Who Governs Australia When Sovereignty Becomes Dependent?

Australia may have the legal right to refuse a powerful partner. But does it retain the practical ability to do so, and what would refusal cost?

On 27 October 2026, the Australian Government introduced the Defence Legislation Amendment (Accelerating Capability and Protecting Bases) Bill 2026. It proposes new frameworks for Defence capability activities and security zones, including arrangements involving Australian industry and trusted international partners.

A reader then shared an article by Rita Jabri Markwell examining the Bill. It drew my attention to the legislation and prompted me to examine the Government’s explanation and the wider record for myself. Her article raised questions worth investigating; the conclusions that follow are my own and rest on the sources linked throughout this piece.

Defence argues that the changes are needed to protect personnel and facilities, respond to emerging threats and develop capability more efficiently. Those are legitimate national responsibilities. But as I considered the Bill alongside Australia’s existing defence, industrial and technological partnerships, I found myself asking a question that extends well beyond any one piece of legislation: what happens when cooperation becomes so deeply embedded that changing course is no longer a realistic option?

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, Australia had 27.9 million people at 31 March 2026. We elect our Parliament, make our laws and conduct foreign relations as a sovereign nation. But legal authority is only one measure of independence. Another is whether we can exercise that authority when a more powerful government or supplier disagrees.

Suppose an Australian government decided that a military arrangement no longer served the national interest, or that sensitive technology should no longer depend on an overseas provider. Could it change course without leaving essential capabilities exposed? Would it need another government’s approval? And how much would it cost to restore a genuine alternative?

A nation can retain the legal right to make its own decisions while gradually losing the practical freedom to exercise that right.

This is not an argument that Australia should abandon alliances or reject technology. It is a question about the conditions under which cooperation preserves our independence, and the point at which dependence begins to limit our choices.

What would it cost Australia to say no?

There are four ways to test practical sovereignty. Exit cost asks what Australia would lose in money, technical capacity or security by changing direction. Time to exit asks whether a replacement could be established in months, years or decades. Veto points identify decisions still dependent on another country’s permission, law or supply capacity. Reciprocal leverage asks what Australia provides that its partner also needs.

That final test is essential. Australia offers capabilities its partners value. The December 2025 AUSMIN fact sheet identifies Australian air bases supporting US aircraft rotations, infrastructure for Marine deployments, combined logistics networks and submarine maintenance at HMAS Stirling. Australia’s geography and facilities cannot be readily reproduced elsewhere. These commitments provide bargaining leverage, although the public record does not establish its precise value in a dispute. Dependence can be mutual without being equal.

ASIO’s 2023–24 annual report records efforts by foreign countries, including some considered friendly, to influence Australian decision-making. Attempted influence is not proof of control. The important question is where a partnership creates an actual constraint on refusal.

New Zealand: when a smaller ally did say no

A historical example helps distinguish the right to refuse from the price of exercising it. In February 1985, New Zealand’s government refused entry to the USS Buchanan because the United States would neither confirm nor deny whether the warship carried nuclear weapons. New Zealand was pursuing its nuclear-free policy. Washington responded by restricting military cooperation and some intelligence sharing, and in September 1986 suspended its ANZUS security obligations to New Zealand.

New Zealand did not cease to be sovereign. Its government maintained its policy, despite the consequences. The dispute demonstrates both that a smaller country can refuse a major ally and that refusal may carry substantial costs. That is the standard against which claims about Australian independence should be tested: not merely whether we possess a formal right, but what remains available to us after we exercise it.

Australian data, foreign legal obligations

Consider the July 2024 partnership between the Australian Signals Directorate and Amazon Web Services to build a Top Secret cloud for Australian defence and intelligence agencies. The Australian Government announced an investment of at least $2 billion over ten years. The stated benefits include secure information sharing, resilient infrastructure and access to expertise that would be difficult and expensive to reproduce quickly.

There is a legitimate case for those benefits. Yet an Australian-hosted facility is not automatically the same as an independently Australian-controlled technology stack. The location of servers does not settle who maintains the software, owns the intellectual property, supplies critical components or is subject to another country’s legal demands.

The issue has a specific legal dimension. The United States’ 2018 CLOUD Act, reflected in 18 USC §2713, requires covered providers to comply with lawful disclosure obligations for material within their possession, custody or control, even when stored outside the United States. It is not an unrestricted right of access to Australian information: any compelled disclosure requires lawful US process, and the provider must have the relevant possession, custody or control. Australian contractual arrangements and technical restrictions may limit what a particular provider can access, but the extent of those protections must be established for the specific system. Nevertheless, the location of information in Australia does not by itself remove foreign legal exposure.

Australia’s own September 2026 Information Security Manual guidance acknowledges that foreign-owned suppliers in Australia may be subject to foreign lawful-access demands. The same guidance calls for portable data formats, controlled supplier access and arrangements that support migration. It also specifies contractual break clauses where security requirements are not met. Those clauses do not, by themselves, demonstrate a right to exit simply because a future government wishes to change strategic direction.

But are they practical in a Top Secret environment once agencies have reorganised operations, trained personnel and connected their information systems to a particular platform? If government wished to leave, what substitute could meet the same security standard, how long would migration take, and who would guarantee continuity in the meantime? I have examined the wider infrastructure questions in Who Pays for the Cloud?. Here, the narrower issue is whether Australia has a credible exit route, rather than assuming that security-related termination provisions guarantee one.

AUKUS: the foreign decision points are written into law

The same question becomes sharper in defence. AUKUS is intended to give Australia a conventionally armed, nuclear-powered submarine capability, backed by shared technology, training and industrial capacity. The strategic case is serious: Australia cannot readily create every element of a nuclear-powered submarine enterprise on its own, and collaboration can strengthen deterrence and sovereign operational capability.

Yet the transfer of Virginia-class submarines is not solely an Australian decision. Under 22 USC §10431, enacted through the US fiscal year 2024 defence legislation, a certification must be provided to Congress at least 270 days before each transfer. The certification must address whether transfer would degrade US undersea capability, whether it serves US foreign-policy and national-security interests, whether US production investment and Australian funding are sufficient, and whether Australia can host and fully operate the boats. A separate subsection requires a qualifying US–Australia mutual defence agreement to be in force. The certification function has been delegated to the US Secretary of Defense, in consultation with other US officials.

This is not evidence that Washington may command Australian submarines after transfer. Australia’s Submarine Agency confirms that Australian-operated Virginia-class boats will be under Royal Australian Navy command and Australian Government direction. But the transfer itself remains conditional on US law and US assessments. That is an identifiable foreign veto point in the pathway to a capability Australia is preparing to operate.

The financial commitment is also substantial. The Australian Submarine Agency records a US$3 billion commitment to the American submarine industrial base. The December 2025 AUSMIN fact sheet said a further US$1 billion payment was scheduled shortly, bringing Australia’s contribution to US$2 billion at that stage. The United States also reviewed AUKUS during 2025 and subsequently reaffirmed its direction. A partner’s review is not improper, but the episode illustrates a basic asymmetry: one government can reassess what it is prepared to supply while the other continues investing in the people and facilities needed to receive it.

In April 2024, the AUKUS defence ministers’ statement described steps to integrate industrial bases, simplify defence trade and support Australia’s sovereign submarine sustainment. That can create capability Australia would otherwise lack. It can also make a later change of course slow and expensive. How many years would an alternative supplier, industrial workforce or submarine pathway require? Which investments could be recovered? Those are measurable questions, even when detailed contracts cannot be made public.

Could Australia refuse the use of its own territory?

A related question concerns allied operations from Australian facilities. In a future conflict where Australian and US judgments differed, could Canberra refuse a particular use of Australian territory or assets, and what would follow? The answer should not be assumed from the word “alliance”. It depends on the agreements, operational arrangements and authority governing each facility.

In his 26 June 2013 parliamentary statement, then Defence Minister Stephen Smith explained Australia’s policy of “full knowledge and concurrence” for joint facilities, including Pine Gap and the Harold E. Holt Naval Communications Station. He said Australia approves the presence of a capability in pursuit of mutually agreed goals, but that concurrence does not require approval of every individual activity or tasking. That distinction is significant. It does not mean Australia has no knowledge of subsequent activities or no ability to object, but approval of a capability’s presence is not identical to a fresh decision on every use.

That distinction warrants scrutiny, not the conclusion that Australia has already surrendered control. We should ask what mechanisms allow an Australian government to withhold consent, resolve a disagreement or require an activity to cease. The public record does not answer every operational question, and necessary secrecy makes independent verification harder.

That brings me back to the legislation that prompted this inquiry. The 2026 Defence Bill proposes capability declarations and security zones, with oversight arrangements that the Government says will protect against misuse. The Bill does not, by itself, establish that foreign partners can direct Australian policy. It does make the question of Australian authorisation, independent review and long-term freedom to change course more immediate.

The paradox: an alliance can increase independence and constrain it

It would be too simple to describe reliance on the United States as the opposite of sovereignty. An Australian government may gain the capacity to resist coercion from one powerful country precisely because it cooperates with another. Advanced intelligence, submarines and logistics can enlarge our practical choices as well as create dependence.

Australia has also shown that it can make a security decision despite objections from a powerful state. In 2018, Australian security guidance effectively excluded Huawei from 5G infrastructure. China’s Foreign Ministry criticised the decision, but Australia maintained the exclusion. Later Chinese trade restrictions, including wine duties that were removed in March 2024, arose amid wider bilateral disputes and cannot be attributed solely to Huawei. The episode shows that Australia can exercise a choice contested by a larger power, even while facing wider economic pressures.

The argument between those who regard the US alliance as indispensable protection and those who warn against excessive strategic dependence is therefore not settled by invoking “sovereignty” alone. It turns on whether the alliance increases Australia’s overall capacity to choose, including its ability to decline an allied request, withstand retaliation and maintain critical capability. Dependence can be mutual, yet asymmetric. The imbalance must be demonstrated at each decision point.

International agreements present another version of this question. As Australia’s treaty-making process explains, treaties are entered into by the executive, while Parliament must pass any legislation needed to implement them domestically. Treaties do not automatically become Australian law, but they can create international obligations and support Commonwealth legislation through the Constitution’s external affairs power.

Non-binding international guidance can also influence policy without itself creating a legal obligation. A future government may remain legally free to change course, yet still face diplomatic, economic or strategic consequences for departing from earlier commitments. Once again, what matters is not just the right to refuse, but the practical cost of exercising that right.

From national independence to human dignity

Our COVID experience offers a domestic reminder that formal freedom and practical choice are not always identical. Government restrictions and cooperation with online platforms affected Australians’ employment, movement and expression. I addressed part of that information environment in Who Owns the Conversation?. Those events do not prove foreign direction of Australia’s pandemic decisions. They do show why a lawful power, or a nominally voluntary arrangement, should also be judged by what people can realistically refuse.

The parallel with national sovereignty is not perfect, but it matters. From my Christian understanding of the human person, each of us bears the image of God, and our dignity does not depend on usefulness to the state or compliance with an institution’s preferred system. A related principle of subsidiarity holds that decisions should remain as close as practicable to those they affect, subject to the responsibilities of the wider community.

When authority affecting Australians moves into foreign legal systems, specialised contracts or operational partnerships that citizens cannot effectively question, democratic accountability becomes harder to exercise. The human concern is not that all international cooperation is wrong. It is that people should not lose meaningful influence over decisions made in their name.

Four tests of sovereignty and accountability

In The Check We Never Built, I considered how democratic accountability can operate between elections. Three tests remain essential, but this investigation suggests a fourth.

Discretion. After an agreement is signed, which Australian decision-makers retain authority to approve, limit or refuse its next stage? Where does foreign law or a partner’s consent determine the result?

Accountability. If a foreign supplier fails, or an allied activity conflicts with Australian interests, which body can investigate, require correction and provide an effective remedy? Oversight must reach the decision that matters, not only the Australian official administering it.

Public visibility. Can Parliament and the public assess major dependencies, termination conditions, security assumptions and foreseeable exit costs before commitments become difficult to reverse? Legitimate secrecy should not conceal the existence of material risks or prevent independent review.

Reversibility. Could a future elected government change course? At what price, over what period, and with whose consent? Is there a funded and technically credible alternative, or only a legal option no government could realistically afford to use?

These tests do not demand isolation. They ask whether agreements are designed so that Australian independence can survive a change in circumstances, political judgment or partner priorities.

A brief opportunity for public scrutiny

On 29 October 2026, the Parliamentary Joint Committee on Defence announced its review of the Bill. It has requested submissions by Tuesday, 3 November 2026. That is a short period in which to examine changes of this significance. The committee says submissions should address this particular Bill and should not be published before being accepted.

I encourage readers who are interested to read the Bill materials provided by Defence and consider making their own submission, whether or not they share my concerns. The Parliamentary Joint Committee on Defence website is the starting point. If the Bill inquiry is not yet visible, the committee secretariat can be contacted at pjcd@aph.gov.au.

The questions I would raise concern the limits on declarations, the independence of oversight, Australia’s control over activities involving international partners, and what information Parliament can obtain before irreversible commitments are made.

Sovereignty is a responsibility, not merely a right

Alliances, trade and shared technology can enlarge Australia’s choices. But sovereignty cannot be measured only by an Australian minister’s power to sign an agreement. It must also survive a future government’s decision to reconsider it.

That requires knowing the cost of exit, the time needed for alternatives, the foreign approvals required and the leverage Australia holds in return. The question is whether today’s commitments preserve tomorrow’s freedom of judgment.

As a Christian, I see this as a matter of stewardship, not unquestioning nationalism. Authority is held in trust for people who bear God’s image, including those who will inherit the consequences of today’s decisions.

The measure of sovereignty is not simply whether Australia has the legal authority to say no, but whether it retains the practical capacity to make that refusal meaningful.

The Wisdom of Solomon reminds rulers that their authority is entrusted to them and will be judged:

“For your dominion was given you from the Lord, and your sovereignty from the Most High…”  Wisdom of Solomon 6:3

Thanks for reading

God Bless

Mark.