It’s true that Australia is underinvesting in diplomacy given the type of world we are living in. But it’s wrongheaded to blame MPs and ministers for not simply understanding the intrinsic value of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade and giving it more money. It’s just as wrongheaded to call for increases because Australia’s defence budget is growing in real terms while DFAT’s isn’t.

Graphs show DFAT’s budget essentially flatlining over the decade while the defence budget has now had four years of sustained real growth. Does this mean DFAT is being robbed and the Department of Defence rewarded?

No, and here’s why this argument will fall on deaf ears in the Treasury, at the Department of Finance and in the cabinet: DFAT is primarily a staff-based organisation, with buildings and office information and communications technology systems. In times not beset by a global pandemic, it needs to travel but its budget is driven by people costs. These rise at the rate of wage increases, which have been modest over the past few years, and will probably be flat through the recession.

Defence, in contrast, is an equipment-heavy organisation, with investment in military hardware taking 40% of its budget and operating the resulting systems and enterprises taking more than 30%. People costs are less than 30% of Defence’s budget. And the costs of the high-technology, complex systems and machines needed for advanced militaries rises faster than those of most other goods and services.

This budget driver is heightened at times of increased strategic and technological competition—like now. In addition, these military systems and platforms can only be developed and acquired through long-term projects, as seen with the multi-decade frigate and submarine programs, so long-term capital investment plans are essential. That is simply not the nature of DFAT as an organisation.

So, comparing Defence and DFAT budgets and saying it’s a travesty if one is growing and the other isn’t bogs down when you look at what the two organisations need to perform their missions.

As to the parliament or successive governments being to blame for not realising the intrinsic worth of diplomacy, this gives a free pass to DFAT’s senior leadership for not successfully advocating for the mission or funding of their department.

A rationale for this in recent commentary by former diplomat James Wise is that ‘ministers allocate resources to departments, based on their assessment of priorities’ and the Labor, Liberal and National parties ‘have lacked the political leadership to ensure that foreign policy-making and diplomacy are adequately resourced’.

That’s passive at best. The senior leadership of every department is responsible for the advice that their ministers and governments make decisions upon—including budgetary ones. Certainly, in our system of executive government, ministers decide while public servants advise. But, as the saying goes, they who write the minutes control the meeting. So, those who can provide advice must and should expect to affect the decisions made as a result—if they’re doing their jobs well.

None of this means that giving DFAT a secure and growing budget isn’t important, but not on the grounds that successive governments have dudded them or Defence got cash so they should too.

A better rationale for increased DFAT funding would be one that connects with the international environment and what diplomacy can do to advance and protect Australia’s interests.

Taking up Scott Morrison’s recognition of ‘positive globalism’ might be the right starting point. Launching the new defence policy and investment plan on 1 July, the prime minister said:

The rest of the world, and Australia, are not just bystanders to this.

It’s not just China and the United States that will determine whether our region stays on path for free and open trade, investment and cooperation that has underpinned stability and prosperity, the people-to-people relationships that bind our region together.

Japan, India, the Republic of Korea, the countries of South-East Asia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam and the Pacific all have agency, choices to make, parts to play and of course, so does Australia.

So, Australia will be an activist power in this poorer, more dangerous and divided world, and Australia will work closely with the range of nations sketched out here. This is a foundation for investment in diplomats to work to this purpose.

Combine this with what Australian diplomats, working with an engaged prime minister, foreign minister and front bench, have achieved recently and you start to get the momentum for the investment DFAT needs. Australia led the global debate about the need for an inquiry into the Covid-19 pandemic, and, against furious opposition from the Chinese government, obtained a thumping majority of countries’ votes at the World Health Assembly in May.

The international support was so overwhelming that Beijing ended up having to voice public support for the inquiry. Diplomats were critical to articulating the need and creating partnerships that ended up in voting support at the assembly in the weeks between Marise Payne announcing the idea in April and the WHA meeting in May. Each engagement Payne and the prime minister had with counterparts was facilitated by our diplomatic machine and made possible because of their work. It’s interesting to remember that Beijing and voices in Australia scoffed at the thought of creating enough international support to give effect to the government’s call, yet that’s what happened.

Add the hugely successful consular work to get Australians back home safely from far-flung parts of the globe that DFAT officials have orchestrated (with other agencies) in recent months despite the strains due to limited spots for returnees to be quarantined—and the department’s exemplary work in getting two Australian journalists out of Beijing.

It’s clear that Morrison has moved a long way from the strident criticism of international institutions and bureaucrats given in his ‘negative globalism’ speech in October 2019. He has a confident agenda for Australian engagement in the world and our diplomats are central to this. Payne has taken his ideas up in setting out the three core roles for this work.

Instead of seeing Defence as a budget adversary, this approach can welcome the government’s strategic update and the greater military power that it’s creating for Australia in a turbulent region. That stronger military, along with the prime minister’s will to use it to ‘shape Australia’s strategic environment, deter actions against Australia’s interests and respond with credible military force, when required’ gives a new and powerful platform to our diplomats.

So, the time is right for Australian diplomacy to advance our positive national agenda and to demonstrate to this government and those to follow why investment in diplomacy is one of the best decisions they will make.

The Australian government’s 2020 defence strategic update provides opportunities to strengthen our role in the Indo-Pacific and elevates the importance of our relationships with regional nations. Navigating the shifting strategic landscape in the region will require effective interaction with these nations as we pivot away from Asia’s economic giant, China.

Trust and confidence are at a premium and Australia must redouble its efforts to engage meaningfully in the region.

China’s ‘wolf warrior’ diplomacy has worked in Australia’s favour. Its undiplomatic handling of the pandemic and willingness to use the Covid-19 crisis to seek strategic advantage have revealed the Chinese Communist Party’s true nature.

The shifting sentiment resulting from Beijing’s coercive and belligerent behaviour has opened a window of opportunity for Australia and like-minded nations to exercise collective influence to balance China’s growth with regional security imperatives. Working more closely with countries such as Japan, Vietnam, India and Indonesia will strengthen trust and confidence to influence security outcomes in our respective national interests.

The mainstay of such regional management is, of course, formal diplomatic endeavour, and the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade’s 2017 foreign policy white paper provides an excellent blueprint for that work. However, surging and sustaining our diplomatic presence is costly and takes time—time that has evaporated with the urgency to upgrade our strategic strike and defensive capabilities.

Second-track, or ‘non-official’, diplomacy is an inexpensive, remarkably effective and enduring method of engagement practised by governments, the education and commercial sectors, independent think tanks and non-government organisations. Informal contact between national representatives below official level isn’t a new idea, but it could be more effectively implemented.

Australia’s use of second-track diplomacy has been ad hoc and would benefit from refinement, especially since DFAT has recently announced reductions to its regional diplomatic footprint.

The end result of diplomatic efforts is usually an agreement that articulates the aims and limits of an arrangement or venture. But we need to do more than just capture a relationship’s operating parameters. This clinical, legalistic and typically Western approach isn’t necessarily preferred by Indo-Pacific cultures and may not match the friendship bonds that are highly valued in the region.

Formal diplomacy and dialogue can build valuable relationships when the participants are active, but connections attenuate as officials change jobs or retire.

Language and cultural barriers often frustrate the development of nation-to-nation relationships. Personal connections build trust that, over time, carries much weight in nations’ decisions. That’s a key goal of programs like the New Colombo Plan. The plan’s student-focused initiatives will take time—beyond the current window of opportunity—to mature.

Gaps in the foreign policy framework can be filled quickly by regular second-track engagements. Genuine friendships—beyond the transient touch points of formal diplomacy—can overcome difficult or sensitive bilateral issues not suited to official mechanisms.

A regularised second-track system could smooth undulations that prolong negotiations or slow their momentum. However, it should not replace the work of officials or dictate policy settings. Both approaches are valuable, and they’re more effective if combined.

The trust built through more personal second-track engagements keeps communication channels open when formal diplomacy falters. This addition to our soft-power toolkit would signal a deeper, more meaningful effort by Australia as a partner in regional development.

It will be particularly important as officials explain Australia’s military capability expansion, especially while nations watch Beijing’s reaction, some with more concern than others.

Care must be taken to avoid pre-empting policy development or sending mixed messages, and that can be done by using the expertise of former diplomats and officials whose networks, friendships, knowledge and experience would otherwise be lost. The minimal expense should be calculated against the costs of diplomatic failures.

Access and influence are always important—and vital in a crisis. We need to be agile, especially when doors have closed, which happens more often than is publicly acknowledged, and invariably at critical moments. That’s when the real but hidden value of friendship is realised.

A second-track approach supports Australia’s regional outreach by keeping doors open and dialogue happening. It’s an investment in regional stability.

Informal arrangements should nest within a framework overseen by a proper authority. They’d be best implemented under DFAT’s direction, though departments could manage a decentralised version. There should be lateral reach across departments pursuing dialogue with counterparts under the guidance of the foreign policy white paper and other departmental objectives. Discussions should address agenda items outside the scope of formal treatment by officials. Topics could include future interests that aren’t yet a priority, difficult matters that for the time being are best avoided by officials, or crisis matters when normal channels have been interrupted or closed.

Joint reporting to parent governments would enhance transparency and build further confidence in relationships.

The structure need not be complex. An example is the Australia–Indonesia Defence Alumni Association (Ikahan) and its senior advisers group established at the instigation of the current governor-general when he was Australian Defence Force chief. General David Hurley wanted to strengthen ties between the ADF and the Indonesian military—the TNI—and the broader bilateral relationship.

Ikahan has been an outstanding success in both regards. The advisory group is co-chaired by a former Australian army chief, Lieutenant General Peter Leahy, and a former assistant for intelligence to the TNI chief. Its membership includes former high-level national security officials who have developed deep trust and personal relationships over time. Regular in-person and virtual meetings discuss the ‘unusual as business’, addressing diverse concerns important to their governments. This simple but effective model could be emulated by other departments, and with other key nations.

Now is the moment for Australia to strengthen its relationships through increased dialogue with regional friends. Bookending our diplomacy with a more integrated second-track system would complement official efforts and support the formal messaging in our changed strategic situation.

Importantly, informal dialogue will provide advance warning of impending hazards in regional relationships and smooth any ructions that could arise as the new security equilibrium is formed. This relatively small investment is key to our future stability and security. Working on multiple levels with friends has never been more important to our respective national interests.

At least five things prompt me to write this piece. First, as the defence adviser at the Indian high commission in Canberra from 2005 to 2008, I was initially impressed by the single Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. Exports were booming and Australia seemed to be perfectly happy to be the quarry for China’s hunger for resources.

Second, while I was in the midst of that tenure, the media were agog with reports about a ‘thousand spies’ and the influence Beijing seemed to have already built up through some sympathetic politicians across the spectrum of parties and factions. (Paul Monk’s book Thunder from the silent zone: rethinking China appeared in 2005 when this anxiety was just beginning to take hold.)

Third, as a seaman, I’m well aware of the symbiotic relationship between flag and trade and the links between prosperity and security. Undoubtedly, many seamen in Australia are as well aware, and a corollary to the third reason is that the 2019 Goldrick Seminar held by the Australian Naval Institute last month was themed ‘Maritime trade and its implications for Australia’s defence’.

Fourth, in recent months, there has been unprecedented concern in Australia, even in places that were in strong denial in the 2000s, about Chinese penetration into the very structure and sinews of the lucky country. And lastly, the architect of the merger in 1987 and prime minister of a very maritime nation, Bob Hawke, crossed the bar a few months ago.

Is it now time for a rethink of the merging of ‘flag and trade’ into one department? There’s little debate within Australia recommending a split, but, as an empathetic observer, to me it’s a move worth considering.

In a perception that grew stronger over the years, I felt that the single-roof approach for foreign affairs and trade might ultimately turn out to be suboptimal for Australia. Hopes for greater coherence between the two policy areas were not misplaced in 1987 when the merger happened. Efficiency in administration makes sense. However, as Canadian scholar Rachel Calleja says—in the context of foreign aid programs—efficiency doesn’t automatically lead to effectiveness of the purposes of statecraft.

To be fair, there are some matters that fall into the grey zone. Did Australian exports, and consequent prosperity, go up because of the merger, or was it mainly due to the rising tide of economic growth in much of Asia and major policy changes, especially in the billion-plus nation of China? And would the demand for what Australia mined or pumped in increasing volumes through the 1990s and until recent years have been less if the departments had stayed separate?

Arguing that the US, with its distinct departments of State and Commerce, formed a deeper trading relationship with China is also fair. However, the argument perhaps underscores that a merger isn’t essential and that, at the same time, security can’t be made effectively subordinate to prosperity no matter how sweet the sound of cash registers may be. That quandary could exist in any system, particularly if the political leadership is attuned to the shorter term and corporate lobbying is highly effective.

However, what separation may provide is a higher level of good friction between departments in making decisions. Each department would need to look at issues more carefully, argue more convincingly for its position, and then come to a resolution. The two-roof process isn’t easy or smooth, and perhaps it’s not as quick as when a single department head and a single minister are the key deciders. Nonetheless, it’s perfectly possible that coordination would be efficient enough with separate departments to enable policy decision-making and execution and monitoring of consequences to be done effectively.

But it is the nature of commerce and business that quarterly and annual bottom lines dominate rather than the longer-term needs of a nation. This is not to say that mergers of other departments are not necessary. In matters of home affairs, for example, Canberra and New Delhi have each done a great deal that has helped efficiency and increased effectiveness.

During my posting, I got a clear sense that those primarily responsible for ensuring security seemed to be in the Australian Defence Force, in the Department of Defence, in some think tanks and in agencies like ASIO.

Elsewhere in the government, and especially in DFAT, there seemed to be a degree of exuberance about continued prosperity and a measured dismissal of voices warning of China’s deepening penetration into almost everything Australian that mattered. Currently, unease and anxiety are very high and many of the voices that one heard then are being listened to more carefully now (among them are signatories to the second open letter by China scholars in response to the first).

A difficult poser, therefore, is this: would Canberra’s concerns, Beijing’s unhappiness about curbs being imposed, and awareness of Chinese inroads be less if flag and trade were separate? Would a separation (as between the Department of Defence and DFAT) of foreign affairs from trade have enabled more careful consideration of the ‘thunder from the silent zone’ or the ‘silent invasion’ (from Clive Hamilton’s book title) that some agencies were hearing then?

Or, is it when the voices get louder, the evidence more worrying, the demand for resources weaker, and Chinese actions and protests more strident that the matter comes into sharper focus? What degree of worry does it take for security to be given more weight than prosperity? And did DFAT’s focus on resources contribute to Australia’s taking its eyes off the ball that Beijing has proved so effective at punting? Perhaps this is something to think about a bit differently …

Australia’s Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade has come a long way in a short time in its embrace of digital tools and technology. DFAT, and most of our embassies around the world, now have a significant social media presence, often across several platforms. There has been an explosion of Twitter feeds, Facebook pages, Instagram accounts, and even blogs and YouTube channels, adding colour to what was (and remains) a rather lifeless website-only presence. In this, DFAT has been helped by political leaders who have embraced these tools as a means of modern-day communication.

However, in the rush to embrace digital media, there’s a danger that some of the bigger questions have gone begging, and that ends have been confused with means. Doing digital diplomacy well not only requires having the requisite digital platforms—it entails using them strategically and effectively to advance a diplomatic agenda. This is where DFAT is struggling: it has gone digital, but it isn’t yet doing digital diplomacy.

Having a large number of social media accounts and a growing crop of followers or friends isn’t sufficient. The test of success is whether those factors are being properly utilised to bring Australian diplomacy from the analogue into the digital age.

As I explain in an ASPI International Cyber Policy Centre report released today, the challenge is to fully utilise these platforms to conduct DFAT’s core business, which is diplomacy. And here, there’s still quite some way to go. There’s not yet a wholesale recognition and appreciation of how the advocacy landscape has changed. As a result, and with a few stand-out exceptions, most of DFAT’s digital channels suffer from the same three ailments.

First, there’s too much use of new media channels to transmit old media content. Digital media are a different format; they speak to a different audience and require different—and more engaging— content. Good digital content is pithy, impactful and tailored, but too little of DFAT’s digital content meets that test. Using new media channels to transmit old media content (press releases and the like) ruins both.

Second, there’s a pronounced tendency for DFAT’s digital platforms to duck the difficult issues. There’s a place for building brand Australia, promoting tourism and spruiking soft news stories about Australia on digital platforms, but public and cultural diplomacy can’t be the sum total of our digital effort, or else we risk being (in the words of one insightful commentator) ‘all gums, no teeth’. Tempting as it is, there’s no point in running dead or lying low when a controversial issue is unfolding. This is exactly when digital platforms come to the fore and the credibility of your digital presence is tested.

Too often, when a storm of controversy is raging all around them, DFAT’s digital channels bury their heads in the sand, go radio-silent, or promulgate the Panglossian fiction that all is well. If Australian nationals are set to be executed in a foreign country, or there are suggestions that the Chinese are building a military base in the southwest Pacific, or if a candidate for the Philippines presidency jokes about the sexual assault and murder of an Australian missionary, then we should expect that the relevant Australian digital diplomatic platform will have something worthwhile to say about it—to articulate our views and interests on an important issue (our ambassador in Manila did—rightly—condemn this last incident at the time on social media). Likewise for major world events.

The message must obviously reflect diplomatic realities, but to say nothing in such scenarios is simply not credible. It also lacks a prized trait of the digital age—authenticity—and so diminishes the value of the platform and treats readers as fools.

DFAT needs to start treating digital diplomacy as core tradecraft, rather than optional add-on. It should provide compulsory digital training for all outgoing heads of mission and encourage healthy internal competition and innovation. It should pilot more sophisticated data analytics tools and integrate digital tools into regular diplomatic campaigns. It should develop and pilot a new stream of diplomatic reporting that’s punchier and timelier, and reaches a broader audience on hand-held devices.

DFAT should create new positions of ambassador to Silicon Valley and ambassador to the Chinese tech giants based in Beijing. It should experiment more with ‘pop-up’ diplomatic posts, pilot one-person posts and encourage innovation and experimentation in the conduct of digital diplomacy, conceiving of embassies as hubs and connectors for a broad set of interactions.

Finally, DFAT needs to adopt some of the nimbleness and agility of the tech world in how it conducts Australia’s external policy. Failure to do so means the field is left to others.

Like the World War One 9.2-inch siege howitzer, Dennis Richardson has been a mobile weapon, deployed across many fields of battle, able to deliver a lot of ordnance with maximum elevation in a single shot.

The siege howitzer, a counter-battery artillery piece, fired a high-explosive shell weighing 290 lbs (130 kg). A Dennis diatribe also detonated with devastating effect.

Richardson retires next week after 48 years in the public service. Malcolm Turnbull describes it as ‘a long and distinguished career’, making ‘a significant contribution to Australia’s national security and foreign policy’.

The record glitters: Secretary of Defence (2012–16), Secretary of Foreign Affairs and Trade (2010–2012), Australia’s US Ambassador (2005–10), Director-General of ASIO (1996–2005), and Chief of Staff to Prime Minister Bob Hawke (1990–91).

Richardson is a well-rounded public servant, entering Foreign Affairs as part of the famous 1969 intake of diplomatic cadets. Unlike the other ’69-ers, Richardson didn’t define himself with a ‘DFAT’ persona, leaving in 1986 to join the Immigration Department because he saw it as a fascinating part of the bureaucracy, and then later the Prime Minister’s Department.

Soon after he was appointed to run Defence, I wrote a couple of columns noting that Richardson had joined Arthur Tange as the only public servant to have headed both Defence and Foreign Affairs. A great judge of Canberra big beasts, Philip Flood, commented that Tange is one of the three top public servants of the 20th century, while Richardson is one of the three top public servants of recent decades. Another fine judge, Max Moore-Wilton, said Tange was an old-school elitist while Richardson exemplifies the modern mandarin, willing to carry out a minister’s decision even if he’d argued vehemently against it.

Richardson could channel one important bit of the Tange mentality: in both Foreign and Defence, he served at his own pleasure as well as the PM’s pleasure. The big axe that now hangs permanently above the head of every Secretary in Canberra held no real threat for Richardson in his final decade at the top.

In Defence, Richardson said his goal was a ‘very strong philosophy to make Defence more of a unitary state rather than a federation, and a loose federation at that’.

The Defence Secretary obviously looms large, not least because of considerable statutory powers, especially over money. Yet even Richardson would admit that the military side of the Defence diarchy has a standing with ministers that he couldn’t match. It’s more than just the mystique of the slouch hat. Politicians have changed the power settings—the relative clout of the Secretary has declined considerably from the highpoint achieved by Tange. Any Defence Secretary’s ability to faze or out-face the minister has declined as sharply as his ability to dominate the military leadership.

The Richardson style was on full display when he fronted Senate Estimates. He was correct and cordial, always direct, never deferential. Senators got what Richardson wanted to give ‘em—usually with plenty of detail.

Another style note, to file under dress code and power costumes. Richardson embraced a fashion which only arrived in Canberra’s top ranks this decade—wearing a suit without a tie. The tieless look is the biggest fashion shift for Canberra blokes since Paul Keating made the double-breasted jacket the power uniform of choice. Plenty of white-shirt-with-tie-Secretaries still abound, but Dennis dispensing with the tie is a style message that mattered—especially amid the tribal hierarchies of Defence.

Richardson’s public service philosophy is set out in this speech he gave to the Institute of Public Affairs. These are the key points:

• In a crisis, you always go to it, never stand back. Always head for the source of the trouble, don’t skirt the edges.
• Confront the immediate crisis; then have the discipline to deal with the next issue and give it complete focus without being distracted by what went before.
• Create an environment where people feel able to raise the most sensitive things with you.
• Overcome the temptation to assume that you can regulate your way to perfection. More often than not when things go wrong, it’s a result of human error rather than systemic failure.

Defence will miss the dynamism, not the Dennis diatribes. Senior Defence types tried to ‘do’ Dennis in strength, or at least enter his office in pairs, to lay down covering fire and have the numbers to carry away the wounded.

A Richardson overview—the geostrategic bones of the 2016 White Paper in a quick read—is his 2015 Blamey Oration. The US–China is the central relationship: how does Australia position itself when it’s ‘friends with both, allies with one’? And there’s a classic, dry Richardson barb directed at China’s South China Sea sand castle creation: ‘The speed and scale of China’s land reclamation on disputed reefs and other features does raise the question of intent and purpose; it is legitimate to ask the purpose of the land reclamation—tourism appears unlikely.’

For a Richardson summation as he leaves, here’s his speech in March to APSI’s State of the Region Masterclass, arguing that one of many things Donald Trump will demand is that Australians who believe in the ‘importance and benefits of the alliance’ are going to have to work harder.

In retirement Dennis Richardson will devote himself to argument, wine, his beloved Canberra Raiders and being Patron of the RSPCA. The Raiders and the RSPCA give you two Richardson dimensions as a mandarin with Oz characteristics: the love of (sporting) excellence and the feel for the underdog.