5 February 2026 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in The Australian on 5 February 2026 Image: Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for Defence the Hon. Richard Marles MP and Assistant Minister for Defence, the Hon Peter Khalil MP with Minister for Finance Senator the Hon Katy Gallagher speaking at a press conference at Parliament House in Canberra. (Kym Smith / Defence Images ) The release of the Defence Estate Audit marks another milestone in the Albanese government’s effort to reshape Australia’s defence posture. It seeks to rationalise the commonwealth’s largest infrastructure portfolio and is a long-overdue step in that reform agenda. Much of its logic is sound. But taken as a whole, the review entrenches three strategic mistakes that risk weakening our defence preparedness. Much of the attention will rightly focus on the 67 Defence-owned sites slated for divestment or partial divestment, the sustainment funding the government expects to recoup, and future capital returns from property sales. History suggests, however, that some of these returns may take decades to materialise. There will also be reflection on the history of the bases being lost. While the government is correct that history should not determine the structure of the defence estate, these decisions will land hard for many who have served. Service is not easily reduced to financial ­incentives. The government is right to make difficult decisions about the estate. The challenge is that decisions about Australia’s defence posture, which should drive estate planning, depend on a clear understanding of how the force would mobilise in a crisis or conflict, and what role the reserve force is expected to play. Neither question has yet been resolved. Reducing the defence estate without clarity on mobilisation or reserve force structure therefore carries strategic risk. The estate review was driven by the Defence Strategic Review and its call for an enterprise-wide audit of Defence estate and infrastructure. This was largely because of the cost of sustaining ageing and underused infrastructure. However, the original terms of reference for the Defence Strategic Review also required it to examine mobilisation in the event of a crisis, including Defence’s ­ability to mobilise at scale for the defence of Australia. Defence leadership warned publicly in June 2025 that Australia should be preparing for this. Yet the unclassified public version of the Defence Strategic Review did not outline a plan to address the challenge. Mobilising at scale requires training facilities, space and locations accessible to the public – requirements that need to be understood before undertaking what the government has described as the most significant change to the Defence estate in Australia’s history. The Defence Strategic Review also recommended a comprehensive strategic review of the Australian Defence Force reserves. This was necessary because the reserve structures of all three services have changed fundamentally since the last time Australia prepared to fight from its own territory. In the navy, for example, there is very limited recruitment of civilians ­directly from the street. There are serious questions about how the Naval Reserve could be employed in a crisis beyond reinforcing administrative functions. The original purpose of the Naval Reserve was to retain and mobilise a mariner base drawn from the civilian population. It no longer performs this function. The 2024 Strategic Review of the Australian Defence Force Reserves was not, in practice, a strategic review, failing to address the strategic contribution of the reserves. Any genuine review would require restructuring across all three services reserve forces, with clear implications for the ­Defence estate, particularly for ­facilities located close to major population centres. The absence of this work before the estate audit calls into question whether the current estate is suited to the force structure Australia needs, not what it has. The final, and perhaps most fundamental, of the three strategic issues is the review’s emphasis on integration. Since the 2023 Defence Strategic Review, integration has become a catch-all concept used to describe the ability of the services to operate seam­lessly together, but in practice frequently pursued through decisions that drive centralisation and ­diminish the role and identity of the individual services. This is reflected in two recommendations contained in the Defence Estate Review. The first proposes further due diligence on consolidating all domain command headquarters into a single location to accelerate the transition to an integrated force. The second recommends renaming bases in a way that removes service identity. Together, these measures go to the heart of how integ­ration is being interpreted and ­implemented. The army, navy and air force are not interchangeable. They perform distinct operational functions and play different roles in supporting mobilisation of civilian capability. While joint operations will remain central to Australia’s future defence, history offers a clear warning against excessive centralisation. The Defence Estate Review is welcome and important. But without first resolving how Australia would mobilise in a crisis, or what reserve force role and structure is required, it is impossible to determine the defence posture and estate Australia actually requires. These questions are urgent. The continued erosion of the services’ authority through overcentralisation risks introducing a critical vulnerability in crisis or conflict. That is a risk Australia should not bake into its defence structure during the most testing strategic circumstances we have faced in generations.

3 February 2026 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in the Lowy Institute's The Interpreter on 3 February 2026 Image: Royal Australia Navy (Susan Mossop/Defence Images) Australian maritime security is entering a period of profound change. The planned expansion of the Royal Australian Navy’s surface combatant fleet, the introduction of nuclear-powered submarines, and the reality of having no strategic warning time are forcing a hard look at how the Navy generates and sustains its workforce. Yet one element remains under-examined: the Naval Reserve. Long treated as a mechanism for individual backfill rather than operational effect, the Naval Reserve has the potential to play a far more important role in Australia’s maritime defence, if it is properly re-imagined. The 2023 Defence Strategic Review was explicit that the ADF Reserves must provide the expansion base for the force in times of crisis, calling for a comprehensive review of reserve service, including consideration of a Ready Reserve Scheme. The Department of Defence delivered with its December 2024 Strategic Review of the Australian Defence Force Reserves , but its recommendations lacked ambition and stopped short of defining a clear strategic role for reserve forces. Instead, the Review leans heavily on centralisation while sidestepping the harder question of how reserves should be structured to deliver operational effect. As the 2024 Strategic Review notes, with limited specialist exceptions only the Army Reserve recruits directly from the civilian workforce at scale, while Navy and Air Force reserves are overwhelmingly drawn from former permanent members. For the Naval Reserve, this is a strategic limitation and constrains the size and diversity of Australia’s mariner pool at a time when Australia should be actively building mechanisms to enable future mobilisation of this workforce, a marked departure from past practice. Historically, the Naval Reserve was explicitly conceived as a mechanism to expand Australia’s mariner base for mobilisation, a role it fulfilled decisively in the Second World War. Navy and Air Force reserves are overwhelmingly drawn from former permanent members. During this period, the Royal Australian Naval Reserve played a central role in enabling Australia to expand its naval power at speed and scale. Reservists were mobilised in large numbers to crew auxiliary and patrol vessels, operate harbour and coastal defences, and provide essential seamanship, engineering and logistics skills across the fleet, forming the backbone of wartime mariner generation. This effort was enabled through port-based reserve organisations in major ports, which recruited, trained, administered and mobilised reservists, a system formalised after the war period as Naval Reserve Port Divisions. These structures allowed the Navy to draw directly from the civilian population, expanding the mariner base in peacetime and allowing for the rapid mobilisation of trained personnel in war. This shift supported a deliberately slimmed down force shaped by Cold War peace dividends and the assumption that major conflict was remote. That context has changed, and the Naval Reserve must change with it, including a return to directly recruiting reserve members from the civilian workforce into formed units designed to deliver clear operational capabilities. As the 2024 Strategic Review notes, the Naval Reserve is almost entirely comprised of former permanent force personnel who fill individual “backfill or round-out” roles within existing Navy structures or Defence groups. The Review is equally blunt about the consequences, observing that “further training opportunities are generally not afforded to Navy reservists and career progression is limited”, resulting in an inability to maintain currency or attain the qualifications required for promotion. By contrast, the US Navy Reserve recruits from scratch, trains to active duty standards, and provides a standing mobilisation and surge capability. When it comes to the Naval Reserve, Australia must learn from its own history. So what is the solution? The starting point must be to clearly define the roles the Royal Australian Navy expects its reserve force to perform. Initial priorities could include port and critical infrastructure protection, including the operation of uncrewed surface and undersea vessels; underwater battle damage inspection and repair; the provision of maritime security for Australian and allied merchant vessels; and the crewing and sustainment of coastal and auxiliary craft. Framing the Naval Reserve around defined operational tasks rather than ad hoc supplementation would allow it to function as a credible contributor to maritime security and mobilisation. Restructuring the Naval Reserve around defined capabilities and regional commands would enable from-scratch recruiting and give the reserve force a clear strategic purpose. Such a model would also support coherent training pipelines, the maintenance of professional currency, and meaningful career progression, while allowing broader skill sets to be managed deliberately to supplement capability gaps across the fleet. When it comes to the Naval Reserve, Australia must learn from its own history. The Reserve delivers its greatest value when it is designed as a strategic capability, not when it is confined to individual supplementation in predominantly administrative roles. The current Naval Reserve structure is a product of an era in which major conflict was seen as remote. That assumption no longer holds. As I have argued elsewhere , the Navy will be unable to grow the mariner base required for its future roles or to support broader mobilisation through recruitment and retention alone. A structural rethink is required, and the Naval Reserve is the obvious place to begin.

Jennifer Parker | 23 January 2026 *Originally published in the Australian on 23 January 2026 Image: Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney 21 January 2026 (on X) It is not even the end of January, yet 2026 is already marking a decisive break in the global order, and in Australia’s place within it. China ended 2025 with its largest military activity around Taiwan under Exercise Justice Mission. The United States has escalated pressure on Venezuela through a high-profile intervention, but it is the maritime pressure campaign behind it that should most concern Australia. And NATO unity is fraying as President Trump reintroduces coercive power politics, including threats against Greenland. As Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney put it bluntly at Davos this week: “We are in the midst of a rupture, not a transition.” Australia can no longer afford to treat this moment as abstract. The implications for our security are immediate. Instinctively, Australia is a country that prefers to look inward, But that instinct is dangerous. Australia must pay far closer attention to how the world is changing and what those changes mean for our security and prosperity. The international system is being reshaped by several forces, most notably renewed great-power competition. Too often this is reduced to a false binary choice between the United States and China. It is not, and never has been. That oversimplification has plagued Australian strategic thinking for too long. President Trump’s threats against Greenland, and what they reveal about the United States in 2026, do not lessen the risks posed by China’s military build-up or its increasingly assertive use of force in the region. Australia must confront both realities at once. These realities are further complicated by Australia’s greatest strategic vulnerability: its dependence on maritime trade. Recent US interdictions of shadow-fleet tankers linked to Venezuela demonstrate how easily a trade-dependent nation can be economically coerced through targeted maritime disruption. Australia is systemically exposed. Nearly 99 per cent of Australia’s imports and exports move through the maritime domain. So how should Australia respond? Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney offered a clear answer in a speech that is likely to be studied for years to come. “We know the old order is not coming back. We shouldn’t mourn it. Nostalgia is not a strategy, but we believe that from the fracture we can build something bigger, better, stronger, more just. This is the task of the middle powers.” Australia is one such middle power, with significant regional and global standing. Yet we have underinvested in key elements of national power. Addressing that gap is now an urgent strategic priority. Australia’s standing ensures it is routinely invited into key rooms. That access must be used more deliberately to build issue selective regional minilateral and multilateral partnerships. For too long, Australia has assumed diplomacy can be done on the cheap. It cannot. Diplomatic power will be central to navigating an uncertain world and strengthening the collective voice of middle powers. Although the Albanese Government has increased DFAT funding, Australia’s diplomatic heft has not been restored. Our foreign service remains thinner, more stretched, and less influential than it was in the 1990s, despite a far more complex and contested strategic environment. Increasing Australia’s diplomatic heft is also essential to diversifying our external relationships and reducing systemic vulnerability. Australia has begun to do this with partners such as Japan and the Philippines, but this effort must go much further. Deeper and more sustained engagement is needed with India, South Korea, Indonesia and Europe. Diplomatic diversification must also be matched by a harder conversation at home about economic vulnerability. That includes a serious examination of industrial policy, but also Australia’s central Achilles heel: excessive trade dependence on China. A stable relationship with China remains critical, but the scale of Australia’s economic exposure is no longer prudent. Rebalancing will be difficult and gradual, but allowing such concentrated dependence to persist constitutes a clear strategic vulnerability. Diversification must be matched by the deliberate building of domestic resilience, economically, technologically and, critically, institutionally. For too long Australia has taken the strength of its institutions for granted. As ASIO Director Mike Burgess repeatedly warned in 2025, Australia’s institutions face growing pressure from both foreign interference and domestic fracture. Building national resilience in a world defined by power politics also requires stronger military resilience. The United States remains Australia’s central security ally. That alliance has endured shifts in global order, policy disagreement and changes of leadership in Washington. Australia should not step away from it. But we have become overly dependent, not by choice, but through strategic complacency. Australia must strengthen its capacity for self defence and pursue greater self reliance within the alliance. That will require increased defence investment and bolder leadership. Australia is a fortunate nation, but fortune is not strategy. The fractures reshaping the global order are no longer abstract or distant. It is not even the end of January, yet 2026 is already proving to be a pivotal year. Australia must respond as the influential actor it is, by rebuilding the balance of its national power, strengthening diplomatic heft, investing in military capability and reinforcing domestic resilience. This moment demands action, not nostalgia. Australia must seize it.

15 January 2025 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in ASPI's The Strategist on 15 January 2025 Images: Image of the Ship’s Company of HMAS Canberra lining the upper decks as JS Makinami sails past in 2021: Nadav Harel/Royal Australian Navy . The Royal Australian Navy’s greatest challenge isn’t introducing nuclear submarines and considerably expanding the surface fleet, as daunting as those objectives are. Rather, it is transitioning from a peacetime force to one with a maritime warfighting culture capable of employing these vessels effectively. That shift must be anchored in a unifying principle: warfighting mariners first. The principle should unify all naval members around a shared warfighting mariner identity, regardless of role. Naval theorists have long observed that navies shaped by prolonged peacetime tend to optimise for peacetime demands, rather than warfighting. In The Rules of the Game , Andrew Gordon demonstrates how a peacetime naval culture in the Royal Navy before World War I, shaped by promotion systems, accountability mechanisms and informal professional norms, persisted into battle and constrained command behaviour at the moment initiative mattered most. The US Navy also learned this lesson early in the Pacific war. Around 30 percent of submarine commanding officers were relieved between 1942 and 1943, not for lack of competence but because they had been shaped by a peacetime system that rewarded caution and procedural compliance. This is not the familiar debate over ratcatchers versus regulators . It is a more fundamental conversation about the purpose of a navy and how that purpose must drive the structure, skills and culture of the RAN. This is easier said than done: articulating intent is far simpler than making and selling hard choices. The lesson from the US Pacific submarine campaign, the Battle of Jutland and wider naval history is clear. A navy cannot assume it can simply switch to warfighting when required. The question then is what the blueprint for warfighting mariners first should be. The first step lies in personnel structure. Does the RAN have the right mix of officers and sailors for the task ahead? In the first quarter of this century, it expanded the number of officer and sailor workgroups with no or limited seagoing roles. Some of this growth improved bureaucratic functions, while some supported emerging capabilities, particularly in the cyber and space domains. But the question now is whether these workgroups are essential for a navy that must rapidly expand its seagoing footprint. The uncomfortable answer is that some are not. The follow-on questions are whether these roles are essential to the Australian Defence Force and if so, whether they belong in other services. Generating cyber and space professionals across all three services, for example, is inefficient. Either the army or air force should be designated as the lead service to provide personnel for this the capability, allowing the RAN to refocus on its core task at sea. Where these functions are bureaucratic and have no seagoing role, the question is whether they are better performed by civilians or by seagoing personnel who have reached a stage in their career where seagoing service is no longer required or no longer feasible. This is not about devaluing individual or workgroup contributions but about whether the RAN is structured around its core purpose. Recruitment targets alone will not sustain an expanded surface fleet and nuclear-powered submarines without increasing the proportion of the workforce with a genuine seagoing liability. Once the core workgroups of a warfighting navy are consolidated, the next step is training. If the RAN is to unify around the principle of mariners first, every workgroup must possess a baseline level of warfighting mariner skills. This will be unpopular in some quarters, but it is essential. Beyond reorienting the RAN around its core purpose, this would build depth and redundancy so personnel can go to sea when required or support broader maritime mobilisation. The hard reality is that naval war is a war of attrition. If conflict comes, the RAN will need a deep and resilient pool of trained mariners to draw from. After structure and training comes promotion and pay. Promotion reform is achievable within existing arrangements; pay reform is not. As Gordon’s analysis of Jutland shows, promotion systems that reward compliance and risk avoidance in peacetime shape behaviour in war, constraining initiative when it matters most. The services are not interchangeable, and integrated promotion structures will not help the RAN select the leaders it needs to crew and command ships at sea. Pay is harder. The legislated structure of the Defence Force Remuneration Tribunal limits flexibility, but a remuneration system that disincentivises arduous seagoing roles will ultimately defeat any attempt to reform navy culture or structure. This issue cannot be avoided, even if it requires legislative change. Responding to the deteriorating strategic environment and preparing for future conflict requires a fundamental shift. It demands a culture focused on warfighting at sea and unified by the principle of mariners first. History is unambiguous on this point. From Jutland to the US submarine campaign in the Pacific, navies shaped by peacetime systems do not automatically adapt in war. This shift will not occur by declaration. It requires a deliberate blueprint for structural change. For the RAN, that means consolidating officer and sailor workgroups, establishing a baseline level of mariner qualification and warfighting understanding across the workforce, and aligning promotion systems to support a warfighting culture. These changes will be difficult and, in some cases, unpopular. But they are necessary if the RAN is to prepare its people for the challenges ahead.

14 January 2026 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in the Sydney Morning Herald online 14 January and in print on 15 January 2026 Image: 2021 British Nuclear Submarine, HMS Astute, is alongside at Fleet Base West, Rockingham in Western Australia. The submarine is part of a larger task group and is enjoying some well earned time off in the Perth area after more than seven months on deployment. Defence Images As with 2025 , early 2026 again sees AUKUS, Australia’s plan to acquire a nuclear-powered submarine capability, back in the headlines . This time the focus is claims by a former Royal Navy admiral and former director of nuclear policy in the UK Ministry of Defence about the parlous state of the UK’s nuclear submarine industrial base. And he’s right. From the availability of the UK’s nuclear-powered attack boats and nuclear-armed ballistic missile submarines, the more than a decade it took to build the recently commissioned HMS Agamemnon , and concerns about nuclear core production, the challenges are real. But they do not spell failure for Australia’s nuclear-powered submarine ambition under AUKUS, nor for the co-design and co-build of an AUKUS-class submarine. AUKUS helps address some of these challenges for the UK, which needs AUKUS to succeed. Despite the headlines, AUKUS is not on the rocks. So what are the UK’s challenges? In short, they are serious and largely the product of decades of underinvestment, limited focus, and a shortage of experienced personnel . The UK operates both nuclear-powered attack submarines and nuclear-armed ballistic missile submarines, and the strain across this force should not be underestimated. There were credible reports in 2025 that maintenance delays and availability issues left the UK with no attack submarines at sea at points during the year. For an island nation dependent on maritime trade, and whose status as a nuclear power rests solely on its ballistic missile submarines, this is a significant problem. These pressures are compounded by the need to replace the ageing ballistic missile submarine fleet with a new class due to enter service in the 2030s. While the UK government insists this program is on schedule, it depends on the successful production of a new nuclear reactor at the Rolls-Royce facility that Australia is now investing in for the AUKUS-class submarine. That reactor core production program has been rated red in the last three UK infrastructure assessments, meaning immediate action is required to avoid significant delay. This matters directly for AUKUS because the UK has been explicit that replacing its ballistic missile submarines is its top priority. It has no alternative means of deploying nuclear weapons. For Australia, the lesson from the UK’s experience is straightforward. Complex defence capability requires sustained investment. Attempts to do it on the cheap inevitably fail. So how does this affect AUKUS? First, these issues are not new. They were understood when the optimal pathway was announced in March 2023. Some critics argue the UK is not a key AUKUS partner and should remain focused on Russia in the Euro-Atlantic rather than the Indo-Pacific. That view misunderstands why the UK is invested in AUKUS. As an island nation, the UK shares Australia’s dependence on the undersea domain for its security, particularly as Russian submarine activity near UK waters increases. Claims that underwater drones can replace submarines do not withstand scrutiny. This is why countries around the world are increasing investing in submarine capability. The UK is therefore an invested partner. AUKUS will not resolve all of its submarine challenges, but it helps in two important ways. Shared design and construction of an AUKUS-class submarine with Australia reduces costs and strengthens the supply chain. Australian investment in the UK industrial base, particularly at the Rolls-Royce reactor facility, directly targets constraints in reactor core production. Calls to abandon phase three and rely solely on US-built submarines overlook both the strain on the US industrial base and one of AUKUS’s core purposes. Expanding nuclear submarine construction capacity among allies matters. Naval wars are wars of attrition, and the ability to build remains decisive. Since the announcement of AUKUS, Australia’s debate has too often assumed the sky is falling, or that the submarine is already sinking. In 2025 the focus was whether a returning President Donald Trump would support AUKUS, a question he settled directly in October . The optimal pathway is exactly that. It is a multi-decade program operating in an uncertain strategic environment with three partners, and it will not always run to plan. There may be delays to phase three because of the UK submarine industrial base, and it is important to be clear-eyed about how long the UK has taken to build submarines and the challenges it faces. It also remains essential that the UK builds the AUKUS-class submarine before Australia. If delays occur, Australia will need to adapt, including by considering the option of acquiring five rather than three Virginia-class submarines from the United States. But amid the focus on what is not perfect, Australia consistently overlooks what has already been achieved. Australians are now undertaking nuclear-powered submarine maintenance at home. More than 170 Royal Australian Navy officers and sailors have trained in the United States, with around 70 serving aboard Virginia-class submarines. Trilateral and bilateral treaties are in place, and the initiative has endured changes of government in all three countries. AUKUS has performed remarkably well since its announcement. That does not mean there will not be problems, changes, or delays. There will be. We should approach these issues with a clear head and confidence in our ability to work through them. For the UK, the choice is simple. If it wants to remain a nuclear power in a deteriorating strategic environment, it must fix its submarine enterprise. AUKUS helps it do that.

9 January 2025 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in The Lowy Institute's The Interpreter on 9 January 2025 Image: US European Command Twitter Recent US boardings of oil tankers linked to Venezuela have prompted claims of piracy and illegality under international law. In reality, many of these boardings rest on a sound legal basis. Boarding vessels at sea is a routine naval activity permitted in limited circumstances under international law. This explainer outlines the international law governing maritime boardings and how it applies to the Venezuela cases. Boarding operations on the high seas, beyond the 200-nautical-mile exclusive economic zone, are governed by the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). While the US has not ratified UNCLOS because of domestic concerns over its deep seabed provisions, it recognises the Convention as reflecting customary international law and complies with it. Under UNCLOS, any warship may board a vessel on the high seas if it is stateless. Recent commentary has described US boardings as piracy, a term often used loosely. In law, piracy has a narrow definition under UNCLOS; it is limited to violent acts carried out for private ends by private vessels on the high seas. Whatever view one takes of the broader US campaign, these boardings do not meet the legal definition of piracy. Under UNCLOS, primary legal authority over a vessel rests with its flag state, the country where the ship is registered, which is responsible for what occurs on board. There are, however, limited exceptions. Article 110 sets out five circumstances in which a warship from any state may board a foreign vessel on the high seas: where there are reasonable grounds to suspect the vessel is engaged in piracy, the slave trade, unauthorised broadcasting, is stateless, or is falsely claiming a nationality. These exceptions exist because piracy and slavery are treated as offences of universal concern, allowing any state to intervene regardless of the vessel’s flag. The question of statelessness is central to the recent US boardings. Under UNCLOS, any warship may board a vessel on the high seas if it is stateless, meaning it is not lawfully registered with any country or is falsely claiming a nationality. This is particularly relevant to shadow fleet vessels used to move sanctioned oil. They often operate outside normal maritime regulatory frameworks, including safety, insurance, and reporting requirements. This appears to have been the case with several recent boardings linked to Venezuela. In one instance, a vessel falsely claimed it was Guyana -flagged. Where a vessel cannot demonstrate a genuine flag state, it may be treated as stateless and boarded under international law. Another common feature of shadow fleet operations is the use of flags of convenience. In such cases, the flag state retains jurisdiction but in my experience will commonly authorise a boarding by another state’s warship, because they have no real connection with the vessel. This appears to have occurred in the boarding of the tanker Centuries on 20 December 2025, when the US intercepted the vessel with the authorisation of Panama, its flag state. A more complicated case study is the 7 January 2026 boarding of the vessel formerly known as Bella 1 , now operating as Marinera in the Atlantic near Iceland, which was initially treated as stateless. When approached for boarding, the vessel refused consent and began crossing the Atlantic. During the transit, it painted a Russian flag on its hull and claimed to be registered as a Russian vessel.  Boarding vessels at sea is a routine naval activity permitted in limited circumstances under international law. This is precisely the scenario anticipated by the drafters of UNCLOS. Article 92 makes clear that a ship may not change its flag during a voyage except in cases of a genuine transfer of ownership or formal change of registry. Simply repainting a flag or asserting a new nationality mid-voyage has no legal effect. However, as technology has allowed for the registration of vessels online at sea, there is an open question about whether it was formally registered to Russia at the time of boarding. This is in many ways a new consideration for UNCLOS and may set a precedent. On the available information, when the vessel was boarded by the US on 7 January, that boarding was likely lawful under the international law of the sea, because it was not lawfully registered. Other aspects of the US pressure campaign on Venezuela raise serious and legitimate questions under international law.  The tanker boardings, however, rest on a different international legal footing. Their lawfulness does not derive from unilateral US sanctions or from the existence of a blockade. The US has not established a lawful naval blockade, and what is occurring is better understood in legal terms as a form of quarantine, a distinction that warrants separate and more detailed discussion.  Instead, the boardings are grounded in the law of the sea itself. UNCLOS permits the boarding of stateless vessels and allows boardings with the consent of a vessel’s flag state where jurisdiction exists. Where applicable, US sanctions and arrest warrants may follow these actions as a matter of domestic law, but they do not themselves provide the international legal basis for the boardings. The tanker boardings appear consistent with international law, although the Bella 1 episode and its attempted reflagging at sea will likely be debated by maritime lawyers for years to come.

5 January 2026 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in the Sydney Morning Herald on 5 January 2026 Image: Operation Absolute Resolve ( White House Twitter Account ). The image was confronting: Venezuela’s President, Nicolás Maduro , handcuffed aboard a United States warship, the USS Iwo Jima . It was a moment that made clear 2026 will be no calmer than the year before. From Australia, this may appear a distant drama in the Americas, tied to Washington’s long-running efforts to counter narcotics trafficking. But that framing misses the point. What unfolded in Venezuela exposes a growing tension at the heart of today’s global order. On one hand sits a faltering system of international law, anchored in the UN Charter, designed to restrain the use of force. On the other sits deterrence aimed at preventing use of force, increasingly tested in a world where adversaries question the willingness of major powers to act. The US response signals a decision to privilege deterrence over legal restraint. The consequences may be stark, but the reality of geopolitics is rarely clean. Recognising that reality is not the same as endorsing it. This shift matters well beyond Latin America, particularly in the Indo-Pacific. It suggests a United States prepared to act decisively, and unilaterally, when it judges its interests to be at stake. These actions are controversial and ethically fraught in international law terms. That judgment should not be confused with sympathy for Maduro, an authoritarian leader whose rule has been marked by widely criticised elections and documented human rights violations. They also reinforce American deterrence at a time when its credibility is being tested. For Australia, the implication is unavoidable. Our security depends on a major ally willing to back its words with force, even as the rules governing that force come under strain. That tension between law and deterrence did not emerge overnight. Since the end of World War II, the use of force has been governed by the UN Charter, which permits military action only with Security Council authorisation or in self-defence. With the Council paralysed, states are increasingly willing to use force to pursue foreign policy objectives, a trend reflected in the seizure of Maduro. The past few years have seen a steady return to use of force as a tool of statecraft. Russia’s illegal invasion of Ukraine continued, conflict escalated across the Middle East and tensions flared elsewhere in Asia. The taboo on use of force has weakened, not because the rules no longer exist, but because the institutions meant to enforce them are failing and states see advantage in using force. The implication is stark. States can no longer rely on a broadly peaceful international environment, or on international law alone, to prevent the use of force. They must actively discourage it. This is where deterrence comes in. While US action in Venezuela illustrates the erosion of legal restraint on the use of force, it also sends a different signal. It demonstrates US seriousness about deterrence. Generalisations on deterrence should be avoided, but at its most basic it rests on capability, credibility and communication. The US action in Venezuela may yet produce ill-fated consequences. But the willingness to act, particularly after explicitly signalling that it would, mirrors earlier US strikes against Iran in June 2025. Together, these actions suggest a Trump administration that is not isolationist and is prepared to use force. For deterrence, that willingness matters. Credibility is built not on statements, but on follow-through. And for Australia, whose security depends heavily on the credibility of its principal ally, that reality may be uncomfortable, but it may also make Australia safer in an increasingly dangerous world. But Australia cannot outsource its security to its ally. It is not the United States’ responsibility to defend Australia . That burden rests with us. In a world where the use of force is again a tool of statecraft, Australia must adapt to strategic reality rather than nostalgia. That means reassessing the effectiveness of our own deterrence strategy, particularly its credibility and capability. The 2026 National Defence Strategy and Integrated Investment Program provide an opportunity to do so. But strategy without investment is illusion. Credible deterrence requires sustained commitment, resolve and money. The lesson from US actions this week, ethics aside, is clear. Deterrence depends on capability and the demonstrated willingness to use it. An island nation with a small, ageing navy and limited missile defence cannot afford complacency. Australia must pay attention to Venezuela, to Europe, to the Middle East and to China’s actions around Taiwan and the South China Sea. These are not disconnected crises. They are signals of a world that has changed, and of hard choices Australia can no longer afford to avoid.

9 December | Jennifer Paker *Originally published in the Sydney Morning Herald on 9 December 2025 Image: AUSMIN 2025 (Secretary of State Marco Rubio X Post ) Deputy Prime Minister Richard Marles and Foreign Minister Penny Wong are visiting Washington this week for the 35th Australia-United States Ministerial Consultations, known as AUSMIN. This year’s AUSMIN will be markedly different to those of previous years. It is the first under the current Trump administration and comes amid a strategic environment that has shifted sharply in just 12 months. Australia should use this AUSMIN to set clearer expectations with the US about our respective roles in an increasingly contested region and to advance the essential conversation on how responsibilities would be divided in the event of conflict. The past three AUSMIN meetings have been successful, locking in expanded force posture initiatives and demonstrating a shared commitment to the rules-based order. Marles and Wong have been able to advance Australia’s interests while signalling alignment with the US on regional challenges. This AUSMIN is different. The US has deployed its largest force presence in the Caribbean in decades , raising questions about the legality of operations against drug-trafficking vessels and whether such actions comply with the law of armed conflict. That makes the usual language on upholding international norms harder to sustain. It also comes just days after the Trump administration released a new National Security Strategy that appears to view Australia differently. Under the Biden administration, Australia appeared to hold a more prominent place in US thinking on the Indo-Pacific, reflected in repeated senior-level visits, AUKUS progress and expanded force posture arrangements. Yet in last week’s US National Security Strategy, Australia is mentioned only three times: once in reference to India and the Quad; again in a call for partners to adopt trade policies that “rebalance China’s economy”; and, oddly grouped with Taiwan, in a line stating that the US will maintain its “determined rhetoric on increased defence spending”. None of this suggests the relationship is in poor shape. It is strong. The October meeting between Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and President Donald Trump was broadly successful, with Trump reaffirming his support for the alliance, praising Australia’s defence initiatives, including progress at the Henderson shipyard in Western Australia , and backing AUKUS “full steam ahead”. Confidence has also been reinforced by reports that the US review of AUKUS has produced positive findings that endorse the pact and identify ways to strengthen it. What these developments signal is that the relationship must now be approached differently. If the US National Security Strategy is any indication, at AUSMIN 2025 the US will place pressure on Australia’s defence spending and on what we are doing to strengthen our own capability. Marles will have several initiatives to point to, including last Friday’s announcement that Australia will begin manufacturing the guided multiple launch rocket system this month, a precision ground-launched rocket that can strike targets more than 70 kilometres away. But we will need to do more, not because the US tells us to, but because more is required to defend our own national interests in an increasingly dangerous world. The modest increases already announced will take Australian spending from about 2 per cent of GDP to 2.3 per cent by 2033-34. These will cover nuclear-powered submarines and new frigates but little else. Australia lacks many of the capabilities needed for modern conflict and to reduce our vulnerability to military coercion, at precisely the moment our strategic guidance warns that such a conflict is becoming more likely . If the US National Security Strategy is any guide, Australia is also likely to face pressure over its trade dependence on China and aspects of that broader relationship. The more important question for this AUSMIN is not where the US may apply pressure, but how Australia chooses to think about the relationship and what messages we want to send. Since the end of the Cold War, and almost certainly without intending to, Australia has become increasingly dependent on the US for security. Decades of constrained defence spending and limited strategic ambition reflect this trend. The alliance remains vital, but in an unpredictable strategic environment, Australia must think carefully about how it protects its own autonomy while working with an ally that appears less driven by shared history and values than in the past. As I wrote in this masthead in August , Australia needs a frank conversation with the US about roles and responsibilities, including the geographic delineation of missions in the region. I asked then who is responsible for defending Australia and its regional interests and noted that our strategy does not provide a clear answer. It should be Australia, supported by the US. That requires a direct conversation with Washington and a reassessment of our own strategy and force design. AUSMIN 2025 is the moment to begin outlining those responsibilities. The Australia-US alliance remains central to our security, but the message from Washington is unmistakable. Australia will be expected to shoulder more of its own defence burden, and we should embrace that shift. Meeting this moment requires more than higher spending. It demands clarity about the kind of relationship we want with the US and the confidence to define where Australia must lead. AUSMIN ’25 is the time to draw those lines and to shape an alliance that strengthens and complements, rather than substitutes for, Australia’s own strategic weight.

8 December 2023 | J Parker * Originally published in The Strategist on 8 Dec 23 Image: Department of Defence . ‘This is Australia’s most challenging strategic environment since the Second World War. And looking back to the lead-up to the Second World War provides important lessons about the need to invest in defence.’ Minister for Defence Industry Pat Conroy, National Press Club address , 28 November 2023 Last month, Minister for Defence Industry Pat Conroy took to the stage at the National Press Club to address concerns that Australia’s planned acquisition of nuclear-powered, conventionally armed submarines under the AUKUS arrangement lacked a social licence. Defending the $368 billion acquisition, Conroy outlined the challenging strategic circumstances Australia now faces. The situation had deteriorated further since the release of the defence strategic review in April 2023, he noted, with war in the Middle East and increasingly unsafe actions of Chinese military aircraft and warships in the South China Sea and Northeast Asia. Despite the geographical realities that are driving Australia’s acquisition of nuclear-powered submarines, many argue that the government lacks public support for such a significant acquisition. That is borne out in the latest United States Studies Centre poll , which indicates that only 49% of Australians support acquiring these submarines. The eye-watering cost hasn’t won the plan many friends in a country experiencing a cost-of-living crisis. With this background firmly established, Conroy gave a commendable defence of the acquisition highlighting the tactical, operational and strategic realities that justify this bold capability direction. The address seemed on point and on the rails until journalist Kym Bergman asked about defence funding. When I asked Defence Minister Richard Marles the same question in September at the ASPI conference, he responded that ‘strategy without money is just hot air’. Bergman noted that ASPI’s budget analysis, The big squeeze , released on 29 May, said core funding for the Defence Department had been reduced at a time when unprecedented demands were being placed on it. ‘Between 2023–24 and 2025–26, defence funding drops from $154 billion to $152.5 billion,’ Bergman said. The minister rejected the assertion, saying: ‘ASPI were picking and choosing between what parts they counted and what parts they didn’t count. I urge you to look at the defence papers. Every year the defence funding goes up.’ His response highlighted the greatest single risk to Australia’s defence: the ‘squeezing’ of the defence budget. The issue that became readily apparent in that response is that the government is still not ready to admit that the defence budget is under extreme pressure at a time when Conroy had stated that investment is needed. Budgets are not a matter of interpretation, or perception; they are simply a matter of numbers and maths. As part of the process of making the numbers work, Defence is compensated for fluctuations in the exchange rate and is forecast to receive $4 billion in compensation over the next three years. This is, of course, not real money; it simply acknowledges the fact that Defence pays more for capabilities when the Australian dollar is low. When you remove the compensation for foreign exchange fluctuations, the real funding of Defence becomes clear. In the March 2022 budget forecast, Defence core funding was predicted to be $154.0 billion for the next three financial years. The budget delivered in May 2023 forecasts $156.5 billion for Defence over the same period. That’s an increase, yes—but it’s not a real increase. When you remove the $4 billion compensation for exchange rate fluctuations, Defence receives $152.5 billion dollars across the next three years. This is a reduction of $1.5 billion for the defence budget over the next three years compared with last year’s forecast. That was highlighted in ASPI’s defence budget brief and confirmed by Defence’s chief financial officer, Steven Groves, in Senate estimates on 30 May. This reduction in forecast defence spending is a matter of public record. The pain of the reduction in budget forecasts of Defence’s core funding is further exacerbated by the doubling of inflation eroding the purchasing power of the defence budget. All of this is happening as additional requirements from the DSR and AUKUS initiatives are squeezed into the budget. The government has forecast an increase in defence spending between 2027–28 and 2032–33 of $30.5 billion, with Treasury indicating a growth in defence spending as a percentage of GDP from 2.05% to 2.30% over the same time. But with wars in Europe and the Middle East, and with the chances of a miscalculation in the South China Sea increasing daily, we must ask ourselves as a nation whether we can wait until 2027–28 for defence funding relief. In May, my co-authors and I wrote in ASPI’s defence budget brief: ‘The strategic context for the 2023–24 defence budget is complex and extremely challenging. There’s currently a gap, and quite a significant one, between the rhetoric of the 2023 DSR and the 2023–24 defence budget (and forward estimates).’ This remains as accurate today as it was in May. Denying the simple fact that the defence budget is under pressure does little to assist the conversation about the stark strategic circumstances we find ourselves in. In the end, it’s just maths.

April 12, 2024 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in The Strategist on 12 April 2024 Image: Hunter-class frigate: BAE Systems. Almost a year ago, the Defence Strategic Review (DSR) set homework for the Department of Defence, including reprioritising the country’s rolling plan for military capability spending, the Integrated Investment Program (IIP). That update is now nearly due.   But we should not assume that the government can address defence funding problems by shifting funds between projects in a spending plan that is already overburdened.  There’s a widespread view in the public that Defence wastes money, a view reinforced in recent years by critical Australian National Audit Office reports detailing cost increases for many Australian Defence Force projects. The Hunter frigate program is a well-known example, with the Government citing the $20 billion cost increase as one reason for cutting the project from nine to six frigates.  This leads to false assumptions that better fiscal responsibility and prioritisation will free up pots of gold within the IIP. It doesn’t help that the IIP is poorly understood and that Defence engages little in public discourse, whether to justify skyrocketing costs, debunk myths around capability acquisition or highlight its on-budget delivery of most projects.  Created in response to a recommendation of the 2015 First Principles Review, the IIP outlines Defence’s funding lines for capability acquisition and sustainment for the coming 20 years.  Only two public versions have been released, one in 2016 and one in the 2020 Force Structure Plan (FSP), leaving a public impression that the IIP remains fixed for long intervals. In fact, it is a classified living document, updated twice a year. The updates include reprioritisation.  The DSR highlighted the deterioration of Australia’s strategic circumstances, including the ‘the prospect of major conflict in the region that directly threatens our national interest’. Accordingly, it called for a highly integrated, enhanced-lethality ADF.  To achieve this, parts of the ADF need to be reshaped, new capabilities must be acquired and some that already in planning need to be accelerated. The DSR gave some indication of those changes, but the vast majority have been left as homework for the department. The first instalment of the biennial National Defence Strategy (NDS), to be issued with the IIP update, will hopefully reveal more details.  While many of the DSR’s recommendations were welcome, the handbrake on its success was the government’s position that the review’s changes of approximately $19 billion must be cost-neutral within the forward estimates—from 2023-24 to 2026-27.   Although the recently announced replacement and expansion of the Royal Australian Navy’s surface combatant fleet is expected to come with a $1.7 billion uplift in the forward estimates, this doesn’t address the broader requirements of the DSR or NDS. Fiscal relief for the defence budget is not due until 2027-28, with an uplift of $30 billion to be provided from then until 2032-33.  A cost-neutral DSR implied some combination of two things: some of the announcements were at least partly factored into the IIP already, and some projects in it would need to be cancelled or amended. Indeed, some cancellations and amendments were made public when the DSR was released, but many were not.  The DSR made plain that the IIP was under significant pressure. Unfunded announcements had been pushed into it since the 2020 FSP without going through the prioritisation process.  The 2016 white paper recommended that the IIP carry 20 percent overprogramming, meaning that for each year the programmed spending would be a fifth higher than available funding. That was based on the historical observation that there will always be some projects that slip. It’s a sound budgeting mechanism, but the DSR revealed that the IIP was actually carrying 24 percent overprogramming. And changes called for in the DSR have probably added to that.  To address the funding pressure, the DSR recommended that ‘lower-priority projects’ should be stopped or suspended and that ‘funding should be released by the rebuild and reprioritisation of the IIP’.  While reprioritisation within the IIP makes sense in our changing strategic circumstances, the problem is that it has been the go-to bucket of money for some time. The Defence funding envelope was set in the 2016 white paper, so almost every capability change since then has resulted in reshuffling of existing IIP funds. In the last couple of years, such initiatives as the Australian Signals Directorate’s uplift of $11.5 billion for the Redspice program and the $38 billion investment in Defence workforce growth have wreaked havoc on the IIP, resulting in the cancellation, reshaping or shaving of projects.  The likely result is that, despite the DSR’s recommendation to generate additional capability funding through removing the IIP’s low-hanging fruit, it is unlikely that there is any low-hanging fruit left. Considering the IIP pressure described in the DSR and the need to fund such efforts as Redspice and Defence workforce growth, the overall acquisition and sustainment program is clearly at significant risk.  Defence Minister Richard Marles has already signalled that the IIP to be released in coming weeks will show significant cuts to projects.  While talk of reprioritisation and greater fiscal responsibility is easy to sell to a public that’s unfamiliar with the IIP, repeated pillaging of what has likely become a bare bones capability program is risky in a time where our strategic reviews say we should be strengthening preparedness.  We must not imagine that there is a pot of gold at the end of the IIP rainbow. Defending the country simply demands a real uplift of funds, and Defence needs to explain publicly why this matters, otherwise we will be piling more risk onto the capability program at one of our greatest times of need in nearly 70 years.

April 18, 2024 | Jennifer Parker *Originally published in the Australian Financial Review 17 April 2024 We need to move towards a wider conversation around national security, mobilisation, and be clear on the vulnerability in our capabilities until the late 2030s. Image: Defence Minister Richard Marles at the National Press Club of Australia in Canberra discussing the first National Defense Strategy and attendant Integrated Investment Program 17 April 2024. The launch of the National Defence Strategy and integrated investment program 12 months on from the Defence Strategic Review hits all the key themes. In many ways, the 2024 National Defence Strategy represents where Australia needed to be in 2020, unlike the Force Structure Plan it does seek to focus the Australian Defence Force and provides funding to support the necessary changes including acceleration of capabilities. Analysts will pull apart the capability and funding aspects over the coming days. At face value, the National Defence Strategy achieves the defence and strategy elements of what it says on the tin, but there are three fundamental issues at the national level. The evolution of warfare and interference short of warfare in the political, economic, cyber and information spheres demonstrates that to defend Australia’s national interests beyond coercion, we must go beyond a defence strategy, and move towards a national security strategy. Conflicts in Europe, the Middle East and our own experience with economic coercion and cyberattacks demonstrate that we need to be able to co-ordinate all elements of national power to affect a strategy of deterrence by denial. This is not only a nice to have, it is a must as we see countries such as China undertaking what in many instances could be considered, political, economic, information and cyber warfare that directly impinge on Australia’s national interests. The National Defence Strategy also avoids the use of the term mobilisation. Confining the issue of preparedness, to purely a military sense. The 2020 Force Structure Plan and the terms of reference for the Defence Strategic Review highlighted the need for mobilisation to be considered. Not only mobilisation of the Australian Defence Force, but more broadly a discussion of national mobilisation. Are we putting the architecture, mechanisms and processes in place to be in a position to mobilise all necessary elements of Australian society should the increasing strategic risk be realised? The National Defence Strategy, much like the public-facing Defence Strategic Review is glaringly quiet on these points. The third and perhaps most stark issue with the National Defence Strategy and its associated integrated investment program is the period of risk from now until the late 2020s to early 2030s. The government is entirely correct in its assertion that it is seeking to reshape the Australian Defence Force into a more lethal, agile force tailored towards a strategy of deterrence by denial. But the key elements of this force, whether it be ships, submarines or the underlying infrastructure will not be in place for some time. In some ways, at the point in which Australia finds itself, this may be unavoidable, as previously mentioned, many of the elements of the National Defence Strategy would have been perfectly appropriate for 2020. This is a quandary not of the government’s making, it is a clear result of the negligence of successive governments and, at times, a disinterested public, but it is a vulnerability that we must now acknowledge and work hard to utilise Australia’s other elements of national power to mitigate. Despite these significant issues, there is much to like about the National Defence Strategy on face value and its associated integrated investment program from a defence perspective. It builds upon the Defence Strategic Review and announcements relating to the AUKUS submarine optimal pathway and surface combatant fleet expansion. In many ways, it seeks to deliver an enhanced, and more lethal, Australian Defence Force to respond to the deteriorating strategic circumstances. It is supported by additional funds, $5.7 billion in the forward estimates and predictions of $50 billion over the next 10 years, addressing the criticism that the Defence Strategic Review recommendations lacked funding. Fleshing out the Defence Strategic Review’s recommendation of a strategy of deterrence by denial, the National Defence Strategy seeks to bolster this approach. Highlighting that to protect Australia’s national interests from coercion in a dramatically deteriorating global order, the Australian Defence Force needs power projection capabilities including long-range strike, cyber and maritime capabilities which the integrated investment program supports with significant investment over the next 10 years. What is not exactly clear, is the full spectrum of projects that have been cut. What is not exactly clear, is the full spectrum of projects that have been cut, delayed or rescoped to support the prioritised integrated investment program. Many of the cuts announced today were announced in the Defence Strategic Review. Navy’s future joint support ship has been cancelled. This capability would have addressed some of the Australian Defence Force’s significant shortfalls in sealift capability to get the Army and its equipment overseas, although likely mitigated by Army’s acquisition of its new littoral vessels. But it does highlight a fundamental shortfall in the ability to the Navy’s auxiliary force, with the cancellation of the joint support ship, the Navy has only two auxiliary vessels to replenish its growing surface fleet with fuel, ammunition, and food at sea. While there are still significant holes in the Australia Defence Force’s capability to resource the strategy of deterrence by denial, to the government’s credit, the National Defence Strategy does go some way to addressing these gaps, and finally is supported by the resources to do so. But we need to move beyond the National Defence Strategy, towards a wider conversation around national security, mobilisation and be clear on the period of vulnerability from now until the late 2030s in our defence capabilities.

Jennifer Parker | 30 November 2025 *Originally Published in the Australian Financial Review on 28 November 2025 We have forgotten what it feels like to face the visceral prospect of attack. Countries that cannot resist coercion will struggle to defend their interests. Image: A Royal Australian Air Force F/A-18F Super Hornet aircraft conducts an aerial display as part of the RAAF Richmond Air Show 2025. Defence Images. Rumours suggest another Chinese naval task group may be heading towards Australia . While such a deployment poses no direct threat and warships are entitled under international law to operate in international waters, it inevitably recalls the Chinese task group that circumnavigated Australia in March. That voyage, while overblown by some, was a deliberate show of maritime coercion in a shifting strategic environment. China’s growing aggression in the Indo-Pacific, along with Russia’s assault on Ukraine and the war in the Middle East, have made one thing clear: military force has returned as a normal tool of coercion. For Australia, the question is how we reduce our vulnerability to military coercion, and that conversation begins with defence spending. Despite recent small funding boosts, Australia still lacks the capabilities needed to safeguard our national interests in a far more contested world. We cannot guarantee the security of our own ports because we lack modern mine-detection systems; our land-based missile-interception capability is close to symbolic; and we have almost no sovereign space assets to support defence operations. Yet in a period of mounting global instability, we are asking military aircraft to fly less and our ships to spend less time at sea simply to stay within budget. The reality is unavoidable: our resourcing does not align with our strategy, or with the threats our own leaders continue to highlight. It is never easy to discuss the prospect of conflict, or even a major military crisis short of it. While we honour sacrifice on Remembrance Day and Anzac Day, we have understandably forgotten what it feels like to face the visceral prospect of attack: the fear felt in Darwin in February 1942, in Katherine a month later, or in Sydney when midget submarines entered the harbour in May of that same year. This is not to suggest Australia is on the brink of attack; it is not. Rather, it highlights that we have lived in relative peace since 1945 and those memories have receded. Yet these are the circumstances our political leaders evoke when they say we face “the most challenging strategic circumstances since World War II”. Aggressive harassment increasing States increasingly use military coercion to solve their problems. Countries that cannot resist coercion will struggle to defend their interests and way of life. Australia is already experiencing degrees of military coercion. Take the South China Sea. Two-thirds of Australia’s maritime trade passes through it. As an island nation utterly dependent on maritime trade, the South China Sea is fundamental to our security and prosperity. Australia has operated there consistently since the end of World War II. “We still lack a range of key capabilities that are essential to reducing the impact of military coercion and, in the worst case, responding to conflict.” Yet with China’s growing military power, our ADF women and men have faced increasingly aggressive harassment in international waters and airspace. The most recent example in October this year involved a Chinese fighter aircraft releasing flares close to an Australian patrol aircraft, which could have disabled its engine and caused loss of life. This is military coercion: an attempt to pressure Australia not to operate freely in international airspace. The circumnavigation of Australia by a Chinese naval task group of three ships fits into the same category. It was not on the way to anywhere, it offered no scientific value, and China’s maritime trade does not depend on the Southern Ocean. It was a demonstration of capability and a show of force we will see again. But make no mistake, it is a form of military coercion. As I wrote at the time , Australia did not need to be alarmed and should temper its response, but we must be alert and ready to respond to a changing world. While there are many steps Australia must take to prepare for this change, one point is fundamental: to withstand military coercion we must have the military capability to deter it where possible or to respond if it cannot be prevented. The recent Lowy Poll found 51 per cent of Australians support higher defence spending. Although the Albanese government has announced major plans for new submarines, new surface ships and an expanded missile inventory, we still lack a range of key capabilities that are essential to reducing the impact of military coercion and, in the worst case, responding to conflict. We are trying to meet a rapidly changing strategic environment on a lean budget, spending about 2 per cent of GDP on defence. In the Cold War it was around 2.7 per cent; in the 1950s, about 3 per cent. In nominal terms we are spending more, but as a share of the economy it is significantly less. As a result, we cannot afford many of the critical capabilities needed to protect ourselves from the increasing trends of military coercion and conflict. Australia must recognise how quickly the world is changing and act accordingly. Modest increases to defence spending will not bridge the gap between our strategic ambitions and the capabilities we can field. The government’s plan to reach 2.3 per cent of GDP by 2033-34 does not match the pace or scale of the strategic deterioration we face. If we are serious about resisting coercion and protecting our national interests, defence funding must rise beyond that level, and soon. Delay only heightens our vulnerability to military coercion.