488 Jacques Derrida 1984–2004
I travel a great deal, but I’m not just (or even essentially)
‘American’, as they often say (and always with two implica-
tions, the one provincial: ‘you see, this lad of ours is really
famous abroad’, the other condescending: ‘you see, only the
Americans are interested in him, nobody knows what they see
in him.’ The two subtexts can perfectly well coexist).^29During the 1990s, Derrida held lectures and seminars in several
countries which he had not hitherto visited, sometimes owing to a
lack of people with whom he wished to discuss his ideas, but more
often for political reasons:
Often I haven’t visited a country until after the beginnings
of ‘democratization’. In this regard, I am thinking of all the
Eastern European countries that I went to for the fi rst time
only after 1990 (except for Budapest in 1973 – but Hungary
was already an exception, and Prague in 1981 – but that was
in secret and I ended up in prison). Other ‘fi rst times’ visiting
‘brand-new’ democracies: Greece, Spain, Portugal, Uruguay,
Argentina, Chile, Brazil, South Africa.^30In the same way, he went to Moscow for the fi rst time in 1990,
when the USSR was collapsing. And he returned in 1994, when he
also visited Saint Petersburg. In post-Soviet Russia, Derrida’s work
and person aroused considerable interest. As his translator Natalia
Avtonomova relates:
Here, Derrida presents himself ‘as what he is’ as well as being
the – sole living – representative of contemporary French
philosophy. It creates a real stir. People wonder who he is,
beyond the diff erent images they have of him: someone who is
overturning all values or someone who is affi rming new ones,
a pop star or a serious scholar? Journalists’ fantasies – they
sing his praises or decry him but are never indiff erent – are
the fl ipside of his popularity. For example, the magazine for
men, Medved, entertains its readers with details of what ties
he likes to wear, his favourite food – and the cheerleaders of
post-Soviet literature boast of being on fi rst-name terms with
the ‘master’. Derrida’s resonant name echoes in student songs,
and everyone has the word ‘deconstruction’ on their lips. [.. .]
Derrida’s two stays in Moscow have set the Muscovite
public abuzz. Just imagine: they can see a ‘classic’ in fl esh
and blood, and not just any classic: one who defends Marx,
when on all sides he is being kicked around like a wounded
lion!^31