The Aspen Institute has trained hundreds of the world’s business and political leaders. Linda Kinstler asks whether debating Plato over gourmet dinners can provide an antidote to populism
Economist
For 355 days of the year the sprawling Bauhaus campus of the Aspen Institute in Aspen, Colorado, is rigorously maintained in a state of minimalist serenity. Its undemonstrative grey exteriors, concrete floors and flat roofs form what its custodians refer to as a “total work of art” of over 2,000 square metres (22,000 square feet). The campus was constructed in the 1950s along the Bauhaus principles that form should follow function and that design can elevate the soul to transform the world. But for ten days every June, when the Aspen Ideas Festival is in full swing, a technicolour fever dream descends and the campus becomes a corporate never-never land.
This year Southern Company, an energy conglomerate, erected a plastic suburban smart-home in front of the institute’s marble garden of austere standing stones, decked out with a picket fence, lawn furniture and a charging station. Allstate, an insurance company, showed up with a juice kiosk, where smiling staff handed out freshly pressed concoctions of ginger, carrot and kale from the windows of a bright blue bus. Anderson Park, a lightly landscaped meadow with magnificent views of snow-capped mountains, was occupied by plexiglass neon trees and brightly coloured human-sized plastic balls. “This looks like where the Teletubbies was filmed!” one attendee exclaimed. The pièce de résistance was a large sculpture that spelt out “IDEAS” in Instagrammable rainbow hues. For it was ideas that were on offer, and ideas were what everyone said they had come to hear.
“These balls are kind of cool,” remarked Dan Porterfield, who runs the Aspen Institute, as we strolled down the park’s manicured path, a space designed to enhance intellectual and spiritual meditation. As we walked we kept stopping to say hello to Aspen supporters, devotees and collaborators whom we met along the way. There was Kyle Korver, a basketball player; Don Gips, former American ambassador to South Africa and Barack Obama’s director of personnel; Gary Lauder, grandson of Estée. Elsewhere around campus I spotted Karl Rove, George W. Bush’s senior adviser, chatting with former Tennessee senator, Bob Corker. Bill Browder, a financier and nemesis of the Kremlin, checked out the lunch offering in blue jeans and a baseball cap. Jackie Bezos, mother to Jeff, stood in line for the buffet. It felt like being trapped on the front page of The New York Times. (Zanny Minton Beddoes, editor of The Economist, also attended the festival and spoke on a number of panels.)
