The Judgement of Karl Marx: A Political Extravaganza
By Peter Turton
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About this ebook
Peter Turton
Peter Turton was born in Wakefield, England, in 1941 to a working-class family. He left home at 17, later on winning a scholarship to Cambridge University to study modern languages. After one year he left for Spain, where he spent three years working in a language school. He then returned to Cambridge to resume his studies. After graduation he went back to Spain, working in a blast furnace, then as a technical translator and then for an engineering firm. Receiving a Commonwealth Scholarship, he spent three years in Canada doing a doctorate in Spanish literature. He spent 1970–71 in Cuba at the University of Havana, leaving to teach Hispanic Studies in Canada. Back in England, he worked at the Polytechnic (subsequently University) of North London for 21 years. Taking early retirement from this institution, he taught for a year at Northern Arizona University, leaving afterwards for Brazil, where he spent some 15 years, 11 of them teaching at a university in the state of Bahia. Presently he lives in London.
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The Judgement of Karl Marx - Peter Turton
Lear
Act 1
A small congress hall illuminated by magnificent chandeliers. The walls and ceiling are bright red. A rostrum facing wooden benches made of antique mahogany. A door at the back and a door at the side. A handsome young man of somewhat androgynous features comes in through the back door. He is dressed like a dandy, rather in the style of the American writer Tom Wolfe, in a dazzling white suit and mauve tie, spats, and expensive brown shoes. Although slim, his back seems disproportionately bulky, as if he were carrying something there beneath the shoulders of his jacket. His name is Michael.
MICHAEL [addressing the side door]: You may enter now, Professor Marx.
Enter a Jewish-looking man with a large forehead and bushy beard. He is wearing a black suit.
KARL MARX [testily]: Where am I and why was I brought here?
MICHAEL: This is your big day, Karl. A symposium on your philosophy has been arranged. We painted the walls red to make you feel at home. The most important of the practitioners of Marxism will be brought before you and you can question them about why they did what they did in your name. We want to find out exactly where you and they went wrong.
MARX: Who’s we? And where am I?
MICHAEL: I’ll answer your second question first. You’re in the afterlife. We
are the Boss and his associates.
MARX: The Boss?
MICHAEL: Usually known as God. I’m his special messenger, Michael.
MARX: Nonsense. There is no God or afterlife.
MICHAEL: How do you then explain being here in the Earth year 2004 when you died in 1883?
MARX: Me, die? I don’t recall that, although I was very ill in 1883.
MICHAEL: I can assure you that you are dead. In the world beyond, we’re not allowed to tell lies. Not that I ever felt the inclination, unlike some of the Boss’s associates. Let me ask you a question. Do you know the names Lenin and Stalin? Or Mao Tse Tung and Ho Chi Minh? I think you do, although they all came to prominence after your death.
MARX [surprised]: I do. I saw these people in my dreams. Some of the things they did shocked me.
MICHAEL: No, Karl. You did not dream these people. You were allowed to see what they did in your name from the vantage point of the afterlife. The Boss likes to use the afterlife to set people straight. Some are actually punished. Not you, though, because the Boss actually quite approved of you. Even though you didn’t believe in Him, He believed in you, in His own way. Helping the struggling masses and all that. You were a good sort, in spite of your pedantry and your vicious polemics with others on the left who didn’t agree with you. He didn’t much like your letting your family starve, either. But all in all, He was a fan. Hence this symposium. Not everybody in the afterlife gets a symposium all to himself. You’ll be able to confront your followers and your enemies. They will also be allowed to question you. We’re fair here. Not like on Earth. Between you and me, the Earth’s a bit of a shit hole.
MARX: It certainly is. That’s what I was trying to correct. But it seems that things didn’t work out. In fact, I may even have made things worse. All those millions of peasants that died under the Bolsheviks. All those people put in slave camps by Stalin. Oh, my God.
MICHAEL: I’m glad you believe in Him.
MARX: That was just an exclamation.
MICHAEL: I think not. You do realise you’re in the afterlife, don’t you?
MARX: Oh, I suppose so.
MICHAEL: And who could have kept you alive but the Boss?
MARX: You may well be right. I’m so confused.
MICHAEL: Don’t worry. The Boss understands the fallibility of the human race. After all, He created it, unfortunately.
MARX: Unfortunately? You mean God repented of having produced man?
MICHAEL: You know that as well as I, old son. You’re a Jew and have the Old Testament imprinted in your brain. You know what it says there. How Adam and Eve were given free will and chose the wrong tree, the Tree of Knowledge instead of the Tree of Life. Right from the start, the human race was discontented. Thought it could be as powerful as the Boss Himself. Remember the Tower of Babel. The Americans, as you know, put two men on the moon. And now they have two vehicles on Mars. And for what purpose? To be able to examine a few rocks, apparently. Of course, they really have larger schemes afoot, to do with political and military power. You will have noted that the Soviets never managed to get a man on the moon. Capitalism won there, didn’t it? And went on to crush your system generally. But we don’t really blame you. As I said, the Boss esteems you highly.
MARX: Er, I don’t quite know how to put this, but could I talk directly to your Boss, as you call Him? Person to person, so to speak.
MICHAEL: I’m glad you’ve finally admitted you believe in Him. But you can’t. He’s invisible. By definition.
MARX: But people in the Bible saw him.
MICHAEL: No. He appeared as an image in their brains. They assumed it was Him. Nobody has seen Him face to