My Visit to Davos

Observations from a 2023 visit to the World Economic Forum's conference in Davos, and the ongoing transformation of elite power structures.

Arriving in Davos is no simple feat. This charming village lacks a major airport, making access somewhat exclusive. One might arrive by helicopter, a privilege reserved for individuals like the President of the United States or the CEO of Nestlé. Otherwise, Davos remains a remote gem, that takes you quite a while to reach by car.

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In 2023, I found myself in this secluded haven. The theme that year was “Cooperation in a Fragmented World.” My presence there wasn’t due to immense wealth, power, or influence. Instead, I had managed to secure a press pass – not entirely by honest means. It turns out that a background in intelligence work does have its perks, especially when it comes to forging valuable connections.

My girlfriend and me, fresh off the plane from California, overslept and missed what was supposedly a ‘wonderful’ opening sermon by Klaus Schwab at Davos. But really, who are we kidding? Do the elites attending Davos truly crave to watch dancers and hear opera sung in Hindi? This is likely the height of globalist culture — a superficial nod to diversity, nothing more than a ticked box on their checklist of performative wokeness.

That noon, we briskly navigated the treacherous sidewalks in search for something to eat, fully aware of the perilous ice hidden beneath the snow – a hazard blatantly ignored by the locals. It’s almost a spectacle at Davos to witness the high-profile attendees – central bank governors, IMF executives, and other distinguished figures – adorned in cashmere and calfskin, occasionally taking an undignified tumble on the slippery streets.

The weather was quintessential Alpine winter – a gentle snowfall, biting cold, but the air was refreshingly crisp and dry, sparking our vitality. As we walked, we engaged in the typical Davos pastime: scrutinizing passersby, speculating on their identity and significance. In Davos, after all, anonymity is rare.

The ritual of identity-guessing is facilitated by the mandatory badges worn by all attendees. These badges, essential for security clearances and session registrations, conspicuously display one's name, affiliation, and photograph. Most participants wear them visibly to avoid the hassle at checkpoints. This practice excludes only the elite of the elite – the Bill Clintons and Bill Gates’ of the world, whose faces need no introduction.

This act of badge-scanning has become so ingrained in the Davos culture it's practically a dance – the 'Davos dip': a subtle, choreographed move involving a slight knee bend and a quick downward glance to size up and assess each passerby's stature in this elite gathering.

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Exiting the Congress Centre and strolling down Davos's principal artery, the Promenade, we encountered a parade of global influence. Ulf Mark Schneider, the CEO of Nestlé, was just the beginning. We brushed shoulders with a huddle of Harvard intellectuals, a high-ranking official from Saudi Aramco, and a local woman, her daily life underscored by a sled hauling her children – a living testament to the town's practical approach to snowy sidewalks.

Our path intersected with Tom Donohue, former honcho of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce. The brief traverse along the Promenade was a microcosm of Davos in January – a snapshot of the world's economic powerhouses from multiple continents, all condensed into a brisk, five-minute walk.

While Klaus’ welcome jamboree happened, we found ourselves in a small restaurant that barely deserves any attention. Its traditional setup was only marginally more enticing than the surrounding mundane shops and unremarkable hotels. Nearby, you’ll find stores peddling the typical tourist traps: Swiss Army knives, chocolate boxes, fur hats, and mountain gear. There was a blackboard by the door, casually listing ‘specials’ in a desperate bid for uniqueness.

The seating arrangement on the first floor was a joke – they claim to fit twenty, but that’s only if customers are willing to practically sit in each other’s laps. The upstairs was no better, with its so-called ‘private rooms’ offering cramped spaces that force guests to squeeze together around an elongated table. The restaurant’s only real claim to character is its overwhelming use of dark wood – façade, floors, tables, you name it. This woodiness, rather than adding charm, creates a claustrophobic atmosphere that’s difficult to ignore. In short, the restaurant’s charm is an illusion, a feeble attempt at originality in a world that forces banality.

The true, unvarnished draw of this place is its fondue, particularly the cheese variety, served in lavish portions that harken back to a time when heart health was a mere afterthought. My girlfriend, with her peculiar fondue fixation, insisted we book a table well in advance. This was crucial, especially during the January meetings when over 2,000 business and government elites swarm the area, turning the task of securing a restaurant reservation into an ordeal akin to snagging a spot at Tokyo's elite Aragawa.

Astoundingly, during this chaotic week, the clientele at this modest Swiss bistro mirrors that of the globe's most prestigious dining establishments. Yet, amidst the international power players, a few tables were still reserved for the locals. One in particular, a loquacious drunk, became an unintentional centerpiece. He mingled with the CEOs, state leaders, and celebrities, all crammed together, engaging in the communal ritual of twirling bread in pots of simmering Gruyère.

This local, speaking only in Swiss-German, remained largely unintelligible to the diverse crowd. It was unclear whether the barrier was the language or the influence of his preferred local brew. Regardless, his presence added to the atmosphere, creating a scene that's paradoxically both chaotic and convivial. As he chattered away, largely uncomprehended, the ambiance remained oddly cheerful and relaxed, a bizarre fusion of high society and local charm.

Just as my girlfriend was scooping up the last bits of Gruyère from our fondue pot, the scene outside the restaurant dramatically shifted. Two black SUVs screeched to a halt, and from the first vehicle, six men in black suits piled out, resembling a comedic skit where clowns cram into a tiny car. They briskly entered the restaurant, exchanged a few words with the person who appeared to be the owner behind the bar, and then turned their attention to the diners.

With an authoritative tone, one of them announced that Bill Gates was coming to have lunch and that everyone inside would be subjected to a thorough search and pat-down. As a legally armed citizen, that was something I would rather not subject myself to. I knocked the bread from my girlfriend's hand. She looked on in shock as these men, who frankly had no legitimate authority to conduct such searches, proceeded to invade personal space, all because Bill Gates had decided he wanted fondue for lunch.

This entire spectacle seemed like a power play, perhaps a reflection of Gates's own past, a man who, despite being bullied in his youth, had risen to immense power and influence. It was as if this moment were a petty assertion of his dominance, a way to remind every one of their 'place' in ‘his’ world.

Disgusted by this outrageous violation of our privacy and dignity, I left the necessary Francs on the table for our meal. I swiftly guided my girlfriend out onto the street, pulling her a few meters down the road. From there, we watched as the figure of immense wealth and power, barely taller than his car, made his way into the restaurant with a self-satisfied grin on his face. Later that day, he participated in a private discussion, forewarning the world about an impending new pandemic and discussing AI.

Our remaining time in Davos unfolded predictably. It was a relentless barrage of alarmist rhetoric, discussions about policies that encroached upon personal freedoms, and the occasional indecent proposal from various politicians and Saudi businessmen, inviting my girlfriend and me to spend the night with them — paid, of course. In summary, the experience was thoroughly distasteful.

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One evening, strolling away from the Congress Centre, where we had just witnessed speeches by German Chancellor Olaf Scholz and Indian steel tycoon Lakshmi Mittal, we were engulfed by a sea of renowned personalities. This transition into the heart of the global literary scene underscored Davos's role as the physical manifestation of Marshall McLuhan's “global village.” It felt like a miniature Earth, a yearly pop-up representing global interconnectedness: a hub linking every place and person in one way or another.

This gathering was a microcosm of global discourse. Top trade ministers gathered in attempts, albeit futile, to salvage international trade negotiations. Advocates for African issues engaged with business leaders and politicians, seeking support for health initiatives. Various advocates offered their solutions to diverse global anxieties, from immigration to terrorism, pitching directly to those with the power to act.

This experience left me pondering a crucial question: Are all the attendees complicit in the controversial and often perceived as sinister agendas discussed over the years, or are the majority simply naïve professionals trying to actually do some good in this world?

There’s a common misconception about the WEF being a monolithic, malevolent force orchestrating dystopian and totalitarian schemes. The reality is more nuanced. The WEF serves as a platform where individuals bring their radical ideas. These ideas, if they resonate and gain support, are then reflected in the WEF’s reports, panel discussions, and policy recommendations over the next year. The WEF essentially acts as a central hub, bringing together influential figures to endorse policies and agendas that have found a common ground among them.

Crucially, the ideas championed by the WEF are not the output of a homogenous, local 'hive mind' situated near Geneva, magically manipulating global leaders. Instead, they originate from the minds of elite individuals.

This process is a complex global power play, vast in its reach yet intricate in its mechanisms. Its influence, much like mycelium weaving through the forest floor, extends worldwide, subtly impacting even the most unsuspecting individuals. It draws them into a charade of benevolence, where the true beneficiaries are those who operate beyond the need for name tags, those who stand above the WEF's hierarchical caste system, untouched by the pretense of serving the greater good.

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In its over fifty years of existence, this summit high in the mountains has profoundly transformed Davos, evolving it from a quiet ski resort into a bustling global nexus. It has become much more than a mere convergence point for leaders in business, government, media, and culture.

Today, it stands as a symbol of global unification, both in a literal and metaphorical sense – a true summit among summits. This gathering epitomizes what political scientist Samuel Huntington referred to as the “Davos Man” – a global citizen for whom national borders are becoming increasingly inconsequential, representing a new breed of leadership in our times.

When Klaus Schwab founded this organization in 1971, which would later be known as the World Economic Forum, its purpose was more limited. Initially, it aimed to bring together European business leaders to discuss the continent's then-uncertain economic future.

Reflecting on the era of 1971 brings to light the fact that Europe was still grappling with the aftermath of World War II and was a key player in the Cold War dynamics. This period was before Europe transitioned into its current form of a less imperialistic, more modest and multilateral entity. Notably, the decolonization process was still underway, with Portugal only releasing its hold on Guinea-Bissau, Angola, and Mozambique in 1974.

The European Union, as we know it, was in its nascent stages, with the UK, Ireland, and Denmark joining only in 1973, and the Treaty of Rome in 1957 laying the groundwork for what would eventually become a unified market under the Maastricht Treaty. This backdrop of transition set the stage for the inception of the World Economic Forum.

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As a teenager, international conferences were far from my radar, yet my education was steeped in a Western-centric perspective. My time in the agency’s training was marked by the core curriculum focusing on seminal literary works in the Humanities course and foundational political philosophy in Contemporary Civilization.

This curriculum, in hindsight, was the pinnacle of my education, shaping my understanding and perspectives, though I didn’t fully appreciate it then. We delved into the works of predominantly white male thinkers, from Plato to Darwin, and only in later parts did the course diversify slightly.

During my studies, I learned about the true workings of American society. The core concept I grasped was that at the upper echelons of business, government, and the military, there was a surprisingly small, interconnected group of influential individuals – commonly referred to as “the elite”.

This elite was distinct, living in a world apart from the average person, endowed with the authority to make impactful decisions. They controlled the major corporations, held the reins of the state, led the military, and occupied key positions within the societal framework, wielding substantial power, wealth, and fame.

I came to understand that these elites often followed similar paths to their positions of influence, forming a homogenous group well-acquainted with each other. Their career trajectories frequently spanned across different sectors, moving seamlessly from high-ranking government positions to corporate boardrooms, from military leadership to political roles, essentially creating a networked directorate for the United States.

This exploration was not just descriptive, but also critical of mid-20th-century American leadership. It delved into the concentration of power among a limited number of corporations and individuals, highlighting their connections to pivotal institutions.

My amazement soon transitioned into a critique, emphasizing the outsized influence of this select group. An exemplary figure who embodied many of these observations was President Eisenhower. His career path, from Supreme Allied Commander in Europe to President of Columbia University, and finally as President of the United States, encapsulated the essence of this elite group. His farewell address in 1961, in which he warned of the military-industrial complex, resonated deeply with the themes I was studying and am now writing about.

“The conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence—economic, political, even spiritual—is felt in every city, every State house, every office of the Federal government. We recognize the imperative need for this development. Yet, we must not fail to comprehend its grave implications. Our toil, resources, and livelihood are all involved; so is the very structure of our society. In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.”

One little-remembered aspect of Eisenhower's speech is that it contained not one, but two central warnings. While the first, concerning the military-industrial complex, is more often cited, he also expressed equivalent concerns about the emergence of what he called the “scientific-technological elite.”

These concerns reflected the spirit of the times of the 1950s, when historical memories were dominated by World War II and the subjugation of all U.S. political, financial, and industrial efforts to the goal of military victory. The predominant fear then was of technology run amok, as seen in the growing threat of global thermonuclear war.

Since Eisenhower spoke in 1961, technological innovation has not only fueled America's unprecedented growth but has also empowered people in new ways. It perhaps even contributed to the downfall of the United States' Cold War adversary, as the rise of the information age made it impossible for a closed society to compete.

Yet, despite the resilience of America's military-industrial establishment, defense spending and manpower have declined from their peaks during World War II and the Cold War. Eisenhower spoke of a 3.5-million-person military; today, the U.S. military comprises 1.5 million active personnel, with a million (including me) in reserves. He noted that, at the time of his speech, the U.S. military budget surpassed the total net income of all U.S. companies.

Today, the defense budget is over $425 billion, yet the earnings of just the fifty most profitable U.S. companies exceed this number, with the combined revenues of ExxonMobil and Walmart dwarfing it by more than 50 percent. Corporate economic power has undeniably surged.

The Power Elite by C. Wright Mills is still read today and is considered a classic critique of America's power structure, but it's also clear that the world has changed profoundly in the 68 years since its publication.

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Walking through the snow on the Davos Promenade, observing the diverse array of world leaders, it was striking to see how outdated, out of touch, and willingly reality ignoring most of the agency’s courses had been. The distribution of power has clearly shifted, not just from the United States and Europe but from nations altogether.

Even a casual observer in Davos would conclude that if someone were writing about power today, their focus would shift from the national elite in America to a new, more significant phenomenon: the rise of a global power elite, a superclass playing a role in the global era akin to that of the U.S. elite in America's early years as a superpower.

The evolving global landscape was unmistakably evident along the frosty sidewalks of Davos's main street, in its hotels and cafés. Approaching the Congress Centre I was greeted by two cordial Swiss soldiers at the door, dressed in black uniforms and armed with automatic sidearms, they checked my badge – the second verification within just fifty meters – and allowed me entry into the building.

Inside, there was a small antechamber where the world's elite shook off the snow – a sort of high-end mudroom. This led to a long hallway lined with coatracks, bustling with attendants managing an array of hats and scarves. At the hallway's center were metal detectors and guards directing people into the main lobby of the Congress Centre. The diversity was immediately apparent, with attendees from at least twenty countries, all conversing predominantly in English.

The dress code was uniformly upscale – dark coats, finely tailored suits or blazers, and slacks, a significant change even for the Russians, known just a few years prior for their shiny sharkskin suits. Women, primarily in spousal roles, were a minority among the delegates.

In this space, it was common to witness CEOs, government leaders, academics, and media figures greeting each other like old friends. Years of Davos and similar global meetings had fostered a network of connections and friendships among this elite group. The sense of a tightly-knit community was a recurring observation, as described by people at Davos and beyond.

Mark Malloch Brown, former deputy secretary-general of the UN and a British government official, once recounted a Davos reception in New York City post-9/11. He and his wife were struck by the realization that they recognized more faces at the Davos event than in their own village, highlighting the extent to which they had become detached from where their actual attention should be.

Observing the interactions in the coatroom, one couldn't help but notice the unique dynamic of this exclusive group. Davos, though a small and remote village perched high in the mountains, mirrors the characteristics of its annual visitors: a small, elite community, isolated in its own way.

Despite their diverse origins, the attendees of Davos share more in common with each other than with those who don't inhabit such elevated societal strata. A former senior U.S. official echoed this sentiment, suggesting that their allegiance lies more with the Davos community and their counterparts than with their compatriots back home.

This phenomenon among the elite is significant. National elites have always existed, like the elite in the United States described before. Historically, the connections between different countries' elites were more in the realm of 'foreign relations' – interactions between separate power centers, alliances between sovereign entities.

However, over the past few decades, a new kind of community has been emerging. This development coincides with economies transcending national borders, the proliferation of global entities, and the world becoming increasingly interconnected.

One of the early observers of this trend was Walter Wriston, former chief executive of Citibank and a visionary of globalization and the information age. His influential work, “The Twilight of Sovereignty,” published around the same time as the launch of the World Wide Web in 1991, foresaw these changes.

Wriston argued that those deeply engaged in the information economy gain the most benefits and feel a stronger connection to their fellow global participants than to their less globally integrated countrymen.

The playing field for today's elite is undeniably global. Their fortunes are not merely tied to their home countries, but to sprawling enterprises that defy national borders. Their primary concern is the overarching system's efficiency rather than the well-being of any single part.

The very concept of loyalty, if it still holds any relevance, has shifted from local or national to a broader international spectrum. These elites find more in common with their peers in global hubs like Brussels or Hong Kong than with the majority of their compatriots, who remain outside the global communication network.

This observation has become increasingly recognized in recent years. While figures like Walter Wriston embraced it from a globalist standpoint, it has also been noted with apprehension by critics of globalization. These critics view the rise of a stateless elite as a threat to national communities, ranging from local power structures to those marginalized by the decisions of global influencers.

Jeff Faux, an American critic of free trade, provides a telling example in his book “The Global Class War.” He recounts an instance where a U.S. official supported the North American Free Trade Agreement, arguing that Mexico's Harvard-educated president was “one of us” due to his U.S. education. This, to Faux, was a clear indication that globalization was fostering not just a borderless market but an accompanying class system that transcends national boundaries.

He posits that just as national markets create a hierarchy of wealth and power within countries, global markets are likely to spawn an international upper class whose interests align more closely with each other than with the majority of their fellow nationals.

While I find myself at odds with some of Jeff Faux’s more vehement anti-globalization and anti-trade stances, his concerns about the disruptions caused by globalization are undeniably valid. His inclination to attribute these disruptions to the burgeoning global elite is understandable. Faux even dubs the political figures who represent these international elites as “the party of Davos.” Where Faux and others converge is in their recognition of a novel phenomenon at the apex of global power.

This new global power elite, a concept that eluded theorists like Mills half a century ago, represents a dramatic departure from the past. Mills was preoccupied with the dissolution of small-town America and the overshadowing of modest businesses and family farms by large corporations and nationally influential political figures.

His concerns about the concentration of power and its implications for American democracy were profound. Now, imagine Mills confronted with the reality of a stateless elite, a group operating on a global scale, largely unbound by the regulations of governments or laws. This evolution in the nature of power and influence would undoubtedly have been a startling revelation to him.

The rise of this global elite is a source of concern for many of you, and I have written about this issue a lot. You see this group as detached from their national roots, acting solely in pursuit of self-interest and greed. Such a group is inherently unpatriotic, posing a threat to cultural traditions and national sovereignty.

To you, Davos represents more than just a business conference; it’s considered the command center of globalization, a place where strategies for global domination are hatched. This view intertwines deeply with nationalistic and religious sentiments, painting those who transcend national interests as almost heretical or aligned with sinister forces.

In the minds of many, globalization is synonymous with Westernization, or worse, Americanization, and by extension, linked to fears of Zionism and ancient Jewish conspiracies. Ironically, it also stirs fears of the spread of Islam or the Latinization of the United States, threatening the loss of an “Anglo-Saxon” American identity.

Institutions like the IMF or WTO are considered mechanisms to perpetuate the dominance of the rich, echoing the fears of a new form of colonialism powered by corporate interests, where the Internet and global culture transform everyone into mere cogs in a capitalist machine.

In the time of Mills, when the world was gripped by the ideological battle between capitalism and communism, studying elites was more than a social science necessity. It was a critique of Marxism’s core tenet of class struggle. Marx himself opened “The Communist Manifesto” by highlighting the importance of class dynamics. The study of elites, then, was not only an academic pursuit but also a challenge to the Marxist view of society.

The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles. Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.

In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a manifold gradation of social rank. In ancient Rome we have patricians, knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages, feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices, serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate gradations.

Mills found himself in a society that prided itself on being the antithesis of its Soviet counterpart, especially in its rejection of class struggle. It championed the belief that capitalism, market dynamics, and equal legal treatment for all were the keys to a classless society.

However, Mills' observations painted a starkly different picture. His studies, while not overtly stating it, echoed classical Marxist critiques: a few families held the bulk of wealth, a limited number of companies dominated production, and a select group of political and military figures wielded substantial power. These groups were interconnected, sometimes loosely, sometimes tightly, but always in a way that reinforced their dominance and perpetuated social inequalities.

In essence, Mills' mid-century examination of American elites was an indirect exploration of the major global conflict of the time: the ideological battle between capitalism and communism. This was a choice between a state-dominated system, purportedly serving the greater good, and a system that placed individual will at the forefront of societal benefit.

Fast-forward 70 years, and the Davos elites represent a new, yet related, dichotomy. They exemplify the emerging tension between the centuries-old concept of the nation-state as the primary unit of global governance and the evolving reality of a world where national boundaries are increasingly irrelevant. This tension is not just between nations but transcends them, driven by transnational needs and powers that promote internationalist or supranational agendas.

This is no longer a mere debate over wealth redistribution; it's a profound struggle over the reallocation of sovereignty and power. Mills, even within the confines of the Cold War context, had observed the early stages of this shift. He noted the intricate linking of economic, military, and political structures on both sides of the Iron Curtain.

Perhaps, in a way, he foresaw how the necessities of the Cold War were inadvertently fueling the forces of globalization – through alliances, trade agreements, infrastructure, and institutional ties, further blurring the lines between the Eastern and Western blocs.

Today, the Davos elites are at the forefront of a new, or rather additional, tension in global dynamics. Half a century after Mills' observations, these elites highlight a growing conflict between the nearly 400-year-old concept of the nation-state as the cornerstone of global governance and the evolving reality where nations are losing their sway. They are being overshadowed by transnational needs and power centers that are pushing internationalist or supra-nationalist agendas.

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At Davos, the sessions revolve around contentious topics like executive compensation – is it justifiable that the average American CEO earns 350 to 400 times more than their average employee? There's an irony in the air as the world's most affluent gather to discuss the plight of the three billion people surviving on less than two dollars a day. The disparity is widening, and the critique of globalization as a dual-speed process is mounting. It promises rapid advancements for some, while others are placated with promises for their future generations.

But the intrigue surrounding these global elites isn't solely rooted in their conflict with the rest of the world. Understanding who reigns at the top of the social ladder is crucial for comprehending power dynamics, whether to acquire power, challenge it, or simply to satiate curiosity about the lives of the successful and powerful.

Shakespeare's Richard II, in his despair, sought to narrate the fall of kings, not just as a melancholy exercise but because there's an inherent human fascination with the stories of those in power. History itself often unfolds as a narrative of those with the most to gain or lose, the most power, and the most allure.

Elites are both the architects and symbols of their times, representing societal values, the paths to success, and the exercise of power. They mirror both our tolerances and intolerances towards the flaws of those in power.

Throughout history, societies have constructed elaborate mythologies to justify and sustain the systems managed by these elites. From divine rights and land ownership to the ideals of meritocracy, as depicted by Weber's Protestant ethic and the Horatio Alger rags-to-riches narrative, each era has its defining beliefs.

So, what do the congregations at Davos tell us about our era? How does it differ from past times, and what future changes might it hint at? What myths are being crafted by today's global elite, and what do these narratives reveal about us, the broader society? These are the questions that probe the essence of our current epoch and its ruling class.

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After warming up and mingling at the meeting center, I found myself at the Kongress Hotel, a notably understated yet preferred accommodation for attendees of the World Economic Forum’s annual meeting.

In Davos, apart from the traditional grandeur of the Belvedere, which hosts the upper echelon of government and business leaders, most hotels present a modest façade reminiscent of a mid-tier European ski resort. This brings an enforced humility upon the world's elite, or in some less fortunate cases, downright discomfort. I recall a senior Latin American official lamenting his lodging at a remote ski lodge, necessitating a lengthy commute involving a cable car and bus to reach the Congress Centre. An esteemed American NGO leader found themselves nearly in Klosters, relegated to a barely 1.5-star hotel.

Some, discontent with these humble abodes, choose to commute from as far as Zurich, a three-hour journey, or in the case of a Persian Gulf sheikh, opt for a helicopter ride from more luxurious accommodations elsewhere.

My girlfriend and me, contending with our own modest lodging, fancied ourselves in touch with Davos's history as a health resort – the very place that inspired Thomas Mann's "The Magic Mountain." Mann could never have envisioned the extent of the magic this mountain would hold.

Entering the Kongress Hotel’s lobby through the metal detector, the atmosphere was palpable. A procession of women, adorned in mink and tasteful jewelry, moved with a certain predatory grace, their presence both impressive and slightly intimidating. Trailing them were their husbands, a cadre of U.S. senators.

We ordered two Gin Tonics and found ourselves overhearing a conversation nearby. Two representatives from a non-governmental organization were engaging with a potential donor, evidently trying to secure funding. Their discussion veered towards a substantial donation this benefactor’s group had made at the Clinton Global Initiative (CGI) in New York, a high-profile event spearheaded by the former president to rally support for crucial global issues. CGI had seemingly tapped into the current zeitgeist of philanthropy, with around $7 billion pledged towards projects focusing on global health, poverty alleviation, and education.

As I mingled among the influential attendees, it became clear that they were clueless about my identity or purpose there. Their glances shifted from curiosity to confusion as they eyed my name tag, recognizing the last name but unable to place it. Accompanied by fleeting interest in a pretty face, then back to puzzlement over my name, they struggled to categorize me or understand my presence. The entire experience felt surreal.

Standing in that modest hotel in an unremarkable Swiss locale, I physically felt that the gathering of leaders around me was part of a historical shift in the world's power dynamics. This emerging community signified a pivotal moment in the distribution of power, both among individuals and nations. Its implications are profound, directly impacting every person on Earth.

Criticized by some, feared by others, and not fully understood even by its own members, this group represents a new kind of elite. They surpass in power, resources, and global influence all previous forms of elite – kings, emperors, industrial magnates.

They are the superclass, a global power elite quietly reshaping the world to their benefit.