, to which Beazley replied: ‘We’d fight to the last man, but we wouldn’t tell them that.’ Such are the contortions when moral hazard meets strategic imperative. China has wiped away that old caution.

When PNG Prime Minister James Marape addressed the Australian parliament last year, he spoke of Australia’s history as a ‘big brother’. This year marks the 50th anniversary of PNG’s independence from Australia, and Marape joined Wong in Canberra on 24 February to welcome Somare-Whitlam scholars, named after the prime ministers of Australia and PNG in 1975.

In her speech, Wong went first to the people dimension: ‘Neighbours, friends, equal partners. One of the nicest things in my job is that the prime minister of Papua New Guinea calls me “sister”.’

In this permanent contest, Australia has unique assets. China makes ambitious offers to South Pacific states. Australia’s great counter-offer is to South Pacific people, as Labor and Coalition governments embrace Australia’s role in the Pacific family.

Awful optics: political fighting in Taiwan stalls part of defence budget rise

Political fighting in Taiwan is delaying some of an increase in defence spending and creating an appearance of lack of national resolve that can only damage the island’s relationship with the Trump administration.

The main opposition parties support the policy of President Lai Ching-te to lift spending from roughly 2.45 percent of GDP to more than 3 percent, but recently they’ve been unable to resist playing politics with the defence budget in the legislature.

Since Donald Trump has demanded that the United States’ European allies lift defence spending to 5 percent of GDP, and since Taiwan would be the frontline state in a war with China, the US is unlikely to find 3 percent at all sufficient.

Elbridge Colby, Trump’s nominee to become under secretary of defense for policy, said at his Senate confirmation hearing on 4 March that Taiwan should be spending 10 percent of its GDP ‘or at least something in that ballpark.’

The upper echelons of Taiwan’s ruling Democratic Progressive Party say they’ve understood the signal from Trump and are happy to spend cash on more weaponry. ‘We got that message and we’ll be more than happy to talk about strengthening our defence capability,’ former Taiwanese president Tsai Ing-wen told The Times.

The problem is that Taiwan’s legislature usually needs to approve major US weaponry purchases and government plans for indigenous defence capability development. But the legislature is dominated by parties that are soft on China.

Lai Ching-te was elected last year with around 40 percent of the vote, giving him control of the executive branch of government. But in concurrent legislative elections his independence-minded DPP narrowly lost its majority in the 113-seat parliament to the Kuomintang and its smaller ally, the Taiwan People’s Party.

The government and legislature have since been at loggerheads. Lai has done little to reach out and compromise, while the KMT and TPP have frequently been obstructive. Without providing evidence, the DPP says Beijing is behind their obstructions, while opposition lawmakers say Lai is too dictatorial.

There have been many brawls in the legislative chamber (real brawls, with punching, pushing and shoving) and protests in the streets. The executive branch has rejected bills passed by the legislature and sent them back to parliament for reconsideration. Taiwan’s constitutional court, an important democratic institution, had the sole power of legislative review and could act as an arbitrator. But because of one bill rammed through parliament by the opposition, the court has been temporarily paralysed.

The most worrying development came at the end of January when, hours after Trump’s inauguration. lawmakers voted to slash and freeze parts of Taiwan’s defence spending for 2025. Lawmakers cut 60 percent of the defence ministry’s publicity budget, crucial for recruitment. They also froze half the submarine program budget, 30 percent of military operations expenditure and funding for a drone industrial park.

Alexander Huang, director of the KMT’s International Affairs Department, says opposition lawmakers have cut about 1.3 percent of Lai’s proposed defence budget of NT$647 billion (AU$30.8 billion), which was originally 6.6 percent bigger than last year’s. After the cut, the rise is 5.2 percent, amid 2025 inflation expected to be about 2.0 percent. Huang notes that the frozen funds will be released once relevant government agencies give reports to the legislature, and parliamentarians are satisfied that defence projects are efficient and progressing.

Still, as far as optics go, the damage has been done. At Colby’s hearing, two US senators criticised the Taiwanese legislature’s efforts to cut defence spending. Republican senator Dan Sullivan accused the KMT of ‘playing a dangerous game’ while Colby himself found it profoundly disturbing.

For at least the past two decades, many US policymakers have pushed Taiwan to spend 3 percent of its GDP on defence, but it never reached this target. When Tsai Ing-wen took office in 2016, defence spending was just 1.82 percent of GDP, though she raised it to 2.17 percent in 2023. For many years, the budget was also not used as effectively as it could have been. For instance, until last year, conscription was only four months long, and the training was widely criticised for not being serious, looking more like a summer camp.

Lai this year plans to pass an additional special budget to push defence spending from 2.45 percent to more than 3 percent of GDP. The additional budget, which will likely be spent on US weaponry to demonstrate Taiwan’s resolve to Trump, will still need legislative approval. While mainstream KMT and TPP officials support increased defence spending, some in the opposition who are more pro-Beijing will probably object.

The blow-up between Trump and Ukrainian leader Volodymyr Zelenskyy is driving anti-Americanism in some quarters in Taiwan, especially with pro-China KMT politicians. Fu Kun-chi, the KMT’s legislative caucus whip, who has close ties with Beijing officials, pointed to the way Trump publicly scolded Zelenskyy and said Lai could be next in line.

‘Do we really have to spend 10 percent of Taiwan’s GDP or NT$2.86 trillion, on the military? Can the Taiwanese people shoulder this?” he said, according to the Chinese-language United Daily News.

Political scientists also predict it will be nearly impossible to push Taiwan’s defence budget to 8 percent or even 5 percent in the short term.

The KMT’s Huang, who is also a respected military analyst, noted that Taiwan’s overall government budget spending normally stands at about 12 percent to 13 percent of its GDP, meaning that 8 percent of GDP would amount to about two-thirds of Taiwan’s current government spending.

Huang added that it will be difficult for politicians across Taiwan’s political spectrum, including those in the DPP, to win votes if they propose higher spending and higher taxes.

Andrew Yang, a former KMT deputy defence minister, described a defence spending goal of 5 percent of GDP as ‘mission impossible.’

Well-connected Yang said some influential people in Washington were concerned about Taiwan’s political divisions. Yang said it was most important for Taiwan to convince Washington that the two sides had reached a consensus on defence so that the executive branch and legislative branch could focus on allocating resources. But while Taiwan mostly has the resolve to defend itself, all the squabbling will make this difficult.

The Independent Intelligence Review is finally out, and it’s a worthy sequel

The unclassified version of the 2024 Independent Intelligence Review (IIR) was released today. It’s a welcome and worthy sequel to its 2017 predecessor, with an ambitious set of recommendations for enhancements to Australia’s national intelligence community (NIC).

The IIR’s authors, Heather Smith and Richard Maude, have definitely met the goals of the review process: to gauge the effectiveness with which the NIC serves the national interest and meets the needs of government, and to examine how well positioned the community is for the future.

Smith and Maude find that the NIC is ‘today a more capable and integrated intelligence enterprise’, and it’s ‘highly capable and performing well’. But they also identify opportunities for ‘greater—or different—collective responses … so that the NIC can more effectively serve the national interest and meet the needs of government in the future’.

Unsurprisingly, given its authorship, the 2024 IIR captures well the state of Australia’s emergent and emerging strategic and security challenges, and the key priority issues facing the NIC. The report’s strategic framing reflects the reality of the international environment.

The report includes 67 recommendations, with the implication that there might also be classified recommendations or parts of recommendations. That is a lot—in 2017 there were just 23. Many of the 2024 recommendations are primarily about drawing attention to issues or sometimes getting down into the weeds. Compare that with 2017 and its singular vision for the creation of the NIC and the concept of ‘national intelligence’.

However, that’s the wrong take. Rather, the Smith-Maude recommendations reflect the breadth of the issues facing Australian intelligence and the complexity of its operating environment.

Smith and Maude’s principal findings are as follows:

—There is a gap between what’s being asked of the Office of National Intelligence (ONI, a creation of the 2017 review) in terms of leading the NIC as a collective enterprise and ONI’s ability to ‘bring the rest of the intelligence community along’. There’s a need for greater NIC integration and the review recommends ways to help ONI achieve this.

—There’s also a ‘need for deeper integration of intelligence with other arms of government’ to ensure intelligence is used as a ‘tool of statecraft to maximise Australia’s competitive edge’. This goes beyond just achieving decision advantage over adversaries and competitors. It includes using intelligence for strategic warning, and for influencing outcomes through intelligence diplomacy and the purposeful public release of intelligence information.

—Finally, innovation is key to preparing for future conflict and crisis, deploying new technologies, building and nurturing partnerships, and in recruiting, retaining and training a highly skilled and committed NIC workforce.

That emphasis on the policy-intelligence interface is important, and may come to be seen as one of the most consequential dimensions of the 2024 IIR. It was a resounding theme of ASPI’s submission to the review, including the idea of transforming the national intelligence community into ‘national intelligence power’.

Importantly, the unclassified version of the 2024 review gives the Australian public a sophisticated and updated understanding of the NIC, which serves them and acts in their name but about which information is necessarily limited. It also explains the very real challenges and opportunities the NIC faces and the laws and oversight mechanisms that govern Australian intelligence.

At 127 pages, comparable to the 2017 review’s 132, the 2024 version is both substantive and substantial. That substance confirms the value of Australia’s world-leading process of intelligence review. It works by scheduled check-up rather than crisis-driven post-mortem, and includes a detailed public version of the review’s findings. ASPI has consistently argued in support of this approach.

Kudos should also be given to the Albanese government for its related announcement of $44.6 million over four years from 2025–26 for ONI to begin implementation of key priorities identified in the 2024 IIR.

There is one disappointment. The prime minister’s media statement releasing the report says that ‘consistent with the approach to past independent intelligence reviews under successive governments, details about the proposed approach to specific recommendations will remain classified’.

As I highlighted in my submission to the review, and in previous analysis of the 2017 IIR, that historic practice of not publicly accounting for implementation of recommendations (at least in some form) has led to sub-optimal implementation and accountability in past. My concern about this approach is only reinforced by the number and complexity of recommendations.

Nonetheless, it was pleasing that the review listened to and made productive use of the contributions and submissions made, including from outside of government. For example, recommendation 66—providing security-cleared personal staff to the Parliamentary Joint Committee on Intelligence and Security Chair and Deputy Chair, to help relieve the workload on the committee’s members and secretariat, and also enhance parliamentary oversight capability—was suggested in ASPI’s submission to the review.

The depth and sophistication of the Smith-Maude review means there will be further analysis and insights to come as their findings and recommendations are pored over.