The global financial crisis spawned a wide array of ad hoc measures and policy interventions. More broadly, the crisis produced a great deal of reform rhetoric from leaders and from opposing parties and interest groups. The presence of such contests forced leaders into the position of status quo player or change advocate, and choose between preserving or innovating modes of governing.

Previous research into economic crises suggests that governments react strongly to the prospect of mass unemployment. Moreover, the negative public sentiment that comes with the threat of mass unemployment provides governments with a greater mandate for action (Keeler 1993). Furthermore, economic crises produce ‘opportunity windows for reform’ that governments can harness (Baumgartner and Jones 1993; Kingdon 1995; Wilson 2000). Therefore, while economic crises might limit governments’ budgets, they also allow policymakers greater scope to implement reforms that would otherwise be met with fervent opposition. The reason is simple: ever since former US President Franklin D. Roosevelt stepped in to stem the tide of the Depression through proto-Keynesian government activism, the public expected governments to ‘do something’ in times of recession and rising unemployment. Governments can capitalise on that momentum by packaging tailor-made reactions to the current economic circumstances along with additional policies it had wished to implement all along but which can now be reframed as forming an integral part of the recession-busting strategy (Rodrik 1996). This was evident in many of the polities studied in this volume. In Australia, the ‘education revolution’ and climate change technology became part of the reform rhetoric, as did European unity and integration in the EU leaders’ reform rhetoric.

Kuipers’ (2006) work on policymaking and ‘competing crisis narratives’ claims that crises open up space for actors to construct their own crisis narrative. A leader or opposition group can utilise crisis narratives to describe their own version of events and propose reform to adapt the system to meet the exogenous changes and the new challenges. Nevertheless, to be effective, the narrative must be in sync with, or speak to, the experience of the broader public (Hay 1999, 2002). Kuipers (2006:181–2) notes four indicators that a crisis narrative is being constructed: the use of the word ‘crisis’ to describe an undesirable situation; claims that the situation is urgent and requires drastic action; when the broader public is asked to comply with reforms or the leader appeals to solidarity during the crisis, as in wartime; and when the complex crisis situation is simplified or the leader makes use of metaphors and historical analogies to explain the situation. When these narratives catch on and are accepted by the public, they pave the way for reform in the system. Each of the polities studied in this volume displayed some if not all of these elements of crisis narratives in relation to policy and reform.

The leaders studied here needed to determine what they believed to be the right course of action. At the same time, however, they were held accountable for their decisions and had to articulate their strategic actions and their policy moves (or even others’ policy moves) to the public. Their policy moves were at times reactive and improvised, as they needed to rhetorically prime their audiences in the rapidly evolving situation.

The policy game laid out in Chapter 2 of this volume suggests that leaders take one of four rhetorical positions. As a ‘change advocate’, they might press for a policy paradigm shift or for incremental reform, or as a status quo player, they might attempt to resist or contain policy change. Opposition parties, unions and interest groups, sections of the media and/or demographics of the public might take up the other side of the contest.

The case studies demonstrate that the model’s assumption needs to be refined. We encountered a couple of interesting situations where both sides of the contest were pro-reform. Disagreement and contest instead centred on the specific policies that should be implemented—or more often, the scope and pace of the proposed reforms (incremental versus paradigm shift). For example, in the United Kingdom and Australia, the head of government and the opposition leader both claimed to favour some kind of reform. At the same time, Prime Ministers Brown and Rudd both attempted to portray their opposition leaders, David Cameron and Malcolm Turnbull, respectively, as advocates of the old ‘failed’ system. In Australia, this caused problems for Turnbull, particularly as the media remained largely supportive of the government. In contrast, for Cameron, Brown’s strategy did not make much of a dent as the media and public were quick to note that Brown had had 11 years in which to offset the alleged flaws of the ‘neo-liberal’ economic philosophy of the previous Conservative governments and had apparently missed the opportunity to do so. Blaming predecessors is simply not credible in these circumstances.

At times, the media was more focused on the leader’s behaviour and style than on the government’s policy. For example, in Canada, Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s alleged lack of sensitivity to the suffering of ordinary Canadians became a key storyline, much more so than the critical vetting of the substance of his statements—at least for a while.

Our case studies suggest some recurrent patterns in the policy component of leaders’ crisis rhetoric. One was the prevalence of bricolage: combining tailor-made responses with essentially policy initiatives that were thrown in because they fit the leader’s election promises or prior convictions or were skilfully brought to the leader’s attention by advisers, bureaucrats and interest groups. As predicted by models of agenda setting and policymaking that stress the role of contingency and opportunism (for example, Cohen et al. 1972; Baumgartner and Jones 1993; Kingdon 1995), the economic crisis spurned actors to advance ideas and proposals that would otherwise not be accorded the same attention or levels of funding. For example, in Australia and the European Union, the crises speeded up initiatives to (re)invest in green technology. In Ireland, it provided momentum to Prime Minister Cowen and Finance Minister Brian Lenihan’s ‘Framework for Economic Renewal’.

Some leaders managed to successfully incorporate non-economic policy into crisis rhetoric. After the Australian Government’s announcement of the major stimulus package that would send the economy into deficit, opinion polls indicated that the public was strongly in favour of spending on renewable energy, tax cuts and other projects for the betterment of society, which made up the package, but comparatively, they were somewhat less supportive of the package as a whole or of the notion of large-scale deficit spending. As such, it was rhetorically prudent for Australian leaders to highlight the benefits of the package to particular, high-priority policy sectors. This highlights the importance of matching the crisis narrative to the felt experiences of those on the ground (Kuipers 2006)—something at which some leaders, such as Obama, excelled and others, such as Brown and Harper, failed.

Second, the policy contests that ensued in the course of the crisis were to a considerable extent fuelled by underlying ideological disagreements. In some cases, leaders spent considerable rhetorical effort attacking ‘neo-liberalism’ and its free-market policies, with the Australian and Singaporean Prime Ministers leading the way. Conversely, the New Zealand case demonstrated how the same set of events was utilised by incoming Finance Minister, Bill English, to push for less rather than more government regulation of financial markets. This position was taken up by some Republicans and Hayekian economists in the United States, but was clearly repudiated by Obama and Geithner. Debates about the merits of stimulus packages in most of the countries studied appeared to hinge not on the size of projected deficits, but on the underlying beliefs about the relative merits of ‘big’ versus ‘lean’ government.

Third, the global nature of this economic downturn created an extra dimension for political leaders—one that they could use to their advantage. The majority of political leaders highlighted the international dimension of the crisis, not simply to blame exogenous forces, but when discussing reform or policy implementation. During a crisis, there is often a need for leaders to appear action orientated, but domestic opposition might tie their hands in taking bold initiatives. Calling for, organising and visibly working with peers, however, in ad hoc meetings of international forums such as meetings of the G7, G8 and G20, EU conferences and regional summits provides national leaders with excellent opportunities for ‘self-dramatisation’ (Edelman 1977). It also helps supranational leaders (such as European Commission President, José Manuel Barroso) make the case for the pivotal role their institutions can play in forging common approaches to what are clearly trans-boundary crises.

Advocating international reforms also allowed leaders to perform the balancing act of appearing as proactive change agents while in the same breath talking up the strength of their domestic economies and defending their record in regulating their national financial sectors. It also shifted part of the policy game to international arenas where domestic opposition forces had no seat at the table. Internationalisation of crisis rhetoric was evident to a different degree and for a different purpose in each of the cases. For French President, Nicolas Sarkozy, the EU Presidency was a chance for France (and Sarkozy) to be heard; for the United Kingdom, hosting the G20 was a chance to appear in charge and at the centre of the solution. For the open economies of Singapore, New Zealand and Ireland, however, the global dimension of the crisis was mainly a source of despair rather than a feasible source of relief.

Fourth, the leaders’ past records greatly shaped and constrained their ability to credibly advocate particular policy stances. Some leaders had been in charge of their country’s financial regulation and economic policy for a long time when the crisis materialised. For example, UK Prime Minister Brown and Irish Taoiseach Cowen had both been treasurers in long-serving governments before taking over as party leader and head of government. Canada’s Prime Minister Harper had built much of his authority on his reputation as an astute economist. The public deference this generated appeared to buy him time when the crisis first materialised, but then appeared to backfire as his optimistic predictions were defied by growing unemployment cues. In Ireland, it was impossible for Cowen to escape criticism for his old policies when attempting to introduce new ones.

Fifth, the least prominent yet also the least criticised speech-makers in our set were the bank governors. Although in normal times bank governors are key figures in interpreting economic realities to investors and entrepreneurs, during the hottest months of the global downturn, their speeches were often eclipsed by the attention paid to the words and actions of the heads of government. When the going gets tough, it is clearly the politicians rather than the technocrats who are monitored most closely by the media and the public.

Though perhaps their relative visibility was low, their credibility might have been higher than that of the government leaders, particularly the long-serving ones for whom the crisis was first of all a source of potential electoral embarrassment. In contrast, the bank governors’ statutory independence and reputation as non-aligned technocrats protected their credibility, with media coverage of their speeches on balance far less critical than that of politicians’ speeches. In the US case, the picture was more complicated. Former US Federal Reserve Bank Governor Alan Greenspan’s very public admission of having made critical errors of judgment that had allowed the monster of the mortgage bubble to grow unchecked could have dented public confidence in his successor, Ben Bernanke. Bernanke moreover struggled with having to manage the biggest crisis of the financial system he is supposed to help preserve while at the same time having to adjust to the political transition from the Bush to the Obama Administrations.

Some bank governors were vocal and visible. In Australia, Reserve Bank Governor, Glenn Stevens, was the first of the Australian leaders to broach the issue of deficit spending, and only after the media picked up on this did the Prime Minister and Treasurer actively discuss in public what would later become a reality. Most governors were not publicly known figures before the crisis but came to be seen as significant players. In the United Kingdom, Bank of England Governor, Mervyn King, became part of a media-perpetuated controversy speculating on a rift between him and the government. In Ireland, Governor of the Central Bank and Financial Services Authority, John Hurley, was respected for staying on past his retirement date. In many cases, including Ireland and Australia, the central bank governor was seen to ‘inject reality’ into the rhetoric. In contrast with the coverage of the politicians’ speeches, the overwhelming tendency was for journalists not to focus on the personal characteristics and political beliefs and interests of the governors, and instead concentrate on the substantive merits of their policy arguments.

Finally, the speeches were notable for their strategic uses of the past. Popular in leader rhetoric during the global financial crisis was the use of historical analogies to simplify explanations and manage public sentiments. Australia’s Treasurer, Wayne Swan, used the analogy of Hurricane Katrina to convince his audience that through crisis came a better understanding of underlying weaknesses in a system. Various leaders likened the crisis to an ‘economic tsunami’, tapping into recent global memory to underline the severity of the crisis. Predictably, virtually all leaders invoked the Great Depression of the 1930s when attempting to maximise the severity of the recent downturn, but they also used historical analogies to ‘sell’ policy. Brown and Darling tried on several occasions to sell their policy proposals using the analogy of the Bretton Woods agreement (as did leaders in France and Australia) and even the Marshall Plan. President Obama drew analogies from throughout US history of economic policy that spurred great change and modernisation, and this rhetoric seemed to resonate. The Singaporean Prime Minister tapped into the well of the Asian financial crisis of the 1990s to highlight his government’s preparedness and the claimed superiority of the country’s regulatory regime (which had already incorporated the lessons the Western countries would now be forced to learn all over again).

The point about using analogies in meaning making is not that they are correct; it is that they resonate—as opposed to their use in the leaders’ own sense making, when incorrect analogies can fatally wound the diagnostic capacity of leaders (Brändström et al. 2004). When analogies are widely challenged, they backfire. When they appeal to universal symbols and are carefully crafted and timed, however, their metaphorical power in weaving a crisis narrative (Kuipers 2006) can do more to shape public perceptions of a crisis than any set of facts and charts is able to.