Reflections on reading Jacques Derrida’s Spectres of Marx (22)

The Twenty-second night

Freed from his past, Marx has decided to realise his true potential. He will reinvent himself as a prophet, become the new messiah and wear Roman robes. He imagines himself standing heroically on the steps of the White House, gazing down on the populace, who genuflect in his presence. They look up towards him and roar their approval, Marx raises his arms in acknowledgement, and the crowd responds with a repeated shout, “Long live Marx!” “Long live Marx!” “Long live Marx!” As they shout Marx gazes out over the sea of heads. He realizes that the crowd are wearing masks and helmets and that they shade their eyes with visors, they soon begin to shift uneasily under the scrutiny of his gaze. The people are haunted by ghosts and spirits of past revolutions, and their attention wanders. They see specters and ghouls starting to emerge from the dry ice effect that surrounds Marx in his classical pomp. Marx tries to regain their attention, “Let the dead bury the dead and let the living bury the living” he cries, but the crowd are worried and some people are pointing to a shadow below him, which descends slowly down the steps towards them. It had started beneath his feet but was now detached and has set forth looking for another body and the crowd sense its intent and rapidly start to disperse. The shadow that has lost its body is a dire thing. It will soon wander free into the world, and will cast its dark cloud over future events, souring revolutions and spoiling ballots as it passes through the future world.

Marx slips away before the crowd turns nasty; a dog chases its own shadow down the white steps of the White House.

Marx reemerges in London. He knows that only the secret revolution can be a revolution. He has infiltrated the New Labour party as a first step towards his goal, he is though soon denounced as a police undercover agent and expelled. He soon finds himself alone, unemployed and starving, unable to get dole he is forced to seek any work he can get. The only job on offer is as a gravedigger, a job he reluctantly takes up, but which he soon realizes he enjoys. He digs each grave with great determination and enthusiasm, rejecting mechanical aids in favour of good old-fashioned hard work. His hands are soon hard and callused, for the first time in his life he has the hands of a workman. He feels at home amongst the dead but watches carefully for signs of resurrection. He is apprehensive for the future and even more wary of the specters from his past.