History Repeats Itself, But Will This Time Be Different?
The last time Australia and Indonesia inked a security pact, the 1995 Agreement on Maintaining Security (AMS), it ended in disappointment. Now, the new Treaty of Common Security echoes that moment, but with a crucial difference: this time, both nations are driven by strategic necessity, not political posturing. But here's where it gets controversial: can two countries with historically divergent interests truly align for mutual security in an increasingly volatile region?
The AMS was more about optics than substance. Australia’s then-Prime Minister Paul Keating pushed it as an election-year gambit, aiming to project statesmanship and secure his legacy. Meanwhile, Indonesia’s President Suharto framed his approval as a favor to a friend, but the deal sidelined Indonesia’s Foreign Ministry. Implementation stalled, trust never solidified, and by the late 1990s, the agreement was effectively dead. The final blow came in 1999, when Australia’s leadership in the UN-backed INTERFET mission to East Timor clashed with Jakarta’s expectations, highlighting Australia’s prioritization of its own agency over partnership.
Fast forward to today, and the echoes of the AMS are unmistakable. Yet, the new treaty is a fundamentally different beast. Unlike an agreement, a treaty signals a stronger commitment. While it borrows from the AMS template, its ambitions are far greater—elevating consultations to the leaders’ level, not just ministers. Crucially, this treaty was shaped directly by both leaders and their foreign ministers, avoiding the sidelining that doomed the AMS.
And this is the part most people miss: this treaty isn’t just about security; it’s about preserving agency in a region where great powers are increasingly coercive. Both Australia and Indonesia are navigating the complexities of their deep economic ties with China while trying to limit Beijing’s growing influence. As U.S.-China competition becomes zero-sum, East Asian states are increasingly prioritizing strategic autonomy. In Australia, the rhetoric of strategic autonomy has surged, reflecting a desire for a more independent foreign policy—still allied with Washington, but less dependent. Indonesia, meanwhile, sees preserving agency as a matter of strategic survival, having been repeatedly hit by erratic great-power behavior, from U.S. tariffs to China’s economic leverage.
For Indonesia, this treaty is as close as it has ever come to an alliance. Unlike Singapore’s defense agreement with Indonesia, which relies on ASEAN membership and economic ties, Australia’s treaty with non-aligned Indonesia was enabled by a uniquely ripe moment: great power coercion and President Prabowo Subianto’s centralized authority. But the devil is in the details. The treaty’s strength lies not in its legal framework, but in the evolving relationship and the fulfillment of tacit expectations. It’s more like the U.S.-Australia alliance than the multilateral Five Power Defence Arrangements.
The key difference between this treaty and ANZUS, the U.S.-Australia-New Zealand pact, lies in its assumptions. ANZUS is built on the logic of extended deterrence, with both parties strongly assumed to act against common threats. In contrast, the new treaty assumes an interdependent security ecosystem, where each side links its security to the other’s and avoids actions that might make its partner feel insecure. But here’s the controversial question: Can Indonesia trust Australia to prioritize their partnership over Washington? And can Australia trust a partner that refuses to treat China as a strategic threat?
For Australia, the expectation is that Indonesia will prioritize the security partnership, reinforce shared interests, and at minimum, abstain from undermining Australia’s efforts to preserve regional order. In return, Canberra must consult, uphold defense commitments, and respect Indonesia’s sovereignty. The challenge? Deeper defense ties may require deeper trade and investment with a country perceived as too close to Beijing.
For Indonesia, the expectation is that Australia will act as a dependable security partner, even under Washington’s pressure, and that engagement will support Jakarta’s strategic autonomy beyond defense. Jakarta also expects respect for its non-alignment, including keeping its waters out of potential war theaters. The challenge? Will this warmth deliver tangible gains, whether in cattle trade, lithium processing, or other economic areas? If not, disappointment is inevitable.
Then there’s the shadow of East Timor, which for Indonesia carries the image of Australia’s unreliability. Even in 2024, the mere suggestion of a Status of Forces Agreement met strong resistance from Jakarta. But here’s the thought-provoking question: In an era of instability, does trust even matter as much as shared interests? The AMS collapsed during a unipolar era; today, as the global order itself is unstable, countries may look past differences to secure their interests.
This is still a story of two countries choosing their own interests. It just so happens that, this time, agency preservation brings them together. The real test lies ahead: will both sides meet their tacit expectations—and bear the political costs that come with doing so? Only time will tell. What do you think? Can Australia and Indonesia truly align their interests, or is history doomed to repeat itself? Let us know in the comments.
