Rehearsed Truth: How Repeating the Same Story Keeps Newfoundland Stuck

Every time Newfoundland wakes to another crisis — a debt scare, a collapse in resources, or a big “reset” plan — it feels like déjà vu. But this isn’t just memory. It’s a habit. Leaders recycle the same speeches, the same promises, even the same symbols. What looks like a bold new beginning is usually another performance of an old play.

The danger is not only the failures themselves. The real trap is the cycle of repetition. By rehearsing the same truths over and over, Newfoundland stays locked in place — stuck between a past it won’t let go of and a future it never truly builds.

The Script of Crisis

Crisis is the entry point of Newfoundland’s political story. From the bank crash of 1894, to the Commission of Government in 1934, to the cod moratorium in 1992, disaster has been turned into the main stage for politics.

When these events strike, the pattern is familiar:

Announce the shock.
Call for unity.
Propose a big solution, often tied to outside capital or Ottawa.
Wrap it all in a language of “jobs,” “growth,” and “resilience.”

By now, the tropes are automatic. They sound less like innovation and more like an old script performed again. The shock isn’t a true turning point. It’s a cue for the next act.

Resets Past and Present

The 1960s resettlement program was framed as a bold plan to modernize the province. Whole communities were uprooted in the name of progress. The Churchill Falls project was cast as a leap into energy independence, but became a financial trap that still drains Newfoundland today. Muskrat Falls was sold as the “game-changer” that would finally deliver cheap power — and turned into a cautionary tale of debt and mismanagement.

Each time, the language of reinvention has been the same. A “new era.” A “reset.” A promise that this project, unlike all the others, will deliver.

When the provincial government published its “Big Reset” report in 2021, it borrowed directly from the World Economic Forum’s “Great Reset” rhetoric. On paper, it was a plan to tackle debt and spark growth. In practice, it was another version of the same story Newfoundland has been told for decades: that salvation comes from a sweeping plan, a megaproject, or a once-in-a-generation pivot.

But the ending rarely changes. Debt remains. Communities fracture. Locals wait for the next rescue.

Bailouts and the Local Loop

The cycle plays out at the community level too. Towns across Newfoundland rely on provincial transfers to cover basic services. With small populations and narrow tax bases, many municipalities know they cannot stand on their own.

This creates what economists call a soft budget constraint.³ Local leaders spend and borrow in the expectation that the province will eventually bail them out. And the province usually does. Past debts have been assumed, repayment schedules stretched, “special assistance” packages delivered.⁴

This rescue language is now part of the province’s daily vocabulary: “temporary relief,” “extraordinary support,”, "mitigation". It all sounds familiar because it is. The words are rehearsed as much as the actions. And because rescue is expected, real reform — like strengthening local tax capacity, or sharing services between towns — never takes root.

Why the Cycle Persists

Why does Newfoundland repeat the same story instead of writing a new one?

Centralized control. St. John’s dominates political and economic life. Communities outside the capital often lack the resources or autonomy to chart their own path. Decisions come down from above, and locals are cast as receivers of policy, not shapers of it.
Politics as performance. A ribbon-cutting ceremony, a megaproject announcement, or a leader’s bold speech counts for more than the slow work of institution-building. Leaders are judged by how well they play the role, not by whether the results last.
Civil society as cast members. Aboriginal groups, French-language institutions, and youth wings are drawn into the performance. Their presence gives projects legitimacy. Their opposition is softened by being offered a seat in the script. Either way, the narrative is controlled.
Cultural comfort in old stories. Many Newfoundlanders identify with the role of being “rescued” or “left behind.” These identities make it harder to embrace unfamiliar strategies that demand real structural change.

The result: a system that defaults to repetition. The play is safe because it is known. Everyone knows their lines.

The Cost of Rehearsed Truth

Repetition comforts. It gives the illusion that leaders “have a plan.” But it also does real damage:

It erodes public trust when the same promises fail.
It drains financial resources on projects designed more for show than sustainability.
It stalls innovation by punishing those who try to tell a different story.

Even when alternatives exist — bottom-up planning, stronger local governments, or smarter use of natural resources — they struggle to break through. They require new language, and the system clings to the old.

From Policy to People

This habit of recycling doesn’t just apply to projects and policies. It extends to the people chosen to front them. Newfoundland’s stage keeps producing the same character types:

The “fresh face” who promises to bridge divides.
The silent opponent who offers little resistance.
The community organization that lends support at the right time.

It feels like casting more than democracy. Which sets the stage for the next act.

Closing

Newfoundland doesn’t just suffer from crises — it suffers from storytelling habits. Every “reset,” every bailout, every megaproject is framed as new, but the script is old. Until the cycle of rehearsed truth is broken, the province will remain stuck — not because of what happens to it, but because of the stories it chooses to repeat.

This isn’t only about policies and projects. It also shapes who gets lifted into the spotlight. As The Kingmaker, Part I showed, the rise of certain figures is less accident than choreography. And as Part II will explore, the networks that anoint candidates are the same ones that keep the old stories alive.

References

[1] Van Assche, K., Greenwood, R., & Gruezmacher, M. (2022). *The local paradox in grand policy schemes: Lessons from Newfoundland and Labrador.* Scandinavian Journal of Management, 38, 101212. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.scaman.2022.101212 (Local download)

[2] Guo, X. (2025). *Optimal Transfer Mechanism for Municipal Soft-Budget Constraints in Newfoundland. https://arxiv.org/abs/2508.02171

[3] Kornai, J. (1986). *The Soft Budget Constraint*. Kyklos, 39(1), 3–30. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1467-6435.1986.tb01252.x

[4] Government of Newfoundland and Labrador. (2016). Provincial funding relief for municipalities: Joint press release. https://www.releases.gov.nl.ca/releases/2016/exec/0525n02.aspx

[5] Greene, M., et al. (2021). *The Big Reset: Report of the Premier’s Economic Recovery Team.* Government of Newfoundland and Labrador. (Local Download)

[6] Bavington, D. (2010/2011). Managed Annihilation: An Unnatural History of the Newfoundland Cod Collapse. UBC Press. https://www.ubcpress.ca/managed-annihilation (or full text PDF: https://www.ubcpress.ca/asset/9140/1/9780774817479.pdf) (Local Download)

[7] Atlin, C., & Stoddart, M. C. J. (2021). Governance in Times of Crisis: the Muskrat Falls Case. (also cited in “Reset in Context” literature) https://www.mun.ca/harriscentre/media/production/memorial/administrative/the-harris-centre/media-library/Times_of_Crisis_Muskrat_Falls.pdf (Local Download)

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