Class envy has a price
Lori Borgman | Monday, March 16, 2009
There were three things we didn’t let our kids
say when they were growing up: hate, shut up and bored.
Hate was off limits because the word is poison.
Shut up was banned because it is rude. Bored was taboo because there
was no reason for kids who had toys and board games and a big backyard
to ever be bored.
The rule was, if one of the kids said he or she
was bored, I would find something for that child to do. The oldest
once said he was bored and found himself wielding a toilet brush.
He subsequently found he was able to entertain himself and never
said the word within earshot again.
The youngest was in second grade and had a friend
over to play. The friend wandered into the kitchen, whined that
she couldn’t find anything to do and began to say, “I’m b—” whereupon,
the youngest slapped her hand over the girl’s mouth and said, “Oh,
you never want to say that around my mom!”
Our list of banned words was completely arbitrary.
It is almost a silly thing, but the words we use reveal something
about who we are and how we see the world.
There was another word, a phrase really, that
was unacceptable: filthy rich. To call someone filthy rich is demeaning
– not to the rich, but to the one who uses the label.
It is transparent envy. But envy and jealousy
have come into style of late. Class envy may be the consummate way
to “go green.”
Despising people of wealth and wishing for their
financial demise is officially in vogue. Being jealous of what others
have, or wanting them to lose what they have, doesn’t change circumstances
of the less rich one iota. All envy does is scramble your brain.
There is an old joke about a peasant with one
cow who loathes his neighbor because he has two. A sorcerer grants
the envious farmer one wish. The farmer bellows, "Kill one of my
neighbor's cows!"
We also banned “filthy rich” because it betrays
an ignorance of economics.
Two miles from our home, a large, rambling gated
estate is under construction. Last week there were 10 workers pushing
wheelbarrows filled with dirt, landscaping the grounds. Suppose
seven of those 10 are married and that five of those have at least
two kids. That’s 27 people being fed by the filthy rich we now despise.
Those landscapers, along with contractors, sub-contractors,
architects, interior designers, painters, plumbers, tile setters,
bricklayers and electricians will likely be paid sometime soon.
Chances are they and their families will spend some of that money
at our area strip malls, gas stations, grocery stores and restaurants.
The three sprawling terraces surrounding this
manse will likely host spectacular parties that will require caterers,
a wait staff, event planners, musicians, bartenders, drivers, and
private security. The parties may also mean shopping trips and appointments
at the spa.
Property taxes on the joint will be outrageous
– and will fund our schools and libraries.
And because they have an outrageous amount of
money (defined as anything more than I have) they ignite resentment
and discontent and we clamor for them to be taxed and taxed hard.
So then, siphon it off. It’s high time they feel
the hurt. Table the construction. Let the builders go, send the
workers home. Return the furniture and the appliances and cancel
the parties.
We’ll show them, won’t we?
