They seemed to have been bottled up for a long time as they spewed out their grievances—the desks were too small, the uniforms too hot, this wasn’t right, that wasn’t good. I remembered wondering early on whether this was a symptom of the Occupation, a long tirade of things that were going wrong, or merely a sign of adolescent disgruntlement—a restless, helpless, irritated group of twelve-year-olds wanting to criticize everything around them.
