At the World Economic Forum Annual Meeting 2026, considerations centre on how cooperation persists in a more contested world amid barriers to global engagement.
At the World Economic Forum Annual Meeting 2026 session “Sailing through Barriers,” blind adventurer Hiroo Iwamoto reframed resilience as a leadership discipline rooted in one constant: choice. After losing his sight at 16 and nearly taking his life, he recalls his uncle’s message—“There is meaning in your blindness”—as the inflection point that moved him from despair to purpose. He pursued incremental mastery (“one step at a time”), from learning Braille to climbing Mount Fuji, then set an audacious goal: crossing the Pacific. His first attempt ended when his boat struck a whale and sank, triggering public backlash: “Why would a blind man have such a reckless dream?” The failure, he argues, expanded impact rather than ended it, because courage is “the decision to move forward” despite fear.
In 2019 he completed a non-stop Pacific crossing with Doug Smith, a novice sailor who proposed complementary strengths: “You have sailing experience, but no sight.” The journey became a platform for gratitude, repair, and philanthropy. Looking ahead to a planned 2027 solo crossing, Iwamoto demonstrated an audio-based navigation app (“Lena”) translating heading and wind speed into voice prompts. His message to leaders: crises don’t dictate outcomes—responses do. “It is not fate. It is choice.”
Good afternoon everybody. My name is Joseph Fowler, and I'm the head of arts and culture at the World Economic Forum. A very warm welcome to all of you joining us here in the fusion room in Davos. And a very warm welcome to everyone who's joining us online. This afternoon's session is called Sailing Through Barriers and will feature the phenomenal speaker and adventurer Mr. Hiroshi Iwamoto to open our session. We will start with a short film called Hero's Choice.
When I lost my sight, I tried to commit suicide, tried to jump off from the bridge to the ocean. Ocean was very scary because dark ocean I felt. There might be meaning on this. You know, the despair. So I started looking for it. We will do it.
This.
Second challenge was for my mother to say thank you, thank you, thank. you to give me birth.
Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Mr. Hiroo Iwamoto.
In 2019, as a totally blind sailor, I became the first person in history to complete a non-stop crossing of the Pacific Ocean from San Diego, California, to Fukushima, Japan. My sailing partner was Doug Smith. He had never sailed before. Many found the story inspiring. Today I want to share my journey. I lost my sight. I chose to challenge the Pacific Ocean. I failed and I chose to try again. Through every step of that journey, one truth came clear. The power of choice. Every choice matters. Whether personal or global, it rips outward and shapes the future. For me, those ripples began when I lost my sight completely at 16. The darkness didn't come all at once. It gathers around me day by day. Until the world I knew faded away. In the darkness. I faced a choice to surrender or to live. And I chose to live. Years later, my first attempt to cross the Pacific failed. I faced despair again. Again I faced a choice. I chose not to be defined by blindness. That choice is my only superpower, and it is one we all share. Even when life takes everything from us, sight, success, certainty, we still have possessed one power that can be taken away. The power to choose how we respond. Life set the stage, but the courage to perform is ours to choose. My first despair came quietly, without warning. When I was 13, I began missing baseballs. I used to hit easily. I blamed the sunlight, the wind, my timing, anything but eyes. Then one day, I swung hard at the pitch. That should have been a home run. And I missed it. My teammates laughed. Ha ha. Are you trying to help the other team? I wanted to laugh too, but instead I felt fear rising. Soon I could not read the blackboard or recognize my friends faces. Street lights blurred, then disappear, disappeared. When my mother gave me a cane. It was act of love to protect me. But I was a teenager filled with anger. To me, it felt like she was asking me to accept weakness. I threw the came back and I said the words that would become a wound I carried for decades. Why did you give me birth? If this is my life? I wish I had never people. That night when I tried to put toothpaste on my toothbrush, I put it on my finger instead. And I thought, if I can't even do this, I have no worth. So one evening I walked to a bridge by the sea. The ocean was blue and full of life now. Sounded dark and endless. I gripped the railing. I wanted to end it all. But something held me back. I sat on the bench and felt asleep. Then in the sound of waves, I remembered my late uncle's word hero. There is meaning in your blindness. Through your challenges. You will give courage and hope to others. That one message changed everything. From that moment, I chose not to die, but to live differently. I practice walking with my cane. I learned Braille then. I set myself a challenge. I climbed Mount Fuji, the highest mountain in Japan, on my hands and knees. At the summit. Someone said. You've given us courage. I could not see the sunrise, but I felt its warmth on my skin and I cried from gratitude. I lost the light in my eyes and discovered a brighter light within. On that mountain I learned something essential that even what it seems impossible can be changed. One step at a time. Years later, my partner invited me to sell for the first time on the water. I learned a simple truth with wind alone. A sailboat can go very far. The truth embarked a dream to cross the Pacific Ocean, the largest ocean in the world. It was a beautiful dream, and it was a dangerous one. That dream nearly ended in tragedy. In 2013, I made my first attempt to cross the Pacific. I chose to depart from Fukushima, a place carrying both. Memory and silence, and the quiet strength of people rebuilding their lives after the tsunami. I sailed toward San Diego, the city where I lived today. The boat was small. There were only two of us. On June 21st, six days after leaving Fukushima, I was in Kevin when I heard three loud crashes boom, boom, boom symbols on wake up. The cabin is flooding. What? I was rushing in. Within minutes, the floorboards began to float. We had struck a wall. We launched the life raft and for 11 hours we drifted in the storm. Finally, we were rescued by the Japan Maritime Self-Defense force. Physically, we were safe. But inside I was broken. When the news reached Japan. The reaction was severe. Why would a blind man have such a reckless dream? Stay home. Don't. Don't take risks anymore. Those voices hit me harder than the ocean waves. For months, I could not return to the sea. I lived in silence, ashamed and lost. Then once again remembered my uncle's word. There is meaning in your blindness. And I asked myself. Could there also be meaning in this failure? The more I thought, the more I realized the well had not destroyed my dream. It had multiplied its impact far beyond anything I could ever I could have imagined. Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the decision to move forward despite it. One day, a man, Doug, reached out to me. He wrote, I have sight, but no sailing experience. You have sailing experience, but no sight. If we support each other, our dream can live again. I'll be your seeing eye, Doug. That one message reignited my hope. I chose to believe again in people. Impossibility and the meaning of every storm. For nearly two years, Doug and I trained and prepared our boat in San Diego. On February 24th, 2019, we set sail across the Pacific aboard Dreamweaver, beginning a journey we called the Voyage of Inspiration. 55 days later, after storms, silence, hunger, and sleepless nights, we reached Fukushima. Two days before arrival, I made a request that my mother be the first to receive the bow line. As I handed her the rope, she tied it gently to the cleat. And in that quiet moment, the wound I had carried since that day simply melted away. Gratitude is not just a feeling. It is the power that transforms pain into peace. This time we had done it. A dream that once drowned in darkness, finally reached the shore, filled with light. And along the way the journey became a way to give back. Supporting organizations like Cure Blind Project and the Challenged Athletes Foundation. In 2027, I will cross the Pacific again, this time completely alone. Not to prove what I can do, but to explore what is possible. I will rely on advanced technology that converts wind speed, the boat direction, and the position of obstacles into clear audio output. Around the world, people will follow the voyage in real time, becoming my collective eyes. Now from not watching from a distance, but participating in the journey. Together we will feel the same wind, the same waves and the same hope on land. I can't drive a car, but on the open ocean I can steer freely. Guided by sound, rhythm and faith. Because I can see. I have learned to trust what can be seen. This voyage is not for fame or to set a record. It is a message to my daughter Lena and to her generation. Boundaries are not decided by others. They are transcended by choice. This will be more than a solo voyage. It will be a shared journey, an invitation to rethink what we believe is possible. Today, humanity once again faces dark and uncertain seas. War, climate crisis and technologies that change faster than our ethics. It is easy to feel powerless. To believe that fate is staring us. But it is not fate. It is choice. I could not control losing my sight. I could not control the whale that struck my boat. But I could also choose my response. I chose hope, gratitude and meaning. Even when fear was present. When the whale struck my boat, I did not see only tragedy. I saw a teacher. Without that moment, I would not be standing before you today. Every moment in life carries a hidden gift. And when we find its meaning and act on that, even suffering can become a source of grace. In 2027, as I raised myself and risked my life once again on the open ocean. I know new storms are waiting, but I will choose trust over fear and possibility of a limitation. Because this voyage is not mine alone, it is humanity's shared journey. When one person navigates without sight, it reveals how our understanding can change of disability, of technology, and of what it means to be human. This voyage is not about breaking limits for one individual. It is about expanding what we believe is possible for humanity as a whole. Each of us can light a small flame in our heart, one flame may seem very, very small, but when shared, it can guide entire generations. So let us choose light together and in darkness illuminate the future we share. The future is not far away. It begins here. It begins now with your choice. The choice you will make when no one is watching. Thank you.
Thank you.
And now, as I mentioned, I'm trying to do by myself next year. So the Fresno made a special app for me. You know, reading the all data, from the system. So I will show you how it's possible to do by myself.
Voice over on messenger.
Apps called Lena. Actually, my daughter's name, and, it's turned on.
Please add Lena to the beginning.
If I say, some command with voice returned Lena heading. Lena heading. Oh, sorry. It doesn't work properly.
Lena. Beta. Switcher. Lena. Active actions. Lena. Beta.
Lena.
Heading listens. Lena. 230 degrees.
Lena. Heading.
Heading 230 degrees.
I asked which direction I'm going, and Lena answered 230 degrees. It's southwest when I live. San Diego, I have to go that direction. And, so 230 degrees, repeated Lena. Wind speed through.
Wind speed 14 knots.
She said. 14 knots. So wind is picking up seven meter per second about. So picking, picking up. So it's time. Good time to, take the cell smaller and get smaller. These optional helps me, so that I can do alone. Thank you. Yeah. So if you have questions. Yeah. Please ask other questions. Please.
We have just over a minute here for questions. If anyone here has a question for Hiro. Any question?
Some are. The common question is, what do you eat? Right. Yeah. And I always answer, you know, frozen. Freeze, freeze dry. I pour the water and it makes a great, great spaghetti or miso soup and so on. And, what are you gonna do? You know, when the waves are so big? I say, just pray. And and, it was six meter waves. The biggest one last time I went with Doug. So like that and super natural, I believed, you know, during the voyage. Yeah.
Heroux. Thank you so much. This has been an incredibly passionate, fascinating and insightful session. You've so generously shared your story with us. Thank you so much. Ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you very much.
Thank you.