As millions of Australians cope with lockdowns implemented to address a surge in Covid-19 cases numbering in the dozens, spare a thought for what’s unfolding in Indonesia—and if you’re in the federal government, spare plenty more for what Australia should urgently be doing about it.

The incidence of Covid-19 is currently skyrocketing in the country. And the Delta variant is a major factor.

On 1 July, Indonesia set a new daily record for new Covid cases with 24,836, trumping the previous record of 21,807 set on 30 June. This represents an exponential rise from the relatively low daily numbers of around 5,000 over the past several months till the first week of June, and brings the number of positive cases to over 2.2 million.

The share of Covid tests that have been positive is over 22%, making Indonesia one of just a handful of countries registering such high percentages (by comparison, the number for India now is just over 2%).

Recorded daily Covid-related deaths have also been rising. Yesterday’s tally was 504, up from the previous day’s figure of 467. This brings the total official number of Covid deaths in Indonesia to just under 59,000.

These numbers are bound to be dramatically under-representative of reality. Indonesia has one of the lowest testing rates in the world. The government has stepped up testing over the past month, and has now committed to conducting 410,000 tests nationwide. But even at its current peak, the rate remains desperately low: only just over 300 per million are being tested daily.

Moreover, most of the recorded increase in cases is occurring in the major cities and provinces of Java. Bed occupancy rates in hospitals in Jakarta and the provinces of Banten, West Java, Central Java and the special region of Yogyakarta are reportedly ‘alarming’. This might be a function of people moving among the most populous parts of the nation during mid-May’s mudik (the post-Ramadan ‘homecoming’ tradition that normally sees many millions return to their family villages), notwithstanding the government’s having banned it this year.

The data could simply reflect, however, that these relatively developed regions have been recording the highest proportion of the tests conducted across the archipelago (the government’s promised increase in testing is focused in those provinces). In short, the spread of the virus elsewhere in the nation might be far higher than the figures suggest.

The death rate is also likely to be grossly under-representing reality. Burying the deceased is starting to become a problem.

Even President Joko Widodo (Jokowi), who has come under criticism over his mishandling of the pandemic, is now acting with a greater degree of urgency if not the degree of decisiveness that the situation demands. On 1 July he announced emergency measures restricting certain public activities in Java and Bali, including the requirement that businesses defined as non-essential operate on a 100% remote or work-from-home basis. Other measures aimed at securing medical equipment, drug supplies and oxygen for medical purposes have been drawn up. Separately, vaccination rates have been surging, albeit from a very low base.

But Jokowi fell short of declaring ‘lockdowns’ even in the most seriously affected areas. As Griffith University epidemiologist Dicky Budiman has observed, rules ‘stopping public mobility and interaction’ have not been instituted. This may well prove one of the most irresponsible decisions that Jokowi has taken to date.

With Covid flaring again in Australia, the Morrison government’s focus is understandably on the domestic aspects of the pandemic. So far as its attention to Indonesia’s problems with the disease is concerned, it deserves credit for various actions it has taken under its Indonesia Covid-19 development response plan.

But it needs to pay urgent attention to the situation unfolding so quickly now, just as Australia has in the past when tragedy and disaster have struck our neighbour. The Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade has the wherewithal to quickly develop a package of assistance that could help Indonesia to better sandbag itself against the most ferocious wave of the disease to have struck the nation since the pandemic began.

Foreign Minister Marise Payne should not waste any time in speaking with her Indonesian counterpart, securing a substantial boost in support for Indonesia and signing off on such a package, which could include everything from facemasks and ventilators to testing kits and even as many doses of the AstraZenica vaccine as we can spare. She should also be working urgently with our Quad partners, especially the United States and Japan, as well as other like-minded countries, to coordinate assistance as expeditiously as possible.

Given the inadequacies of the Jokowi administration’s general management of the pandemic and of its response to this latest surge, whatever we and others do to help Indonesia may well fall far short of what will be necessary to save many thousands of lives. But for the sake of those whose lives we can help save, and our own national interests, we shouldn’t hesitate to act.

Anyone seeking to isolate the burbling quintessence of Indonesian foreign policy need look no further than at what took place on 2 April in Fujian, China.

The episode in question was a visit by Indonesian Foreign Minister Retno Marsudi, together with Trade Minister Muhammad Lutfi and State-Owned Enterprises Minister Erick Thohir, to Nanping for talks with Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi. It was quintessential because it followed so swiftly on the heels of a visit by Retno and Defence Minister Prabowo Subianto to Tokyo for a 2+2 meeting with their Japanese counterparts.

The earlier talks appear to have been the more substantial. Besides reiterations of shared commitments to the bilateral commercial and developmental partnership, they resulted in an agreement on the transfer of Japanese defence materiel and technology, which Prabowo and his counterpart Nobuo Kishi signed during the event and after holding their first-ever face-to-face meeting on 28 March.

A key element of the defence ministers’ initial bilateral discussion was the importance both attached to the ‘freedom of overflight and navigation’ (impliedly in relation to the South China Sea) and to the rule of international law in resolving disputes. The latter point was also a feature of the 2+2 talks, along with such issues as the situation in Myanmar.

The defence agreement, however, was by far the most important ‘deliverable’. While its specifics are still sketchy, the official releases by the respective ministries point to a tangible increase in the level of defence and security cooperation between Tokyo and Jakarta, including formalities like more senior-level visits and dialogues, education and training, bilateral and multilateral exercises, and commitments to explore ‘defence equipment and technology cooperation’ (read: ‘exports’). It represents the latest of a handful of such accords permitting Japanese defence exports that Tokyo has inked with ASEAN partners and just the 10th such agreement that Japan has signed with other nations. As Prabowo gushed at the time, ‘I think this is an historical first in bilateral relations.’

Just how significant the agreement turns out to be will obviously depend on how well both parties—especially Indonesia—turn commitments into deeds. Indonesia’s flawed history of defence procurement offers reasons for scepticism as to how well Jakarta will take advantage of what Tokyo can offer.

But to the extent Prabowo is ready and able to drive Indonesia’s military modernisation with a singular focus on growing national security imperatives, he stands to boost the country’s defence capabilities by enhancing links with Japan. China’s misbehaviour in Indonesia’s exclusive economic zone off its Natuna Islands has aroused Jakarta’s anxieties enough to spark its interest in strengthening its naval posture in the region, and Japan’s maritime domain awareness technologies, including advanced radars and surveillance equipment, would help do just that. So too would several modern frigates, which appear to be on Prabowo’s shopping list.

For Japan, selling defence materiel and technology to Indonesia will bring more than just commercial and domestic employment benefits. Its goal (and Australia’s) of a ‘free and open Indo-Pacific region’ is more likely to be realised if its partners in Southeast Asia have the capacity to withstand Chinese coercion in the international waterways that several, including Indonesia, border. As the region’s largest and prospectively most powerful state, Indonesia is a critical part of this dynamic.

For Indonesia, having Japan as a major defence partner offers advantages that go beyond the assets themselves. Jakarta’s official commentary on the 2+2 meeting referred to the need to develop Indonesia’s ‘national defence industry’ by building a wider network of international cooperation with friendly countries such as Japan. Japan consistently rates favourably among Indonesians as a trustworthy and non-threatening partner, and any deal with Tokyo is likely to be less controversial in some Indonesian quarters than one with the Pentagon, irrespective of who occupies the White House. It would not arouse any of the concerns that past punitive US congressional actions against Indonesia and some individuals, including Prabowo himself, have often flared in Indonesia’s military and political circles. Moreover, in other fields such as infrastructure development and commercial investment, Japan has already proven to be arguably Indonesia’s most reliable partner.

That said, Retno’s subsequent trip to Fujian displayed Indonesia’s ‘free and active’ foreign policy doctrine in full burble. Ostensibly, the visit was aimed at securing China’s support for Indonesia’s—or rather, ASEAN’s—efforts to address the crisis in Myanmar, which officially it did. Whether anything tangible comes of such diplomacy remains to be seen, especially given that the junta hardly seems inclined to conform with what Beijing claims was an agreement to ‘encourage all parties in Myanmar to seek political solutions within the ASEAN framework in the ASEAN way and avoid interference in Myanmar’s internal affairs’. Still, Retno seems to have come away satisfied that Beijing backs her initiative ‘to convene a special meeting of ASEAN leaders’, from which hopefully more will come than platitudes.

Of more substance, presumably, were the elements of the talks focused on economic cooperation and other bilateral issues, to which Beijing’s press release devotes much of its attention. Such matters were doubtless central to the objectives of President Joko Widodo for the meeting, especially in regard to projects like the controversial Jakarta–Bandung rail link, the countries’ Covid-19 vaccine collaboration and trade.

As for the Natunas issue, Retno would only reiterate her ASEAN-centred ‘cooperation’ formula, insisting that Indonesia would ‘advance cooperation because we [ASEAN] are certain that confrontation will not bring benefits for anyone’. China’s media release specified that the two nations ‘should advance cooperation in areas such as navigation security … and fisheries to deliver win–win results, and create bright spots for maritime cooperation’. Presumably, Beijing’s intention is to shine those spots especially brightly off its coastguard vessels near the Natunas.

Whatever the actual outcomes of Retno’s excursion to China might be, the optics of it were arguably the most significant aspect. Her visit’s temporal proximity to the Tokyo talks signalled that Widodo’s Indonesia has no intention of deviating one iota from its ‘free and active’ doctrine, which precludes alignment with anybody. The audience for that signal was as much domestic as international, directed at those for whom the doctrine remains a sacrosanct expression of Indonesia’s post-colonial identity. Japan, however, which has already experienced the Widodo administration’s questionable dealings with it vis-à-vis China on infrastructure projects, could be excused for wondering about how adroit Retno’s practice of the doctrine was and how reliable a strategic partner Indonesia can be.

The Tokyo meeting and the agreement it materialised may yet prove to be important steps in Indonesia’s journey towards becoming a power capable of deterring China’s more egregious challenges to its sovereignty, which seem more likely to grow than recede, no matter how much Jakarta understandably wishes otherwise. But it will take much more than any burgeoning defence relationship with Japan and other partners to convert Indonesia’s defence forces into such a deterrent. Inter alia, it will also need a clear-eyed re-assessment of whether a foreign policy premised on rigid non-alignment and aspirations for ‘cooperation’ irrespective of the actions of other parties remains as fit for purpose in the years ahead as it might once have been.

The 2021 ‘State of Southeast Asia’ survey report by Singapore-based think tank ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute reveals some hard realities about Indonesians’ attitudes towards Australia.

The survey exposes the limited impact of Australia’s soft-power efforts in Indonesia and signals the need for a strategic reassessment of our bilateral relationship.

The report details ASEAN member states’ outlook on regional influence and leadership, ASEAN’s role, and particular issues of concern, this year focusing on Covid-19 pandemic and the strategic rivalry between the United States and China. The limited sample of 1,032 professionals (of whom 12.5% were Indonesian) working across research, business and government gives a ‘barometer of general attitudes’, showing in broad strokes the key underlying attitudes across ASEAN, rather than providing a definitive representation.

Despite these limitations, the survey offers some insight into how Australia’s self-perception as a regional neighbour compares with our neighbours’ perceptions of us. On some measures, Australia tracks well, particularly in higher education. Some 19.4% of Indonesian respondents ranked Australia as their ‘first choice if you (or your child) were offered a scholarship to a university’, behind only the US (27.1%) and ahead of the UK (15.4) and Japan (8.5). Significantly, Australia was selected by a much larger proportion of Indonesian respondents than respondents from other ASEAN nations.

Otherwise, and despite efforts Australia has made to strengthen its reputation, the Indonesian responses suggest there’s more work to do.

On trade, for example, contrary to Australia’s 2017 foreign policy white paper aspirations, it wasn’t recognised for ‘leadership, creativity and perseverance’ in advancing world trade outcomes. When asked to identify the country or group of countries in which they had ‘the strongest confidence’ in providing ‘leadership in championing the global free trade agenda’, no Indonesian respondents selected Australia. This is despite consistent advocacy for free trade in regional institutions such as APEC, as well as a bilateral trade, investment and development partnership agreement with Indonesia.

By comparison, China (whose approach to trade has been demonstrated by its recent treatment of Australia), the US (which has no trade agreement with Indonesia, and which undercut the World Trade Organization under President Donald Trump) and the EU (whose common agricultural policy has long undermined Indonesian trade interests) were selected by 20.9%, 15.5% and 29.5% of Indonesian respondents, respectively. Even New Zealand received 2.3% support.

And while Australia considers itself a strong advocate of a rules-based order, that’s an impression Indonesia doesn’t seem to share. On the question of who has shown ‘leadership in maintaining the rules-based order and upholding international law’, 34.9% of Indonesian respondents selected the EU, while only 2.3% selected Australia—the same percentage earned by New Zealand and the UK.

Australia was backed by 7.8% of Indonesian respondents as ‘the preferred and trusted strategic partner for ASEAN in its efforts to hedge against US–China rivalry’. That is perhaps an unrealistic assessment of Australia’s practical weight. For its part, the distant EU would also be a limited strategic hedge, but it was chosen by 55.8% of Indonesian respondents. To the extent that this question evaluated preference and trust, it again points to a deficit for Australia.

Disconcertingly, Australia’s aid contribution doesn’t seem to have registered with Indonesians. When asked which nation provided the most help during the pandemic, the Indonesian respondents selected the US (7%), Japan (9.3%), the EU (20.2%) and China (45%). Australia ranked with the Republic of Korea at 6.2%. These selections do not correlate with actual aid contributions. Australia’s $1.5 billion loan and millions of dollars’ worth of donations to Indonesia dwarf the US$12 million provided by the United States, South Korea’s US$5 million and the EU’s Team Europe collective €200 million in grants and loans.

Simple misperceptions may have contributed to these results, and such misunderstandings are common. Past disputes might explain the responses on trade. Bilateral clashes over people-smuggling and asylum-seeker policies likely tarnished Indonesian perceptions about Australia’s adherence to international law and conventions. Former prime minister Tony Abbott’s suggestion that aid might translate into political leverage may have undermined the perceived sincerity of Australia’s subsequent aid contributions.

But whatever the cause, the result is a fissure between relationship-building efforts and the strengthening of Australia’s standing in Indonesia. The bilateral relationship is vulnerable to shock, and an array of historical difficulties keep resentment in Indonesia dormant but close to the surface. This survey indicates that the relationship is not strong enough for Indonesians to give Australia the benefit of the doubt.

Australians should be asking critical and introspective questions on why so many of the Indonesians most interested in international affairs seem to perceive us this way, and what we should do about it.

A starting point is to note the implications of studies such as this. The results indicate a critically limited reservoir of sympathy for Australian soft power in Indonesia. If we’re serious about increasing it—ahead of more inevitable challenges in our bilateral relationship—we need to address the issues that this survey has exposed.

In an earlier Strategist post, I touched on Australia’s aid and soft power—an aspiration too often unfulfilled for all the rhetoric to the contrary. Australia’s efforts on soft power in Indonesia generally fit in the same category. Any Australian government that’s serious about making it an integral part of a strategy for addressing the country’s strategic challenges therefore also needs to get serious about a key instrument for achieving that: public diplomacy. So far as Indonesia is concerned, we should start by giving more thought to what aspects of Australia are more likely to resonate with those we’re seeking to influence.

However well Australia might rank on soft-power indexes, the scant evidence offers far less reason to assume that our attractiveness and any power stemming from it are as evident in the archipelago as they appear to be elsewhere. If soft power has been an objective of our public diplomacy in Indonesia, it’s hard to see how the paltry sums we’ve spent on it have been worth it. That’s no reflection on those selecting and managing Australia’s public diplomacy activities. Nor is it to suggest that such exhibits of Australian culture and society aren’t intrinsically worthy. On the contrary, many are outstanding reflections of the more creative elements of the nation. But they haven’t made us more ‘powerful’ by having changed attitudes towards us.

One response would be simply to give up on soft power—as the Morrison government seems to have done. That would rest on the premises that soft power is either non-existent or irrelevant in today’s geostrategic landscape, and that Australia couldn’t hope to exert it meaningfully. The first of those contentions increasingly has its adherents, and to some degree with good reason. Its success is hard to quantify and normally a long time coming. And claims that one nation’s attraction has made or could make a profound difference to the behaviour of another are often hyperbolic. One struggles to recall, for example, when Indonesia has done anything it wouldn’t otherwise have done with Australia because of our ‘widely envied lifestyle … natural beauty, world-class produce’ and so on.

But it seems an equally absurd claim that the examples of advanced, liberal democracies have had no influence on the politics and policies of Indonesia. This was the model, after all, that Indonesians sought to emulate from independence (albeit with varying degrees of commitment and success) and revived after Suharto, essentially because they perceived it as the best path to a wealthier, freer and fairer nation. The more that the established democracies deliver equitable prosperity at home and use public diplomacy effectively, the more that Indonesians and others will be reminded that a democratic system remains the best, fairest and most attractive—and is more appealing than alternative authoritarian models.

Australia’s enduring prosperity and resilience, as well as our relatively high ranking on governance measures, should provide reasons for our being an exemplar. But our trust deficit in Jakarta—evident yet again in a recent survey—weakens our case. Until we address that, the same messages from others—especially the Japanese, various European states, New Zealand, Canada and the United States—may well have more resonance. We should encourage their efforts.

In the meantime, we should chip away at the distrust and shape a less distorted, more attractive image of ourselves in Jakarta. It will be a long, sometimes dispiriting haul, but it’s in our interests to start. We should consider it a form of burden-sharing.

Reorienting our public diplomacy to focus on those aspects of Australia that Indonesians value in other societies should be elemental to this. While science and technology haven’t been absent from our public diplomacy, they warrant greater attention. The more effectively we project the fact that great scientific and technological achievement is an integral part of the nation’s contribution to the world, the more attractive and worthy of emulation we are likely to appear to the emerging Indonesia.

The values we project are also vital. Our democratic ideals and the rule of law feature appropriately in our representations of ourselves, but one value that accords with both the better parts of our national story and the ideals of Indonesia should get a much greater airing. One of the five silas of Indonesia’s foundational ideology is ‘social justice’ for all Indonesians. If Australia’s history is far from perfect on this score, particularly in relation to the First Australians, it’s replete with examples of public policy and societal transformation built on the principles of fairness and equal opportunity for all Australians. We should weave that narrative into the broader depiction of who we are, without camouflaging those episodes of our history in which a ‘fair go’ was hardly universal.

But we’ll need to do much more if Indonesians are to find Australia so attractive as to imbue our advocacy with greater persuasiveness. Successive governments will need to commit far more resources over a decades-long time frame. They’ll need to view the goal of greater Australian persuasion in Indonesia through attraction, as well as effective public diplomacy as a primary means of achieving it, as a sustained bipartisan national project.

A new centre of Australian culture and society in Jakarta could be an element of this project, especially if it functions at arm’s length from the government while being instrumental to its soft-power strategy. Australia’s embassy may reflect impressively the nation’s mineral endowment, but its status and imposing security define it as an official, distant manifestation of Australianness.

A distinct institute would create a focal point for our public diplomacy, becoming a wellspring of attraction. It should bear an indigenous name to reflect the fact that the First Australians and the people of the archipelago have long known each other. It could stage everything from artistic events to events focusing on science and technology, as well as exhibits and lectures on the national story. The idea obviously comes with its challenges of funding and security, but none would be insoluble if tackled with conviction and vision.

Undertaking such a long-term national project of public diplomacy won’t guarantee success, but not attempting it will certainly guarantee that our chances of boosting our soft power will depend more on serendipity than careful cultivation.

And it’s not as if it would break the bank. It’s likely to be infinitesimally cheap compared to what Australia is set to spend on our military preparedness over the same period, with no greater guarantee of success.