Merkel's tears and Bismarck's tantrums

A potted history of political crying

What made Bismarck cry and tear his hair out? Img: Kikeriki, 1877, Wien Museum Inv.-Nr. W 781, CC0

If you watched the news this week, you probably saw that there was a bit of a furore around the British Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves. She cried in parliament on Wednesday. It was quite painful to watch. Sitting behind Prime Minister Keir Starmer as he spoke, you could see her trying to hold it together. But she looked awful, her face ashen with bags under her eyes. Eventually, her lower lip trembled, and a couple of tears ran down her cheeks.

Predictably, this triggered a debate on whether it’s okay for women to cry in the workplace. I watched debates on TV with other women claiming that women are just more prone to bursting into tears than men, and that they should be allowed to do so when the need takes them. Female journalists admitted that they, too, sometimes cry at work.

Well, there is a debate to be had about women crying in the workplace, I’m sure. But to me, the most important aspect of this isn’t that Rachel Reeves is a woman but that she is a politician, one who holds the second-most important role in government. What she does affects the lives of tens of millions of people. Her tears have consequences.

The markets responded immediately on Wednesday. Reeves’ pitiful appearance gave rise to rumours that she may be about to be sacked, and that there is deep instability and rancour in the Labour government. Traders were spooked and lost confidence.

Borrowing costs went up, and the pound dropped against the dollar. This is good news for Reeves since the markets have made it clear that they want her to stay, but it shows that her tears have consequences, not because she is a woman but because she holds political office.

Coincidentally, another female politician shared her memories of public tears this week. “At some point, I burst out crying from the pressure," recalled former German Chancellor Angela Merkel in an interview about her memoirs. Smiling, she added, “A woman cries during a summit!"

It happened during the height of the eurozone crisis in 2011. Merkel was torn between domestic tension and demands on Germany from other countries. When US President Obama and French President Nicolas Sarkozy pressured her intensely during the G20 summit held at the time in Cannes, France, she suddenly burst into tears and said, “That’s not fair!”

Discombobulated, Obama adjourned the meeting to speak to Merkel. He put his arm around her shoulder, as if to comfort her. The image was captured by a photographer and went around the world.

Crucially, the tear-filled outburst from one of the most emotionally controlled politicians in the world convinced Obama and other leaders that it wasn’t political obstinacy but existential pressure that underpinned Merkel’s decisions. He softened his stance, and the problem was eventually resolved in a different manner.

Again, I don’t think the point here was first and foremost that Merkel was a woman. Of course, this affected the dynamics between her and Obama. It’s hard to imagine, say, Margaret Thatcher gently putting her arm around Helmut Kohl. But ultimately, it was Merkel’s display of genuine emotion that changed Obama’s mind because it demonstrated that the German chancellor really was stuck between a rock and a hard place rather than playing political games. This principle works the same in male politicians.

The most prominent example I can think of is another German Chancellor, the very first one, Otto von Bismarck. A bear of a man, tall, broad-shouldered and overweight, he had cultivated his image of the Iron Chancellor. Nonetheless, he was just as infamous for his tearful breakdowns in parliament or in front of the Kaiser. These outbursts were almost always extremely effective in convincing his opponents that a decision just had to be made the way Bismarck wanted. The situation was evidently so grave that it moved this otherwise strong-willed man to tears.

Consider the following scenario: In 1866, Germany did not yet exist, and Otto von Bismarck was the Prime Minister of Prussia. Prussia was at war with Austria and inflicted a swift and painful defeat on the other German state at the Battle of Königgrätz on 3 July. For Bismarck, the matter was done. Prussia had shown everyone it was the most powerful of the German states. Now, it was important to make peace swiftly and sensibly and ensure the other European powers (notably France and Russia) would leave it at that.

King Wilhelm I had other ideas. This was a grand and glorious victory over a long-term rival. Why not savour the moment and bask in the nationalist fervour for a bit? The Prussian King was determined to ride into Vienna in a triumphant victory procession that stuck two fingers up to the humiliated enemy. Bismarck found it impossible to get through to his boss with rational arguments about the geopolitical implications. So he threw a tantrum. He burst into what was later described as “hysterical crying fits”.

Tears rolling down the ruddy cheeks of the six-foot-two junker were a sight to behold. And they did the trick. Startled by how serious the matter evidently was for his Prime Minister, who had bailed him out of a deep constitutional crisis before by using blunt political force, the King realised he was about to make a very bad decision indeed and relented. Bismarck’s tears may well have prevented a major European conflict.

The moral of the story is that tears shed by politicians always have consequences, whether they come from a man or a woman. They are a rare display of real emotion in what is often otherwise a game of tactics, opportunism, and brinkmanship. They can create empathy or convince allies and opponents that a matter is serious. The same is true for Rachel Reeves. The truth of the matter is that parliament is not just a ‘workplace’. It’s a political stage on which the drama of national politics plays out. The chancellor's tears are political, whether she wants them to be or not.