For much of the past century, Australia has worn the title of “America’s most reliable ally” with quiet pride. After Pearl Harbor, U.S. Pacific forces regrouped on Australian soil. In Korea and Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq, Australians fought alongside Americans, not because it was easy, but because that is what allies do. Few alliances in modern history have been as dependable, as uncomplicated, and as mutually affirming. It is a relationship that exceeds both political and military spheres, with strong cultural links, too.
Thousands of Australians study, work, and live in the United States, and Australians are among the most frequent visitors. This includes strong cultural links, with many Australians being very successful in the U.S. entertainment industry.
Today, however, while cultural links remain strong, the alliance looks more complicated. It is not broken, but it is drifting—and that drift reflects decisions in Canberra that risk undermining Washington’s trust at precisely the wrong moment.
For an alliance built on symbolism as much as substance, the [political] optics are not good.
The first warning sign is political distance. Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has yet to meet with President Donald Trump—one of the last leaders of the G20 group of wealthy nations to still be waiting to have face-to-face time with the U.S. president. That might seem trivial, but it matters. And yet, Trump has found time to meet with senior executives from Australian firms like BHP and Rio Tinto. For an alliance built on symbolism as much as substance, the optics are not good.
Then there is the Australia-United Kingdom-United States trilateral pact (AUKUS). This was a strategic masterstroke, tying Australia’s future to America and Britain with nuclear-powered submarines as its anchor. Instead, the Pentagon has launched a review, questioning timelines, budgets, and Canberra’s commitment. It appears that in Washington’s eyes, the question is not whether Australia wants the submarines—it is whether Australia is prepared to shoulder the obligations that come with them.
Trade has added another layer of tension. Here, too, unease has crept in. Trade tariffs introduced by the Trump administration have created competition for Trump’s attention. Many leaders have pursued their own negotiated trade agendas directly with the president. Although hit only with Trump’s minimum 10 percent rate, Canberra has struggled to secure carve-outs and exemptions, and its unease is growing.
The disquiet extends beyond economics. Canberra’s decision to move toward unilateralrecognition of Palestine was made without meaningful consultation with Washington. The U.S. position has been consistent across administrations: Palestinian statehood must emerge from negotiations, not declarations. Secretary of State Marco Rubio was blunt in his criticism, calling the Australian move “symbolic” and “largely meaningless.” What stung most in Washington was not just the policy itself, but the way it was rolled out: with little warning to Israel, America’s closest Middle Eastern ally.
China provides another lens. Albanese’s recent trip to Beijing was presented in Australia as a diplomatic triumph—the stabilization of a bruised trading relationship. The handshakes with Chinese President Xi Jinping were warm, the mood upbeat, the message clear: Canberra is ready to reset. But in Washington, the imagery appeared different. They suggested a government cultivating closeness with the very power AUKUS was meant to counterbalance. Australia can, of course, pursue its economic interests, but in the eyes of American policymakers, the combination of hedging on China, freelancing in the Middle East, and stumbling over defense commitments adds up to a worrying trend.
An Australia once seen as America’s most dependable ally now looks distracted, sometimes out of step, and ... acting at cross-purposes.
The pattern is unmistakable. An Australia once seen as America’s most dependable ally now looks distracted, sometimes out of step, and increasingly willing to chart its course without coordination, acting at cross-purposes. Albanese may believe that keeping Trump at arm’s length, easing tensions with Beijing, and taking a symbolic stand on Palestine will play well domestically. And perhaps it does. But alliances are not built for domestic politics; they are built for moments of crisis.
For all of America’s flaws and frustrations, no partner has been more important to Australia’s prosperity and safety. The U.S.-Australia alliance is too valuable to let drift. It deserves the best efforts of both nations to keep it strong, resilient, and ready for the challenges ahead.
For decades, Australians held a simple truth: America was the indispensable ally, and Australia was the friend America could always count on. That story is not over, but it is under strain.
If history teaches anything, it is that when Australia and America stand together, both nations are stronger. And if politics teaches us anything, it is that neglecting your best friend with the hope of scoring domestic kudos and potentially future votes is a gamble that will fail.
