Australia Can’t Even Protect Itself—So Why Should PNG Trust It?
China’s recent naval circumnavigation of Australia was more than just a military flex—it was a strategic message to the entire region, including PNG. The operation, which saw Chinese warships conducting live-fire drills in the Tasman Sea and intelligence-gathering missions along Australia’s coastline, exposed the limits of Australia’s defense capability. For PNG, this raises a fundamental question: If Australia cannot even protect its own waters, why should PNG place its security in Canberra’s hands?
Adding to Australia’s embarrassment, it was revealed during a Senate Committee hearing that Australian defense officials only learned about China’s live-fire exercises in the Tasman Sea through a private airline company. The airline, which had to reroute commercial flights for safety reasons, flagged the issue before Australia’s military even knew what was happening. This shocking revelation reinforced the perception that Australia’s defense apparatus is slow, reactive, and incapable of maintaining constant situational awareness in its own maritime domain. If Canberra can be blindsided so easily, how can it credibly offer PNG security guarantees?
China’s actions should force PNG to rethink its security arrangements. For decades, Australia has positioned itself as the primary security provider for the Pacific, offering defense training, maritime surveillance, and policing assistance. But the reality is shifting. China is now demonstrating that it can operate freely in the region—without seeking Australia’s approval or fearing its response. Beijing has already secured a security agreement with the Solomon Islands, allowing it to send police and military advisors. If PNG were to sign a similar deal with Australia, how much confidence could it really have in Canberra’s ability to uphold its commitments?
Beijing’s deeper strategy appears to be undermining faith in Western security alliances. China has repeatedly warned Pacific Island nations against forming military pacts that could drag them into great-power conflicts. At the same time, it is offering itself as an alternative security partner, one that provides infrastructure, economic development, and law enforcement assistance without the political baggage of Western partnerships. This leaves PNG in a difficult position—does it tie itself to Australia’s declining strategic influence, or does it engage China on its own terms?
The risk for PNG is that it gets caught in the middle of this geopolitical struggle. If it aligns too closely with Australia, it risks alienating China and jeopardizing economic investments. If it moves too far toward China, it risks damaging its longstanding relationship with Australia, the U.S., and other Pacific allies. The challenge is finding a balance—one where PNG strengthens its security while avoiding entanglement in great-power rivalry. That means PNG must shape its own security policy, rather than simply following Australia’s lead.
Australia’s failure to detect and deter China’s encirclement has weakened its standing in the Pacific, whether Canberra wants to admit it or not. PNG, as one of the most strategically located nations in the region, must recognize its growing leverage and act accordingly. China has already acknowledged PNG’s importance—that much is clear from its decision to engage Port Moresby while leaving Canberra in the dark. PNG must now use this geopolitical moment wisely, ensuring that it does not become a mere spectator as the balance of power shifts in the Indo-Pacific.
If PNG is looking for security partners, it must ask itself a hard question: Does it make sense to place trust in a country that couldn’t even protect itself from a naval encirclement? The answer may define the next chapter of PNG’s foreign policy and security strategy in the Pacific.
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