Anthony Albanese arrived in Jakarta this week carrying a document that sounds bigger than it is: a “Treaty of Common Security” between Australia and Indonesia. Today, 6 February, he meets President Prabowo in Jakarta, with the treaty expected to be signed as the centrepiece of the visit. In Indonesia it is being pitched as a new chapter in the relationship—almost a strategic upgrade. But on the text as written, it risks becoming a familiar pattern in the region: an agreement that reassures more than it constrains.
The placebo effect is not that the treaty will do nothing. It is that it may generate reassurance out of proportion to its real obligations. The language focuses on consultation and coordination, without requiring either side to take concrete action when threats or crises hit. In security politics, that distinction matters. If the public hears “treaty” and assumes a binding guarantee, what is delivered may not be deterrence but comfort—a psychological substitute for capability and commitment.
Part of the problem is how the word “treaty” is read by non-specialists. Security agreements come in different degrees of bindingness. Mutual defence pacts lock in outcomes: if one is attacked, the other responds. This treaty locks in process. The parties will consult if there is a serious challenge to either side or to shared security interests, then consider steps that may be taken “individually or jointly”, if appropriate. That is careful drafting. It sounds weighty while leaving room to decide later. In practice, it can be activated in a crisis without guaranteeing anything beyond the fact of talking.
That design is understandable. Indonesia’s strategic culture prizes autonomy and remains wary of bloc politics. A treaty that resembled a mutual defence clause would likely be politically impossible in Jakarta. From Canberra’s side, too, anything that creates open-ended commitments is hard to justify in a stretched strategic environment.
But the same design is also why this treaty is exposed to the placebo critique. It can be complied with at low cost. Consultation is easy to deliver. Coordination can be more about optics than substance. Even high-level choreography—leader calls, ministerial statements, joint press conferences—can sit on top of very little practical machinery.
From an Indonesian vantage point—watching Australia closely while also looking critically at Indonesia’s own trajectory—this treaty reads less like a strategic breakthrough than an attempt to steady nerves. Australia wants predictability. And under President Prabowo, Indonesia’s external signalling has often looked episodic: bursts of announcements at international forums, sudden shifts in emphasis, and headline-driven episodes that require clarification after the fact.
The Papua airbase rumours in 2025 were a case study in how quickly ambiguity can trigger alarm in Canberra. Indonesia’s move to join BRICS in early 2025 added to that wider sense of hedging. More recently, Jakarta’s decision to join the US-backed “Board of Peace”, announced abroad and then debated at home, reinforced a perception—fair or not—that foreign policy is being communicated in bursts rather than through a deliberately steady narrative. For Australia, that is a planning problem: a consultative treaty becomes a way to manage uncertainty, not a way to lock in binding commitments.
The trouble is that mechanisms only matter if they change behaviour under pressure. A treaty that mainly institutionalises consultations can stabilise atmospherics—right up until it is asked to do real work. In a serious contingency, “we consulted” is not the same as “we acted”.
This is not abstract. Australia and Indonesia have tried formalising security ties before, only to see arrangements unravel when the relationship hit turbulence. Agreements that rely heavily on political mood, rather than operational habits, are often weakest precisely when they are most needed. A consultative treaty may reduce misperception, but it can also become a respectable way to delay hard decisions.
If this agreement is to be more than placebo, it will need follow-through that is visible and measurable—because the text alone does not supply it. Over the next year, the question should not be how often leaders repeat the phrase “common security”. The question is what changes after the signing.
Three indicators will tell the story. First, do senior-level meetings run on a predictable rhythm with agendas beyond symbolism? Second, are there crisis playbooks—hotlines, protocols, and decision pathways—that can be used when time is scarce? Third, does the treaty generate practical outputs: maritime domain awareness cooperation, intelligence coordination, joint training, or shared principles for managing regional contingencies?
Without these, the treaty’s main effect will be psychological. It will reassure audiences that something “strategic” has been achieved, while leaving both sides free to do little more than consult when it matters. That is placebo diplomacy: the appearance of safety without the substance of obligation.
If Canberra’s aim is to hedge against uncertainty and Jakarta’s aim is to keep maximum autonomy, this treaty serves both—politically. But strategically, a treaty that cannot compel action can also dilute accountability. In the end, it may not change the balance of risk in the region. It may only change the mood. And mood does not deter crises. Institutions that hold under stress—and commitments that constrain choice—do.
Hangga Fathana 