You may have noticed: There are some people on this campus who like to complain. They whine, they cry, they spam the open lists; in every discussion, Lacoste-sporting Harvard undergraduates form up into a bourgeois proletariat, for whom angry emails have replaced manifestos. They are defiantly, eternally dissatisfied—it doesn’t matter why—and many spend their hours insisting upon an urgent need for some type of “change”; though, again, they never take the unattractive step of defining what that change means. It’s like a Barack Obama speech without the eloquence—but with all the mind-numbing, fanfare and self-importance.

Then there are those who complain about the complainers.

They are the ones who roll their eyes with that cynical smirk, have a witty retort prepared for any gripe that comes their way, and never fail to note their privileged perspective of the self-indulgence and egomania of us Harvard students (excluding themselves). They direct their patronizing misanthropy at campus “brats,” and come out looking somehow worse—brattier—than their targets.

At a school with so many smart, talented, and well-rounded people, it is astounding that our public discourse is dominated by two groups that are so markedly shortsighted, erratic, and, plainly, full of it. Indeed, there is no better example of this unhappy reality than the current uproar over changes in dining hall menu. During the past month, Harvard University Dining Services (HUDS) has been decreasing the number and variety of its meal offerings. They blame the change on increasing food prices—which of course, like any budget-based argument at Harvard, seems not to convince many.

But the current discussion, if one is willing to call it that, has completely failed to address this matter sensibly, instead devolving into mean-spirited accusations and general disarray. Thoughtless rancor has driven students to argue that it is HUDS who is at fault here, and that the managers and workers are simply lazy or corrupt. On house e-mail lists, some have even gone so far as to attack specific dining-hall employees. All this bickering directed at middlemen ignores the fact of its futility and carries on, instead of discussing solutions to the actual problem, like more flexible meal plans.

Nevertheless, there is an underlying sentiment in these lamentations—however awfully distorted and misdirected—with which one can sympathize, something completely absent amongst the counter-complainers, who are no less obnoxious. Where were they–given their claims of moral superiority and wisdom—when Harvard lost over 350 million dollars in a hedge fund last year? Or when the administration breached its contract with its workers? Of course, they were too jaded to care. For these people, it seems that it’s the feeling of superiority over their classmates that matters, not actually considering anyone’s wellbeing. And who can blame them? It’s not as if they have to pay their way through college or anything. Now they can go to Chipotle and inveigh against the world over a six-dollar burrito.

And so the passionate, purposeless quarreling continues while the underlying issues go unaddressed. It goes to show that, when it comes down to it, it’s not overcoming problems that counts—it’s the opportunity to bemoan them to anyone who’ll listen. Thus, we should see this moment as a chance for change. Can’t we at least begin complaining about complaining about complaining?

I’ll start writing the e-mail now.

Sahand Moarefy ’10, a Crimson business editor, is an economics concentrator in Mather House.