Occupation is a Stinking, Putrid, Agent of Decay

At a recent meeting at the Bank of Ideas I overheard one keen contributor hailing the ‘death of capitalism’ – a worthy aspiration perhaps, even if capitalism might have answered back, to borrow Mark Twain’s quip, that ‘reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.’

We need to be a little wary of hankering after death. A cursory look at history shows that it can in fact be a heroic act that can be used to inspire support for that which has fallen. We saw this in the careful preservation of Lenin’s corpse: he was dead, yes, but for political reasons death, real death, was not allowed to take him. His apparently just-dead body appeared to remain of this world, or at least functionable for use in some as-yet unreached far-off communist utopia, wherever that might be. The embalmed body is frozen in time, still holding the tension between this life and the next. ‘They will not grow old…’ Binyon’s famous poem of remembrance goes, and this was the Communist aim: age should not weary Lenin, nor the years condemn. He cannot be seen to properly die, lest the years that passed do condemn him. (Indeed: though there has been recent discussion about whether to bury Lenin, Putin opposes it, saying it would imply that generations of citizens had observed false values during 70 years of Soviet rule. Of course, Stalin’s body was also embalmed and lay next to Lenin’s for 8 years; it was removed when people realised what a tyrant he had been.)

Simple death then, we need to carefully remember, could stir a blind hagiography of capitalism. So it must not just be the death of capitalism that we seek, but the processes beyond too. All of us may fear dying, but we all too carry a hope that some memorial will outlive us, and perhaps our real fear is that we will simply be forgotten. We want to be preserved, not wearied by the further passing of time. Yet Shakespeare knew that this was impossible. As Hamlet says to his hated uncle, King Claudius: “We fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes, but to one table: that’s the end.” (Act IV, Scene III)

Fat kings or beggars, communist heroes or economic systems… the truth we need to grasp is that the true and proper end is not just death, but decay too.

The decaying body is a thing of horror: beauty takes quick leave, and the ‘frozen’ nature of the corpse thaws into warm rot. The fear we have of the decaying body is this: it is no longer fit for transport or use elsewhere. Zombies are horrific because, unlike Lenin’s pickled cadaver they have paradoxically embraced (living) death and moved into the process of decomposition. The terror comes from their refusal to journey on into heaven or hell; like good materialists they remain here to rot.

Death can smell hospital-clean, or of incense or embalming oil; it is decay that has a putrid odour. We recoil from rotting food, and want it out of the house as quickly as possible. And yet the ecologically minded will know well that this process of decomposition is absolutely vital to the continuing cycle of life. We remove mouldy food to our composting bin because we understand that the process of decay is about breaking down ‘dead’ matter into elements that can be re-used.

Without decay vital nutrients would be trapped and never be released back into the soil. Plants would therefore be unable to grow and every ecosystem would collapse, as plants are at the base of every food chain. Put simply, the cycle of life would grind to a halt. Moreover, if nothing decayed, the dead bodies of all living creatures and plants would litter the globe.

Actually, there have been periods in history where this has (partially) been the case. In the carboniferous period, large quantities of wood were buried and not broken down because the bacteria and insects that could effectively digest them had not yet evolved. These fallen trees were laid down as coal deposits, dark and cold and undying.

So decomposition – the transition from death into a new cycle of life – requires the evolution of appropriate ‘agents of decay.’ Without these agents – the foul world of maggots, flies, bacteria and fungi – nothing could be reused. To return to the wished-for death of capitalism: what we must consider very carefully is what happens to the corpse.

My belief is that the Occupy movement – which has been sneered as a group of unwashed, bottom-feeders – should embrace this abuse and begin to see part of its role as ‘agents of decay.’

Our financial systems may yet commit suicide, or gorge themselves to greedy death; what is vital is how the rich resources that they have hoarded can be broken down and made fit for re-use. This is precisely what the Bank of Ideas has begun to do already: a dead physical space has been infested by ‘agents of decay’ who are now preparing it for reappropriation.

However, there is a warning that comes with the adoption of these ideas: the stench of decay is an anathema. It makes people recoil in disgust. To work with what is dead, to be an agent of decay, is to invite ridicule and repulsion. The Occupy movement has seen plenty of this already, but now we can turn the insults into inspiration: what the dying capitalist world needs now are putrid, stinking agents of change to bring new life from old corpses.

By @kesterbrewin / kesterbrewin.com