As The Uber Rich Play Amateur, The Rest Are Left Behind

Of the many byproducts spawned during our postmodern era, there is one that threatens to rid us of a most-coveted meritocracy. This is the death of the professional class. And in its wake, the see-saw rise of the bought-in, table-reserved amateurs. Identifiable as the “uber-rich”, these folks snatch up once-in-a-lifetime adventures, costing many thousands of dollars, accoutered with complimentary fast passes that nullify the meaning of the phrase “first come, first served”. And I’m afraid to say, the rest of us will be left stranded behind their obfuscating contrails.

This of course isn’t a new phenomenon. Since the advent of currency, money has spurred advantages for folks with loads of it, granting them access to places unreachable by just the Average Joe. But as a consequence of the excess of affluence fostered by today’s economic framework, these advantages now include rides on the back of a rocket, underwater dives in exotic submersibles, and ushered climbs on the faces of some of Earth’s tallest mountains. Perhaps a better word for this type of individual would be a well-to-do hobbyist. But since they are chipping away at the bedrock of professionalism, they are better suited to be donned amateurs.

One of the first professions to be invaded by this generation of prepaid philistines was mountaineering, which was captured vividly and tragically in Jon Krakauer’s 1996 best-seller, Into Thin Air. Before the events recounted in Krakauer’s work even occurred, the wealthy had been receiving a plethora of backlash from the climbing community. Their inexperience would often cause delays on expeditions and put others at risk. This worry crossed the minds of many skilled climbers on Mount Everest that season. But, in a more cultural sense, the influx of these amateurs was corrupting the spirit of climbing.

In his book, Krakauer concludes that certain actions taken on the mountain that season were greatly influenced by the commercialization of the mountain and the pressures it created. It was these decisive actions that in turn led to the deaths of eight climbers. The Spring of 1996 was a critical juncture concerning this issue, as it saw the arrival of many clients of considerable wealth and influence. These climbers had the capacity to alter the financial vitality of two of Everest’s burgeoning guiding businesses; Adventure Consultants, headed by Rob Hall, and Mountain Madness, led by Scott Fisher. Both Hall and Fisher were considered to be Everest specialists and they attracted esteemed clientele. The two of them were also in a not-so-secret competition to outdo and out-finance the other. These motivators were understood to have impaired their judgment during their final ascent of the Earth’s tallest summit. Tragically, both Hall and Fisher died on the mountain during their expeditions, finding themselves in trouble within the mountain’s “Death Zone”, eventually pushing themselves too far, beyond the reach of rescue.

Krakauer demonstrates how the flow of wealthy clientele had and continues to blur the responsibilities and priorities of climbing guides. For Hall and Fisher, getting these clients to the top of Everest was a must. It would ensure that their backs would be scratched in return, with other potential high-roller customers being told of their keen abilities to guide the mountain. And to achieve this, getting their clients, and collaterally themselves, to the summit in a careful manner became less of a priority.

Since then, issues created by these wealthy Walter Mitty types have continued to plague the sacred mountain. Bottlenecking and sustained built-up traffic near the summit have become but a regularity on Everest. Waste is now a significant issue on the mountain as well, with oxygen tanks, trash, and human feces scattered near the camps. Because of these factors, many diehard climbers have long since regarded Everest as a tourist trap for the uber-rich, the pretenders. Jon Krakauer has stated that climbing Everest is one of his life’s greatest regrets, vowing never to return.

A similar travesty caused by this phenomenon occurred with the implosion of OceanGate’s Titan submersible earlier this year. Ignoring multiple warnings by oceanographers and engineers, OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush charged $150,000 a head for a once-in-a-lifetime visit to the wreckage of the Titanic on a submersible doomed to fail. What was gathered and revealed to the public after the tragedy only highlighted Rush’s incredible hubris and unwillingness to let his business be run by experts, the professionals of the business. The result was five tragic and avoidable deaths.

All of these tragedies sing the same tune of unnecessary loss of life. I cannot help but see the parallels unfolding between Everest, Titan, and now with the ever-developing commercialization of space. Currently, this frontier is being fought over by three of the world’s most wealthy businessmen: Richard Branson, Jeff Bezos, and Elon Musk. These three have promised that their proposed ventures are for the betterment of humanity. From establishing space tourism, to building a base on the Moon, and colonizing Mars, these men plan to bring about a future that has only existed in science-fiction films and novels.

Putting the excitement aside, it is difficult to believe that these promises will be made good on. With Virgin Galactic already pricing tickets for trips on their spaceplane at almost half a million dollars, there’s little indication that nearly all of humanity will experience this new form of tourism. Ironically, Bezos has donned his rockets “New Shepard” and “New Glenn”, as presumed successors to two of America’s most famed astronauts Alan Shepard and John Glenn. These two men, in their prime, were the most consummate and skilled professionals of both air and space.

Unfortunately, the high competition between these three companies, not to mention the often-cavalier actions taken by Musk, all but guarantee an accident transpiring in the future. Yet again, it appears that another professional vocation will be hijacked by the uber-rich. Accolades and training will of course be required to do the dirty work of sending daringly dilettantish tourists into space, like sherpas short roping financiers to the top of Everest. However, we are entering an age when the uber-rich are devaluing accolades and disregarding training. This simply comes with the price of their admission, but we’re the ones who have to pay for it in the end. And I’m afraid our world will never look, feel, enchant, inspire, and motivate as it once did because of this.