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Imaginary Fairground, Turned Into Imaginary Red Line

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Hong Kong singer Hins Cheung was once regarded as one of the few mainstream artists who took a clear stand on political issues. Whether it was supporting Taiwan’s Sunflower Student Movement or participating in Hong Kong’s Umbrella Revolution, his stance over the past decade was far from ambiguous.

However, this singer, who has long established a solid foundation in the Hong Kong music scene, has recently undergone a visible pivot. Not only did he publicly “admit fault” for his past remarks, but he also announced his participation as a mentor in a Hong Kong government “rehabilitation special project” targeting youth involved in the Anti-Extradition Law Amendment Act (ELAA) movement, leading young people on exchange trips to mainland China. This series of sudden moves has raised questions: why would an artist who is no longer dependent on the mainland market and is certainly no novice choose such a definitive shift in stance at this time?

 

Former Stances

Now 45, Hins Cheung was born in Guangzhou but has long centered his career in Hong Kong, where he successfully built a prominent status in the industry. Looking back at his past public words and deeds, it is clear he was not an artist who kept his distance from political topics.

In 2014, when the Sunflower Student Movement erupted in Taiwan against the Cross-Strait Service Trade Agreement, Cheung posted a black-and-white photo of holding hands on social media with the caption, “Students on the other shore, keep going!”, which was interpreted as support for the movement. In September of the same year, during Hong Kong’s Umbrella Revolution, he joined artists like Anthony Wong to record the protest anthem “Who Has Not Spoken Out?” and was reportedly involved in street demonstrations and hunger strikes.

These expressions caused Cheung’s career in the mainland Chinese market to be blocked multiple times. This included his scheduled participation in the 2017 program Singer, from which he was forced to withdraw—and his recorded segments deleted—due to public pressure and boycotts.

 

A “U-Turn” to Admit Fault?

Last week, the pro-establishment media Wen Wei Po published a full-page interview with Hins Cheung, high-profilely announcing his joining of the Security Bureau’s “Positive Guidance Project” as a mentor. According to his account, he was “deeply moved by the project” and proactively contacted the authorities to participate.

In the interview, he stated he would soon serve as a guest speaker and plans to personally lead participants to mainland China in the first half of the year so that young people can “see the real development of the country with their own eyes.” He described China’s rapid development as a positive influence on youth and called on young people to take the initiative to understand the national situation and strengthen their national identity.

More strikingly, he took the initiative to apologize for his past remarks, attributing his previous stances to “youthful impulsiveness” and being “influenced by the social atmosphere.” He stated that the way he interpreted certain past remarks and works was “inappropriate,” leading to public questioning of his feelings and stance toward the country and Hong Kong, for which he offered a “sincere apology.” He emphasized that with age and experience, he now has a deeper understanding of the “big picture,” feels regret for his past actions, and promised “not to repeat similar mistakes.”

 

External Speculation

Naturally, various speculations have emerged regarding Cheung’s “U-turn.” Some believe this is a typical case of “bowing for one’s career,” choosing a new side under market pressure. Others suggest it may involve financial pressure on his agency, Emperor Entertainment Group, in recent years; under the dual squeeze of debt and market contraction, the company may need to reshape the political image of its artists and corporate identity as a whole to mend ties with the mainland market and return to lucrative opportunities up north.

While these views may have their merits, the true reason is known only to those involved. However, explaining it solely through “interest calculation” seems overly simplistic.

After all, given Cheung’s age, status, and economic foundation, he is not an artist who desperately needs market opportunities to survive. The stances he expressed over the past twenty years should logically be the result of thought rather than a momentary impulse. Can such convictions really be abandoned entirely due to career fluctuations? Or is there a more powerful driving force behind it?

 

Another Wave of Political Maneuvering?

It is noteworthy that after the event gained traction, the response from certain quarters of public opinion was equally telling.

In an opinion piece published by HK01, the author interpreted Cheung’s “apology” as a “trial in social restoration,” arguing that this was not just an artist’s personal choice but a symbolic case of Hong Kong society attempting to heal divisions and guide youth “back to the right path.”

On the surface, this discourse seems to provide a macro-analytical framework, but the identity of the author is worth noting. Besides being a singer, Cheung has ventured into the catering industry, investing in high-end French restaurants. The author of the article, Chan Ka-wa, holds multiple titles including Chairman of the Hong Kong Catering Industry Association and the Hong Kong Mainland Catering Industry Association, as well as a visiting professor at the All-China Federation of Industry and Commerce. As a figure in the catering industry, his rapid authorship of a lengthy commentary on a shifting artist—combined with his ties to mainland officials and business circles—makes it hard to believe this is merely a personal opinion. This article feels less like a standard editorial and more like an “explanation” (exegesis) meant to provide a narrative framework for Cheung’s transformation that is understandable, or even acceptable, to the public.

This is, of course, an inference, but it suggests that Cheung’s declaration is more than just entertainment gossip; it carries the weight of a calculated political operation.

 

Why Hins Cheung?

So, why Hins Cheung specifically?

Beyond his influence in the Hong Kong music scene, his family background is a distinct feature. According to public records, his ancestral home is Beijing; his grandfather was a Tsinghua University graduate, his maternal grandfather held a high-ranking military position, and his father served as a Party Secretary. In the Chinese context, such a background is often described as “red to the core” (roots in the revolution).

While family background does not dictate personal stance, some speculate whether there was pressure from the family level or even more direct influence. However, these claims currently lack concrete evidence.

Nevertheless, this incident is just the tip of the iceberg. Using cultural and entertainment figures to shape a certain political atmosphere is nothing new.

 

“Listen to the Party”

In the Chinese political-cultural system, taking a stance is never just an expression of personal opinion—especially in the highly influential fields of performing arts and culture. Practitioners are often seen as having a duty to serve as role models.

To put it more directly: the more influential a person is, the harder it is for them to hold a “purely personal” stance.

This logic did not start today. Historically, whether during eras emphasizing political loyalty or through contemporary, subtle public opinion management, the monitoring and regulation of public figures’ stances have always existed. The difference lies in the form: it has shifted from direct pressure to more imperceptible operations—such as through market mechanisms, social pressure, and policy environments—eventually forming a tacit understanding of “knowing what to do without being told.”

In this environment, an artist’s influence is both an asset and a risk. When influence grows, their stance can no longer be seen as purely personal. To some extent, they have been integrated into a larger narrative. Thus, by applying pressure to make them politically controlled and submissive—making them “listen to the party”—their original voice no longer matters. What is preserved is only the voice that is permitted.

 

The Sorrow of the Artist

Every Lunar New Year, almost all Chinese people hear the song “Gongxi Gongxi.” It sounds lighthearted and festive, but its origin is far heavier than the melody. It was written after the end of the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression; its original intent was not just to celebrate the New Year, but to express the sentiment of “bitterness ending and sweetness arriving” after the war. Its creator, Chen Gexin, was a man repeatedly squeezed by his era.

Chen participated in anti-Japanese cultural movements and collaborated with underground Communist Party members to write resistance songs. Later, when Shanghai fell, he worked under the Wang Jingwei regime to survive. After the war, he was arrested as a traitor but was released and fled to Hong Kong. After the founding of the PRC, he chose to return due to his communist background, but was eventually denounced during the Anti-Rightist Movement and died in a labor camp.

From the Anti-Japanese War to the Civil War to the early political movements of the PRC, Chen Gexin spanned a tumultuous era. He tried to survive and create across different times but could never escape the political environment. In other words, no matter how he adjusted, he could not avoid the fate of being purged.

In a way, this is the sorrow of the artist. Creation should be an individual expression, but under certain systems, it often cannot break free from the political framework.

These stories are worth repeating not because they are unique, but because they are so universal. For creators within a power structure, whether they choose to stay close, stay away, or even “not take a stand,” that choice can itself become a stance.

 

Key Opinion Leaders without Opinions

This demand for taking a stand does not stop at the cultural world; it applies to religion as well. Wang Mingdao, a leading figure in China’s independent Christian church in the mid-20th century, was imprisoned for years for refusing to cooperate with official religious policies and insisting on institutional autonomy. Even after briefly yielding under pressure, he chose to publicly retract his concession, resulting in further decades in prison.

The backgrounds of these cases may differ, but the underlying logic is consistent. Whether an artist, a writer, or a religious leader, as long as they possess the ability to influence the public, it is difficult to escape the regulation and expectations placed upon their stance.

Looking at the present, Hins Cheung belongs exactly to this category. He is not just a singer, but a public figure with broad influence—a Key Opinion Leader (KOL). An opinion leader’s words and deeds have a demonstration and diffusion effect; their opinion is never just their own, but something that influences a segment of society.

Consequently, his change in stance is not just a display of personal motivation, but a reflection of a familiar operational logic: the greater the influence, the more one needs to be incorporated into the system. Once incorporated, original autonomy is gradually eroded.

Perhaps what is more worth considering is that while these situations mostly happened in mainland China in the past, a similar logic is now appearing in Hong Kong. When “needing to take a stand” slowly becomes the norm, what truly changes is not just one artist’s position, but the social imagination of “what can and cannot be said.” Spaces that were once taken for granted may be quietly narrowing.

 

The “Soft Resistance” They Fear

Whenever a society enters a period of upheaval, popular culture often becomes the last space that isn’t fully co-opted. People search for an outlet for their emotions in music, film, literature, and even sports. This isn’t just entertainment or comfort; it is a form of identity and collective connection.

Because of this, culture is never a field unrelated to politics. On the contrary, it is often the part that is hardest for politics to control fully, yet the most permeable.

This explains why various local pop culture phenomena in Hong Kong—from the craze surrounding the boy band MIRROR to the support for local films and the Hong Kong football team—are not just entertainment events, but outlets for social sentiment.

These emotional investments are natural, but the problem arises when they become overly dependent on certain public figures, placing personal spiritual hopes on a carrier that is inherently unstable. In other words, by placing too much expectation on certain cultural symbols or artists, we simultaneously push them into a position where they are more easily exploited by political forces.

This also explains why Hong Kong and mainland officials have recently emphasized the so-called “soft resistance.” They know very well that what is truly influential isn’t just political activity or policy, but culture itself. Compared to direct confrontation, these subtle emotional connections and the ideologies they trigger are the hardest forces to control.

And because they are hard to control, they need to be co-opted.

Thus, what we see is not just censorship and restriction, but a set of more delicate operations. First, have artists proactively take a stand; then have works “naturally” align; then gradually narrow the expressive space for theater, film, and literature. When “kneeling” no longer needs to be explicitly demanded but becomes an industry consensus, the frog is boiled in warm water, and culture loses its original edge.

 

A Small Pawn

In this incident, beyond the focus on Hins Cheung’s shift, we cannot ignore the Security Bureau project he is participating in.

The “Positive Guidance Project” claims to provide “rehabilitation opportunities” for young people who “went down the wrong path” during the 2019 anti-extradition protests. Looking back at the 2019 movement, over 7,000 people were arrested, many of whom were never prosecuted. Now, this group may be incorporated into a sort of re-education or guidance mechanism, including organized trips to China to learn about “national development” and “national security.”

This arrangement feels less like providing an opportunity and more like a directional reshaping. Through collective activities, visits, sharing, and role models, it builds a narrative that is deemed acceptable.

In this process, an influential artist like Hins Cheung becomes the most suitable intermediary—possessing fame, having held different past stances, and being popular among the youth. To some extent, Cheung is just a small pawn in this political transformation project, working for the Hong Kong government to “rebrand” the youth. The grander blueprint behind this is what is truly concerning.

 

The Imaginary Red Line

In recent years, Hong Kong media has seen more “rehabilitation stories”—from Tong Ying-kit, the first person convicted under the National Security Law, to Hins Cheung’s confessional-style interview. On the surface, these are personal stories of reform, but in reality, they transmit a set of value judgments: what is right and wrong, and what counts as “returning to the right track.”

It is worth noting that Cheung’s phrasing is not radical. He did not loudly proclaim loyalty or use intense political language. Instead, he emphasized “looking at the big picture,” “being good for the youth,” and “starting anew.” This moderate tone makes the transformation look reasonable, even carrying a hint of moral high ground. But for that very reason, it is more persuasive and harder to question. This is the “sugar-coated pill” strategy—besides traditional harsh laws, there is a hope to use “sugar” to soften the public, using personal stories to wrap and make a new political narrative more acceptable.

Furthermore, when the “red line” does not need to be clearly drawn but is instead internalized through countless case studies, people naturally learn how to self-adjust. Over time, what truly disappears is not just certain remarks, but the very imagination of the freedom to “have different thoughts.”

Finally, to quote the song ” Imaginary Fairground,” written by Wyman Wong and sung by Hins Cheung: “Even if you have no choice in the era you were born into, and the world is pale, it still accommodates thoughts.”

In today’s Hong Kong, are thoughts still accommodated?

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From the Farrer By-election to Australia’s Shifting Political Landscape

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A by-election in Australian politics has recently delivered a result that has surprised many observers. On 9 May, the electorate of Farrer in southern New South Wales went to the polls, where One Nation candidate David Farley secured victory with 57.4% of the two-candidate-preferred vote, or 14,643 votes, ahead of independent candidate Michelle Milthorpe. This result made him the first non–Coalition-affiliated member ever elected in the seat since its creation in 1949, and also marked One Nation’s first-ever seat in the House of Representatives.

Farrer has long been regarded as a safe Liberal stronghold. For the past 25 years, the seat was held by former Liberal leader Sussan Ley. Yet in this by-election, the Liberal Party not only lost the seat, but also fell to third place in first-preference votes and was excluded from the final count altogether. This is more than an isolated electoral defeat. It signals a warning: the long-standing political order built around Australia’s two major parties is beginning to fracture, while One Nation is shifting from a fringe protest movement into a political force capable of challenging established conservative power. This development may reshape Australia’s political landscape in the years ahead.

One Nation: No Longer Just a “Rural Party”?

The result in Farrer is broadly consistent with One Nation’s traditional base. The electorate is a rural seat, shaped by agriculture and mining, where issues such as agricultural development, water allocation, and regional economic survival have long been central concerns. One Nation’s core support has historically come from similar rural communities.

In many of these areas, social networks tend to be relatively homogenous, with limited direct engagement with migrant or multicultural communities. As a result, some voters may be more receptive to simplified and forceful political messaging around anti-immigration sentiment, opposition to globalisation, protection of local industries, and resistance to “big government”.

However, recent by-elections suggest that One Nation’s support base may no longer be confined to rural Australia. It is increasingly extending into outer suburban areas. The Nepean by-election on 2 May offers a clear example. Although Nepean is not a rural seat, it is also not inner-city, but rather an outer metropolitan community. In that contest, while Liberal candidate Anthony Marsh managed to retain the seat, the party’s primary vote fell by nearly 10%, and One Nation secured close to 25% of the vote.

This suggests that One Nation’s appeal is expanding beyond its traditional rural strongholds into outer suburban electorates. From this perspective, Farrer may not be an isolated case, but part of a broader pattern that could emerge in similar outer metropolitan seats.

Erosion of the Two-Party Base

Recent by-elections and polling trends indicate that Australia’s two major parties are experiencing a gradual but significant decline in political dominance.

The Liberal Party lost a long-held seat in Farrer and also faced a clear drop in primary vote support in Nepean. In the 2024 Werribee by-election, Labor narrowly held the seat with less than a 1% margin in the two-party-preferred vote, while its primary vote dropped by around 17%. Meanwhile, the February 2026 Newspoll showed One Nation’s national support at approximately 27%, compared with Labor at 33%, and well ahead of the Liberal–National Coalition at around 18%.

These figures reflect a broader pattern of voter fragmentation and declining loyalty to the traditional two-party system. Importantly, a vote for One Nation does not necessarily indicate full agreement with its more extreme positions. In many cases, it reflects dissatisfaction with the political establishment and a lack of trust in mainstream political narratives.

At the same time, Australia’s trust in government remains at historically low levels. Rising living costs, increasing rental pressure, and limited policy responses have contributed to growing frustration among voters. In this environment, major parties often avoid contentious issues due to electoral risk. This cautiousness can leave voters feeling that political language is overly vague or disconnected from lived reality.

As a result, when politicians—such as those from One Nation—speak in more direct and forceful terms, even when controversial, they can still attract support from segments of the electorate seeking clearer and more decisive positions.

Major Parties’ Irresponsibility

Beyond electoral outcomes, a more fundamental question concerns the strategic choices of the major parties.

In both the Farrer and Nepean by-elections, Labor chose not to field candidates. While this may reflect a calculation that victory was unlikely, it raises a broader issue: democratic participation is not solely about winning. Elections are also opportunities for engagement, representation, and maintaining long-term trust with communities.

When parties consistently withdraw from contesting certain seats, they risk weakening their connection with voters who may already feel disengaged. Over time, this absence can contribute to further political alienation and indirectly strengthen alternative parties.

On the other hand, the Liberal Party’s approach to One Nation also reflects strategic uncertainty. As both occupy the right of the political spectrum, the Liberals have often avoided directly confronting One Nation, fearing it could further alienate conservative voters. However, this hesitation has left the party struggling to clearly define its own position, while failing to prevent voter drift toward One Nation.

For many conservative voters, the Liberal Party increasingly appears politically unclear. When a party appears unwilling to firmly defend or articulate its own ideological position, voter trust naturally erodes.

Meanwhile, Labor, despite its public commitment to multiculturalism, has at times adopted cautious positions on immigration-related issues in order to avoid losing support in marginal seats. This balancing act can also contribute to perceptions of inconsistency or lack of clarity.

Even with One Nation’s rise, a significant portion of Australian voters remain opposed to its more extreme positions. The key question, therefore, is whether the major parties still have the capacity—and willingness—to reconnect with disillusioned voters and offer a credible political alternative. If they continue relying on outdated political messaging while avoiding difficult debates, they may face increasing electoral consequences, particularly in upcoming state elections in November.

A Changing Political Landscape

As public trust in the major parties continues to decline, voters are increasingly open to alternative political voices. One Nation’s rise may be only the beginning of this broader shift.

The Farrer result is also notable for another reason: the Liberal Party did not make it to the final count, which instead came down to One Nation and an independent candidate. This indicates that independents are also gaining traction and may play a more significant role in future elections.

Australia’s two-party system is therefore facing structural pressure. The issue is not only that the major parties are underperforming, but also that they appear to lack fresh political imagination. Faced with housing pressures, cost-of-living challenges, migration debates, infrastructure strain, and generational uncertainty, both parties often rely on familiar language and established frameworks without offering a compelling new direction.

As a result, voters are no longer confined to choosing between Labor and the Liberals. Increasingly, attention is shifting toward new faces and alternative voices.

Some voters turn to One Nation because it directly expresses their dissatisfaction with the status quo. Others do so not out of full ideological agreement, but out of frustration with mainstream politics. The key question moving forward is not whether Australia will swing sharply to the right, but whether a new political force can emerge that bridges the gap between distrust of the major parties and rejection of political extremism.

Such a force may not come from traditional party structures. Instead, it may require leaders capable of articulating a new narrative for Australia—one that addresses economic pressure and social change, without resorting to the exclusion of migrant communities or minority groups.

The Next Phase of Australia’s Political Language

Migration has long been a politically charged issue in Australia. As parties continue to highlight the economic and social pressures associated with immigration—particularly through the framing advanced by One Nation—the concept of “multiculturalism” has, for some voters, lost part of its persuasive power.

While this does not reflect a broader rejection of immigration within Australian society, it does suggest that prolonged reliance on established political language may reduce public engagement and interest in these debates.

The next stage of Australia’s political language may therefore not lie in repeating existing value statements, but in constructing a more responsive public narrative. Rather than focusing solely on “multiculturalism” as a slogan, there may be a need for a framework that emphasises mutual understanding, real-world interaction, and shared participation. Rebuilding trust between communities and institutions will likely matter more than reinforcing ideological divides.

From this perspective, current political turbulence may not be entirely negative. It may instead represent a turning point. Australia’s political future may already be entering a new phase. For voters, the key challenge is not blind loyalty to any one party, but a renewed commitment to critical thinking, scrutiny, and participation. As citizens move beyond passive acceptance of established political structures and begin actively seeking alternatives, Australian politics may be entering a new era.

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One Year Into Europe’s Rearmament, Where Does Australia Stand?

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As global attention shifts toward the conflict between Israel and Iran, the Russia-Ukraine war appears to be gradually moving away from the centre of international headlines. Europe, Russia and China have all appeared relatively subdued on the surface, with none of the dramatic diplomatic clashes or military mobilisation seen in the early stages of the war. But silence does not mean stagnation. On the contrary, away from the spotlight, a deeper strategic restructuring is quietly unfolding.

Among the most significant developments is the European Union’s “ReArm Europe” initiative proposed last year.

Reshaping the order

In March last year, the United States announced a suspension of part of its military aid to Ukraine, sending shockwaves through Europe’s security architecture. Around the same time, the European Union formally launched its “Readiness 2030” defence plan, proposing up to €800 billion in military and defence investment.

The plan focuses on joint weapons procurement, expanding defence industrial capacity, strengthening air defence systems, drone and artillery production, while continuing support for Ukraine.

This is not simply an increase in defence spending, but a signal of a broader historical shift.

For decades, Europe was built on one central assumption: security would be guaranteed by the US-led transatlantic system, allowing Europe to focus on economic growth, welfare and market integration. However, as Washington’s strategic focus shifted toward the Indo-Pacific and President Donald Trump returned to the White House with a different stance on NATO and aid to Ukraine, Europe has begun to realise that the security framework underpinning the post-war order may no longer be stable.

The question is no longer whether Europe needs defence, but whether the system that once provided Europe with security still truly exists. The implications of this shift also extend far beyond Europe itself.

For Australia, which has long relied on US security guarantees and remains deeply tied to the Anglo-American strategic system, Europe’s rearmament raises a similarly sensitive and practical question: as the world moves back toward militarisation and American security commitments become increasingly conditional, can Australia still assume the old order will remain intact?

The end of the peace dividend

Since the end of the Cold War, Europe has existed in what was often described as the era of the “peace dividend”.

Following the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of East-West confrontation, many European countries reduced defence spending, downsized their militaries and allowed defence industries to decline. Security was treated as an established condition, while economic growth, free markets and regional integration became the core priorities of European politics.

For nearly three decades, this arrangement was considered almost self-evident, with many believing that large-scale war had disappeared from the European continent. That assumption is now rapidly reversing.

From Germany’s announcement of a €100 billion special defence fund, to large-scale military expansion across Northern and Eastern Europe, and the EU’s push for joint defence investment and industrial cooperation, European military spending is rising at a pace unseen since the Cold War.

Countries are reopening arms production lines, increasing ammunition stockpiles and discussing joint defence and rapid deployment mechanisms. Europe’s strategic thinking is undergoing a fundamental transformation.

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen reflected this atmosphere during a joint press conference in 2023, stating that Europe must adopt “a bolder security policy” and build defence capabilities capable of sustaining long-term wars and crises.

This is not merely a numerical increase in spending, but a shift in policy logic itself.

When America becomes uncertain

If the Russia-Ukraine war was the trigger for Europe’s rearmament, the deeper driving force may actually be uncertainty surrounding the United States.

For decades, Europe’s security structure rested on a core assumption: regardless of global developments, the United States would ultimately intervene and guarantee Europe’s security. From NATO to US troop deployments across Europe, the transatlantic order was treated as a permanent reality and enabled Europe to reduce military spending while prioritising economic development.

That assumption is now beginning to weaken.

From Trump-era demands for NATO allies to dramatically raise defence spending, to fluctuating US support for Ukraine and increasingly ambiguous American security commitments, Washington’s role has become less predictable.

For Europe, this uncertainty may be even more destabilising than Russia itself. What worries Europe is not only external threats, but whether the United States is still willing to bear the cost of intervention when crises emerge.

If the Cold War question was “will the enemy attack?”, today’s question has become “will the ally still show up?”

As security can no longer be fully outsourced, Europe has little choice but to rebuild its own defence capabilities.

The concept of “strategic autonomy”, once championed mainly by France and viewed by some European states as overly idealistic, is increasingly shifting from political slogan to practical policy.

Europe has realised that while it may still need the United States, it can no longer fully depend on it. But autonomy comes at a cost.

The ability to disagree

Germany and Spain have emerged as two of the most active participants in Europe’s rearmament efforts.

Germany’s defence spending is expected to rise from €95 billion in 2025 to €162 billion by 2029, while Berlin is also reviving military conscription with plans to expand troop numbers to around 460,000 personnel. For a country that suppressed its military role for decades after World War II, the shift is highly symbolic.

At the same time, these countries have begun displaying greater diplomatic independence than in previous years.

On issues ranging from the Gaza war and tariffs on China, to Iran and NATO military deployments, Germany has not always fully aligned itself with the United States.

In early 2026, Germany also led efforts to establish the “E6” alliance alongside France, Poland, Spain, Italy and the Netherlands. The grouping is seen as an attempt to form a new European core bloc focused on rare earth resources, defence industries, energy and strategic supply chains, while reducing internal EU decision-making constraints.

To some observers, the move represents an extension of the idea of a “multi-speed Europe”, in which major powers integrate first to create a more agile strategic centre.

Spain has also increasingly diverged from Washington’s positions.

During the recent US and Israeli military actions against Iran, Spain openly opposed the operations and refused to allow certain American military bases on Spanish territory to be used for support activities. Reports later emerged that Washington was considering trade pressure against Spain, highlighting how tensions between Europe and the United States are now moving beyond diplomatic disagreements into deeper strategic conflicts.

Taken together, these developments suggest Europe is increasingly preparing for a world in which American leadership may no longer be guaranteed.

This does not mean Europe seeks a break with the United States. NATO remains the core framework of European security, and the US is still Europe’s most important military power. However, Europe has begun recognising that the old order — in which the US led and Europe followed — is gradually weakening.

A new geopolitical centre of gravity may already be forming.

Australia’s place in a changing world

For Australia, these changes are particularly significant.

Australia’s security outlook has long been shaped by geography. As a continent surrounded by oceans, Australia has faced few direct land-based threats, while neighbouring countries have historically lacked the military capacity to mount a full-scale challenge.

This is why Australian defence thinking traditionally focused on “forward defence” and reliance on allies.

That environment is now changing.

As China’s influence in Pacific island nations expands — through ports, security agreements and infrastructure projects — Beijing is increasingly entering what Australia once regarded as its strategic backyard.

This does not necessarily mean China intends to launch military action against Australia, but it does suggest Australia’s surrounding strategic environment is being reshaped.

The real issue may not be whether China would attack Australia, but whether Australia can still assume control over its surrounding region as it once did.

From a purely military perspective, directly invading Australia would be extremely costly. Australia’s vast territory, dispersed population and lack of concentrated strategic targets reduce its attractiveness as a military objective.

For China, economic influence through trade, investment and diplomacy is likely far more effective than war in achieving access to resources or strategic leverage.

But this also reflects a broader reality: future great power competition may not necessarily take the form of conventional war.

Instead, competition may increasingly involve supply chains, technological penetration, ports, infrastructure, energy dependence, cyber systems and information influence.

In other words, the definition of security itself is changing.

Rethinking Australia’s position

If Europe’s rearmament exposes fractures in the post-war order, Australia faces a deeper question: how should it reposition itself amid this global restructuring?

For decades, Australia’s security policy has rested on two pillars — military reliance on the United States and historical and intelligence ties with Britain.

From ANZUS to AUKUS, these relationships have continued to deepen. Australian strategic thinking has largely been built around the Anglo-American security framework.

But if American commitments to Europe are no longer guaranteed, can Australia still assume it will always remain a priority?

This is not an argument against the importance of the US-Australia alliance, but a recognition of its potential vulnerabilities.

In an increasingly multipolar and fragmented world, overreliance on a single security provider may itself become a strategic weakness.

Should US domestic politics shift further inward, middle-power allies such as Australia may face growing pressure to develop greater strategic autonomy.

This raises another question that Australia has rarely confronted seriously: beyond the United States, are there alternative forms of security cooperation?

Europe as a partner?

Historically, Australia’s defence cooperation with Europe has remained relatively limited, partly because Europe itself long depended on American protection.

But this may now be changing.

As Europe expands its defence industries and pursues more independent strategic frameworks, countries such as France and Germany may increasingly emerge not only as economic partners, but also as important security actors.

France in particular already maintains overseas territories and military presence throughout the Pacific, from New Caledonia to French Polynesia.

Europe has always existed within Australia’s broader strategic environment — it simply was not previously viewed as a major security player.

As the United States becomes less predictable, Australia may need to consider deeper military and technological cooperation with Europe.

Australia is, in many ways, a geographically isolated country. Compared with Europe or Asia, Australians have historically faced fewer direct military threats, resulting in less public focus on defence and security issues.

Geographical distance long provided a sense of safety.

But in the era of drones, cyber warfare, satellite surveillance and supply-chain competition, distance is becoming less meaningful.

Australia can no longer rely solely on geography for protection.

This means Australia may need to place greater emphasis on international cooperation, technological capability and regional diplomacy, rather than relying exclusively on traditional military alliances.

Defence industry and strategic resilience

Europe’s rearmament also highlights another lesson for Australia: defence is not only a military issue, but an industrial one.

Australia’s defence model has long relied heavily on foreign suppliers, with most major military platforms sourced from the United States or allied nations.

During periods of stable globalisation, this model appeared efficient. But in periods of geopolitical tension, supply chain disruption or regional conflict, dependence can quickly become vulnerability.

In wartime, countries prioritise their own needs. Shortages of missiles, semiconductors, rare earths, energy and critical components could leave Australia exposed.

The war in Ukraine has already demonstrated how even European countries struggled with ammunition shortages.

Australia’s most symbolic defence initiative in recent years has been the AUKUS nuclear submarine partnership.

The project reflects Australia’s strategic anxiety — a desire to establish stronger long-range deterrence capabilities in the Indo-Pacific.

But nuclear submarines remain primarily strategic tools with limited broader impact.

By contrast, Europe is increasingly focused on rebuilding domestic defence manufacturing and linking military spending with industrial development.

From drones and air defence systems to AI-based military technologies, Europe is shifting toward a more flexible, technologically advanced and decentralised defence model.

Such an approach not only strengthens strategic autonomy, but also drives research, supply-chain integration and advanced manufacturing.

This remains an area where Australia still lags behind.

Multiculturalism and internal pressure

Australia’s multicultural structure also complicates the implications of global fragmentation.

As a highly immigrant-based society, Australia maintains deep cultural, economic and demographic links with many parts of the world.

Chinese, Middle Eastern, Indian and European communities all contribute to Australia’s diversity, which has long been considered one of the country’s strengths.

In the era of globalisation, multiculturalism enhanced Australia’s international connections and provided advantages in talent, language and diplomacy.

But as the world moves toward greater geopolitical confrontation, diversity may also create new pressures.

Political conflicts overseas increasingly spill into Australian society through protests, ethnic tensions, hate speech, disinformation and foreign influence campaigns.

This does not mean multiculturalism itself is a problem, but rather that Australia can no longer remain insulated from global conflicts as easily as it once could.

International crises are no longer distant diplomatic issues — they increasingly affect domestic politics, public sentiment and national security.

Future security challenges may therefore involve not only military threats, but also the ability to maintain social cohesion, openness and democratic values in a fragmented world.

The more unstable the international environment becomes, the harder it is for Australia to remain detached from it.

A fragmenting world

The world is shifting from unipolarity toward multipolar competition, from outsourced security toward strategic autonomy, and from traditional military power toward technologically driven warfare.

The era defined by American dominance, globalisation, low conflict and low militarisation is gradually fading.

In its place is emerging a more unstable world shaped by supply chains, strategic competition and geopolitical rivalry.

For Australia, this is not simply a trend to observe, but a reality that must be confronted.

As old security structures become less stable, the central question for Australia is no longer simply “which side to stand on”, but how to build resilience and capability amid uncertainty.

That includes reconsidering relations with the United States, Britain and Europe, while also rethinking the connections between defence, technology, energy and industry.

Future security competition may ultimately depend less on military strength alone and more on overall national capability.

The world is changing — and the pace of change may be faster than governments can adapt.

The question has never been whether change will come, but how many countries will be prepared once the old order truly ends.

 

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Victoria’s Budget: The Illusion of Surplus and the Reality of Debt

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On May 5, the Victorian Labor government announced in its 2026/27 budget that it had achieved its first fiscal surplus in seven years, describing it as the result of “disciplined financial management.” Official figures indicate that the state expects a surplus of approximately AUD 1.048 billion, while emphasising that no new taxes have been introduced this year in an effort to ease cost-of-living pressures.

From a political messaging perspective, this narrative is clearly appealing: a post-pandemic fiscal recovery, maintained public services, and no additional tax burden. For voters, this combination is naturally attractive. However, when this “surplus” is examined within the broader fiscal structure, it reveals a far more complex reality—one shaped by underlying debt pressures and long-term fiscal risks.

Where does the surplus come from?

From a structural fiscal perspective, the so-called “surplus” is not the result of a sustained improvement in the government’s financial position. Instead, it relies largely on two types of one-off or non-recurring revenue.

The first is additional funding from the federal government. Budget figures show that Victoria received around AUD 4 billion more in federal transfers than originally expected this financial year. Under Australia’s federal system, state governments are already highly dependent on such transfers, particularly in areas like healthcare, education and infrastructure. While legitimate, this funding essentially represents external support rather than a reflection of Victoria’s own economic strength.

The second source is one-off revenue from assets and licensing arrangements, particularly in the gambling sector. For example, the operator of Keno and The Lott paid approximately AUD 1.15 billion to the state government in exchange for extending its licence for another 40 years. In simple terms, this approach brings forward revenue that would otherwise have been collected gradually over decades.

From a fiscal standpoint, such income does not improve the government’s long-term financial capacity. It merely shifts future revenue into the present, making the current balance sheet appear stronger than it actually is.

As such, this “surplus” is less a sign of improved fiscal health than a timing adjustment—an accounting outcome created by bringing future income forward.

The real issue: debt and future fiscal pressure

The budget does not fully reflect Victoria’s overall fiscal position. Major infrastructure spending is not directly accounted for in the operating balance, as it is largely funded through borrowing. This allows headline figures to appear relatively stable, even as total debt continues to grow.

According to budget projections, the government expects to borrow an additional AUD 40 billion over the next four years, indicating that debt has not yet peaked and will continue to expand. By 2029–30, net debt is projected to reach approximately AUD 199.3 billion, with annual interest payments rising to around AUD 11.8 billion—equivalent to roughly AUD 32 million per day. In other words, even without any new spending, the government will still face a substantial daily cost simply to service past borrowing.

Historical comparisons make the trend even clearer. In 2014, Victoria’s net debt stood at around AUD 21.8 billion. By 2029–30, it is expected to approach AUD 200 billion—an almost tenfold increase. Over the same period, annual interest payments are projected to rise from approximately AUD 2.1 billion to AUD 11.8 billion, more than five times higher.

To manage these pressures, the government is relying heavily on continued growth in future tax revenue. Payroll tax—currently the largest revenue source—is projected to increase by around 15% by 2029–30, while land tax revenues are also expected to rise.

However, this reveals a deeper structural issue. Much of the economic activity driving higher tax revenues is itself supported by debt-funded infrastructure spending. In other words, employment growth and revenue increases are, to a significant extent, built on borrowing rather than purely organic economic expansion. As a result, even rising revenues struggle to keep pace with the compounding growth of debt and interest obligations.

In effect, fiscal pressure has not disappeared—it has simply been deferred into the future. As for how this debt will ultimately be repaid, the government has yet to provide a clear plan. Treasurer Jaclyn Symes has not outlined any concrete timeline for repaying principal, instead stating that the current priority is to “stabilise” debt rather than reduce it.

How did Victoria reach such high debt levels?

To understand Victoria’s current debt position, it is necessary to look back to the period under former Premier Daniel Andrews. At the time, interest rates were historically low, making borrowing relatively inexpensive. The government adopted an approach that treated debt as an “investment tool”: as long as borrowed funds were directed toward infrastructure capable of generating long-term economic returns, short-term borrowing was seen as justified.

Under this logic, the government accelerated a range of major infrastructure projects, including the Metro Tunnel, the Level Crossing Removal Project, the North East Link, and later the Suburban Rail Loop. These projects aimed to address long-standing infrastructure gaps, improve transport efficiency, and stimulate employment and economic activity in the short term.

However, most of these investments were not funded through current revenue, but through long-term borrowing—effectively shifting the cost burden into the future.

The problem is that economic conditions do not remain static. As interest rates rise, previously manageable borrowing costs can escalate quickly. This model came under further strain during the COVID-19 pandemic. Faced with prolonged lockdowns and economic disruption, the government significantly increased spending to support businesses and employment, relying heavily on debt as a short-term stabilisation tool. While this helped cushion the immediate impact, it also accelerated the growth of public debt to one of the highest levels in the country.

Victoria’s fiscal structure further compounds the issue. Unlike resource-rich states such as Western Australia, which benefit from substantial mining royalties, Victoria relies heavily on property-related taxes and payroll tax. This makes government revenue more sensitive to fluctuations in the housing market and economic growth, weakening its capacity to manage high debt levels during downturns.

In modern public finance, high debt is not inherently problematic. What matters is whether borrowed funds generate sustainable long-term returns and whether there is a credible plan for repayment. The issue is not simply how much is owed, but why the debt was incurred and how it will be repaid. On this front, Victoria has yet to provide a clear and convincing answer.

Relief measures: shifting the focus

Rather than directly addressing structural fiscal challenges, the government has shifted its policy focus toward cost-of-living measures aimed at improving public perception. These include free or discounted public transport, vehicle registration rebates, and the continuation of vision care services for school students. These policies are highly visible and easily felt by the public, offering immediate relief in daily life.

At the same time, the budget sets aside approximately AUD 5 billion in reserves, part of which is expected to be used to reach wage agreements with teachers—likely to minimise the risk of industrial action ahead of the November state election.

These measures can be seen not only as social support, but also as a strategic allocation of resources—prioritising short-term, tangible benefits to maintain public support in the lead-up to an election, even as longer-term fiscal pressures remain unresolved.

The government has also emphasised that “no new taxes” have been introduced this year. While this is politically appealing, the broader context tells a more complex story. Since Labor came to power in 2014, Victoria’s overall tax burden has risen significantly. Data shows that combined state and local government tax revenue per capita increased from around AUD 4,066 to approximately AUD 6,605—an increase of more than 60%, making Victoria one of the highest-taxed jurisdictions in Australia.

In recent years, the government has expanded its tax base through various measures, including higher payroll taxes for large businesses to fund mental health services, the introduction of a windfall gains tax, additional levies on businesses to repay COVID-19 debt, as well as increases in land tax and the expansion of emergency services levies.

Against this backdrop, the claim of “no new taxes” is less a sign of tax relief than an indication that the government may have reached the limits of its capacity to impose further tax increases.

What should a responsible government do?

As Opposition Leader Jess Wilson has argued, the budget reveals a cash deficit of approximately AUD 7.7 billion, alongside rising debt, increasing tax burdens and growing interest repayments. This stands in clear contrast to the government’s emphasis on a “surplus,” and highlights the absence of a coherent plan to address underlying fiscal challenges.

In the face of expanding debt, a responsible government should not focus on presenting favourable headline figures or shifting attention elsewhere. Instead, it should openly acknowledge the scale of the problem and clearly communicate the associated risks and trade-offs to the public. Without transparency about where debt comes from, how it is being used, and how it will be repaid, the issue becomes not just economic, but one of public trust and governance.

A credible fiscal strategy should include clear timelines and pathways—outlining how debt growth will be managed, when and how principal repayments will begin, and how the revenue base can be strengthened without placing excessive burden on taxpayers. At the same time, greater transparency is needed in explaining the relationship between borrowing and spending, so the public can distinguish between long-term investments and short-term fiscal support.

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