by Sarah Grey ‘Tamil will die a slow death The languages of the West will triumph in this world.’ So says the simpleton; Alas! what an accusation! —Subramania Bharati I. We live among the ghosts of languages.
by Alain Brossat and Sylvie Klingberg Translated by David Fernbach From the start of the war, the Jewish group of the MOI [Main D’Oevre Immigrée] was the best structured and most active; it would provide the cadres of the Organisation Spéciale, responsible for major acts of terrorism and sabotage; it would also supply almost all the militants of the Travail Allemand, the work of propaganda and demoralization among the German troops – work that was extremely dangerous, and internationalist par excellence, carried out for the most part by women. In cafés and other public places frequented by the Wehrmacht,
by Franco Fortini. Those as old as I read Marx in light of our wars. They always heard called ‘Marxist’ those whom the power of weapons, profit or power sought to reduce to silence. ‘And you, how do you call the people oppressed or killed in the name of Marx?’ I will now be asked – perhaps imagining that I haven’t yet found the time to ask myself. I answer that they’re on my side. I count them among those who since 1917, the year of my birth, have been the enemies of my enemies, in Madrid as in
by Alberto Toscano. Marxism is an ephemeral, partisan knowledge. The obsessiveness with which it has sought to secure its documents against the vicissitudes of struggle is perhaps an ironic statement to the condition of a thought and practice whose apotheosis, like that of the proletariat and of philosophy, would mean its disappearance – or at least a change beyond recognition. The ponderous bound volumes of Kim Il Sung’s or Hoxha’s Collected Works are the grim side of this predicament, the philological minutiae of contemporary Marxology its honourable sublimation.