By ROGER THUROW and VANESSA FUHRMANS
Staff Reporters of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
DAVOS, Switzerland -- As the barbed wire and steel barricades began arriving on their snowy sidewalks, the bemused citizenry of this famously sedate Alpine town cringed at the looming prospect of joining Seattle and Prague as infamous hosts of antiglobalization protests.
Then came something even more jolting than bumping into riot police in their pastry shops: The U.S. State Department released a routine "public announcement" urging American citizens "to exercise caution and consider deferring travel to Davos" during the World Economic Forum, which begins Wednesday and is the avowed target of demonstrators. Suddenly, the locals imagined themselves lumped together with such other recent travel trouble spots as East Timor and Sierra Leone.
"Humbug," says Monique Pargatzi, as she unfurls the sun blinds at the Lis Mode high-fashion boutique, just down the promenade from the convention center that will host the forum. "We're supposed to be a war zone now, are we? This is ridiculous."
Still, the Lis of Lis Mode, Elisabeth Schmid-Berri, is locking up and replacing the blinds with wooden planks lest any demonstrator throw a smoke bomb through her show window. "I've worked six years to build up this business," she says, "and I'll lose it all if my inventory of clothes is ruined by smoke."
And to think that the air of Davos is known for its calming and recuperative powers. Long before the forum first came to town three decades ago to peacefully contemplate the state of the world, German novelist Thomas Mann immortalized the place and its cluster of lung-soothing sanitariums in "The Magic Mountain," one of his classic works. Now, the only magic on this mountain is the quick-change act from sleepy ski resort to red-alert center.
"Thomas Mann, who wrote a very ironic novel, would certainly laugh at this," says Christian Virchow, a retired pulmonary specialist and local Mann expert. "A restful place should not be turned into a fortress."
Michael Caflisch certainly isn't laughing; sarcastic howling is more like it. "We're not preparing for war. We're not crossing the streets wearing helmets," says the marketing manager of Davos Tourism. He looks wistfully out his window, which yields a delightful scene of skiers schussing down the slopes. The State Department advisory, he says, "is a modern form of colonialism, only they know best. And this from a nation that can't count its votes."
Taking Precautions
The city council of Davos, moving to protect its population of 13,000, rejected the protesters' application for a Saturday demonstration, which has touched off a hubbub with opposition politicians claiming the order squelches democratic debate. The regional police are manning roadblocks at all entrances (road and rail) to the Davos area, intent on turning away anyone they suspect of coming to cause trouble. The federal government is dispatching nearly 1,000 security officers from around the country. The perimeter of the convention center, which will host business leaders and politicians from around the world (including many Americans), is sealed off with spirals of barbed wire. Hotels playing host to the elite guests have installed airport-style X-ray machines at their front doors.
"This is a fact of life for all international gatherings now," says Charles McLean, a forum official, about the avalanche of security measures. But the organizers are undeterred. "It's our intent to stay the course," he adds. "We really feel that what we're doing is very important here, and we have the opportunity to make a real contribution to the world in the next week."
On the streets, though, many burghers aren't taking chances, uncertain whether the demonstrators will still be able to pull off their plans for a big protest before the conference ends on Tuesday. The protest logo is a drawing of a demonstrator holding a ski with a bomb dangling from the tip; the bomb and lighted fuse form the O in Davos. McDonald's, which was attacked in demonstrations last year during President Clinton's visit to the annual forum here, has bars and metal shutters ready to be deployed, as well as a private security guard standing watch at the counter. A number of other shops are planning to be shuttered Saturday afternoon.
"I really don't know what to do," says Marlis Schneider, proprietor of several chocolate and pastry shops here. "If I close, maybe I provoke some demonstrator. If I stay open, do I endanger my customers? This is difficult. Davos was never like this."
For the past 30 years, the city has profited handsomely as the regular host of the forum. Not only has economic activity flourished -- the forum is estimated to bring in about $10 million in business during the week -- but there's also the priceless publicity. One of the city's slogans, referring to the week in January when world leaders gather here, is "Davos: Global Village."
"For one week, Davos is in the top headlines and television reports around the world," says Mr. Caflisch. "In China, people know Davos as a brand, as a meeting place. They may not know whether we are in the mountains or the desert. But at least they know our name."
And Davos has basked in the attention. "We always get a lot of nice visitors from around the world. They come in to get a button repaired, or buy some clothes, or just to chat," says Marlies Schaefer, purveyor of furs and Alpine-style clothes. From her promenade window, she can see a police checkpoint. She vows to stay open, though she may move some of the finer clothes away from the window. Her husband, Wolfgang, hopes Bill Gates, Microsoft boss and forum participant, stops by. "But tell him we don't have any of those sweaters we always see him wearing," he says. He opens a cabinet. "But we do have lederhosen."
The problem, business leaders say, is that fewer forum participants seem interested in simply dropping by these days. Ms. Schneider is trying to entice the visitors with window displays of whiskey truffles and chocolate-covered raspberry sticks. "We've been having an extremely good year," she says, "but now it's dead."
Josef Neff, who sells breads and pastries at his bakery, known as Charly's, moans that the participants "don't have time to promenade anymore." He has watched his sales drop about 10% during the forum in recent years, as buses ferry the participants around. Not so many people pop in for a croissant. "People just fly in for their meetings and then go," he says. "They need to stay and consume and enjoy the place."
Rare, though, is the suggestion that the forum move on. Ursula Trauffer Kast, whose souvenir store has been on the promenade for a century, rushes to her office and comes back with a souvenir of her own: a picture of the former President Bush posing with her children. "The forum is part of Davos," she says.
And now, too, is barbed wire in the snow. A popular restaurant, da Elio, is perched on the promenade just opposite the convention center. To enter these days, guests must walk through an opening in the steel-gate barricades. "We feel pretty safe," says Beatrice Parasole, who tends bar while her husband, Vincenzo, does the cooking. On an afternoon earlier in the week, the place is packed with forum staffers and police on a lunch break. Business is good, but she looks forward to quieter times.
"When the barricades are gone," she says, "we'll know spring is on the way."
