Tag Archive for: Indonesia

Southeast Asia faces AI influence on elections

Artificial intelligence is becoming commonplace in electoral campaigns and politics across Southeast Asia, but the region is struggling to regulate it.

Indonesia’s 2024 general election exposed actual harms of AI-driven politics and overhyped concerns that distracted from its real dangers. As the Philippines and Singapore head to the polls in 2025, they can draw lessons from Indonesia’s experience, while tailoring insights for their electoral landscapes.

While deepfakes dominated concerns in last year’s elections, a quieter threat loomed: unregulated AI-driven microtargeting. These covert and custom messages are delivered at scale via private channels or dark posts—targeted advertisements that don’t appear on the publisher’s page, making them difficult to track. This isolates recipients, making verification trickier. The risk is even greater in Southeast Asia, where fake news thrives amid low media literacy rates.

AI in Indonesia’s general election was more commonly used for image polishing and rebranding than attacking opponents, though some attacks occurred. Prabowo Subianto, a retired military general known for his fiery nationalism, rebranded himself as a cuddly grandfather to soften his strongman image. This redirected the focus from substantial issues, such as corruption and economic challenges, to superficial narratives, including his cheerful dances.

Darker deepfakes also emerged, such as an audio clip of then presidential candidate Anies Baswedan being scolded by the chair of the National Democrat Party, Surya Paloh. A video of late President Suharto endorsing the Golkar party also went viral. This was controversial given Suharto’s dictatorship and violent record.

Microtargeting in Indonesia also notably focused on young voters instead of racial segments. Prabowo’s rebranding resonated with youth—usually first time voters who lacked political maturity. This demographic emerged as an important voter segment, comprising about 60 percent of the total electorate in Indonesia’s 2024 general election.

The situation emphasises a need for intentional regulations. Currently, the Indonesian Electronic Information and Transactions and Personal Data Protection laws address electronic content, including deepfakes, but lack election-specific AI guidelines. The General Election Committee could have helped, but it earlier declared AI regulation beyond its jurisdiction. Instead, Indonesia’s Constitutional Court now prohibits AI for political campaigning.

Indonesia’s experience offers valuable lessons for its close neighbours. In May 2025, the Philippines will hold mid-term elections, and Singapore will have a general election this year too. Both nations are enforcing some rules but their approaches differ to Indonesia’s.

Given the Philippines’ complex experience enforcing technology-related bans (some effective, others not so much), simply prohibiting AI during elections may not be ideal. Instead, the Commission on Elections is taking the transparency route, requiring candidates to register their digital campaign platforms—including social media accounts, websites and blogs—or face penalties. While the use of deepfakes is prohibited, AI is permitted with disclosure.

Singapore has previously implemented measures that ensure comprehensive coverage. For instance, its Elections Bill complements its legislation on falsehoods by barring AI-generated deepfakes targeting candidates. However, the proposed legislation applies only during the official election period and excludes private conversations, potentially leaving gaps for disinformation outside election season, microtargeting through private messaging and deepfakes of influential non-candidates. Such vulnerabilities have already been observed in Indonesia.

These cases also highlight Southeast Asia’s uneven regulatory readiness. Tackling AI risks demands a stronger stance, more binding than a guide or roadmap, bolstered by a whole of society collaboration to address complex challenges.

An article in Time argued the effect of AI on elections in 2024 was underwhelming, pointing to the quality—or lack thereof—of viral deepfakes. But Indonesia’s case suggests that power may lie not just in persuasiveness but also in appeal. Prabowo’s camp successfully used AI-generated figures to polish his image and distract people from real problems.

To dismiss the effect of AI is to miss the normalisation of unregulated AI-powered microtargeting. Last year revealed AI’s capability to target vulnerable yet sizable populations such as the youth in Indonesia, potentially beyond election cycles.

Blanket bans are an easy cop-out and may just encourage covert uses of AI. With choices available, people can simply use other companies. When OpenAI banned its use for political campaigning and generating images of real people, Prabowo turned to Midjourney, an AI image generator.

An alternative solution is to ensure transparent and responsible AI use in elections. This requires engaging those with contextual knowledge of the electorate—academics, industry leaders, the media, watchdogs and even voters themselves—alongside policymakers such as electoral commissions and national AI oversight bodies. But a key challenge remains: some Southeast Asian countries still lack dedicated AI regulatory bodies, or even AI strategies.

In the development of such bodies and strategies, public participation in AI policy consultations could ensure electorate concerns are heard. For instance, Malaysia’s National AI Office recently opened a call for experts and community representatives to help shape the country’s AI landscape. International organisations may also contribute through capacity building and stakeholder engagement, fostering relevant AI policies and regulations.

Certainly, further studies are needed for tailored AI governance for specific societies. But overall, adaptive and anticipatory regulation that evolves as technology advances will help mitigate AI-related risks in Southeast Asian elections and beyond.

From the bookshelf: ‘Suharto’s Cold War’

The murder of six of Indonesia’s most senior army leaders on 1 October 1965 by elements of the country’s communist party became a major turning point in Indonesia’s modern history. It would bring to an end the first phase of Indonesia’s independence, under President Sukarno, the leader of Indonesia’s struggle for independence from the Netherlands.

In the ensuing turmoil, General Suharto was able to take control of the military, ultimately edging Sukarno out of the presidency and becoming the second and longest serving president of Indonesia.  Under Suharto’s leadership, the military and related organisations orchestrated a ‘politicide’ in which at least half a million leftists were killed.

In a recent book, Suharto’s Cold War: Indonesia, Southeast Asia, and the World, Mattias Fibiger takes us through subsequent events, as Suharto works to consolidate his regime and ensure that communism would never again take hold in the Indonesian archipelago. Fibiger, a professor at Harvard Business School, is the first scholar to offer a work of Indonesian history based on the central archival records of the Suharto regime.

A key theme of Fibiger’s narrative is the pivotal role of international capital in the global Cold War against communism. As part of his New Order policy, Suharto pursued international economic expertise and influence to rebuild the Indonesian economy and consolidate his power.

In the immediate aftermath of the murder of the generals, Suharto pushed Japan to halt economic aid to the Sukarno regime. This exacerbated Indonesia’s economic crisis, driving social unrest and helping bring to an end the Sukarno presidency.

Suharto then mobilised international aid from donors such as the United States, Japan, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. They shared a keen interest in supporting Suharto’s anti-communist regime. Thus, the Inter-Governmental Group on Indonesia was created, grouping donor countries to coordinate foreign aid to Indonesia and provide strong international support for economic recovery. Most importantly, although anti-communist, Suharto was no democrat. He was staunchly authoritarian.

To rebuild the economy, Suharto attracted international private investors to Indonesia’s rich natural resources, especially logging and mining. This enabled him to consolidate his anti-communist coalition by fending off internal opponents.

After the inauguration of a military aid relationship with the US, Suharto was able to buy the loyalty of the navy, a branch of the military that was loyal to Sukarno and had close links to Moscow.

While Cold War capital supported his authoritarian regime, Suharto would gain some independence with the rise in oil prices in the 1970s.

Suharto’s furthered his anti-communist campaign in Southeast Asia, working to ensure that Indonesia’s neighbours were governed by anti-communist governments and Chinese influence was contained.

For example, Indonesia joined forces with Malaysia to combat a communist insurgency on the island of Borneo where they share a border. And Suharto worked with President Marcos of the Philippines against the Moro secessionist movement.

Fibiger also argues that Suharto tried to remake Southeast Asia in Indonesia’s image by propagandising Indonesia’s national resilience doctrine. It promotes maintaining a strong, integrated system across all aspects of national life. Thus, when other Southeast Asian elites faced moments of political crisis, they would draw on this ideology.

Today, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations—a political and economic union of 10 states —that plays a major role in regional and global governance. But its creation in 1967—then counting just five members: Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore and Thailand—was initially motivated by Indonesia’s desire to contain communism.

Suharto’s anti-communist campaign in Indonesia and further afield in Southeast Asia was an important phase in the global Cold War. Fibiger’s book provides fascinating insights into this period of history, including the ever-present encouraging hands of the US, Britain, Japan and Australia—although it is never clear what was the motivation for Suharto’s anti-communist tilt.

Much has also happened in Indonesia since these times. In the beginning of the 1980s, Indonesia’s domestic Cold War ended as political Islam was perceived as a greater regime threat than communism, according to Fibiger. Then followed the Asian financial crisis, the end of the Suharto regime, and democratisation.

But Indonesia remains a good partner of the West, even though it carefully avoids taking sides in the current great power rivalry. We can only regret that in recent years the US has had difficulty finding much time to invest in this important friendship—something which will likely get worse with the changes in Washington.

Air and maritime defence, not ground combat, should be Indonesia’s priorities

Indonesia isn’t doing enough in acquiring advanced naval and air systems. Too much money and focus are still being spent on the army, the traditionally dominant service—yet the country hardly faces a risk of a ground war.

The greater concern would be a threat from China, which can only come by sea and air. This is seen in Beijing’s increasing provocations against its neighbours, particularly Taiwan and the Philippines.

Indonesia’s main military shortcomings are its lack of airborne-early-warning, land-based anti-ship and surface-to-air capabilities. Establishing or strengthening them would mean reallocating funds from the army.

The risk of military escalation between Indonesia and China cannot be taken lightly despite their close diplomatic and economic relations. One of the main reasons for taking it seriously is that China already has ongoing territorial disputes in the South China Sea with some other members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, particularly Vietnam, the Philippines and Malaysia.

While Jakarta is not a claimant in the territorial disputes, Chinese incursions into Indonesia’s exclusive economic zone have become increasingly frequent. In October and November 2024 alone, the China Coast Guard made multiple infringements in the North Natuna Sea, off Borneo, prompting Indonesia’s Maritime Security Agency to dispatch vessels in response.

Yet, the head of the agency, Vice Admiral Irvansyah, has highlighted the stark inadequacy of Indonesia’s maritime patrol capabilities. With only 10 ships distributed across three operational areas, the agency falls far short of its ideal fleet of 90 ships needed to patrol Indonesian waters effectively. This inadequacy reflects the broader imbalance in Indonesia’s defence priorities.

Jakarta continues to favour the modernisation of the army, while the navy and air force fall behind.

Of the approved 155 trillion rupiah ($15.1 billion) for the 2025 defence budget, 54 trillion rupiah ($5.3 billion) is allocated to the army, while the navy and air force receive just 20 trillion ($1.9 billion) rupiah and 18 trillion rupiah ($1.8 billion), respectively.

As an archipelagic nation, Indonesia’s security depends on a strong navy to protect its vast waters and a capable air force to secure its skies.

History has shown the importance of maritime power, as demonstrated by the might of the Srivijaya and Majapahit empires, which both originated from Indonesia. Today, Indonesia must adopt a similarly maritime-focused strategy, supported by modern technology.

Airborne early warning aircraft, coastal-defence batteries and air-defence missile systems are particularly needed for monitoring and deterring potential threats.

Indonesia has only a weak ability to see what is going on in its own airspace. Foreign aircraft or even cruise missiles may fly into that airspace without the armed forces knowing, or if they are discovered the Indonesian response could be far too late. A group of airborne early warning aircraft would go a long way towards remedying the problem. Options are the SAAB GlobalEye and Boeing E-7.

Lack of a coastal-defence missile batteries leaves Indonesia vulnerable to maritime incursions. The government has made progress in modernising the navy through the procurement of Scorpene submarines, FREMM frigates and indigenous patrol vessels. But these efforts must be complemented by anti-ship missile systems on shore, which would be easy to hide and hard for an enemy to deal with.

Options include the BrahMos missile developed and manufactured by Russia and India, the US Harpoon, the French Exocet, the Turkish Atmaca and even the Chinese YJ-12E. Media last year reported plans to buy YJ-12Es, but Jakarta should carefully consider geopolitical implications of such a deal and whether weapons that China offers for export would be as effective as competitors’.

Indonesia has also shown interest in acquire the BrahMos missiles. This would make Indonesia the second ASEAN country to acquire such technology after the Philippines. The deal would include versions for launch from ships and the shore.

Buying BrahMos missiles would help diversify Indonesia’s sources of weapons and make it less vulnerable to arms embargoes or other interruptions of supply. The French and Turkish missiles would still be good alternatives, however.

Such weapons might be operated by the army, but the navy is the service that has expressed interest in acquiring them.

Finally, Indonesia’s spending on modern air-defence systems must also be expanded. While the acquisition of Turkish Hisar batteries, firing anti-aircraft missiles of short to medium range, is a step in the right direction, more systems are needed to cover key strategic areas. Only with a robust air-defence network can Jakarta counter potential sorties and incursions by adversaries.

Since the Ministry of Defence allocated the NASAMs surface-to-air batteries to the air force, that service would be the likely operator of any air-defence systems of medium or long range from future acquisitions.

Indonesia’s defence strategy must evolve to reflect changing geopolitical circumstances. As a maritime nation, its security depends on a strong navy and air force equipped with modern technology. It needs to reallocate defence spending before it is too late.

Indonesia needs to improve its seabed warfare capability

Despite being the largest archipelagic nation in the world, Indonesia has weak seabed warfare capability. Improving it should be a priority for Jakarta.

As an archipelago of more than 17,000 islands, the country is uniquely reliant on seabed infrastructure and is therefore unusually vulnerable to disruption of its pipelines or cables. It has little ability to prevent or recover from damage to its seabed assets and lacks the hardware, skills and planning needed to cope with threats.

Moreover, many international undersea cables, some connecting continents, also pass through Indonesia’s waters, so the country’s capacity in seabed warfare has regional and global importance.

No disruptions to underwater infrastructure in and around Indonesia attributed to foul play have been reported so far. However, it is clear that risks are rising with the escalation of maritime disputes in the South China Sea and the rivalry between the United States and China. To imagine the risks, we need only consider the recent cutting of the Nord Stream pipelines and telecommunications cables under the Baltic Sea, evidently by Russia and perhaps with help from China.

In Indonesia, an underwater pipeline carries natural gas from Java to Singapore, while all of the populated islands rely on communications cables to connect them with each other and the world. Moreover, Indonesia operates an underwater power transmission line between Sumatera and the Bangka islands and plans to build an electricity grid that would connect all of the major islands.

The first  and most urgent step for Indonesia in improving its seabed assets and preparing for any potential attacks is to acquire or upgrade vessels with more advanced underwater capabilities. Currently, Indonesia’s hardware supply is limited, comprising three submarines, whose sonars might be helpful, two mine countermeasures vessels acquired in the 1990s and a few oceanographic research vessels with such equipment as precision sonar array for seabed mapping and submarine drones.

Jakarta has put some priority in enhancing its subsurface capabilities in recent years. It has signed a contract to buy two Improved Scorpene-class submarines from France; is building two hydrographic survey vessels with advanced subsurface capabilities in collaboration with Germany; acquired a submarine rescue ship designed for deep-sea diving and salvage operations; and taken delivery of two patrol vessels of the Paolo Thaon Di Revel class, designed to be equipped with underwater capabilities, such as sonar. Additionally, it has recently commissioned two newly-built mine countermeasures vessels from Germany.

This collection of ships is still small compared with scale of underwater infrastructure for such a country. The needs of an archipelago justify spending more, especially when potential losses from disruption are considered.

Indonesia must also develop skills in protecting and repairing seabed infrastructure. Its sailors do train in hunting and destroying sea mines, including capabilities that have some value in relation to underwater civilian assets. But there is no record of Indonesia’s navy or any Indonesian maritime security agency conducting specific exercises in, for example, finding and fixing broken seabed cables.

The government should start specific training and expand the scope mine-countermeasures training accordingly. It could, for example, enlarge the regular Indonesia–Singapore bilateral mine-countermeasure (MCM) and clearance diving exercises. It should also take advantage of defence cooperation with countries such as Australia, Japan, France and the US to hold joint exercises on seabed warfare.

Lastly, Indonesia should create a seabed security strategy that will guide long-term improvements to its seabed warfare capabilities. For this, the government will need to perceive the importance of seabed infrastructure and identify the threats to it. It must also assess current capabilities so it can determine what kind of hardware, training and operational procedures are necessary to safeguard the seabed assets. Finally, the strategy should outline the measures needed to achieve these goals.

In developing such a strategy, Indonesia would need to learn from other countries. This can be done through personnel exchanges, visits and other forms of defence cooperation. Exercises can help in this regard, too.

Ultimately, it is essential for Indonesia to develop a comprehensive seabed security strategy that focuses on threat assessment, capability enhancement and operational procedures. By learning global best practices and fostering defence partnerships, Indonesia can better protect its vital seabed assets and contribute to both regional and international security.

Joining BRICS, Indonesia sticks with multi-alignment strategy

Indonesia’s decision to join BRICS is no strategic pivot but a continuation of its multi-alignment foreign policy. However, Indonesia will need to navigate internal BRICS dynamics while maintaining ties with the West and its leadership role in the Association of Southeast Asian Nations.

Although framed domestically as a step forwards in strengthening economic growth through South-South cooperation, the move is leverage in its dealings with the West and preserves Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto’s approach of ‘friends to all, enemy to none’. Having long participated in BRICS summits as an observer, Indonesia’s formal admission in early 2025 aligns with its commitment to equilibrium through multi-alignment, shown through a parallel application to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development.

As the first Southeast Asian nation to join BRICS, Indonesia’s membership reinforces the group’s claim of representing the Global South. The move has been welcomed by both the current BRICS chair, Brazil, and China in statements promoting Indonesia’s potential contributions to reforming global governance and fostering South-South cooperation. Yet, the narrative of BRICS as a champion of South-South cooperation is debatable, as members such as China and Russia are hardly considered as Global South countries.

Indonesia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs justified joining BRICS as being grounded in principles of equality, mutual respect and sustainable development, but it also thanked Russia as the 2024 BRICS chair for its support during the membership process. This highlights the geopolitical undertones of Jakarta’s decision, given Russia’s strained relations with the West. Additionally, BRICS has positioned itself as a counterweight to Western dominance, also including China and Iran as members.

While Indonesia insists it remains non-aligned, BRICS membership could complicate its relationships with the United States and EU. If tensions between BRICS and the West intensify, Indonesia will need to manage its role carefully to avoid undermining its broader foreign policy objectives.

For example, BRICS’s ambition to create a new currency for trading among members may undermine the US dollar’s dominance of international trade and subsequently irritate Washington, as BRICS members make up 40 percent of the global economy. Still, de-dollarisation remains more of an aspiration than policy for now, as members still heavily depend on the dollar for trade. Moreover, the return of US President Donald Trump, who has threatened a 100 percent tariff on BRICS members over such initiatives, makes the realisation of the grouping’s currency unrealistic.

Despite tensions, joining BRICS aligns with Indonesia’s interest to engage with non-traditional markets. Economic opportunities within BRICS are significant but not without caveats. Collaborations could facilitate investments in infrastructure, technology and public health, supporting Prabowo’s domestic agenda. Partnerships with Brazil and Russia could enhance food and energy security, while China and India may provide technological expertise.

However, such initiatives as the BRICS Technology Transfer Center Network, which was proposed by China in 2018, raise concerns about intellectual property protection and equitable benefit-sharing. It is unclear to what extent the arrangements would protect Indonesia’s intellectual property and that of other countries. Jakarta must ensure these arrangements safeguard its interests to maximise the benefits of membership.

Beyond tension with the West, BRICS also faces internal challenges. Different and sometimes contradicting national interests, such as those between China and India, often undermine the bloc’s cohesion and collective action. This may challenge Indonesia’s ability to influence the group’s agenda without being carried away by the power contest within.

While Indonesia’s middle-power status has made it an effective de-facto leader within ASEAN, BRICS presents a more complex dynamic, requiring skilled diplomacy to promote inclusivity while avoiding alienating the West.

Indonesia’s history of independence and non-alignment offers some advantages in navigating global tension. Jakarta’s pursuit of membership in both BRICS and the OECD shows its multi-alignment strategy, engaging with multiple platforms, regardless of their political circumstances. This flexibility may allow Indonesia to benefit from BRICS while maintaining strong ties with its traditional partners.

Nevertheless, Indonesia’s engagement with BRICS could raise concerns about its leadership role in ASEAN as it risks stretching its resources too thin. As Southeast Asia’s largest economy, Indonesia has traditionally driven ASEAN-led initiatives. While BRICS membership may enhance Jakarta’s global leverage, it risks diverting resources from regional commitments. Indonesia must ensure its participation complements, rather than undermines, ASEAN’s collective interests.

Ultimately, Indonesia’s success within BRICS depends on its ability to meaningfully contribute while safeguarding its national interests. Beyond being a symbolic addition, Indonesia must leverage its position as a regional leader to advocate practical and actionable goals. This includes promoting inclusivity within BRICS, shaping its agenda toward global economic equitability and ensuring it complements ASEAN commitments. With strategic vision and skilled diplomacy, Indonesia can use BRICS to advance its interests while contributing to a more balanced global order.

The Quad should help Indonesia achieve underwater domain awareness

Indonesia’s underwater domain awareness (UDA) is a critical gap that the Quad security partners—Australia, India, Japan and the United States—can and should fill. UDA includes detecting and monitoring underwater activities, including tracking submarines and protecting underwater resources against espionage.

It’s also a means for researching marine environments, which is vital for economic and environmental advances. Collective support from the Quad nations can be instrumental in bridging Indonesian technological and operational gaps to secure its underwater domain.

The underwater realm has become a contested area in the Indo-Pacific, placing significant pressure on the Indonesian military and law enforcement to build the country’s UDA.

First, the South China Sea dispute and the rivalry between the US and China raise concerns for regional littorals. In 2020, Indonesian fishermen discovered a Chinese uncrewed submarine near South Sulawesi. Indonesian authorities also suspect that Chinese oceanographic vessels using the Sunda and Lombok straits are gathering data that could aid China’s submarine operations.

Second, the geopolitical rivalry is also leading to the proliferation of submarines in the region. All Southeast Asian nations, except landlocked Laos, have acquired submarine fleets or intend to do so. The AUKUS trilateral partnership of Australia, the UK and the US seeks to strengthen Australia’s submarine capabilities by developing nuclear submarines to be operated by Australia. The submarines could be positioned near Indonesian waters, raising safety concerns, as Indonesia also operates submarines. The sinking of the Indonesian submarines KRI Nanggala during a torpedo drill in April 2021 was a reminder of the danger of underwater operations.

Third, Indonesian waters are vast, and monitoring the seabed is vital, including to protect subsea pipelines and cables.

These issues have prompted Indonesia to prioritise the development of UDA.

However, the ambition is inconsistent with Indonesia’s limited capacity in undersea warfare. The Indonesian navy currently operates four diesel-electric attack submarines of the Cakra and Nagapasa classes. Additionally, it has bought 11 Airbus AS 565MBe Panther helicopters for antisubmarine warfare. These have short range and endurance compared with maritime-patrol aeroplanes.

In March 2024, Indonesia finalised an agreement with the French company Naval Group and Indonesia’s own PT PAL to build two Scorpene class submarines with lithium-ion batteries at PT PAL’s shipyard. Indonesian defence experts note that the Scorpenes will be able to deploy uncrewed submarines.

According to Indonesia’s navy chief, Admiral Muhammad Ali, the country needs at least 12 full-size submarines to monitor its maritime territory adequately. Additionally, some Indonesian scholars note that the navy has proposed establishing underwater detection networks similar to the US Sound Surveillance System, better known as SOSUS, at the nation’s strategic chokepoints. This would be a major step forward for UDA, but details of are murky.

Indonesia’s UDA capabilities will not only serve a military purpose; they will support the country’s economic and environmental security. They can provide Indonesia with a significant advantage in exploring seabed resources, enabling Jakarta to uncover and use valuable marine resources effectively. UDA can also improve tsunami early warning systems through deep-water acoustic sensors, similar to systems used in India.

However, Indonesia is encountering constraints in developing UDA. They include inadequate infrastructure, shortage of money, limited personnel training and insufficient access to advanced sonar systems, underwater drones and satellite surveillance. Integrating data from multiple sources for real-time analysis remains a major hurdle. Addressing those gaps requires international collaboration, particularly with technologically advanced and strategically aligned partners such as the Quad nations.

They can support Indonesia in developing UDA by providing technological and operational assistance.

The Quad has the capacity to provide Indonesia with advanced surveillance technology, which includes underwater drones, sonar systems and satellite imaging tools. The Quad’s Maritime Initiative for Training in the Indo-Pacific can equip Indonesian personnel with the essential skills to operate and maintain those technologies. Joint maritime exercises would enhance Indonesia’s tactical and operational strengths. Moreover, the Quad can help Indonesia establish infrastructure for efficient data integration and real-time analysis, leveraging India’s expertise from its Information Fusion Centre for regional maritime security.

Second, the Quad can help to secure Indonesia’s maritime infrastructure. Japan has decades of experience in operating underwater sensor systems for monitoring waters around its islands and especially ports. It could help upgrade Indonesia’s port security and improve its monitoring of underwater traffic and infrastructure. The Quad’s Australia-based Cable Connectivity and Resilience Centre can build Indonesia’s capacity in that area.

Indonesia’s quest for enhanced UDA is both a national priority and a regional necessity. In 2023, Indonesia’s then-president Joko Widodo wished to view the Quad and AUKUS as ‘partners, not competitors’. According to a survey conducted by Indonesia’s National Research and Innovation Agency in December 2023, 51 percent of Indonesian government officials agreed that the Quad ‘strengthens regional security and stability’. Among academics, more than 60 percent agreed. The Quad’s concrete security assistance to Indonesia, such as in UDA capabilities, might increase this proportion further.

Gradually, then suddenly: in geopolitics, decades can happen in weeks

Ernest Hemingway wrote in The Sun Also Rises (1926) that bankruptcy occurs gradually and then suddenly. This should be treated as a rule of geopolitical affairs.

For centuries, political structures and hierarchies of power that once were thought to be unchanging often suddenly vanished. Demise was gradual but collapse was sudden.

The Russian Empire (abolished in September 1917) and the Soviet Russian empire (dissolved in December 1991) both exhibited permanence—until they did not. So did the Austrian-Hungarian Empire (abolished in October 1918) and the Ottoman Empire (abolished in November 1922).

Only last month we witnessed the sudden collapse of Bashar al-Assad’s Syria. Rulers in Beijing, Moscow, Tehran, Pyongyang, Havana and elsewhere nervously understand the Hemingway rule, even if they have never read him.

There is another way to express this rule. After decades when nothing happens, decades can suddenly happen in weeks (a saying that is attributed to Vladimir Lenin). While we expressed hope on New Year’s Eve for a more peaceful and less chaotic world, one senses that as 2025 unfolds we will see decades suddenly happen in a blaze of geopolitical twists, turns and transformations.

The scene is bewildering. What will happen in the Russo-Ukrainian war? Will a peace deal be reached? Will Vladimir Putin keep his grip on power? Will Israel go to war against Iran? Will Iran recover from recent setbacks or will the regime start to unravel? Will it make a dash for nuclear weapons?

Will a dramatic Middle East peace deal, and a Palestinian homeland, emerge as a result of a regional realignment involving the US, Saudi Arabia, Israel and other key players and a freezing out of Iran? Will Islamic State or al-Qaida (or both) manage to galvanise supporters into launching a new wave of terrorist attacks in the West, perhaps by mobilising Muslim anger over the plight of the Palestinians? Will the India-China border remain quiet? What is Kim Jong-un plotting? Does he sense opportunity in South Korea’s political crisis?

What will happen in the seas of the Western Pacific, especially around Japan, Taiwan and The Philippines? Or in the next phase of US-China strategic competition? What of China’s calculations about its objectives and timelines, especially given the return of Donald Trump to the White House? Will China’s economic and social fragility combine with internal political tensions to shake Xi Jinping’s hold on power? Will Trump’s second term dramatically transform the role of the US in the world?

In the grey space between peace and war, will we see an acceleration of cyber attacks, sabotage (including against undersea infrastructure), covert disinformation and propaganda campaigns, and other forms of intimidation by Russia and China against the democracies of the West, in a bid to throw them off balance, to fracture their social cohesion and undermine the national confidence of their populations? At the other end of the spectrum, will nuclear weapons be used for the first time since 1945?

On some of these issues, there will be still months and years to play out. Some, however, will play out within weeks.

As Henry Kissinger often said, in the face of a wide range of uncertainties and imponderables, often action has to be taken when the opportunities and threats are only incompletely glimpsed, and when the probabilities and consequences cannot be calculated precisely. If we wait for time to play out, we are likely to be surprised when things happen suddenly.

As Australia grapples with this bewildering range of contingencies, it will need to focus its efforts on that which matters most. For Australia, the gradual and then sudden establishment of Chinese hegemony and a US strategic withdrawal from our region (whether by choice or through military defeat) would be the most adverse geopolitical occurrence in our history.

Everything else listed above matters. This would matter most. A hegemonic China, technologically dominant and militarily unchecked, with the US looking on from its hemispheric citadel, would be for Australia a more demanding overlord than Imperial Germany, Nazi Germany, Imperial Japan or Soviet Russia would have been had any one of them managed to achieve mastery in Eurasia. A dominant China would expect to get its way, and resisting would incur high costs.

Australian policy must be constantly directed to the challenge of working with others to prevent such an outcome.

In part, this will mean intensifying and accelerating our military, civil defence and national cyber defence preparations.

In the months and years ahead, there is a significant chance of a US-China military crisis in Asia, similar to the Cuban missile crisis of 1962.

If China continues to pursue a course of preparing for a blockade of Taiwan, the odds of this are likely to be at least 50 per cent. In the worst possible case, war might break out, gradually in the grey space between peace and war, and then suddenly with weapons being launched with little or no warning. The odds of this occurring between now and 2030 are likely to be about 10 to 20 per cent.

Aside from intensifying preparations for such eventualities, the other arm of policy that needs to be mobilised is our regional diplomacy. Australia last faced such dire prospects in the 1930s. In the face of the growing menace of Imperial Japan, it chose not to re-arm in time and as a result was defenceless in 1941, when John Curtin was forced to ‘look to America’. Neither did Australia act confidently and effectively enough in terms of its statecraft, even though it was more seized than was the British government of the growing threat posed by Imperial Japan.

We can learn the lessons of the ’30s. In the 90 years that have since passed, we have built a deep store of regional connections and we go to the region as a different Australia, independent and confident. We should engage with our neighbours on the need to stand together against Chinese coercion and aggression.

In doing so, we would not be seeking security from Asia but seeking it in Asia.

Our neighbours are highly attuned to geopolitical realities. Almost without exception, even if they do not say it, they are not keen to see China emerge as a hegemon. Equally, they would prefer to see the US remain engaged in the region, knowing that any regional power arrangement that had China at its head would be a vehicle for China to dominate.

However, most are not ready to tackle directly the question of China’s aggression and coercion. They see no need to do so—not perhaps until Chinese naval and coastguard vessels appear off their shores to assert Chinese sovereignty in disputed waters.

Short of them being directly threatened, attempts to enlist most of our neighbours into an anti-China coalition will not work. Here is where astute Australian foreign policy could have a significant impact. No one in the region believes that Australia is seriously trying to navigate US-China strategic competition. That it is trying not to choose a side.

Most believe Australia has already made its choice without being vocal about it. Australia’s presumed choice can be seen in our longstanding alliance with the US; the hosting of US strategic facilities in Australia; the basing arrangements that have been put in place for US military operations from Australia; Australia’s plan under AUKUS to acquire long-range nuclear-propelled attack submarines; and our participation in the growing US-led system of regional deterrence to counter China. While we have stabilised relations with China in recent years, our neighbours believe we are still working to thwart China’s rise as regional hegemon.

That certainty regarding Australian policy is credit in the strategic bank. We should leverage that credit. Instead of sliding and hedging, our message in the capitals of Asia and the Pacific should be a confident one of strategic solidarity. We should declare that we will stand with our neighbours in the face of Chinese aggression and coercion. This Australian pledge of solidarity should be extended to the following: Indonesia, Malaysia, The Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia and Brunei in Southeast Asia; farther afield to Japan, South Korea, India, Sri Lanka, Maldives, New Zealand and East Timor; the sovereign nations of the Pacific Islands Forum; and possibly others in the Indo-Pacific region. In a carefully couched and suitably adapted form that recognised current Australian policy on its status, the pledge even could be extended to Taiwan.

We would not ask any regional partner to take sides in US-China great power competition or in an anti-China coalition. Neither would the pledge involve or require the agreeing of a military alliance with Australia, although in some cases that might be considered as well and especially so in the case of Indonesia.

Specifically, Australia would pledge that were Chinese grey-zone aggression and coercion to occur in relation to the territorial integrity or national sovereignty of a neighbour, we would consult immediately with them on the best ways in which assistance might be provided by Australia in terms of diplomatic, economic, technical, intelligence and material support. Subject to there being in place a military alliance between our nations, this could involve defence assistance.

Australia would be pledging to deploy all elements of power to assist its neighbours.

In making this pledge, and by not taking the easy road of cowering in our sheltered land, relieved that the dragon was breathing fire on someone else, Australia would be undertaking its most significant independent strategic initiative in the region. The pledge would remove from the table the possibility that Australia might sit back and calculate the advantages for itself in silently acquiescing in, or even tacitly condoning, Chinese aggression and coercion against our neighbours.

The pledge would commit us to doing no more than a resolute and confident Australia would be likely to do in our own interests in the applicable circumstances. By making an explicit declaration now, before the eruption of a sudden crisis, Australia would be signalling that it was serious about contributing to collective security and resilience in the region, and that it was prepared to forgo hedging and ambiguity. With those neighbours that desired it, discreet planning could take place that would save time in a crisis.

Were others in the region to make similar and hopefully mutual pledges to their neighbours, Beijing’s calculations would become vastly more complicated. This would not be an act of altruism on Australia’s part. A more resilient region that was better able to withstand Chinese aggression and coercion, preferably through a web of mutual pledges of solidarity, would make for a more secure Australia.

Australia has long had a strong Asia consciousness. For instance, in 1934 the government of prime minister Joseph Lyons dispatched the first ministerial goodwill diplomatic tour of China, Japan, the Netherlands East Indies, French Indochina, Malaya, Hong Kong and The Philippines. It did not yield useful results, for reasons already mentioned, but it showed that we were at least willing to act on identifiably Australian interests in the region.

After World War II, a more distinctively Australian approach to the region began to be fashioned. By the ’90s, the Keating government was speaking of Australia finding security in Asia.

Building on this tradition of engagement, we should now make starkly clear that, amid all the flux, we are deeply committed to a free and open Indo-Pacific, where all nations are free to make their choices within rules that everyone has agreed. The Australian pledge as described here would give force to this commitment.

In today’s chaotic geopolitical world, the actions that we take now will echo for decades to come.

Hemingway wrote of bankruptcy. In our region we are strategically solvent after decades of engagement. Will we use our credit to help to build a more secure region, even as events unfold at a dizzying pace?

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

Originally published on 15 November 2024.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trick or treat? China comes a-knocking at Indonesia’s front door

China is testing Prabowo Subianto’s new administration, with three successive incursions by China Coast Guard vessels into Indonesia’s exclusive maritime jurisdiction—the first occurring on the new president’s inaugural day in office.

Jakarta urgently needs to recalibrate its South China Sea diplomacy and to revisit its basic assumptions about China. China’s move south should also be a wake-up call to Canberra that its pursuit of supposed bilateral ‘stabilisation’ with Beijing is irrelevant to China’s strategic intentions.

These incursions are more than a test of Prabowo’s mettle. They are hard evidence that the economics-first, neutrality-based approach of Prabowo’s predecessor, Joko Widodo, fundamentally failed to temper China’s maritime expansionism in the southernmost reaches of the South China Sea. China is making it crystal clear to Prabowo that it still claims ownership over all waters and seabed resources within the dashed-line claim, including part of Indonesia’s continental shelf and exclusive economic zone (EEZ) around the Natuna Islands.

This is despite Jakarta’s longstanding official position that it has no jurisdictional dispute with China, given the legally baseless nature of the Chinese ambit claim. However, under Prabowo, Indonesia’s maritime authorities appear to be implementing greater transparency about China’s activities near the Natuna Islands, quickly releasing video and audio of the Chinese Coast Guard’s challenges to Indonesian vessels in the area.

If Jakarta thought it had obtained a diplomatic modus vivendi with Beijing despite their differences in the South China Sea, China’s leadership clearly has other ideas. One prominent Indonesian analyst has argued that Philippines-China relations deteriorated because Manila’s diplomacy was out of kilter with the Association of Southeast Asian Nations’ (ASEAN) holistic and non-confrontational approach towards Beijing. In fact, China’s incursions near the Natuna Islands should prompt Jakarta to question its own diplomatic settings towards China, ASEAN and the South China Sea. By failing to support the Philippines diplomatically, the previous Indonesian administration only emboldened China’s divide-and-conquer tactics, now seen on Indonesia’s maritime doorstep.

Under Widodo, Jakarta prioritised economic benefits in its relations with Beijing, contributing to China becoming Indonesia’s largest source of inward investment. Indonesia remained party to the intractable negotiations between China and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations for a code of conduct in the South China Sea. But it did not invest real energy behind the effort, with the result that the process has drifted aimlessly from one ASEAN chairmanship to another, weakening the organisation’s collective resolve.

Indonesia must now belatedly put its full weight behind those negotiations, either to secure a meaningful outcome or terminate the talks if Beijing continues to stall. Jakarta should meanwhile muster diplomatic support within Southeast Asia for the Philippines, a fellow ASEAN founder member facing a clear external threat, as Indonesia did for Thailand in the 1980s. Southeast Asia’s collective security must come ahead of any single member’s economic benefit, in conformity with ASEAN’s foundational spirit and diplomatic purpose.

China has unfortunately received the message that Southeast Asia can easily be splintered by working bilaterally and exploiting its greater leverage relative to any one of the countries. Malaysia’s supplicatory position towards China under Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim has only fanned Beijing’s confidence that it can divide-and-rule ASEAN with ease.

One of China’s follow-up objectives is to persuade Indonesia that it should ‘properly handle maritime issues’, contingent on broader factors in their relationship. Jakarta should be alert to China’s bad-faith intentions, including offers of dialogue, and double down instead on the code-of-conduct negotiations. In doing so, it would return to its traditional leading-from-behind role within ASEAN.

Indonesia must vocally support the Philippines and Vietnam whenever they face Chinese aggression in the South China Sea. Jakarta should prioritise efforts to reach an EEZ boundary agreement with Vietnam, building on Indonesia’s successful maritime boundary delimitation with the Philippines. This will make it harder for Beijing to exploit differences among the Southeast Asian littoral states. Prabowo’s decision to send military assets to assist the Philippines as part of a four-nation ASEAN disaster relief mission was a commendable signal of solidarity and good will.

China may justifiably feel that Southeast Asia is tipping its way overall, and that the Philippines appears isolated within ASEAN. But poking Indonesia is never an advisable strategy. By overbearingly doing so, China reveals its hubris.

Prabowo may be a mercurial figure, but he’s unlikely to be a pushover. An axis of cooperation among Indonesia, the Philippines and Vietnam could still obstruct Beijing’s path towards dominance in the South China Sea. But Jakarta must draw its own clear-eyed conclusions about China’s strategic intent from first principles.

Australia should take note. Beijing’s direct challenge to Indonesia’s maritime sovereign rights, despite years of favourable treatment by Widodo, calls into question the meaning of what Canberra is calling ‘stabilisation’ with China.

Beijing’s strategic behaviour continues to be deeply inimical to Australia’s security within the immediate region. China is steadily marching south, while Australia’s government seemingly obsesses over lobsters and wine exports.

Under Prabowo, military-security apparatus will have more say in foreign policy

As Jakarta geared up for the Indonesian armed forces’ 79th anniversary on 5 October, there seemed to be an added frisson in the air. Amid the martial scene of massed military equipment in central Jakarta and with the 20 October inauguration of Prabowo Subianto approaching, it felt like Indonesia was on the cusp of something new—yet also familiar.

Key ministerial appointments and machinery of government changes to date suggest Prabowo’s approach to governance is reminiscent of the Suharto era, characterised by greater political centrality and policy influence for the military-security apparatus. That includes foreign policy.

Prabowo served in the armed forces from 1970 to 1998, when the power of Indonesia’s military-security apparatus was at its apex. This system, known as hankam, embodied a range of defence, intelligence and security functions focused chiefly on suppression of internal dissent and separatist insurgencies.

The former power of the hankam apparatus was anchored in the military’s dual socio-political role, dwifungsi. This doctrine legitimated a sweeping role for the armed forces across Indonesian society and all levels of government.

Concerningly, a drift back towards a dwifungsi-type paradigm has been seen in the development of Indonesia’s civil-military relations, especially over the last five years of Joko Widodo’s presidency. It showed up in proposed revisions to a law governing the armed forces, for example. Scholars have noted a pattern of democratic regression in Widodo’s second term.

The exact link between policy, the military’s rising political influence and the loyalties and motivations of military officers may not be immediately clear. However, shifts in the balance of Indonesia’s civil-military relations have historically had broader implications for good governance and policy implementation.

Prabowo has appointed Sugiono—a legislator, Kopassus first lieutenant and former official of the new president’s Gerindra Party—as foreign minister, replacing well-regarded career diplomat Retno Marsudi. This may bookend a 26-year reform journey for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

This journey began with Indonesia’s democratic political transition in 1998. Sweeping legislative and policy reforms ended the Suharto-era practice of reserving foreign affairs leadership positions and priority ambassadorial posts for military officers. Democratic consolidation in the early 2000s further empowered civilian foreign-policy actors and democratic norms were internalised within Indonesia’s foreign policy.

To be fair, Sugiono is no longer an active military officer, but he has clearly remained a loyal adjutant to Prabowo through his previous Kopassus military service and Prabowo’s patronage of him in the Gerindra Party. In fact, Sugiono’s appointment is a departure from even Suharto-era diplomatic traditions. Suharto, himself a former general and one of Asia’s wiliest and most enduring political leaders, preferred career diplomats over military men as foreign ministers.

Prabowo’s ministerial appointments are clearly driven by a need to dispense political rewards. But his foreign affairs, defence and political-security portfolio picks—Sugiono, former Kopassus officer Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin, and Budi Gunawan, respectively—reflect the importance of loyalty and personalised chains of command.

While the Prabowo-Sugiono team is unlikely to make wholesale changes to Indonesia’s foreign-policy principle of non-alignment, expect some more creative reinterpretations of it. In Prabowo’s Indonesia, non-alignment now includes biennial exercises with the Russian navy in Indonesian waters and resumption of military exercises with the People’s Liberation Army.

Sugiono’s first days as foreign minister already signal a departure from the foreign ministry’s cautious instincts. His announcement that Indonesia would seek full BRICs membership, despite the ministry’s earlier reticence, reveals he has been tasked with implementing Prabowo’s bolder foreign policy agenda, probably without question.

This policy agenda aims to expand Indonesia’s diplomatic influence on the global stage while boosting the country’s hard power. Defence spending is to increase from 0.7 to 1.5 percent of GDP.

The political changes currently taking place in Indonesia are strongly reminiscent of the Suharto era. Prabowo’s election victory and major ministerial picks prolong a trajectory in civil-military relations that was strengthened during Widodo’s second term. Although much remains uncertain about the balance of Indonesia’s foreign policy interests, the resurgence of the hankam apparatus suggests the locus of foreign policy influence in Indonesia has now shifted.