When Brent crude climbed above $100 a barrel last month for the first time since 2022, it didn’t just shock financial markets. It triggered a global scramble that has turned energy conservation into the world’s most creative policy experiment. Ships attacked in the Strait of Hormuz, infrastructure strikes in the Middle East, and the fear of prolonged supply disruptions have pushed governments into territories they haven’t explored in decades. And what we’re seeing is either resourceful crisis management or a slow-motion panic dressed up as planning. Probably both.
The International Energy Agency laid out ten measures it says can ease the crisis immediately: work from home, cut air travel, reduce highway speeds by at least six miles per hour, use public transit more, and switch to electric cooking equipment. Sensible stuff, mostly. The IEA was honest about the limits though. “The demand-side measures highlighted in the report cannot match the scale of disrupted supply,” they noted. But they added that these steps “can play a meaningful role in lowering costs for consumers, reducing market strains and preserving fuels for essential uses.” Translation: it won’t fix everything, but it’s something.
Governments heard the message, and then they started improvising.
When Four-Day Workweeks Become Emergency Policy
The Philippines went first with something that sounds almost pleasant until you realize it’s a crisis measure. President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. implemented a four-day workweek for government staff in early March. Government offices were ordered to turn off lights and computers during lunch, adjust air conditioning to no lower than 75 degrees, and implement flexible working arrangements where practical. Marcos called it temporary and exempted emergency services, which is probably wise since you can’t exactly tell a hospital to take Fridays off.
The Philippines isn’t in this situation casually. The country relies on the Middle East for almost 90% of its oil supply, according to ING Think. So when global prices spike, Manila feels it immediately.
Pakistan followed suit with its own four-day workweek, but went further. Half of public sector employees were ordered to work from home. Schools closed for two weeks. Cabinet ministers paused their salaries. The government cut spending by 20%. And then, in a move that captures the strange desperation of the moment, Pakistan ordered fans to watch a popular cricket tournament from home instead of packing stadiums. Normally 30,000 people fill those seats. Pakistan’s interior minister and head of the national cricket board, Mohsin Naqvi, said at a press conference: “We decided that as long as this crisis is ongoing, we will not have crowds at matches.” A nation couldn’t afford the fuel for its fans to watch cricket.
Indonesia, meanwhile, decided on rationing. The government announced it would limit fuel purchases to 50 liters per vehicle per day for private consumers. The twist: Indonesia heavily subsidizes fuel costs, but budgeted based on a global oil price of $70 per barrel. The math no longer works.
The Thermostat Wars
Singapore got into the business of micromanaging comfort. In April, the Ministry of Sustainability and the Environment directed all government offices to set air conditioners at 25 degrees Celsius (about 77 Fahrenheit) or higher. They also asked offices to unplug non-essential equipment when not in use. The agencies said they’d speed up installation of smart sensors and energy-efficient appliances, but the core message was clear: sweat a little more for national stability.
Denmark’s energy and utilities minister Lars Aagaard made an almost plaintive appeal on local radio in March: “If there is any energy consumption that you can do without, if it is not strictly necessary to drive the car, then don’t do it.” He pointed out the double benefit: saving money in personal wallets and stretching national reserves longer. It’s the kind of plea you make when you’re genuinely worried.
Even the UK’s AA, the country’s largest motoring organization, weighed in with advice that sounds reasonable but reveals underlying anxiety. The AA told drivers on March 9 not to change their refueling habits, but they could “consider cutting out some non-essential journeys and changing their driving style to conserve fuel.” The careful phrasing matters. Don’t panic, but also don’t assume normal times are coming back soon.
When Governments Get Creative
Some responses have had an almost absurdist quality. Sri Lanka made Wednesdays a public holiday. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake said the country needed to “prepare for the worst, but hope for the best.” Essential services like hospitals stayed open, but it was a shortened workweek for everyone else.
Bangladesh’s university students got an unexpected gift: early Ramadan holidays. The government announced colleges could cancel classes until later in March, then shut down campuses completely to save electricity. Students probably weren’t complaining, but the reason should have been sobering.
Egypt’s response touched the cultural nerve of a nation known for shopping and dining well into the night. Starting March 28, malls, restaurants, and retailers were asked to shut down at 9 p.m. on weekdays. The government also planned to turn off illuminated billboards, reduce public lighting, and close government buildings by 6 p.m. It’s not a lockdown, but it’s a noticeable dimming of national life.
The Money Moves
Some countries chose to spend their way through the crisis rather than demand sacrifice. Spain’s government approved a $5.8 billion aid package that reduced VAT on electricity and gas from 21% to 10%, slashed the special electricity tax from 5% to 0.5%, and suspended the tax on electricity production entirely. They introduced a 20-cent-per-liter subsidy for transport operators, farmers, and fishmongers, and promised to cover 80% of electricity-grid charges for energy-intensive industries. It’s expensive, but the thinking is clear: transfer the pain from citizens to the state budget.
Germany took a different angle. Rather than broad subsidies, Berlin regulated the market directly. Petrol stations would be allowed to increase fuel prices only once a day at noon, while price reductions could happen anytime. The government said prices were changing “up to 22 times a day,” creating what they called “a huge lack of transparency for motorists.” Those caught violating the ban face fines up to 100,000 euros. It’s price control dressed up as transparency protection, and it’s being paired with plans to release more oil reserves.
South Korea’s President Lee Jae Myung urged citizens to “save every drop of fuel,” warning that the crisis “is not a passing shower that quickly subsides, but rather a massive storm whose duration is uncertain.” He pushed for a 26.2 trillion won ($17 billion) spending plan to cushion the blow. Lee’s language reveals something important: governments are no longer talking about weeks of disruption. They’re preparing for something longer.
The Thing Nobody Wants to Say
What’s striking about all this isn’t just the variety of responses. It’s the underlying admission buried in every single measure. These countries are operating under the assumption that the global oil market isn’t returning to normal anytime soon. The IEA’s honest assessment that demand-side measures can’t match the scale of disrupted supply. Denmark’s plea for citizens to cut unnecessary consumption. Pakistan’s decision that stadiums can’t operate. Egypt’s 9 p.m. closing time. They all point to the same conclusion: governments don’t know how long this lasts, so they’re planning as if it could be long.
Thailand halted fuel exports to maintain domestic supplies. The Philippines is hunting for alternative petroleum sources. Australia saw some fuel stations implement purchase restrictions and a 20% spike in public transit usage after gas prices rose. Prime Minister Anthony Albanese halved the fuel tax for three months while insisting Australia’s oil supply remains steady, but the public behavior suggests people aren’t entirely convinced.
The European Commission warned of an “extended energy crisis” caused by Middle East conflict. EU energy chief Dan Jørgensen said bluntly: “Even if peace is here tomorrow, still we will not go back to normal in the foreseeable future.” That’s the real headline hidden inside all these 4-day workweeks and thermostat settings.
What happens when this crisis finally ends and governments try to scale these measures back? Or has something more permanent just shifted?
