January 31, 2005, 7:55 a.m.
In Davos, Part III

Friends, last Thursday and Friday, we had the first and second installments of these Davos notes. Ready for the third?

I'd like to say something about Bush-hatred, without dwelling on it too much. Perhaps I should say simply that it is not a figment of the Right's imagination. In Davos, Bush is either reviled or mocked. To mention his name is to snort, really. He has virtually no defenders. It's possible that there are some closeted supporters, because there are always such people. Sometimes I hear from them, in whispers. But the assumption — the guiding assumption — is that Bush is very, very bad, and that America is in the grip of some madness, which, with luck, will pass in 2008, when Hillary is elected. (Or if not Hillary, at least someone acceptable.)

As I mentioned earlier, the administration did not send any high-level people this year — my apologies to the labor secretary, Elaine Chao — and there will be some who will argue that that's a mistake. I'm not so sure. I don't know that the administration could do any good here. Dick Cheney was present last time around. He was less well received — much less well received — than representatives from Iran. One constant refrain of the Davosers, and of Europeans in general — if not the rest of the world — is that Bush "won't listen." That is an article of faith. But I think it's truer to say that the likes of the Davosers won't listen to Bush.

Think of Davos as one big, multinational New York Times editorial board, with a dash — or several dashes — of al-Jazeera thrown in.

On the subject of "not listening": Laura Tyson, the former Clinton economic adviser, is now dean of the London Business School. She has told the press that — yes — the administration "will not listen to anybody." Is it that they won't listen, or that they listen, consider, and then make a decision, which may not be to the liking of certain people? When a decision goes one way, doesn't it always go against the other ways? I'm not sure that the administration's worst critics want to be listened to; they want to be obeyed.

You remember the expression, "to govern is to choose"? Well, the Bush administration governs. And chooses. And how can it do otherwise?

I note that, in moving to London, Ms. Tyson moved to one heckuva "blue state." Though Paris would have been better!

During the eight years of Clinton, did National Review, for example, complain that the Clintonites wouldn't listen? No! Our more likely complaint was that the administration wouldn't be straight.

At a gathering like Davos — not that there are many like it — you get used to American ingratiation: to the tendency of American journalists and others to be more anti-Bush than thou, in order to prove to the Europeans that they're not Bible-thumping, Fox News-watching hicks. And yet, you don't get used to it entirely: It still grates. I have been reminded of my experience as a student abroad. It was not the anti-Americanism of the Europeans that had an effect on me; that was like air or water, natural and expected. No, it was the anti-Americanism of my fellow American students. That was both amusing and sad, and sometimes irksome.

Longtime readers will recall that I wrote about this in a 2000 piece called "Love on the Arno."

It was Clare Booth Luce, I believe, who coined the wonderful word "globaloney." And much of the talk at the Annual Meeting of the World Economic Forum is globaloney — but there is more nourishing food to be had (in the talk, I mean, not just in the restaurants). Gabfests can be useful, depending on the gabbers — of course.

If the average foreign-policy analyst here has a bias, it's stability — no boat-rocking. Of course, much can be said for no boat-rocking; sometimes, when boats get rocked, people drown. But it seems to me that many of these analysts simply don't want their Rolodexes to change. They want to call on the same people, the same ruling elites, year after year, until they die. There is an element of conservatism at work, too: This is the way the world has been during my life; I don't want it to change.

Last, of course, the idea that the Bush administration could be a force for good — for positive change — is too appalling for words. So these folks cling to stability all the more.

A man — an American, of course (from a top university) — says that, although the United States may be a democracy — sorta technically — it doesn't function, because people don't get proper information. For example, those rubes in the Midwest think that Saddam Hussein had something to do with 9/11.

In one sense, of course, those rubes are right. America-hating extremists with big designs and big capabilities pose a threat.

And just where did that 1993 WTC bomber scoot off to before our jokey legal system could nab him?

Oh, never mind.

I'll transcribe a little, not atypical, exchange, occurring right before a group discussion:

Bigwig far-Left professor: "I don't ordinarily collaborate with National Review, but I guess I can make an exception for one evening."

Me: "Mighty tolerant of you."

And how's this for strange? Lady from major Middle Eastern television network drops her cellphone. I bend down and pick it up for her. She grabs my name tag (which has my professional affiliation on it), scowls, and turns away. (No thank-you.)

Lovely.

Bill Gates goes by, in sort of a little-boy sweater, surrounded by a minor entourage. Gates has kind of a goofy, but pleasant, look on his face. I notice someone watching this, sort of amused — wry little smile on his face. He's by himself. He's Michael Dell. (I think of telling him about my laptop problems, but I refrain.)

A panel discussion featuring an amazing sextet: The aforementioned Bill Gates (in his little-boy sweater). Tony Blair, in a suit and tie. Thabo Mbeki of South Africa, in a suit but no tie (in conformity with Annual Meeting rules). Olusegun Obasanjo of Nigeria, in flowing African robes. Bono, the rock star, in leather jacket and shades. And Bill Clinton (suit and tie).

I hate to dwell on the look of this crew, but, oh, it is something to see! Delightful, actually.

As long as I'm talking about appearances, I might say that Clinton looks very, very thin. He always wanted to be thin, of course (join the club) — but not this way.

The moderator of the session is Christine Ockrent, a French anchorwoman. The starting time is 11 A.M. Ockrent says to Bono, "Thank you for being here. We realize it's very early in the morning for you." Bono affects a yawn — very nice.

The topic is Africa, and how to help it. And the answer — almost exclusively — is more money, more money, more money (from the "rich" countries — but wouldn't it be nice to ponder how they got rich in the first place?).

A few observations from this session: Ockrent says to Mbeki, "You run Africa's best and richest economy." Imagine the mindset that thinks the South African president "runs" the economy. Does Mbeki reply, "Thank you, but I don't run an economy — the millions of people who make up an economy do"? Er, no. He does not.

Mbeki says something I find charming, in relation to Obasanjo: "He's my current chair" — meaning, of the union of African states — "so he'll correct me if I make a mistake." (Yes, he did say "chair," not "chairman" — who would have thought that political correctness would infect the president of South Africa?)

Soon, Ockrent is hammering Clinton and others about the alleged stinginess of the United States. The U.S. gives only one percent of its GDP in foreign aid, she insists. This is a disgrace. (Never mind the nongovernmental donations, the peerless logistical support that Washington provides, etc., etc.) So she puts it to Clinton: Why is America so ungenerous?

And he gives this answer: "Because no one will ever get beat running for Congress or president" by not espousing foreign aid.

Bit of a shameful answer, I think: Clinton might have mustered at least a partial defense of his country, and I have complimented him before on being pretty good when he's abroad. But not on this occasion.

It gets worse, but I'll tell you about that later.

Christine Ockrent then confronts Sen. Bill Frist, the Republican majority leader, who's in the audience, holding a microphone. She asks a hostile question — a hostilely worded question. The audience applauds, natch.

Frist cites a few statistics, but he does so quite haltingly, pretty weakly. He has a wonderful chance to put this forum in its place — but he blows it. I think, "And this is the fellow who wants to be our standard-bearer in 2008?" He says not a word about the value of freedom — to material progress, for one thing — or about the rule of law, or about governmental accountability.

Look, I know you can't do everything, especially in a couple of minutes, especially when you're unprepared (Frist was reading haltingly out of a binder). But still. Big audience, big moment.

Next it's Bill Gates's turn. He gives billions in charity, and he talks sensibly, but it would be nice if he mentioned — if any businessman mentioned — that business itself does humanity a world of good, and not just in its charitable giving.

You have heard me wail about business's lack of self-confidence before.

Moving on, then — to Bono. Christine Ockrent begins a question, "Not only can you sing . . .," and Bono interjects, "Some would say not."

He has endeared himself to me forever.

He goes on to say that he objects when people call Africa his "cause," because it is not a "cause," but an "emergency" — a state of affairs in which a mosquito bite can kill you. "And no one should die of a mosquito bite."

In all the talk about malaria this week, not a single person mentions the lamentable — some would say criminal — stigmatization of DDT. That is one of those taboo thoughts.

Someone suggests that Bono run for (British) prime minister someday. (He is sitting next to Blair.) Bono quips, "I wouldn't move to a smaller house."

And he does something else — something besides the singing remark — that endears him to me: In talking about Africa, he refers to past victories over "the scourge of fascism" and "the scourge of Communism." The scourge of Communism? Whoa!

But did he talk that way while the Soviet Union was alive?

As I sit in the hall, I wonder how the African leaders feel, hearing from these ever-earnest palefaces about what the rich West must do for Africa. Is it the slightest bit disturbing? In the least humiliating? You remember — I wrote about it in the last installment — that Jacques Chirac has called for developed countries to impose all sorts of taxes on their citizens, to benefit Africa. Ockrent keeps saying to Mbeki and Obasanjo, in effect, "Don't you think that's a good idea?"

Imagine that: "Do you think it's a good idea that others, far away, be taxed in order to help you?" What are they supposed to say?

There's a lot of talk about debt relief, too, and may I say something terribly, terribly old-fashioned? Hopelessly 19th-century? "Debt relief" often amounts to debt forgiveness, or excusal. Is there not honor in paying off a debt, both for an individual and a country? Does it not relate to character (personal and national)? Does not self-esteem or pride come into play?

My gosh, you might just as well read Parson Weems, as talk like that.

Back to our boy, Bill Clinton. He says we don't need such "picayune" measures as Chirac's taxes. "The White House has just announced another $80 billion for the war in Iraq, and we could take half of that," and solve all these problems. The crowd whoops and cheers. It is the loudest reaction I have heard at Davos.

Clinton has behaved pretty rottenly, I think. He has kicked Bush in the teeth — and the war in the teeth — in order to call for more aid to the Third World.

I abhor this technique of politicians: "Instead of spending the money on this, we should be spending it on that." Look: If you think we should spend money on something, say so — argue on the merits. If Clinton thinks we should be spending more on Africa, fine — but why attack our spending on the war, which some of us think is both necessary and noble?

Let me tell you about what I think is my favorite political cartoon of all time, because it illustrates this pet point of mine (or rather, underlines this pet peeve of mine). I wish I could credit the cartoonist; but it was a long time ago, and I don't remember.

There are two panels: In the first, Tip O'Neill has his arm around Reagan, and he's saying, "Do you know how many hot school lunches $100 million in aid to the Contras would buy?" In the second panel, Reagan has his arm around the Speaker, and he's saying, "Yes, Tip — half as many as your $200 million in aid to Ireland." (Northern or the Republic, I forget which.)

Young people will have to be told that, in the '80s, whenever Reagan wanted to spend money on the military, or on the Cold War generally, Democrats would say how many "hot school lunches" you could buy with the same money. It was a constant.

Back, once more, to Clinton: He says that anyone who complains about corruption in African governments — anyone who expresses caution about handing over money to these governments — "should be put in a closet, so no one has to listen to them."

Another disgusting thing to say. This is supposed to be a democrat? Those who demur, or have a different point of view, ought to be put in a closet, so no one has to hear them? Can you imagine if a conservative had said this?

And shouldn't a Democrat like Clinton be particularly sensitive to forcings into closets?

For ages, we have said that Jimmy Carter is our worst ex-president — ever. I'm afraid the competition is getting tougher.

Guys, I know you'll love this, so I'll share it with you — George Soros cutting into a (long) line, on the pretext of speaking to Laura Tyson. (This is a coatcheck.)

You know you lap that up — as the Davos audience does Clinton's words.

Outside the Congress Center, demonstrators — from Greenpeace — are having a "die-in." There are a bunch of kids, lying in a kind of circle, each within a red body outline — I can't think of the right term, but you know what I mean — and they are wearing skeleton suits. They just lie there for a while. They are ringed by journalists, taking their picture (just what they want). One demonstrator is standing up, holding a sign about Bhopal. After a bit, the "dead" get up, and they all skulk off.

A couple of hours later, I come back, and the red "body lines" are still there. Just like the Left: never cleaning up after itself.

I have a friend here who's a senior Japanese journalist, a man who traveled to the United States in 1966, to study. His English is very good, and his thinking and manner are even better. He tells me that, in this mid-'60s period, he and his fellow foreign students took a tour of 35 states, in the course of 80 days. (Around the U.S. in 80 days?) He knows our country very well — small towns, large. I'm thinking how few Americans have a chance to do that. I certainly haven't. Or, if I've had the chance, I haven't taken it. I'm sure that my friend has seen more of the U.S.A. than I have.

And he's lucky.

As long as I've gone kind of soft, I'll leave you with the following — leave you for today, I mean (because we'll have Part IV tomorrow): I take — as I like to — one of the most glorious walks in the world: around Lake Davos (this is the Seeweg, or the Lake Path). It looks like a dream. Part of the path is through the woods, on the lower part of a mountain. The evergreens are caked with snow. This might be some impossibly ideal Christmas scene.

Anyway, as I'm walking along the lake, approaching this mountain, a train cuts through — it is a red train, against the white, white snow, and those evergreens. Jaded as I may be, I realize that this is a breathtaking sight — it looks like something staged for a movie.

But quite real, here in the land of Heidi (from the movie, I mean — you know, the little girl who interrupted the football game).

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