The Art of the Relationship

At a time when so-called world leaders seem to be obsessed with ‘the art of the deal,’ they appear impoverished when it comes to intellectual and emotional maturity. The real challenge in complex societies is not the art of the deal – it is the art of the relationship.  

Deals are transactional. Relationships are enduring.  

Deals can be struck in moments of political theatre. Relationships must be cultivated with respect and patience over time.  

The importance of this distinction is prominent in the context of the long and complicated relationship between governments and First Nations people in Australia.  

Recently I noted that in the aftermath of the Voice referendum we were found wanting on both sides of this relationship between government and First Nations leadership. Against this background some might mistakenly assume I suggest power in this relationship is evenly distributed.  

It is not.  

Structural power in Australia sits overwhelmingly with government.  

Government controls the policy machinery, the legislative authority, the fiscal resources and the institutional structures through which decisions are made. They set the frameworks, define the targets and ultimately determine how public resources are deployed.  

Recognising where structural power sits also requires a more confronting admission; when outcomes fail to improve over generations, the system holding the greatest power must also be held to account and confront its own limitations and failings.  

I was reminded of this reality some years ago when I found myself sitting in a room full of Directors-General discussing government strategies to ‘Close the Gap’ on First Nations disadvantage.  

As I listened, I was mindful that I sat there both as a Director-General, at that time of the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries, and as a blackfulla. I had a clear sense that it was incumbent upon me to offer a perspective that would otherwise not be heard.   

I said, “Do you realise that most blackfullas outside of the building are not that interested in talking about this ‘Closing the Gap’ that seems so precious to you?” 

The room went quiet.  

For a moment it seemed as though the comment had landed. The silence was quickly replaced with defensiveness about how government works, and how we had a responsibility to deliver upon the agenda of the government of the day. Fair points well made to some extent given that running a government department requires very high order leadership and tremendous stability.  

What struck me however was not the defensiveness but rather something else entirely. Nobody asked the obvious follow-up question.  

Nobody asked, ‘So what are blackfullas talking about instead?’ 

That seemingly obvious question was never explored on that day.  

To me on reflection that absence of a naturally probing dialogue reveals something important about how power behaves inside institutions.  

Government holds enormous structural power, but that power often operates within a relatively narrow policy lexicon. Once a framework becomes embedded – in this case – ‘Closing the Gap’ – the system tends to interpret every challenge through that lens.  

Targets are established. Indicators are tracked. Progress reports are written. Parliamentary hearings are held. And the ‘misery fest’ so aptly named by Marcia Langton, continues. 

To many this can appear industrious and purposeful, yet the conversation can remain strongly detached from the lived experiences of the communities whose lives those policies are meant to affect. In such circumstances, policy discussions risk becoming conversations about deficits, specifically community or First Nations deficits, rather than conversations about relationships.  

‘Closing the Gap’ has become the dominant language of First Nations policy in Australia. Its intention is to improve outcomes in areas such as First Nations health, education and employment – goals that few would contest.  

But the language itself is revealing.  

It frames First Nations people primarily through the lens of what is missing – the distance between Aboriginal outcomes and national averages. Even more revealing is how comfortable we are with this framing, despite the displays of outrage, sadness, exasperation which make for great theatre on the policy stage, but really just further contaminate the relationships between us.  

Within government it allows policy failure to be described as part of a complex ‘wicked problem’. Within communities it allows frustration to be directed squarely back at government.  

Government blames the complexity of communities; which by the way they can be accused of ‘engineering’.  

Communities blame government.  

The relationship remains largely unchanged within this strangely comfortable sense of equilibrium.  

Structural power is then able to avoid confronting its own limitations, while allowing communities to retain an understandable scepticism about government intentions and commitment.  

Comfortable equilibria rarely produce transformational change. 

During my time in Government, I also had the good fortune to work as part of an elite team within the Premier’s Department. In this time, I sought to shift this sense of equilibrium through what we called a Thriving Communities agenda. The premise was straightforward: rather than designing policy exclusively within government departments, we would establish Local Decision-Making Bodies so that First Nations leadership could engage directly and consistently with Public Service leadership at a local level.  

The goal was not simply about consultation; it was about respectful and meaningful dialogue.  

We created a space where government could tune in more carefully to local First Nations priorities and where local community leadership could exercise a greater role in shaping decisions and negotiating localised priorities that affected them and their families.  

Encouraging and tangible positive results emerged from this degree of consistent monthly and high order engagement.  

The relationship improved, and trust improved.  

When trust improved, conversations changed.  

When the conversation changed and became deeper and more authentic, policy and program imagination began to widen. Notwithstanding, such focussed relational work requires consistent effort. It is perceived as difficult to sustain inside large institutions.  

We all know relationships are messy. They are place specific. They do not always fit neatly within the performance frameworks that bureaucracies rely upon.  

Deficit indicators and national targets are actually easier to measure.  

Over time the system often gravitates back towards the familiar language of gaps, targets, deficits and complexity.  

None of this should be interpreted as a denial of the serious challenges facing many First Nations communities. Those challenges are real and deserve sustained attention.  

If we are truly serious about improving outcomes we must also be honest about the limits of a policy imagination framed primarily around deficits.  

Structural power sits with government – relational legitimacy sits with communities.  

When those two sources of authority fail to connect meaningfully, policy becomes disconnected from the very people it seeks to serve. If we want to move beyond this cycle of collusion with failure, we need to ask a more fundamental question. 

Not simply how we close statistical gaps – but how do we strengthen the relationship itself?  

In the end, enduring change will depend less on ‘the art of the deal’ and shift towards something more profound and demanding – the art of the relationship! 

Dr Chris Sarra

CEO, Stronger Smarter Institute