Newsom Banned, Mocked at Davos as Trump Commands the World Stage

Paul Riverbank, 1/23/2026At Davos, Gov. Newsom’s clumsy theatrics clashed with President Trump’s disciplined command, highlighting contrasting leadership styles. The episode underscores a broader debate: Do voters value performance or presence on the global stage—and which approach best serves America’s interests?

It fell flat. Faces in the audience flickered with confusion — you could almost hear the pages of talking points rustling as attendees wondered whether to laugh or frown. Newsom pressed on, admitting the stunt wasn’t entirely “becoming.” He insisted he was merely exposing the absurd, but the laughter felt thin, more polite than amused. It’s the kind of joke that sounds funnier in a crowded campaign bus than under a thousand halogen lights and live cameras.

The White House wasn't in a joking mood, either. Press secretary Anna Kelly, with characteristic bluntness, shot back that “No one in Davos knows who third-rate governor Newscum is or why he is frolicking around Switzerland instead of fixing the many problems he created in California.” It had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but these days, nuance is in short supply.

Not to be outdone, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent piled on, declaring that Washington was set to clamp down on “waste, fraud and abuse” specifically in California, and described Newsom as “too smug, too self-absorbed, and too economically illiterate to know anything.” The phrase hung in the air, almost theatrical in its finality.

Then came the kicker: Newsom was reportedly barred from the high-profile USA House stage, with his team pointing fingers at the White House and State Department for leaning on organizers. The governor, characteristically swift to social media, jabbed, “How weak and pathetic do you have to be to be this scared of a fireside chat?” His allies called it censorship; critics called it just deserts.

Meanwhile, President Trump swept in and out of meetings and panels with his usual vigor. His mainstage moment wasn’t just anticipated — it was the gravitational center of the gathering. Even those with little patience for the president couldn’t help but clock the shift in mood when he entered. Attendees put down their phones, conversations hushed. After speaking, Trump exited swiftly, flanked by media and ministers alike. It wasn’t a scene from a man slowing down.

Still, if you flipped through certain media channels back home, you might have wondered if you’d watched the same event. Time Magazine dredged up the old talk about the 25th Amendment, reviving speculation about Trump’s fitness for office. Yet the mood in that Davos hall suggested a crowd attuned to strength and clarity, whatever their private doubts.

Back across the Atlantic, Newsom’s political headaches didn’t pause for international spectacle. In California, frustration is mounting over rising homelessness, persistent budget woes, and long shadows cast by pandemic-era policies. The incident in Davos — one governor banished from a marquee venue — became for some a symbol of his struggle to break through.

On reflection, the contrast was never starker. There was Trump, commanding both stage and narrative with the practiced ease of someone long at home in the glare. Beside that, Newsom’s mix of humor and irritation landed somewhere between theater and thin-skinned sparring. These days, the line between showmanship and substance is blurrier than ever, and voters won’t be given the luxury of separating the two at the ballot box.

For now, the debates at Davos serve as a kind of distant echo. Do we want leaders who dominate the room, steeling their image with every step? Or those who try — with jokes or with jabs — to puncture the spectacle? The answer, as ever, is less clear than the headlines suggest.

If you dropped in on the World Economic Forum this week hoping for the usual rhythm — earnest diplomacy, off-the-shelf soundbites, business leaders sidestepping controversy — you wouldn’t have seen it on the day Gov. Gavin Newsom took the stage. Instead, the California governor tried to steal the scene with a bit of slapstick: he riffed on what he called “Trump Signature Series kneepads,” suggesting, with a mischievous grin, that certain CEOs might need a pair if they hoped to stay in the former president’s good graces. “I’m not handing them out,” he quipped, holding up an empty hand to illustrate the point. “But I do have a few, if you’d like — actually, I think they’re sold out, but you can get them in bulk.”It fell flat. Faces in the audience flickered with confusion — you could almost hear the pages of talking points rustling as attendees wondered whether to laugh or frown. Newsom pressed on, admitting the stunt wasn’t entirely “becoming.” He insisted he was merely exposing the absurd, but the laughter felt thin, more polite than amused. It’s the kind of joke that sounds funnier in a crowded campaign bus than under a thousand halogen lights and live cameras.The White House wasn't in a joking mood, either. Press secretary Anna Kelly, with characteristic bluntness, shot back that “No one in Davos knows who third-rate governor Newscum is or why he is frolicking around Switzerland instead of fixing the many problems he created in California.” It had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but these days, nuance is in short supply.Not to be outdone, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent piled on, declaring that Washington was set to clamp down on “waste, fraud and abuse” specifically in California, and described Newsom as “too smug, too self-absorbed, and too economically illiterate to know anything.” The phrase hung in the air, almost theatrical in its finality.Then came the kicker: Newsom was reportedly barred from the high-profile USA House stage, with his team pointing fingers at the White House and State Department for leaning on organizers. The governor, characteristically swift to social media, jabbed, “How weak and pathetic do you have to be to be this scared of a fireside chat?” His allies called it censorship; critics called it just deserts.Meanwhile, President Trump swept in and out of meetings and panels with his usual vigor. His mainstage moment wasn’t just anticipated — it was the gravitational center of the gathering. Even those with little patience for the president couldn’t help but clock the shift in mood when he entered. Attendees put down their phones, conversations hushed. After speaking, Trump exited swiftly, flanked by media and ministers alike. It wasn’t a scene from a man slowing down.Still, if you flipped through certain media channels back home, you might have wondered if you’d watched the same event. Time Magazine dredged up the old talk about the 25th Amendment, reviving speculation about Trump’s fitness for office. Yet the mood in that Davos hall suggested a crowd attuned to strength and clarity, whatever their private doubts.Back across the Atlantic, Newsom’s political headaches didn’t pause for international spectacle. In California, frustration is mounting over rising homelessness, persistent budget woes, and long shadows cast by pandemic-era policies. The incident in Davos — one governor banished from a marquee venue — became for some a symbol of his struggle to break through.On reflection, the contrast was never starker. There was Trump, commanding both stage and narrative with the practiced ease of someone long at home in the glare. Beside that, Newsom’s mix of humor and irritation landed somewhere between theater and thin-skinned sparring. These days, the line between showmanship and substance is blurrier than ever, and voters won’t be given the luxury of separating the two at the ballot box.For now, the debates at Davos serve as a kind of distant echo. Do we want leaders who dominate the room, steeling their image with every step? Or those who try — with jokes or with jabs — to puncture the spectacle? The answer, as ever, is less clear than the headlines suggest.