I just read 'Requiem' in its entirety. That someone so far removed, by geographic distance and time, from our current desperate situation could manage to describe it so well is evidence, I guess, of the 'eternal-ness' of the degradation of the human condition. Kind of the same way de Tocqueville issued similar warnings in 'Democracy in America' the mid-nineteenth century, so many of which we are failing to heed.
Kipling's description is even more apt when applied to his Great Britain [or that of Post-WWI of T.E. Lawrence.] But even Churchill had it right:
How dreadful are the curses which Mohammedanism lays on its votaries! Besides the fanatical frenzy, which is as dangerous in a man as hydrophobia in a dog, there is this fearful fatalistic apathy. Improvident habits, slovenly systems of agriculture, sluggish methods of commerce, and insecurity of property exist wherever the followers of the Prophet rule or live. A degraded sensualism deprives this life of its grace and refinement; the next of its dignity and sanctity. The fact that in Mohammedan law every woman must belong to some man as his absolute property - either as a child, a wife, or a concubine - must delay the final extinction of slavery until the faith of Islam has ceased to be a great power among men.
"Individual Moslems may show splendid qualities. Thousands become the brave and loyal soldiers of the Queen: all know how to die. But the influence of the religion paralyses the social development of those who follow it. No stronger retrograde force exists in the world. Far from being moribund, Mohammedanism is a militant and proselytising faith. It has already spread throughout Central Africa, raising fearless warriors at every step; and were it not that Christianity is sheltered in the strong arms of science - the science against which it had vainly struggled - the civilisation of modern Europe might fall, as fell the civilisation of ancient Rome."
--Winston S. Churchill
Just so. Now try some Don Marquis
In particular, this one:
A Politician
Leader no more, be judged of us!
Hailed Chief, and loved, of yore—
Youth, and the faith of youth, cry out:
Leader and Chief no more!
We dreamed a Prophet, flushed with faith,
Content to toil in pain
If that his sacrifice might be,
Somehow, his people’s gain.
We saw a vision, and our blood
Beat red and hot and strong:
“Lead us (we cried) to war against
Some foul, embattled wrong!”
We dreamed a Warrior whose sword
Was edged for sham and shame;
We dreamed a Statesman far above
The vulgar lust for fame.
We were not cynics, and we dreamed
A Man who made no truce
With lies nor ancient privilege
Nor old, entrenched abuse.
We dreamed . . . we dreamed . . . Youth dreamed
a dream!
And even you forgot
Yourself, one moment, and dreamed, too—
Struck, while your mood was hot!
Struck three or four good blows . . . and then
Turned back to easier things:
The cheap applause, the blatant mob,
The praise of underlings!
Praise . . . praise . . . was ever man so filled,
So avid still, of praise?
So hungry for the crowd’s acclaim,
The sycophantic phrase?
O you whom Greatness beckoned to . . .
O swollen Littleness
Who turned from Immortality
To fawn upon Success!
O blind with love of self, who led
Youth’s vision to defeat,
Bawling and brawling for rewards,
Loud, in the common street!
O you who were so quick to judge—
Leader, and loved, of yore—
Hear now the judgment of our youth:
Leader and Chief no more!