The sad, harmless, bearded face of David Kelly has been staring out of news reports again. Our national obsession with the death of this man follows us around, a lonely spectre dogging our social memory. I'm almost amazed that so many busy professionals and experts have taken up his hopeless case once more - reminding us of the sad, ambiguous story of his death which no amount of spin or apathy could neutralise into background noise.
It reminds me of a question posed by my English teacher when we studied Hamlet at 'A'level. The ghost of Hamlet's father follows him around, like a guilty conscience. Our teacher asked us whether we thought the ghost was real, or just a manifestation of Hamlet's tortured psyche. I didn't know the answer, but it feels as though David Kelly's ghost still haunts us for our collective weakness and reluctance to question the terrible, transparent story we were spun.
We killed him one way or another. Taunted, vilified and scape-goated by Downing Street bullies through the very media who exposed him to their gaze. And we, bystanders, hapless members of the public. We watched on like children in a playground. Now those scenes replay themselves in our collective mind, grown older but perhaps no wiser in the intervening years.
"Do not forget. This visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose...."
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