Tag Archive for: China

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

Originally published on 22 October 2024.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✓

 ✓ ✓ ✓

✓
Canada

✓

 ✓

✓
Australia

✓

 ✓* ✓*

NZ

✓

 ✓*

Japan

✓

 ✓*

UK

✓

 ✓ ✓

✓
France

✓

 ✓ ✓

✓
Germany

✓

Netherlands

✓

Italy

✓

*Challenges are likely but cannot be confirmed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Originally published on 27 August 2024.

No doubt the Chinese military was paying attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

China’s big new combat aircraft: a technical assessment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baltic subsea sabotage: China gets away with non-cooperation

On Christmas Day, one of two cables connecting Finland’s electricity grid to Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania was cut. Four data cables—three linking Finland and Estonia and one between Finland and Germany—were broken at the same time.

This and two earlier instances have heightened concerns about the vulnerability of Europe’s undersea infrastructure, prompting calls for enhanced security measures and international cooperation to safeguard critical communication and energy links.

It’s also a timely reminder to Indo-Pacific countries to think about how their region is similarly vulnerable to subsea sabotage.

Once could be an accident, and twice might be a coincidence. But three instances look like a trend that we shouldn’t ignore or tolerate, especially since we know malign actors like Beijing and Moscow also have the capability to disrupt our critical infrastructure through prepositioned malware.

Finnish authorities are investigating the outage. On 26 December, Finland used heavily armed elite units to board and forcibly detain a tanker, registered in the Cook Islands but in fact Russian, suspecting its crew had deliberately severed the cables. Finnish authorities say the tanker, which was carrying oil, is part of Russia’s effort to avoid international trade sanctions. The ship is also reported to have been equipped for listening to radio transmissions as an intelligence gatherer.

Finnish authorities could board the ship and arrest its crew without the consent of its owner or the country of registration only because it was in Finnish waters. But doing so still required Finland to have the political will to take bold action.

Several data cables and a pipeline connecting Finland and other Nordic countries to the European mainland have been severed in the past year in suspected deliberate anchor-dragging incidents. Jukka Savolainen, a Finnish navy officer and director of the European Center of Excellence for Countering Hybrid Threats, a body established by NATO and the European Union, has suggested publicly the high number of similar cable breaks shows that the perpetrators are testing whether cheap civilian ships can cause disruptions of critical infrastructure.

The latest Finnish incident follows the simultaneous severing of two undersea data cables in mid-November. The BCS East-West Interlink cable, connecting Gotland to Lithuania, was severed around 17 November, causing substantial disruptions to telecommunications services.

The next day, the C-Lion 1 submarine telecommunications cable, linking Helsinki to Rostock, Germany, was also cut. The damage was detected near the southern tip of Sweden’s Oland Island. The operator, Cinia Oy, said an external force had severed the cable.

Both cables were restored by 28 November. Investigations are ongoing, involving authorities from Sweden, Finland, Lithuania and Germany. A China-flagged ship, Yi Peng 3, which was present near the disruption sites, has been a focus.

On 23 December Swedish authorities said China had denied a request for prosecutors to conduct an investigation on the ship. It left the area soon after. If, as seems very probable, the crew were saboteurs, investigators cannot now hold them accountable. Swedish authorities have criticised China for withholding full access to the vessel.

According to the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, China, as the home state of the vessel, is not obliged to give other countries access to it. And only China holds the sole authority to prosecute. The ship was detained in international waters, so Swedish police could only observe the situation; they could not investigate. An accident commission could separately interview the crew and examine the anchor but could not prosecute. Legally, Sweden has limited options beyond seeking economic compensation from the ship’s owner.

Since China has persistently breached the same convention in the South China Sea, its disregard for the interests of other countries in the Yi Peng 3 case comes as no surprise.

The key point is the rest of the world, which does care about such rules, can’t afford to let malign actors continue to get away with it.

Beijing’s refusal to cooperate fully with investigations erodes trust and transparency. These are particularly crucial in incidents involving shared resources, such as undersea cables, which serve as critical infrastructure for multiple nations. A refusal to comply with international investigative norms also encourages other states to act similarly.

China is also ignoring its responsibility to assist in uncovering the truth and ensuring accountability, undermining cooperative norms that underpin a global rules-based order. Under international law, states must prevent and address harm caused by their vessels in foreign or international waters.

Furthermore, disruption of undersea cables not only affects regional communications; it also has significant economic implications and poses risks to broader economic stability. So, China’s non-cooperation exacerbates tensions in Europe and raises concerns about its commitment to preserving the stability of global infrastructure.

Good international citizenship requires states to act in a manner that supports global security. They should be transparent and accountable. China’s refusal to cooperate fully and Russia’s continued effort to break sanctions are at odds with these principles. These incidents show how the Russia-China axis is increasingly working in sync to the peril of the rules-based liberal order. Political will, and unity of purpose, is needed to make clear this is intolerable.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘China may be putting the Great Firewall into orbit’

Originally published on 26 August 2024.

The first satellites for China’s ambitious G60 mega-constellation are in orbit in preparation for offering global satellite internet services—and we should worry about how this will help Beijing export its model of digital authoritarianism around the world.

The G60’s inaugural launch on 5 August 2024 carried 18 satellites into low-Earth orbit (LEO) on a Long March 6A rocket. Led by Shanghai Spacecom Satellite Technology and backed by the Shanghai Municipal Government, the project aims to compete in the commercial satellite internet market with SpaceX’s Starlink, providing regional coverage by 2025 and global coverage by 2027.

The G60 is one of three mega-constellations that China is planning, alongside the Guowang project, run by state-owned China Satellite Services, and the Honghu-3 constellation, led by Shanghai Lanjian Hongqing Technology Company. These constellations provide the infrastructure to support China’s rapidly growing commercial space sector, including its satellite internet initiatives which are making rapid advances.

China launched the world’s first 6G test satellite into LEO in January. GalaxySpace recently made headlines by deploying satellite internet services in Thailand, the first time Chinese LEO satellite internet had been deployed overseas. In June, the Chinese company OneLinQ launched China’s first civilian domestic satellite internet service, indicating it would expand through countries that had signed up to China’s Belt and Road Initiative.

Yet through these efforts, China is not only securing its position in the satellite internet market but laying the groundwork for expanding its digital governance model far beyond its borders.

Central to China’s ambition is the concept of cyber sovereignty—the notion that each nation has the right to govern its digital domain. In practice, China has used this principle to build a heavily censored surveillance system supporting the Chinese Communist Party’s power, widely condemned for violating human rights.

China’s satellite internet services would enable other governments to adopt similar practices, as the nature of satellite internet makes it susceptible to state control.

Satellite internet is more controllable due to its centralised infrastructure, where data is routed through a limited number of ground stations or gateways. This enables censorship and surveillance as service providers and authorities can more easily monitor, block and filter content.

In contrast, traditional internet infrastructure relies on a decentralised network of sub-sea cables and terrestrial networks managed by many stakeholders with thousands of data exchange points. This decentralised structure makes it difficult for any entity to exert complete control over the flow of information, as countries such as Russia — which initially welcomed the open internet, unlike China or North Korea—have learned.

Countries that use China’s satellite internet service providers could more easily control what information is accessible within their borders, much as the Great Firewall of China operates domestically. This could mean blocking politically sensitive topics, monitoring user activity, or shutting down the internet during unrest. While satellite internet has often been hailed as a means for dissidents and activists to bypass restrictive governments, the reality under China’s model, which would place it in the hands of nation-states, would be starkly different.

China is already exporting its digital authoritarianism through such initiatives as the Digital Silk Road, providing technologies and governance models that enable censorship, surveillance and social control to other countries. These efforts come amid a rise in the global spread of authoritarianism as governments seek to exert control over online spaces. Adopting Chinese satellite internet services would accelerate this trend, empowering other countries to implement similar controls and restrict human rights globally.

Offering satellite internet worldwide has other benefits for Beijing. Countries relying on China’s infrastructure for connectivity may risk being pressured to comply with Beijing’s demands, including censoring content critical of China, sharing sensitive data or suppressing domestic dissent in China’s interests. For example, a journalist in a country that relies on China’s satellite internet services might find his or her connection reduced or severed when reporting human rights abuses in China.

The centralised nature of satellite internet may also make countries more vulnerable to cyber espionage by the Chinese government or malicious actors. Chinese satellite providers may also be subject to China’s stringent data localisation policies, such as the Cybersecurity Law, which requires companies to store data within China and make it accessible to the Chinese government. As China’s satellite projects are intended to provide global coverage, the data of international users—spanning communication, location, and internet activity—would be subject to Chinese data laws. Chinese authorities could potentially access any data transmitted through Chinese satellite internet services.

The global deployment of China’s internet satellite services is still some way off and faces significant challenges. However, if China’s satellite internet services are adopted, the world may witness the rise of a new digital Iron Curtain extending from space, dividing the free flow of information and imposing state control on a global scale.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘Geopolitics, influence and crime in the Pacific islands’

Originally published on 14 March 2024.

Getting caught up in geopolitical competition may seem uncomfortable enough for Pacific island countries. What’s making things worse is that outside powers’ struggle to influence them is weakening their resistance to organised crime emanating from China. 

And that comes on top of criminal activity that’s moved into Pacific islands from elsewhere, including Australia, Mexico, Malaysia and New Zealand. 

This situation must change if peace and stability are to be maintained and development goals achieved across the region. 

The good news is that, Papua New Guinea excluded, Pacific island countries have some of the lowest levels of criminality in the world. The bad news is that the data suggests the effect of organised crime is increasing across all three Pacific-island subregions—Melanesia, Micronesia and Polynesia. 

The picture is worst in Melanesia and Polynesia, where resilience to crime has declined. In many cases, Pacific Island countries are insufficiently prepared to withstand growing criminal threats, exposing vulnerable populations to new risks. 

As China has gained influence in these countries, its criminals and criminal organisations have moved in alongside honest Chinese investors. Some of those criminals, while attending to their own business, are also doing the bidding of the Chinese government.  

If the criminal activity involves suborning local authorities—and it often will—then so much the better for Beijing, which will enjoy the officials’ new-found reliance on Chinese friends that it can influence. 

Democracies competing with China for influence, such as the US, Japan and Australia, are unwilling to lose the favour of those same officials. So, they refrain from pressuring them into tackling organised crime and corruption head on. The result is more crime and weaker policing. 

But more factors are at play here. Growing air travel and internet penetration have helped turn the islands into more accessible destinations and better-integrated points along global supply chains of licit and illicit commodities. 

When one starts mapping who is behind major organised criminality, the protagonists are almost always foreigners. The islands do have home-grown gangs but, when there is a lot of money to be made, there is usually the involvement of a Chinese triad, a Mexican cartel, a law-defying Malaysian logging company, or some similar criminal organisation. 

Groups that have entered the islands, such as Australia’s Rebels and New Zealand’s Head Hunters, both outlaw motorcycle gangs, or the Mexican Sinaloa drug cartel, are overtly criminal. Yet, some hybrid criminal actors are making their presence felt even more in some of the islands, and they are arguably even more pernicious and complex to eradicate. They tend to be foreign individuals who operate in both the licit and illicit economies, have become associated with local business elites, and enjoy political connections both at home and in the Pacific. 

As their operations have become bolder, as seen in Palau and Papua New Guinea, there are substantiated concerns that the perpetrators may be, or could become, tools of foreign political influence and interference. 

The poster boy of this cadre of actors is Wan Kuok Koi, aka Broken Tooth, a convicted Chinese gangster turned valued patriotic entrepreneur. Despite being sanctioned by the US, Wan has leveraged commercial deals linked to China’s Belt and Road Initiative and established cultural associations that have enabled him to co-opt local elites. He has also exploited links with the Chinese business diaspora to identify entry points for his criminal activities (such as establishing online scam centres) and has used extensive political connections to ensure impunity in his operations. 

Although they have a lower profile than Wan, many other foreign business actors are active across the region. They often gain high political access, preferential treatment and impunity through the diplomatic relations between their countries of origin (not just China) and the Pacific countries in which they operate. A further risk is that criminal revenues could also be channeled into electoral campaigns, undermining local democratic processes. 

These entrepreneurs have exploited favourable tax regimes, limited monitoring and enforcement capabilities and corrupted political connections. They often operate in extractive industries, real estate and financial services. 

As bribes pass from hand to hand, and as outside countries weigh their political considerations, Pacific citizens lose out. Some are vulnerable to labour and sexual exploitation at the hands of unscrupulous (and criminal) foreign businesses. Others see their lands, forests and waters degraded, or they are exposed to the introduction of new narcotics for which health services are unprepared.  

Fighting this transnational organised crime is critical to strengthening institutions in Pacific island countries and helping them build long-term sustainable prosperity. 

Outside countries should consider lateral approaches to crime fighting in the Pacific that may provide a framework for action that is more palatable to island-country governments than more sensitive, purely law-enforcement-driven strategies.  

Crime can be both a cause and an enabler of fragility and underdevelopment. With that in mind, the fight against crime and corruption could be framed as necessary primarily to address those two issues. They deeply impact Pacific populations, so it would be crucial to engage with affected communities along the way.

In the absence of such an approach, and with geopolitical and diplomatic considerations taking precedence, criminals will continue to exploit the limited attention that is paid to crime fighting and will profit as a result.

After a rocky year in Northeast Asia, prepare for another

2024 proved to be an unexpectedly dynamic year for Northeast Asia, and we must be ready for an equally unsteady 2025. Changes in political leadership, evolving ententes and uncertain policy trajectories may all contribute to confrontation, or they could open policy windows to de-escalation and cooperation. Both risk and opportunity await in the new year, and it will be up to policymakers to recognise them and take deliberate steps towards desired outcomes.

To prepare for the new year, it is essential to set the scene for the current political-military situation among the major Northeast Asian players: Russia, China, North Korea, South Korea and Japan. This builds a foundation for tackling the regional issues that await.

Immediate attention will fall to Russia, whose war of aggression against Ukraine has gained from participation by North Korean soldiers. Although both Pyongyang and the Kremlin disavow formal North Korean involvement, its personnel and materiel support reflects deepening ties, that were formalised in what they called the ‘Treaty of Comprehensive Strategic Partnership’ signed during Vladimir Putin’s visit to the North Korean capital in June. An outstanding question heading into the new year is what North Korean soldiers will be bringing back from the Ukrainian front lines, be it tactics, techniques, and procedures; Russian equipment and technology; or all of the above.

Another lingering question is how deepening Russo-North Korean ties will affect each country’s relationship with China. North Korea has demonstrated its capacity for deftly playing the Kremlin and Beijing off one another, and while China still maintains substantial economic leverage over the North Koreans, financial and resource support from Russia shifts the power dynamics.

China has also expanded outreach and contact with other governments since the last meeting of the National People’s Congress in March, including resumption of the Military Maritime Consultation Agreement mechanism meetings with the United States, a trilateral summit with South Korea and Japan in Busan, and a stated ‘turnaround’ in relations with Australia in 2024. While Russia seems unfazed by this outreach, its impact on Sino-North Korean relations bears observation.

Meanwhile, North Korea began the year with its most important policy declaration since its announcement in 1993 that it was withdrawing from the nuclear non-proliferation treaty. The government said in January that it was abandoning its decades-old unification policy with South Korea and, for the first time in its history, would recognise two sovereign states on the Korean peninsula. Steps to implement this policy soon followed, including dismantlement of inter-Korean related organisations and infrastructure. It also made substantial efforts to harden the boundary between the two Koreas with fences, walls and landmines.

Tensions on the Korean Peninsula were low throughout 2024. While Pyongyang employed tactics such as propaganda broadcasting and delivering trash into South Korea with balloons, it took measures to mitigate risk of runaway escalation. This was evident in early October when North Korea notified the US-led United Nations Command before dismantling roads and railways in the northern half of the demilitarised zone, as well as by its muted response to South Korea’s unexpected political turmoil in December. The forthcoming end-of-year Workers’ Party of Korea meeting will offer insight into its policy priorities for 2025, including possible signals to foreign governments—particularly the incoming US administration. Given its policy trajectory since abandoning unification with the South, North Korea may seek to normalise its status as a separate sovereign state in the coming year.

Elsewhere on the Korean peninsula, South Korea will enter 2025 in political disarray. Yoon Suk Yeol’s short-lived declaration of martial law led to his swift impeachment. While this demonstrated the strength of South Korea’s democratic institutions, the saga is not yet over. There is still a constitutional process to determine Yoon’s fate, which could take up to six months, including for deliberations in the country’s constitutional court. If it confirms Yoon’s removal, final resolution of the crisis with a general election may take a further two months.

While the exact date is unknown, observers should expect a new presidential administration in South Korea in 2025. Assuming the transition happens, a shift in power from the country’s conservatives to its progressives will be all but certain. As it stands, the current conservative platform, which champions South Korea’s role as a ‘global pivotal state’ and embraces multilateral security ties, will likely give way to a platform that returns the government’s focus to rekindling engagement with North Korea. While those two lines of effort are not mutually exclusive, past progressive administrations in South Korea have treated them as such, leading many observers to wonder what may come of the country’s outreach to NATO, its increased joint training with foreign partners such as Australia, and its improving relations with Japan.

In Japan, meanwhile, the Liberal Democratic Party will enter the new year as a minority government for the first time in decades. Prime Minister Ishiba Shigeru won his spot atop the government by a narrow margin in a surprise victory over intraparty opponents, further complicating the political landscape. Ishiba’s administration must navigate fraught political waters when attempting to pass legislation in the parliament, and the prime minister must do the same to build consensus within his own party.

Political discord and uncertainty tend to reinforce Japan’s foreign and security policy trajectory. In other words, formulation and implementation of those policies falls back to the historically strong bureaucracy that continues to move forward under the standing legislation and guidance. While this offers some stability, it presents challenges for championing new initiatives or adjusting to rapidly evolving situations. This may make it difficult for the Japanese government to respond to the changes that come with new US and South Korean presidential administrations or to any sudden shifts in Russian, Chinese or North Korean behaviour.

These conditions demand an agile approach to security decision-making in 2025. A new trilateral alliance forming between Russia, China and North Korea is not a foregone conclusion. Once-in-a-generation political conditions in South Korea and Japan should be given particular consideration by states looking to engage and respond to security issues. Those hoping for success must be ready to anticipate, assess and adjust to tackle the challenges that await in the new year.

China’s new social contract

Europe’s view of China has evolved rapidly in recent decades. What began as a broad lack of knowledge about the country gave way to curiosity about its history and culture. China’s economic rise further piqued Europeans’ interest, particularly after the country’s 2001 accession to the World Trade Organization. Over time, Europe became reliant on cheap Chinese goods and China’s burgeoning market became increasingly lucrative, especially for German automakers.

In the last few years, however, the European Union has viewed China largely through the lens of strategic competition. It has accused the Chinese of engaging in unfair trade practices, arguing that state-owned and state-supported firms enjoy excessive advantages in strategic sectors. It has sounded the alarm over China’s dominance over supply chains and its control of critical minerals. And it has expressed concern about China’s increased geopolitical ambition.

It was with this background in mind that I arrived in Beijing recently, on a trip organised by the Communist Party of China. And what struck me above all was not evidence of China’s global rise, but rather the country’s internal dynamics—in particular, the shifting provisions of the social contract that underpins the party’s rule.

For decades, China’s social contract amounted to a straightforward bargain: the state delivers strong economic growth—with the associated opportunities—and the people accept curbs on their civil liberties and political freedom. This contract emerged under Deng Xiaoping, who initiated China’s ‘reform and opening up’, and whose gospel of wealth—‘to get rich is glorious’—shaped China’s meteoric rise.

But China’s economy has suffered a series of blows in recent years. The Covid-19 pandemic—and the draconian lockdowns the government imposed in response—caused growth to fall sharply, as it did elsewhere in the world. China’s economy, however, never fully recovered. Instead, it endured a real-estate crisis, a sharp decline in foreign investment and falling consumer and business confidence, owing partly to unpredictable, ideology-driven macroeconomic and regulatory policies.

The party is taking steps to accelerate economic recovery. After third-quarter data revealed that growth had again fallen short of the government’s 5 percent target, China’s leaders signaled a shift, for the first time in 14 years, from a prudent monetary policy to a moderately loose one, and suggested that 2025 will bring a more proactive fiscal policy. This approach aims to boost domestic demand, which has been sluggish; but exports—not least to Europe—remain essential to keep the economy afloat.

Even if China overcomes its immediate challenges, however, its economy has developed past the point where double-digit growth can form the basis of the social contract. This is not lost on Chinese President Xi Jinping—the self-proclaimed ‘pilot at the helm’ (a thinly-veiled reference to the ‘Great Helmsman’, Mao Zedong)—who has increasingly sought to shift the foundations of his regime’s legitimacy from growth to security. Now, China’s government is promising to ensure citizens’ wellbeing, such as by protecting the environment, and to foster common prosperity, for example by strengthening support for rural workers flocking to cities.

This approach is not only central to Xi’s so-called Chinese Dream of national rejuvenation; it also supports China’s bid to enhance its international standing by positioning itself as a global climate leader. At this year’s United Nations Climate Change Conference, China’s leaders touted the US$24.5 billion in climate finance that, according to its own opaque calculations, it has delivered to developing countries since 2016.

Green investment is also happening at home. China accounts for about two-thirds of the solar and wind projects under construction worldwide, and the country reached its 2030 target for installed renewable-energy capacity six years ahead of schedule. To be sure, China was also responsible for 95 percent of the world’s new coal-power construction last year. But, while the party is under pressure to deliver sufficient energy to support its growing economy, its incentive for climate action should not be underestimated.

Beyond geopolitical considerations, China’s climate leadership is a response to the demands of the country’s citizens, who have grown increasingly anxious about the environmental damage that accompanied rapid development. Air pollution is responsible for around 2 million deaths in China each year, and the water supply is both limited and polluted. When Xi speaks of ‘blue skies, green fields, and clean water’, he is doing so for foreign and Chinese audiences alike.

Chinese also expect their leaders to deliver on their promise of economic security. Since Xi introduced the idea of common prosperity in 2021, inequality in China—especially between regions—has increased. This helps to explain why so many people are eager to leave their less prosperous rural hometowns in search of opportunities in China’s dynamic cities. With the urbanisation rate expected to approach 70 percent over the next five years, supporting the wellbeing of city residents will be a key challenge for Xi’s government.

Seeing all of this firsthand—catching glimpses of people’s shifting expectations and the government’s priorities—enriched my understanding of China and reminded me why engagement remains crucial. At a time of heightened competition and growing antagonism between China and the West, there can be no more important pursuit.

Chaos in Syria will complicate an already complicated world

The Assad family’s half-century rule has come to a seemingly unexpected demise in the span of just 11 days. There is little doubt the end of the 13 years of murderous repression and civil fighting which has fragmented Syria is welcomed. But the need to avoid the establishment of a new Islamic State-style regime or the further implosion of the Syrian state into little fiefdoms requires us to pause any celebration.

While the apparent blow to Iran and Russia’s grip on the region consumes immediate oxygen, the chaos that is likely to follow is the greater strategic concern. As Bruce Hoffman reminds us, the fall of the Shah of Iran was heralded as a positive development as Ayatollah Khomeini triumphantly swept into Tehran. It was the same with Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi.

The prospect of chaos in Syria further complicates an international scene that is already challenging Western countries and their allies—from terrorism to dealing with China and Russia. It heightens the need for them to work together.

The commentator Richard Haass is correct in his observation that the one thing that brought the opposition together is now gone, meaning  we should expect fracturing. The expected power vacuum will make the Middle East less stable and fuel a more combustible mix of internecine rivalries. This will embolden regional and global terrorist actors, such as ISIS or al-Qaeda affiliates, to exploit the chaos, increasing the terrorist threat against Western countries and their allies. A more lethal and fatalistic reincarnation of Jabhat al Nusra, one of the groups in cahoots with ISIS, is also a distinct possibility.

As the founder of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), Abu Mohammed al-Julani has for almost a decade tried to create an ‘Islamic republic’. While al-Julani has since walked back from previous allegiance to al-Qaeda, purportedly in favour of domestic nationalist ambitions, we should beware his skill in being all things to all people.

Assad’s departure is likely to prompt a new surge in refugees to Europe and calls from European leaders for the (premature) return of Syrian refugees. This in turn will intensify already heated debates about the political, social and economic challenges facing Europe and how it should respond.

But the biggest humanitarian impact lies in Turkey. It hosts nearly three million Syrian refugees. As the country sponsoring the forces that brought down Assad, Turkey is now in the driver’s seat. Turkey has at its disposal the umbrella group of Syrian militias called the Syrian National Army and a relationship of sorts with HTS. Turkey’s response more than any other country’s will shape what happens next.

Russia and Iran, still reeling from the effect of Assad’s fall on their influence, will try harder to protect their strategic interests. Russia could lose its naval base at Tartus in Syria. Iran no longer has a route across Syria for supplying Hezbollah in Lebanon.

Meanwhile, Israel is working to ensure the chaos does not pose further threats to its borders. Saying the 1974 border agreement with Syria had collapsed, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu ordered the Israeli army to seize the buffer zone in the occupied Golan Heights.

The world is already dealing with overlapping conflicts, crises and tensions—including the emergence of hybrid threats—challenging the West’s ability to respond.

US president-elect Donald Trump has said the United States should ‘have nothing to do with’ the situation in Syria. While most Americans will agree with Trump, his defence and security advisers will probably recognise the need to ensure terror groups (ISIS in particular) cannot use this uncertain time to rebuild—meaning the US will still have security interests even if they decide they have no Syria domestic interests.

Only a day before the surprise and successful offensive by Syria’s opposition, the chief of MI5, unprompted by developments in Syria, said the British security agency would need to ‘pare back’ its counter-terrorism focus and make ‘uncomfortable choices’ because of the growing threat from Russia, China, Iran and other hostile states.

We should not be surprised. The challenges of prioritisation are not new. Finite resources and capacity require tough choices—especially where it requires investing in new approaches to counter the pre-eminent pacing threat of our times—China, and manifestations of Beijing’s malign influence.

China and Russia’s ‘no limits’ partnership, along with a broader network of autocratic countries—like Iran and its terrorist proxies as well as North Korea—highlights how partnerships built around a shared interest in trashing global rules, wreaking havoc and disrupting and dividing democratic societies are exploiting this turbulence and disruption.

In the same way, it will only be through partnerships and coalitions—new and old—that Western allies will be able to respond.

Sharing the burden of responding to chaos means we will all still have a price to pay (in addition to already heavy current demands), but it will mean a far lesser cost than if we allow the chaos to metastasize as we have done elsewhere before.

From the bookshelf: ‘Great Game On’

Over the past decade, a major power shift has been taking place as China has advanced in displacing Russia as the dominant power in Central Asia, according to Geoff Raby in his new book, Great Game On: The contest for Central Asia and Global Supremacy. And this power shift has only accelerated since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine as Russia has been depleted militarily and lost prestige and influence.

Raby is a well-known former Australian ambassador to China. His previous book, China’s Grand Strategy and Australia’s Future in the New Global Order, focused on another power shift, involving China’s rise, the emergence of a multipolar world order and the passing of America’s post-Cold War ‘unipolar moment’.

According to Raby, it used to be said that China and Russia had a division of labour among the five stans of Central Asia, namely Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan. Russia provided military assistance and security, while China’s role was economic. But the rise in China’s power has brought it much closer to these countries.

It is significant that China’s Belt and Road Initiative was launched in Astana, Kazakhstan in 2013. The initiative has played an important role in elevating China’s power and influence in Central Asia. China has become the region’s biggest source of infrastructure construction and is the biggest creditor of the region. In 2023 Chinese President Xi Jinping hosted the inaugural China-Central Asia Summit in Xi’an, a historic Chinese city. The heads of state of the five stans attended, but Russia was not invited.

Raby sees in China’s emergence as the preeminent power in Central Asia an uncanny historical analogy with the US. By the end of the 19th century, the US had consolidated its territory and secured its borders, and by the early years of the 20th century had established hegemony over the Western hemisphere. It was then free to project power globally, which it did. China’s historic security concern has been its western, inland frontiers. By becoming the dominant power in Central Asia, it is similarly freer to project power globally.

Raby has severe doubts about the ‘friendship without limits’ announced by Xi and President Vladimir Putin on the eve of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, in February 2022. Cooperation between China and Russia may have expanded greatly in response to Western sanctions. They are also drawn together by their shared sour attitude towards the US-led world order, which they see as an existential threat to their authoritarian rule. And the two leaders appear to have a genuine affection for each other, having met 43 times since 2012.

But there is no evidence that Putin warned Xi of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Indeed, the Chinese government found it had to evacuate 6000 Chinese students in Ukraine. And the timing of the invasion made China look complicit in the violation of one of the most fundamental principles of international law and the cornerstone of China’s foreign policy, namely the sanctity of international borders.

Raby argues that China and Russia’s newly minted friendship without limits has feet of clay. The expression ‘friendship without limits’ disappeared from Chinese official media or propaganda almost as soon as it was uttered. Raby believes that the relationship will likely be judged by history as a ‘concert of convenience’, though for the moment it is one of the most consequential of our times.

Fundamentally, the relationship between China and Russia is riddled with mistrust and grievances, according to Raby. For example, during a period of weakness in the 19th century, China was forced to cede vast territories to Russia in unequal treaties, something that is not forgotten. Moscow supported Delhi in its 1962 war with Beijing. Today, Russia’s elite feels uncomfortable at their country being China’s junior partner and would certainly be displeased with China’s moves in Central Asia. And Putin is now strengthening relations with India, North Korea and Vietnam to remind China that Russia has other options.

Raby is dismissive of concerns among the commentariat that an axis of authoritarians or an alliance of autocrats is challenging the West (‘Chussia Anxiety’). Rather, he sees the world bifurcating into two ‘bounded orders’, one led by the US-led West and the other by China. He proposes a ‘reverse Kissinger’ whereby the West would join forces with Russia to balance China, despite Russia’s horrific behaviour in Ukraine—though this may have to await the passing of Xi and Putin and will require Europe playing a strong role in ‘Europeanising’ Russia.

Raby’s new book is of particular interest as he challenges much conventional wisdom and offers realistic perspectives on very complex issues—even if there are questions about some of his speculative analysis and prognostications.