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Nuclear-powered submarines and critical-mineral investments under AUKUS tie Australia ever closer to US conflict with China, raising concern over regional stability.
When US officials gathered in Washington this week for the 40th annual Australia-United States Ministerial Consultations (AUSMIN), the message was unmistakable: the US-Australia military partnership is no longer simply deepening, it is fusing. Secretary of State Marco Rubio opened the meeting by emphasizing that Australia is “our only ally that has fought with us in every war” in recent decades. The subtext was clear: Canberra is not just a regional partner, it’s becoming a frontline state in Washington’s long-haul competition with China.
This year’s consultations landed at a moment when AUKUS, the trilateral pact binding Australia, the US, and the UK in a decades-long nuclear-submarine and advanced weapons partnership, is shifting from paperwork to production. Both Secretary Rubio and Secretary of War Pete Hegseth reaffirmed President Trump’s late-October declaration that the US would push “full steam ahead” on AUKUS, before outlining the plans for an Indo-Pacific security architecture dictated by deterrence, denial, and industrialized militarization.
Hegseth used this year’s AUSMIN meeting to detail a sweeping list of joint initiatives: upgrades to Australian air bases to accommodate expanded US bomber rotations; co-production of guided weapons, precision-strike missiles, and hypersonic systems; enhanced cooperation on Mark 54 torpedoes; and the integration of rare-earth and critical-mineral supply chains.
“These are practical, realistic ways that our two countries can come together to ensure that we provide peace through strength,” Hegseth said. “The stronger we are together the more we can deter the kinds of conflicts neither of us want to see.”
But while Hegseth insists these measures stabilize the region, the construction of a shared war-making ecosystem across “land, air, and sea” risks accelerating the very trajectory toward war they are meant to prevent.
Crucially, this investment in military might is unfolding alongside an equally consequential economic deal that underpins it: rare-earth minerals.
During Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s visit to Washington in October 2025, the United States and Australia committed to jointly invest more than $2 billion in critical-mineral projects over the coming six months, with Washington signaling total investments could reach $3 billion. The Export-Import Bank of the United States also issued statements of intent to provide $2.2 billion in financing, while the Pentagon is set to fund an advanced gallium refinery in Western Australia. Canberra is matching that investment to support a rare-earth mining project in the north.
This broader critical-minerals framework establishes what the White House called “a model for supply chain cooperation globally.” The declared strategy is straightforward: counter China’s dominance over a sector it currently controls at staggering levels—roughly 70 percent of rare-earth mining and 90 percent of processing–a chokepoint central to the global ‘rare-earth’ supply chain.
While Hegseth insists these measures stabilize the region, the construction of a shared war-making ecosystem across “land, air, and sea” risks accelerating the very trajectory toward war they are meant to prevent.
Australia and the US thus appear to be constructing not simply an alliance, but an integrated strategic economy, with AUKUS at the center. The minerals, submarines, missiles, and aircraft are not parallel tracks, but interlocking gears, reflective of a military strategy that depends upon a flow of critical minerals immune to rising geopolitical tensions and China’s processing monopoly.
In tandem, Australia is preparing to contribute an additional $1 billion to help expand US submarine-production capacity, part of a plan that will see Canberra purchase at least three Virginia-class submarines in the 2030s, followed by development of the next-generation SSN-AUKUS submarine for the UK and Australia. This investment underwrites the industrial hardware of the military buildup, while the rare-earth agreements secure the strategic fuel that makes it operational.
While the Trump Administration’s stated rationale is straightforward: maintain regional stability by ensuring US and allied dominance beneath the waves, the deeper logic mirrors a longstanding pattern of US strategy in Asia and the Pacific. Since China began modernizing its navy and asserting vast, legally dubious claims in the South China Sea, Washington has responded with a strategy it claims is designed hold the line at the first island chain—from Japan through Taiwan to the Philippines—and now down to northern Australia. However, nuclear-powered attack submarines are the not-so-quiet backbone of this containment architecture, and their mission profile is not defensive.
In any hypothetical crisis in Taiwan, allied submarine superiority is seen as key to breaking a Chinese blockade. AUKUS is meant to ensure Australia is not simply a supporting actor but an operational partner in such a catastrophic scenario.
This is precisely why Beijing frames AUKUS as part of an “all-round containment” effort. Expanding submarine cooperation, missile co-production, and forward basing increases the risk of miscalculation in an already crowded maritime space, where overlapping territorial claims and constant military activity leave little room for error.
Beyond operational strategy, the AUKUS ecosystem is fortifying the defense industrial bases of all three countries. That includes creating vertically integrated supply chains for the critical minerals and rare earths essential for advanced weapons systems, a move Hegseth called “a huge part” of enabling joint force operations.
Supporters argue that AUKUS shields democracies from Chinese supply coercion, while critics contend it binds Australia’s economy ever tighter to US military priorities, leaving ultimate control over production and deployment in Washington’s hands. Regardless of perspective, the pact underscores an uncomfortable reality: the more nations co-develop advanced weapons, the stronger the political incentives to justify their use. The deal potentially marks another shift of momentum in a securitization spiral, in which defensive preparations by the US and its allies are read as offensive by China, hardening narratives, constricting diplomatic space, and raising the stakes of every regional flare-up.
AUKUS was launched in 2021 amid already-heightened rivalry. Three years later, it has evolved into a comprehensive fusion of strategy, force posture, and weapons manufacturing. The new AUSMIN announcements make clear that Washington and Canberra view the next decade as decisive, and that their stated strategy is to deter China by preparing, materially and psychologically, for war.
But deterrence is a fragile pretext. As two nuclear-armed powers view the same waters—the South China Sea, Taiwan, and the broader Indo-Pacific—through irreconcilable lenses, the US and Australia’s multibillion-dollar investments in bases, missiles, submarines, and critical-mineral supply chains become more than technical decisions; they are declarations of power, linking economic leverage directly to military capability and signaling a posture that extends far beyond nuclear submarines alone.
"This is a reckless directive from Trump that will only make the country and the world less safe and lead to a terrible new nuclear arms race," Markey said.
President Donald Trump's surprise order to resume nuclear weapons testing has set off concerns about a potential global arms race, but one Democratic senator is working to stop it from happening.
Sen. Ed Markey (D-Mass.) on Thursday introduced emergency legislation to prevent the president from resuming nuclear weapons tests, which experts have warned could undermine global geopolitical stability as more nations could respond by ramping up weapons tests of their own.
The text of Markey's bill is just two pages and it states that "none of the funds authorized to be appropriated or otherwise made available for fiscal year 2026, or authorized to be appropriated or otherwise made available for any fiscal year before fiscal year 2026, and available for obligation as of the date of the enactment of this act, may be obligated or expended to conduct or make preparations for any explosive nuclear weapons test that produces any yield."
In a statement promoting the bill, Markey warned that restarting nuclear weapons tests would be "a mistake of radioactive proportions," which Congress should intervene to block.
"The United States has not conducted a nuclear test since 1992, and there is absolutely no need to resume," Markey said. "A Trumpatomics plan would provoke Russia and China to resume nuclear testing, and China in particular has much more to gain from this than does the United States. This is a reckless directive from Trump that will only make the country and the world less safe and lead to a terrible new nuclear arms race."
Markey, who co-chairs the Nuclear Weapons and Arms Control Working Group, also urged the US Senate to finally ratify the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty, which was first adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1996 and which has been ratified by 178 other nations.
The UK-based Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) on Thursday put out a statement condemning Trump's weapons testing announcement, which it described as "a wake-up call that the threat of nuclear war is real and accelerating."
The organization also pointed out that resuming nuclear tests was not the only way that the US under the leadership of both Trump and former President Joe Biden is increasing the risks of nuclear war. Among other things, CND pointed to risks posed by the "Golden Dome" missile shield being pushed by Trump, as well as the AUKUS Agreement signed during Biden's tenure that gives Australia access to nuclear-powered submarines.
CND general secretary Sophie Bol warned of the dire consequences of a global nuclear arms race and said "it is absolutely critical that we rachet up the political pressure to make these world leaders—including the British government—step back from this nuclear escalation."
In an editorial published by Common Dreams on Thursday, Pavel Devyatkin, nonresident fellow at the Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft, argued that the resumption of nuclear weapons tests "marks a dangerous turning point in international security."
In particular, Devyatkin argued that resuming such tests would imperil chances of extending the nuclear arms treaty between the US and Russia that has been in effect since 2011.
"The New Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (New START), the last agreement limiting US and Russian nuclear weapons, expires in February 2026," he explained. "For over a decade, New START has kept a cap on deployed warheads and compelled both sides to transparency through data exchanges and inspections. If this agreement expires, there would be no binding limits on the two countries’ nuclear arsenals."
Despite renewed strength in what is distinctly becoming a new cold war, America’s Asia-Pacific alliances face both immediate challenges and a fraught future.
While the world looks on with trepidation at regional wars in Israel and Ukraine, a far more dangerous global crisis is quietly building at the other end of Eurasia, along an island chain that has served as the front line for America’s national defense for endless decades. Just as Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has revitalized the NATO alliance, so China’s increasingly aggressive behavior and a sustained U.S. military buildup in the region have strengthened Washington’s position on the Pacific littoral, bringing several wavering allies back into the Western fold. Yet such seeming strength contains both a heightened risk of great power conflict and possible political pressures that could fracture America’s Asia-Pacific alliance relatively soon.
Recent events illustrate the rising tensions of the new Cold War in the Pacific. From June to September of this year, for instance, the Chinese and Russian militaries conducted joint maneuvers that ranged from live-fire naval drills in the South China Sea to air patrols circling Japan and even penetrating American airspace in Alaska. To respond to what Moscow called “rising geopolitical tension around the world,” such actions culminated last month in a joint Chinese-Russian “Ocean-24” exercise that mobilized 400 ships, 120 aircraft, and 90,000 troops in a vast arc from the Baltic Sea across the Arctic to the northern Pacific Ocean. While kicking off such monumental maneuvers with China, Russian President Vladimir Putin accused the United States of “trying to maintain its global military and political dominance at any cost” by “increasing [its] military presence… in the Asia-Pacific region.”
“China is not a future threat,” the U.S. Secretary of the Air Force Frank Kendall responded in September. “China is a threat today.” Over the past 15 years, Beijing’s ability to project power in the Western Pacific, he claimed, had risen to alarming levels, with the likelihood of war “increasing” and, he predicted, it will only “continue to do so.” An anonymous senior Pentagon official added that China “continues to be the only U.S. competitor with the intent and… the capability to overturn the rules-based infrastructure that has kept peace in the Indo-Pacific since the end of the Second World War.”
After a decade of fighting misbegotten wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, Washington was stunned when a rising China began to turn its economic gains into a serious bid for global power.
Indeed, regional tensions in the Pacific have profound global implications. For the past 80 years, an island chain of military bastions running from Japan to Australia has served as a crucial fulcrum for American global power. To ensure that it will be able to continue to anchor its “defense” on that strategic shoal, Washington has recently added new overlapping alliances while encouraging a massive militarization of the Indo-Pacific region. Though bristling with armaments and seemingly strong, this ad hoc Western coalition may yet prove, like NATO in Europe, vulnerable to sudden setbacks from rising partisan pressures, both in the United States and among its allies.
For well over a century, the U.S. has struggled to secure its vulnerable western frontier from Pacific threats. During the early decades of the 20th century, Washington maneuvered against a rising Japanese presence in the region, producing geopolitical tensions that led to Tokyo’s attack on the American naval bastion at Pearl Harbor that began World War II in the Pacific. After fighting for four years and suffering nearly 300,000 casualties, the U.S. defeated Japan and won unchallenged control of the entire region.
Aware that the advent of the long-range bomber and the future possibility of atomic warfare had rendered the historic concept of coastal defense remarkably irrelevant, in the post-war years Washington extended its North American “defenses” deep into the Western Pacific. Starting with the expropriation of 100 Japanese military bases, the U.S. built its initial postwar Pacific naval bastions at Okinawa and, thanks to a 1947 agreement, at Subic Bay in the Philippines. As the Cold War engulfed Asia in 1950 with the beginning of the Korean conflict, the U.S. extended those bases for 5,000 miles along the entire Pacific littoral through mutual-defense agreements with five Asia-Pacific allies—Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, the Philippines, and Australia.
For the next 40 years to the very end of the Cold War, the Pacific littoral remained the geopolitical fulcrum of American global power, allowing it to defend one continent (North America) and dominate another (Eurasia). In many ways, in fact, the U.S. geopolitical position astride the axial ends of Eurasia would prove the key to its ultimate victory in the Cold War.
Once the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991 and the Cold War ended, Washington cashed in its peace dividend, weakening that once-strong island chain. Between 1998 and 2014, the U.S. Navy declined from 333 ships to 271. That 20% reduction, combined with a shift to long-term deployments in the Middle East, degraded the Navy’s position in the Pacific. Even so, for the 20 years following the Cold War, the U.S. would enjoy what the Pentagon called “uncontested or dominant superiority in every operating domain. We could generally deploy our forces when we wanted, assemble them where we wanted, operate how we wanted.”
After the September 2001 terrorist attack on the U.S., Washington turned from heavy-metal strategic forces to mobile infantry readily deployed for counterterror operations against lightly armed guerrillas. After a decade of fighting misbegotten wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, Washington was stunned when a rising China began to turn its economic gains into a serious bid for global power. As its opening gambit, Beijing started building bases in the South China Sea, where oil and natural gas deposits are rife, and expanding its navy, an unexpected challenge that the once-all-powerful American Pacific command was remarkably ill-prepared to meet.
In response, in 2011, President Barack Obama proclaimed a strategic “pivot to Asia” before the Australian parliament and began rebuilding the American military position on the Pacific littoral. After withdrawing some U.S. forces from Iraq in 2012 and refusing to commit significant numbers of troops for regime change in Syria, the Obama White House deployed a battalion of Marines to Darwin in northern Australia in 2014. In quick succession, Washington gained access to five Philippine bases near the South China Sea and a new South Korean naval base at Jeju Island on the Yellow Sea. According to Secretary of Defense Chuck Hagel, to operate those installations, the Pentagon planned to “forward base 60% of our naval assets in the Pacific by 2020.” Nonetheless, the unending insurgency in Iraq continued to slow the pace of that strategic pivot to the Pacific.
Growing Chinese aggressiveness in the region and an American urge to strengthen a military alliance ominously encircling that country could threaten to turn the latest Cold War ever hotter, transforming the Pacific into a genuine powder keg.
Despite such setbacks, senior diplomatic and military officials, working under three different administrations, launched a long-term effort to slowly rebuild the U.S. military posture in the Asia-Pacific region. After proclaiming “a return to great power competition” in 2016, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral John Richardson reported that China’s “growing and modernized fleet” was “shrinking” the traditional American advantage in the region. “The competition is on,” the admiral warned, adding, “We must shake off any vestiges of comfort or complacency.”
Responding to such pressure, the Trump administration added the construction of 46 new ships to the Pentagon budget, which was to raise the total fleet to 326 vessels by 2023. Still, setting aside support ships, when it came to an actual “fighting force,” by 2024 China had the world’s largest navy with 234 “warships,” while the U.S. deployed 219—with Chinese combat capacity, according to American Naval Intelligence, “increasingly of comparable quality to U.S. ships.”
Paralleling the military buildup, the State Department reinforced the U.S. position on the Pacific littoral by negotiating three relatively new diplomatic agreements with Asia-Pacific allies Australia, Britain, India, and the Philippines. Though those ententes added some depth and resilience to the U.S. posture, the truth is that this Pacific network may ultimately prove more susceptible to political rupture than a formal multilateral alliance like NATO.
After nearly a century as close allies through decades of colonial rule, two world wars, and the Cold War, American relations with the Philippines suffered a severe setback in 1991 when that country’s senate refused to renew a long-term military bases agreement, forcing the U.S. 7th Fleet out of its massive naval base at Subic Bay.
After just three years, however, China occupied some shoals also claimed by the Philippines in the South China Sea during a raging typhoon. Within a decade, the Chinese had started transforming them into a network of military bases, while pressing their claims to most of the rest of the South China Sea. Manila’s only response was to ground a rusting World War II naval vessel on Ayungin shoal in the Spratly Islands, where Filipino soldiers had to fish for their supper. With its external defense in tatters, in April 2014 the Philippines signed an Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement with Washington, allowing the U.S. military quasi-permanent facilities at five Filipino bases, including two on the shores of the South China Sea.
Although Manila won a unanimous ruling from the Permanent Court of Arbitration at the Hague that Beijing’s claims to the South China Sea were “without lawful effect,” China dismissed that decision and continued to build its bases there. And when Rodrigo Duterte became president in 2016, he revealed a new policy that included a “separation” from America and a strategic tilt toward China, which that country rewarded with promises of massive developmental aid. By 2018, however, China’s army was operating anti-aircraft missiles, mobile missile launchers, and military radar on five artificial “islands” in the Spratly archipelago that it had built from sand its dredgers sucked from the seabed.
Once Duterte left office, as China’s Coast Guard harassed Filipino fishermen and blasted Philippine naval vessels with water cannons in their own territory, Manila once again started calling on Washington for help. Soon, U.S. Navy vessels were conducting “freedom of navigation” patrols in Philippine waters and the two nations had staged their biggest military maneuvers ever. In the April 2024 edition of that exercise, the U.S. deployed its mobile Typhon Mid-Range Missile Launcher capable of hitting China’s coast, sparking a bitter complaint from Beijing that such weaponry “intensifies geopolitical confrontation.”
Manila has matched its new commitment to the U.S. alliance with an unprecedented rearmament program of its own. Just last spring, it signed a $400 million deal with Tokyo to purchase five new Coast Guard cutters, started receiving Brahmos cruise missiles from India under a $375 million contract, and continued a billion-dollar deal with South Korea’s Hyundai Heavy Industries that will result in 10 new naval vessels. After the government announced a $35 billion military modernization plan, Manila has been negotiating with Korean suppliers to procure 40 modern jet fighters—a far cry from a decade earlier when it had no operational jets.
Showing the scope of the country’s reintegration into the Western alliance, just last month Manila hosted joint freedom of navigation maneuvers in the South China Sea with ships from five allied nations—Australia, Japan, New Zealand, the Philippines, and the United States.
While the Philippine Defense Agreement renewed U.S. relations with an old Pacific ally, the Quadrilateral Security Dialogue involving Australia, India, Japan, and the U.S., first launched in 2007, has now extended American military power into the waters of the Indian Ocean. At the 2017 ASEAN summit in Manila, four conservative national leaders led by Japan’s Shinzo Abe, India’s Narendra Modi, and Donald Trump decided to revive the “Quad” entente (after a decade-long hiatus while Australia’s Labour governments cozied up to China).
Just last month, President Joe Biden hosted a “Quad Summit” where the four leaders agreed to expand joint air operations. In a hot-mike moment, Biden bluntly said: “China continues to behave aggressively, testing us all across the region. It is true in the South China Sea, the East China Sea, South Asia, and the Taiwan Straits.” China’s Foreign Ministry replied: “The U.S. is lying through its teeth” and needs to “get rid of its obsession with perpetuating its supremacy and containing China.”
Since 2020, however, the Quad has made the annual Malabar (India) naval exercise into an elaborate four-power drill in which aircraft carrier battle groups maneuver in waters ranging from the Arabian Sea to the East China Sea. To contest “China’s growing assertiveness in the Indo-Pacific region,” India announced that the latest exercise this October would feature live-fire maneuvers in the Bay of Bengal, led by its flagship aircraft carrier and a complement of MiG-29K all-weather jet fighters. Clearly, as Prime Minister Narendra Modi put it, the Quad is “here to stay.”
While the Trump administration revived the Quad, the Biden White House has promoted a complementary and controversial AUKUS defense compact between Australia, Great Britain, and the U.S. (part of what Michael Klare has called the “Anglo-Saxonization” of American foreign and military policy). After months of secret negotiations, their leaders announced that agreement in September 2021 as a way to fulfill “a shared ambition to support Australia in acquiring nuclear-powered submarines for the Royal Australian Navy.”
Such a goal sparked howls of diplomatic protests. Angry over the sudden loss of a $90 billion contract to supply 12 French submarines to Australia, France called the decision “a stab in the back” and immediately recalled its ambassadors from both Canberra and Washington. With equal speed, China’s Foreign Ministry condemned the new alliance for “severely damaging regional peace… and intensifying the arms race.” In a pointed remark, Beijing’s official Global Times newspaper said Australia had now “turned itself into an adversary of China.”
To achieve extraordinary prosperity, thanks in significant part to its iron ore and other exports to China, Australia had exited the Quad entente for nearly a decade. Now, through this single defense decision, Australia has allied itself firmly with the United States and will gain access to British submarine designs and top-secret U.S. nuclear propulsion, joining the elite ranks of just six powers with such complex technology.
Not only will Australia spend a monumental $360 billion to build eight nuclear submarines at its Adelaide shipyards over a decade, but it will also host four American Virginia-class nuclear subs at a naval base in Western Australia and buy as many as five of those stealthy submarines from the U.S. in the early 2030s. Under the tripartite alliance with the U.S. and Britain, Canberra will also face additional costs for the joint development of undersea drones, hypersonic missiles, and quantum sensing. Through that stealthy arms deal, Washington has, it seems, won a major geopolitical and military ally in any future conflict with China.
Just as Russia’s aggression in Ukraine strengthened the NATO alliance, so China’s challenge in the fossil-fuel-rich South China Sea and elsewhere has helped the U.S. rebuild its island bastions along the Pacific littoral. Through a sedulous courtship under three successive administrations, Washington has won back two wayward allies, Australia and the Philippines, making them once again anchors for an island chain that remains the geopolitical fulcrum for American global power in the Pacific.
Still, with more than 200 times the ship-building capacity of the United States, China’s advantage in warships will almost certainly continue to grow. In compensating for such a future deficit, America’s four active allies along the Pacific littoral will likely play a critical role. (Japan’s navy has more than 50 warships and South Korea’s 30 more.)
Despite such renewed strength in what is distinctly becoming a new cold war, America’s Asia-Pacific alliances face both immediate challenges and a fraught future. Beijing is already putting relentless pressure on Taiwan’s sovereignty, breaching that island’s airspace and crossing the median line in the Taiwan Straits hundreds of times monthly. If Beijing turns those breaches into a crippling embargo of Taiwan, the U.S. Navy will face a hard choice between losing a carrier or two in a confrontation with China or backing off. Either way, the loss of Taiwan would sever America’s island chain in the Pacific littoral, pushing it back to a “second island chain” in the mid-Pacific.
As for that fraught future, the maintenance of such alliances requires a kind of national political will that is by no means assured in an age of populist nationalism. In the Philippines, the anti-American nationalism that Duterte personified retains its appeal and may well be adopted by some future leader. More immediately in Australia, the current Labour Party government has already faced strong dissent from members blasting the AUKUS entente as a dangerous transgression of their country’s sovereignty. And in the United States, Republican populism, whether Donald Trump’s or that of a future leader like JD Vance could curtail cooperation with such Asia-Pacific allies, simply walk away from a costly conflict over Taiwan, or deal directly with China in a way that would undercut that web of hard-won alliances.
And that, of course, might be the good news (so to speak), given the possibility that a growing Chinese aggressiveness in the region and an American urge to strengthen a military alliance ominously encircling that country could threaten to turn the latest Cold War ever hotter, transforming the Pacific into a genuine powder keg and leading to the possibility of a war that would, in our present world, be almost unimaginably dangerous and destructive.