Why the world’s most powerful banker wouldn’t answer one question

The hall in Davos was calm, almost ceremonial. Two armchairs faced each other on a modestly elevated stage, upholstered in muted tones — nothing extravagant, nothing accidental. A small round table stood between them and discreet microphones clipped close to the collars.
Jamie Dimon sat upright, composed, legs crossed with the confidence of a man who has mastered both power and patience. Across from him sat Zanny Minton Beddoes, Editor-in-Chief of The Economist.
Behind them, the World Economic Forum logo hovered like a silent witness. The audience — global executives, policymakers, economists — listened not for surprises, but for reassurance.
This is what I watched on YouTube.
Jamie Dimon has been the CEO of JPMorgan Chase for over twenty years, a rare continuity in a volatile industry. Often described as the “King of Banking,” he speaks with authority, fluency, and the comfort of someone whose words move markets. Yet authority, when questioned deeply, can reveal its limits.
Midway through the conversation, Beddoes asked a question that cut through the polished setting: “Is there a climate of fear in the United States of America?”
Dimon paused. His hands shifted slightly. The room felt still. He smiled faintly, redirected the answer toward optimism, growth, and resilience. It was not the answer many expected. Not because it was wrong — but because it avoided the lived reality of millions.
Fear today does not announce itself loudly. It sits quietly in households buried under debt, in employees worried about redundancy, and in young graduates entering a labour market increasingly governed by algorithms. One of the most tangible sources of this fear is credit card debt.
On this subject, Dimon has been unusually candid elsewhere. He has publicly disagreed with Donald Trump’s calls to cap or aggressively regulate credit card interest rates.
Dimon’s argument is rooted in classic banking logic: credit cards are unsecured lending, higher risk requires higher pricing, and government intervention could restrict access to credit for lower-income consumers. From a balance-sheet perspective, the reasoning is sound.
But economics does not end at spreadsheets.
Credit card interest rates in the US have climbed beyond 20 per cent on average — sometimes far higher. As of late 2025 and early 2026, the average credit card interest rate (APR) in the US is approximately 21 per cent to over 23 per cent. For banks, revolving credit is one of the most profitable products ever designed.
For consumers, it is often a permanent state of repayment. Minimum payments stretch for decades, turning short-term borrowing into a lifelong obligation. The fear here is not theoretical; it is mathematical. Interest compounds regardless of intention, discipline, or moral character.
While Dimon defends the system as necessary for financial stability, I question its social cost. When a system depends on consumers remaining in debt to sustain profitability, fear becomes embedded in the model. The borrower fears falling behind; the bank fears regulation; the economy balances itself on quiet anxiety.
The discussion then moved to artificial intelligence — another area where Dimon speaks with confidence. He praises AI as transformative, inevitable, and essential for competitiveness. He is not wrong. Banks already use AI to detect fraud, automate compliance, assess credit risk, and replace thousands of manual processes. Efficiency improves. Costs decline. Shareholders applaud.
But again, fear lingers beneath progress.
AI does not simply optimise systems; it displaces people. Entire layers of banking — operations staff, junior analysts, and customer service roles — are shrinking. While executives promise reskilling, the pace of technological change far exceeds the pace of human adaptation. Employees sense it. Job security feels fragile, conditional, temporary.
Fear becomes behavioural. Workers stay silent. Consumers accept unfavourable terms. Borrowers tolerate punitive interest rates. Markets reward institutions that automate fastest, regardless of social fallout.
From the Davos stage, none of this looked chaotic. The chairs were stable. The microphones worked perfectly. The conversation flowed politely. But that is precisely the problem. Fear today is not dramatic — it is normalised.
Dimon’s reluctance to acknowledge a climate of fear is understandable. To admit it would be to admit that banking policies, pricing structures, and technological choices actively shape economic insecurity. Silence, in such moments, is not ignorance; it is strategy.
Banks were once meant to serve as pillars of trust — mobilising savings, supporting enterprise, stabilising economies. Today, they are fortresses of capital, protected by algorithms and justified by efficiency.

Mohammed Anwar Al Balushi, The author works at UTAS