The UN General Assembly has just strengthened the case for minilateralism, the gathering of small coalitions to act when international institutions fail.
On 3 June it had a chance to do what we argued for in these pages – to put on the Security Council a voice prepared to call out breaches of the rules it is charged with enforcing. It declined. Kyrgyzstan took the Asia-Pacific seat for 2027 and 2028, defeating the Philippines 142 to 49 in a fourth round of voting after leading from the first ballot.
Kyrgyzstan’s candidacy had merit, and its first term on the council deserves to be judged on its conduct. But the question worth examining is not who won but what the manner of the loss tells us about the institution that delivered it.
We wrote before the vote that a failed Philippine candidacy would strengthen the case of those arguing the rules-based order is already ruptured. That is now the candid reading. A maritime democracy that litigated against the largest grey-zone campaign in the Indo-Pacific, took Beijing’s nine-dash line to arbitration and won, was rejected by the body whose charter was vindicated by that ruling. The General Assembly had an opportunity to stand up for its own foundational principle – that competition must remain bounded by law – and it chose not to.
The scale of the defeat should concentrate minds. This was not a narrow loss attributable to peacekeeping records or the ordinary mechanics of regional rotation. The Philippines trailed in every round and collapsed in the last. Ballots were secret, which is precisely the condition under which states can act on pressure without owning the consequence. In this instance, a secret ballot did not erase coercion; it laundered it.
As we previously set out, and to apply Philippines Defence Secretary Gilberto Teodoro’s own transparency standard of calling a spade a spade: the honest interpretation is that some governments withheld their votes not on the merits, but from a calculation about the cost of crossing China.
This matters. The outcome was not a referendum on Manila’s competence. It was a demonstration of how multilateral processes can behave when the price of principle rises. The system did not fail to function; it functioned exactly as a body without enforcement capacity will, defaulting to the lowest-risk option for the median member. That is the structural problem. An order is only as enforceable as its members’ willingness to enforce it, and when enforcement carries a penalty, a consensus institution will reliably find reasons to look away.
At the Shangri-La Dialogue just days earlier, Teodoro pleaded with the democratic world and every state that values sovereignty to stand with the Philippines against coercion. The vote in New York is the measure of how that plea was answered when the choice was anonymous and the stakes were real. The gap between the rhetoric of the dialogue and the result of the ballot is the gap between what the rules-based order claims to be and what it can currently deliver.
This is why the minilaterals matter, and why a recurring question – why do we need the Quad, AUKUS, the Squad, Five Eyes – now answers itself. These minilateral groups are not an alternative to multilateralism for its own sake, nor a retreat into clubs. They exist because key multilateral institutions are no longer reliably doing what they were built to do. When a universal body such as the United Nations cannot seat a state that defended international law and won, smaller groupings of aligned and capable states become the only structures that can still convert principle into action. They share intelligence, set enforceable standards among members, and impose real costs on coercion because membership is conditional on contribution rather than open to capture.
The clearest evidence of the value of those minilateral groups is Beijing’s hostility to all of them. China opposes the Quad and Squad, campaigns against AUKUS, and treats Five Eyes as a threat precisely because these are the formats it cannot neutralise through the leverage it can exercise in the General Assembly or bilaterally. A coalition that cannot be quietly pressured by secret ballot, that does not require the consent of the coerced to function, is a coalition that constrains. That China invests so heavily in delegitimising minilaterals while operating comfortably inside the universal institutions is the most useful signal available about where the rules are actually being held.
It is also notable that the United States (along with Australia) is a core member of each of the minilaterals seeking to build regional capacity and deter aggression.
None of this argues for abandoning the UN. The Security Council remains the only forum with the formal authority to name and manage the gravest crises, and reform to restore its credibility is worth pursuing. But realism about its current capacity is now a precondition for sound strategy. For Australia, the implication is direct. As we wrote in our earlier article, Deputy Prime Minister Richard Marles appropriately outlined at Shangri-La that nations that fail to invest in credible capability become more exposed to coercion and more constrained in their sovereignty. We made the point that the same logic applies to the architecture of the order itself.
The General Assembly’s vote reinforces the conclusion that the investment that now pays the most is in the formats that can still enforce: deeper minilateral partnerships, harder standards and a willingness to say publicly which states stand where. The Philippines lost a vote. The lesson is that the work of holding the line has moved decidedly to the groupings willing to stand for enforcement.
