Australia’s Security Still Depends on Trump—Even If It Pretends Otherwise
By re-electing a government that keeps its distance from Donald Trump, Australia is straining the alliance it depends on—just as regional threats escalate.
Despite its strategic reliance on the United States, the Albanese government continues to criticise the American president on whom its national defence depends. That contradiction—now reinforced by a fresh electoral mandate—risks weakening Australia’s most critical alliance at a time of growing regional instability.
Australia depends on the United States for its defense. This is not a point of debate—it is the foundation of Australian strategic planning. The country lacks the long-range capabilities, industrial base, and weapons systems required to mount a serious defence against a major power.
In the event of conflict, Australia would rely on U.S. surveillance, military assets, and—if necessary—American lives.
That dependence has long been assumed as stable and unconditional. Australia spends just over 2 percent of GDP on defense, meeting the NATO benchmark only in recent years and largely in response to U.S. expectations.
It does not manufacture advanced missile systems or maintain a nuclear deterrent. The alliance has served as a strategic safety net, allowing successive governments to outsource high-end military capability while focusing on regional diplomacy and soft power.
But in January 2025, the calculus changed. Donald J. Trump returned to the White House, bringing with him a foreign policy doctrine that views alliances as transactional and contingent. Trump now leads the military force on which Australia’s defense architecture depends.
Despite this shift, the Australian government has not adjusted. It continues to operate as if Trump’s presidency has no bearing on foreign policy. No changes have been made in tone, strategic messaging, or diplomatic approach.
While Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has avoided personal attacks on Trump, his government has maintained a measured but distant posture toward him—before and after his re-election.
The contrast in worldview is not concealed: Australia’s emphasis on multilateral institutions, climate diplomacy, and global rules-based order often stands in implicit tension with Trump’s stated positions. These differences are understood by both sides, even if not always directly stated.
On May 4, 2025, Albanese was returned to power in a decisive electoral victory. That result gave his government a renewed mandate—and affirmed public support for its existing approach to international affairs.
Whether Australians intended it or not, they endorsed a foreign policy that continues to hold the U.S. alliance at arm’s length, even as it remains critical to Australia’s security.
That choice sends a signal—not just to Washington, but to Beijing. In the Indo-Pacific, where strategic clarity is paramount, ambiguity carries consequences.
China is actively preparing for confrontation in the region. It has expanded its military posture, fortified artificial islands in the South China Sea, applied consistent pressure on Taiwan, and invested heavily in diplomatic leverage across the Pacific.
Its growing alignment with Russia underscores a broader challenge to the rules-based order. None of these actions suggest an interest in long-term détente.
Beijing does not interpret moral criticism from Western nations as principle. It interprets it as a lack of seriousness. In particular, it watches for inconsistencies between rhetoric and action.
A divided or hesitant alliance between the United States and its Pacific partners presents an opportunity—and Australia’s current posture risks encouraging exactly that perception.
The risk of conflict in the region is not only rooted in intention. It is also driven by miscalculation.
As Henry Kissinger warned, major conflicts tend to arise when states misinterpret one another’s thresholds or test the limits of strategic tolerance. Taiwan remains a flashpoint where such a miscalculation could have global consequences.
In this environment, alliance management is not symbolic—it is operational. It determines whether lines of communication are trusted, whether joint planning is credible, and whether deterrence is effective.
Australia’s current approach—relying on U.S. power while publicly maintaining distance from its leader—introduces ambiguity at a time when cohesion matters most.
Trump’s position on alliances is well known. He expects contributions. He demands respect. While his rhetoric is often unpredictable, the underlying logic is consistent: allies must demonstrate value, not entitlement. Australia risks misunderstanding this doctrine. Continued diplomatic aloofness—while assuming full alliance benefits—is a strategic misread.
The idea that Australia can separate Trump from the alliance—that officials can work “around” him while waiting for another administration—is not realistic. He is the U.S. president. He leads the armed forces we depend on. His administration will shape U.S. posture in the Indo-Pacific for the next four years.
The decisions made in Washington will directly impact Australia's security environment, and diplomatic ambiguity may erode trust at a critical moment.
Instead of recalibrating, the Albanese government has largely stayed the course. It has chosen to emphasize moral leadership and international approval over strategic adaptation. That is a legitimate choice—but it is not cost-free.
Australia’s position is geographically exposed and strategically constrained. We sit within range of China’s missile systems and naval reach. We lack an independent strategic deterrent. And we remain dependent on U.S. power to maintain regional balance. In that context, alliance credibility is not a formality—it is the backbone of national security.
Alliances typically weaken not through sudden collapse, but through gradual misalignment. Mixed signals, inconsistent messaging, and a failure to adjust to changing leadership can all erode trust over time. Australia’s current path risks exactly that erosion.
Australia sees itself as a respected and principled actor in international affairs. But reputation alone does not deter aggression. Strength, clarity, and dependable partnerships do.
At present, the country’s most important security partnership is under strain—less from formal breakdown than from a widening gap between political posture and strategic necessity.
The Albanese government’s re-election confirms that this position now carries a democratic mandate. But that mandate must also confront reality. The United States remains Australia’s only reliable security partner capable of deterring regional threats.
If the government wishes to preserve the benefits of that alliance, it may need to revisit how it engages with the individual who currently leads it.
Australia has made a choice—one that prioritises diplomatic consistency over strategic recalibration.
It should be under no illusion about the risks that come with that decision.