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Huong Le Thu’s recent study on Southeast Asian perceptions of the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue (the informal grouping of the US, Japan, Australia and India, commonly known as the Quad) found that Indonesians were among the most ambivalent towards it.

In response to the question, ‘Do you support the Quad?’, more than 50% of Indonesians surveyed chose, ‘Not now, but maybe in the future’. If we assume that the survey result reflects Indonesia’s approach to regional dynamics, was the proportion of undecided respondents high because they weren’t able to make up their minds, perhaps due to lack of information? Or was it because they felt that indecision was the more favourable stance?

When Mohammad Hatta coined Indonesia’s bebas dan aktif (‘free and active’) foreign policy doctrine in 1948, it was generally hailed as the most appropriate response for a newly independent state to the superpower rivalry of the Cold War. Whereas bebas (often also translated as ‘independent’) meant staying outside of any binding military bloc, aktif meant vigorously battling colonialism and promoting world peace.

Adhering to these principles, Indonesia navigated the regional dynamics shaped by the Cold War and sought to keep the Southeast Asian region neutral in the bipolar rivalry by choosing not to ally with any blocs. That approach is illustrated by President Sukarno’s decision to found the non-aligned movement in 1955 and by President Suharto’s determination to keep ASEAN at a distance from great-power contestation after its establishment in 1967.

But the free-and-open policy wasn’t just fitting as a response to global dynamics; it was also the right choice for Indonesia, which lacked capacity in most of the sectors that would enable a stronger foreign policy, such as economic development, military capability and a stable political system. From that perspective, it was the cheapest and safest option.

Indonesia has continued to adhere to that doctrine. Even with no more blocs to choose from in the post–Cold War era, it still feels the need to declare itself free. And even though it has reached middle-income status and is acknowledged as one of the world’s highly developed countries through its membership of the G20, it still chooses the cheapest and safest option of not making affirmative decisions in many world affairs. Its approaches and policies on issues like the Rohingya crisis, China’s militarisation of the South China Sea, and the internment of Uyghurs are some examples that come to mind. On some of these matters, ‘free and active’ seems to be more of an excuse for inaction than a principle.

As Le Thu’s survey showed, the Quad faces some perception problems, including a common view that it antagonises China and challenges ASEAN. A total of 54% of all respondents saw the Quad as an ‘anti-China bulwark’. Having participated in various discussions on Indo-Pacific and regional security involving Indonesia’s policy and expert communities, we conclude that this is the common perception in Indonesia as well.

However, only 22% of Indonesian respondents gave a clear ‘No’ answer when asked whether they supported the Quad. The majority were undecided. Playing the free-and-active card? Perhaps. Supporting the Quad would seem like leaning towards an alliance with the US, while bluntly rejecting it risks being interpreted as lending a supporting hand to China.

We acknowledge that it’s not fair, or academically sound, to make this study the sole compass for our analysis of Indonesian foreign policy. But let’s stick to this argument as we present another factor in Indonesia’s often fuzzy approach to regional security, and ambivalent foreign policies in general.

We mentioned that domestic conditions were relevant to the free-and-active foreign policy, and they still are. The current administration has often been accused of assigning a low priority to foreign policy and therefore lacking a clear strategy for responding to regional dynamics. Discussions on the Indo-Pacific concept and the Quad come at a time when the nation is preparing itself for possibly the biggest national election in its history in 2019. And there are other more pressing items on the agenda, such as natural disasters and terrorism.

The Widodo government apparently avoids expending too much effort on foreign policy issues that aren’t popular among its people, and the Quad is no exception. At the same time, the government is extra careful not to put too much attention on Indonesia’s external relations so as not to provoke criticism from the opposition.

Taking these factors into account, an informal security framework such as the Quad doesn’t have strong appeal for Indonesia. Indonesia is preparing its own concept of the Indo-Pacific, which was introduced at the East Asia Summit in August (although so far it has had a lacklustre response, as seen in the mere mentions in the chairman’s statements at the most recent East Asia Summit and ASEAN summit).

The Indo-Pacific concept that Indonesia proposes is based on the following two principles: ‘Not to create a new mechanism or replace an existing one, but to enhance cooperation using the existing mechanism’, and ‘to keep maintaining [ASEAN’s] central role and mak[e] the Indo-Pacific region as an open, transparent, inclusive and respectful to international law and cooperative area by using the EAS mechanism as the main platform’.

From that description, we can deduce that the Quad isn’t part of Indonesia’s view of the Indo-Pacific. A straightforward rejection is unlikely to be included in any document explaining the concept, but the Indonesian government is going to shy away from engaging in further discussion of the Quad.

Indonesia and Australia were supposed to sign their long-awaited bilateral free-trade agreement last week at the East Asia Summit in Singapore. But the deal has apparently been put on hold.

Trade Minister Simon Birmingham said translation issues were partly to blame for the delay. But it’s hard to deny that Australia’s plan to relocate its embassy to Jerusalem loomed large.

Some Australian officials and politicians believe the embassy proposal is foolhardy, while others say that Indonesia shouldn’t ‘dictate’ Australian foreign policy. The issue, of course, isn’t about who dictates what. It’s simply that, as Newton’s third law says, ‘For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction’—even in foreign policy.

Will Jakarta unravel a trade deal that has taken years of painstaking negotiation over what some might argue is a ‘symbolic’, if not ‘emotional’, issue?

The Israeli–Palestinian conflict may not be Jakarta’s bread-and-butter national interest. But it touches on one of the key foundations of Indonesia’s foreign policy: the promise of independence and freedom from the debt of decolonisation.

Indonesian President Joko ‘Jokowi’ Widodo said that Indonesia’s support for Palestine stems from President Sukarno’s pledge in 1962: as long as Palestine is not independent, Indonesia will always stand opposed to Israel. That promise can be traced back to before Indonesia’s independence in 1945. Palestinian nationalists then supported Jakarta’s quest and even helped persuade Egypt to recognise Indonesia.

For better or worse, Palestine was part of the formative period of Indonesia’s ‘independent and active’ foreign policy. But the support for Palestine doesn’t mean that Indonesia’s foreign policy is strongly ‘Islamic’.

As the current Indonesian ambassador to the UK, Rizal Sukma, has written, Islam has never been the defining framework for Indonesia’s foreign policy. When the ‘Islamic factor’ comes into play, it is always driven by domestic political considerations.

This brings us to the second reason for Indonesia’s opposition to the embassy proposal: in an election year, a weak stance in the Israeli–Palestinian conflict could become a rallying cry to upset Jokowi’s re-election chances.

Ever since Jokowi named Ma’ruf Amin as his running mate, the opposing Prabowo Subianto/Sandiaga Uno camp has found it difficult to exploit religious sentiments as they did when they brought down Jakarta governor Basuki Tjahja Purmana last year.

The opposition has tried to scrape any potentially damaging issue, like the burning of Hizbut Tahrir’s flag by members of the Nahdlatul Ulama, Indonesia’s largest Muslim organisation and a critical Jokowi supporter. So far, we have yet to see any serious snowball effect that might ruin Jokowi’s re-election chances. But if Australia relocates its embassy, the opposition might finally have something.

The opposition has often painted Jokowi as a ‘neo-liberal’ who is ‘selling out the country’, as evident in Prabowo’s campaign speeches. The embassy move could inflame those attacks by adding a religious component.

An official with the National Mandate Party (PAN), a member of Prabowo’s coalition, noted that the proposal could affect Indonesians ‘at grassroots’ level and ‘some of them might be the radicals’. Civil society groups have also warned that if Australia follows through on the proposal, moderate and radical groups will see it as a ‘green light’ to ‘punish Australia’.

While the economic benefits of a free-trade deal are significant, it is politically risky to be liberalising trade in an election year—or ‘opening up the country to foreigners’, as the opposition might say—especially with a country that might be seen as hurting the Palestinian cause.

A combination of religious identity politics and anti-liberalisation rhetoric might be enough to give the Prabowo camp some momentum heading into the election.

Finally, the embassy move reignites a dormant but significant perception in Jakarta: that Australia always follows America’s lead, even it upsets its neighbours. Nadjib Riphat Kesoema, who served as ambassador to Australia from 2012 to 2017, even suggested that the Australian government should ‘distance yourselves a bit’ from the United States.

This highlights a more structural challenge in Indonesia–Australia relations: Jakarta’s perception that Australia is never fully part of the region because it can’t say no to Washington.

But that didn’t stop Jakarta and Canberra from signing a comprehensive strategic partnership in August—which elevated Australia’s position in Indonesia’s foreign policy calculus to the same level as America’s and China’s. And the Australia–US alliance also hasn’t prevented Canberra from boosting its Indo-Pacific credentials or supporting ASEAN’s centrality in regional architecture.

Bottom line: Indonesia’s resistance to Australia’s embassy move is more than an ‘emotional’ issue. While Australia’s alliance with America isn’t a deal-breaker for Indonesia or the region, Canberra should craft a more calibrated approach in balancing its alliance with its regional commitments.

Scott Morrison is on his first overseas trip as prime minister—and it’s to Indonesia.

The immediate purpose is for Morrison and Indonesia’s President Joko Widodo to announce their two countries’ assent to a free trade agreement.

It’s more than that for the new prime minister, though. The fact that he has committed to the Indonesian visit at the very start of his tenure as leader, at a point when the demands for his time and attention are extraordinary, shows the weight he wants to place on the relationship.

The free trade agreement itself is probably not that fundamental a thing. Bilateral trade between Australia and Indonesia is surprisingly light-on at $16.4 billion a year. Despite a shared maritime boundary and a long trail of commitments to strengthen the relationship, we mainly look past one another economically. Indonesia is Australia’s 13th largest trading partner, while Australia ranks 14th for Indonesia—behind Germany, Vietnam and the Netherlands, and just ahead of Pakistan.

Negotiating the deal has taken six long years, much of which has been spent on wrangling over technical issues, like how Australian standards were going to be applied to building and construction supplies. The fact that it wasn’t big threshold issues that took the time shows that neither country’s leadership really saw the agreement as key to its own priorities.

That situation has to change in two ways if Morrison’s symbolic first visit is to be meaningful. Any agenda for the partnership needs to respond to Widodo’s needs and interests, as well as advance Australian national interests. And beyond focusing on common priorities, Morrison will have to invest personal time and effort into the partnership over the course of his prime ministership if he is to undo decades of under-delivery in the Australia–Indonesia relationship.

On common priorities, Widodo wants to be able to conduct maritime surveillance and security operations in Indonesia’s exclusive economic zone, including the northern region around the Natuna Islands in the South China Sea.

It’s absolutely in Australia’s interests for Indonesia to be able to monitor and control its maritime territory. Australia could offer to be involved in joint maritime and air surveillance with Indonesia, and perhaps India, to contribute a joint picture to Indonesia and empower Indonesian sovereignty and control of its northern approaches.

Morrison might also connect those efforts to the government’s defence export strategy.

He could work with Widodo on facilitating partnerships between Australia’s defence industry and Indonesia’s military (the TNI) and defence sector to increase the reliability and availability of Indonesian naval and air systems and platforms, including ships, aircraft, radar, and surveillance pictures.

Australian defence firms have a proven ability to sustain and support systems and platforms from multiple international providers, so selling those services to Indonesia’s military should produce mutual advantages.

A second agenda item flows from Widodo’s core priority of investing in Indonesia’s human capital through education. He understands that investment in higher education will enable Indonesia to sustain high year-on-year GDP growth (currently running at around 5%) and so keep the country moving up the world economic rankings from its current 16th position.

Australia has a world-class tertiary education sector, and Australian universities deliver high-quality higher education to international students here in Australia and in overseas campuses. Chinese students dominate our universities’ international student numbers. This reliance on a single customer group creates substantial business risk for the sector, particularly as China’s own universities expand and mature in quality. Diversifying the student market has been a goal of our universities, but so far they’ve made little progress.

Indonesia’s growing middle class and the Indonesian government’s understanding of the need to invest in higher education provide a great opportunity for Australian universities. They can create a new medium- and long-term partnership with Indonesian universities, boost Indonesian student numbers in Australia, and set up campuses in Indonesia. For both countries’ leadership, this is both an economic and strategic element of our future partnership.

So maritime security and education can form core elements of the partnership, and both elements can use the momentum that comes from completing the free trade agreement. Maritime security is also heartland territory for what seems set to be not just a comprehensive partnership, but—under Morrison and Widodo—a comprehensive strategic partnership.

But success is not simply about getting an agenda that reflects common priorities. Making any of this actually happen beyond the fine words and handshakes is where the hard work starts for Morrison. This is the lesson of history between Australia and Indonesia. To make progress, he will need to be involved closely in driving implementation.

The prime minister will need to insist on solid initiatives to give substance to the partnership, and keep pressure on those responsible for them—in Commonwealth departments, but also in the sectors of the Australian economy that need to deliver. Further visits by the prime minister and senior ministers delivering on the agreed agenda—in the company of defence industry leaders and university leaders—will move beyond symbolism to commitment.

Indonesian leaders have heard pledges from Australian leaders before. They feel they have many options for economic partnerships and they will always make strategic decisions with an eye to preserving Indonesian independence. So, Morrison will need to be the one who works hard to demonstrate results before both he and Widodo face national elections next year.

May this flying visit be the start of a sustained focus at the highest levels of the Australian government on strengthening our strategic and economic partnership with Indonesia. Our defence industry firms and our universities can seize the opportunity provided by Morrison and Widodo so that we see real depth to the relationship in coming years—to the benefit of both our nations.

From being a frontrunner in pressing China on the South China Sea disputes, the Philippines under President Rodrigo Duterte is seeking closer relations with China. In his state of the nation address in July last year, Duterte announced that he wants to begin a joint exploration venture with China in the South China Sea, in the area that Philippine government agencies refer to as the ‘West Philippine Sea’. The Chinese hailed the initiative as ‘full of political wisdom’.

A joint development project seems to serve both sides. Duterte may be engaging in conflict management and preventive diplomacy to ease regional geopolitical tensions and avoid confrontation with China. And he may be pursuing economic diplomacy to address the Philippines’ growing demand for energy security. The Malampaya gas field, for example, which supplies one-third of Luzon’s energy demand, will be depleted within a decade.

For China, a joint project would conform to its use of ‘neighborhood diplomacy’ (周边外交) to maintain a stable periphery. After all, Beijing’s professed stance on the South China Sea has always been about ‘shelving differences and seeking joint development’ (搁置争议, 共同开发). Working with the Philippines would also allow China to demonstrate the efficacy of bilateral arrangements while giving it access to new sources of energy.

But the situation is more complicated than it first appears. The joint exploration project involves both ‘disputed’ waters—waters within the Philippines’ exclusive economic zone but claimed by China based on its nine-dash line—and ‘undisputed’ waters that fall entirely within the Philippines’ territory or jurisdiction.

Take the disputed waters first. The Philippines has tried cooperation with China in disputed areas before. Former president Gloria Arroyo signed a joint marine seismic undertaking with China and Vietnam for the period 2005–2008 covering waters claimed by all three countries, although the project didn’t proceed to the extraction phase due to legal and political constraints. And in a unilateral exploration attempt, Manila issued a concession for Reed Bank, located west-northwest of Palawan Island, but it met strong diplomatic and physical resistance from China. No work was completed and Reed Bank remains unexploited.

Technically, the Philippines could develop the West Philippine Sea on its own. In 2016, the Permanent Court of Arbitration (PCA) at The Hague ruled that China’s nine-dash line and associated claims of historic rights run counter to the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. It also ruled that none of the geological features (let alone artificial islands) in the South China Sea count as islands, which means they can’t be used to determine maritime economic zones. However, China doesn’t recognise the PCA’s ruling and has the hard power to enforce its claims. If the Philippines were to unilaterally recommence exploration of the disputed waters, it would certainly encounter stern opposition from China once again.

Joint exploration in undisputed waters could be more straightforward. In 2006, for instance, the Chinese national offshore oil company signed a commercial agreement with the Philippine national oil company’s exploration arm to explore the Calamian area, which lies north-northwest of Palawan Island. However, that project was put on hold in 2008. Duterte could revive it as one of the first joint venture projects with China.

It seems unlikely, though, that Beijing would accept using a joint venture model in the disputed waters because that could be tantamount to accepting the PCA ruling. Moreover, the Philippine constitution, through a presidential decree, stipulates that Filipinos should benefit more than foreign partners and that the government should receive 60% of net profits in joint venture projects involving Philippine petroleum resources. China would probably baulk at such an inequitable distribution.

There are also fears in the Philippines that if Manila proceeds with the joint project in disputed waters, that may be construed as implicitly validating China’s claims in the area and abandoning the PCA’s judgement. But if the Philippines doesn’t proceed, the hydrocarbon deposits will remain untapped. Manila doesn’t have enough technological capability to develop deep-sea energy resources on its own.

Pushing through with the joint development in disputed waters also entails political risks for Duterte. The Philippines’ credibility with its international allies and partners may diminish if it seems to undercut the PCA ruling. Nationalist groups will perceive any compromise that circumvents the ruling or the constitution as cowardice or treason. When Arroyo signed the joint exploration deal with China and Vietnam, she was accused of selling out the country, trading Philippine territory and sovereignty for Chinese investment.

Despite these difficulties, Duterte’s quest for cooperative relations with China in the South China Sea isn’t at a dead-end. There’s talk in the Philippines of revising the constitution to amend the provisions that limit foreign investment and ownership. If that happens, there could be greater legal flexibility in offering a 50–50 sharing of profits. And a joint venture in undisputed waters could be a confidence-builder that leads to better management of other aspects of maritime security in the disputed waters.

This post was adapted from the author’s presentation at the 4th ASEAN–EU High-Level Dialogue on Maritime Security Cooperation held in Manila last year.

In Jakarta’s presidential palace in December 1995, Australia’s Prime Minister Paul Keating stood with Indonesia’s President Suharto as their two foreign ministers signed a security treaty.

Keating was ebullient. Here was Australia as a regional insider, able to strike a unique bilateral deal with the delphic Javanese leader at the centre of Southeast Asia.

The Agreement on Maintaining Security secretly negotiated with Suharto was a singular achievement that became a failed leap of faith. The mix of bravado and aspiration in the treaty’s creation made it a deal between two extraordinarily different people—Suharto and Keating—more than an agreement between two extraordinarily different peoples.

The announcement of the treaty a few days before the signing ceremony shocked the rest of Southeast Asia as much as it surprised Canberra—and it blindsided the military elite around Suharto.

At the signing ceremony in Jakarta, Australia’s deputy prime minister, Kim Beazley, went up to a group of Indonesian generals he’d come to know when serving as Australia’s defence minister (1984–90) and cheerfully greeted them: ‘Hello, allies!’

The treaty was an uncharacteristic moment for proudly non-aligned Indonesia, marking a moment of sublime acceptance for Keating. And three months later, when Labor was swept from power by Australia’s voters, it became his final grand international gesture. Keating left politics expressing confidence that the security agreement would endure as a monument to Australia’s rightful place in Asia.

On the flight back to Canberra after the signing, Keating confided to Beazley his fear that the treaty would be his last ‘big picture’ moment as prime minister. As Beazley recalls that conversation with Keating: ‘He said to me, “You know, Kim, I think we are going to lose [the federal election].” Which was not good news to a deputy about to fight an election two or three months after that.’

The Liberals had been in opposition for a dozen years, and Keating told Beazley: ‘I think they can do some very silly things. I want to put in place as much ballast that they can live on while they bring themselves up to speed.’

Just as Keating had built his personal relationship with Suharto to achieve the APEC summits, so the treaty was the ultimate expression of friendship between two leaders whose closeness emphasised all their contrasts. As Gough Whitlam jested about Keating’s commitment to Suharto: ‘Paul always preferred older men.’

Beazley reflects that Keating had ‘enormous admiration for the old man’. Indeed, says Beazley, Keating ‘loved Suharto, and Suharto loved him. Suharto regarded him as a son and was enormously protective of him’.

Beazley was speaking ahead of the release by the National Archives of the 1994 and 1995 cabinet records of the Keating Labor government.

The submission Keating put to his cabinet for approval of the deal (with the draft press release to go out immediately after cabinet agreed) is a classic bit of prime ministerial fait accompli. And it’s classic Keating on Indonesia:

There is no country more important to Australia than Indonesia. Australian territory can in effect be directly threatened with military force only from or through Indonesia and Papua New Guinea. Bilaterally, this agreement will:

• provide reassurance that Australia and Indonesia recognise that each has a fundamental interest in the security of the other;
• commit each to cooperating with the other in ensuring their own security and that of the region;
• demonstrate that each has confidence in the intentions of each towards the other; and
• complement the progress that has been made in other areas of the relationship.

It will have, therefore, an important and positive effect on the attitudes of the public in each country towards the other. Through the agreement Indonesia is making a clear statement that it is not a threat to Australia and is committing itself to cooperating with us.

Standing in the presidential palace reporting the signing ceremony, I spent most of my time on the then common ASEAN obsession: staring at Suharto to check his movements and speech and health. The age-old problem of one-man rule is old age. Australia shared the region’s obsession with what would come after the strongman lost his strength. The issue of Suharto’s eventual departure was the justification for the agreement Keating never used in public. But his cabinet submission was explicit:

Whether or not the succession to President Suharto goes smoothly and what direction Indonesia’s policies will take are difficult to predict. While this agreement will not in itself obviate problems for us, it could well help us deal with that period. This agreement is an important long-term structure which will consolidate Australia’s place in the region, reinforce the stability of our region, and help reduce the uncertainties in our future.

Suharto fell in 1998, after 31 years in power, consumed by Asia’s financial crisis. By September 1999 the treaty was gone, abrogated by Indonesia’s military as Australian soldiers entered East Timor at the head of a multinational force to stop the slaughter that followed Timor’s vote for independence.

Ultimately, the logic of the security deal reasserted itself. In November 2006, Australia and Indonesia signed the Lombok treaty—an Agreement on the Framework for Security Cooperation—a broader and more detailed version of what Suharto and Keating attempted. It was among the last big foreign policy wins of John Howard’s government—a rare bit of Howard–Keating symmetry.

But there’s one crucial difference: the Lombok treaty is an agreement between two democracies, not just between two leaders.