I don’t know how else to describe it, so I have to turn to Yeats. This is a nightmare. These are elementary school children being described here.
[The younger student] claimed she suffered emotional trauma because she was subjected to racial and sexual slurs at … elementary school … Despite complaints, school administrative staff and district officials allowed the abuse to “escalate to the point where [she] was physically threatened, assaulted and battered,” the suit alleged.
Racial and sexual slurs.
Threatened, assaulted and battered.
This goes beyond anything in Lord of the Flies. In an elementary school while teachers were present. Has the burden of behaving like responsible adults and raising children become so overwhelming that the collective WE, with a shrug of the shoulders in acknowledgement that we can do nothing about it, slouch to a place out of sight, out of hearing, and wish only to be left alone?
The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
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