We can all see our world is becoming less certain and less stable. More people are displaced. More people are hungry. There is more conflict – in Sudan, Ukraine, Gaza and elsewhere. 

Australia will always make our contribution, as part of multilateral efforts to protect civilians and uphold international law – because living in peace shouldn’t be contingent on where you were born. 

Having said that, our overriding responsibility as a middle power of the Indo-Pacific is to support peace, stability and prosperity in this region. 

The Indo-Pacific is where the world’s future is most being shaped. 

It is where we have the most on the line. 

It is where we can have the most effect. 

From our first day in office, when the Prime Minister and I flew to Japan to meet with the Quad, from my first trip to the Pacific Islands Forum and the Prime Minister’s first bilateral visit to Indonesia, the region has been our focus. 

After what some might call a mixed decade, we had a pretty big job to do. 

We needed to reassure the region of our commitment – our intent.  
 
In my first year as Foreign Minister, I travelled to every Pacific Islands Forum member and all the countries of ASEAN, other than Myanmar. 

The Prime Minister has always said that we are not here to occupy the space. 

That goes for our foreign policy. That goes for Australia in our region. 

We don’t just live here. 

We aren’t just residents. 

We are architects. 

And for the past three and a half years we have been building Australia’s future in our region. 

We build understanding, from what Anthony Albanese called the foundation of a relationship of equals. 

We build relationships. We build the inclusive infrastructure and economic opportunities to transform lives, foster stability and grow prosperity. 

We build our shared regional capacity to defend and secure our sovereignty. 

Every relationship Australia has in this region has been strengthened under our Government. 

Every one. 

And it pays to look at a map to picture the architecture I am about to describe. 

Because we have agreed groundbreaking treaties with four countries, upgraded or enhanced partnerships with six and made progress on agreements with another four. 

We have concluded negotiations on our new treaty with Indonesia. 
 
We have the Pukpuk Treaty with Papua New Guinea, transforming our nearest neighbour to our newest ally. 

We have the Nauru-Australia Treaty and the landmark Falepili Union with Tuvalu. 

We have progress towards new agreements with Fiji, Tonga and Vanuatu. 

We have stabilised relations with China, without compromising on our interests. 

And we have upgraded our relationships with Japan, Vietnam, Philippines, Laos and Brunei, enhanced our relationship with Singapore and agreed to strengthen our arrangements with India. 

None of this was thinkable in 2021. 

Yet the Albanese Government has actively pursued landmark agreements that come together to safeguard the region that we want. 

At every step, working in partnership with the region, and through ASEAN and the Pacific Islands Forum, which underpin our collective security and prosperity. 

We know we are made stronger by what we do together. 

Now, let me be clear. I said that we have advanced every relationship we have in our region. 

But that doesn’t mean that our strategic environment is getting any easier. 

The change in the regional landscape is permanent. 

The disruption – the contest– is permanent. 

China will continue trying to reshape the region according to its own interests. 

Russia, Iran and North Korea will continue to sabotage and destabilise. 

With so much activity and contest, things may not go Australia’s way every time. 

But we will keep pressing our national interest in the contest every day. 

We do that bilaterally, including with our upgraded ties around the region, but also through regionalism. 

Regionalism is one of the most effective ways for smaller and medium countries to counter power asymmetries. 

We see this every day in the power and weight that ASEAN and the PIF carry when they speak with one voice. 

Both have the capacity to build norms and set expectations – for nations large and small. 

This architecture of groundbreaking agreements secures Australia in our region. 

And they are premised on Australia’s ability to meet nations where they are at, drawing on all elements of our national power. 

You see this in South and Southeast Asia, where we know that there is a need for more investment, goods and services to boost economic development and support the transition to clean energy. 

It’s in Australia’s economic and strategic interests to respond to these priorities. 

And it offers the assurance that comes with knowing that their success is our success; to create the shared value that fosters peace and stability. 

This is why we have supported $1.2 billion in new Australian investment through our Southeast Asia Economic Strategy to 2040. 

And it is why we launched an A New Economic Roadmap for India, with a new Trade and Investment Accelerator Fund to help unlock new commercial opportunities, while continuing to negotiate an upgraded economic agreement. 

Our new $2 billion Southeast Asia Infrastructure Financing Facility is kickstarting Australian investments, including to create immediate exposure for 15 Australian super funds and supporting key projects in renewable energy, telecommunications and infrastructure. 

It is a sign of early success that one in four transactions supported by Export Finance Australia are now in Southeast Asia. 

And beyond trade and investment, we are also drawing on the expertise of CSIRO, the Bureau of Meteorology and other Australian institutions to support energy system planning, resilient transport infrastructure and the clean energy transition in the region. 

We are bringing together Timor-Leste, the Northern Territory Government and indigenous land holders to help Timor improve access to power in remote communities. 

And in similar ways in the Pacific, we are listening, consulting and responding to Pacific priorities in the Pacific way – Australia is intent on being a good neighbour and one that deals with partners with respect. 

I can’t emphasise enough how important this has been in the Pacific – where the previous government’s disregard of climate science and disrespect for the Pacific family is still raised with me today. 

The Albanese Government has invested in rebuilding relationships and restoring trust among the Pacific family – so that we can again be a partner of choice. 

Such as through the Cyber RAPID response program, which has helped restore critical services in the wake of massive cyber-attacks, or through DFAT and the ADF humanitarian operations responding to natural disasters. 

Or the way we are addressing food insecurity, with ACIAR enabling Australia to share our ability to grow food in changing climates and take our leadership in agricultural innovation global. 

Being a part of the solution on climate change is also central to our credibility in the Pacific – through our strong domestic commitments, rejoining the Green Climate Fund and investing in the Pacific Resilience Facility. 

And the driver for Australia seeking to host COP with the Pacific family was always to bring the world’s attention to the impacts of climate change in our region and elevate Pacific voices for global action on climate. 

All our Pacific engagement prioritises Pacific leadership. 

That is how we have backed the Pacific Policing Initiative and established the Pacific Response Group, complementing other arrangements like Australia’s Status of Forces Agreement with Fiji and enhanced maritime security cooperation. 

Australia is committed to remaining a reliable partner to the Pacific and our region, despite the global reduction in development assistance. 

The full impact of dramatic aid reductions around the world is only just starting to be felt. 

Australia is responding to this challenge by reprioritising our development investments to bolster support to our region. 

We now dedicate 75 cents of every Australian development dollar to the Indo-Pacific. 

We are prioritising targeted, high-impact investments that build resilience and back local solutions, making the region more secure and stable. 

We also prioritise those in the most need – such as our role as a leading contributor to humanitarian crises and displaced Rohingyas in Myanmar and Bangladesh. 

This week I will travel to India, one of our most consequential partners in building our collective security and prosperity. I am told this will be my 26th meeting with External Affairs Minister Jaishankar. 

Australia has sought to redefine our relationships with our region. Listening, not imposing. Consulting, not controlling. 

And through identifying shared challenges, designing solutions together, and using all of our arms of national power, we have found ways to build common ground. 

Senator the Hon Penny Wong is the Australian Minister for Foreign Affairs. This is an excerpt of her speech to the 17 November 2025 AIIA Gala Dinner. Full versions of conference speeches, including the minister’s speech, are available here.

Australian Outlook occasionally publishes pieces by figures representing government or other bodies. As with all pieces published by Outlook, these are edited and checked for facts. They do not, however, represent the view of Outlook or the Australian Institute of International Affairs.

This article is published under Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.

Fifteen years ago, Greenpeace exposed how Patrick Moore, once affiliated with the group, misused his past association to rebrand himself as an “environmentalist” while actively downplaying climate change. Seven years ago, Moore appeared repeatedly on Crowder’s channel to “debunk” climate science.

The pattern of climate denial is also revealing in who tends to drive it. Patrick Moore, Ben Shapiro, and Donald Trump: what unites them beyond their rhetoric? Wealth. It is well known that political conservatism is associated with a lower concern about climate change, but there is research to show that there is actually a greater polarisation amongst wealthier nations.  Climate skepticism is often amplified by those with deep ties to fossil fuel interests. Many deniers are less motivated by ignorance than by ideology and self-preservation. Casting doubt on science conveniently protects industries and donors whose profits would suffer from robust climate policy.

To add to the heat, social media creators are willfully ignoring evidence, exploiting scientific complexity, and reducing it into digestible soundbites. Why? YouTube alone may earn up to $13.4 million a year in ad revenue from channels pushing climate denial content. A report from the Center for Countering Digital Hate (CCDH), The New Climate Denial, documents how these arguments evolve to stay relevant. Instead of outright denying climate change, skeptics now emphasise uncertainty, shift blame, or downplay urgency. This is not a passive ecosystem of ideas; it’s a business model that monetises doubt.

These videos are not carefully reasoned counterarguments, they are packaged with clickbait titles and a thin veneer of credentials. Our attention spans are now shorter than ever. Now, not only is it easy to feed on information without fact-checking, but it’s also rewarding to receive the instant gratification of approval from numerous like-minded strangers.

That profit motive underscores an uncomfortable truth: climate deniers aren’t naive. They are profiting from spreading misinformation and understand that a slick graphic or a confident voice on a podcast will often carry more weight than a technical research paper.

The social media rhetoric itself is slippery, shifting with the times. One of the most common tactics is to frame arguments in a way that feels factual but is deliberately narrow. Consider The Saltbush Club, which published an article citing climate scientist Bjørn Lomborg’s claim that more people die from cold than heat. Or the YouTube debate on skeptics v/s activists, with a credentialed physicist-epidemiologist blaming China. These arguments aren’t airtight, but they’re persuasive in context. They rely on selective data, obscure nuances, and the facade of expertise to present themselves as “sensible.”

In a world where visual simplicity beats dense scientific data, denial has the advantage.

Take Steven Crowder’s insistence that Antarctic ice sheets are growing. The claim contradicts mainstream science, but to his audience, it resonates because it’s easy to picture. Meanwhile, communicating the nuances of ice mass balance, satellite data, and seasonal variability requires patience and trust—two things in short supply online. If denial thrives on simplicity, then science needs to adapt—not by dumbing itself down, but by becoming more accessible.

This is where responsibility falls not just on scientists but on platforms. Stricter guidelines for the spread of misinformation are urgently needed. YouTube, Facebook, TikTok, and others must recognise that their algorithms reward polarisation. Leaving misinformation unchecked under the guise of “free speech” ignores the societal costs. After all, nearly 16% of Americans don’t believe in human-caused climate change; that’s about 49 million people. Those people vote. They influence policy. And when one of the most developed nations in the world can’t build consensus on basic science, global climate action stalls.

If denial thrives on simplicity, then our response must be clarity. Making science accessible isn’t about diluting it, it’s about opening the doors wider. Citizen-science programs, community-based climate education, and transparent public communication can transform passive observers into informed participants. Peer-reviewed research will always be the backbone of climate understanding, but the bridge between the lab and everyday life must be strengthened through compelling visual media, responsible journalism, and evidence-driven storytelling.

We have already crossed the Paris Agreement’s 1.5°C limit, yet the urgency of that milestone is lost when scientific knowledge is concentrated among the few. Broadening access to education, economically, socially, and culturally, is one of the most effective ways to counter misinformation and ensure no community is left out of the solutions we desperately need. Climate action is not just a scientific challenge but a democratic one, and the path forward depends on empowering the public with the tools, the understanding, and the agency to demand better.

Ananya Sarma is pursuing a major in Environmental Science with a minor in Sustainable Development and International Relations at the Australian National University. Currently an intern with the AIIA’s Media and Communications team, she is passionate about bridging disciplines and writing on global and societal issues. Her experience across environmental and diplomatic sectors enables her to explore the intersections of sustainability, politics, and communication. As an Indian international student, she brings a global perspective to her work and is driven by curiosity, creativity, and a commitment to continuous learning.

This article is published under a Creative Commons license and may be republished with attribution.

It has become increasingly fashionable to criticise the United States of America in the classrooms, political clubs, and workplaces of Australia. Analysts such as Hugh White have popularised this notion, arguing that Australia must prepare for a post-American Asia. This line of thought has found traction among younger academics and policy thinkers, who often view US leadership as an anachronism of the twentieth century rather than a guarantor of peace in the twenty-first.

Pointing to the disruption of the second Trump Presidency, the withdrawal from Afghanistan, and the supposedly inexorable rise of China, many believe that the decline of the US is a fait accompli. Even more, many seem to believe that such a decline will positively impact the affairs of the world. Yet the same critics who proclaim the end of American leadership rarely offer a viable successor to the Pax Americana that has underpinned global order since 1945. It is my view that this sentiment is not only misguided but is, in fact, manifestly dangerous to the future peace and prosperity of Australia.

Australians want peace, but we are not prepared for war. This single observation casts doubt on all arguments against our strong economic, cultural, and military alliance with the United States of America. In fact, it casts into doubt any arguments made against US hegemony in the Pacific. The 2023 Defence Strategic Review made this clear, warning that Australia “no longer enjoys a ten-year warning time” and that US extended deterrence remains essential to our national security. Our reliance on US capabilities, from intelligence sharing under the Five Eyes arrangement to the technology transfers promised under AUKUS, is not merely a matter of convenience, but of survival. Interestingly, many who reside in the anti-US camp maintain an anti-militarist view that weeps at the sight of materiel expenditure. Yet, surely it is evident that to grow a totally sufficient deterrent to the other powers of the Pacific, including research and development of hypersonic munitions, next generation surface and undersea ships, next generation fighter jets, and drones, is more expensive than participating in the marketplace of like-minded liberal-democratic states. Unless these voices suggest that we should not maintain a credible deterrent at all, a radical view that calls to mind the rightfully unattractive terms of appeasement and vulnerability.

It is popularly claimed that US adventurism in the Middle East discredits its leadership. Indeed, the withdrawal from Afghanistan and the prolonged occupation of Iraq did not positively influence its global reputation. Yet such claims ignore that the US, despite its flaws, has provided the global public good of stability: keeping sea lanes open, restraining authoritarian aggression, and anchoring institutions such as the UN, World Bank and the IMF. Although it is fair to say that the UN has struggled to maintain global order during Trump’s presidency, the same could have been said under President Biden. Despite their sharp ideological contrasts, both leaders have pursued the same core foreign policy objectives: a stable Europe, Middle East, and Indo-Pacific. In practical terms, the differences between their foreign policies are less pronounced than rhetoric suggests. Trump may be more verbose on the world stage, but under both administrations, weapons have continued to flow to Ukraine, and the US Seventh Fleet remains firmly positioned in the vicinity of Taiwan. Without such leadership, the Indo-Pacific risks sliding into the kind of competitive militarisation that characterised Europe before 1914. Moreover, it should never be forgotten that between 1945-1949, when the US had a nuclear monopoly and thus was the most powerful civilisation in history, it did not abuse this awesome might against a defenseless world, and the only significant military engagement in this time occurred with the defense of the South Koreans.

It is the nature of power and vacuums that any criticism of US dominance can only be decisive if a credible and superior alternative can be found. China, for all its economic dynamism, offers little in the way of an alternative political or moral order. Its governance model is authoritarian, its alliances transactional, and its record on international law dubious. To wish for the end of American hegemony, then, is not to wish for peace, but to risk a vacuum that would be filled by coercion rather than consent. It is not sufficient to criticise the US. One must also prove that it is in Australia’s interest to have an alternative foreign power dominate the region instead. To those who would like to wish that the withdrawal of the US from the Indo-Pacific would leave a harmonious web of altruistic states, without a new power taking its place, I can only say good luck.

Earlier, I echoed Vegetius, who wrote that “if you want peace, prepare for war.” This phrase was coined in the dying days of the Roman Empire, as a once untouchable hegemonic power and civilisation began to collapse. Many pundits today draw comparisons with that fate and the current state of the US. But this comparison is both historically and strategically shallow. The lesson is not that power corrupts, but that weakness invites predation. An Australia stranded without US support will invite predation. If we believe in the fundamental goodness of our society and of liberal democracies across the world, then we should continue to do our part in protecting US hegemony, as it is in this state that the most effective and efficient increase in human welfare in history has occurred.

One must not forget that the law is built on a foundation of coercive power. This is doubly true for the law of an international nature. We cannot wish away the unfortunately violent reality of human affairs. We can only help decide who wields the power. Australia has already seen the nature of coercion from the Chinese Communist Party, surely a sometimes-erratic US is morally and practically superior for our way of life than a calculating apparatus of centralised state control that sees dominance over the West as retribution for historic injustice.

To those who support the rule of law and who reject the imposition of a centralised moral authority, it follows that they must also support the continued predominance of the United States. Australia alone lacks the material and strategic power to defend our liberal-democratic way of life, and that of our regional partners. The United States, however, retains both the capacity and the will to do so. Our future security depends on the endurance of that leadership.

Kai Bowie is a final year Bachelor of Commerce student at the University of Melbourne. He serves as the President of the Melbourne University Liberal Club, which celebrated its centenary in October. Next year he will complete his officer commissioning course in the Australian Army Reserves and begin his career in strategy consulting.

This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.

It has now been nearly a century since the end of the Second World War, an era marked by the dissolution of colonial empires, Cold War tensions, and great leaps in human ingenuity. In a time in which geopolitical tensions threaten to boil over, the stories of those who have endured the hardships of global conflict are more relevant than ever. We understand this through their reflections and the material culture they leave behind.

In my grandmother’s house, there is a small wicker chair, a present for her third birthday. On 9 September, at the end of a day marking just three years of life, it accompanied her into a bomb shelter. Upon returning in the morning, her home was gone, obliterated by the Luftwaffe in the London Blitz. It is still with her, eighty-five years later, as a fixture of the household. My father sat in it as a child, as did I, and my own son (her great-grandson) sits in it when we visit, oblivious to the totality of what it represents. Objects such as these serve as touchstones of conflict, reminders of what can happen when diplomacy fails, and expansionist regimes emerge.

As a curator at the Australian War Memorial, objects with stories such as this are common. Eighty years on, and the Memorial still receives offers of hundreds of objects related to Australian servicemen and women in the Second World War. Each holds its own story and emotional resonance; each speaks of an individual touched by war. As individuals, they represent collections of hopes, dreams, loves, friendships, and familial ties, each a universe unto their own. We often forget this when we cite casualty numbers —human lives become statistics to illustrate political talking points, bandied about with little regard for the actual impact on those who number among them. The material history relating to these people speaks to the immensity and scale of the Second World War. One in seven Australians served in the armed forces during the conflict, representing almost 15% of the population. This meant it was practically inescapable for Australians of the time. You either knew someone involved personally or knew of someone who did. While many of those actively involved in the conflict are now gone, their legacies live on.

Balikpapan, Borneo. 1945-08-15, members of the 7th Division and RAN commandoes at prayer during thanksgiving service, Victory in the Pacific Day. 1945. Photographer unknown. 113205

The Veterans and their families I talk to often speak of giving lasting meaning to their service —the objects they pass on having had some part in that service. They act as a vehicle in which their stories may travel, to remind us of what war means. Most modern Veterans reflect on the necessity of their service, their duty to defend their families and their country. Perhaps most impressively, they speak of the lives of people they have never met, from countries with which they have no ties. They often reflect on the moral dimensions of service, striving for peace, the defeat of bad actors, and whether it was all worth it. Most say it was; they hold a belief that, at very least, they had a job to do and a hope that they have made a positive impact on the world. Yet, there is a toll. Families also speak of the lasting effects wrought on those who have come home, invisible wounds and silent damage, others of the voids left by the dead—sons, fathers, mothers, and daughters.

The thing that strikes me most is their concerns, as well as their oblique references to Ukraine, the South Pacific, or the Middle East. Offhand references to political polarisation, nationalism, rising tensions, and expanded military budgets. An oft spoken line is: “…With everything going on at the moment.” There is a weariness there, a worry about what escalations would mean and what harsh realities may stem from such disastrous circumstances.  It’s a fear not for themselves, but for the young, those who will bear the brunt of a global conflict. For older Veterans, it’s an understanding of what hardships they will have to endure. For families, it is an understanding of the lasting impacts of war. The lasting effects of service in smaller conflicts, such as Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan, are often massive yet a microcosm in terms of scale. This is not to diminish the importance of these conflicts or the sacrifices made by those who have served in them; it is to highlight the profound impact of the aftermath. If these are the impacts felt as a result of smaller modern conflicts, then what possible benefits could renewed global conflict bring? Reflecting on the valuable lessons that history has tried to teach us, and our Veterans and their families share with us, there are none.

Canberra, ACT. 1945-08-18, National Thanksgiving Service at the Australian War Memorial on Victory in the Pacific Day (VP Day). 1945. Photographer unknown. XS0249

Conceived during the First World War and opened during the Second, the Australian War Memorial serves as a poignant reminder of the harsh realities of war. As a Curator here, I am surrounded by it. Every day, I read the stories and interact with objects that tangibly relay lived experiences. My role is to proliferate the collection and share these stories with the Australian public. Eighty years on, and it is more important than ever to engage with these stories, to remind ourselves of the heavy cost global conflict brings.

Sam Fricker is an Assistant Curator in the Military Heraldry and Technology section at the Australian War Memorial. With a background in art history, Sam has an enduring love for the work of Francisco Goya and a strong interest in how material culture shapes history. He holds a degree in Art History and Curatorship (Hon) from the Australian National University.

Article: This article is published under a Creative Commons Licence and may be republished with attribution.

Images: We thank the Australian War Memorial for permission to use these historical photographs. Photographs courtesy of the Australian War Memorial are excluded from this Creative Commons license and remain under copyright protection. These images may not be reproduced, republished, or redistributed without permission from the Australian War Memorial. For licensing inquiries regarding these images, please contact the Australian War Memorial directly.

Indonesia’s August 2025 protests were fueled by deepfake videos and misinformation that resonated with existing economic grievances and anti-elite sentiment, demonstrating how false content can mobilize public anger when it aligns with lived experiences. The tragic death of motorcycle taxi driver Affan Kurniawan under a police vehicle transformed online outrage into street demonstrations, showing how networked polarization can both divide and unite communities around calls for reform.

Indonesia’s late-August 2025 protests demonstrated how misinformation and networked polarisation can fuse to shape online narratives and influence offline choices. A viral deepfake that appeared to show the former Indonesian Finance Minister Sri Mulyani calling teachers “a burden” sparked indignation, which was shared around two weeks before the peak of the protest. Another video showed an old clip of Surya Utama/Uya Kuya, a member of the House of Representatives (DPR), dancing, which was re-uploaded with a misleading caption implying that he mocked the notion that “3 million rupiah per day is small,” falsely tying it to the DPR pay/allowance controversy.

Both have since clarified—on their own social media and in multiple reports—that the clips and videos are hoaxes. Even after denials and clarifications, the outrage persisted. Educated groups, such as university professors and professionals, even shared the deepfake video of Sri Mulyani. However, the denial competed with widespread economic discontent and perceptions of policy neglect toward educators and taxpayers.

The Indonesian late August protest marked the climax of polarisation within society that had been building since the previous election. When we began monitoring hate speech in the presidential campaign in September 2023, we consistently detected two principal axes of polarisation. The first one is economic polarisation– tension between privileged groups and the working class/vulnerable middle class. The second one is Anti-elite/political dynasties – clashes between perceptions of political elites and dynasties versus the people. This polarisation was not isolated, but rather part of a larger networked polarisation, a term we use to describe the interconnected web of social, economic, and political divisions that fuelled the protests.

These polarisation trends continued throughout the 2024 general and regional elections into 2025, culminating in the latest demonstrations rejecting the lavish lifestyles flaunted and glorified by parts of the political elite amid the public’s challenging economic conditions. Thus, the August 2025 protests were not an anomaly. They reflected the accumulation of public frustration that has grown for at least the last two years, at the intersection of socio-economic class polarisation and anti-elite sentiment.

Moreover, anxieties over the economic slowdown, layoffs, and frustration with government performance primed citizens to read events through a us-versus-them lens. In such conditions, mis/disinformation is not persuaded by facts so much as by resonance: a deep fake that seems to confirm lived experience can feel “truer” than an official correction. This is where the power of social media comes into play, amplifying these emotions and making a fabricated clip of a top official allegedly belittling teachers’ travel so far, and why the death of Affan Kurniawan, an online motorcycle taxi driver, under an armoured police vehicle, catalysed grief and fury on the streets. The message fit the moment.

According to Moscovici’s Social Representations Theory, people make sense of new claims by fitting them into familiar stories. The deepfake did precisely that. It was anchored to a well-worn “elites vs ordinary people” script, so many viewers treated it less as a factual statement than as a recognisable type of disdain. It also objectified a diffuse grievance—teachers and other working-class people feel undervalued—into a vivid, shareable image. Once a grievance takes on a concrete form like this, technical debunks rarely move the needle. The question of authenticity seems secondary because the clip appears to embody a truth that people already live by.

Affan Kurniawan’s death then confirmed that story in place. Being struck and killed by an armoured police vehicle during a dispersal near parliament turned an abstract complaint about unfairness into a visceral narrative of harm and accountability. The event re-objectified public meaning, as anger, sadness, and fear gathered around “Affan” as a symbol that organised talk and expectations—justice, reform, restraint. Powerful images travel; they reinforce a core of justice, dignity, and safety while pushing disputes (like whether the video was real) to the margins.

During that time, netizens expressed their feelings with emojis such as a police siren (359.302 mentions), followed by a wilted flower (277.770), an exclamation mark (272.205), and a loudly crying face (244.281). The police siren emoji was primarily used in posts warning that President Prabowo had authorised the police and military (TNI) to discipline citizens, which many saw as a threat to freedom.

Our latest analysis of online conversations on X reveals the dynamics of public emotion, toxicity, and polarisation in online discussions during the protest. Additionally, it confirms that anger was the leading effect (47.3%) of polarisation (see Figure 1). From nearly 10 million digital conversations across social media and news media, the research team analysed 13.780 original posts to capture the authentic expressions of netizens. The results show that toxicity rose to roughly one-third of posts at the peak, and polarisation was present in about one in five spikes that tracked moments of offline escalation.

Figure 1. Trends in netizen emotions expressed via polarising texts

Another finding shows that public emotions moved dynamically: from anticipation at the beginning of the actions, peaking in anger on August 28–30, and then blending with sadness, fear, and surprise. Social media served as the primary platform for articulating citizens’ collective emotions, shaping and amplifying the narrative of “the people versus the elite” and expanding the protest base. In the context of the 17+8 Movement, anger that had been dominant during the riots shifted into joy and neutral sentiment. With a focus on concrete solutions and symbolic solidarity, this digital movement transformed working-class anger into a narrative of solidarity, togetherness, and hope, demonstrating the power of social media in shaping public discourse.

The network effects matter just as much as the representations. Peaks in anger mapped tightly onto protest escalations; hashtags that framed institutions as enemies in Figure 2 (#bubarkanDPR or #DisbandDPR, #PolisiPembunuhRakyat or #PoliceKillsPeople) amplified a moralised binary, reducing the space for “in-between” positions. However, the same network that radicalised anger also made possible a pivot to constructive frames: as the “17+8” list circulated, posts expressing joy, trust, and anticipation rose, signalling that participants could re-anchor the movement around practicable reforms rather than solely around denunciations. The duality matters: networked polarisation is not merely dividing and radicalising, but it can also be uniting and constructive when frames invite broader publics into practical, future-oriented tasks.

Figure 2. Most-used hashtags on X during the public protests

Nevertheless, representations alone do not mobilise. For tipping points, Moscovici’s minority influence matters. Social change rarely begins with the masses; instead, it often starts with active minorities—the “rebellious few” who consistently put forward a dissenting line, maintain internal consensus, and operate with autonomy from the dominant view. In the current protest, that role was played by gig workers, student groups, labour organisers, educator networks, civic creators, and rights advocates who kept hammering the same value-laden claims—about economic dignity, respect for educators, and limits to state force—before and after the deepfake, and then again after Affan’s death. Their insistence provided a stable scaffold that others could anchor to as emotions surged, underscoring the crucial role of these minority groups in driving social change.

Indonesia’s late-2025 protests were not simply the tale of a fake video and a tragic death. They were a case study in how representations give mis/disinformation a foothold, how minority influence supplies the engine of change, and how networked publics amplify both division and solidarity. The initial framing—polarisation across class and dynasty lines, economic strain, and frustration with governance—is precisely what made the falsehood “work”: it resonated. It continued to resonate through the regions –with Filipinos and Nepalis, where working-class anger translated a “local” Indonesian scandal into a shared South and Southeast Asian grammar of grievance and mobilisation.

Acknowledgement–the analysis was done by the team from Monash Data & Democracy Research Hub. The full report is available here.

Ika Idris is Co-Director of the Monash Data & Democracy Research Hub and a specialist in social media analytics. Since 2019, Ika has trained officials across major Indonesian government agencies on strategic public communication and social media analysis.

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Dr Martin Hess’s The Politics of Police Diplomacy: The Australian Experience is a study of the international roles played by the Australian Federal Police (AFP) over the past six decades. It explores how the AFP has acted not merely as a law enforcement body, but as a diplomatic actor—situated within peacekeeping, justice systems, and foreign policy mechanisms.

In “The Politics of Police Diplomacy: The Australian Experience,” Martin Hess advances the thesis that international policing by the Australian Federal Police is, at its core, an exercise in diplomacy. Spanning six decades, from the AFP’s maiden deployment to Cyprus in 1964 through the traumatic aftermath of the Bali bombings and MH17 disaster, Hess paints a vivid portrait of police as agents of peace, justice, and international cooperation, which he views as highly significant yet surprisingly under-recognised. His narrative weaves case studies, policy analysis, and personal insight into a coherent argument that the AFP’s overseas roles comprise a distinct “Track Police” diplomacy, bridging law enforcement and foreign policy. To use Hess’ description – deploying “firm” police diplomacy, and thereby filling the gap between traditional “soft” diplomacy, and “hard” military intervention.

Hess argues an expanded view of diplomacy, convincingly espousing that diplomacy is not limited to formal ministerial channels—“Track 1” foreign relations—but extends to what might be termed “Track Police.” The AFP’s international roles—from training missions in the Pacific to disaster-response and crime-coordination centres—constitute a form of engagement that shapes geopolitical outcomes and bolsters Australia’s global reputation.

The author presents a coherent argument that an AFP deployment, like those described, democratises how we understand diplomacy, adding visible action and nuance to Australia’s soft-power toolkit.  He also describes the importance of “police as Social Barometers” and references the basis of Policing in most democratic societies – that being policing by consent, or “police are the public, and the public are the police”, with principles such as minimising use of force and moderation in the application of law.  Bringing these Policing Principles – Peel’s Nine Principles of Policing – to the AFP’s international deployments is seen as an essential and powerful influence in helping shape the nature of future policing in the countries to which the AFP has deployed.

Indeed, a compelling motif of the book is another of Peel’s Policing Principles – the idea that peace is not merely the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice. This principle drives the narrative: AFP’s engagements often seek to rebuild governance and legal systems (e.g., in Timor-Leste or the Solomon Islands), facilitating justice and, hence, durable peace.

The book grounds theory in case studies and real-world examples:

• Cyprus (1964 onward): The AFP’s earliest international deployment, typifying classic peacekeeping.
• Bali bombings (2002): A catastrophic terrorist attack that required swift law enforcement response – forensic expertise, community reassurance, and Police diplomacy.
• MH17 (2014): Hess explores how AFP’s involvement in victim identification and international coordination helped deliver ‘dignity and justice’ in tragedy, and indeed, in a diplomatic situation fraught with tension and potential long-term consequences if poorly undertaken.
• Timor Leste, Solomon Islands, PNG: more extended deployments of institution-building and capacity development.

These stories humanise the abstract, revealing the complexities—bureaucratic, cultural, and moral—of deploying police on foreign shores.

Hess writes with authority derived from experience. I first met Martin Hess when we were both seconded by our respective home agencies – Hess from AFP and me from the New Zealand Police – to the Australian Civil-Military Centre within the Australian Department of Defence in Canberra.   I learnt then that Hess had personally served in several of these missions. That lived experience adds depth and credibility to his analysis, making his reflections both researched and authentic.

In my view, there are many strengths to Dr Martin Hess’s The Politics of Police Diplomacy: The Australian Experience.  Firstly, I understand that the work is unique. Few studies have interrogated the AFP’s diplomatic role with such breadth and depth. Hess’s work fills a significant scholarly and practical gap.  Secondly, as I am not an academic myself, I found it to be a straightforward and enjoyable book to read.  I think this comes from Hess’s clever blend of case studies—dramatic, tragic, and hopeful —which provides a narrative texture often missing in policy analysis. The reader is drawn into not just the institutional, but the human stakes at play.  Thirdly, I found Hess’s argument that AFP’s framing of international policing as a diplomatic tool to be compelling and clearly articulated.  Lastly, this work remains timely and relevant.  As global tensions don’t seem to be abating, and multilateral engagement becomes increasingly vital, understanding non-traditional diplomatic instruments like police diplomacy is available and practical.

If anything, my one note—though it speaks to the book’s engaging quality—is that it left me wanting more about how other nations such as New Zealand, Canada, the UK, or other similar policing jurisdictions deploy police internationally. Whilst I understand that any comparative analysis of international Policing deployments from countries where a softer, consent-based diplomatic approach was not the experience wouldn’t be helpful in a book about diplomacy, there are many similar-minded countries where we could look for comparison. From my own experience, I am aware that the New Zealand Police has a very similar approach to bringing Policing diplomacy to deployments, albeit on a much smaller scale than that of the AFP.  That said, one of the strengths of the work is Hess’s lived experience, so I understand the desire to maintain this authenticity.

The Politics of Police Diplomacy: The Australian Experience is a deeply engaging, timely, and original contribution to the intersecting fields of international relations, policing, and diplomacy. Hess’s first-hand involvement, strategic framing, and vibrant case studies create a compelling narrative that redefines how we understand the AFP’s global footprint.

For policymakers, scholars, and practitioners in peacebuilding, policing, and diplomatic circles, this book offers both a framework and a call to recognise police diplomacy as a distinct and essential strand of foreign engagement. It invites a reimagining of security as not just coercive or military, but cooperative and justice-oriented.

This is a review of Martin Hess’s The Politics of Police Diplomacy: The Australian Experience (Australian Scholarly Publishing, 2025). ISBN: 9781923267176

Glenn Dunbier ONZM is the former Deputy Commissioner of New Zealand Police and the former Deputy Executive Director of the Australian Civil-Military Centre. He was awarded Officer of the New Zealand Order of Merit for his services to NZ Policing and the community. His views are entirely his own.

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Recruitment targets are not being met across Australia, the United States (U.S.), the United Kingdom (U.K.) and other allied forces. Fertility rates are declining, and youth disengagement is increasing. In Australia, just 16% of young people are eligible and inclined to enlist. This is a strategic failure to adapt outdated recruitment models to a changing social, demographic, and workforce landscape.

Tens of thousands of working-aged women, many of whom have already served or are seeking new careers, remain overlooked as a potential talent pool. These are women with leadership experience, emotional intelligence, crisis resilience, and a desire to contribute to national and global security. So why aren’t they being recruited?

It is because too often, military service is still imagined through a narrow lens: young, unencumbered, and male. Women, especially older women, are excluded from mainstream recruitment assumptions. Their caregiving responsibilities are viewed as liabilities. Their fitness is questioned. Their adaptability is underestimated. And yet, women in their 30s and 40s are often more ready to serve than many of their younger counterparts.

The data support this. Research on the Australian Defence Force found that 90% of senior men have children, compared to just 22% of senior women, a glaring reflection of the systemic rigidity that forces women to choose between family and career. Globally, similar patterns persist. In the U.S. and elsewhere, women are more likely to be single parents and less likely to receive the deployment opportunities that can fuel promotion. Research undertaken by Monash GPS funded by Global Affairs Canada has also shown that women are more likely to be sole or primary carers, and this hampers not only promotion prospects, but also recruitment, retention and training opportunities.

This isn’t a broken recruitment stream problem, but a structural one. Outdated recruitment practices, unrealistic fitness standards, and cultural biases about military service continue to exclude qualified women who are committed to serving. The consequence is a shrinking force, an untapped workforce, and peacekeeping missions that fail to reflect the communities they serve.

It’s time for change.

We must rethink who we imagine when we picture a soldier or peacekeeper, particularly if we want to address the recruitment crises facing militaries and better represent the diverse needs of communities where they serve.

Women aged 30 and above are not “too old”; they are underutilised. Targeted recruitment efforts, flexible entry pathways, and second-career initiatives could transform this landscape. Experiential programs, such as aviation camps designed for young women, have proven highly effective in demystifying barriers to service. Piloted by the Royal Australian Air Force, these initiatives address common misconceptions about military life, particularly fears related to meeting fitness standards. Many of these barriers are not structural, but internalised, shaped by cultural messaging that military service is “not for women.” These camps offer participants a chance to experience military life firsthand, build confidence, and engage with mentors, helping to shift those beliefs.

While these programs successfully recruit more women, the real strength of these programs is in creating lasting peer networks that have been shown to increase women’s retention in service. Connection is critical. Women who enter service with strong networks are more likely to stay, lead, and thrive. Research by RAND supports the impact of women-only outreach programs, events, and mentorship, offering a “try before you commit” approach as a successful method for demystifying stereotypes about women in service and building confidence in candidates to self-select to serve.

Other militaries have adapted this model, and variations of women-only experiential recruitment programs are being adapted in different industries; these models could easily be adapted for older women. A “Second Career Discovery Program” or “Career Reboot Camp” could provide an inclusive, structured way for women aged 30–45 to explore military or peacekeeping pathways. From a United Nations perspective, these experiential entry points could serve as an additional mechanism to enhance the meaningful participation of women in peace operations, particularly in troop- and police-contributing countries struggling to meet targets set by the UN in the Uniformed Gender Parity Strategy 2018-2028.

Beyond recruitment, these programs also help communities better understand the role of the military and the opportunities it offers, not just as a profession, but as a platform for purpose, skill development, and in many cases, a pathway out of poverty or violence. For women facing limited options, military service can offer financial independence, education, stability, and global engagement.

It’s a model grounded in evidence, with clear potential for broader implementation across National and International contexts. This shift isn’t about diversity targets. It’s about operational effectiveness. Women bring lived experience, leadership, and community connection, and diversify the knowledge and skills available to peace operations. In peacekeeping roles, they’ve been shown to improve trust, engagement, and protection outcomes. The UN’s Women, Peace and Security agenda, established by Security Council Resolution 1325, is clear: women are not victims of conflict; they are essential to conflict resolution.

We must stop asking women to fit a mould that no longer serves the mission. The security threats of today require a force that is agile, diverse, and inclusive of all who are willing and able to serve.

That includes older women. It’s time we opened the door.

Llani Jayne Kennealy is a Monash University’s Global Peace and Security (Monash GPS) Affiliate, retired Wing Commander, international consultant on Women, Peace and Security, and team member of Monash GPS’s project ‘Advancing the Meaningful Participation of Women in UN Peace Operations by Supporting Personnel with Caring Responsibilities’ (2023-26), funded by Global Affairs Canada as part of the Elsie Initiative for Women in Peace Operations.

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Indonesia’s 2014 ban on raw mineral exports, backed by significant Chinese investment, turned the country into the world’s largest nickel producer. This reshaped global markets and created thousands of local jobs. The government now aims to establish a comprehensive domestic electric vehicle (EV) industry, but it faces hurdles, including weak local demand, labour tensions, and environmental damage from mining. While initiatives like ‘green smelters’ and infrastructure improvements offer some promise, Indonesia’s EV ambitions remain uncertain amid regional competition and global oversupply.

When Indonesia banned exports of unprocessed minerals in 2014, critics were sceptical of using protectionism to foster an emerging nickel mining industry. A decade after billions of dollars in Chinese investment, the country has transformed into the largest producer of nickel, holding 59 per cent of the global market.

An Uncertain Future?

Now, Prabowo is rolling the dice again. Buoyed by their success in the nickel industry, the current administration has cast its eye to creating a fully-fledged domestic EV industry, from nickel extraction to vehicle assembly.

This expansion has been bolstered by China’s Maritime Silk Road initiative (MSR), announced one year after the export ban. The Indonesia Morowali Industrial Park (IMIP), a nickel processing facility in Central Sulawesi, is one of the most significant infrastructural boons gained from Chinese investment.

With investment comes innovation. Morowali’s high-pressure acid leach (HPAL) facilities, which can extract battery-grade nickel, are being constructed more cheaply and faster than Western-built plants. The societal benefits of down-streaming are also tangible. Indonesia’s nickel industry expansion has created job opportunities and improved aspects of social welfare. By 2021, nickel smelter development generated 21,688 jobs, of which 89.5 per cent were local. Cultivating an EV industry would not only boost employment but also upskill local workers and promote infrastructure development in areas surrounding mining and manufacturing.

There is also growth. Import subsidies favouring foreign manufacturers have increased foreign-owned EV sales. In 2024, EV sales more than doubled, accounting for 5 per cent of the national new car market. However, this policy may have had adverse effects. Hyundai, a company that had invested heavily in local supply chains, restricted its rollout of charging stations due to increased competition from foreign manufacturers. Poor access to public charging infrastructure remains a key barrier to EV uptake.

Innovation isn’t everything

While there are clear benefits, Indonesia’s plans to independently produce all components required for EV vehicles also has global ramifications. The innovation in mining resulted in a nickel surplus that led to a 21 per cent price drop in the global average in 2024. In Australia, the price drop triggered a 26 per cent decline in nickel mine production as mining companies responded by reducing or suspending production. Mining conglomerate BHP confirmed in 2024 that the closure of their Western Australia nickel mines would directly impact 1,600 frontline workers.

Lack of Domestic Appetite and Lack of Charging Infrastructure

Whether President Prabowo’s EV dream will be realised is unclear. As The Economist notes, “having the raw materials is only one factor in fostering a supply chain; there are also essential aspects such as logistical capabilities and local know-how.”

Lack of domestic demand for EVs in Indonesia is a glaring issue. The previous Joko Widodo administration aimed to deploy 2 million electric cars and 12 million electric two-wheelers by 2030,. Uptake has been slow, partially because Indonesians overlook nickel EV batteries in favour of cheaper lithium-iron-phosphate car models.

The conflict between mining corporations, migrant workers, and locals is another headwind for future Chinese investment in EVs in Indonesia. Cultural relations between Chinese and local Indonesian workers can be fraught, with alleged preferential treatment and higher pay favouring Chinese workers contributing to disagreements. The ‘two-tiered’ nature of the mining workforce may be partly to blame. Higher-skilled, better-paid jobs are often filled by Chinese migrants, leaving locals confined to low-paying manual labour. In 2023, clashes between Indonesian and foreign Chinese workers at a nickel smelter resulted in two deaths.

Environmental Concerns

While societal and trade issues are one thing, environmental concerns are another. The environmental impacts of an EV supply chain in a country where 42 per cent of the population lives in agrarian regions present a further challenge. A study spanning several years showed that villages near Indonesian nickel mines experienced deforestation at nearly twice the rate of non-mining areas. This deforestation not only threatens wildlife hotspots such as Wallacea but also impacts key industries that rely on the natural environment, including fisheries, forestry, and agriculture. Polluted water bodies force fish to migrate to other areas. Soil mixed with mining materials diminishes its fertility.  Despite benefiting from increased investment in infrastructure and public services, poorer communities are likely to suffer the adverse effects of nickel mining, as they lack the resources to combat pollution and its resulting health impacts.

Conclusion

The Indonesian government and Chinese investors are beginning to address present challenges. ‘Green smelter’ projects aim to offset the impact nickel mining has on Indonesia’s environment. Morowali Park has attempted to alleviate cultural frictions by building mosques and hiring local interpreters. However, Indonesia’s investment in EVs still carries risk, and its neighbours, such as Thailand and Vietnam, have both invested heavily in EV manufacturing. With a global glut of Chinese EVs, a small domestic appetite, simmering domestic tensions, and looming environmental degradation, the headwinds faced by Indonesia currently appear greater than the tailwinds.

Annika Ramasay is a Work Integrated Learning (WIL) intern attached to the Herb Feith Indonesian Engagement Centre at Monash University. She studies the Chinese language and international relations.

Dr Sharyn Graham Davies is Director of the Herb Feith Indonesian Engagement Centre and Associate Professor in the field of Indonesian Studies. 

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This venture of Al-Azaim Foundation dodges bans and employs encrypted apps to keep ISK’s propaganda flowing. The mastered narrative of “us vs them” makes the advocates feel like part of the persecuted club. Whenever social media companies try to shut it down, VoK label it as proof of a worldwide anti-Muslim conspiracy that drives even more clicks and shares.

The new interface of extremism: slick, digital, yet perilous

Modern-day terrorism is not all about bombs, bullets, and battlefield triumphs. The groups like Islamic State of Khorasan (ISK) are waging a different kind of war, a combat that is waged in hearts and minds, and is advancing online. Within the religious battlefield, the group manipulates identity to draw lines between “us versus them” to justify the perpetuated violent manoeuvres.

The e-magazine of the Al-Azaim Media Foundation, Voice of Khorasan (VoK), plays a pivotal role in this regard. VoK does not merely serve as a propaganda tool; rather, it is a manual for ideological warfare. With special purchase to martyrdom and heroism in editorials and religious commentaries—VoK labels ISK as the sole custodian of Islam, where, irrespective of any distinction, Afghan Taliban 2.0 and the West are framed and treated as traitorous, impure, or corrupt. Online narratives further label rivals as “apostates” or “hypocrites.”. Meanwhile, the group asserts religious legitimacy while also conveying a sense of responsibility—if not an obligation—to confront them. This is not just about demonising adversaries, but rather about presenting a worldview where jihad becomes a duty.

From bullets to broadcast:

Those who view ISK as merely a regional insurgency are missing a larger point. Over the preceding years—after the US exit from Afghanistan—the group has strategically adapted its focus. Still perilous and violent, they have been increasingly capitalising on digital outreach, with content, video, and audio now targeting a global audience. The propaganda material of the group (for instance, in VoK) blends theological arguments with modern-day graphics, visuals, and captivating slogans like “Don’t miss the caravan of glory”. The issues of VoK framed the Taliban as a “puppet of the West.” Similarly, for Muslims who advocate democracy, the narrative is the same: we are right, they are wrong, and if you disagree, you are credited as an enemy too.

This strategic communication is authoritative and influential as it taps into deep feelings of alienation, spiritual confusion, and injustice. And for those disillusioned with politics, identity, and religion, ISK underscores clarity, purpose and belonging, all wrapped up in divine justifications. During the early years, when ISK was ruling in Nangarhar and Kunar, the focus was on power and authority. But as the group relies more on an underground insurgency, the narrative has shifted significantly. The group now portrays its cadres as martyrs, heroes, and defenders of Islam, while branding others as apostates, tyrants (tagoot), and enemies of the faith. This type of strategic rebranding has proven to be unexpectedly effective in advancing their cause.

Why does it matter?

This shift in behaviour and narrative is significant for three reasons. The first is ISK’s focus on going global, which is amplified by advances in information technology and interconnectivity, combined with the skills of its members. While their content intentionally disregards national boundaries, it is these technological factors that enable ISK’s ideas to spread rapidly—often under the radar—across South Asia, Central Asia, North America, and beyond. Secondly, lone-wolf incitement has long been a pivotal point of ISIS communications—including those of ISKP. However, recent messaging campaigns demonstrate some degree of sophistication and adaptability. Advances in digital platforms and multimedia outreach have expanded the reach and speed of such calls to action, targeting new and broader audiences—including diaspora and Western Muslims—through the use of tailored language and culturally relevant content. This tactical evolution, combined with a strategic emphasis on low-barrier attacks during symbolic times, makes the current incitement more immediate and challenging to counter than ever before. This has already been witnessed in the case of ISIS in Europe and the West. The individuals radicalised online perpetuate violence without ever setting foot on the battlefield. VoK’s emotionally charged content, for instance—Taliban makes Halal Haram and Haram Halal and the claim—We will make the earth wet with your impure blood-and calls to action are specifically tailored to this kind of recruitment base.  Lastly, countering lone wolf provocation is not just about taking down web pages or detaining operatives. ISK’s success online is less about technical disruptions and more about controlling the narrative in cyberspace, spreading compelling propaganda that fuels radicalisation and sustains loyalty despite territorial losses.

What is the way forward?

To begin, the counterterrorism experts increasingly recognise the significance of listening to the messages groups—like ISKP are delivering, rather than dismissing them as mere “extremist noise.” Analysts, journalists, and policymakers now observe these narratives with caution, understanding that words may be deadlier than the bullets. The content produced by ISKP reveals not only the group’s evolution but also its targeted audiences and future intentions—providing crucial insights into its tactics.

The world should advocate for and protect the voices that challenge this manipulation. That means support should be extended to the scholars, theologians and former deradicalised extremists who may offer the correct interpretation of Islam—one that is inclusive, peaceful, and rooted in humanity. Such messages require genuine platforms as loud and effective as ISK’s. Furthermore, civil societies and tech companies could also be productive in combating such voices. Most importantly, extremism often grows in spaces where people feel disillusioned or cynical. When religious communities feel themselves under siege, when youth feel disenfranchised and when politics feel hopeless, extremist narrative(s) gain traction. Terrorism, under these circumstances, is not just about security—it would be then about dignity, self-possession, and self-esteem.

ISK is strategically adapting to its loss of territorial control by gaining digital reach. They may now never be able to govern formally. Still, they are constructing something even more perilous—a group of people who conform to an ideology which sees violence as sacred and uses religious identity as a weapon. To prevent the threat of lone wolf attacks or to stop another generation from being drawn into violent digital incitements, greater attention has to be paid to the contemporary battle of ideas. In the battle of minds and hearts, the most potent weapon is always the well-crafted narrative from either side.

Maheen Farhat Raza is currently serving as a Lecturer at the Department of International Relations, National University of Modern Languages (NUML), Islamabad. She is a post-graduate of the National Defence University, Pakistan. Ms. Raza is actively contributing to the international academic discourse. She frequently presents her research at prestigious forums, including, but not limited to, Sakarya University in Türkiye, the University of Birmingham, and Newcastle University in the United Kingdom. She may be reached at maheen.raza@numl.edu.pk.

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Reaching a common perception among ASEAN states on the South China Sea has become an urgent necessity to address external challenges and demonstrate the bloc’s capacity to resolve internal conflicts through dialogue and peaceful settlement.

External powers shaping ASEAN’s dynamics.

The South China Sea is a vital international trade artery worth over US$3 trillion annually, and equally rich in energy and natural resources. China’s sweeping “nine-dash line” claim, struck down by the Permanent Court of Arbitration in 2016, remains rejected by Beijing, fueling ongoing tensions. Since 2002, ASEAN and China have been negotiating a Code of Conduct (COC), yet progress has been painstakingly slow. Disagreements over scope and legal standing remain unresolved. Meanwhile, aggressive maneuvers at sea, such as “ramming” incidents and harassment of Philippine vessels by Chinese coast guard ships, have created tangible risks of escalation. In a recent development, a U.S. destroyer was forced out of the Scarborough Shoal area following a confrontation with Chinese patrols, underlining the volatile and layered tensions in these contested waters.

Competition for influence in Southeast Asia has also intensified with the entry of European actors, particularly France, which has sought to expand its strategic footprint by offering economic, technological, and defence benefits. Indonesia’s multi-billion-dollar purchase of French Rafale fighter jets illustrates this shift. For Jakarta, the deal is not only about modernising its military arsenal but also about broadening strategic partnerships and diversifying security support beyond the traditional poles of the United States and China. France’s presence highlights a new layer of geopolitical rivalry in ASEAN, where member states must carefully balance short-term benefits with long-term consistency in upholding collective principles.

Without a unified stance, ASEAN risks losing momentum in shaping the narrative and outcome of this dispute, as well as those to come.

The necessity of collaboration

A shared ASEAN perception would strengthen collective legitimacy in upholding UNCLOS and the arbitral ruling. By speaking with one voice, the bloc would enhance its moral and political leverage in pressing parties to respect international law. This cohesion is not only about legal principle but also about preventing dangerous miscalculations that could spiral into armed confrontation.

A significant moment in regional security cooperation occurred when the Philippines and India held their first-ever joint naval exercise in the South China Sea, signalling a collective effort to uphold maritime sovereignty and international law through security partnerships. Similarly, Exercise “Alon 25” involving Australia, the United States, Canada, and the Philippines, took place near Scarborough Shoal, symbolising collective deterrence against unilateral aggression.

The Ambalat dispute: a framework for diplomatic cooperation

In the broader context of peaceful resolution, the dispute over the Ambalat block between Indonesia and Malaysia offers a valuable lesson. While both nations lay claim to the resource-rich territory, Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto and Malaysian Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim have openly committed to resolving differences through dialogue and peaceful means. This bilateral understanding demonstrates that when there is political will at the highest level, potential disputes can be contained without sacrificing bilateral ties. Nations, particularly in the ASEAN region, should look to Ambalat as a concrete precedent that a peaceful resolution is both possible and practical. Such a framework could be used in Myanmar’s Rohingya crisis and the Cambodia–Thailand border tensions, or the broader South China Sea issue. Nevertheless, the challenges to consensus remain formidable. National interests vary widely. The Philippines and Vietnam are taking a more assertive stance against China, while Malaysia has opted for pragmatism to preserve its economic ties. The absence of a shared spirit has often been evident in ASEAN’s reluctance to issue strong collective statements at international forums. Meanwhile, Philippine officials have stressed that Beijing must address the “trust deficit” caused by its aggressive actions at sea while also warning that diplomacy alone is insufficient without credible deterrence measures.

The path forward

Moving forward, ASEAN must take several critical steps. First, it should formulate a binding consensus that commits all members to international law, including the recognition of UNCLOS, the renunciation of force, and strong support for accelerating the COC negotiations. Second, ASEAN needs to institutionalise platforms for discussing not only the South China Sea but also other pressing issues—such as Myanmar, Ambalat, and the Cambodia–Thailand border—so that peaceful resolution becomes a norm, not an exception. Finally, the bloc must strengthen transparency and crisis management mechanisms, such as coast guard dialogues or hotlines, to reduce the risk of miscalculation.

ASEAN’s relevance in the eyes of the world depends on its ability to speak with one voice. The South China Sea is the stage upon which this credibility will be tested. Suppose ASEAN can transcend its internal differences and unify around the principles of international law. In that case, it will enhance its bargaining power with both Beijing and Washington, while preserving the integrity of the regional order. Success in forging a common stance on the South China Sea will create momentum for resolving Ambalat peacefully, reviving dialogue on Myanmar, and providing a model for Cambodia and Thailand. Failure, however, risks further fragmentation, diminished global credibility, and an ASEAN that drifts toward irrelevance. The choice before the bloc is stark yet simple: unify perceptions, or succumb to fragility.

Akhmad Hanan is an independent Indonesian researcher specialising in geopolitics and energy. He holds a Bachelor’s degree in Oceanography from Universitas Diponegoro (UNDIP) and a Master’s in Energy Security from Universitas Pertahanan (UNHAN) – the Indonesian Defence University.

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Elise Stephenson’s The Face of the Nation: Gendered Institutions in International Affairs, is published at this key point flashpoint around women in global politics. It sits as a hugely important contribution to the developing literature on women in international affairs and diplomacy. Stephenson focusses on the case study of Australia. She considers women’s position across four agencies of the Australian government – the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, Defence, the Department of Home Affairs, and the Australian Federal Police – showing through quantitative data the changes that these bodies have seen over recent decades. The book is impressively researched, makes key original contributions to the literature, and is accessible in its style, making it deserving of a wider readership beyond just the academy. Beyond the detailed consideration of the Australian case study, which is brought to life through an impressive overview which draws on in-person observation, dozens of interviews, and documentary analysis, the book’s conceptual contributions are three-fold and of keen interest to scholars working across feminist politics and international relations.  

Firstly, The Face of the Nation plays an important role in bringing feminist institutional theory and feminist IR into conversation with one another. Whilst feminist political science has paid much attention to women within national political institutions and women’s leadership and career trajectories within them, it has paid less consideration to women in more international facing roles, such as diplomacy or Ministries of Foreign Affairs. Simultaneously, feminist IR has been reticent to consider institutions within international politics or institutional approaches as a method of study. As a result, the study of women diplomats, and women’s place within international agencies more broadly, has also, until recently, fallen between the cracks of the two sub-disciplines. Although this is changing (see the developing, and increasingly voluminous literatures on feminist foreign policy and women in diplomacy) institutional approaches within feminist IR still remain thin on the ground. Feminist institutionalism as a framework has yet to make major inroads into the feminist study of international politics. A central contribution by Stephenson is therefore in bringing these two worlds together – the success of which should make this book widely read across feminist politics and IR.  

The book brings these schools of thought together and represents a key contribution to feminist institutional thinking. The first wave of FI work, in its explicit focus on gender, was less centred on difference within women as a grouping. Stephenson pushes FI work forwards by explicitly thinking about intersectionality, and how to build this into her methodological framework. As a result, some of the most fascinating finding of the book related to sexuality, and the ways in which women diplomats with female spouses may receive greater support than those with male spouses.  

Finally, and relatedly, Stephenson contributes an empirical discussion of regression and stasis within institutions. FI (and feminist political science more broadly) has focused on good news stories – on progressive moments (like the instigation of gender quotas, for example) or key critical junctures ( such as the creation of new institutions that are more attentive to gender than existing bodies – work on devolved bodies in the UK, for example). This book instead examines a case study that is both paradoxical and negative from a gender equality perspective :why, despite the increase in women’s numbers within these bodies, have the conditions of the employment and promotion prospects not also improved? Stephenson adapts Georgina Waylen’s understanding of institutional layering to understand it as a negative, showing how, despite changes, regressive attitudes and working practices can be maintained that inhibit women’s progress. 

Beyond these conceptual contributions, this book is a deeply detailed and nuanced discussion of an important case study that produces some fascinating findings. One of the most immediate is that militaristic institutions see better rates of female leadership compared to the more traditional diplomatic agencies. On the surface, this appears to fly in the face of strong trends in feminist IR work. She argues that this is the case by building a model which differentiates between types of masculinity. International affairs outside of the more militaristic areas suffer from a ‘genteel toxic masculinity’, which dominates as much as militarised masculinity, only more insidiously and thus more difficult to confront. Such a framing could be embellished upon further in other case study settings. She also illustrates how, as the number of women in Australian diplomacy has increased, traditional forms of diplomacy have become less important. She describes this as the ‘diplomatic glass cliff’, illustrating empirically the irony that women’s greater presence in this world is not necessarily translating into clearer power and influence. 

Taken together, The Face of the Nation is a timely, conceptually important and highly accessible book that deserves to be read across feminist political science, IR and international sociology. Stephenson’s insights speak to key trends within the scholarly literature, but also the wider world of international affairs, as women grow within its ranks even as global misogyny reaches new heights.  

This is a review of Elise Stephenson’s The Face of the Nation (Oxford University Press, 2024). ISBN: 9780197632727

Jennifer Thomson is a Senior Lecturer at the University of Bath. Her main research interests are gender and foreign policy (particularly the concept of a ‘feminist’ foreign policy); gender and security; women’s rights in post-conflict divided societies; and sexual and reproductive health and rights in international policymaking.

In early 2025, the United States declared that the SAF had utilised chlorine gas at least twice during 2024. It imposed sweeping new sanctions under its Chemical and Biological Weapons Control and Warfare Elimination Act. As a result, all defence-related exports were suspended, US financial support to Sudan’s institutions was frozen, and existing asset freezes and visa bans were reinforced against top military figures, including General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan himself.

This is not the first time that allegations of chemical weapons usage in Sudan have been raised. Amnesty International disclosed that brutal military attacks have destroyed or devastated more than 170 villages in the isolated Jebel Marra area of Darfur since the beginning of 2016. At least 30 of these attacks allegedly included chemical weapons. Halgah, a woman in her twenties, recalled how a bomb fell on her village, releasing toxic smoke. Six months later, she and her baby were still suffering from the effects: “When [the bomb] landed, there was some flames and then dark smoke… Immediately it caused vomiting and dizzying… My skin is not normal. I still have headaches, even after I took the medicine… The baby is not recovering… he is swollen… he has blisters and wounds… they said he would get better… but it is not working.”

On paper, the sanctions are intended to deny the SAF resources and global legitimacy. In practice, their effects have rippled far beyond Sudan’s borders, most notably in Türkiye, a country whose defence industry has been an increasingly visible presence throughout Africa. Between August-November 2023, Turkish drone giant Baykar—led by President Erdoğan’s son-in-law—reportedly provided some $120 million worth of armed drones, control stations, and hundreds of munitions to the Sudanese military. The material arrived via Port Sudan, with technicians on the ground to ensure that the equipment remained operational. The sale at the time was a profitable extension of Ankara’s growing African arms sales portfolio; today, it appears to be a potential liability.

If US investigators conclude that those arms exports breached existing sanctions, Turkish firms could find themselves on the receiving end of secondary sanctions—and be severed from world finance, foreign components, and world markets. For Baykar and other defence producers embedded in complex supply chains, that risk is anything but theoretical. Sanctions don’t just freeze assets; they can choke off the supply of the parts and capital that enable a defence producer to stay competitive or even operate. Diplomatically, the price seems to be just as high. Türkiye has built its regional influence on a combination of trade, soft power, and accurately selected military alliances. Arms sales to a force involved in chemical attacks complicate that balancing act, especially when the United States—Ankara’s NATO ally and occasional rival—has now made Sudan a sanctions target.

Ankara’s issue is that Sudan is not only an African partner. It’s strategically positioned along the Red Sea, at the crossroads of African and Arab politics and where a number of international actors including Türkiye all compete for influence. In this regard, the new sanctions change the calculus of risk and reward: every shipment now risks attracting US retaliation, decreasing room for maneuvering.

There is also a domestic aspect. Türkiye’s defence industry is not just a business—it is a matter of national pride, an expression of technological sovereignty. Yet it is still dependent on foreign parts and international finance. If sanctions make Turkish firms toxic in Western markets, the effects could spill over into other foreign export sales, from drones to armored vehicles.

Ankara does have an option. It can rearrange its engagement by downsizing military sales to the SAF, stick to non-military support, and stay at the diplomatic table. Or it can go all-in, in the hope that other markets and allies will compensate for the Western freeze-outs. The former preserves long-term access and credibility; the latter risks long-term costs for short-term gains.

Washington’s warning is clear though: supplying the SAF is not a neutral act, and there is no safe distance from the blowback. For Türkiye, the question is no longer whether Sudan is important—it’s whether it is worth the trouble.

Matteo Boccia has worked at the European Commission and the Czech Centre for Security Analysis and Prevention, where he focused on geoeconomic and security issues in the Middle East and North Africa region. His research explored the geopolitical and geoeconomic dynamics between Middle Eastern regional actors and global powers. He travelled to Tunisia and Türkiye and specialised in China’s economic influence across the Red Sea and the Arabian Peninsula.

This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.