The Time of Dialogue 2000–2002 509
Delacampagne, in Le Monde, hailed it as ‘the best introduction’
to Derrida’s thought. In the words of Philippe Petit, for Marianne:
‘[A]t last we have it: Derrida for dummies’; the philosopher, who
was ‘a continent in himself, a conscience, a memory, a Marrano of
modern times’ had agreed, this time, to ‘make himself accessible
to the public at large’. Only L’Express, in the person of François
Busnel, thought the work was ‘a botched encounter’: ‘a fi reside
chat between two old accomplices who don’t give a damn about
what their readers expect’. The best account was probably by Régis
Debray, in a letter to Derrida: ‘For What Tomorrow... puts each
and every reader in a position to realize his or her own contradic-
tions, penchants or aversions. [.. .] Many people, thanks to this
dialogue, will be able to join you, or break away, in knowledge of
the facts.’^44
While the book sold much better than Derrida’s other works –
around 18,000 copies in big format – it was not the success in France
that it should have been. Fayard had hoped for better, but the pro-
motion had been held up both by 11 September and by Derrida’s
long absence. Only in November was he able to accompany
Élisabeth Roudinesco for a few radio and television programmes,
and appearances in various bookshops. But, as for Derrida’s other
books, success came at the international level: For What Tomorrow
... was translated into a score of languages.
The publication of the book, in which Derrida expressed at length
his thoughts on political subjects, as well as the context of 11
September, rekindled another controversy. Derrida was viewed in
some quarters as a ‘bad Jew’ because of his long-standing support
for the Palestinian cause, ever since his friendship with Genet. His
positions on the Israeli–Palestinian question had varied little across
the years. As he had said, back in 1988, at a conference in Jerusalem,
his attitude ‘is not inspired not only by my concern for justice and by
my friendship for both the Palestinians and the Israelis. It is meant
also as an expression of respect for a certain image of Israel and as
an expression of hope for its future.’^45
It was perhaps in a long letter to Claude Lanzmann, the author
of Shoah but also the editor of Les Temps modernes, that Derrida
most clearly expressed his opinion on the subject. He had been
profoundly taken aback by an article by Robert Redeker in the
autumn 2001 issue, in which the author claimed that, ever since 11
September, ‘there are more and more occasions on which we may
witness the resurrection of left-wing Judeophobia. [.. .] The loss of
inhibition in anti-Israel hatred has both made it possible to change
the victims – the Americans – into the villains, and to lessen the
responsibility of the real villains (Islamic terrorism fomented or
supported by a certain number of Muslim states).’^46