LI KEQIANG, China’s prime minister, could not have been more tactful during his recent visit to Australia. On March 25th he joined Malcolm Turnbull, his Australian counterpart, at an Australian rules football match between Sydney and Port Adelaide. Having been presented with a scarf in Port Adelaide’s colours, he requested one in Sydney’s too, and wore them both throughout the match in spite of the heat, so as not to show any favouritism. He must have been disappointed, therefore, by the poor manners of his host after the match. Just two days after Mr Li flew on to New Zealand, Mr Turnbull’s conservative government scrapped a planned parliamentary vote to ratify an extradition treaty between Australia and China.

An earlier conservative government concluded the treaty ten years ago, but it has never been ratified. Julie Bishop, the foreign minister, championed the deal as recently as March 28th, saying it was “in Australia’s national interest”. But a loose alliance of opposition parties and even some government MPs had their doubts. They expressed concern that alleged criminals whom Australia extradited under the treaty might be dealt with unfairly by China’s courts. When it was clear the critics had enough support to prevent ratification in the upper house, Ms Bishop withdrew the bill. It was an awkward retreat, to say the least.

During Mr Li’s visit China had scrapped some restrictions on imports of beef from Australia, already worth about A$1bn ($760m) a year. There was talk of a big investment in a port and railway to ship more iron ore from Australia to China. As it is, China is Australia’s biggest export market—with Australia enjoying a A$50bn ($38bn) annual surplus.

Yet even as Mr Li was piling on the scarves, Feng Chongyi, a Chinese academic who works at an Australian university, was detained in Guangzhou when he tried to return to Australia. Mr Feng, who has lived in Australia for 20 years and whose wife and daughter are Australian citizens, has not been charged or imprisoned; mystery surrounds why authorities have stopped him from leaving the country. His case is not unique: three Australians are among several employees of Crown Resorts, an Australian gambling company, who are still in prison after authorities in China detained them last October, without specific charges.

The Australian government is clearly torn between its desire to benefit from the growth of China’s economy and its disquiet at China’s repressive politics and growing geopolitical assertiveness. It has recently tied itself in knots over Chinese investment and Chinese influence over Australian politics, among other topics. In a speech on March 13th Ms Bishop called for America, Australia’s closest ally, to “play an even greater role as the indispensable strategic power in the Indo-Pacific”. She also suggested that “non-democracies such as China” did not fit Australia’s “preferred order”.

As China’s clout grows, so will the awkwardness. Allan Gyngell, a former Australian diplomat and intelligence chief, argues in “Fear of Abandonment”, a forthcoming book, that the main strands of Australia’s foreign policy over the past 70 years now need to be “reconceived”. China, he says, “is at the centre of this”. Intellectually speaking, it is Mr Turnbull and his government who appear to be trying to support two different teams at the same time.