Learning from the AV result

The debate over what went wrong with the Yes to AV campaign is bubbling along.

Given that the “Noes” had it, by 68% to 32%, the quality of the campaign was but one of the reasons why AV went down. (Tom Clark of The Guardian has provided a good summary of the ten main reasons, even though the ordering and emphasis will be debated for a long time.) Nobody expects to ever see another referendum on AV in this country, but discussions about “what went wrong” are neither irrelevant nor academic. But the dismal failure of the Yes campaign carries a valuable lesson for future political reformers.

Tom Clark’s article is a good place to start. Two points in particular struck a chord with me:

[The] no campaign got down, dirty and deceitful in the best traditions of the party of which it had became a wholly owned subsidiary. Made-up costs were attached to made-up voting machines, and posters proclaimed that these would be paid by soldiers making the ultimate sacrifice. After an infant's need for a maternity unit failed to shift the polls sufficiently, a sick baby in intensive care was deployed instead. The cynical message was that because hospitals matter democracy doesn't, and so you'd better vote no or else the little one gets it.

But sour grapes are no substitute for hard analysis. He goes on:

[The] wet yes campaign, on the other hand, entirely failed to meet fire with fire. The wrong celebrities (Eddie Izzard) were marshalled by worthy functionaries who looked like they would be most at home arguing in favour of a Financial Times editorial about joining the euro . . . In a political culture that rewards those who pitch themselves against the system, for all the semi-comprehensible suggestions that AV would make politicians work harder, the campaign looked like the work of a metropolitan elite. More use should have been made of self-interested yes-mavericks, such as Ukip's Nigel Farrage, to summon up a rabble army.

The Yes campaign seemed to be engaged in a worthy discussion and too often, they were having it with like-minded people. Meanwhile, the No campaign, who saw where their interests lay, were waging total war.

Their contrasting approaches were typified by two broadcasts that played on BBC1. Take a look at this video from the Yes campaign. I can’t see a logical argument that explains how AV could have averted the expenses scandal. (And which MPs are lazy?) Worse, it fails to tell a simple story, that explains how AV would be the solution to voters’ disillusionment with politicians. For all the loud hailers, the video does little to engage in any meaningful with way with viewers’ emotions or concerns about politics. .

Next, check out this No broadcast, which is full of simple (simplistic?) stories. They aim for the heart at least as much as the head. The campaign may have been dishonest, but it played successfully to Conservative and Labour voters’ suspicions and resentment of the coalition and voters’ fear of the supposed complexity of AV. Here’s the rub: they got away with it. They won.

These stories didn’t come out of thin air. In his fascinating account of the campaign, Tim Montgomerie of ConservativeHome has explained how the “No” team used market research to focus and hone its messages:

Cost, Complexity and Clegg.

It would interesting to see an account from the Yes campaign of how their messages were created.

The strategy and the messaging are not just a concern for political geeks and future PhD students. There was no proportional voting system on the ballot paper, but both the “yes” and “no” campaign carried on as if it was. Both camps wanted to have a big argument about basic views of politics. A more pluralistic politics versus “winner takes all”. “Letting more people have a say” versus “giving my side all the power”. “More representative politics” versus “strong government”. Hope versus fear. Even though it would have meant a modest change in the way we elect MPs, AV became the totem for these bigger political arguments.

The drivers of the AV campaign are going to be with us for a long time. I’m sure it won’t be long till we see the same basic arguments again over another reform issue, with many of the same protagonists on either side.

Let’s try to avoid making the same mistakes again.

Footnote: Just in case you think I am having a case of “after hindsight”, please take a look at this post, from July 2010. Point 4 predicted that the “No” campaign would fight rough. This post, from last October, analysed some research findings on the most effective arguments both for and against AV.

Narrativewatch: Sarah Palin releases 'mom awakening' political broadcast

via telegraph.co.uk

Sarah Palin's new "mom awakening" TV spot has sparked a fresh round of speculation that she will run for president in 2012.

The spot is a clever piece of political narrative, based firmly on the "rot at the top" archetype. Palin warns of a "fundamental transformation of America", with her country's children and grandchildren under threat from an unnamed enemy within.

To ram it all home, she compares America's 'awakening mom' to a grizzly bear protecting her cubs - a cultural story that everyone can understand.

The spot packs a powerful emotional punch, without saying outright what the threat is. Some images used suggest that the danger comes from the Democrats' healthcare reforms, but you can't be too sure.

Posted via email from Neil Stockley

Fear and loathing on the UK campaign trail

Wednesday’s Daily Telegraph framed the UK general election as “a battle between hope and fear”.

You can guess which party they think matches each emotion. But the election will come down to emotions – how voters feel about the parties, leaders, issues and candidates.

During the 2008 US presidential primaries, Newsweek’s Sharon Begley argued that “the debate about whether the electorate is guided by its head or its heart, by reason or emotion, is over.” She went on to say:

“When voters consider candidates' positions, they are drawn to the candidate who assuages fear, inspires hope, instills pride or brings some other emotional dividend.”

Sharon Begley found most experts agreeing that fear and anxiety are the strongest emotions in terms of their ability to drive decisions in the voting booth. The runner-up emotion was anger.

This week, Begley assesses the Democrats’ prospects in November in light of the healthcare reforms. She draws on a new paper posted on the Web site of the journal Psychological Science. Two researchers at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, have found that anxious voters are more likely to put real effort into searching out information about where candidates stand on the key issues and then vote for those they agree with most. But angry voters rely more on vague, general information, with policy positions playing little part in their decisions.

Begley suggests that Democrat incumbents might tailor their messages according to whether voters are fearful (and therefore open to being swayed with more information about healthcare policy) or angry (in which case appeals to party or other generalities seem the best gambit).

That all sounds a little bit hopeful but for now, the more interesting question is, how does this theory play out in the UK? The part that fear plays in the parties’ messaging is not hard to see. The Conservatives play on fears that we might have five more years of Gordon Brown as PM. Like all long term governments asking for another term, Labour’s real message is: you can’t risk a change to the Tories. “We cannot cut our way to recovery-but we could cut our way to double-dip recession”, says Gordon Brown. Labour’s ill-conceived “Gene Hunt” poster is another example.

Last year, the accepted wisdom was that voters had written off Labour and it seemed that the Conservatives were on course for a handsome victory. Since January, however, Labour’s poll ratings have recovered slightly, apparently because of a new sense of confidence about the economy. The Conservatives’ ratings for economic competence have fallen. Neither Labour nor the Tories has established a clear, stable lead as the best party to manage the economy (hence the rise of Vince Cable). With the Amherst work in mind, we might interpret that as anxious, recession-bitten voters being more engaged that they were given credit for and giving the major parties a closer look, but still not being convinced.

What about anger? The Tories’ greatest asset in this campaign is, surely, voters’ resentments after thirteen years of Labour. The Liberal Democrats’ campaign narrative plays even more strongly to these emotions, inviting voters to cast “a plague on both their houses”. But the party is too rational in its approach and, perhaps, too romantic about its policies and beliefs to base an entire campaign on anger. The minor parties try to push the anger buttons even harder. More likely, the really angry voters will simply switch off and stay home on polling day.

And let’s not discount the role of hope and optimism in UK election campaigns. The Conservative campaign has looked more sure-footed since they switched to more optimistic messages, with the (less than honest) promises of tax cuts. In 1978, the famous Saatchi and Saatchi poster declared that “Labour isn’t working.” It also said, “Britain’s better off with the Conservatives”. Here we are again.

Posted via web from Neil Stockley

On the party leaders' new year messages

Over the last week, the three main party leaders have given their new year messages.  Usually, I pay these comments little attention.   This time, however, I think they offered some strong clues about the stories the leaders will try to tell in the general election campaign, and, just as interestingly, how they might be tripped up.

 

The main opposition party’s theme will always be that “it’s time for a change” and, in telling a story, the obvious archetype is about “the rot at the top” that must be stopped.   In a clever message, David Cameron didn’t stick to the obvious.  He spoke about  our “broken politics”, but used an unexpected frame: “a new kind of politics”:

 

". . .  let's make sure the election is a proper argument about the future of the country, not some exercise in fake dividing lines.  Let's at least recognise the good intentions of our opponents. Let's be honest that whether you're Labour, Conservative or Liberal Democrat, you're motivated by pretty much the same progressive aims: a country that is safer, fairer, greener and where opportunity is more equal.  It's how to achieve these aims that we disagree about - and indeed between the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats there is a lot less disagreement than there used to be  . . .

 

“ . . .  let's make 2010 the year for a new politics.  Let's be positive about our own policies as well as pointing out the consequences of our opponents' policies.  But above all, let's be honest about the problems facing the country and how we can solve them.  Yes, there will be an election this year: that much is certain.  And we can be certain too that the arguments will be fierce.  But let's make it a good clean fight.  And once the battle is over, we will need to rise above our differences and come together because that is the only way - strong, united leadership is the only way - we will sort out Britain's problems, halt our decline, and give this country the success that I know we can achieve."

 

[Thanks to Iain Dale for the text]

 

Some media commentators saw this as an attempt to “love bomb” Liberal Democrat voters. Cameron's motive was obvious: to win more seats from the Lib Dem and, perhaps as importantly, to squeeze the third party vote in Labour-Tory marginals.   What I found more interesting was the rhetoric that Cameron used.  The appeaIs to the national interest, shared values and a united Britain, above and beyond political argument and division, have long been one of the Liberal Democrat’s strongest appeals to voters. The Liberals and Liberal Democrats have often used “Punch and Judy” glove puppets to represent squabbling Labour and Conservative politicians. 

 

I believe the “unity” frame and rhetoric were also set up to give Cameron safe passage through the campaign and beyond.  He expects to be prime minister after the general election and to face a difficult time in government.  So he needs to establish himself in advance as a force for unity, who can bring the nation together.  But can Cameron and his party live up to the expectations that are being set and embody the narrative? 

 

If the main opposition party’s usual message is that it’s time for a change, the incumbent’s is “no, it isn’t, not yet”.  Longer serving, battle-weary governments asking voters for another chance are more likely to use a frame based on risk: “you may not like us very much but the other lot would be much worse”.   The Conservatives’ campaigns in 1992 and 1997 are good examples.  One worked and the other did not. 

 

In the most quoted part of Gordon Brown’s New Year message, he tried to tell a story about the dangers that the Conservatives present.

 

"There are some who say we must plan for a decade of austerity. If that happened it would also be a decade of unfairness where, while the privileged few can protect themselves, the majority lose out.

 

"I believe we can create a new decade of prosperity with opportunities fairly shared amongst all those who work hard and play by the rules. That is why we are fighting so hard to secure and sustain Britain’s recovery."

 

Brown is using a familiar playbook here. Incumbent left of centre parties are more likely to make urgent, if not desperate appeals based on their core values.  Jimmy Carter’s campaign for re-election in 1980 was a good example.  So were the NZ Labour Party’s campaigns of 1990 and 2008 and the Australian Labor Party’s effort in 1996. On all four occasions the gambit failed.  And Brown has a particular problem with this message: voters do not necessarily see Labour as the most “compassionate” or “socially egalitarian” party. At conference time, Populus found that the Conservatives were seen, albeit narrowly, as the party that have the best interests of ordinary people at heart if they had to cut public spending. Labour had a clear advantage when it came to “ensuring that the most vulnerable in society don't suffer” from any cuts.  But in November 2009, ICM polling showed that David Cameron’s Conservatives enjoyed a 1% lead as the party best placed to bring people out of poverty.

 

Longer-serving governments mired in recession are also inclined to promise “go for growth” strategies.  That’s to be expected.  They need to get a clear advantage as the best party for economic management.  They also have to project a sense of optimism and show voters that they have not run out of steam.  Sure enough, Brown promised to publish the first part of a "prosperity plan for a successful, fairer and more responsible Britain", including investment in high-speed rail, aerospace, the digital economy, clean energy and other "industries and jobs of the future".  But this message also runs straight into a brick wall: most voters now clearly prefer the Cameron-Osborne team over Brown-Darling to deal with Britain’s economic problems.

 

As the third party leader, Nick Clegg might have been expected to invite voters to cast a protest vote against both Labour and the Conservatives (“a plague on both their houses”).   Sure enough, he started with a story about “looking round the House of Commons during another Punch and Judy session of Prime Ministers Questions” while big problems mounted out  “in the real world”.

 

Nick invoked the archetype of the “rot at the top” – both the major parties.

 

"I don’t blame anyone for feeling a sense of despair about our clapped out political system. You are being taken for granted by the people in charge. Big money is hollowing out politics with some rich donors not even bothering to say whether they pay full British taxes or not. And to top it all the expenses scandals exposed some MPs as spivvy property speculators and tax evaders rather than public servants."

 

And then:

 

'This whole set-up has to change. That’s what 2010 should be all about. Big, permanent change for the better . . . 2010 must be the year we press the political reset button.  But that will only happen if we do things differently. More of the same won’t produce anything new. Of course both Labour and the Conservatives have learned to parrot the language of change. But where’s the proof they mean it?

 

'. . . If you like what the Liberal Democrats stand for, vote for it. If you want real change, not phoney change, vote for it. If you think things should be different, vote for it.”

 

Nick’s first challenge is to tell stories about “doing things differently”, offering specific outcomes that strike a chord with what voters think and feel, so that they see the Liberal Democrats as the party best placed to “clean up politics”.   They don’t at the moment.

 

Carrying on the “plague” / “rot” theme, Nick’s message used another interesting frame: the politics of belief.

 

". . . If we as Leaders want people to turn out to vote at all at the next General Election, we have got to show people our convictions, not just dividing lines, our beliefs, not just soundbites.

 

". . .  So as the countdown to the next General Election finally begins, I have a simple question for the other party leaders: what do you believe, really believe?"

 

Nick described his own over-riding belief as “fairness”.  That may well click with the Lib Dems’ brand image.  But it doesn’t work as a frame, let alone as a story. After all, what does “fairness” really mean?  How do target voters relate to such an abstract concept?  Nick referred to some specific policies, on schools and on taxes.  That’s a list, not a story.  If the politics of belief is going to be a success, then the Lib Dem campaign needs to tell some stories that link the policies up and explain what the party means by “fairness”, so that voters can see the benefits for them, their families and their communities.

"John Major the Movie": political narratives 101

I was interested to hear this week that the BFI is marking 75 years of party political broadcasts (PPBs). I don't think any of the parties has ever come up with a depth charge like the “Willie Horton” advert that helped destroy the 1988 Democratic presidential nominee Michael Dukakis or the New Zealand National Party’s infamous “dancing cossacks” in 1975.

Yet a few British PPBs are great case studies in political storytelling. One such is “John Major – the movie”, produced by the Conservatives for the 1992 general election. The Tories were the underdogs, after three hard terms in office, which had included the poll tax and a recession. The then prime minister was shown touring Brixton, where he grew up and lived as a young man, giving a low key exposition of his values and with some political homilies along the way. (“You can't cure unemployment with a short term stimulus . . . you do it by keeping inflation down.”)

Most importantly, the broadcast told voters a story – about John Major and his rise from humble beginnings, from Cold Harbour Lane to Downing Street. It was even titled The Journey! Major recalled his experience of being out of work. He talked about how the NHS had been there when his parents were aged and infirm. He had lived in multiracial Brixton and served on Lambeth Council. Major was projected as an unpretentious “man of the people”, meeting and chatting with people on the market. Many people said (and still do) that they were touched by his modesty and humility. The broadcast showed a leader who was connecting with voters and showing personal empathy with them. Major even concluded the broadcast by saying:

“. . . if you’ve done something or seen it or been it or felt it you can understand what it means and you can understand how it affects other people in their own individual lives.”

The broadcast enabled John Major to embody the Conservatives’ campaign narrative. They recognised that after years of Thatcher, British voters craved a change, to a more moderate, “caring” politics and a softer, more consensual style of leadership. The Tory story was that in dumping Thatcher and installing Major in her place, they had made already the change happen. And the low-key, ordinary, quintessentially English John Major -- “one of us – seemed a safer choice as PM than Kinnock.

The Conservatives were returned against the odds, gaining more votes than Tony Blair’s Labour Party in the landslide of 1997. Major stayed in Downing Street for five more years but his premiership was little short of a disaster, typified by the debacle of “Black Wednesday”. An “ordinary” leader wasn’t enough. And it’s unlikely that “Major the Movie”, on its own, won the 92 election for the Tories. (I’m reliably told that most of the feedback from the broadcast concerned the prime minister’s failure to wear a seatbelt.) Yet the broadcast did what all good political narratives should. It spoke directly to the emotional needs of voters in a clear and simple way; in this case, by simply allowing the leader to be himself – for better and for worse.

How do you make political ads that work?

This has been one of my main interests in politics for many years now.

A New Zealand academic has offered up some useful suggestions.

On his Liberation blog, Bryce Edwards has been summarizing and commenting on chapters from Informing Voters? Politics, Media and the New Zealand Election 2008 (edited by Chris Rudd, Janine Hayward and Geoff Craig of the University of Otago Politics department).

He says that “’Vote for Me’”, the chapter by Dr Claire Robinson on political advertising, is one of the most interesting in the book. Having read a lot of Dr Robinson’s material and had the benefit of her advice, I can well believe it.

Edwards says that Claire Robinson found most of the advertising lacklustre – there were no classics like the dancing cossacks this time. She is critical of Labour’s advertising, found National’s bland and uninspiring (but then they were the frontrunners) but is much more positive about the Greens’ adverts and believes that NZ First at least pushed their brand (although they finished up with no MPs).

Just as interesting are the principles we can draw from Claire Robinson’s reported observations. Here’s my take:

· political adverts need to engage with voters and be inclusive (for instance – show your party leader adverts interacting and listening to voters, address viewers directly);

· to help in projecting this sense of engagement and inclusion, you need to seem externally and not internally focused (for instance, avoid using the word “I” in your adverts, as much as possible);

· you should project the image of a diverse voter base, especially if you are the market leader or a major party;

· if you are following a niche targeting strategy (like the Greens), don’t be afraid to use the same types of images and symbols that business marketeers use to reach that niche (for example, children, well known scenes and symbols, high production values);

· if you are a third or fourth party your campaign images - if done well - can help you seem different and fresh, above “politics as usual” (but see below);

· negative messages about your opponents are not enough (ok, third term governments seeking a fourth term almost always resort to these, but if people aren’t listening to you or those messages, then this is not going to work); and

· to be successful, a political advertising campaign needs to be based on a positive storyline – optimistic, action-oriented and looking to the future.

It seems Claire Robinson was very impressed with the Greens’ adverts. So was I. Yet the party did not do as well as expected on polling day. According to Bryce Edwards, she puts this down this down to the Greens’ mid-campaign decision to declare their preferred coalition partner, effectively siding with the Labour Party. Such an announcement:

‘was out of keeping with their message about transcending politics, [and] effectively meant they were only communicating with their core supporters from that moment on, and could not expect to attract new supporters from the other side of the political spectrum’ (p.88).

Here’s one more lesson learned: you can have a great campaign narrative but you have to embody it as well.

Lessons from Gordon Brown's narrative failure

Liberal Democrats regularly beat ourselves up for “not having a narrative”. As I have argued many times, we always have a narrative but it’s not necessarily the one we might want. Yet our problems on this front are as nothing compared to Gordon Brown’s.

In today’s Guardian, Tom Clark describes the philosophical and marketing swamp in which the PM is now mired. He lists the worst of Brown’s abortive attempts to define what his premiership is meant to be all about, from the moralising of two years ago to last autumn’s promises to get tough with the bankers.

In each case, there was a cycle of failure that repeated itself. Brown issued bold statements of intent that were, in many ways, in line with the public mood. But they did not amount to a vision for government. Nor did Brown tell a clear story about what had happened and what was coming next. Most importantly, nothing came of them. Politicians in office are judged over the long term by their actions and achievement as by well as their words; all this forms part of their brand narrative. They have to make things happen and when action is promised but not forthcoming, the public has nothing tangible to latch on to; disillusionment soon follows.

Hang on - Brown has held high office for more than twelve years. He was chancellor for more than ten years – with an unprecedented amount of power over domestic policy - and has been prime minister for two. We should be able to see and believe what he stands for, where he wants to take the country; even if the PM has to help us. Just as we understood “Thatcherism”, we should able to see “Brownism” is about. But like Margaret Thatcher, Gordon Brown needs to tell stories to make it real.

The “ism” may be there after all. Tom Clark suggests that from all the micro-measures and ad hoc experiments, especially when Brown was at Treasury, we can identify his core values and principles:

“ . . . attempt to run a market economy with ruthless efficiency; then funnel as much of the proceeds as feasible to the very poor . . . with [a] strategic conviction that the state is vital in both parts . . . "

That’s a good summary but Brown has plainly not been successful in these aims -- though, it must be said, the global financial crisis has not helped.

When it comes to communication though, there’s less much room for debate. Tom Clark identifies the harsh reality:

“Brownism . . . will never be intelligibly defined by the man himself.”

I agree with Tom Clark. But read those words again, slowly. They go to the heart of why Brown has failed as a leader.

Political leaders have to tell compelling stories if they are to succeed. Leaders base these stories on a clear understanding of the people they are speaking to – their hopes, their emotions, their fears. Nobody else can do it for them. The leaders who do not tell such stories crash and burn. Think Margaret Thatcher, Tony Blair – and Paddy Ashdown. Or Michael Foot, Iain Duncan Smith – and Ming Campbell. Brown seems destined to join the second group. (True, this is a big ask for a leader who has been a long time in government. Yet Australia’s former PM Paul Keating managed it well enough to win the 1993 federal election.) Tom Clark wants Gordon Brown to change his ways but I think it is too late now.

But there’s more. In order to tell powerful stories, successful leaders also know their own minds, understand their own values and are clear about what they themselves believe in and their goals for the future. Michael Deaver once said that one of the biggest lessons he learned from working with Ronald Reagan was:

“You've got to know who you are before you can communicate it.”

Love them or hate them, Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher are two very good examples of leaders who knew who they were.

Maybe that’s the real problem with Brown’s premiership: he has still not really decided what Brownism is. And, perhaps, David Cameron and Nick Clegg have the same challenge.

Making things happen and dancing cossacks: political narratives 101

A few days ago, I came across on You Tube two old but still striking examples of the political narrative as party election broadcast.

I remember both of the adverts well. They feature here in a documentary of some sort, about innovative advertising in New Zealand elections. The first is a New Zealand Labour Party broadcast from the 1969 general election campaign. The party had been out of office for nine years (three terms) and believed, as did many observers, that their turn was coming around again. Labour’s slogan, after nearly a decade of conservative National Party rule, was “make things happen”.

In this clip, Bob Harvey, whose thrusting young advertising agency handled the Labour campaign, explains how he started re-making the image of the party’s c.27-stone leader, Norman Kirk, from grossly overweight slob to prospective prime minister.

Just as interesting is the way the advert projected Labour’s campaign narrative: if you change the government, we can make New Zealand better. The story was about the future, not the past and the archetype was the strong and purposeful community, working through politics to deliver positive results for everyone. As well as an upbeat campaign song, New Zealand symbols, including exports, new industries, farmers, old people and people working, were used to make the story real. (You’ll notice the iconic photo of a Vietcong prisoner being brutally executed during the Tet offensive of 1968 too. The Vietnam war was one issue on which Labour differentiated themselves from National.) And Harvey was trying to make sure that Kirk embodied the campaign narrative, as a credible leader who might, well, make things happen.

The broadcast looks a little quaint today but was certainly innovative forty years ago. Yet Sir Keith Holyoake’s National government clung on by their fingertips. Most Kiwi voters thought that Norman Kirk and Labour still weren’t quite ready. Three years later, Kirk led his party to a landslide victory, using the slogan “It’s Time for Labour”. “Change”, the classic narrative for opposition parties, hit home with a bored and restless electorate that wanted new faces and political action and believed that the economy was firing strongly enough to sustain it. And the re-imagining of Kirk was complete (though, as I recall, Labour’s tv campaign was a little less imaginative in 1972).

The next case study in the documentary comes from the National Party’s 1975 election campaign. That campaign is still some of the powerful political storytelling I have seen. By election day, New Zealand had been hit by the first oil shock, a collapse in the country’s terms of trade and double-digit inflation. And the government was shattered by the death in 1974 of Norman Kirk. Labour no longer embodied its narrative. Meanwhile, the pugnacious populist Robert Muldoon had taken over as National’s leader and marketed himself – incredible though it seems now – as an economic wizard.

In six different advertising spots, from which a few brief excerpts appear here, National’s campaign told simple stories to an anxious electorate. They did it by using simple, colourful cartoons with potent symbols and clever heuristics.

You’ll see the negative archetypes here, possibly as never before – “the enemy within” (trouble-making trade unionists and brawling, brown-skinned Pacific Island immigrants) and “the rot at the top” (the Labour government that had failed to manage the economy). Both came together in the infamous “dancing Cossacks” that powerfully symbolised National’s claim that the Labour superannuation (pensions) scheme would allow the state to nationalise all the farms and businesses in New Zealand and bring communism to the South Pacific.

This time, National swept to victory. Labour was decimated and Muldoon went on to be prime minister for eight and a half years. The crude appeals to prejudice and the “reds under the bed” scaremongering had Labour crying foul. The cossacks remain controversial to this day. [You can see the superannuation advert in full if you click here and scroll down to the bottom]

Like them or not, the National Party adverts are a textbook case of a successful political narrative. They talked about the issues of most concern to disgruntled Labour supporters and “swing” voters and engaged, very directly, with what these voters were thinking and feeling, as identified through the astute use of market research.

The National campaign structured these emotions – fear - into simple, easy-to-understand stories and played them back to voters. And they offered policy planks as “happy endings”: cut immigration to the bone, bring in a form of voluntary trade unionism, replace Labour’s superannuation regime with a very generous pay as you go scheme. Muldoon and his hard-hitting campaigning style embodied the campaign’s narrative.

Mike Wall, who masterminded National’s advertising campaign, is surely correct when he says in the clip that Muldoon would have won handsomely with or without the cartoons. But he adds:

“The commercials fitted in and somehow captured the mood of the campaign that Muldoon was running.”

Oh, yeah.