Tag Archive for: China

Australia-China law enforcement cooperation

Australia and China have an extensive and growing economic relationship underpinned by diverse people-to-people connections. China is Australia’s largest two-way trading partner in goods and services (A$195 billion in 2017–18). Chinese investment into Australia’s real estate industry increased by 400% in the five years to 2015, to A$12 billion in 2014–15. Money flows from China into Australia almost doubled between 2011–12 and 2015–16, from A$42 billion to almost A$77 billion. China is Australia’s largest source of overseas students (over 157,000 studied in Australia in 2016) and second largest and highest spending inbound tourism market (with 1.2 million visits in 2016).

This economic relationship is mutually beneficial, but it also creates opportunities for criminals. The large volume of money, goods and people moving between the two countries makes it easier to conceal crimes, such as trafficked drugs or laundered money. Much activity also takes place online, making the cyber realm a major vector for cross-border criminal activity. It’s therefore important that the two governments work together to fight transnational crime where there are links between Australia and China, or where either’s citizens play key facilitator roles.

Mapping China’s Tech Giants

This report accompanies the Mapping China’s Tech Giants website.

This is our first report on the topic – updated reports are also available; 

Executive summary

Chinese technology companies are becoming increasingly important and dynamic actors on the world stage. They’re making important contributions in a range of areas, from cutting-edge research to connectivity for developing countries, but their growing influence also brings a range of strategic considerations. The close relationship between these companies and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) raises concerns about whether they may be being used to further the CCP’s strategic and geopolitical interests.

The CCP has made no secret about its intentions to export its vision for the global internet. Officials from the Cyber Administration of China have written about the need to develop controls so that ‘the party’s ideas always become the strongest voice in cyberspace.’1 This includes enhancing the ‘global influence of internet companies like Alibaba, Tencent, Baidu [and] Huawei’ and striving ‘to push China’s proposition of internet governance toward becoming an international consensus’.

Given the explicitly stated goals of the CCP, and given that China’s internet and technology companies have been reported to have the highest proportion of internal CCP party committees within the business sector,2 it’s clear these companies are not purely commercial actors.

ASPI’s International Cyber Policy Centre has created a public database to map the global expansion of 12 key Chinese technology companies. The aim is to promote a more informed debate about the growth of China’s tech giants and to highlight areas where this expansion is leading to political and geostrategic dilemmas. It’s a tool for journalists, researchers, policymakers and others to use to understand the enormous scale and complexity of China’s tech companies’ global reach.

The dataset is inevitably incomplete, and we invite interested users to help make it more comprehensive by submitting new data through the online platform.

Our research maps and tracks:

  • 17,000+ data points that have helped to geo-locate 1700+ points of overseas presence for these 12 companies;
  • 404 University and research partnerships including 195+ Huawei Seeds for the Future university partnerships;
  • 75 ‘Smart City’ or ‘Public Security Solution’ projects, most of which are in Europe, South America and Africa;
  • 52 5G initiatives, across 34 countries;
  • 119 R&D labs, the greatest concentration of which are in Europe;
  • 56 undersea cables, 31 leased cable and 17 terrestrial cables;
  • 202 data centres and 305 telecommunications & ICT projects spread across the world.

Introduction

China’s technology, internet and telecommunications companies are among the world’s largest and most innovative. They’re highly competitive, and many are leaders in research and development.

They’ve played a central role in bringing the benefits of modern technology to hundreds of millions of people, particularly in the developing world.

As a function of their increasingly global scale and scope, China’s tech giants can exert increasing levels of influence over industries and governments around the world. The close relationship between Chinese companies and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) means that the expansion of China’s tech giants is about more than commerce.

A key research question includes: What are the geostrategic, political and human rights implications of this expansion? By mapping the global expansion of 12 of China’s largest and most influential technology companies, across a range of sectors, this project contributes new data and analysis to help answer such questions.

All Chinese companies are subject to China’s increasingly stringent security, intelligence, counter-espionage and cybersecurity laws.3 That includes, for example, requirements in the CCP constitution4 for any enterprise with three or more full party members to host internal party committees, a clause in the Company Law5 that requires companies to provide for party activity to take place, and a requirement in the National Intelligence Law to cooperate in and conceal involvement in intelligence work.6

Several of the companies included in this research are also directly complicit in human rights abuses in China, including the reported detention of up to 1.5 million Uyghur Muslims in Xinjiang.7 From communications monitoring to facial recognition that enables precise and pervasive surveillance, advanced technology – from these and other companies – is crucial to the increasingly inescapable surveillance net that the CCP has created for some Chinese citizens.

Every year since 2015, China has ranked last in the annual Freedom on the Net Index.8 The CCP has made no secret of its desire to export its concepts of internet and information ‘sovereignty’,9 as well as cyber censorship,10 around the world.11 Consistent with that directive, this research shows that Chinese companies are playing a role in aiding surveillance and providing sophisticated public security technologies and expertise to authoritarian regimes and developing countries that face challenges to their political stability, governance and rule of law.

In conducting this research, ASPI’s International Cyber Policy Centre (ICPC) has used open-source information in English and Chinese to track the international operations and investments of12 major Chinese technology companies: Huawei, ZTE, Tencent, Baidu, China Electronics Technology Group Corporation (CETC), Alibaba, China Mobile, China Telecom, China Unicom, Wuxi, Hikvision and BGI.

This research has been compiled in an online database that ICPC is making freely accessible to the public. While it contains more than 1,700 projects and more than 17,000 data points, it’s not exhaustive. We welcome and encourage members of the public to help us make this dataset more complete by submitting data via the website.

The database

Throughout 2018, ICPC received frequent questions from media and stakeholders about the international activities of Chinese technology companies; for example, about Huawei’s operations in particular regions or how widespread the use of Baidu or WeChat is outside of China.

These were always difficult questions to answer, as there’s a lack of publicly available quantitative and qualitative data, and some of these companies disclose little in the way of policies that affect data, security, privacy, freedom of expression and censorship. What information is available is spread across a wide range of sources and hasn’t been compiled. In-depth analysis of the available sources also requires Chinese-language capabilities, an understanding of Chinese state financing structures, and the use of internet archiving services as web pages are moved, altered or even deleted.

A further impediment to transparency is that Chinese media are under increasing control from the CCP and publish few investigative reports, which severely limits the available pool of media sources. The global expansion and influence of US internet companies, particularly Facebook, for example, has rightly received substantial attention and scrutiny over the past few years. Much of that scrutiny has come from, and will continue to come from, independent media, academia and civil society.

However, the same scrutiny is often lacking when it comes to Chinese tech and social media companies. The sheer capacity of China’s giant tech companies, their reach and influence, and the unique party-state environment that shapes, limits and drives their global behaviour set them apart from other large technology companies expanding around the world.

This project seeks to:

  1. Analyse the global expansion of a key sample of China’s tech giants by mapping their major points of overseas presence.
  2. Provide the public with an analysis of the governance structures and party-state politics from which those companies have emerged and with which they’re deeply entwined.

The data and map is available here: https://chinatechmap.aspi.org.au/

Methodology

To fill this research gap, ICPC sought to create an interactive global database to provide policymakers, academics, journalists, government officials and other interested readers with a more holistic picture of the increasingly global reach of China’s tech giants.

A complete mapping of all Chinese technology companies globally would be impossible within the confines of our research. ICPC has therefore selected 12 companies from across China’s telecommunications, technology, internet and biotech sectors:

  • Alibaba
  • Baidu
  • BGI
  • China Electronics Technology Group (CETC)
  • China Mobile
  • China Telecom
  • China Unicom
  • Hikvision (a subsidiary of CETC)
  • Huawei
  • Tencent
  • Wuxi
  • ZTE

This dataset will continue to be updated during 2019. This research relied on open-source information in English and Chinese. This has included company websites, corporate information, tenders, media reporting, databases and other public sources.

The size and complexity of these companies, and the speed at which they’re expanding, means this dataset will inevitably be incomplete. For that reason, we encourage researchers, journalists, experts and members of the public to contribute and submit data via the online platform in order to help make the dataset more complete over time.

China’s tech firms & the CCP

The CCP’s influence and reach into private companies has increased sharply over the past decade.

In 2006, 178,000 party committees had been established in private firms.12 By 2016, that number had increased sevenfold to approximately 1.3 million.13 Today, whether the companies, their leadership, and their employees like it or not, the CCP is present in private and public enterprise. Often the activity of party committees and party-building activity is linked to the CCP’s version of the concept of ‘corporate social responsibility’14—a concept that the party has explicitly politicised. For instance, in the publishing industry, corporate social responsibility includes political responsibility15 and protecting state security.16 Internet and technology companies are believed to have the highest proportion of CCP party committees in the private sector.17

This expanding influence and reach also extends to foreign companies. For example, by the end of 2016, the CCP’s Organisation Department claimed that 70% of China’s 100,000 foreign enterprises possessed party organisations.18 Expanding the party’s reach and role inside private enterprises appears to have been a priority since party chief Jiang Zemin’s ‘Three Represents’ policy, which opened party membership to businesspeople, became CCP doctrine in 2002.

All the companies mapped as a part of this project have party committees, party branches and party secretaries. For example, Alibaba has around 200 party branches;19 in 2017 it was reported that Tencent had 89 party branches;20 and Huawei has more than 300.21

Sometimes, the relevance and significance of the CCP’s presence within technology companies is dismissed or trivialised as merely equivalent to the presence of government relations or human resources departments in Western corporations. However, the CCP’s expectations of these committees is clear.22 The CCP’s constitution states that a party organisation ‘shall be formed in any enterprise … and any other primary-level work unit where there are three or more full party members’.23 Article 32 outlines their responsibilities, which include encouraging everyone in the company to ‘consciously resist unacceptable practices and resolutely fight against all violations of party discipline or state law’. Article 33 states that party committees inside state-owned enterprises are expected to ‘play a leadership role, set the right direction, keep in mind the big picture, ensure the implementation of party policies and principles, and discuss and decide on major issues of their enterprise in accordance with regulations’.24

The establishment and expansion of party committees in private enterprises appears to be one of the ways in which Beijing is trying to reduce financial risks and exercise control over the economy. Because entities ‘cannot be without the party’s voice’ and ‘must safeguard the state-owned assets and interests from damage’,25 the party committees are expected to weigh in on major decisions and policies, including the appointment and dismissal of important cadres, major project investment decisions and large-scale capital expenditures.26 

Although this guidance is longstanding practice in state-owned enterprises, it also appears to be taking root in private enterprises. Conducting a review of corporate disclosures in 2017, the Nikkei Asian Review identified 288 companies listed in China that ‘changed their articles of association to ensure management policy that reflects the party’s will’.27 In 2018, 26 publicly listed Chinese banks revised their articles of association to support party committees and the establishment of subordinate discipline inspection committees. Many of the revised articles reportedly include language requiring party consultation before major decisions are made.28

This control mechanism is explicit in the party’s vetting of business leaders. For example, although he’s not a party member, Baidu CEO Robin Li is a member of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference, the country’s primary ‘united front’ body.29 The party conducts a comprehensive assessment of any of the business executives brought into official advisory bodies managed by the United Front Work Department, the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference and the National People’s Congress. Two of the four criteria – which relates to a business person’s political inclinations – include, their ‘ideological status and political performance’, as well as their fulfillment of social responsibilities. And second, their personal compliance with laws and regulations.30

Enabling & exporting digital authoritarianism

The crown jewel of Chinese foreign policy under Xi Jinping is the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), which is to be a vast global network of infrastructure intended to enable the flow of trade, people and ideas between China and the rest of the world.31 Technology, under the banner of the Digital Silk Road, is a key component of this project.

China’s ambitions to influence the international development of technological norms and standards are openly acknowledged.32 The CCP recognises the threat posed by an open internet to its grip on power—and, conversely, the opportunities that dominance over global cyberspace could offer by extending that control.33

In a 2017 article published in one of the most important CCP journals, officials from the Cyber Administration of China (the top Chinese internet regulator) wrote about the need to develop controls so that ‘the party’s ideas always become the strongest voice in cyberspace.’34 This includes enhancing the ‘global influence of internet companies like Alibaba, Tencent, Baidu [and] Huawei’ and striving ‘to push China’s proposition of internet governance toward becoming an international consensus’.

Officials from the Cyberspace Administration of China have written that ‘cyberspace has become a new field of competition for global governance, and we must comprehensively strengthen international exchanges and cooperation in cyberspace, to push China’s proposition of Internet governance toward becoming an international consensus.’35 China’s technology companies are specifically referenced as a part of this effort: ‘The global influence of Internet companies like Alibaba, Tencent, Baidu, Huawei and others is on the rise.’36

Western technology firms have attracted heated criticism for making compromises in order to engage in the Chinese market, which often involves constraining free speech or potentially abetting human rights abuses.37 This attention is warranted and should continue. However, strangely, global consumers have so far been less critical of the Chinese firms that have developed and deployed sophisticated technologies that now underpin the CCP’s ability to control and suppress segments of China’s population38 and which can be exported to enable similar control of other populations.

The ‘China model’ of digitally enabled authoritarianism is spreading well beyond China’s borders. Increasingly, the use of technology for repression, censorship, internet shutdowns and the targeting of bloggers, journalists and human rights activists are becoming standard practices for non-democratic regimes around the world. 

In its 2018 Freedom on the net report, Freedom House singled out China as the worst abuser of human rights on the internet. The report also found that the Chinese Government is actively seeking to export its moral and ethical norms, expertise and repressive capabilities to other nations. In addition to the Chinese Government’s efforts, Freedom House specifically called out the role of the Chinese tech sector in facilitating the spread of digital repression. It found that Chinese companies:

have supplied telecommunications hardware, advanced facial-recognition technology, and data analytics tools to a variety of governments with poor human rights records, which could benefit Chinese intelligence services as well as repressive local authorities. Digital authoritarianism is being promoted as a way for governments to control their citizens through technology, inverting the concept of the internet as an engine of human liberation.39

Reporters Without Borders has also sounded the alarm over the involvement of Chinese technology companies in repressing free speech and undermining journalism. As part of an extensive report on the Chinese Government’s attempts to reshape the world’s media in its own image, it concluded that:

From consumer software apps to surveillance systems for governments, the products that China’s hi-tech companies try to export provide the regime with significant censorship and surveillance tools … In May 2018, the companies were enlisted into the China Federation of Internet Societies (CFIS), which is openly designed to promote the Chinese Communist Party’s presence within them. Chinese hi-tech has provided the regime with an exceptional influence and control tool, which it is now trying to extend beyond China’s borders.40

Pushing back against both the practices of digital authoritarianism and the norms and values that underpin such practices requires a clear-eyed understanding of the way they’re being spread. For example, a study of the BRI has found that the ways in which some BRI projects, including digital projects, are structured create serious concerns about the erosion of sovereignty for host nations, such as when a recipient government doesn’t have full control of the operations, management, digital infrastructure or data being generated through those projects.41

Sovereign governments are, of course, ultimately responsible for their actions. For some, particularly Western governments, this includes being transparent and accountable in their use of technology for surveillance and information control. And, if they aren’t, the media, civil society and the public have avenues to hold them to account. However, companies also have responsibilities in this space, which is why many sensitive and dual-use technologies are subject to export controls. The need for companies to be held accountable for how new technologies are used is particularly acute in developing countries, where the state may be less able or less willing to do so because of challenges arising from governance, legislative and regulatory capacity, transparency and corruption.

The following case studies have been selected as illustrations of the ways in which Chinese technology companies, often with funding from the Chinese Government, are aiding authoritarian regimes, undermining human rights and exerting political influence in regions around the world.

Surveillance cities: Huawei’s ‘smart cities’ projects

An important and understudied part of the global expansion of Chinese tech companies involves the proliferation of sophisticated surveillance technologies and ‘public security solutions’.42 Huawei is particularly dominant in this space, including in developing countries where advanced surveillance technologies are being introduced for the first time.

Through this research and as of April 2019, we have mapped 75 Smart City-Public Security projects, most of which involve Huawei.43 Those projects—which are often euphemistically referred to as ‘safe city’ projects—include the provision of surveillance cameras, command and control centres, facial and licence plate recognition technologies, data labs, intelligence fusion capabilities and portable rapid deployment systems for use in emergencies.

The growth of Huawei’s ‘public security solution’ projects has been rapid. For example, the company’s ‘Hisilicon’ chips reportedly make up 60% of chips used in the global security industry.44 In 2017, Huawei listed 40 countries where its smart-city technologies had been introduced;45 in 2018, that reach had reportedly more than doubled to 90 countries (including 230 cities). Because of a lack of detail or possible differences in definition, this project currently covers 43 countries.46

This research has found that, in many developing countries, exponential growth is being driven by loans provided by China Exim Bank (which is wholly owned by the Chinese Government).47 The loans, which must be paid back by recipients,48 are provided to foreign governments, and it’s been reported in academia and the media that the contractors used must be Chinese companies.49 In many of the examples examined, Huawei was awarded the primary contract; in some cases, the contract was managed by a Chinese state-owned enterprise and Huawei played a ‘sub-awardee’ role as a provider of surveillance equipment and services.50

Smart-city technologies can impart substantial benefits to states using them. For example, in Singapore, increased access to digital services and the use of technology that exploits the ‘internet of things’ (for traffic control, health care and video surveillance) has led to increased citizen mobility and productivity gains.51

However, in many cases, Huawei’s safe-city solutions focus on the introduction of new public security capabilities, including in countries such as Ecuador, Pakistan, the Philippines, Venezuela, Bolivia and Serbia. Many of those countries rank poorly, some very poorly, on measures of governance and stability, including the World Bank’s governance indicators of political stability, the absence of violence, the control of corruption and the rule of law.52

Of course, the introduction of new public security technologies may have made cities ‘safer’ from a crime prevention perspective, but, unsurprisingly, in some countries it’s created a range of political and capacity problems, including alleged corruption; missing money and opaque deals;53 operational and ongoing maintenance problems;54 and alleged national security concerns.55

Censorship and suppression: aiding authoritarianism in Zimbabwe

The example set by the Chinese state is increasingly being looked to by non-democratic regimes—and even some democratic governments—as proof that a free and open internet is neither necessary nor desirable for development. ‘If China could become a world power without a free Internet, why do African countries need a free internet?’ one unnamed African leader reportedly asked interviewers from the Department of Media Studies at the University of Witwatersrand.56 

The business dealings of Chinese technology companies in Zimbabwe, for example, are closely entwined with the CCP’s support for the country’s authoritarian regime. China is Zimbabwe’s largest source of foreign investment, partly as a result of sanctions imposed by Western countries over human rights violations by the regime. Zimbabwean President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s first visit outside of Africa after his election was to China, where he thanked President Xi Jinping and China for supporting Zimbabwe against Western sanctions and called for even deeper economic and technical cooperation between the two nations.57

Chinese companies play a central role in Zimbabwe’s telecommunications sector. Huawei has won numerous multimillion-dollar contracts with state-owned cellular network NetOne, some of which have been the subject of corruption allegations.58 Several of Huawei’s Zimbabwe projects have been financed through Chinese Government loans.59

ZTE also has a significant footprint in the country (and has also been the subject of corruption allegations).60 This has included a $500 million loan, in partnership with China Development Bank, to Zimbabwe’s largest telco, Econet, in 2015.61 ZTE has previously provided equipment, including radio base stations, for Econet’s 3G network.62 Zimbabwean telecommunications providers currently owe millions of dollars to Huawei and ZTE, as well as Ericsson, which reportedly led to network disruptions in March 2019.63

The CCP and Chinese companies haven’t just helped to cushion Zimbabwe’s leaders against the impact of sanctions. They’re also providing both a model and means for the regime’s authoritarian practices to be brought forward into the digital age, both online and offline.

The Zimbabwean Government has been considering draconian new laws to restrict social media since at least 2016, when the official regulator issued an ominous warning to internet users against ‘generating, passing on or sharing such abusive and subversive materials’.64 In the same year, a law was passed to allow authorities to seize devices in order to prevent people using social media.65

In early 2019, the government blocked social media and imposed internet shutdowns in response to protests against fuel price increases. Information Minister Energy Mutodi stated that ‘social media was used by criminals to organize themselves … this is why the government had to … block [the] internet,’ as he announced plans for forthcoming cybercrime laws to criminalise the use of social media to spread ‘falsehoods’.66

The government has openly been looking to China as a model for controlling social media,67 including by creating a cybersecurity ministry, which a spokesperson described as ‘like a trap used to catch rats’.68

Parts of this ‘trap’ reportedly come from China. In 2018, it was reported that China, alongside Russia and Iran, had been helping Zimbabwe to set up a facility to house a ‘sophisticated surveillance system’ sold to the government by ‘one of the largest telecommunications companies’ in China.69 Given the description and context, it seems plausible that this company may be Huawei or ZTE.

‘We have our means of seeing things these days, we just see things through our system. So no one can hide from us, in this country,’ said former Intelligence Minister Didymus Mutasa.70 

The government is increasingly looking to expand its surveillance from the online space into the real world. It’s signed multiple agreements with Chinese companies for physical surveillance systems, including a highly controversial planned national facial recognition system with Chinese company CloudWalk.71

It’s also interested in developing its own indigenous facial recognition technology, and is working with CETC subsidiary Hikvision to do it.72 Hikvision is already supplying surveillance cameras for police and traffic control systems.73 In 2018, Zimbabwean authorities signed a memorandum of understanding with the company to implement a ‘smart city’ program in Mutare. This included the donation of facial recognition terminals equipped with deep-learning artificial intelligence (AI) systems.

In a media statement, the government stated: 

The software is meant to be integrated with the facial recognition hardware which will be made locally by local developers in line with the government’s drive to grow the local ICT sector making Zimbabwe to be the number one country in Africa to spearhead the facial recognition surveillance and AI system nationwide in Zimbabwe.74

National ID programs: Venezuela’s ‘Fatherland Card’

Chinese tech companies are involved in national identity programs around the world. One of the most concerning examples is playing out amid the political and humanitarian crisis in Venezuela. A Reuters investigation in 2018 uncovered the central role played by ZTE in inspiring and implementing the Maduro regime’s ‘Fatherland Card’ program.75 The Fatherland Card (Carnet de la Patria) records the holder’s personal data, such as their birthday, family information, employment, income, property owned, medical history, state benefits received, presence on social media, membership of a political party and history of voting.

Although the card is technically voluntary, without it Venezuelans can be denied access to government-subsidised food, medication or gasoline.76 In the midst of Venezuela’s political crisis, registering for a ‘voluntary’ card is no choice at all for many. In fact, people in Caracas are queuing for hours to get hold of one, despite the risks of handing over personal data to the increasingly unstable and repressive Maduro regime.77

According to Reuters, ZTE was contracted by the government to build the underlying database and accompanying mobile payment system. A team of ZTE employees was embedded with Cantv, the Venezuelan state telecommunications company that manages the database, to help secure and monitor the system. ZTE has also helped to build a centralised government video surveillance system.

There are concerns that the card program is being used as a tool to interfere in the democratic process. During the 2018 elections, observers reported kiosks being set up near or even inside voting centres, where voters were encouraged to scan their cards to register for a ‘fatherland prize’.78 Those who did so later received text messages thanking them for voting for Maduro (although they never did get the promised prize).

Authorities claim that the cards record whether a person voted, but not whom they voted for. However, an organiser interviewed by Reuters claimed to have been instructed by government managers to tell voters that their votes could be tracked. Regardless of the truth of the matter, even the rumours that the government may be watching who votes for it—or, perhaps more pertinently, against it—could be expected to influence the way people vote.

In the context of the current crisis, this technologically enabled population control takes on an even sharper edge. Cyberspace has emerged as a key battleground in the struggle between the Maduro regime and the Venezuelan opposition led by Juan Guaidó.

In addition to selective social media blocks79 and total internet shutdowns,80 there’s also evidence of more insidious attacks. For example, a website set up by the opposition to coordinate humanitarian aid delivery was subject to a DNS hijacking attack, including the theft of the personal data of potentially thousands of pro-opposition volunteers.81

Cantv, Venezuela’s government-run telecommunications company, is reportedly ‘dependent on agreements with ZTE and Huawei to supply equipment and staff and … Cantv sends its employees to China to receive training.’82 These deals are financed through the Venezuela China Joint Fund. China is known as something of an international leader in DNS blocking and manipulation, and the Chinese Government is strongly supporting the Maduro regime, including by targeting social media users in China who post or share content critical of Maduro.83

Shaping politics and policy in Belarus

In some parts of the world, Chinese technology companies are helping shape the politics and policy of new technologies through the development of high-level relationships with national governments. This is particularly concerning in the case of non-democratic countries.

Often referred to as ‘Europe’s last dictatorship’, Belarus has been under the control of authoritarian strongman Aleksandr Lukashenko since 1994.84 In recent years, ties with China have come to play an increasingly significant role not only in Belarus’s delicate diplomatic relations with its powerful neighbours, but also in its very indelicate domestic policies of violent repression. This has included the use of digital technologies for mass surveillance and the targeted persecution of activists, journalists and political opponents.85

Huawei has been supplying video surveillance and analysis systems to the Lukashenko regime since 2011 and border monitoring equipment since at least 2014.86 Also in 2014, Huawei’s local subsidiary, Bel Huawei Technologies, launched two research labs for ‘intellectual remote surveillance systems’. Through the labs, Huawei provides ‘laboratory-based training … for the specialists of Promsvyaz, Beltelekom, HSCC and other organisations’.87

Over the past several years, collaboration between the Belarusian Government and Chinese technology companies has expanded rapidly, in line with Belarus’s engagement with the BRI and with deepening diplomatic and economic ties between Lukashenko’s regime and the CCP.88

In March 2019, Belarus unveiled a draft information security law. ‘It is purely our own product. We didn’t borrow it from anyone,’ State Secretary of the Security Council Stanislav Zas told Belarusian state media.89

A day later, China’s ambassador to Belarus spoke to the same outlet about how ‘Belarusian and Chinese companies [have] managed to establish intensive cooperation in the area of cyber and information security’, and about the desire of both countries to ‘expand cooperation in the sphere of cybersecurity’.90

‘Both countries have good practice in this field. We are going to even deeper cooperate [sic] and share experience,’ the Chinese ambassador said. 

Huawei has played an especially prominent role in this process at multiple levels. It has continued and expanded the training it provides to Belarusians, including sending students to study in China and signing an agreement with the Belarusian State Academy of Communications for a joint training centre.91

Huawei is also exerting political and policy influence. In May 2018, the company released its National ICT priorities for the Republic of Belarus.92 The proposal includes recommendations for ‘public safety’ technologies, such as video surveillance and drones, and a citizen status identification system.

‘Belarus has not yet widely deployed integrated police systems, and thus can refer to the solution adopted in Shenzhen,’ the document notes. This is likely to be a reference to the facial recognition program implemented by Shenzhen police to ‘crack down on jaywalking’.93

During a meeting with the chairman of Huawei’s board, Guo Ping, for the launch of the plan, then Belarusian Prime Minister Andrei Kobyakov expressed his hope that: the accumulated experience and prospects of cooperation will play an important role in the development of information and communication technologies in Belarus and in making friendship between our countries stronger. The Belarusian government counts on further effective interaction and professional cooperation.94

Controlling information flows—WeChat and the future of social messaging

Launched in 2011, WeChat quickly became China’s dominant social network but has largely struggled to build up a significant user base overseas. Still, of the social media super-app’s 1.08 billion monthly active users,95 an estimated 100–200 million are outside China.96

Southeast Asia provides the most fertile ground for WeChat outside of China: the app has 20 million users in Malaysia; 17% of the population of Thailand use it;97 and it’s the second most popular messaging app in Bhutan and Mongolia.98

The potential for WeChat to substantially grow its user base overseas remains, particularly as it hits a wall in user growth in China99 and overseas expansion becomes more of an imperative. To the extent that it’s being used outside of mainland China, WeChat poses significant risks as a channel for the dissemination of propaganda and as a tool of influence among the Chinese diaspora.

WeChat is increasingly used by politicians in liberal democracies to communicate with their ethnic Chinese voters, which necessarily means that communication is subject to CCP censorship by default.100

In one instance, in September 2017 Canadian parliamentarian Jenny Kwan posted a WeChat message of support for Hong Kong’s Umbrella Movement – a series of pro-democracy protests that took place in 2014 – only to have it censored by WeChat.101

In 2018, Canadian police received complaints about alleged vote buying taking place on WeChat.102 A group called the Canada Wenzhou Friendship Society was reportedly using the app to offer voters a $20 ‘transportation fee’ if they went to the polls and encouraging them to vote for specific candidates.

Because WeChat is one of the main conduits for Chinese-language news, censorship controls help Beijing to ensure that news sources using the app for distribution report only news that serves the CCP’s strategic objectives.103

WeChat is not only a significant influence and censorship tool for the CCP, but also has the potential to facilitate surveillance. An Amnesty International study ranking global instant messaging apps on how well they use encryption to protect online privacy gave WeChat a score of 0 out of 100.104 Content that passes through WeChat’s servers in China is accessible to the Chinese authorities by law.105

Enabling human rights abuses in China: Uyghurs in Xinjiang

Many of the repressive techniques and technologies that Chinese companies are implementing abroad have for a long time been used on Chinese citizens. In particular, the regions of Tibet and Xinjiang are often at the bleeding edge of China’s technological innovation.

The complicity of China’s tech giants in perpetrating or enabling human rights abuses—including the detention of an estimated 1.5 million Chinese citizens106 and foreign citizens107—foreshadows the values, expertise and capabilities that these companies are taking with them out into global markets. 

From the phones in people’s pockets to the tracking of 2.5 million people using facial recognition technology108 to the ‘re-education’ detention centres,109 Chinese technology companies—including several of the companies in our dataset—are deeply implicated in the ongoing surveillance, repression and persecution of Uyghurs and other Muslim ethnic minority communities in Xinjiang.

Many of the companies covered in this report collaborate with foreign universities on the same kinds of technologies they’re using to support surveillance and human rights abuses in China. For example, CETC—which has research partnerships with the University of Technology Sydney,110 the University of Manchester111 and the Graz Technical University in Austria112—and its subsidiary Hikvision are deeply implicated in the crackdown on Uyghurs in Xinjiang. CETC has been providing police in Xinjiang with a centralised policing system that draws in data from a vast array of sources, such as facial recognition cameras and databases of personal information. The data is used to support a ‘predictive policing’ program, which according to Human Rights Watch is being used as a pretext to arbitrarily detain innocent people.113 CETC has also reportedly implemented a facial recognition project that alerts authorities when villagers from Muslim-dominated regions move outside of prescribed areas, effectively confining them to their homes and workplaces.114

Huawei provides the Xinjiang Public Security Bureau with technical support and training.115 At the same time, it has funded more than 1,200 university research projects and built close ties to many of the world’s top research institutions.116 The company’s work with Xinjiang’s public security apparatus also includes providing a modular data centre for the Public Security Bureau of Aksu Prefecture in Xinjiang and a public security cloud solution in Karamay. In early 2018, the company launched an ‘intelligent security’ innovation lab in collaboration with the Public Security Bureau in Urumqi.117

According to reporting, Huawei is providing Xinjiang’s police with technical expertise, support and digital services to ensure ‘Xinjiang’s social stability and long-term security’. 

Hikvision took on hundreds of millions of dollars worth of security-related contracts in Xinjiang in 2017 alone, including a ‘social prevention and control system’ and a program implementing facial-recognition surveillance on mosques.118 Under the contract, the company is providing 35,000 cameras to monitor streets, schools and 967 mosques, including video conferencing systems that are being used to ‘ensure that imams stick to a “unified” government script’.119 

Most concerningly of all, Hikvision is also providing equipment and services directly to re-education camps. It has won contracts with at least two counties (Moyu120 and Pishan121) to provide panoramic cameras and surveillance systems within camps.

Future strategic implications

The degree to which nations and communities around the world are coming to rely on Chinese technology companies for critical services and infrastructure, from laying cables to governing their cities, has significant strategic implications both now and for many years into the future:

  • Undermining democracy: Perhaps the greatest long-term strategic concern is the role of Chinese technology companies – and technology companies from other countries that aid or engage in similar behaviour – in enabling authoritarianism in the digital age, from supplying surveillance technologies to automating mass censorship and the targeting of political dissidents, journalists, human rights advocates and marginalised minorities. The most challenging issue is the continued export around the world of the model of vicious, ubiquitous surveillance and repression being refined now in Xinjiang.
  • Espionage and intellectual property theft: The espionage risks associated with Chinese companies are clearly laid out in Chinese law, and the Chinese state has a well-established track record of stealing intellectual property.122 This risk is only likely to increase as ‘smart’ technology becomes ever more pervasive in private and public spaces. From city-wide surveillance to the phones in the pockets of political leaders (or, in a few years, the microphones in their TVs and refrigerators), governments, the private sector and civil society alike need to seriously consider how to better protect their information from malicious cyber actors.
  • Developing technologies: Chinese companies are leading the field in research and development into a range of innovative, and strategically sensitive, emerging technologies. Their global expansion provides them with key resources, such as huge and diverse datasets and access to the world’s best research institutions and universities.123 Fair competition between leading international companies to develop these crucial technologies is only to be expected, and Chinese tech companies have made enormous positive contributions to the sum total of human knowledge and innovation. However, the strategic, political and ideological goals of the CCP—which has directed and funded much of this research—can’t be ignored. From AI to quantum computing to biotechnology, the nations that dominate those technologies will exercise significant influence over how the technologies develop, such as by shaping the ethical norms and values that are built into AI systems, or how the field of human genetic modification progresses. Dominance in these fields will give nations a major strategic edge in everything from economic competition to military conflict.
  • Military competition: In cases of military competition with China, the Chinese Government would of course seek to leverage, to its own advantage, its influence over Chinese companies providing equipment and services to its enemies. This should be a serious strategic consideration for nations when they choose whether to allow Chinese companies to be involved in the build-out of critical infrastructure such as 5G networks, especially given the CCP’s increasing assertiveness and coercion globally.

This issue is particularly acute for countries already experiencing tensions over China’s territorial claims in regions such as the South China Sea. For example, in 2016, after a ruling by a UN-backed tribunal dismissed Chinese claims, suspected Chinese hackers attacked announcement and communications systems in two of Vietnam’s major airports, including a ‘display of profanity and offensive messages in English against Vietnam and the Philippines’.124 A simultaneous hack on a Vietnamese airline led to the loss of more than 400,000 passengers’ data. Vietnam’s Information and Communications Minister said that the government was ‘reviewing Chinese technology and devices’ in the wake of the attack.125 Cybersecurity firm FireEye says that it’s observed persistent targeting of both government and corporate targets in Vietnam that’s suspected to be linked to the South China Sea dispute.126

5G infrastructure build outs should be an area of particular concern. An article in the China National Defence Report in March 2019127 discusses the military applications for China of 5G in the move to ‘intelligentised’ warfare. ‘[A]s military activities accelerate towards extending into the domain of intelligentization, air combat platforms, precision-guided munitions, etc. will be transformed from ‘accurate’ to ‘intelligentized.’ 5G-based AI technology will definitely have important implications for these domains,’ write the authors, who appear to be researchers affiliated with Xidian University and the PLA’s Army Command Academy.

Conclusion

Chinese companies have unquestionably made important and valuable contributions to the technology industry globally, from contributing to cutting edge research and pushing the boundaries of developing technologies, to enabling access to affordable, good quality devices and services for people around the world. They are not going anywhere, and they are going to continue to play a vital role in the ways in which governments, companies and citizens around the world connect with one another.

At the same time, however, it is important to recognise that the activities of these companies are not purely commercial, and in some circumstances risk mitigation is needed. The CCP’s own policies and official statements make it clear that it perceives the expansion of Chinese technology companies as a crucial component of its wider project of ideological and geopolitical expansion. The CCP committees embedded within the tech companies and the close ties (whether through direct ownership, legal obligations or financing agreements including loans and lucrative contracts) between the companies and the Chinese government make it difficult for them to be politically neutral actors, as much as some of the companies might prefer this. There is also a legitimate question about whether global consumers should demand greater scrutiny of Chinese technology firms that facilitate human rights abuses in China and elsewhere.

Governments around the world are struggling with the political and security implications of working with Chinese corporations, particularly in areas such as critical infrastructure, for example in 5G, and in collaborative research partnerships that might involve sensitive or dual-use technologies. Part of this struggle is due to a lack of in-depth understanding of the unique party-state environment that shapes, limits and drives the global behaviour of Chinese companies. This research project aims to help plug that gap so that policymakers, industry and civil society can make more informed decisions when engaging China’s tech giants.


What is ASPI?

The Australian Strategic Policy Institute was formed in 2001 as an independent, non‑partisan think tank. Its core aim is to provide the Australian Government with fresh ideas on Australia’s defence, security and strategic policy choices. ASPI is responsible for informing the public on a range of strategic issues, generating new thinking for government and harnessing strategic thinking internationally.


ASPI International Cyber Policy Centre

The ASPI International Cyber Policy Centre’s mission is to shape debate, policy and understanding on cyber issues, informed by original research and close consultation with government, business and civil society.


It seeks to improve debate, policy and understanding on cyber issues by:

  1. conducting applied, original empirical research
  2. linking government, business and civil society
  3. leading debates and influencing policy in Australia and the Asia–Pacific.

The work of ICPC would be impossible without the financial support of our partners and sponsors across government, industry and civil society. ASPI is grateful to the US State Department for providing funding for this research project.

Important disclaimer

This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in relation to the subject matter covered. It is provided with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering any form of professional or other advice or services. No person should rely on the contents of this publication without first obtaining advice from a qualified professional person.


© The Australian Strategic Policy Institute Limited 2019

This publication is subject to copyright. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers. Notwithstanding the above, educational institutions (including schools, independent colleges, universities and TAFEs) are granted permission to make copies of copyrighted works strictly for educational purposes without explicit permission from ASPI and free of charge.

  1. Sarah Cook, ‘China’s cyber superpower strategy: implementation, internet freedom implications, and US responses’, written testimony to House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform, Freedom House, 28 September 2018; Kania et al., ‘China’s strategic thinking on building power in cyberspace: a top party journal’s timely explanation translated’, online. ↩︎
  2. , online. ↩︎
  3. Samantha Hoffman, Elsa Kania, ‘Huawei and the ambiguity of China’s intelligence and counter-espionage laws’, The Strategist, 13 September 2018, online. ↩︎
  4. Constitution of the Communist Party of China, revised and adopted on 24 October 2017, online. ↩︎
  5. People’s Republic of China Company Law, online. ↩︎
  6. Hoffman & Kania, ‘Huawei and the ambiguity of China’s intelligence and counter-espionage laws’. ↩︎
  7. Chris Buckley, Amy Qin, ‘Muslim detention camps are like “boarding schools,” Chinese official says’, New York Times, 12 March 2019, online; Fergus Ryan, Danielle Cave, Nathan Ruser, Mapping Xinjiang’s ‘re-education’ camps, ASPI, Canberra, 1 November 2018, online. ↩︎
  8. ‘China: not free: 88/100’, Freedom on the net 2018, Freedom House, Washington DC, 2018, online. ↩︎
  9. Jun Mai, ‘Xi Jinping renews “cyber sovereignty” call at China’s top meeting of internet minds’, South China Morning Post, 3 December 2017, online. ↩︎
  10. Josh Rogin, ‘White House calls China’s threats to airlines “Orwellian nonsense”’, Washington Post, 5 May 2018, online. ↩︎
  11. Samantha Hoffman, Social credit: technology-enhanced authoritarian control with global consequences, ASPI, Canberra, 28 June 2018, online. ↩︎
  12. Wu Jiao, ‘Party membership up in private firms’, China Daily, 17 July 2007, online. ↩︎

Agenda for change – 2019

In 2018, many commentators pronounced the rules-based global order to be out for the count. This presents serious challenges for a country such as Australia, which has been an active contributor and clear beneficiary of that order. The government that we elect in 2019’s federal election will be faced with difficult strategic policy choices unlike any we’ve confronted in the past 50 years.

This volume contains 30 short essays that cover a vast range of subjects, from the big geostrategic challenges of our times, through to defence strategy; border, cyber and human security; and key emergent technologies.

The essays provide busy policymakers with policy recommendations to navigate this new world, including proposals that ‘break the rules’ of traditional policy settings. Each of the essays is easily readable in one sitting—but their insightful and ambitious policy recommendations may take a little longer to digest.

Previous Agenda for change publications are also available here: 2016 and 2013.

Launch Event

Mapping Xinjiang’s ‘re-education’ camps

This report by ASPI’s International Cyber Policy Centre collates and adds to the current open-source research into China’s growing network of extrajudicial ‘re-education’ camps in Xinjiang province.

The report contributes new research, while also bringing together much of the existing research into a single database. This work has included cross-referencing multiple points of evidence to corroborate claims that the listed facilities are punitive in nature and more akin to prison camps than what the Chinese authorities call ‘transformation through education centres’.

By matching various pieces of documentary evidence with satellite imagery of the precise locations of various camps, this report helps consolidate, confirm and add to evidence already compiled by other researchers.

Key takeaways

  • This ASPI ICPC report covers 28 locations, a small sample of the total network of re-education camps in Xinjiang. Estimates of the total number vary, but recent media reports have identified roughly 180 facilities and some estimates range as high as 1,200 across the region.
  • Since early 2016 there has been a 465% growth in the size of the 28 camps identified in this report.1 2
  • As of late September 2018—across the 28 camps analysed—this report has measured a total of 2,700,000 m2 of floor space, which is the equivalent of 43 Melbourne Cricket Ground stadiums.
  • The greatest growth over this period occurred across the most recent quarter analysed (July, August and September 2018), which saw 700,000 m2 of floor space being added across the 28 camps.
  • Some individual facilities have experienced exponential growth in size since they were repurposed and/or constructed. For example, a facility in Hotan that the New York Times reported on in September 20183 expanded from 7,000 m2 in early 2016 to 172,850 m2 by September 2018—a 2469.29% increase over an approximately 18-month period.
  • The growth in construction has increased at a considerably faster pace in the summer months, with a spike in construction during the third quarters of both 2017 and 2018.

Introduction

China’s censors have been expunging evidence of the country’s vast network of extrajudicial ‘re-education’ camps in Xinjiang province from the internet just as fast as researchers have been finding it.

From first-hand testimony to satellite imagery, researchers have now provided empirical data that authoritatively paints a picture of the extent of China’s biggest human rights abuse since the 1989 post-Tiananmen purge.

Word of this rapidly growing network of ‘re-education’ camps first started to spread with interviews of the relatives of detainees.4 Further research drew on information in public construction and service tenders which documented and detailed the sizes and security features of these re-education camps.5

Other documents such as public recruitment notices, government budget reports, government work reports and Chinese articles in local media and social media have helped to reveal details of how Chinese authorities are rapidly expanding this network of camps.

The cumulative effect of this onslaught of evidence, as well as condemnation from US lawmakers6 and the UN,7 has forced Chinese authorities to move from outright denial of the camps’ existence to a public relations offensive in which they present the camps as places for ‘free vocational training’8 rather than anything punitive.

This ASPI ICPC report contributes new research, while also bringing together much of the existing research into a single database. This work has included cross-referencing multiple points of evidence to corroborate claims that the listed facilities are punitive in nature and more akin to prison camps than what the CCP calls ‘transformation through education centres’.

The report matches the plethora of documentary evidence already uncovered with satellite imagery of this sprawling network of camps. The report takes a conservative approach in deciding what the likely use of each facility is. Each potential camp is assigned a red, orange or green tag representing our level of confidence based on the available open-source data.

The data

This report collects and collates a huge amount of data and it attempted to include as much of that as possible into a database. Some subsets of the database are new—for example, our data on the growth in the size of these 28 facilities. Others have been identified by other researchers, NGOs or media outlets. Where possible, data from these sources has been included in the database, with citations and hyperlinks to the original work.

Brief summaries of the collected data are presented and tabulated in this report; however, using the accompanying database, it is possible to explore all data points in more depth and draw individual conclusions. 

The database is by no means an exhaustive list and it will continue to develop and grow as additional datasets are added.9 It is hoped it will provide media outlets, researchers and governments with current and useful information, and become a resource to which they can potentially contribute.

Camps that have multiple points of strong evidence are deemed to be internment camps and were marked green using the traffic light system. These points of evidence include, for example, facilities that are described as ‘transformation through education’ facilities in official documents, that this research has geo-located from tender documents, or that contain physical features captured in satellite imagery such as barbed wire, reinforced walls and watchtowers. 

Orange tags on other camps denote a comparatively smaller amount of publicly available evidence necessary to conclude the ultimate use of the facilities. Red camps denote minimal or incomplete evidence. Because of that lack of evidence, they have not been included in the public database.

This is not meant to suggest that the scope and scale of the system is small. Agence France-Presse (AFP) estimates there are at least 181 such facilities in Xinjiang,10 while research by German-based academic Adrian Zenz suggests there may be as many as 1,200 facilities.11

Instead, this report and its underlying database aim to create a repository of existing research into the Xinjiang camps in order to save for posterity the information that China’s censors are rapidly deleting from the public record.

Figure 1: Heat map showing the distribution and size of the 28 camps across Xinjiang province. The larger the combined size of facilities in an area, the darker the shade on the map. Kashgar City and its surrounds feature the highest density of facility floor space and are therefore likely where the greatest numbers of re-education detainees are held.

Figure 2: The cumulative floor area in the analysed facilities. Following the second quarter of 2017, many already-constructed buildings were converted into re-education facilities (separated into camps tagged green and orange). 

Figure 3: The rate of quarterly additional construction. Spikes can be seen during the summer months (third quarters) of 2017 and 2018. Growth so far in 2018 (1.169 million square metres) has already outpaced growth in the entirety of 2017 (918,000 m2).

Case studies

The devil is in the detail: The Kashgar City Vocational Technical Education Training Center12

Coordinates: 39°27’9.59″N, 76°6’34.24″E

Last month, Global Times editor Hu Xijin visited what he referred to as a ‘vocational training center’ in Kashgar. He posted a two-minute video of the trip on his Twitter account.13

Hu visited Middle School No. 4 located to the east of Kashgar City. This school, as well as Middle Schools 5 and 6, were under construction across the first half of 2017. Over the summer break, ovals at Middle Schools 5 and 6 were turfed with grass. These schools were being built adjacent to two other schools—the Kashgar City High School and the Huka Experimental Middle School (沪喀实验中学).

But by July 2017, when construction was complete, every ‘school’ building in the southwest of the facility (previously Middle School No. 5) was surrounded by tall fencing that had been painted green and topped with razor wire. By August, much of School No. 6 was enclosed with similar fencing. Upon completion in around November 2017, School No. 4 was also highly securitised and a tender was released calling for bidders to oversee and install new equipment, including a new surveillance camera system.14

In March 2018, one of the previously turfed sports ovals was demolished and replaced by four large six-storey buildings, totalling roughly 50,000 m2 of floor space. Each was surrounded by six 10-by-18 m fenced yards for detainees.

Kashgar City High School and Huka Experimental Middle School, only 50 m to the north of Kashgar Middle School No. 4, paint a dramatically different picture. Basketball courts are filled with students playing outside, and people can be seen in satellite imagery walking between buildings in the schools and on the large sports fields. 

The video posted by Hu Xijin of Middle School No. 4 on 24 October shows detainees dancing and playing table-tennis and basketball. However, this visit—and the footage shared on social media—may not reflect the regular daily experiences of the detainees.

Through satellite and imagery analysis—including imagery updated daily—we can determine that these courts are coloured mats that are recent additions to the camp. The mats were placed on a concrete-covered area that is normally bare and appears inaccessible to detainees.

Lifted edge of the basketball mat suggests that these courts are likely not permanent.

Across 25 satellite images between August 2017 and August 2018, which show the facility since its construction, not a single image featured these outdoor courts. But these coloured mats do appear in satellite imagery available from 10 October. Global Times editor Hu Xijin posted about his visit to these facilities on Twitter and Weibo on 24 October.15

The location filmed by Hu Xijin in Kashgar City Vocational Technical Education Training Center. Features outlined in the panorama produced from Global Times reporting correspond to outlines in the same colour in the satellite imagery.

Checking in with the Shule County Chengnan Training Center since the Economist’s May 2018 coverage16

Coordinates: 39°21’27.64″N, 76°3’2.39″E

On 31 May 2018 the Economist included satellite footage of the ‘Shule County Chengnan Training Center’ in a lengthy article it published on China’s ‘apartheid with Chinese characteristics’.17

We have tracked this camp’s enormous growth since the Economist article featured satellite imagery of the camp. Since March 2018—which was the date the satellite image was taken from—the facility has more than doubled in size.

Across the 2.5-year time period covered in this report,18 the facility has grown from 5 to 24 buildings or wings. Its total floor size has increased during that period from 12,200 m2 to 129,600 m2. This represents an increase in size of 1062.3%.

The camp is described in official documents as a ‘transformation through education’ facility, and a tender shows the involvement of the Shule County Justice Bureau.19 Through satellite and imagery analysis, the camp’s physical features—including barricaded facilities, watchtowers, and enclosures surrounded by barbed-wire fencing—can be clearly seen.

But the evidence base for this facility goes beyond satellite imagery, tenders and floor sizes. In addition, we have matched our satellite images to the first-hand accounts, street-view imagery and video footage published by religious freedom advocacy group Bitter Winter in September 2018.20

Bitter Winter’s evidence highlights several key features of the facility. Footage from newly constructed buildings shows the scale of the camp. The reporting detailed the structure of these facilities. Each floor consists of 28 rooms, and each room is monitored by two security cameras.

Footage acquired by Bitter Winter of the Chengnan Training Centre. Features outlined in the photos correspond to outlines in the same colour in the satellite imagery.

Methodology

This report provides a quantifiable picture of the spread and growth of China’s large network of camps throughout the Xinjiang region. These camps were located through various means, including via unique satellite signatures and physical features; official construction bidding tenders from the Chinese government; and media collected from official sources, local and international NGOs, academics and digital activists. Considerable information was drawn from the analysis of freely available or commercial satellite imagery. 

Satellite imagery of these camps shows highly securitised facilities with features such as significant fencing to heavily restrict the movement of individuals, consistent coverage by watchtowers, and strategic barricades with only small numbers of entry points. Often the perimeter around these camps is multi-layered and consists of large walls with tall razor-wire fencing on both the inside and outside. These features allowed us to pinpoint the location of camps mentioned in official construction tenders. 

Locating camps was aided significantly by engaging and sharing information with Shawn Zhang, a student at the University of British Columbia.21 In addition, official media and reporting by NGOs and activists were vital. These sources provided media from some facilities which allowed us to match the features shown—such as buildings and fencing—with the available satellite imagery.

The floor area of every facility was measured. 

The growth in floor area of these facilities was calculated for every quarter from the beginning of 2016 to September 2018. In most cases, this process involved measuring the roof area of every building using Google Earth imagery and other commercial satellite imagery collected by Digital Globe. Floor area was then calculated by multiplying roof area by the number of storeys in each building. The number of storeys was estimated from satellite imagery by either counting the externally visible windows when the building’s facade was shown or, when the facade was not prominently featured, by analysing the length of the shadows cast by the building. Where footage of these buildings from the ground existed, this was used as the primary source for the number of storeys. 

Some facilities contained additional buildings that were constructed after the most recently available Digital Globe imagery. For these cases, the floor area was calculated from lower resolution (3 m pixels as opposed to 30–50 cm pixels) imagery provided by Planet Labs.

No attempt was made in this analysis to differentiate between buildings used for different purposes, and the total area of each facility includes teaching buildings, administrative buildings and dormitories that house detainees. 

In addition, no attempt was made to determine the date of a facility’s first use as a re-education facility. For facilities such as schools or government-built residential housing that have been converted to re-education centres, our measurements represent the total building area within the current facility’s boundaries. 

These measurements were translated into chronological growth by cross-referencing building measurements with monthly satellite imagery accessed through Planet Labs’ Explorer portal to determine the period of time over which each building was constructed or completed. Some buildings that were too small to register in Planet Lab’s lower resolution imagery, such as single-storey utility buildings or sheds, were not included in this analysis. This data can be found in the database accompanying this report.

Facilities were then matched to publicly available construction tenders released by local governments using Chinese-language web-searching and links collected by other researchers (chiefly, Adrian Zenz, a China security expert at Germany’s European School of Culture and Theology). Saving this information often involved a race against time to gather the data before the documents were removed by those censoring China’s cyberspace. Every important document discovered and included in our database was permanently archived online.

Finally, the report drew on media reporting in local, national and international outlets. This media collection—including photographs, videos and geographical data—was used to further confirm key details such as the location, use or purpose, and physical features of each facility.

Conclusion

The speed with which China has built its sprawling network of indoctrination centres in Xinjiang is reminiscent of Beijing’s efforts in the South China Sea. Similar to the pace with which it has created new ‘islands’ where none existed before, the Chinese state has changed the facts on the ground in Xinjiang so dramatically that it has allowed little time for other countries to meaningfully react.

This report clearly shows the speed with which this build-out of internment camps is taking place. Moreover, the structures being built appear intended for permanent use. Chillingly, stories of detainees being released from these camps are few and far between.

Without any concerted international pressure, it seems likely the Chinese state will continue to perpetrate these human rights violations on a massive scale with impunity.
 

Acknowledgments

ASPI ICPC would like to thank Dr Samantha Hoffman and Alex Joske for their contributions to this research.

This project would not have been possible without the crucial ongoing work of Shawn Zhang, Adrian Zenz, journalists and civil society groups.


Important disclaimer

This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in relation to the subject matter covered. It is provided with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering any form of professional or other advice or services. No person should rely on the contents of this publication without first obtaining advice from a qualified professional person.


© The Australian Strategic Policy Institute Limited 2018

This publication is subject to copyright. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers. Notwithstanding the above, educational institutions (including schools, independent colleges, universities and TAFEs) are granted permission to make copies of copyrighted works strictly for educational purposes without explicit permission from ASPI and free of charge.

  1. The centre featured on state broadcaster CCTV last week is one of at least 181 such facilities in Xinjiang, according to data collected by AFP, online. ↩︎
  2. tandfonline.com ↩︎
  3. Listed as Camp 5 in the ICPC public database, online. ↩︎
  4. hrw.org ↩︎
  5. jamestown.org ↩︎
  6. cecc.gov ↩︎
  7. theguardian.com ↩︎
  8. globaltimes.cn ↩︎
  9. If you would like to highlight new or missing information that you think should be added to the database, please contact icpc@aspi.org.au ↩︎
  10. hongkongfp.com ↩︎
  11. washingtonpost.com ↩︎
  12. Camp 15 in the ICPC public database. ↩︎
  13. twitter.com ↩︎
  14. jzbnet.com ↩︎
  15. twitter.com ↩︎
  16. Camp 3 in the ICPC public database. ↩︎
  17. economist.com ↩︎
  18. January 2016 to September 2018. ↩︎
  19. archive.org ↩︎
  20. bitterwinter.org ↩︎
  21. Shawn Zhang’s Medium blog can be found here: medium.com ↩︎

Picking flowers, making honey

The Chinese military’s collaboration with foreign universities.

What’s the problem?

China’s People’s Liberation Army (PLA) is expanding its research collaboration with universities outside of China. Since 2007, the PLA has sponsored more than 2,500 military scientists and engineers to study abroad and has developed relationships with researchers and institutions across the globe.1

This collaboration is highest in the Five Eyes countries, Germany and Singapore, and is often unintentionally supported by taxpayer funds.2 Australia has been engaged in the highest level of PLA collaboration among Five Eyes countries per capita, at six times the level in the US. Nearly all PLA scientists sent abroad are Chinese Communist Party (CCP) members who return to China on time.

Dozens of PLA scientists have obscured their military affiliations to travel to Five Eyes countries and the European Union, including at least 17 to Australia, where they work in areas such as hypersonic missiles and navigation technology. Those countries don’t count China as a security ally but rather treat it as one of their main intelligence adversaries.3

The activities discussed in this paper, described by the PLA as a process of ‘picking flowers in foreign lands to make honey in China’ (异国采花,中华酿蜜), risk harming the West’s strategic advantage.4

Helping a rival military develop its expertise and technology isn’t in the national interest, yet it’s not clear that Western universities and governments are fully aware of this phenomenon.5 Some universities have failed to respond to legitimate security concerns in their engagement with China. Current policies by governments and universities have not fully addressed issues like the transfer of knowledge and technology through collaboration with the PLA. Clear government policy towards universities working with the PLA is also lacking.6

What’s the solution?

Understanding and responding to PLA collaboration will require closer engagement between governments and universities. While universities haven’t self-regulated on this issue and haven’t controlled the associated security risks, universities and researchers will not effectively limit the risks of PLA collaboration on their own until governments develop clear policies on it.

Governments need to explore a wider range of tools for limiting technology transfer, including better scrutiny of visa applications by Chinese military scientists and further legislation targeting military end users.

Governments should also consider increasing funding to strategic science and technology fields, while actively limiting problematic foreign investment in those fields. Universities must recognise the risks of such collaboration and seek to learn the extent and nature of their collaboration with the PLA by actively working with government, civil society and security professionals.

Introduction

In 2017, the head of the American Association for the Advancement of Science said that ‘Scientific progress depends on openness, transparency and the free flow of ideas.’7 This collaborative and open spirit, including collaboration with Chinese scientists, has led to some of the great scientific achievements of recent times.8

While countries such as Australia and the US pride themselves on their scientific achievements, their universities and research institutes face limited or declining domestic funding.9 To address these issues, many universities have turned to China—an emerging scientific powerhouse that has sought to build ties to scientific communities around the world.10 This collaboration has generally been a productive and welcome part of the Australia–China relationship. 

The Chinese military has also ridden this wave of research collaboration, sponsoring more than 2,500 scientists to travel to universities in technologically advanced countries such as Australia as students or visiting scholars over the past decade.11 The volume of peer-reviewed literature produced by PLA scientists in collaboration with foreign scientists each year has grown steadily since 2008, following increases in the number of PLA scientists sent abroad (Figure 1).12 Those scientists work in strategic and emerging technology sectors such as quantum physics, signal processing, cryptography, navigation technology and autonomous vehicles.

The PLA’s program of sending scientists abroad is different from standard military exchanges, in which military officers visit each other’s institutions. Those open exchanges build understanding, communication and relationships between militaries.

Figure 1: PLA collaboration, as measured by the number of peer-reviewed articles co-authored by PLA scientists with overseas scientists, 2006 to 2017

In contrast, the PLA National University of Defense Technology (NUDT, 解放军国防科学技术大学) appears to conceive of its military exchanges separately from its international research ties, which are concentrated in foreign universities and not military institutions.13 Scientists sent abroad by the PLA have minimal or no interaction with military personnel in their host countries. Some of those travelling overseas have actively used cover to disguise their military affiliations, claiming to be from non-existent academic institutions.

Around half of those sent abroad are PhD scholars who either complete their doctorates overseas or spend up to two years as visiting PhD scholars and who can usually be identified by searching peer-reviewed literature. While most come from NUDT, the Army Engineering University is another major source.14 The remaining half are sent overseas for short-term trips, spending up to a year as visiting scholars. Few of those scientists have left online traces of their time overseas.

While foreign universities’ ties with the PLA have grown, it isn’t clear that universities have developed an understanding of the PLA and how their collaboration with it differs from familiar forms of scientific collaboration. To date, there’s been no significant public discussion on why universities should be directly contributing to the technology of a non-allied military. Importantly, there’s also little evidence that universities are making any meaningful distinction between collaboration with the Chinese military and the rest of their collaboration with China.

A handful of universities have strongly defended their collaboration with the PLA. Among universities in Five Eyes countries, the University of New South Wales (UNSW) has published the most peer-reviewed literature in collaboration with PLA scientists. After attracting scrutiny for this collaboration, the university’s deputy vice-chancellor wrote, ‘Any fears that our intellectual property or security is undermined through our work with international partners are entirely unfounded.’15

Australia’s Curtin University has described its collaboration with the PLA in similar terms, insisting that work by its scientists with PLA experts on explosions and projectiles doesn’t violate any laws and is civilian research.16

Government research agencies have also engaged in collaboration with the PLA. For example, researchers at the Australian Government’s Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO) have collaborated with NUDT scientists on cloud computing technology.

Those same NUDT scientists were using cloud computing technology for combat simulations.17 Large sums of government funds have been used for collaboration with PLA scientists. One professor at UNSW, for instance, worked with PLA scientists using Australian Research Council grants worth $2.3 million.18 Internationally, defence funding has also been used for research with PLA scientists; for example, a paper written by University of Manchester scientists with a visiting student from NUDT lists US Air Force and Navy grants as funding sources.19

International military–civil fusion

In China, the PLA’s overseas research collaboration is described in frank terms. The PLA Daily uses the saying ‘Picking flowers in foreign lands to make honey in China’ to explain how it seeks to leverage overseas expertise, research and training to develop better military technology.20

This is one aspect of what China calls ‘military–civil fusion’ (军民融合). The term refers to China’s efforts to improve its military’s ability to take advantage of the creativity of the civilian sector and develop its own indigenous military–industrial complex. Described by PLA experts as a ‘cornerstone of PRC national defense reform’, military–civil fusion is helping to drive the modernisation of the PLA.21

So important is military–civil fusion to President Xi Jinping’s military reforms that he described it earlier this year as a prerequisite for building strategic capabilities and a strong military.22

Illustrating the benefits that the PLA obtains from its overseas research collaboration, a publication run by China’s Ministry of Education stated that NUDT’s collaboration with the University of Cambridge to train visiting PLA students will ‘greatly raise the nation’s power in the fields of national defence, communications, anti-jamming for imaging and high-precision navigation’.23 Likewise, before travelling to Sweden for doctoral studies in quantum physics, an NUDT scientist was told by his supervisor, ‘Without breakthroughs in physics, how can there be rapid developments in weaponry?’24

Figure 2: Lieutenant General Yang Xuejun (2nd from right) and Xi Jinping, chairman of the Central Military Commission, in July 2017

Lieutenant-General Yang Xuejun (杨学军, Figure 2), who oversaw a substantial rise in NUDT’s overseas links when he was its president from 2011 to 2017, appears to be one of the key figures behind this phenomenon. NUDT, as the Chinese military’s largest science and technology university, can be seen as representative of broader initiatives in this area. The university is the main source of PLA scientists studying abroad and by 2013 had reportedly sent more than 1,600 scientists overseas as students or visiting scholars, including roughly a third of its PhD scholars.25 An article written by NUDT scholars claims that the university received 300m renminbi ($A60m) from the Chinese government to send 765 graduate students to study abroad.26 According to General Yang, who has implied that NUDT’s overseas ties are a form of military–civil fusion, the university ‘has already reaped great benefits from going down the open university path and the military–civil fusion road’.27

General Yang’s recent promotion to membership of the 205-member 19th CCP Central Committee and to leadership of the Academy of Military Sciences, the PLA’s premier research institution, reflects Xi Jinping’s emphasis on ‘rejuvenating the military with science and technology’.28 It was probably also a recognition of the success with which Yang developed NUDT’s international ties.

Yang, himself a supercomputer expert, has collaborated extensively with UNSW and ran the program to develop the Tianhe-1A supercomputer, once ranked as the world’s fastest supercomputer.29 The NUDT supercomputer program’s role in nuclear weapons testing led to NUDT being placed on the US Government’s Entity List in 2015, meaning that the university faces stricter export controls, yet substantial numbers of NUDT scientists continue to train outside China, including in the US, the UK and Australia.30

The PLA encourages scientists to work on areas of interest to the military while they’re overseas. For example, a 2016 article by NUDT specialists in graduate student education recommends that, in choosing where to study overseas, students’ first priority should be the relevance of the research direction of an overseas institution to their work in China, as they ‘must comprehensively consider the continuity of their research work when in China with that when they are studying overseas’.31 When students are overseas, the report adds, they should ‘fully take advantage of the cutting-edge research conditions and environment abroad’ and ‘map out the arrangements of their overseas research and their plans for research after returning to China’. This alignment of domestic and overseas work indicates that the cases of PLA scientists gaining skills while in Australia that they then use for military projects aren’t outliers; they’re representative examples.32

Sources of and destinations for PLA scientists

PLA scientists come from a wide range of institutions and disciplines within the Chinese military. Analysing peer-reviewed publications co-authored by PLA scientists and overseas scientists indicates that the US, the UK, Canada, Australia and Germany were, in that order, the top five countries engaged in research collaboration with the PLA in 2017 (Figure 3). Those countries appear to be the primary destinations for PLA scientists sent abroad.

Figure 3: The top 10 countries for PLA collaboration, as measured by peer-reviewed literature co-authored by PLA scientists, 2006 to 2017

PLA scientists sent abroad as visiting scholars came from institutions such as:

  • the Northwestern Institute of Nuclear Technology (西北核技术研究所), which works on nuclear and high-power microwave weapons
  • the Chemical Defense Institute of the Academy of Military Sciences (军事科学院防化研究院), which specialises in chemical weapons research and has sent a sarin gas expert overseas
  • the Navy Submarine Academy (海军潜艇学院) in Qingdao
  • the Armored Forces Engineering Academy (装甲兵工程学院) in Beijing, which works on tank technology
  • the China Aerodynamics Research and Development Center (中国空气动力研究与发展中心), which has sent scramjet researchers to study overseas
  • the Rocket Force Engineering University (火箭军工程大学), which conducts research for China’s missile programs
  • the Academy of Equipment Command and Technology (装备指挥技术学院), which in 2007 sent a specialist in antisatellite weaponry to the University of Michigan using civilian cover.33

The volume of peer-reviewed literature co-authored by PLA researchers and overseas researchers is a rough indicator of the level of PLA collaboration at each university. Figure 3 shows that the leading countries for PLA collaboration by this measure for 2017 were, in order, the US, the UK, Canada, Australia and Germany, indicating that they’re likely to be the main destinations for PLA scientists studying abroad. Singapore, Sweden and the Netherlands are other major destinations for PLA scientists. Over the past decade, Australia has been engaged in the highest level of this collaboration among the Five Eyes countries per capita, at six times the level in the US.

It’s also possible to estimate the number of PLA scientists sent to each country since 2007, based on the above findings.34 Approximately 500 Chinese military scientists were sent to each of the UK and the US, roughly 300 each to Australia and Canada and more than 100 each to Germany and Singapore. Hundreds more have been sent to other countries, including the Netherlands, Sweden, Japan and France.

Figure 4, using the same dataset, shows the top 10 universities outside China for PLA collaboration. Nanyang Technological University in Singapore has the highest level of PLA collaboration, followed closely by UNSW in Australia. Other universities in Canada, Australia, the UK and the Netherlands also engage in high levels of collaboration with the PLA.35

Figure 4: The top 10 universities outside of China for PLA collaboration, as measured by the number of peer-reviewed publications, 2006 to 2017

The PLA’s links to universities across the world go beyond student admissions. The Chinese military, through its own universities and research institutions, has worked to build relationships with overseas universities and leading overseas researchers. A 2014 document published by NUDT claimed that the university had recruited 20 foreign nationals as teachers and ‘established academic relationships with over 100 universities and research units in over 50 countries and regions’.36

Scientists from Australia, the UK and the US are listed as potential doctoral supervisors for NUDT students in 2018.37

NUDT has also built ties with overseas universities at the institutional level. For example, NUDT’s Quantum Information Interdisciplinary Talent Training Program cooperates with the University of Cambridge’s Cavendish Laboratory.38 The People’s Daily claimed that, in addition to agreements with Oxford and Cambridge, NUDT has established ‘overseas study bases’ at institutions including Harvard University.39 New Zealand’s Massey University also signed a memorandum of understanding with NUDT in 2008.40

Maintaining loyalty to the CCP

The PLA, as the armed wing of the CCP, insists that all overseas party members strictly abide by ‘external exchange discipline standards’.41 According to the PLA Daily, ‘the openness of internationally expanding talent cultivation does not represent a “relaxation”, and we certainly cannot “let go”.’42 General Yang Xuejun has also specifically warned of the need to carefully manage military secrets while increasing the university’s openness.43

Those permitted to study overseas go through intensive training prior to their departure and are ‘all budding shoots with good grades and strong potential for innovation’.44 Alongside academic credentials, political credentials are also of key importance for military scientists hoping to study abroad. The PLA Daily warns that, if students sent overseas ‘develop issues with their politics and ideology, the consequences would be inconceivable (后果不堪设想)’.45 NUDT therefore appears to sponsor only CCP members for overseas study and works hard to maintain their loyalty to the party and negate ‘all kinds of harmful ideologies’.46 Reportedly, all 200 students and researchers from NUDT who were studying or visiting overseas in 2013 were party members.47

The People’s Daily claimed in 2013 that students sent overseas by NUDT had established eight party branches overseas and organised events for party members, so that ‘personnel studying abroad would keep their convictions rock-solid’ (坚守信念如磐).48 Another report from 2015 claimed that NUDT’s College of Optoelectric Science and Engineering alone had established 10 overseas party branches.49 More recent reports hint that such branches are still being established. For example, party media reported in October 2017 that students from one of NUDT’s colleges had established a WeChat group for the college’s more than 30 students overseas to study the 19th Party Congress.50 ‘Their red hearts,’ the report concluded, ‘look to the party.’

Party branches have also been used to coerce overseas Chinese scholars. An investigation by Foreign Policy found that some visiting students from Chinese universities who formed party branches abroad were asked to report on any subversive opinions held by their classmates.51 It’s probable that similar kinds of pressure are exerted on overseas PLA researchers.

Online communication forms an important part of PLA efforts to maintain discipline among overseas personnel and is complemented by in-person contact. One report stated that students from NUDT’s College of Optoelectric Science and Engineering ‘regularly chat with College leaders by video call and exchange emails with NUDT academic supervisors and student cadres to discuss their thoughts, exchange ideas on academic matters, and clarify points of interest’.52 Regulations on the political education of overseas students by the same NUDT college include provisions for ‘overseas inspection’ and for students to return to China in the middle of their study for ‘remedial education’.

One NUDT professor used a trip to an overseas conference as an opportunity to meet eight NUDT scientists studying in the region to ‘pass on the greetings and requests of party organisations’. The regulations also include provisions for ‘joint education and interaction with families’, which may imply that pressure on the family members of overseas PLA scientists is used to maintain discipline.53

The close watch that the PLA keeps on its overseas scientists helps ensure that all those sent abroad return to the Chinese military. NUDT, for example, requires that those applying to study abroad show their intent to return to ‘serve the construction of the nation, national defence and the military’.54

The PLA Daily claimed in 2013 that all the students whom NUDT had sent abroad in recent years returned on time to ‘become key forces in their work units’.55

Institutes that don’t exist: deception by PLA scientists

While most scientists sent abroad by the PLA appear to be open about which institutions they come from, this report has identified two dozen new cases of PLA scientists travelling abroad using cover to obscure their military affiliations. In at least 17 of these cases, PLA scientists used cover to travel to Australia. These scientists use various kinds of cover, ranging from the use of misleading historical names for their institutions to the use of names of non-existent institutions.

Features of deception by the PLA

An article from 2002 on the website of a Chinese overseas study agency offers insights into the use of cover. In response to a question asking whether having graduated from a military institution would affect one’s ability to get an overseas visa, the company responded: 

Many military colleges and military units externally have common names (民间称呼) that don’t reveal their military characteristics. NUDT, for example, is externally known as Changsha Institute of Technology. This is the best way [to avoid having your visa application rejected].56

The Changsha Institute of Technology was a PLA institution subsumed by NUDT in 1975.57 While the quote above doesn’t come from an official source, it at least indicates how these unsophisticated but nonetheless effective covers are understood as tools for hiding one’s military background.

Besides using non-existent institutions with innocuous-sounding names as cover, PLA members also claim to be from real civilian institutions in the same regions as their military units. New Zealand MP Yang Jian, for example, who taught intelligence officers at the PLA Foreign Languages Institute in Luoyang, claimed in his New Zealand residency application to have worked at Luoyang University.58 Before moving to New Zealand in 1999, Yang received an Australian Government aid scholarship to study at the Australian National University, earning a master’s degree and doctorate in international relations. During that period, he interned at the Senate Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade, and headed the Canberra Chinese Students and Scholars Association, which retains intimate ties to the Chinese Embassy to this day.59 Yang told media, ‘the system asked me to use the partner university,’ referring to Luoyang University.60

A number of PLA scientists using cover to travel abroad have created LinkedIn profiles using their cover institutions, which may have been used to shore up their claimed affiliations while overseas.61

The use of cover appears to be managed differently by each institution, some of which use cover far more often than others.62 Cover is also not used consistently within each institution. As described below, PLA Information Engineering University (PLAIEU) researchers have both used cover and openly stated their affiliation at the same conferences. It’s unclear whether this indicates that the use of cover is up to the discretion of each researcher or perhaps that it relates to the sensitivity of a researcher’s work or position in the PLA.

NUDT appears to no longer use the ‘Changsha Institute of Technology’ as cover, but it engages in a different kind of deception. A document published by NUDT for students hoping to study abroad advises them that, when providing documentation in their applications to foreign institutions, ‘military and political courses can be excluded’ from their academic records.63 This appears designed to mislead overseas authorities, universities and researchers by downplaying the extent to which NUDT is a military institution and to which these students are military scientists.

The Xi’an Research Institute of High Technology

Scientists from the PLA Rocket Force Engineering University (RFEU, 火箭军工程大学)64, a key research base for the PLA Rocket Force, claim to be from the ‘Xi’an Research Institute of High Technology’ (西安高技术研究所), which appears to only exist on paper.

At least five RFEU scientists claiming to be from the Xi’an Research Institute have travelled overseas as visiting scholars, including one of the PLA’s leading missile experts, Major General Hu Changhua (胡昌华), and three of his close associates at RFEU. General Hu (Figure 5), who heads RFEU’s Missile Testing and Control Simulation Experimental Teaching Centre, visited the University of Duisburg–Essen in Germany for four months in 2008.65 It’s unclear what he worked on in Germany, as he didn’t publish any papers while there, but his work for the PLA focuses on flight control systems and fault diagnosis for missiles.66

Two RFEU scientists who frequently publish with Hu, Zhou Zhijie (周志杰)67 and Wang Zhaoqiang (王兆强),68 were visiting scholars at universities in England; they claim in their English publications to be from the Xi’an Research Institute.69

Figure 5: Major General Hu Changhua, profiled by China Central Television’s military affairs channel in 2016:

‘Right now I’m a professor at RFEU and head of the Military Key Lab on Missile Testing and Control Technology.’ 

Figure 5: Major General Hu Changhua, profiled by China Central Television’s military affairs channel in 2016: ‘Right now I’m a professor at RFEU and head of the Military Key Lab on Missile Testing and Control Technology.’


Source: CCTV, 28 October 2016, YouTube.

Hu Xiaoxiang: a case study

Identifying the Xi’an Research Institute of High Technology as a cover institute helps shed light on the January 2015 expulsion from Norway of a Chinese scientist and his supervisor, a dual citizen of Germany and Iran. The expulsion came after Norwegian authorities determined that the work of the Chinese scientist, later named in court as Hu Xiaoxiang (扈晓翔), could be used to develop hypersonic cruise missiles (Figure 6).70

Figure 6: Hu Xiaoxiang

Hu wrote five papers with his supervisor at the University of Agder, all of which listed the Xi’an Research Institute as his affiliation. The papers focused on air-breathing hypersonic vehicles, which travel at over five times the speed of sound and ‘can carry more payload than ordinary flight vehicles’.71 Hu’s work was supported by a Norwegian Government grant for offshore wind energy research.72

Besides his affiliation with the Xi’an Research Institute, there’s a large body of evidence tying Hu to RFEU. The website of RFEU’s missile research centre states that Hu Xiaoxiang won an award in 2014 for his PhD thesis on hypersonic aircraft, supervised by General Hu Changhua.73 The website also says that in 2014 he received 250,000 renminbi (A$50,000) from the Chinese Government for a three-year research project on hypersonic aircraft (Figure 7).74 In 2016, he was described as a lecturer at the centre, which received 14 awards for missile research between 2010 and 2014.75 In some publications, Hu also listed the Harbin Institute of Technology, a civilian university heavily engaged in military research, as a second affiliation.76

Relations between China and Norway were put on ice when the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Chinese democracy activist Liu Xiaobo in 2010, and the Chinese Government was quick to attack Norway for Hu’s expulsion.77 Only in December 2016 did the two countries ‘normalise’ diplomatic relations. Public statements by Norwegian authorities didn’t explain the Chinese scientist’s military affiliation or mention the Xi’an Research Institute, as the information was likely classified.

Figure 7: A paper published by Hu Xiaoxiang shortly after his expulsion from Norway, stating an affiliation with RFEU in the Chinese version of the abstract but the Xi’an Research Institute in the English version.

A few months later, in September 2015, a court overturned the expulsions. Hu’s lawyer stated after the trial that ‘there is no evidence in the case that my client is part of research collaboration on missiles and weapons with China.’78 The University of Agder lauded the decision as a win for academic freedom.

The Norwegian Government later successfully appealed the overturning of Hu’s supervisor’s expulsion. However, it’s unclear whether any appeal was made in Hu’s own case, which hasn’t been made publicly available.79 Neither the Xi’an Research Institute, Hu Changhua nor RFEU was mentioned in the judge’s ruling on the German-Iranian supervisor’s case or any coverage of the expulsions.

The Zhengzhou Institute of Surveying and Mapping

Among the 40 Chinese military scientists listed as presenting papers at the 9th International Symposium on Mobile Mapping Technology, nine claimed to be from an institution with no apparent military affiliation.80 Most of the other 30 military scientists at the conference, hosted by UNSW in December 2015, were openly from NUDT and a research institute of China North Industries Group Corporation (also known as Norinco Group), China’s largest arms manufacturer; the rest came mainly from the PLA Information Engineering University.

The nine claimed to be from the Zhengzhou Institute of Surveying and Mapping. This institute, which was officially known as the PLA Institute of Surveying and Mapping, no longer exists, having been subsumed in 1999 by PLAIEU—itself a major player in cyber operations and a key training ground for signals intelligence officers.81 The Zhengzhou Institute appears to live on as cover for PLA scientists interacting with foreigners. Nearly 300 peer-reviewed papers have been published by authors claiming to be from the institute.82

The use of the Zhengzhou Institute of Surveying and Mapping as cover doesn’t stop at international conferences. Numerous examples of visiting scholars claiming to be from there have been uncovered for this report. They include Zhu Xinhui (朱新慧), a lecturer at PLAIEU specialising in navigation technology, who visited UNSW from 2015 to 2016.83 In numerous journal articles and in the program of the mobile mapping conference mentioned above, however, she is described as being from the Zhengzhou Institute of Surveying and Mapping.84

Guo Jianfeng (郭建锋), an associate professor at PLAIEU, visited Curtin University for a year in 2014. A specialist on navigation system data processing, Guo was described on the website of Curtin University’s Global Navigation Satellite Systems Research Centre as being on ‘sabbatical leave from the Department of Geodesy of the Institute of Surveying and Mapping, Zhengzhou, China’.85

The Zhengzhou Information Science and Technology Institute

Another cover institute, the Zhengzhou Information Science and Technology Institute (ZISTI), which appears to exist only on paper, has also been widely used by PLAIEU scientists to publish research and travel overseas. More than 1,300 pieces of peer-reviewed literature have been authored by individuals claiming to be from ZISTI.86

One paper in a Chinese-language journal by a PLAIEU researcher, which includes an English version of the abstract and author information, clearly shows that ZISTI is a cover institute (Figure 8). The paper’s Chinese text describes the first author as affiliated with PLAIEU, but the English version describes the
same author as affiliated with ZISTI.87 Nearly all of the authors sampled who claimed an affiliation with ZISTI could be shown to be working at PLAIEU.

Figure 8: Chinese and English versions of a paper published by a PLAIEU scientist, demonstrating the use of the Zhengzhou Information Science and Technology Institute as cover.

Scientists claiming to be from ZISTI have attended international conferences both inside and outside China. For example, seven researchers affiliated with ZISTI are listed in the program of a conference on signal processing at the Gold Coast in Australia in 2014. Experts from American, Australian and Korean
defence research agencies were also in attendance.88

As with the Zhengzhou Institute of Surveying and Mapping, ZISTI has been used as cover for PLA scientists travelling overseas as visiting scholars. For example, Zhu Yijun (朱义君) is an associate professor at PLAIEU specialising in signals engineering.89 Claiming to be from ZISTI, in 2011 he visited Canada’s McMaster University, where he worked on wireless communications technology with wide-ranging military applications.90

PLAIEU scientists claiming to be from ZISTI have also travelled to the US as visiting scholars and for conferences.91

Espionage and intellectual property theft

In addition to their overt activities, PLA researchers, especially those who haven’t been forthcoming about their military affiliations, may engage in espionage or steal intellectual property while overseas. The PLA engages in such high levels of espionage that in 2014 the US Government took the unusual step of publicly indicting five Chinese military hackers.92 Military scientists abroad who regularly communicate with superiors in China, receive visits by superiors while overseas and return home in the middle of their time abroad for ‘remedial education’, as described in the examples outlined above, offer safe and convenient channels for Chinese intelligence agencies to access sensitive information from overseas.93

Amateur collectors with STEM expertise have been implicated in a high proportion of intellectual property theft and espionage cases involving China.94 Scientists and engineers involved in military research projects, while they might not have received formal training as spies, are uniquely qualified to identify and exfiltrate valuable information to overcome specific hurdles in the development of new technologies.

Should universities collaborate with the PLA?

Assessing the costs and benefits of research collaboration with the PLA shows that it comes with significant security risks while offering unclear benefits. It isn’t in the national interest of most of the countries examined in this report to help build the capabilities of a rival military. Other forms of cooperation with the Chinese military, such as joint exercises and exchanges that build understanding and communication, are largely beneficial but distinct from the kinds of research collaboration addressed in this report.

The benefits of research collaboration with the Chinese military are difficult to measure, but could include the following:

  • Training PLA scientists and working with them leads to scientific developments and published research while attracting some funding. 
  • A small proportion of collaboration with the PLA appears sufficiently transparent and falls into areas of fundamental research such that the benefits may outweigh security risks. One possible example is cooperation between the American and Chinese governments on the multinational Daya Bay Reactor Neutrino Experiment, which involves NUDT.

A number of benefits usually associated with research collaboration with militaries and foreign countries haven’t been observed in PLA collaboration:

  • PLA collaboration doesn’t lead to long-term improvement in the talent of institutions and countries accepting PLA scientists, as the PLA claims that 100 per cent of scientists sent abroad by NUDT in the years before 2013 returned to China on time.95 
  • The forms of PLA collaboration studied in this report don’t promote understanding and relationships between militaries, as they aren’t military exchanges and often aren’t overt.
  • While overseas, PLA scientists remain under the close watch of the CCP, which works to ensure that they remain loyal and aren’t influenced by their experience living in free societies. 
  • It’s improbable that PLA scientists working with overseas civilian researchers would share with or disclose to those researchers any significant research breakthroughs of military value.

There are many risks and costs associated with current approaches to training and collaborating with PLA scientists:

  • Training PLA scientists improves the scientific talent and knowledge of a military treated by many as a strategic competitor.96
  • PLA scientists often engage in deception in their interactions with foreign institutions and their staff, making it difficult for those collaborating with them to take appropriate security precautions.
  • PLA scientists could gather intelligence and steal technology while they’re overseas, especially if they’re hiding their military affiliations.
  • Failures to address concerns about PLA collaboration and to develop policies differentiating it from wider engagement with China risk tarring all research ties with China with the same brush.
  • Research collaboration with the PLA contributes to technology that may be used against Australia and its partners in a conflict or for intelligence collection.
  • Universities with ties to the PLA risk eroding trust between themselves and funders of research, such as defence research agencies, scientific agencies and industry.
  • Universities risk reputational damage by collaborating with a non-allied military.
  • Public funding worth millions of dollars is being used for collaboration with a non-allied military, with little to no input from taxpayers.

Current policy and legislation are inadequate

Export controls are the primary mechanism by which countries seek to manage the supply of sensitive technology and goods to overseas entities. However, the ability of export control laws to effectively manage the risks posed by PLA research collaboration is limited. In Australia, few cases of research or cooperation contrary to our national interests are believed to have been prevented through the Defence Trade Controls Act 2012.97 The current review of the Act offers an opportunity to address some of these limitations.

There are a few reasons for these difficulties. First, intangible transfer of technology—the primary form of technology transfer taking place through the kinds of collaboration studied in this paper— is extremely difficult to control in practice because it doesn’t involve the export of physical goods.98 Second, the Act doesn’t regulate the supply of controlled technology, which includes instruction and training, to individuals in Australia even if they’re PLA members. Third, some of this collaboration covers emerging technologies, such as quantum physics, that are important but not included in the Defence and Strategic Goods List, as their applications aren’t yet fully known. Export control lists tend to be slow to incorporate emerging technologies, so regulatory power can come well after issues become apparent. Fourth, the Act doesn’t regulate the supply of controlled technology by Australians when they’re outside of Australia, such as training given to PLA members by Australian academics visiting China.
 

Recommendations

The PLA’s collaboration with foreign universities is growing and the expansion of international ties remains one of NUDT’s priorities.99 The developments outlined in this report warrant more attention and different approaches from those currently employed by most governments and universities. Responses to PLA collaboration need to be informed by clear government policies and move beyond export controls, using the full range of tools available to governments and universities. The Australian Government, for example, can do more to work in partnership with our research sector to advance scientific progress while protecting national security and ensuring that relevant research doesn’t advance the Chinese military’s capabilities.

Based on the findings of this report, it is recommended that governments pursue the following measures:

Deepen discussions within government on PLA collaboration to determine how it relates to the national interest

  • Determine what kinds of collaboration with the PLA should be further controlled or even prohibited and establish clear policy on engagement with PLA research organisations and personnel.
  • Foster international discussions on PLA collaboration to develop multilateral responses.
  • Develop interagency responses to PLA collaboration to ensure better integration of efforts by defence and export control agencies, intelligence agencies and immigration agencies.
  • Share information about cases and trends in PLA collaboration, particularly cases of deception by PLA scientists, with partners across the globe.

Increase communication and outreach to universities, companies and publics

  • Establish a committee bringing together members of the national security community and university leaders. This committee could serve as a forum to share key information and foster a more cooperative working environment while also providing a space for the university sector and national security community to better understand each other’s perspectives. The US Federal Bureau of Investigation’s National Security Higher Education Advisory Board is a useful model to emulate.100
  • Ensure that companies funding research at universities are aware of any PLA collaboration and understand future measures to control such collaboration.
  • Politicians and senior public servants should better articulate what’s in the national interest and publicly explain why advancing China’s military capabilities isn’t in the national interest.101

Improve the scrutiny of visa applications by foreign military personnel

  • Enhance and better coordinate efforts by government agencies such as Australia’s Department of Home Affairs, Department of Defence and Australian Security Intelligence Organisation to ensure that military scientists applying for visas are identified and properly vetted.102
  • Create a list of Chinese and other non-allied military and military-linked research institutions, including civilian universities heavily engaged in military research, for use by immigration officials.

Re-examine export controls

  • The Australian Government should consider further controlling technology transfer to certain end users. Transfers of controlled technology to PLA members and civilians heavily engaged in military research should be restricted regardless of their geographical location.
  • The Australian Government should create a list of entities posing national security risks that are subject to special export licence requirements, modelled on the US’s Entity List.
  • The government should help universities train and provide resources for staff with export control compliance duties.
  • Work continuously with experienced scientists in emerging technology fields to determine whether and how emerging technologies should be controlled.
  • Ensure that universities are fully complying with controls relating to the intangible transfer of technology in their collaboration with the PLA.

Regulate scientific training given to foreign military personnel

  • Introduce legislation that draws on the US Code of Federal Regulations’ rules on defence services, which require those offering training to foreign military personnel to first receive a waiver from the US Department of Defense.103 This could take the form of an expansion of the Defence Trade Controls Act that restricts technology transfer to members of certain governments and organisations.

Regulate the use of government resources in collaboration with the Chinese military and other non-allied militaries

  • Update internal policies in government research institutions such as CSIRO to limit or ban collaboration with non-allied militaries, particularly in dual-use areas.
  • Funding bodies such as the Australian Research Council should prohibit funding in some areas from being used in collaboration with non-allied militaries.
  • Carefully evaluate any collaboration with PLA scientists on government-funded projects, particularly defence projects.

Increase government and other funding for research in strategic research areas

  • Fields such as artificial intelligence and quantum physics should receive more government funding to ensure that talent and ideas stay in Australia.
  • Universities working in strategic research areas should be encouraged to collaborate with allied military and defence countries rather than non-allied militaries.

Limit problematic forms of foreign investment in strategic research areas

  • Investment by Chinese defence companies such as China Electronics Technology Group Corporation into strategically important fields should be prohibited.104

Universities should also pursue the following measures:

Build understanding of PLA collaboration

  • Produce credible and thorough assessments of the extent of PLA collaboration on campuses.
  • Develop processes for managing PLA collaboration so that security risks can be identified and resolved

Raise awareness among employees

  • Ensure that those interacting with members of non-allied militaries take appropriate security precautions.

Exercise greater oversight of visiting scholar and student application

Develop internal policies on collaboration with foreign military personnel

  • Require employees to receive approval before collaborating with or training members of non-allied militaries.

Important disclaimer

This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in relation to the subject matter covered. It is provided with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering any form of professional or other advice or services. No person should rely on the contents of this publication without first obtaining advice from a qualified professional person.


© The Australian Strategic Policy Institute Limited 2018

This publication is subject to copyright. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers. Notwithstanding the above, educational institutions (including schools, independent colleges, universities and TAFEs) are granted permission to make copies of copyrighted works strictly for educational purposes without explicit permission from ASPI and free of charge.

First published October 2018

  1. This estimate has sought to exclude PLA medical scientists and doctors by not counting those affiliated with PLA medical institutions. Media reports, many of which are cited in this report, were one important source for determining the number of PLA scientists sent abroad. Feng Chunmei 冯春梅, Cai Weibin 蔡渭滨, Li Zhi 李治, ‘Guofang keji daxue shixiang weilai zhanzheng de rencai hangmu’ 国防科技大学 驶向未来 战争的人才航母 [NUDT—An aircraft carrier of talent steering towards future wars], Renmin Ribao 人民日报, 8 August 2013, online, claims that NUDT had sent 1,600 scientists overseas as students or visiting scholars ‘in recent years’. Assuming the 1,600 figure describes the number of NUDT scientists sent abroad between 2007, when the PLA substantially increased the number of scientists it sent overseas, and 2013, this gives roughly 230 NUDT scientists sent overseas each year. Conservatively, this indicates that well over 2,000 NUDT scientists have been sent abroad since 2007. Accounting for the fact that NUDT is responsible for approximately 80% of publications written by PLA scientists with overseas scientists and assuming that represents the proportion of PLA scientists overseas who are from NUDT, this means that more than 2,500 PLA scientists have been sent overseas since 2007. This estimate was also supported by a second set of open-source data which, to prevent the information from being removed, has not been revealed. ↩︎
  2. New Zealand is not counted here, despite being a Five Eyes country. It has high levels of PLA collaboration, especially relative to its population, but is not among the top countries for collaboration more generally. ↩︎
  3. C Uhlmann, ‘China an “extreme” threat to Australia: ASIO’, 9 News, 31 January 2018, online; Bill Gertz, ‘FBI director warns China is America’s most significant intelligence threat’, The Washington Free Beacon, 19 July 2018, online; ‘German intelligence unmasks alleged covert Chinese social media profiles’, Reuters, 10 December 2017. For a discussion of the case of Huang Jing in Singapore, see John Garnaut, ‘Australia’s China reset’, The Monthly, August 2018. ↩︎
  4. Wang Wowen 王握文, ‘Zouchu guomen, dang zuzhi shenghuo “bu diaoxian”’, 走出国门,党组织生活’不掉线’ [Exiting the country, they stay connected with the life of party organisations], Jiefangjunbao 解放军报, 1 July 2015, online. ↩︎
  5. One of the only papers to address research collaboration with the PLA is Elsa Kania, Technological entanglement, ASPI, Canberra, 28 June 2018, online. ↩︎
  6. Section 1286 of the John S. McCain National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2019 offers an important starting point for policies on scientific engagement with China and the PLA, seeking to protect scientists from undue foreign influence, safeguard important information and support the growth of domestic talent. ↩︎
  7. Richard Holt, AAAS statement on White House proclamation on immigration and visas, American Association for the Advancement of Science, 25 September 2017, online. ↩︎
  8. See Yangyang Cheng, ‘The future of particle physics will live and die in China’, Foreign Policy, 2 November 2017, for an eye-opening discussion of the level of political involvement in China’s scientific research, even research into particle physics, online. ↩︎
  9. DJ Howard, FN Laird, ‘The new normal in funding university science’, Issues in Science and Technology, 2013, 30(1), online; M Clarke, ‘Federal government university budget leaves 10,000 places unfunded, Universities Australia says’, ABC News, 18 January 2018, online; N Whigham, ‘Medical and scientific research at a crossroads in Australia as funding stagnates’, News.com.au, 7 November 2016. ↩︎
  10. UNSW, for example, has partnered with the Chinese Government’s Torch Program, attracting tens of millions of dollars in R&D funding from Chinese companies. See ‘UNSW celebrates first anniversary of Torch partnership with China’, UNSW Media, 28 March 2017, online. ↩︎
  11. It appears that most of those sent abroad are PLA ‘civilian cadres’ (文职干部), rather than ranking military officers. While they’re counted as members of the PLA, civilian cadres aren’t combat personnel and often work in technical areas, such as scientific research. See information about civilian cadres at the following link. ↩︎
  12. Peer-reviewed literature is the most accessible but not the only measure of PLA collaboration. Other facets of PLA collaboration include visiting and lecturing at PLA institutions, supervising PLA students and visiting scholars, which are correlated with but distinct from the level of peer-reviewed literature. Findings on peer-reviewed literature by PLA scientists with foreign researchers are based on searches in Scopus, the largest database of peer-reviewed literature, covering 16 PLA institutions and aliases. Hong Kong wasn’t counted together with the PRC mainland. Note that publications by PLA scientists from medical institutions have been excluded. The following institutions and aliases were included in the search: National University of Defense Technology, National Key Laboratory for Parallel and Distributed Processing, PLA University of Science and Technology, PLA Information Engineering University, Zhengzhou Information Science and Technology Institute, Zhengzhou Institute of Surveying and Mapping, Air Force Engineering University, Second Artillery Engineering College, Xi’an Research Institute of High Technology, Academy of Armored Force Engineering, Academy of Equipment Command and Technology, National Digital Switching System Engineering and Technological Research Center, Northwest Institute of Nuclear Technology, China Aerodynamics Research and Development Center, Naval University of Engineering and PLA Electronic Engineering Institute. ↩︎
  13. See the section on international ties, which discusses sending students abroad and building academic ties separately from military exchanges, in Liu Hang (ed.), 2015 National University of Defence Technology admissions guide, online. ↩︎
  14. The Army Engineering University was formed in August 2017 through the merger of the PLA University of Science and Technology and a number of other army colleges. See Anonymous, ‘Lujun gongcheng daxue jiepai, you gongchengbing xueyuan deng 5 suo yuanxiao heping zujian’ 陆军工程大学揭牌,由工程兵学院等5所院校合并组建 [The Army Engineering University is unveiled, formed by the merger of the Engineering College and five other institutions], Pengpai 澎湃, 3 August 2017, online. ↩︎
  15. Brian Boyle, ‘Chinese partnerships are vital for universities and global research’, Financial Review, 29 October 2017, online. ↩︎
  16. Clive Hamilton, Alex Joske, ‘Australian universities are helping China’s military surpass the United States’, Sydney Morning Herald, 24 October 2017, online. ↩︎
  17. Clive Hamilton, Silent Invasion, Hardy Grant Books, 2018, 190–193. ↩︎
  18. Hamilton & Joske, ‘Australian universities are helping China’s military surpass the United States’. ↩︎
  19. Mengjian Zhu, Moshe Ben Shalom, Artem Mishchsenko, Vladimir Falko, Kostya Novoselov, Andre Geim, ‘Supercurrent and multiple Andreev reflections in micrometer-long ballistic graphene Josephson junctions’, Nanoscale, 2018, issue 6, online. ↩︎

Huawei and Australia’s 5G Network

Over the course of 2018, ASPI staff and writers for The Strategist participated in a dynamic public debate about the participation of Chinese telecommunications equipment manufacturer Huawei in Australia’s 5G network.

Australia’s 5G network is critical national infrastructure and this was one of the most important policy decisions the government had to make this year.

ASPI felt it was vital to stimulate and lead a frank and robust public discussion, in Australia and throughout the wider region, which analysed and debated the national security, cybersecurity and international implications of Huawei’s involvement in this infrastructure.

In this report, in chronological order, you’ll read a range of views written up in The Strategist, The Australian and The Financial Times.

These articles tackle a variety of issues surrounding the decision, including the cybersecurity dimension, the broader Australia–China relationship, other states’ experiences with Huawei, the Chinese Government’s approach to cyber espionage and intellectual property theft and, importantly, the Chinese party-state’s view of state security and intelligence work.

When it comes to important national security, cybersecurity and critical infrastructure decisions, ASPI will continue to stimulate Australian public discourse and fill gaps in global debates.

We also encourage the Australian Government to take a more forward-leaning approach to its participation in public discourse so that the public and key stakeholders are as informed as possible when hard and complicated policy decisions like this need to be made.

Hacking for ca$h

Is China still stealing Western IP?

Introduction

In September 2015, following mounting pressure exerted by the US on China, Chinese President Xi Jinping agreed to a US proposal that neither country would steal the other’s intellectual property (IP) for commercial gain. This bilateral agreement was quickly expanded when the US succeeded in inserting similar language into the November 2015 G20 communique. A handful of other countries also pursued their own bilateral agreements.

Three years after the inking of the US–China agreement, this report examines China’s adherence to those agreements in three countries: the US, Germany and Australia. This work involved a combination of desktop research as well as interviews with senior government officials in all three countries.

The rationale for this multi-country report was to examine patterns and trends among countries that had struck agreements with China.

In all three countries, it was found that China was clearly, or likely to be, in breach of its agreements. China has adapted its approach to commercial cyber espionage, and attacks are becoming more targeted and use more sophisticated tradecraft. This improved tradecraft may also be leading to an underestimation of the scale of ongoing activity.

Despite initial hopes that China had accepted a distinction between (legitimate) traditional political–military espionage and (illegal) espionage to advantage commercial companies, assessments from the three countries suggest that this might be wishful thinking.

China appears to have come to the conclusion that the combination of improved techniques and more focused efforts have reduced Western frustration to levels that will be tolerated. Unless the targeted states ramp up pressure and potential costs, China is likely to continue its current approach.

United States

By Adam Segal

In September 2015, presidents Barack Obama and Xi Jinping stood next to each other and declared that neither the US nor the Chinese government ‘will conduct or knowingly support cyber-enabled theft of intellectual property, including trade secrets or other confidential business information for commercial advantage’.1 Despite significant scepticism about whether China would uphold its pledge, cybersecurity companies and US officials suggested that the number of attacks did in fact decline
in the first year of the agreement. China inked similar deals with Australia, Canada, Germany and the UK, and, in November 2015, China, Brazil, Russia, the US and other members of the Group of Twenty accepted the norm against conducting cyber-enabled theft of IP.2 The agreement has been held up as evidence that a policy of public ‘naming and shaming’ tied to a threat of sanctions can change state actions, and as a success by the US and its allies in defining a norm of state behaviour in cyberspace.

There is, however, increasing evidence that Chinese hackers re-emerged in 2017 and are now violating both the letter and the spirit of the agreement. CrowdStrike, FireEye, PwC, Symantec and other companies have reported attacks on US companies, and the Trump administration has claimed that ‘Evidence indicates that China continues its policy and practice, spanning more than a decade, of using cyber intrusions to target US firms to access their sensitive commercial information and trade secrets.’3 The initial downturn in activity appears less to be the result of US pressure and more of an internal reorganisation of cyber forces in the People’s Liberation Army (PLA). Moreover, it’s increasingly clear that the number of attacks isn’t the correct metric for the Sino-US cyber relationship. A decline in the number of attacks doesn’t necessarily mean a decrease in their impact on US economic interests, as Chinese operators have significantly improved their tradecraft.

Washington and its allies will soon have to decide what they’re going to do (again) about Chinese industrial cyber espionage. The Trump administration’s approach so far has been indirect, raising China-based hacking in the context of a larger critique of Beijing’s industrial policy and failure to protect IP. Without significant pushback, China is likely to believe that it has reached a new equilibrium with Washington defined by an absolute smaller number of higher impact cyber operations.

The challenge of industrial cyber espionage

For at least a decade and a half, Chinese hackers have conducted a widespread campaign of industrial cyber espionage, targeting private sector companies in an effort to steal IP, trade secrets and other information that could help China become economically more competitive. President Xi has set the goal for China to become a ‘world leading’ science and technology power by 2049, and the country has significantly ramped-up spending on research and development, expanded enrolment in science, technology, engineering and mathematics disciplines at universities, and pushed industrial policy in areas such as semiconductors, artificial intelligence and quantum computing. However, the country also continues to rely on industrial espionage directed at high-technology and advanced manufacturing companies. Hackers have also reportedly targeted the negotiation strategies and financial information of energy, banking, law, pharmaceuticals and other companies. In 2013, the Commission on the Theft of American Intellectual Property, chaired by former Director of National Intelligence Admiral Dennis Blair and former US Ambassador to China Jon Huntsman, estimated that the theft of IP totalled US$300 billion (A$412 billion, €257 billion) annually, and that 50–80% of thefts
were by China.4

The US responded to state-sponsored Chinese cyberattacks with a two-step process. First, Washington created a distinction between legitimate espionage for political and military purposes and the cyber-enabled theft of IP. As President Obama framed it:

Every country in the world, large and small, engages in intelligence gathering. There’s a big difference between China wanting to figure out how can they find out what my talking points are when I’m meeting with the Japanese which is standard and a hacker directly connected with the Chinese government or the Chinese military breaking into Apple’s software systems to see if they can obtain the designs for the latest Apple product. That’s theft. And we can’t tolerate that.5

Espionage against defence industries, such as the theft of highly sensitive data related to undersea warfare, first reported in June 2018, would be considered legitimate, and the onus would be on the defender to keep hackers out of its systems.6

Second, Washington directly and increasingly publicly confronted Beijing. In the winter of 2013, the incident response firm Mandiant, now part of FireEye, put out a report tracing cyber espionage on American companies to Unit 61938 of the PLA, located in a building on the outskirts of Shanghai.7 A few days later, the Department of Homeland Security provided internet service providers with the IPs of hacking groups in China. In March 2013, at a speech at the Asia Society, National Security Advisor Tom Donilon spoke of ‘serious concerns about sophisticated, targeted theft of confidential business information and proprietary technologies through cyber intrusions emanating from China on an unprecedented scale’.8 When the two met at Sunnylands in June 2013, then President Obama warned President Xi that the hacking could severely damage the bilateral relationship.

In May 2014, the Federal Bureau of Investigation indicted five PLA hackers for stealing the business plans and other IP of Westinghouse Electric, United States Steel Corporation and other companies.9 In April 2015, the President signed an executive order that would allow for economic sanctions against companies or individuals that profited from the ill-gotten gains of cyber theft. The order threatened to block financial transactions routed through the US, limit access to the US market and prevent company executives from travelling through the US. The Washington Post reported in August 2015 that the administration planned to levy those sanctions against Chinese companies.10 Worried that sanctions or indictments would cast a pall over the September presidential summit, Meng Jianzhu, a member of the political bureau of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party, flew to Washington to make a deal.

First year decline

In the first year, the available evidence suggested that Beijing was upholding the agreement and that the overall level of Chinese hacking had declined. FireEye released a report in June 2016 that showed the number of network compromises by the China-based hacking groups that it was tracking dropping from 60 in February 2013 to fewer than 10 by May 2016.11 However, FireEye noted that Chinese hackers could drop the total number of attacks while increasing their sophistication. Around the same time, US Assistant Attorney General John Carlin confirmed the company’s findings that attacks were fewer but more focused and calculated.

As the report also noted, the decline began before September 2015, undermining the causal link between US policy and Chinese behaviour. There were two internal factors in play. First, soon after taking office, Xi launched a massive and sustained anticorruption campaign. Many hackers were launching attacks for private gain after work, misappropriating state resources by using the infrastructure they had built during official hours. Hacking for personal profit was caught up in a broad
clampdown on illegal activities.

Second, the PLA was engaged in an internal reorganisation, consolidating forces and control over activities. Cyber operations had been spread across 3PLA and 4PLA units, and the General Staff Department Third Department had been managing at least 12 operational bureaus and three research institutes. In December 2015, China established its new Strategic Support Force, whose responsibilities include electronic warfare, cyber offence and defence, and psychological warfare. In effect, PLA cyber forces were told to concentrate on operations in support of military goals and move out of industrial espionage.

The first publicly reported cyber espionage attempts in the wake of the agreement were either against military targets or involved the theft of dual-use technologies that would fall in the grey zone. Cyber industrial espionage attacks didn’t end, but instead were transferred to units connected with the Ministry of State Security.12 While the organisation of these groups is less well understood, the ministry appears more willing than PLA groups to use contractors to maintain plausible deniability and reduce the risk of attribution.

Several US cybersecurity company analysts have described the ministry groups’ tradecraft as significantly better than that displayed by the PLA.13 Hackers have made more use of encryption and gone after cloud providers and other IT services that would provide access to numerous targets. In April 2017, for example, security researchers at PwC UK and BAE Systems claimed that China-based hackers were targeting companies through their managed IT service providers.14 The Israeli cybersecurity company Intezer Labs concluded that Chinese hackers embedded malware in the popular file-cleaning program CCleaner.15 In June 2018, Symantec attributed attacks on satellite communications and telecommunication companies in the US and Southeast Asia to a China-based group.16

Outlook

Almost three years after the agreement, judgements on its effectiveness are much harsher. While a former intelligence official argued that US efforts did succeed in getting Beijing to acknowledge a difference between the cyber-enabled theft of IP and political–military espionage, other security researchers were more sceptical. As one put it, ‘Beijing never intended to stop commercial espionage. They just intended to stop getting caught.’ Another believed that Chinese policymakers decided to get credit for a decline in activity that was inevitable in the wake of the PLA reorganisation—a move that had been long in the works.

The Trump administration has pressed Beijing on cyberespionage but as part of much bigger push on trade policy and economic security. In November 2017, the Justice Department indicted three Chinese nationals employed by Chinese cybersecurity firm Boyusec, charging them with hacking into the computer systems of Moody’s Analytics, Siemens AG, and GPS developer Trimble Inc. ‘for the purpose of commercial advantage and private financial gain’.17 US Government officials reportedly asked for Chinese Government help in stopping Boyusec’s activities, but received no reply. Despite Recorded Future and FireEye claiming a connection between Boyusec and the Ministry of State Security, the indictment didn’t call out Chinese Government support for the hackers.18

The US Trade Representative’s March 2018 investigation of China’s policies and practices related to tech transfer and IP states that the US:

has been closely monitoring China’s cyber activities since this [the September 2015] consensus was reached, and the evidence indicates that cyber intrusions into US commercial networks in line with Chinese industrial policy goals continue. Beijing’s cyber espionage against US companies persists and continues to evolve.19

A draft trade framework allegedly provided by US negotiators to their Chinese counterparts, which circulated on Twitter and Weibo in May 2018, calls on Beijing to ‘immediately cease the targeting of American technology and intellectual property through cyber operations, economic espionage, counterfeiting, and piracy’.20

The current trade war with China has two sources: US concern about the bilateral trade deficit, and opposition to Beijing’s use of industrial policy and the theft of IP to compete in high-technology areas. While President Trump has been focused on the deficit, those within the administration pressuring Beijing on its mercantilism should push the cyber issue further up the bilateral agenda. A more direct policy would include a statement from a high-level US official, perhaps Secretary of State Michael Pompeo, that the hacking has resumed and that the US is prepared to use Executive Order 13694, ‘Blocking the Property of Certain Persons Engaging in Significant Malicious Cyber-Enabled Activities’.21 Soon after, Washington would sanction individuals involved in the hacking as well as the firms that benefit from it.

Even if the White House were to follow such a policy line, it’s likely that Beijing will continue industrial cyber espionage. James Mulvenon argues that Chinese policymakers now believe that they’ve reached a new equilibrium with the US. Shifting industrial cyber espionage to the Ministry of State Security and deploying a higher level of tradecraft have created an equivalent of the hacking conducted by the US National Security Agency. If this is the case, it means that Beijing never truly accepted the distinction that Washington promoted between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ hacking, between cyber-enabled theft to support the competitiveness of Chinese industry and political–military espionage. Instead, Chinese policymakers saw the issue in terms of a high level of relatively ‘noisy’ activity (for which they were likely to get caught and be called out on). Bringing the hacking more in line with what it believes the National Security Agency conducts—a smaller number of hacks that nevertheless give the US large-scale access to Chinese assets—has, in Beijing’s view, resolved the issue. This isn’t the resolution the US hoped for when it first announced the September 2015 agreement, but it may be the one it has to live with now.

Australia

By Fergus Hanson and Tom Uren

The agreement

On 21 April 2017, Following the groundbreaking Obama–Xi agreement in September 2015 and the G20’s acceptance of the norm against the ‘ICT-enabled theft of intellectual property’,22 Australia and China reached their own bilateral agreement. Buried somewhat within the joint statement that followed the inaugural Australia–China High-Level Security Dialogue was a paragraph on commercial cyber espionage:

Australia and China agreed not to conduct or support cyber-enabled theft of intellectual property, trade secrets or confidential business information with the intent of obtaining competitive advantage.23 

As with previous agreements, the statement made an implicit distinction between tolerable espionage for political–military reasons and unacceptable espionage for commercial gain.

Both countries also agreed to act in accordance with the reports of the UN Group of Governmental Experts. The two countries agreed to establish a mechanism to discuss cybersecurity and cybercrime issues with a view to preventing cyber incidents that could create problems between them. This was highlighted in Australia’s International Cyber Engagement Strategy, in which Australia’s dialogues with other states, including China, were characterised as ‘an opportunity to deepen understanding of responsible state behaviour in cyberspace and foster cooperation to deter and respond to malicious cyber activities’.24

In China, the agreement received very limited attention. Xinhua produced a translation of the joint statement, which was then reproduced by the People’s Daily and posted on the Minister of Justice’s website.25

In Australia it received more attention, but the government wasn’t naive about the prospects for success. The Ambassador for Cyber Affairs, Tobias Feakin, was reported as saying ‘We do go into these things with our eyes wide open.’26

Pre-agreement commercial cyber espionage

Reliable public accounts of nation-state cyber espionage in Australia are hard to come by. Both government and industry have been reticent about openly attributing hacks and data breaches to particular nations. The Australian Government has also only more recently begun to ramp up its efforts to deal with the challenge of cybersecurity. The 2009–10 annual report of the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (ASIO) stated that ‘cyber espionage is an emerging issue’.27 Since that time, ASIO’s annual reports have consistently mentioned that cyber espionage affecting commercial interests and for commercial intelligence is occurring, although details of what’s been stolen and by whom are omitted.

The Australian Cyber Security Centre (ACSC) Threat reports, issued from 2015, have also consistently mentioned threats to commercial IP and to other sensitive information, such as negotiation strategies or business plans.28 But, again, the reports fail to provide enough detail to determine whether it was Chinese espionage that occurred for commercial advantage.

While not publicly named, China is regarded as Australia’s primary cyber adversary, including in the area of IP theft. The fact that it remains unnamed in public statements from the government is perhaps the start of the explanation of why Australia’s policy response so far has been ineffective.

The miners

Australia is a large and significant exporter of iron ore, nickel, coal and other mineral resources to China. Iron ore is particularly significant in the trading relationship—China is the world’s largest importer and Australia the largest exporter, and in 2017 over 80% of Australian iron ore exports were to China.29

Although iron ore contracts are now based on monthly average prices, in the lead-up to 2010 iron ore prices were negotiated between buyers and sellers in fixed one-year contracts.30 Iron ore exports to China were large and growing rapidly, and the price negotiations had tremendous importance for the companies, economies and governments involved. Furthermore, a possible takeover bid for Rio Tinto from BHP led the state-owned Aluminium Corporation of China, Chinalco, to take an overnight 9% stake in Rio Tinto.

In this high-stakes environment, all three major iron ore miners in Australia were the victims of cyber espionage that was informally attributed to China.31 Given the large volume of iron ore trade, any information that could provide advantage in negotiations would be tremendously valuable. In 2012, MI5 Director-General Jonathan Evans revealed that an attack had cost a company—subsequently revealed to be Rio Tinto—an estimated £800 million (US$1.04 billion, A$1.43 billion, €891 million) in lost revenue, ‘not just through intellectual property loss but also from commercial disadvantage in contractual negotiations’.32

It also seems that a bribery case against a Rio Tinto executive and Chinese-born Australian citizen was used to enable further cyber espionage. It’s reported that their Rio Tinto credentials were used to download material from the Rio Tinto corporate network after they were arrested in China.33 If true, this sensational allegation directly links Chinese law enforcement actions to commercial espionage.

Since 2010, the mechanisms that determine prices are now based on market fluctuations, so the very strong incentives to gather information on annual price negotiations have been diminished. However, the high priority that the Chinese Communist Party gives to the secure supply of raw materials means there’s still an ongoing interest in gathering commercial intelligence on Australian mining companies.

The Bureau of Meteorology

In 2015, the Australian Bureau of Meteorology was compromised and a foreign intelligence service — subsequently reported to be Chinese34 — searched for and copied ‘an unknown quantity of documents from the Bureau’s network’.35 In this case it’s hard to definitively categorise the underlying motive. There doesn’t seem to be a direct motive to gather government or defence intelligence, but the bureau’s network could have been used as a launching point for further attacks into government networks. IP theft seems likely, as the bureau is a leading science-based services organisation in Australia, has strong international research partnerships and is involved in international research and development programs. Its compromise also provides the opportunity for widespread economic disruption, given that airlines, logistics organisations and industries such as agriculture rely on its services to operate. Its significant weather forecasting and supercomputer expertise would be valuable, too. But for all that this potential IP would be worth, it’s hard to confirm that it was both stolen and used for commercial advantage.

Operation Cloud Hopper

In April 2017, BAE Systems and PwC UK released a report into what they called Operation Cloud Hopper,36 a systematic global espionage campaign that compromised managed IT service providers, which remotely manage customer IT and end-user systems and generally have direct and unfettered access to client networks. The successful compromise of managed service providers for espionage allows considerable access to client networks and data.

This operation was attributed to a China-based group that’s widely known as APT 10 and Stone Panda. CERT Australia identified 144 partner companies that could have been affected.37 However, it isn’t publicly known which companies were affected and what was stolen. 

Summary

Official statements from ASIO and the ACSC indicate that commercial espionage before 2017 was a large and growing concern, but several factors make it difficult to determine who was stealing data and why they were doing it.

First, both government and business remain reluctant to formally attribute attacks to states because of both technical uncertainty (it takes time, skill and effort to develop high levels of confidence) and because of fears of damaging possibly important diplomatic, economic and intelligence relationships. 

Second, Australia implemented a data breach notification law only in February 2018, and that law doesn’t apply to the theft of IP and commercial-in-confidence data. 

Finally, before the ACSC was formally assigned whole-of-economy responsibilities in July 2018, there was no cybersecurity centre of gravity that could determine whether formal attribution was desirable and necessary.

Post-agreement commercial cyber espionage

The Australian National University hack

In July 2018, it was reported that Chinese hackers had ‘successfully infiltrated the IT systems at the Australian National University’ (ANU)38 and that a remediation effort had been ongoing for several months. As with the Bureau of Meteorology, it’s hard to definitively determine what was stolen and for what purpose. The ANU conducts research that has a wide range of applications, including defence, strategic and commercial applications, and it isn’t known what was stolen.

Many ANU graduates subsequently work in the Australian Government, and the ANU also hosts the National Security College, which conducts courses for defence and intelligence officials. Access to ANU IT systems would possibly be of value to enable follow-on espionage. Disentangling all the possible uses that access to ANU could have been used for is impossible without a forensic accounting of what was stolen. In August, the university advised that ‘current advice is that no staff, student or research data has been taken’, although that assessment was questioned by the International Cyber Policy Centre.39

The only publicly known target of Chinese hacking—the ANU—isn’t directly a government or military espionage target, but it’s possible the stolen data won’t be used for commercial gain (and therefore falls outside the scope of China’s agreement with Australia).

Outlook

Despite China’s commitments to Australia and the limited public evidence of commercial cyber espionage, Beijing doesn’t appear to have ceased commercial cyber espionage activities in Australia. However, assessing the scale of China’s ongoing commercial cyber espionage activity is difficult. The Australian Government has been reluctant to publicly name and shame adversary states engaging in cyber theft for commercial gain. China has also improved its tradecraft, making detection
harder and perhaps leading to a mistaken perception that activity has become more focused. This professionalisation followed the exposure of the PLA’s previously sloppy tradecraft and probably the internal restructure (mentioned in the ‘United States’ section of this report) that shifted responsibility for commercial cyber espionage from the PLA to the Ministry of State Security. Australia also has relatively less commercially attractive IP than countries such as the US and Germany, so few examples come to light.

Official statements from ASIO and the ACSC don’t reflect a significant decline in the threat of IP or commercial-in-confidence data theft. Public statements from government officials and the publicly known target—a university—don’t indicate a significant change in the nature of Chinese cyber espionage. While this review indicates how difficult it is to clearly identify cyber espionage for competitive advantage, China remains Australia’s primary cyber adversary and is making greater
efforts to disguise and focus its commercial cyber espionage.

In a partial nod to keeping its agreements, China seems to be focusing on the theft of dual-use and national security related data. For China, this seems to incorporate a fairly wide range of sectors (such as mining) that goes well beyond sectors such as defence. To begin the process of increasing pressure on China to adhere to its agreements, Australia should identify opportunities to formally name adversary states, including China, in public documents and statements. A good place to start is the annual ACSC Threat report. Australia should also consider partnering with states subjected to similar IP theft by China to build and sustain pressure on Beijing to
adhere to its agreements. The G20 offers a multilateral venue for keeping up pressure, but other ad hoc opportunities should also be identified.

Germany

By Dr Samantha Hoffman

Consultation mechanism

No formal bilateral agreement on preventing commercial cyber espionage exists between Germany and China. However, a joint declaration from the June 2016 4th China–Germany Intergovernmental Consultations stated that the two governments would set up a ‘bilateral cyber security consultation mechanism’.40 Both sides also agreed that neither operates or knowingly supports ‘the infringement of intellectual property, trade or business secrets through the use of cyberspace in order to attain
competitive advantage for their businesses or commercial sectors’.

The first cybersecurity consultation wasn’t held until 17 May 2018.41 Efforts to establish the consultation were delayed, in part because the two sides had different expectations regarding topics and participants. The delays also led to a public exchange between German Ambassador to China Michael Clauss and the Chinese Foreign Ministry. In a December 2017 interview with the Hong Kong-based South China Morning Post, Clauss was quoted saying that he expected the Chinese Government to join Germany in setting up the agreed consultation mechanism. He also said, ‘Our repeated requests to have a meaningful dialogue on [virtual private networks] and cyber-related questions with the relevant Chinese authorities have regrettably not yet received a positive response.’ The comments prompted a reply from Chinese Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Hua Chunying, who claimed, ‘China has repeatedly invited a German delegation to China for consultation, but Germany has never responded on time … It’s unreasonable for Germany now to criticise Beijing for not being sincere.’

The eventual May 2018 consultation, which took place in Beijing, was co-chaired by Chinese Vice Minister of Public Security Shi Jun and German Parliamentary State Secretary at the Federal Ministry of the Interior Professor Dr Günter Krings. The German Government insisted that the Ministry of Public Security and a member of the Central Political and Legal Affairs Commission were also present.

Although the meeting was officially described as a success,42 no tangible progress was made during the consultation to substantively address key issues. The German Government insisted that discussion focus on commercial cyber espionage and issues such as data protection and virtual private networks. These were all topics that the Chinese Government preferred to avoid. The Chinese Government instead wanted to discuss cybercrime and cyber terrorism, but there are major differences in the way those concepts are defined. Chinese officials have regularly pushed the German Government to deport political opponents in the Uygur community, which Berlin has continually refused to do because Beijing can provide no evidence to support its claims.

The cyber consultation was again discussed during the July 2018 5th China–Germany Intergovernmental Consultations in Berlin. A joint statement said that the consultation would continue as a key platform for discussing cyber issues, including cross-border data protection and IP and trade infringements.43

Dealing with commercial cyber espionage

The 2016 and 2017 editions of the German Federal Ministry of the Interior’s Annual report on the protection of the Constitution (published in July 2017 and July 2018, respectively) both specifically identified China alongside Russia and Iran as the primary countries responsible for espionage and cyberattacks against Germany.44 The reports said that ‘Chinese intelligence services focus on industry, research, technology and the armed forces (structure, armament and training of the Bundeswehr, modern weapons technology).’45 A separate July 2017 report by Bitkom, Germany’s digital industry association, found that German companies lose €55 billion (US$64 billion, A$88 billion) annually due to commercial cyber espionage affecting about 53% of German companies.46

The number of known China-originated commercial cyber espionage attacks against German companies dropped in the past two years, according to the head of the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution (BfV), the German domestic intelligence agency.47 Other German Government officials confirmed the appearance of a decrease, but added that they’re unsure whether there had been one. There’s an equally high likelihood that cyber espionage has become more sophisticated, and better targeted, and therefore has been undetected.

The decline in known cyber espionage incidents has also been linked to a sharp increase in Chinese foreign direct investment in high-tech and advanced manufacturing industries in 2016. The BfV head, Hans-Georg Maassen, made a similar claim and linked the decline with an increase in the use of legal tools for obtaining the same information, such as corporate takeovers. Maassen said ‘industrial espionage is no longer necessary if one can simply take advantage of liberal economic regulations to buy companies and then disembowel them or cannibalise them to gain access to their know-how.’48 The German Government took steps in July 2017 to address concern by amending the Foreign Trade and Payments Ordinance to tighten restrictions on non-EU foreign investment in Germany. The move was partly triggered by the €4.5 billion (US$5.3 billion, A$7.2 billion) takeover of German industrial robotics maker Kuka by Chinese appliance maker Midea.

The amendment identified several sectors that would be subject to higher scrutiny. They include companies operating critical infrastructure, IT and  telecommunications, and certain cloud computing providers. Previously, non-EU companies weren’t obliged to inform the government of an acquisition (of 25% or more of voting rights) of a German company unless they were involved in the development and manufacturing of defence and encryption technology. The July 2017 amendment, however, expanded the notification requirement to include critical infrastructure and other security-related technology.49 The amendment refers to sectors identified in the 2013 Foreign Trade and Payments Ordinance section 55, which include energy, water, IT, financial services, insurance, transportation, food and health.50

The amendment also extended the period for the Ministry of Economic Affairs and Energy to conduct reviews. There are two foreign investment review categories: ‘cross-sectoral investment review’ and ‘sector-specific investment review’. Cross-sector reviews apply to the acquisition of any company where the investor is located outside the EU or the European Free Trade Association and plans to acquire ownership of 25% or more.51 Sector-specific reviews apply to the acquisition of a company that operates in sensitive security areas. In addition to military weapons and equipment, this includes ‘products with IT security features that are used for processing classified government information’. 52

Similar rules apply for companies that operate high-grade remote sensing systems under the Act on Satellite Data Security.53 Previously, the ministry was required to conduct a cross-sectoral investment review within two months, but is now given four months.54 For sector-specific reviews, it was previously required to conduct a review within one month and is now given three months.55 The German Government has further identified a need to tighten controls on the loss of sensitive information in the area of cross-border data protection.

Outlook

Assessing the scale of Chinese commercial espionage activity is difficult, and very little information is made publicly available. The German Government remains sceptical about China’s commitment to cease the infringement of IP, trade or business secrets through the use of cyberspace. However, the government feels that some dialogue is better than no dialogue. It hopes to leave open the possibility of a more intensive dialogue in future. One German official said that the government is pushing for the Chinese side to ‘behave as [it would] wish to be treated’ in an increasingly interconnected world.


What is ASPI?

The Australian Strategic Policy Institute (ASPI) was formed in 2001 as an independent, non‑partisan think tank. Its core aim is to provide the Australian Government with fresh ideas on Australia’s defence, security and strategic policy choices. ASPI is responsible for informing the public on a range of strategic issues, generating new thinking for government and harnessing strategic thinking internationally.

ASPI International Cyber Policy Centre

The ASPI International Cyber Policy Centre’s mission is to shape debate, policy and understanding on cyber issues, informed by original research and close consultation with government, business and civil society. It seeks to improve debate, policy and understanding on cyber issues by:

  1. conducting applied, original empirical research
  2. linking government, business and civil society
  3. leading debates and influencing policy in Australia and the Asia–Pacific.

We thank all of those who contribute to the ICPC with their time, intellect and passion for the subject matter. The work of the ICPC would be impossible without the financial support of our various sponsors.

Important disclaimer

This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in relation to the subject matter covered. It is provided with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering any form of professional or other advice or services. No person should rely on the contents of this publication without first obtaining advice from a qualified professional person.

© The Australian Strategic Policy Institute Limited 2018
This publication is subject to copyright. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers.

First published September 2018

Cover image: Illustration by Wes Mountain. ASPI ICPC and Wes Mountain allow this image to be re-published under the Creative Common License Attribution-Share Alike. Users of the image should use this sentence for image attribution: ‘Illustration by Wes Mountain, commissioned by ASPI’s International Cyber Policy Centre’.

Mice that Roar

This report argues that over the past five years, there’s been an increase in coastguard and maritime border response capabilities across much of ASEAN. ASEAN states have primarily focused their new capabilities on enhancing physical presence patrols and response within their respective exclusive economic zones (EEZs). Coastguards have become important strategic cushions between navies in ASEAN.

Underpinning this regional maritime strategic trend is an assumption that coastguard vessels are less threatening, in terms of their potential use of force, to the captains and crews of other nations’ vessels during unplanned encounters at sea. It isn’t all plain sailing for this model. Emboldening fishing fleets, coastguards or militias by removing the risk of a military response to aggressive actions in others’ jurisdictions may well be a negative for the maritime security of ASEAN nations.

The report highlights an opportunity for Australia to cooperate and collaborate with partners across the region on surveillance, maritime domain awareness (MDA) and maritime patrols.

Australia’s strategic relationship with the US ensures that Chinese leaders pay close attention to its diplomatic and military activities in ASEAN. The promotion of greater regional coastguard cooperation won’t deeply offend Chinese Government sensitivities, it will attract Chinese Government attention because it is against the Chinese state’s preferred bilateral engagement model, and because it may be effective in creating regional cohesion in dealing with maritime security issues. These efforts will send a clear message to Beijing that the region is taking measures to protect the sovereignty of its waters.

Social Credit

Technology-enhanced authoritarian control with global consequences

What’s the problem?

China’s ‘social credit system’ (SCS)—the use of big-data collection and analysis to monitor, shape and rate behaviour via economic and social processes1—doesn’t stop at China’s borders. Social credit regulations are already being used to force businesses to change their language to accommodate the political demands of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Analysis of the system is often focused on a ‘credit record’ or a domestic ranking system for individuals; however, the system is much more complicated and expansive than that. It’s part of a complex system of control—being augmented with technology—that’s embedded in the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC’s) strategy of social management and economic development.2 It will affect international businesses and overseas Chinese communities and has the potential to interfere directly in the sovereignty of other nations. Evidence of this reach was seen recently when the Chinese Civil Aviation Administration accused international airlines of ‘serious dishonesty’ for allegedly violating Chinese laws when they listed Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macau on their international websites.3 The Civil Aviation Industry Credit Management Measures (Trial Measures) that the airlines are accused of violating were written to implement two key policies on establishing the SCS.4

As businesses continue to comply, the acceptance of the CCP’s claims will eventually become an automatic decision and hence a norm that interferes with the sovereignty of other nations. For members of the public on the receiving end of such changes, the CCP’s narrative becomes the dominant ‘truth’ and alternative views and evidence are marginalised. This narrative control affects individuals in China, Chinese and international businesses, other states and their citizens.

What’s the solution?

Democratic governments must become more proactive in countering the CCP’s extension of social credit. This includes planning ahead and moving beyond reactive reciprocal responses. Democratic governments can’t force firms to refuse to comply with Beijing’s demands, but they also shouldn’t leave businesses alone to mitigate risks that are created by the Chinese state’s actions. Democratic governments should identify the potential uses of certain technologies with application to the Chinese state’s SCS that could have serious human rights or international security implications. Export controls that prevent supplying or cooperating to develop such technologies for the Chinese state would buy time, but this is only a short-term and partial solution. Where social credit extends beyond China’s borders, the penetration is often successful through the exploitation of existing weaknesses and loopholes in democratic countries. A large part of the solution for addressing these easily exploitable weaknesses is through strengthening our own democracies. Issues such as data protection, investment screening and civil liberties protection are most pressing. Transparency, while not a solution, will help to identify breaches and to prosecute abuses where necessary. Steps must be taken to shield overseas Chinese communities from the kinds of CCP encroachment that will only proliferate with a functioning and tech-enabled SCS.

China’s social credit system

China’s SCS augments the CCP’s existing political control methods. It requires big-data collection and analysis to monitor, shape and rate behaviour. It provides consequences for behaviour by companies and individuals who don’t comply with the expectations of the Chinese party-state. At its core, the system is a tool to control individuals’, companies’ and other entities’ behaviour to conform with the policies, directions and will of the CCP. It combines big-data analytic techniques with pervasive data collection to achieve that purpose.

Social credit supports the CCP’s everyday economic development and social management processes and ideally contributes to problem solving. That doesn’t make social credit less political, less of a security issue or less challenging to civil liberties. Instead, it means that the threats that this new system creates are masked through ambiguity. For the system to function, it must provide punishments for acting outside set behavioural boundaries and benefits to incentivise people and entities to voluntary conform, or at least make participation the only rational choice.

Social credit and the technology behind it help the Chinese party-state to:

  • Control discourse that promotes the party-state leadership’s version of the truth, both inside and outside China’s geographical borders
  • integrate information from market and government sources, optimising the party-state’s capacity to pre-empt and solve problems, including preventing emerging threats to the CCP’s control
  • improve situational awareness with real-time data collection, both inside and outside China’s geographical borders, to inform decision-making
  • use solutions to social and economic development problems to simultaneously augment political control.

Source: Created by Samantha Hoffman, June 2018.

Extending control outside the PRC’s borders

For decades, the CCP has reached beyond its borders to control political opponents. Tactics are not changing under Xi Jinping, but techniques and technology are. For example, in several liberal democracies, Chinese officials have harassed ‘Xi Jinping is not my president’ activists and their families after messages were posted to WeChat.5 Research for this report also found other examples of harassment, including attempts by Chinese officials to coerce overseas Chinese citizens to install surveillance devices in their businesses.6 More commonly, the CCP doesn’t exert control overseas with direct coercion. Instead, it uses ‘cooperative’ versions of control.

For example, a function of Chinese student and scholar associations — which are typically ties to the CCP7 — is to offer services such as airport pick-up.8 Beyond providing necessary services, these techniques reinforce the simple message that the CCP is everywhere (and so are its rules). Social credit embeds such existing processes in a new toolkit for regulatory and legal enforcement.

On 25 April 2018, the Chinese Civil Aviation Administration accused United Airlines, Qantas and dozens of other international airlines of ‘serious dishonesty’ for allegedly violating Chinese laws in how they listed Taiwan, Hong Kong and Macau on their websites.9 To clarify: those websites, which belong to international companies, are for global clients. The Chinese authorities said failure to classify the places as Chinese property would count against the airlines’ credit records and would lead to penalties under other laws, such as the Cybersecurity Law.

The Planning Outline for the Construction of a Social Credit System (2014–2020) (the Social Credit Plan) specifically identified ‘improving the country’s soft power and international influence’ and ‘establishing an objective, fair, reasonable and balanced international credit rating system’ as goals.10

The goals aren’t credit ratings like those done by Standard & Poor’s or Moody’s, but are instead about ensuring state security. State security here, though, is not the simple protection of domestic and foreign security.11 It’s also about protecting the CCP and securing the ideological space both inside and outside the party. That task transcends geographical borders.

The Civil Aviation Industry Credit Management Measures that the airlines are accused of violating were written to implement two key policy guidelines on establishing China’s SCS. The measures are among many other implementing regulations of the Social Credit Plan. Social credit was used specifically in these cases to compel international airlines to acknowledge and adopt the CCP’s version of the truth, and so repress alternative perspectives on Taiwan. Shaping and influencing decision-making is a pre-emptive tactic for ensuring state security and party control. The CCP deals with threats by ‘combining treatment with prevention, but primarily focusing on prevention.’12 That doesn’t make the outcome less coercive.

Social credit records (for individuals and entities) are the outcome of data integration. Technical capacity for data collection and management, therefore, is the key to realising the envisioned SCS.13 Data integration and management don’t simply aid the process of putting individuals or entities on lists. They also support decision-making—some of which ideally will be done automatically through algorithms—and enhance the CCP’s awareness of the PRC’s internal and external environments. The key to understanding this aspect of social credit is the first line of the Social Credit Plan. The document says that social credit supports ‘China’s economic system and social governance system’.14 Social credit is about problem-solving but it’s also designed to thrive on its own contradictions, just like the social governance process (hereafter ‘social management’) that it supports.15 Social management isn’t simply the management of civil unrest. Social management as a concept requires the provision of services and the use of normal economic and social management to exert political control. Yet therein lies the contradiction: the Chinese state does not prioritise solving problems above political security. In fact, problem solving is simultaneously directed at political security. The system will also increasingly rely on technology embedded in everyday life to manage social and economic development problems while simultaneously using the same resources to expand control. Understanding this dual-use nature of the SCS is the key: the system’s ability to solve and manage problems does not diminish its political or coercive capacity.

Credit records are global and political

A January 2018 article published by the Overseas Chinese Affairs Office of the State Council for the attention of ‘overseas Chinese and ethnic Chinese’ (华侨华人) warned that the Civil Aviation Industry Credit Management Measures also applied to them.16 Violations would lead to greylisting and blacklisting and would be included in individuals’ and organisations’ overall credit records, it said. Importantly, ‘overseas Chinese and ethnic Chinese’ can cover anyone who the CCP claims is ‘Chinese’, whether or not they have PRC citizenship. In addition to expatriates, it can include someone who was never a PRC citizen, such as citizens of Taiwan.17 A PRC-born person with citizenship in another country is also considered subject to the rules.18

Political uses for social credit’s implementing regulations might seem disconnected from the idea that credit records should create trust and encourage moral behaviour, but they are not. ‘Trust’ and ‘morality’ have dual meanings in the context of social credit. One side is focused on the reliability of an individual or entity, and the other on making the CCP’s position in power reliably secure. Trust and& morality serve their purpose only if they’re created on the party’s terms and if they produce reliability in the CCP’s capacity to govern. So the language itself promotes the party’s authority and control.

The market and legal data that make up a person’s or entity’s credit record is intrinsically political, while input sources can be simultaneously political and non-political.19 For instance, Article 8, Section 3 of the Civil Aviation Industry Credit Management Measures sanction individuals and entities for ‘a terrorist event’ or a ‘serious illegal disturbance’. Such disturbances could include safety incidents, such as a passenger opening an emergency exit door in a non-emergency.20 They could also include false terrorism charges against those considered political opponents, such as Uygurs (the CCP already uses false-charge tactics against individuals and NGOs).21 This year’s civil aviation cases are not an irregularity. Similar demands on companies have accumulated since January 2018. For instance, the Shanghai Administration for Industry and Commerce fined Japanese retailer Muji’s Shanghai branch 200,000 yuan (A$41,381) over packaging that listed Taiwan as a country.22 The fine cited a violation of Article 9, Section 4 of the PRC advertising law, which sanctions any activity ‘damaging the dignity or interests of the state or divulging any state secret’. The violation was then recorded on the National Enterprise Credit Information Publicity System.

The timing of these cases coincides with a regulation that took effect on 1 January 2018, under which every company with a business licence in China was required to have an 18-digit ‘unified social credit code’. Every company without a business licence designating its code was required to update its licence.23 Euphemistically, the code is to ‘improve administrative efficiency’.24 ‘Efficiency’ includes the meaning that any sanction against a company filed on the company’s credit record could trigger sanctions under other relevant legislation. Similar cases may multiply after 30 June 2018 because unified social credit codes will also be required for government-backed public institutions, social organisations, foundations, private non-enterprise units, grassroots self-governing mass organisations and trade unions.25

Generating ‘discourse power’ through data

An overlooked purpose of the SCS is to strengthen the PRC’s ‘discourse power’ or ‘right to speak’ (话语权).26 This can also be understood as the idea of creating the CCP’s narrative control. Discourse power is ‘an extension of soft power, relating to the influence and attractiveness of a country’s ideology and value system’.27 Discourse power allows a nation to shape and control its internal and external environments.

In the hands of political opponents, discourse power is a potential threat. According to the CCP, ‘hostile forces’ can incite and exploit economic and social disorder in other countries.28 This threat has been tied directly to leading international credit agencies—Moody’s Investors Service, Standard & Poor’s and Fitch Ratings—seen as potential threats to China. One article claimed that the agencies can ‘destroy a nation by downgrading their credit score, utilising the shock power of “economic nukes”’.29 Another article tied the problem to the One Belt, One Road scheme (Belt and Road Initiative, BRI), because participant countries accept the current international ratings system. For the CCP, the solution is to increase the ‘discourse power [that China’s] credit agencies possess on the international credit evaluation stage’.30 China’s SCS provides an alternative to the existing international credit ratings system. It does some similar things to the existing system, but is designed to give the Chinese state a more powerful voice in global governance. As we saw in the international airlines case, this louder voice is being used to exert influence on the operations of foreign companies.

Preventing the sort of credit crisis described above requires the CCP to have control over the narrative to prevent a political opponent from taking over the narrative—in other words, it requires the CCP to strengthen its ‘discourse power’. Discourse power is directly embedded in the trust and morality that social credit is supposed to create in Chinese society, and not only because trust and morality help with everyday social and economic problem solving. Trust and morality, in the way the Chinese state uses the terms, include as a core concept support for and adherence to CCP control and directions. This linkage can be traced at least as far back as an early 1980s propaganda effort related to ‘spiritual culture’, which responded to ‘popular disillusionment with the CCP’ and the promotion of Western politics as ‘superior’ to China’s.31

The concern only increased as China’s present day perception of threat was shaped by events such as Tiananmen in 1989, Kosovo in 1999, China’s entry into the World Trade Organization, and the ‘colour revolutions’ of the early 2000s. For instance, one article said that, despite mostly positive benefits from China entering the World Trade Organization, ‘Western civilisation-centred ideology, and aggressive Western culture can erode and threaten the independence and diversity of [China’s] national culture through excessive cultural exchanges.’ 32

One reason social credit contributes to strengthening the CCP’s discourse power is that the system relies on the collection and integration of data to improve the party’s awareness of its internal and external environments. In, 2010 Lu Wei described in great detail the meaning of ‘discourse power’ as referring not only to the ‘right to speak’, but also to guaranteeing the ‘effectiveness and power of speech’.33 He elaborated that for China to have discourse power requires both collection power and communication power. Collection power is the ability to ‘collect information from all areas in the world in real time’. Communication power, which ‘decides influence’, becomes stronger with more timely collection.

Data collection supporting China’s environmental awareness doesn’t stop at the country’s borders. Social credit requires real-time monitoring through big-data tools that can inform decision-making and the implementation of the credit system. In 2015, Contemporary World, a magazine affiliated with the International Liaison Department, published an article focused on big-data collection associated with the BRI.34 It said that data could be used to inform diplomatic and economic decision-making, as well as emergency mobilisation capacity. ‘Data courier stations’ within foreign countries would send data via back-ends to a centralised analysis centre in China. Data collection would come from legal information mining, such as information on the internet and database purchases, and from market operations. The data courier stations would include ‘e-commerce (platforms), Confucius Institutes, telecoms, transportation companies, chain hotels, financial payment institutions and logistics companies’.35

The collection method and use of data would differ according to the source. The most obvious and practical reason for data collection at Confucius Institutes is to support teaching. Eventually, the same data would inform decisions on cultural exchange (ostensibly using Confucius Institute databases).36 The objective of ‘cultural exchange’ isn’t merely soft power creation. As ‘discourse power’ suggests, the CCP views ‘language’ as a ‘non-traditional’ state security issue and a means of influencing other states, businesses, institutions and individuals. One publication on the BRI linked to the propaganda department explained that ethnic minorities in China ‘use similar languages to others outside of our borders and are frequently subjected to hostile forces outside of the border’. To reduce the ‘security risk’, ‘resource banks’ or ‘language talent’ projects would support the automatic translation of both Chinese and non-common ‘strategic languages’.37 Automatic translation would help to ‘detect instability in a timely manner, [assist] rapid response to emergencies, and exert irreplaceable intelligence values over the course of prevention, early warning and resolution of non-traditional security threats, in order to ensure national security and stability’.38

According to the Ministry of Education, automatic translation would be implemented through technologies such as big data, cloud computing, artificial intelligence and mobile internet. 39 This kind of technology already supports online teaching platforms affiliated with Confucius Institutes. They are at least partly reliant on technology from Chinese firm iFlytek. In addition to language learning software, iFlytek develops advanced surveillance for ‘public security’ and ‘national defence’, including voice recognition and keyword identification.40 Data collection and integration serve the purpose of increasing real-time situational awareness and simultaneously support the SCS’s discourse power objectives.

Technology, social management and economic development

The CCP saw crises such as the colour revolutions in Central Asia and Europe as illustrations of potential risks to its own power in China. Increasing the party’s discourse power has been justified as one response. The CCP’s perception of its exposure to risk increased with events such as the milk powder scandal in 2008 and the SARS outbreak between 2002 and 2003.41 Each crisis revealed significant problems with the PRC’s crisis prevention and response capacity due to a combination of political, logistical and technical faults.42 The SCS is part of an attempt to address those faults and to prevent the party’s competence or legitimacy from being questioned.

An innocuous line in the Social Credit Plan called for ‘the gradual establishment of a national commodity circulation (supply chain) traceability system based on barcodes and other products’.43 Barcodes are commonly used in supply-chain management to improve product traceability. ‘Other products’ include radio-frequency identification (RFID), which is also used for supply-chain management. RFID is an electronic tagging technology, readable through sensors or satellites, that ‘would gradually replace barcodes in the era of the internet of things’.

Most narrowly and directly, ‘barcodes and other products’ will help to manage food safety and health risks. The integration of information, supported by technology, facilitates risk identification. As technology’s ability to effectively identify risks improves, the government would be able to improve the regulation of behaviours that heighten ‘risk’, as defined and perceived by the CCP. As a result, potentially destabilising crises can be prevented through the optimisation of everyday governance tasks.

In future, the technologies used for supply-chain management will form an integral part of China’s development of ‘smart cities’. Smart cities in China harness ‘internet of things’ technology in support of resource optimisation and service allocation for both economic development and social management. A plan for standardising smart cities in China said that data mining using chips, sensors, RFID and cameras contributes to processes such as ‘identification, information gathering, surveillance and control’ of infrastructure, the environment, buildings and security within a city.44 Data mining covers such areas as ‘automatic analysis, classification, summarization, discovery and description of data trends’, and can be applied to decision-making about a city’s ‘construction, development and management’.45

All of these things contribute to building the capacity to make decisions and prevent threats from emerging by early intervention. Social credit will require big-data integration and data recording through information systems. Real-time decision-making capabilities are central to the success of the monitoring and assessment systems discussed in the Social Credit Plan, particularly in areas such as traffic management and e-commerce. Decision-making is enabled through ‘decision support systems’, which provide support for complex decision-making and problem solving.46 In China, present-day research emerges from a field called ‘soft science’ (软科学) that developed in the 1980s.47

Soft science is defined in China as a ‘system of scientific knowledge sustaining democratic and scientific decision-making’ that can be used in China to ‘ensure the correctness of our decision-making and the efficacy of our execution.’48 Correctness has as much a political meaning as its more usual one.

The use of decision support systems directly contributes to mechanisms for crisis prevention and response planning. Technologies such as barcodes and RFID are found in the logistical mobilisation strategies of many countries, not just the PRC. In China, however, civilian resources are multi-use, with simultaneous economic and social development and political control functions. The same systems support mobilisations for crises. At a study session on a speech that Xi Jinping gave at the 13th National People’s Congress, delegates from the People’s Liberation Army and People’s Armed Police learned about ‘infrastructure construction and resource sharing’. Efforts to improve those areas would support a ‘coordinated development of social services and military logistics’, while utilising various strategic resources and strength in areas such as politics, the economy, the military, diplomacy and culture. 49

This integration of technology with social management, political control and economic development brings back into focus the concept of discourse power. Like the other aspects of social credit, those systems don’t stop at China’s borders. As part of the BRI, China plans to leverage smart cities, and technologies such as 5G, to ‘create an information superhighway’. 50 Combined with channels for information collected from projects ranging from logistics to e-commerce or Confucius Institutes, information can be integrated to support social credit objectives such as increased discourse power.

Future challenges and recommendations

How social credit will exactly develop is not entirely known because the system itself is a multi-stage, multi-decade project. In order to deal with the international consequences of social credit, foreign governments must act now while also applying long-term strategic thought and commitment to dealing with the international elements of this system. Although China’s development of the SCS can’t be stopped, its progress can be delayed and the system’s coercive aspects reduced while better solutions for dealing with the problem are found.

Recommendation 1: Control the export of Western technologies and research already used in—and potentially useful to—the Chinese state’s SCS.

Recommendation 2: Review emerging and strategic technologies, paying particular attention to university and research institute partnerships.

Controlling the export of Western technology is a key short-term solution. Governments should review strategic and emerging technologies that are already or could be used in the SCS. Universities and research organisations partnering with Chinese counterparts and contributing to the development or implementation of the CCP’s SCS should be included in this review. Universities can’t be blind to the impact and end uses of research that they conduct or contribute to with overseas partners. Besides the clear political and social control purposes, contributing to such a system also doesn’t align well with the ethical framework for most Western universities’ research; nor is it good for their global reputations. The findings of such reviews should help Western governments determine where to control access and what legislation is therefore appropriate.

Obvious starting points would be preventing situations such as, for example, the University of Technology Sydney’s Global Big Data Technologies Centre accepting $20 million from the state-owned defence enterprise China Electronics Technology Group Corporation (CETC).51 CETC is one of the key state-owned enterprises behind China’s increasingly sophisticated video surveillance apparatus, including facial recognition systems and scanners. One of University of Technology Sydney’s most recent 2018 CETC-funded projects is in fact research on a ‘public security online video retrieval system’.52 Another example that highlights policy gaps is the recently reported case in which surveillance technology developed by Duke University and originally intended for the US Navy was sold into China with ‘clearance from the US State Department’ because the technology failed to secure backing in the US.53

Recommendation 3: Strengthen democratic resilience to counter foreign interference.

At least part of the solution requires acknowledgement that the spread of social credit beyond China’s borders takes advantage of easily exploitable weaknesses. The problems are compounded when a government opposed to liberal democratic values and institutions exploits those weaknesses. Australia’s foreign interference law could provide a framework for other countries looking to deal with the problem via legislation, as increased transparency is a foundation for an informed response.

Recommendation 4: Fund research to identify dual-purpose technologies and data collection systems.

While it isn’t a complete solution, funding research that contributes to greater transparency and public debate about China’s SCS is very important. Understanding what the Chinese state is doing, and what the implications are for other countries, requires asking the right questions. The problem is not just technology per se, but the ways in which processes and information are used to feed into and support the SCS, as well as other technology-enabled methods of control.

Recommendation 5: Governments and entities must strengthen data protection.

A crucial step is to limit the way data can be exported, used and stored overseas. Auditing should be conducted to ensure that any breaches are detected and to identify loopholes. For example, in the case of Confucius Institutes mentioned above, any data collected for any purpose should be stored using university-owned hardware and software, and only in university-operated databases. In the case of any violations, the university’s obligations to protect privacy and personal data on individuals that it holds should be enforced.

Recommendation 6: New legislation should reflect that this is also a human rights issue.

China’s SCS is not only an issue of political influence and control internationally. It’s also a human rights issue, and new legislation should reflect that. Through contributions to smart cities development in China, for example, Western companies are providing support to build a system that has multiple uses, including uses that are responsible for serious human rights violations. The US’s Global Magnitsky Act is an example of the type of legislation that could be used to hold companies and entities accountable for—willingly or not—enabling the Chinese party-state’s human rights violations.

Recommendation 7: Support companies threatened by China’s social credit system

Western governments need to more actively and publicly support the private sector in mitigating risks that are created by the SCS. This should include collective counter-measures that impose costs for coercive acts.

Recommendation 8: Overseas Chinese communities must be protected from social credit’s overseas expansion.

Western governments must take steps to protect overseas Chinese from the kinds of CCP encroachment that have taken place for decades but that are now increasingly augmented through a functioning and tech-enabled SCS. Democratic governments must ensure that they legislate against the implementation and use of China’s SCS across and within their borders.


Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank Danielle Cave, Didi Kirsten Tatlow, Dimon Liu, Gregory Walton, Kitsch Liao, Nigel Inkster, Peter Mattis, Fergus Ryan and Rogier Creemers, as well as the Mercator Institute for China Studies. Disclaimer: All views and opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own, and do not necessarily reflect the position of any institution with which she is affiliated.

Important disclaimer

This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in relation to the subject matter covered. It is provided with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering any form of professional or other advice or services. No person should rely on the contents of this publication without first obtaining advice from a qualified professional person.

© The Australian Strategic Policy Institute Limited 2018

This publication is subject to copyright. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers.

  1. Samantha Hoffman, ‘Managing the state: social credit, surveillance and the CCP’s plan for China’, China Brief, Jamestown Foundation, 17 August 2017, 17(11), online. ↩︎
  2. Concepts summarised in this paper, including on social management, pre-emptive control, social credit and the ‘spiritual civilisation’, crisis response and threat perceptions, are drawn from my PhD thesis: Samantha Hoffman, ‘Programming China: the Communist Party’s autonomic approach to managing state security’, University of Nottingham, 29 September 2017. ↩︎
  3. China Civil Aviation Administration General Division, ‘关于限期对官方网站整改的通知’ (‘Notice Relating to Rectification of the Official Website within a Specified Timeframe’), 25 April 2018; James Palmer, Bethany Allen-Ebrahimian, ‘China threatens US airlines over Taiwan references’, Foreign Policy, 27 April 2018, online; Josh Rogin, ‘White House calls China’s threats to airlines “Orwellian nonsense”’, The Washington Post, 5 May 2018, online. ↩︎

  4. The two key guidances directly referred to in the opening of the Civil Aviation Industry Credit Management Measures (Trial Measures) are the Planning Outline for the Construction of a Social Credit System (2014–2020) and 关于印发《民航行业信用管理办法(试行) 》的通知 (Civil Aviation Industry Credit Management Measures (Trial Measures)), 7 November 2017. ↩︎

Technological entanglement

Cooperation, competition and the dual-use dilemma in artificial intelligence

What’s the problem?

Despite frequent allusions to a race—or even an ‘arms race’—in artificial intelligence (AI), US leadership and China’s rapid emergence as an AI powerhouse also reflect the reality of cooperation and engagement that extend across the boundaries of strategic competition.1 Even as China and the US, the world’s emergent ‘AI superpowers’,2 are increasingly competing in AI at the national level, their business, technology and research sectors are also deeply ‘entangled’ through a range of linkages and collaborations. That dynamic stems from and reflects the nature of AI research and commercialisation—despite active competition, it is open and often quite collaborative.3 These engagements can, of course, be mutually beneficial, but they can also be exploited through licit and illicit means to further China’s indigenous innovation and provide an asymmetric advantage.4 The core dilemma is that the Chinese party-state has demonstrated the capacity and intention to co-opt private tech companies and academic research to advance national and defence objectives in ways that are far from transparent. 

This has resulted in a ‘dual-use dilemma’ in which the openness that’s characteristic of science and innovation in democracies can result in unforeseen consequences, undermining the values, interests and competitiveness of the US, Australia and other like-minded nations in these strategic technologies.5 These ‘entanglements’ have included ties between US tech firms and Chinese partners with military connections,6 as well as cooperation between Australian universities and the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA).7 Despite the genuine advantages they may offer, such problematic partnerships can also result in the transfer of dual-use research and technologies that advance Chinese military modernisation, perhaps disrupting the future balance of power in the Indo-Pacific, or facilitate the party-state’s construction of surveillance capabilities that are starting to diffuse globally.

These adverse externalities have troubling implications for US military advantage, authoritarian regime resilience and even the future of democracy.8 How should policymakers balance the risks and benefits of such entanglement,9 while enhancing competitiveness in this strategic technology?

What’s the solution?

These unique and complex dynamics require a range of policy responses that balance the risks and benefits of these partnerships, collaborations and engagements. To enhance situational awareness, policymakers should examine closely research, academic and commercial partnerships that may prove problematic, and then consider updates and revisions to national export controls, defence trade controls and investment review mechanisms as targeted countermeasures. While there is a rationale for visa screening of foreign nationals who plan to study or research sensitive technologies, restrictions should be imposed only on the basis of evidence of direct and clear connections to foreign militaries, governments or intelligence services,10 and scrutiny should focus more on organisations engaging in talent recruitment that are linked to the Chinese central and local governments or to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). At the same time, there are compelling reasons to sustain scientific cooperation, with safeguards for risk mitigation, including transparency and the protection of sensitive data.

Critically, the US and Australia must pursue policies that actively enhance the dynamism of their own innovation ecosystems to ensure future competitiveness. It is vital to bolster declining support for science and commit to increasing funding for basic research and the long-term development of strategic technologies. Given the criticality of human capital, governments should prioritise improving the accessibility and affordability of STEM education at all levels, while attracting and welcoming talent through favourable immigration policies. In this quest for competitive advantage, the US and Australia must also pursue closer public–private partnerships and expand alliance cooperation on defence innovation.

AI ‘without borders’

Today, national competition in AI is intensifying at a time when the engine for technological innovation in such dual-use technologies has shifted from governments to commercial enterprises. In today’s complex, globalised world, flows of talent, capital and technologies are rapid, dynamic and not readily constrained by borders. Chinese investments and acquisitions in Silicon Valley—and US investments in China—are sizable and increasing, despite intense concerns about the security risks of such investments,11 which have motivated reforms to the Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States (CFIUS) and could result in discretionary implementation of China’s national security review mechanism in response.12 This increased globalisation of innovation ecosystems has proven beneficial to AI development, and dynamic US and Chinese companies are emerging as world leaders in the field.

Increasingly, these enterprises are quite international in their outlook, presence and workforce while engaging in a global quest for talent.13 For the time being, the US remains the centre of gravity for the top talent in AI, and Silicon Valley is the epicentre of this talent ‘arms race’.14 While currently confronting major bottlenecks in human capital, China has great potential, given the number of graduates in science and engineering and the range of new training and educational programs dedicated to cultivating AI talent.15 At the same time, the Chinese government is actively incentivising the return and recruitment of ‘strategic scientists’ via state talent plans.16 At the forefront of the AI revolution, Baidu and Google epitomise in their strategic decisions and activities the linkages and interconnectivity among such global centres of innovation as Silicon Valley and Beijing.17

Baidu has prioritised AI and has emerged as a leading player in this domain. It created the Institute for Deep Learning in Beijing in 2013 and then established its Silicon Valley Artificial Intelligence Laboratory (SVAIL), which employs about 200 people, in 2014.18 Baidu’s CEO, Li Yanhong (李彦宏, or Robin Li), advocated as early as 2015, prior to the Chinese Government’s decision to prioritise AI, for a ‘China Brain’ plan that would involve a massive national initiative in AI, including welcoming military funding and involvement.19

Increasingly, Baidu has actively invested in and acquired US AI start-ups, including xPerception and Kitt.ai,20 while seeking to expand its US-based workforce. The company has stated that Silicon Valley ‘is becoming increasingly important in Baidu’s global strategy as a base for attracting world-class talent.’21 In March 2017, Baidu announced plans to establish a second laboratory in Silicon Valley, which is expected to add another 150 employees.22 Notably, Baidu has also launched the Apollo project, which is a collaborative initiative to advance the development of self-driving cars that involves more than 100 tech companies and automakers, including Ford, NVIDIA, and Microsoft.23 At the same time, Baidu is engaged in research on military applications of AI, particularly command and control.24

Google remains at the forefront of AI development, leveraging an international presence and global workforce. Beyond Silicon Valley, Google has opened AI research centres in Paris, New York and Tokyo,25 and it will soon add Beijing and then Accra, Ghana.26 When Google announced the opening of the Google AI China Center in December 2017, chief scientist Fei-Fei Li declared, ‘I believe AI and its benefits have no borders. Whether a breakthrough occurs in Silicon Valley, Beijing, or anywhere else, it has the potential to make everyone’s life better for the entire world.’27 She emphasised, ‘we want to work with the best AI talent, wherever that talent is, to achieve’ Google’s mission.28

Google’s decision to expand its presence and activities in China, after withdrawing its search product from the market due to concerns over censorship, surveillance and the theft of intellectual property via cyber espionage in 2010,29 reflects this enthusiasm for the potential of future talent in China—and probably the availability of a sizable market and massive amounts of data as well.30 At the same time, this decision presents an interesting counterpoint to Google’s recent issuing of a statement of principles that included a commitment not to build technologies used for surveillance.31 Given the dual-use nature of these technologies, Google’s choice to engage in China may involve risks and raise ethical concerns,32 especially considering the Chinese party-state’s agenda for and approach to AI.

China’s global AI strategy and ambitions

At the highest levels, the Chinese Government is prioritising and directing strong state support to AI development, leveraging and harnessing the dynamism of tech companies that are at the forefront of China’s AI revolution. The New Generation Artificial Intelligence Development Plan (新一代人工 智能发展规划), released in July 2017, recognised this strategic technology as a ‘new focal point of international competition’, declaring China’s intention to emerge as the world’s ‘premier AI innovation centre’ by 2030.33 The Three-Year Action Plan to Promote the Development of New-Generation Artificial Intelligence Industry (促进新一代人工智能产业发展三年行动计划) (2018–2020), released in December 2017, called for China to achieve ‘major breakthroughs in a series of landmark AI products’ and ‘establish international competitive advantage’ by 2020.34 China’s central and local governments are providing high and ever-rising levels of funding for research and  development on next-generation AI technologies, while seeking to create a robust foundation for innovation by introducing new talent and education initiatives, developing standards and regulatory frameworks, and supporting the availability of data, testing and cloud platforms.35

China’s ambition to ‘lead the world’ in AI is self-evident.

China’s ambition to ‘lead the world’ in AI is self-evident.36 These plans and policies should be contextualised by its tradition of techno-nationalism and current aspirations to emerge as a ‘science and technology superpower’ (科技强国).37 In recent history, indigenous Chinese innovations, particularly defence technological developments, have been advanced and accelerated through licit and illicit means of tech transfer, including extensive industrial espionage.38 However, pursuing a new strategy of innovation-driven development,39 China is actively seeking to progress beyond more absorptive approaches to innovation and instead become a pioneer in emerging technologies, including through increasing investment in basic research.40 To further this agenda, the Chinese government is avidly targeting overseas students and scientists, offering considerable incentives via talent plans and engaging in recruitment via ‘talent bases’ and organisations that are often linked to the CCP or to central or local governments.4142

At this point, the success of these initiatives remains to be seen, and there are even reasons to question whether an AI bubble may arise due to excessive enthusiasm and investments. Although China’s future potential for innovation shouldn’t be dismissed or discounted, this ‘rise’ in AI often generates alarm and exuberance that can distract from recognition of major obstacles that remain. As its plans openly admit, China continues to lag behind the US in cutting-edge research and is attempting to compensate for current shortfalls in human capital.43 Notably, China confronts continued difficulties in the development of indigenous semiconductors,44 which will be critical to the hardware dimension of future advances in AI,45 despite billions in investment and quite flagrant attempts to steal intellectual property from US companies.46

While gradually becoming more capable of truly independent innovation, China also intends to coordinate and optimise its use of both domestic and international ‘innovation resources’.47 Notably, the New Generation AI Development Plan calls for an approach of ‘going out’ (走出去) involving overseas mergers and acquisitions, equity investments and venture capital, along with the establishment of R&D centres abroad.48 For instance, a subsidiary of the China Electronics Technology Group Corporation (CETC), a state-owned defence conglomerate, established an ‘innovation centre’ in Silicon Valley in 2014, which seeks to take advantage of that ecosystem with a focus on big data and other advanced information technologies.49 In Australia,50 CETC established a joint research centre with the University of Technology Sydney (UTS), which will focus on AI, autonomous systems and quantum computing, in April 2017.51 Starting in 2018, CETC’s Information Science Academy is also funding a project at UTS on ‘A Complex Data Condition Based Public Security Online Video Retrieval System’, which could have clear applications in surveillance.52 There have been extensive collaborations on dual-use AI technologies between PLA researchers from the National University of Defence Technology and academics at UTS, the University of New South Wales and the Australian National University.53

Meanwhile, Huawei is actively funding research and pursuing academic partnerships in the US and Australia, including through its Huawei Innovation Research Program.54 China’s ‘One Belt, One Road’ strategy is also concentrating on scientific and technological cooperation, including educational exchanges and research partnerships, such as a new Sino-German joint AI laboratory.55 Some of these new collaborations will focus on robotics and AI technologies, often enabling access to new sources of data that may facilitate China’s emergence as a global leader in AI development.56 In certain instances, China’s provision of funding to these initiatives may also reorient the direction of research based on its own priorities.57

As China seeks to advance indigenous innovation, the strategy of ‘going out’ is complemented by a focus on ‘bringing in’ (引进来) to ensure that vital talent and technologies are drawn back into China.58 At the same time, the Chinese government is evidently seeking to ensure that innovation ‘made in China’ will stay in China. As the US undertakes reforms to CFIUS, China could respond by recalibrating the implementation of its own national security review process, which is ambiguous enough to allow for great discretion in its application, pursuant to an expansive concept of national or state security (国家安全).59 Notably, the State Council has also issued a new notice that requires that scientific data generated within China be submitted to state data centres for review and approval before publication.60 The policy purports to promote open access to and sharing of scientific data within China, while creating ambiguous new restrictions that, depending upon their implementation, could render future cooperation asymmetrical in its benefits.61 Given these factors, while opportunities for research cooperation should often be welcomed, it is also important to ensure transparency regarding the research and intellectual property that may result from it, as well as the security of valuable or
sensitive datasets.

China’s integrated approach to indigenous innovation

In pursuit of its dreams of AI dominance, China is pioneering a new paradigm of indigenous innovation that takes advantage of critical synergies through creating mechanisms for deeper integration among the party-state, technology companies and the military. The CCP seeks not only to support private Chinese companies in their quest for innovation but also to control and guide them, ensuring that the companies serve the needs of the party and don’t become a threat to it. China’s ‘champions’ in AI— Baidu, Alibaba, Tencent and iFlytek—are at the forefront of innovation in the field, and this ‘national team’ will be supported and leveraged to advance state objectives and national competitiveness.62

For instance, Baidu is leading China’s National Engineering Laboratory for Deep Learning Technologies and Applications (深度学习技术及应用国家工程实验室),63 and iFlytek is leading the State Key Laboratory of Cognitive Intelligence (认知智能国家重点实验室).64 It seems likely that the research in these new laboratories will be directed to dual-use purposes. These champions will also undertake the development of new open innovation platforms in AI: Baidu will be responsible for autonomous vehicles, Alibaba Cloud (Aliyun) for smart cities, Tencent for medical imaging and iFlytek for smart voice (e.g., speech recognition, natural-language processing, machine translation, etc.).65 The platforms will be piloted in the Xiong’an New Area, a development southwest of Beijing that’s intended to be a futuristic demonstration of Chinese innovation and to showcase AI technologies and applications in action.66

Meanwhile, Xi Jinping has recently reaffirmed the Mao-era sentiment that ‘the party leads everything’, and China’s advances in AI must also be understood in the context of this system, in which the CCP is steadily increasing its control over private companies.67 In recent years, the CCP has introduced representatives of party branches and committees into notionally private companies,68 which have started to undertake more active ‘party building’ (党建) activities that are intended to expand the CCP’s presence and influence.69 Just about every major tech company, including Baidu, Alibaba, Tencent, Sohu, Sina and NetEase, has a party secretary, who is often a fairly senior figure within the company, and new requirements may even require all listed companies to ‘beef up party building’.70 For example, in March 2017, the CCP Capital Internet Association Commission (中共首都互联网协会 委员会) convened a party committee expansion meeting and a work meeting on grassroots party building that brought together the leaders of many prominent companies.71 At the meeting, Baidu Party Secretary Zhu Guang (朱光), who is also a Senior Vice President responsible for public relations and government affairs,72 talked about innovation in ‘party building work’, including the development of a mobile solution for ‘party building’. He committed Baidu to leveraging its capabilities in big data and AI applications, as well as its ‘ecological advantage’, to enhance the effectiveness of such efforts.73

This blurring of the boundaries between the party-state and its champions may create a tension between national strategic objectives and these companies’ global commercial interests.74 Increasingly, the CCP is even attempting to extend its reach into, and authority over, foreign companies operating in China.75

The dual-use dilemma in China’s AI development

The future trajectory of AI in China will inherently be shaped and constrained by the interests and imperatives of the party-state, and international collaboration with Chinese research institutions and corporate actors needs to be understood, and engaged in, with this important context in mind. Critically, AI will enhance both economic development and military modernization, while reinforcing the party’s ability to control its population through domestic surveillance, all of which are integral to the regime’s security and legitimacy. China’s AI plans and policies include the concern that AI will remain ‘secure and controllable’ (安全 , 可控), given the risks of societal disruption, while highlighting the importance of AI ‘to elevate significantly the capability and level of social governance, playing an irreplaceable role in effectively maintaining social stability’, thus bolstering regime security.76

Indeed, the pursuit of such ‘innovations’ in social governance through big data and AI has included the construction of predictive policing and surveillance capabilities, often developed with the assistance of start-ups such as SenseTime and Yitu Tech, that have often been abused, particularly in Xinjiang.77 Given the party’s attempts to extend its reach—and the trend towards deeper integration in civilian and military AI efforts in China—it can be difficult to disentangle notionally commercial activities from those directly linked to the party-state’s agendas for social control, indigenous innovation and military modernisation.

… a national strategy of ‘military–civil fusion’…

China seeks to take full advantage of the dual-use nature of AI technologies through a national strategy of ‘military–civil fusion’ (军民融合). This high-level agenda is directed by the CCP’s Military–Civil Fusion Development Commission (中央军民融合发展委员会) under the leadership of President Xi Jinping himself.78 Through a range of policy initiatives, China intends to ensure that advances in AI can be readily turned to dual-use applications to enhance national defence innovation. Although the effective implementation of military–civil fusion in AI may involve major challenges, this approach is presently advancing the creation of mechanisms and institutions that can integrate and coordinate R&D among scientific research institutes, universities, commercial enterprises, the defence industry and military units.79 For instance, in June 2017, Tsinghua University announced its plans to establish a Military–Civil Fusion National Defence Peak Technologies Laboratory (清华大学军民融合国防尖端技术实验室) that will create a platform for the pursuit of dual-use applications of emerging technologies, especially AI.80 Notably, in March 2018, China’s first ‘national defence science and technology innovation rapid response small group’ (国防科技创新快速响应小组) was launched by the CMC Science and Technology Commission in Shenzhen,81 and is intended to ‘use advanced commercial technologies to serve the military.’82

China’s AI ‘national champions’ may often be engaged in support of this agenda of military-civil fusion. Notably, in January 2018, Baidu and the 28th Research Institute of the China Electronics Technology Group’s (CETC), a state-owned defence conglomerate, established the Joint Laboratory for Intelligent Command and Control Technologies (智能指挥控制技术联合实验室), located in Nanjing.83 The CETC 28th Research Institute is known as a leading enterprise in the development of military information systems, specializing in the development of command automation systems,84 and it seeks to advance the use of new-generation information technology in defence ‘informatization’ (信息化).85

This partnership is directly linked to China’s national strategy of military-civil fusion, leveraging the respective advantages of CETC and Baidu to take advantage of the potential of big data, artificial intelligence, and cloud computing. Going forward, the new joint laboratory will focus on increasing the level of ‘intelligentization’ (智能化) in command information systems, as well as designing and developing new-generation command information systems ‘with intelligentization as the core.’ Baidu’s involvement in this new laboratory reflects its active contribution to military-civil fusion, a strategy that is resulting in a further blurring of boundaries between commercial and defence developments.

Policy considerations and recommendations

There is no single or simple solution, and policy responses must take into account the inherent complexities of these global dynamics, which necessitate highly targeted and nuanced measures to mitigate risk.86 At the same time, real and serious concerns about China’s exploitation of the openness of our democracies must not lead to reactive or indiscriminate approaches that could cause collateral damage to the inclusivity and engagement that are critical to innovation.

The benefits of scientific collaboration are compelling, and continued cooperation should be supported, with appropriate awareness and safeguards. In future, the quest to achieve an advantage in emerging technologies will only intensify, and the US and Australia must also look to enhance their own competitiveness in these strategic technologies.87

The options for policy response include, but aren’t limited to, the measures detailed below.

Strengthen targeted, coordinated countermeasures.

1: Review recent and existing research and commercial partnerships on strategic technologies that involve support and funding from foreign militaries, governments or state-owned/supported enterprises, evaluating the dual-use risks and potential externality outcomes in each case.

  • ​​Evaluate early-stage research to determine the likelihood that it may turn out to have disruptive dual-use implications in the future.
  • Present a public report with findings and recommendations to raise awareness and ensure transparency.
  • Continue to push back against forced tech transfer in joint ventures.88

2: Explore updates and revisions to national export controls, defence trade controls and investment review mechanisms that take into account the unique challenges of dual-use commercial technologies; communicate those updates clearly and publicly to relevant stakeholders.

  • Share lessons learned and pursue coordination with allies and partners to account for the global scope and scale of these dynamics.
  • Ensure that these restrictions are applied to sensitive datasets associated with AI development, including data used for training purposes.

3: Engage in visa screening of foreign nationals who plan to study or research sensitive or strategic technologies, targeting scrutiny on the basis of whether or not students or researchers have direct and clear connections to foreign militaries, governments or intelligence services.

  • Deny visas to those who are determined to be likely to leverage their studies or research in support of a foreign military that is not a security partner.
  • Incorporate an independent review mechanism into the process to assess evidentiary standards and mitigate risks of bias in visa determinations.

4: Identify organisations engaging in talent recruitment that are linked to the Chinese central and local governments or to the CCP, and require their registration as foreign agents where appropriate.

5: Enhance counterintelligence capabilities, particularly by augmenting language and technical expertise.

Encourage best practices and safeguards for risk mitigation in partnerships and collaborations, with a particular focus on universities.

6: Introduce stricter accountability and reporting requirements, managed by departments of education, which make transparent international sources of funding for research strategic technologies

7: Engage in outreach to companies, universities and think tanks in order to highlight the potential for risk or unintended externalities in joint ventures and partnerships, including through developing and presenting a series of case studies based on past incidents.

8: Propose best practices for future academic collaborations and commercial partnerships, including transparency about the terms for scientific data and intellectual property, as well as clear standards on ethics and academic freedom.

  • Identify favourable domains to sustain open collaboration and engagement, such as issues of safety and standards.

9: Introduce, or where appropriate adjust, policies or guidelines restricting those who work for national or military research institutes and laboratories or receive public funding at a certain level from organisations accepting funding from or collaborating with a foreign military, state-owned enterprise or ‘national champion’ that is not an ally.

Go on the offensive through policies to enhance national competitiveness in technological innovation.

10: Increase and commit to sustaining funding for basic research and the long-term development of AI technologies.

11: Prioritise improving the accessibility and affordability of STEM education at all levels, including creating new scholarships to support those studying computer science, AI and other priority disciplines.

12: Sustain openness to immigration, welcoming graduating students and talented researchers, while potentially offering a fast-track option to citizenship.

13: Pursue closer public–private partnerships through creating new incubators and institutions that create a more diverse and dynamic community for innovation.89

  • Encourage dialogue and engagement between the tech and defence communities on issues of law, ethics and safety.

14: Explore the expansion of alliance coordination and cooperation in defence innovation, including collaboration in research, development and experimentation with new technologies and their applications.

15: Engage with like-minded nations to advance discussions of AI ethics and standards, as well as potential normative and governance frameworks.


Important disclaimer

This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in relation to the subject matter covered. It is provided with the understanding that the publisher is not engaged in rendering any form of professional or other advice or services. No person should rely on the contents of this publication without first obtaining advice from a qualified professional person.

© The Australian Strategic Policy Institute Limited 2018

This publication is subject to copyright. Except as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Enquiries should be addressed to the publishers.

  1. Elsa B Kania, ‘The pursuit of AI is more than an arms race’, Defense One, 19 April 2018, online. ↩︎
  2. Kai-Fu Lee, AI superpowers: China, Silicon Valley, and the new world order, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2018, forthcoming ↩︎
  3. For prior writing on these issues, see Elsa Kania, ‘Tech entanglement—China, the United States, and artificial intelligence’, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, 5 February 2018, online. ↩︎
  4. For a detailed study on these issues, see Office of the United States Trade Representative, Executive Office of the President, Findings of the investigation into China’s acts, policies, and practices related to technology transfer, intellectual property, and innovation under section 301 of the Trade Act of 1974, 22 March 2018, online. ↩︎
  5. Throughout this policy paper, I use the concept of ‘entanglement’ to characterise the close linkages and range of mechanisms for engagement in the research, development and commercialisation of technologies, particularly in the context of AI. In historical perspective, entanglement, whether in alliances or economics, has proven to be both a factor restraining conflict and a major source of friction. ↩︎
  6. ‘US tech companies and their Chinese partners with military ties’, New York Times, 30 October 2015, online. ↩︎
  7. Clive Hamilton, Alex Joske, ‘Australian universities are helping China’s military surpass the United States’, Sydney Morning Herald, 27 October 2017, online. ↩︎
  8. Josh Chin, Clément Bürge, ‘Twelve days in Xinjiang: how China’s surveillance state overwhelms daily life’, Wall Street Journal, 19 December 2017, online. ↩︎
  9. For the purposes of this paper, I target the proposed policy responses to the context of the US and Australia, but the suggested responses are intended to be applicable to other liberal democratic states. ↩︎
  10. These screenings should not extend to outright restrictions or unwarranted discrimination on the basis of nationality. For a compelling perspective on the imperative of keeping the door open to foreign scientists, read Yangyang Cheng, ‘Don’t close the door on Chinese scientists like me’, Foreign Policy, 4 June 2018, online. ↩︎
  11. For a notable report on these concerns, see Michael Brown, Pavneet Singh, China’s technology transfer strategy: how Chinese investments in emerging technology enable a strategic competitor to access the crown jewels of US innovation, Defense Innovation Unit Experimental (DIUx), January 2018, online. ↩︎
  12. ‘CFIUS reform: House and Senate committees unanimously clear bills that would greatly expand CFIUS authority’, Lexology, 1 June 2018, online. National/State Security Law of the People’s Republic of China [中华人民共和国国家安全法], 7 July 2015, online. For further discussion of the concept of ‘state security’, see Samantha Hoffman, ‘China’s state security strategy: “everyone is responsible”’, The Strategist, 11 December 2017, online. ↩︎
  13. For an interview that describes the campaign from the perspective of an organiser, see ‘Tech workers versus the Pentagon’, Jacobin, 6 June 2018, online. ↩︎

Tag Archive for: China

Beijing’s online influence operations along the India–China border

The Chinese government is likely conducting influence operations on social media to covertly dispute territorial claims and denigrate authorities in India’s northeastern states.

As part of a joint investigation with Taiwanese think tank Doublethink Lab for its 2024 Foreign Influence on India’s Election Observation Project, we identified coordinated social media campaigns seeking to amplify social tensions in Manipur and criticise the Indian government, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) party and its policies. This occurred in the lead-up to and during the Indian general elections, when social divisions were especially heightened.

Despite Beijing publicly seeking stability with India the Chinese Communist Party will likely use other covert methods, mainly targeting Chinese-speaking diasporas, to destabilise the India-China border and pursue its territorial ambitions.

The CCP has a history of trying to exploit ethnic and political conflicts in India’s northeastern states, such as in Manipur, where Beijing has allegedly fostered instability using Myanmar-based and local terror groups. On 3 May 2023, Manipur’s latest ethnic conflict in erupted between the Meitei and the Kuki indigenous ethnic groups over a disputed affirmative action measure related to benefits for the Meitei people. According to reports, the violence resulted in 221 deaths and displaced approximately 60,000 individuals.

Our findings shows that most of the narrative had first appeared on Chinese social media platforms which then entered the Indian social media landscape through translation or AI enabled translations. This way it reached to the targeted audience, the Meitei people. Anthropologists say the Meitei people may be ethnically related to Tibetans, whose land is now part of China, but the Meitei do not speak Chinese.

Violence in Manipur became a hot topic on Chinese social media platforms and websites in early 2024, amplified by pro-CCP writers and likely inauthentic social media accounts seeking to push CCP narratives in the region. These accounts spread misleading narratives, such as ‘There is a little China in India that holds the six-star red flag, does not speak Hindi and refuses to marry Indians’ (印度有个“小中国”,举六星红旗,不说印语,拒绝和印度人通婚). Others are ‘conflict in India’s Manipur is a result of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s crackdown on religious and ethnic minorities’, ‘India is running concentration camps for minorities’, and ‘Manipur has never been a part of India and the demand for independence in the state is justified.’

We also identified coordinated inauthentic accounts likely originating from China disseminating the ‘Little China in India’ narrative on Western social media platforms, such as X and YouTube. For example, one Chinese-language speaking account named jostom, created in November 2023, posted the phrase ‘Little China’ 小中国, and shared a YouTube video with the nonsensical title ‘Manipur India known as “small China” once the impact of independence on India?’

The video (which had had only around ​​2500 views at the time of writing) was uploaded on 18 March 2024 by the YouTube account Earth story, which claims to be a Chinese-language ‘popular science number [sic] on international relations that everyone can understand’. It is unclear whether the videos uploaded by the account are original content or reuploads from an account of the same name on Douyin, a short-form video app popular in China. However, some video titles are also in English, indicating that the channel’s target audience goes beyond Chinese-speaking diasporas. In addition, there are always auto-generated captions in Hindi or English when the narrator speaks in Mandarin.

The jostom X account was one of many likely inauthentic accounts spreading the Little China narrative. The latest post by jostom was on 20 April 2024. The account has only 22 followers and follows 31 accounts, and mostly shares content with Chinese landscape pictures, a common feature of Chinese propaganda. Out of 71 posts on the account, the Little China video is the only political content.

Among its 22 followers, at least six accounts appear to be inauthentic: they were created around the same date, and their profiles and posts share many similarities. For example, they are all following a similar number of accounts, and the only posts these six accounts made were on 22 or 23 July 2023.

These accounts display similar characteristics to a sophisticated subset of Spamouflage disinformation networks, which ASPI identified last year as having interfered in an Australian referendum. This network goes beyond spreading typically pro-China propaganda and is known for amplifying domestic issues in democracies. Like the accounts that targeted Australia, accounts following jostom use images of Western women to develop their personas. Their first posts are aphorisms or quotes, many of which are incomplete.

The small sample of accounts discussed above is likely part of a broader network of inauthentic accounts originating from China that has increasingly sought to interfere in India’s domestic affairs. Since 2023, social media conglomerate Meta has publicly disclosed at least two coordinated inauthentic networks targeting India and originating from China in its quarterly Adversarial Threat Reports. The first disclosure in 2023 revealed that fake accounts originating from China were criticising the Indian government and military by focusing on issues on the India-China border. The second campaign, disclosed in early 2024, was linked to the original 2023 campaign but instead targeted the global Sikh community, creating a fictitious activist movement called Operation K that called for pro-Sikh protests.

On X, many of the accounts identified by Meta in its Adversarial Threat Reports continued to operate and disseminate disinformation in the lead-up to the 2024 Indian elections. Common topics and narratives spread by these included accusing Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi of not being concerned about the welfare of people in Manipur, amplifying protests in nearby Nagaland and fomenting dissent against the Indian government in another northeastern state, Arunachal Pradesh (see screenshot below). In some cases, accounts called for Indians to boycott the BJP over its activities in the Manipur region.

ASPI has identified some of the same accounts used for interfering in the 2024 Taiwanese elections.

The accounts appear to be copying tweets from other prominent Indian commentators rather than creating original posts. Sometimes this resulted in errors, such as the Nawal Sharma account appearing to have copied a tweet from India Daily Lives but failing to correctly copy the Hindi text while posting the same hashtags and link (see screenshot below).

The CCP’s influence operations targeting India in 2024 were mostly ineffective. However, they are part of a broader strategy to destabilise countries in their neighbourhoods. It has used similar methods to influence electoral outcomes and political narratives in Canada, Taiwan and Britain, where it has employed a combination of disinformation and covert support to influence public opinion and political results. These actions often reveal Beijing’s true intentions, such as its territorial ambitions in India’s northeastern states, and contradict its charm offensive with neighbouring states.

As the CCP resorts to more covert methods to pursue its interests, democratic countries should publicly expose these influence operations and share information on observed tactics, techniques and procedures with allies and partners. Indo-Pacific countries should consider financial sanctions against private companies or state-affiliated media conducting intelligence activities and disinformation campaigns, similar to sanctions applied to Russian disinformation actors. While it may be difficult to deter the CCP through these policy actions, it will at least impose costs on Beijing and make it more difficult to conduct these operations with impunity.

As China tries harder to collect data, we must try harder to protect data

China is stepping up efforts to force foreign companies to hand over valuable data while strengthening its own defences. Some of the information it’s looking for would give it greater opportunities for espionage or political interference in other countries.

Australia and other countries need to follow the lead of the United States, which on 21 October proposed rules that would regulate and even prohibit transfers of data containing the personal or medical information of its citizens to foreign entities.

Recent developments from inside China support the idea that the country is refocusing on bulk data, both to aid its intelligence operations and to protect itself from potential adversaries.

China has reformed its domestic legal environment to both protect itself and collect information with intelligence value. A new Data Security Law allows Chinese officials to broadly define ‘core state’ data and ‘important’ data while also banning any company operating inside China from providing data stored in China to overseas agencies without government approval. Firms over a certain size must also have a cell of the Chinese Communist Party to more closely integrate ‘Party leadership into all aspects of corporate governance’, including cybersecurity and data management.

The Communist Party’s Central Committee and the State Council have decreed that the National Data Administration will manage every source of public data by 2030.

The Ministry of State Security has prohibited Western companies from receiving geospatial information from Chinese companies and required companies to take down idle devices to reduce the threat of Western espionage. And Chinese nationals will shortly be unable to access the internet without verifying their identity by facial recognition and their national ID number.

In early October, a report by the Irish Council of Civil Liberties (ICCL) exposed the world of real-time bidding data, where the ads displayed when you go online are the result of an automated bidding process based on your browsing history and precise location. The ICCL report raised concerns that these kinds of analytics could identify people’s political leanings, sexual preferences, mental health state and even the drinks they like. That data has then been sold to companies operating in China.

Beijing’s recent activities in the digital world remind us that even the most mundane and trivial data about a person can have intelligence value—for example, in recruiting agents, guessing passwords and tracking the movements of targets. China’s expansive spying regime, which mobilises countless private entities and citizens, threatens to overwhelm Western intelligence services. That spying regime now has access to more information to inform decisions.

China’s latest moves draw our attention to the peculiar vulnerability of Australia in the region, especially among the AUKUS triad. Australian privacy law does not carry the same type of protections as British and US laws. Australia has neither a constitutional nor statutory right to privacy, and its key piece of legislative protection has provisions dating back to the 1980s. Despite receiving the results of a comprehensive review of the Privacy Act more than 18 months ago, the government has been sluggish to adopt any reforms that might help protect us from China’s data-harvesting practices.

The motivation for China to collect personal data in Australia has risen since we entered the AUKUS agreement in 2021. But the government isn’t showing enough interest in securing it against foreign manipulation and theft. Consider, too, that other intelligence players, such as India and Russia, are just as likely to join in.

Australia should take a leaf out of the US playbook on countering Chinese interference in its sovereign data. Since February 2024, the United States has been keen to regulate the sharing of information with foreign entities, starting with an executive order signed by President Joe Biden. The rules that Biden proposed on 21 October would ban data brokerage with foreign countries and only allow certain data to be shared with entities that adopt strict data security practices.

Beyond that, there is a growing need for industry and especially academia to adopt stronger security postures. Posting travel plans or political views on Facebook or Instagram might seem innocuous, but if it’s done by someone in a position of power or with access to valuable information, the individual’s vulnerability to espionage dramatically increases. As a society, we all need to take a little more notice and a little more care with what we are sharing online.

China’s strategic shift to ‘small but beautiful’ projects

Amid an economic downturn and intensifying competition in the Pacific, China is refining its foreign investment strategy, increasingly starting projects it calls ‘small but beautiful’.

Although modest in scale, they can quietly build influence and can catch foreign policymakers off guard. With this shift, China can foster economic growth and deepen geopolitical ties across the Pacific region.

The phrase ‘small but beautiful’ (‘xiao er mei’) has become prominent in Chinese business, emphasising the value of customised, flexible, focused and efficient products.

On 19 November 2021, at the Third Symposium on the Construction of the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), Chinese President Xi Jinping used the phrase to describe foreign cooperation projects for which he wanted prioritisation. In October 2023, he re-emphasised the point as a key action for China to support high-quality BRI construction projects, undertaken jointly with the governments of the investment-destination countries.

To this end, Beijing has tightened capital controls and investment regulations amid growing concerns over investment risk, political instability, corruption and project quality. The average scale of projects has declined.

Applying the small-but-beautiful idea to BRI projects reflects Xi’s evolving strategic approach to enhancing cooperation and mutual understanding with other countries. Big BRI projects in the Pacific have been promoted as efforts to enhance sustainability and improve lives, but they have been tainted by corruption, suffered from defaults by debtors in the target countries and provoked foreign wariness of China’s intentions.

Xi clearly hopes shifting the focus to smaller and better targeted projects will improve foreign public sentiment towards China.

In May 2022, China reaffirmed its commitment to enhancing comprehensive strategic partnerships in the Pacific island countries. Since then, projects have included promoting planting and using juncao, a kind of economically productive grass, and proposals to offer 2500 scholarships for government officials and training in human resources for 3000 people from Pacific island countries from 2020 to 2025. This has been intended to demonstrate dedication to the region’s development.

Some small but beautiful projects have been technology transfers, which have attracted little attention. Sharing the knowhow for using juncao has been an example. Since February 2024, there’s been notable activity at the China-Pacific Island Countries Juncao Technology Demonstration Center in Fiji. The chairman of the China International Development Cooperation Agency, Luo Zhaohui, surveyed the centre and spoke highly of its contribution to promoting friendly China–Fiji cooperation and future expansion into the South Pacific region.

In March 2024, 34 representatives from across the Pacific region attended a one-week course to learn how to use juncao. Some participants expressed gratitude towards China for helping their communities.

China has set up Luban Workshops in Asia, Europe and Africa. These offer vocational education programs to cultivate locally sourced technical personnel trained in operating Chinese technology and equipment, and match Chinese companies with skilled labour.

The training programs also help to improve perceptions of China among attendees. For example, teachers, students and alumni of Luban Workshops held in Indonesia, Ethiopia and South Africa have expressed gratitude towards China and dismissed criticism of Beijing’s handling of the Covid-19 pandemic and its treatment of Uyghur Muslims.

Building on this success, China may seek to expand its Luban Workshop network and range of small but beautiful project offerings in the Pacific to gain influence. China’s public messaging will no doubt prioritise the merits of sustainable development for local communities while subtly strengthening its presence and sway. These seemingly modest initiatives may be easy to overlook, but they are an important element of China’s strategy to increase its standing in the Pacific.

Chinese electric vehicles are a rolling security threat

Senate estimates earlier this month heard the remarkable revelation that Home Affairs Minister Tony Burke has had to take ‘precautions’ based on warnings from his own department to protect himself and the nation’s sensitive information from Burke’s own Chinese-made electric car.

The risks with such cars, according to Home Affairs officials, might include having data collected from the owner’s phone if it were connected to the car, voice calls eavesdropped on, image collection from the car’s external cameras and geolocation tracking—meaning that if Burke drove to a sensitive government location the car’s manufacturer would be able to see.

The United States has announced plans to ban Chinese technology in American cars over surveillance and sabotage concerns. Australia should do the same. Moreover, with Prime Minister Anthony Albanese meeting China’s President Xi Jinping in Brazil on the sidelines of the G20 meeting overnight, he had the chance to raise this issue directly, consistent with the kind of frank diplomatic engagement for which Australia should be using these face-to-face opportunities.

Indeed, Australia needs a comprehensive strategy to address the rolling security threat of high-risk foreign vendors to critical infrastructure. Our current approach—not addressing risks until Chinese firms dominate their markets, as BYD is doing now in electric cars—is woefully inadequate. We are trapped in a game of whac-a-mole.

Australia has previously addressed risks from China’s Huawei, TikTok and camera-maker Hikvision. New technologies will keep coming, bringing risks of malicious use by Beijing.

Australia must see the US ban on Chinese tech in cars not as an escalation in the US–China trade war but as a wakeup call: technological advance is core to strategic competition and presents real security threats that need to be confronted.

China’s technological dominance across hardware and software allows smart cars, for instance, to serve as tools for surveillance, propaganda and sabotage. But this isn’t just about cars. Internet-connected medical devices, for example, can be used for surveillance of patients.

Most countries could not interfere with and hack into foreign technology without covert activity. But Chinese companies control globally prevalent technology that Beijing—and its intelligence agencies—could exploit directly.

Just this year, seven Chinese departments, including the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology, called for innovation and industrial development in such areas as 6G communications, satellite internet and direct satellite-to-mobile connectivity. This is to be done by advancing current technology that is already raising foreign concerns: 5G, internet of things, satellite communications and internet-connected vehicles.

This aggressive push for leadership highlights the risk of continuing to rely on technology from a country that seeks to do us harm—a country that is using a military-civil fusion strategy to ensure all of its society works for the regime’s military ambitions.

Australia needs a strategic framework that moves beyond a whac-a-mole approach that will fail in a plague of moles. Ideally this would involve a coalition of like-minded democratic partners taking collective action. But in the meantime, Australia must develop its own framework.

We need a policy that lists critical infrastructure and sectors from which suppliers of concern—from both China and Russia—are prohibited. Excluding those suppliers would be based on the scale of the potential threat and our inability to mitigate that threat.

This would provide certainty and avoid having to manage fallout from imposing bans after the suppliers were already in the market. Government agencies could still assess specific cases for mitigation. But the presumption that high-risk vendors are banned would end the current approach of waiting for them to achieve a potentially harmful position before we act, as with TikTok.

Australia’s ban on Chinese suppliers in the 5G network in 2018 proved the value of this approach. Australia considered carefully whether the risk of Chinese suppliers in its 5G network could be mitigated. A vendor’s control of the 5G network gives it the capability to turn the network off. Even if China had no immediate plan to take such a dramatic step, its objectives could quickly change in any future conflict or crisis. Australia therefore made the assessment that a full ban was the only option.

While awaiting a national strategy, the same principle should determine the individual case of cars. Just as there was a distinction between 4G and 5G networks, there should be a distinction between traditional, unconnected cars and the new, connected ones. If Chinese technology is too dangerous for our critical infrastructure but not for cars that connect with that critical infrastructure, the government should explain why.

TikTok was deemed a national security threat, but Australia did not ban it outright, opting instead to ban it from government devices. If an outright 5G-style ban on cars is assessed as unnecessary, surely consistency means prohibiting government employees and politicians from buying or travelling in those with Chinese technology. After all, these cars would connect to the devices, such as phones, that the government has said must not be linked to untrusted technology. It was a surprise, therefore, when Climate Change and Energy Minister Chris Bowen in September ruled out a ban because he wanted ‘Australians to have more choice’. Choice cannot be the principle upon which security decisions are made. Nor can price.

Australia needs a comprehensive strategy. And Australians should be told why Chinese tech can’t be in the 5G network, nor in government devices, but can be in the cars that connect to both.

Great changes unseen in 100 years—but not the ones Xi is thinking of

In October 2017, Xi Jinping declared that the world is experiencing ‘great changes unseen in a hundred years’. He often uses this signature phrase, the century-ago events being the tumultuous ones at the end of World War I, which saw the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, the crumbling of European empires and the emergence of the United States as a great power, manifested through its decisive intervention in the war. In the century that followed, the US dominated the international system, defeating threats to its primacy from Nazi Germany, Imperial Japan and the Soviet Union.

For Xi, world history is currently undergoing a similarly momentous shift. As he sees it, the decline of the United States, its political ‘dysfunction’, the changing structure of world power and the rise of China are all irreversible and intertwined trends that can be explained by the laws of the Marxist theory of history.  His worldview is superbly analysed in Kevin Rudd’s new book, On Xi Jinping: How Xi’s Marxist nationalism is shaping China and the world, which should be read by specialists, the public and incoming Trump officials alike.

Xi believes that the tide of history is flowing in China’s direction and that a new world order can be fashioned with China at its centre, due to the ‘rise of the East, and the decline of the West’. This will be a new epoch. This is not to say that China will seek world domination as the Soviet Union did during the Cold War. Rather, it will seek to refashion globalisation and multilateralism such that they serve its interests and the interests of those who align themselves with China.

Xi is wrong. His theory of history is flawed. His thesis that the West is in decline is optimistic ideation, not informed analysis.  His ideological and analytical rigidity prevents him from seeing the trap that he is setting for China in relation to the economic underpinnings of its power.

China cannot prevail economically over the aggregate weight of the US, Europe, Japan, India, Britain, Australia, Canada, South Korea and others, if they work together. This will be especially so as they increasingly deflect the ongoing surge of heavily subsidised Chinese exports of manufactured goods, components and materials. Creating manufacturing overcapacity has been a deliberate strategy to concentrate industrial power in China.  It has stunted the development of a services-based economy in China, distorted global trade, hollowed out Western industrial bases and disrupted industrialisation of the Global South.

China’s hold on global manufacturing could be broken if US partners leverage Donald Trump’s proposed tariffs by imposing similar tariffs and other forms of market access restrictions and by countering Chinese subsidies, dumping and predatory pricing strategies. Trump’s tariffs will work best if they are coordinated with friends so China cannot circumvent them by flooding other markets. This will require enhancing supply chain tracking so that China can’t get around these trade shields through third-country workarounds.

Through a concerted strategy of industrial, investment and financial coordination, global trade could be re-balanced such that China could be economically pressured into divesting its overcapacity into the above-named countries. Some would also go to less developed countries, such as Vietnam, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, Argentina, Mexico and Turkey. By sitting on the runway of global manufacturing, China is blocking the development of such countries from taking off. The US could reshore higher value and nationally critical manufacturing while helping to spread lower value manufacturing across more economies.

The US and likeminded countries should also ensure that China does not get easy access to, or steal, the critical new technologies that will boost and sustain higher productivity, such as AI, robotics and quantum computing. US financial power, including the global status of the US dollar and US treasuries, further challenges China.

China’s internal situation is perilous, due to population decline, structural economic problems (such as its massive debt overhang and the stifling of the dynamism of its own private sector) and its dependence on imported energy, resources and food. China will more likely collapse than it will ascend to global primacy.

For the US, seeing off the China challenge, including by way of trade warfare, is a pre-requisite for greatness in the second American century.  If it can pull off such a strategy, it will re-industrialise its economy and reconfigure the structure of global trade so that others also benefit, at China’s expense.  There are great changes underway, unseen in a hundred years—but they are not the ones that Xi Jinping thinks are occurring.

Three concessions after three weeks: Prabowo leans China’s way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Downsides of China’s port investments go beyond immediate security risks

Chinese companies own or operate at least one port on every continent except Antarctica. These investments present more than immediate security concerns; they position China to fully exploit the economic potential of ports at the expense of other countries.

And with Chinese companies controlling development of a port, the government in Beijing can interfere in physical development of the facility, perhaps to ensure that navally useful infrastructure isn’t built.

The former and current Australian governments have been criticized for acquiescing in the Chinese company Landbridge owning a 99-year lease on Darwin Port, the commercial operation in Darwin Harbour. Criticism has focused on security concerns, such as the Chinese government possibly arranging to use the facility for military surveillance or for sabotaging it in times of tension.

But the ordinary civilian activity of a Chinese company controlling the development of ports can have negative consequences for the host nation and others. As is seen in many industries, one Chinese business will often prefer to work with another, with the result that China has maximum exposure to potential profits.

We saw a step towards this last month in relation to Darwin Port, the commercial operation in Darwin Harbour. As the ABC reported, Port of Darwin signed a memorandum with the Port of Shenzhen for ‘friendly cooperation’. The aim is to increase trade links between the ports, which would have to mean Chinese companies, such as shipping lines, deepening economic involvement in Darwin Port.

Situated in southern China, the Port of Shenzhen is one of the busiest and fastest-growing in the world.

Interestingly, this agreement was not announced in Australia, and after the ABC reported it there was no public discussion of new links to China by the commercial port in one of Australia’s most strategically important harbours.

The Council on Foreign Relations has been tracking China’s growing maritime influence through investments in strategic overseas ports and has reported that while China has limited overseas naval bases, it has emerged as a leading commercial power with considerable economic influence over international sea lanes and commercial ports. China’s shipping routes and service networks span major countries and regions worldwide, backed by 70 bilateral and regional shipping agreements with 66 nations.

In October 2023, the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet finalised a review into the circumstances of the Darwin Port lease, finding that a robust regulatory system would manage risks to critical infrastructure, that existing monitoring mechanisms were sufficient, and, as a result, that the government did not need to cancel or vary the lease.

But the review appears not to have addressed the problem that decisions about development of Darwin Port are now in non-Australian hands. In particular, Australia does not seem to have considered that the Chinese government now exerts influence over capital investment at Darwin Port.

Warships use civilian wharves and other port facilities as well as naval bases, especially during conflict, just as military aircraft can fly from civilian airfields. Some port facilities suit naval ships and their missions better than others.

The Chinese government can exert influence on a Chinese company operating abroad and even take coercive action against Australian companies, as experienced by the Lynas Corporation in Western Australia. If the Chinese armed forces take an interest in a foreign port’s capacity to support naval operations, they can certainly send a message to its Chinese owner about what improvements should not be made there, even profitable improvements.

The 2024 National Defence Strategy and associated spending plan, the Integrated Investment Program, did not expressly mention the Darwin Port, but the importance of logistics facilities in Darwin was implied by funding allocated for enhancing theatre logistics and improving fuel holdings, storage, and distribution in northern Australia.

As China continues to deepen its geoeconomic footprint, addressing the potential risks associated with foreign control over critical infrastructure becomes increasingly important. Transparent communication and proactive policy decisions are crucial to preventing national assets from becoming leverage points in broader regional power dynamics.

A task for Trump: stop China in the South China Sea

For more than a decade, China has been using an increasingly aggressive hybrid-warfare strategy to increase its power and influence in the strategically important South China Sea. Countering it will be one of the defining challenges for US president-elect Donald Trump’s incoming administration.

Chinese President Xi Jinping’s Chinese dream of global preeminence depends significantly on achieving dominance in the South China Sea and ending America’s primacy in the Indo-Pacific region, an emerging global economic and geopolitical hub. And China has not hesitated to use coercive tactics in service of these objectives.

In recent years, boats belonging to countries whose territorial claims China disregards, such as the Philippines and Vietnam, have faced blockades, ramming, water-cannon attacks, and even bladed-weapon assaults by Chinese vessels. Offshore energy operations endure frequent harassment. Simply fishing in waters that China calls its own can expose a person to a Chinese attack with iron pipes. Such violent confrontations have heightened regional tensions and undermined stability in a crucial corridor linking the Pacific and Indian Ocean.

One might have expected the United States to take action to rein in China’s behavior, especially given its mutual defense treaty with the Philippines. And yet, three successive presidents—Barack Obama, Trump, and Joe Biden—have failed to offer anything beyond statements of support and symbolic action. In 2012, Obama allowed China’s brazen seizure of the disputed Scarborough Shoal from the Philippines to go unpunished.

This was hardly the first time the US had failed to live up to its defense commitments to the Philippines. In 1995, the Philippines requested US help to block Chinese forces from capturing Mischief Reef, just 129 nautical miles from the Philippine island of Palawan. US President Bill Clinton, smarting over the termination three years earlier of America’s right to maintain military bases in the Philippines, refused. Mischief Reef is now an important Chinese military base.

The more China has got away with, the bolder it has become. Following the capture of the Scarborough Shoal, Xi embarked on a land-reclamation frenzy, creating 1300 hectares of land in the South China Sea, including seven artificial islands that now serve as forward operating bases. China has built 27 military outposts on disputed islands, which now bristle with short-range missiles, reconnaissance gear, radar systems and laser and jamming equipment. Its larger islands also feature aircraft hangars, runways and deep-water harbors. By unilaterally redrawing South China Sea’s geopolitical map, China is ensuring that it is uniquely positioned to project power in the region.

Even as China has gradually eroded the Philippines’ security, including Philippine control of areas within its exclusive economic zone, the US has continued to underscore its ‘ironclad’ defense commitment to its ally. Late last year, the Biden administration affirmed that any armed third-party attack against the Philippine military, coast guard, aircraft or public vessels ‘anywhere in the South China Sea’ is covered by the US–Philippines Mutual Defense Treaty. Yet China remains unpunished—and undeterred.

What explains this yawning gap between rhetoric and action? First and foremost, the US fears escalation, especially when its resources and attention are being consumed by the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East. Moreover, the US prefers not to weigh in on sovereignty disputes in the South China Sea, where it has no territorial claims of its own. It has not even taken a position on the sovereignty of the Japanese-administered Senkaku Islands, which China also claims.

The US has, however, made clear that its security treaty with Japan covers those islands and cautioned against ‘any unilateral action that seeks to undermine Japan’s administration.’ It should do the same for the Philippines, stating unequivocally that its treaty commitment to the country covers any efforts to compel a change in areas currently under Philippine administrative control, including Second Thomas Shoal, which China has been attempting to besiege.

In support of this stance, the US could cite the 2016 ruling by an international arbitration tribunal that China’s territorial claims in the South China Sea have no legal basis and that Chinese actions within the Philippine exclusive economic zone violated the Philippines’ sovereignty. But China’s open contempt for that ruling should dispel any hope that the South China Sea’s future will be decided by international law, which is why the US must be prepared to back up such a statement with action.

If the US does stand up for its treaty ally, it can take advantage of the nine Philippine naval and air bases to which it has gained access within the last decade, two of which are located just across from Taiwan and southern China. If it does not, China will continue to solidify its dominance over the South China Sea, thereby cornering the region’s rich energy and fishery resources and gaining the ability to disrupt supply chains and punish countries for acts it deems unfriendly.

China will not stop at the South China Sea. Under Xi’s leadership, China has used a similar combination of deception, bullying, coercion and surprise to expand its territorial control elsewhere, from the East China Sea to the Himalayas, sparing not even the tiny country of Bhutan. As with any bully, the only way to stop China is to confront it with a credible challenger. The US must be that challenger, and it should start by defending the Philippines.

The push and pull of the India–Australia relationship

Australia’s new relationship with India has push-pull poles—the pull of the Indian diaspora in Australia and the push that China applies to the Indo-Pacific.

The diaspora is the personal dimension that pulls India and Australia together. China is the geopolitical push that shapes the four-year old India-Australia comprehensive strategic relationship.

Between the push-pull poles stretches the great pool of shared prosperity in trade and investment, education, science and technology, and clean energy.

This push, pull and prosperity defined much in Canberra’s India talkfest in Parliament House last week: the back-to-back meetings of the Australia-India Foreign Ministers’ Framework Dialogue and the second Raisina Down Under dialogue, a multilateral conference that aims to address geostrategic challenges in the Indo-Pacific. Here was first track and second track dialogue running so close as to overlap.

At the press conference after the foreign ministers’ dialogue, Australia’s Penny Wong said it was the 19th time she’d met her Indian counterpart, Subrahmanyam Jaishankar. When they came together on the Raisina stage the next day, Wong counted meeting number 20. She observed that among the world’s foreign ministers, ‘Jai is the person with whom I have met most and that says something about our friendship, it says something about my regard for him, and the wisdom and insight he always brings to our discussions.’

Personal chemistry always helps diplomacy, but interests drive. Interests have driven Australia and India to converge in this renewed relationship, far removed from their distant and often negative dealings in the 20th century and the early years of this century.

Wong said her constant contact with Jaishankar reflected the importance of what is being created: ‘We share a region and we share a future. We see India as just so important in terms of securing the region we both want and the world we both want.’

Wong said the diaspora of 1 million Australians with Indian heritage is ‘the beating heart of the relationship’. Jaishankar agreed that the diaspora is a key to the India-Australia bond, just as it is in India’s dealings with the United States: ‘The model is the manner in which our US relationship transformed. I do think it’s a change that can be corelated with the growth of the diaspora in the US.’

Jaishankar said the rapport with Australia showed ‘a relationship whose potential was waiting to be realised’. Among the four Quad members (Australia, India, Japan and the United States), he said, the bilateral dynamic that has changed the most for India is with Australia. ‘The relationship is on a roll,’ Jaishankar said, and ‘the more we do, the more the possibilities open up.’

India’s upbeat language on Australia contrasted the discussion about what China’s push is doing to the region.

The sharpest account offered to the Raisina dialogue was from Andrew Shearer, director-general of Australia’s Office of National Intelligence. Shearer said Prime Minister Anthony Albanese refers to him as the ‘bad news guy’, and he delivered such news. Geostrategic competition, Shearer said, would drive a ‘generational, structural contest in the Indo-Pacific’. Rivalry over critical technologies would be the ‘centre of gravity’ or ‘commanding heights’. Looking at China, Russia, Iran and North Korea, Shearer offered a ‘very strong view that we have underestimated the strategic impact of this emerging axis’.

Jaishankar’s language on China was that of a minister looking to ‘find ways to discuss how to normalise the relationship’. Since the deadly clash between Indian and Chinese troops on the Himalayan border in 2020, he said, the relationship had been ‘cut back’ and ‘very profoundly affected.’

On 21 October, India announced an agreement with China on ‘disengagement and resolution’ of border issues. A few days later, China’s Xi Jinping and India’s Narendra Modi sealed the deal with a handshake on the sidelines of the BRICS summit in Russia, the first formal bilateral between the two leaders in five years.

In Canberra, Jaishankar observed that the deal with China is a ‘positive development’. The next challenge, he said, was de-escalation of forces, with more negotiation by foreign ministers and national security advisors. At the Raisina dialogue, Jaishankar put the border issue into its broadest context: ‘It’s really in a way quite a challenge, because you have the two most populous countries, both of whom are rising in a broadly parallel time frame.’

With an eye on Donald Trump resuming the presidency in January, the Canberra talks emphasised what Wong called ‘the great importance in the Quad’.

Jaishankar said India had seen steady progress in its relationship with the US over the last five presidencies, including the previous Trump presidency. The second version of the Quad had been under Trump in 2017, Jaishankar said, and that should help its prospects with the new administration. India is confident, and Jaishankar said that its ‘relationship with the United States will only grow’.

In dealing with the Indo-Pacific impacts of the first Trump presidency, Australia did much in tandem with Japan. Canberra will again work with Tokyo, but this time New Delhi will add a new dimension to the Trump wrangling and whispering.

International trade is dividing between blocs. Australia could be in the middle

Australia risks being caught in no man’s land as the world divides into rival economic blocs in what the International Monetary Fund describes as a new cold war.

Trade has been falling everywhere since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, but it has been falling twice as fast between the blocs of nations centred on the United States and China as it has between nations within those blocs.

The IMF’s latest World Economic Outlook shows that trade between the rival blocs of nations is falling faster than was the case between the US and Soviet blocs in the late 1940s.

The US presidential election victory of Donald Trump, who has vowed to impose steep increases in tariffs on China and its proxies, will deepen the cleavage in both global trade and foreign direct investment.

IMF Deputy Managing Director Gita Gopinath has warned, ‘Policymakers need to get ready to navigate a more volatile world whose key features are increasingly being shaped by fragmentation and conflict.’

Australia’s political leaders, like most of their regional counterparts, reject the notion that they face a choice between the two superpowers and instead emphasise opportunities that await in commerce with counterparts across the Indo-Pacific and beyond.

However, Australia’s dependence on China as its principal market and supplier is both an economic and geopolitical fact.

The tension in Australia’s position is shown by the different attitudes towards trade, where the government has sought to rebuild Chinese exports, and foreign investment, where national security concerns are now paramount.

Where Australia sits in a division of the world between rival blocs is not clear. An IMF analysis of the impact of global fragmentation on commodity markets earlier this year assigned Australia to the ‘China-Russia’ bloc, rather than the ‘US-Europe’ bloc.

The IMF estimates that trade between blocs aligned with either the United States and China has fallen 5 percent since 2022, or twice the 2.5 percent decline of trade among nations within those blocs.  A similar dynamic is evident in foreign direct investment.

US and Chinese companies have been shifting supply chains away from each other.  One result has been a surge in the trade of what the IMF terms ‘connector countries’ such as Vietnam and Mexico. Trump has said he will impose punitive tariffs on imports that attempt to evade his restrictions on China by being routed through third countries.

A study by the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development, exploring the impact of a hypothetical 10 percent fall in trade between advanced and emerging nations, found that Australia and South Korea would be the most severely affected, facing falls in GDP as much as 1.4 percent.

It is not simply a matter of geopolitical forces upsetting otherwise mutually profitable trading arrangements. Depending on other nations for traded goods and services can carry intrinsic geopolitical implications. The OECD comments:

Up until recently, interdependence was generally seen in a positive light, principally involving mutually beneficial commercial exchanges, allowing better specialisation and bringing higher productivity and access to a wider pool of capabilities and ideas. However, recent global events disrupting international markets and supply chains have increased concerns about the supply chain resilience and the risks that might be transmitted through international trade linkages.

Global production of products has become increasingly concentrated, and it tends to be increasingly clustered around some countries and regions, notably China and Asia. This is not only due to natural or organic economic factors, such as natural endowments, comparative advantage, economies of scale, or global value chain fragmentation, but also policies.

There is a growing interest in identifying commercial links that could cause high economic or societal damage in case of unexpected disruptions, or those that could be used as a tool of coercion or might create national security risks or weigh on countries’ sovereignty.

Countries are dependent on a trading partner when it accounts for a large share of exports or imports of a particular product or service and there are few alternative suppliers or markets.

When China blocked Australian coal imports, mining companies could divert their exports to other markets. But there was no such remedy for lobster producers, because China accounted for 90 percent of Australia’s exports and a large share of global imports.

The OECD says that many products that appear on lists of ‘critical’ or ‘strategic’ goods are not particularly concentrated. Strategic sectors where OECD countries do have high dependence on China include manufacturing refractory and ceramic products, tools for cutting stone (essential for quarries), pharmaceuticals, lifting and handling equipment and electronic components.

An important conclusion from the OECD study is that China is much more dependent on advanced countries than vice versa. ‘Trade dependencies of OECD economies on China also need to be put in the context of China’s dependencies on OECD economies, which appear even larger.’

While the tensions may become more acute, both US and Chinese blocs retain strong vested interests in each other.

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