Humans of Davos — Episode 4
This is the fourth episode of the Humans of Davos diary. Check out https://medium.com/humans-of-davos for more.
will.i.am sat at the end of the table, facing us, fifteen obnoxious overachievers — that’s what Politico’s satirical article called us. I had mixed feelings. I love his music, but wasn’t sure how that was going to translate into a conversation about the state of the world.
I was blown away. He breezed through most topics with a swagger and a straight-talking style that was refreshing. “I don’t care how baller you are, you can’t buy a tank to go to the mall,” he said to illustrate the need for regulation.
At the end of the session, Liudmilla stood up to ask a question about brain drains. She was articulate, and her voice was calm, but her hands crossed in front of her were shaking. Soon, the corner of her eyes and cheeks started twitching. I was surprised to see her nervous — she, who carried herself with infinite class, representing Belarus, a country I wouldn’t have been able to place on a map. She was a beacon of elegance in a tasteless Davos audience of suits, and delivered a powerful story about the pressure women face in Europe, at work and at home. By distilling hard facts and soft personal stories, she made you a believer, an activist, a feminist. She balanced an apparent vulnerability with the undeniable strength of her convictions, fighting poverty and inequality in Arab countries that I felt were lucky to have her.
I hoped to ask him to help ShelterTech, but his team was clear about the “no pitch” policy… So I asked a question on homelessness, to which he responded about refugees. After the group photo, I put my earphones on and walked back through the narrow corridors of the convention center listening to Heartbreaker.
I sat next to Rebecca in the Communities Lounge floating above the Olympic swimming pool. She had been one of the more discreet participants of the group, and I couldn’t quite figure out what her objectives here were. “I don’t exactly know how I fit here,” she said breaking her soft-baked chocolate cookie. “The conversations I’m hearing at Davos are very far from our reality in Ethiopia.”
In my imagination, Ethiopia was the closest thing I new to Wakanda — A Black nation, almost lost in time, somewhat lost in space, free. And Rebecca was a real-life black revolutionary panther. A pragmatic leader with a short-term plan. She had everything of a female N’Jadaka, the rogue Marxist revolutionary prince trying to overthrow the royal autocrat T’Challa — Black Panther. She wanted power to the people and sacrificed wealth, career and a corporate life in America for it. She was repaying a US college debt on an Ethiopian salary and came back to follow a revolution that didn’t exist.
I imagined N’Jadaka at Davos, giving the world a last chance before starting the offensive.
Before starting the uprising however, we needed food. So we headed with a group to the Japan night organised in a hotel a few blocks away on the Promenade.
The display of foods and drinks was that of a feast, given to honor the finest guests. The hosts organised a show of traditional music and dances for a refined audience. But it was just us, with hundreds of other clueless corporates. It felt like “art meets all-you can eat”, and it was painful.
Standing near a table at the back of the room, I was staring at a lineup of beautiful dessert pieces, carefully made by hand by a Japanese chef from Paris. He had twenty wooden tools of all shapes to sculpt the pastries. Each one felt like a piece of art. I couldn’t choose.
“You should try the dorayaki,” a voice said behind me. “They are red bean pancakes filled with sweet Azuki paste.” I turned around to see a caucasian woman, holding a leaflet in Japanese in her hand. She started to speak Japanese with the chef, who seemed even more surprised than I. “You speak Japanese?” I asked. “Yes, I lived in Japan for one year and work in a Japanese catering company in Bern. I came to look at the different products — but I’m alone, it feels a bit strange”. “At least one person appreciates the effort here,” I told her, “and you should join our group!”
Melissa was an anomaly in the room. She had nothing to do with Davos nor the World Economic Forum, had driven hours to get here just to tour the different food stands — which came from all around Europe — and taste the sake, despite her being Muslim. She had worked 7-days and 70-hours weeks in Tokyo to afford her stay and learn their culture, and now she spoke German, French, Bosnian, English and Japanese — fluently. But most notably, she uttered a sentence no other guest had in the past days — “I am alone here” — while in reality, most were. Vulnerability wasn’t Davos’s attendees’ strong point.
She was in the Swiss national team of Kendo — a traditional Japanese martial art with swords. “This is the first time I’ve met a Samurai,” I thought to myself.
She found herself in the middle of the Davos crowd and I asked her what she thought of it. “I wonder how many people here came by train.” She said. “A child like Greta Thunberg has done more for the environment than a lot of people here.”
In front of me, someone stopped next to the Nigiri table, without acknowledging the presence of the chef on the other side, and took three small plates of sushi. He swallowed two in a fraction of a second and left the other one to dry next to the trash bin, distracted by a guest who was handing him a business card.
