Derrida Page #4

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that could never have been hers...

the audacity of this stroke

about which she will...

alas, never know anything...

no doubt knew nothing...

and which piercing the night

replies to my question.:

''I have a pain in my mother, '"

as though

she were speaking for me...

both in my direction

and in my place.

I stop for a moment

over a pang of remorse...

in any case, over the admission

I owe the reader...

in truth that I owe

my mother herself...

for the reader will have understood

that I am writing for my mother...

perhaps even

for a dead woman.

For if I were here

writing for my mother...

it would be for a living mother

who does not recognize her son.

And I am paraphrasing here for whomever

no longer recognizes me...

unless it be so that one

should no longer recognize me...

another way of saying,

another version...

so that people think

they finally recognize me.

[ Man On Radio ]

[ Timer Bell Dings ]

[ Derrida Speaking French ]

[ Man ] We are now approaching

the actual maximum security prison.

[ Chattering ]

[ Man, Indistinct ]

- How much? Eighteen years.

- Eighteen years.

- That was his cell.

- That was his cell?

Yes.

[ Man ]

You will notice that in this cell...

there is no water facility

or toilets.

Toilets were the buckets.

Their own bucket with a lid.

[ Woman ]

As soon as there is the One...

there is murder,

wounding, traumatism.

The One guards against

the Other.

It protects itself

from the Other.

But in the movement

of this jealous violence...

it comprises in itself

its self-otherness or self-difference.

The difference from within one's Self,

which makes it One.

The One as the Other.

At one and the same time...

but in the same time

that is out ofjoint.

The One forgets to remember

itself to its Self.

It keeps and erases the archive

of this injustice that it is...

of this violence

that it does.

The One makes

itself violence.

It violates

and does violence to itself.

It becomes what it is, the very

violence that it does to itself.

The determination

of the Self as One is violence.

[ Derrida ]

More than once, we will be faced...

with the effects

of a preliminary question...

which is the question.:

Who or what?

Does one forgive someone

for a wrong committed...

or does one forgive

someone something?

Someone who, in whatever way,

can never totally be confused...

with the wrongdoing...

and the moment of the past wrongdoing

nor with the past injury.

So, the question:

Who or what?

Do we forgive someone, or do

we forgive someone something?

[ Man ]

Okay, a final final question.

[ Man ]

There is a very anxious question.

Um, so you're a white Western male,

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