Taki the √Člite

Here is a man whose grandfather and father were admirals, and who led a squadron of fighters in Vietnam and spent five years in a Vietnamese dungeon, and because he married a woman who happens to own houses is suddenly accused of being an elitist. First of all, what is wrong about being an elitist? Would the Washington elite prefer him to be living in a trailer park? The Clintons have made over 125 million big ones by serving the interests of Saudi scum and other low lifes, and here we have the media accusing an honorable man of being elitist.

Taki has asked the one question that I have pondered form some time: “[W]hat is wrong about being an elitist?” What is wrong about it? Heaven forfend the leader of the free world be at all cultivated and possessed of manners, mannerisms, and traits of the upper crust.

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The Devil counts the be verb amongst his many manifestations.

Why possess we, writing in English, the habit of so effortlessly and frequently relying upon the be verb? I recognize that, at times, “is”, “are”, or any other variant, its simplicity highlighting the nuances at hand, far better serves the author than any action verb could; however, more often than not (or so I believe), employing the be verb simply deadens even the otherwise-crispest of sentences. Perhaps more pernicious, used unsparingly, it denigrates the very concept of being.

An example: In the cover article of this week’s Leader, a Starke County, Indiana, publication, editor John Reed, writing about the 2008 Harvest Days Festival in perfidious Knox, my mother’s hometown and the county’s seat of government, notes, “The cheerleading competition will be at 10 a.m. Saturday in the parking lot across the street from the MC Smith Funeral Home” Could not Mr. Reed just as easily have apprised the reader of the relevant information without resorting to “will be”? He could, perhaps, have composed the following simple declarative: “The cheerleading competition will occur . . . .” Instead, he leaves me to fret: Heaven forfend the cheerleading competition would endure an existential crisis, realizing that the Festival’s committee has limited its time of being to one minute (or, more liberally, hour), on one day, at one place. How should we react to such misfortune whilst not forgetting to tend to the psychological and spiritual well-being of the “lots of ‘guy’ activities, including the Burnout sponsored by the Knox-Center Township Fire Department”?