CFP: Transregional Postcolonialisms: Queer Remainders of Disappearing Imperialism

American Comparative Literature Association 2019 Annual Meeting

Georgetown University, Washington, DC

March 7 – 10, 2019

Transregional Postcolonialisms: Queer Remainders of Disappearing Imperialism


Ryanson Alessandro Ku, Postdoctoral Associate, Duke University

Sony Coráñez Bolton, Assistant Professor, Amherst College


In a perennially globalizing world, the deconstruction of borders has given impetus to manifold critical responses, notably US empire, postcolonial, and queer critique. US empire studies shows that imperialism proceeds not just through the violation of boundaries, but also their redefinition. This redefinition obscures the violation that makes redefinition possible in the first place, thereby disappearing imperialism. The subterranean nature of empire—its quality of being everywhere at the same time always absconding from sight—has necessitated modes of postcolonial criticism that go beyond the comparison of national traditions to trace the relation between cultures in an imperial system. Similarly, queerness maps modes of relationality that destabilize established norms. In performing their own deconstruction of boundaries, postcolonial and queer cultural formations function as sites of struggle for the negotiation of the contradictions of empire.

How might we queer current postcolonial lines to catch sight of the ever-shifting formations of imperialism? How might we queer the queer to make it resonate with yet other ways of going beyond, or remapping, established boundaries? If in forming itself it disappears, thus constantly expanding, where, to begin with, is the empire? Through attention to the region—smaller and larger than the nation—this panel explores imperialism across its colonizations and the queer and postcolonial cultures that emerge as responses to its asymmetrical building of a world. How does imperialism tie one region to another, constituting a region, itself multiple, as part of a world? In what ways is queerness also a “region” targeted for colonization? What relays—from north to south, between east and west, in queer directions—enable the extension of empire and the flow of anti-colonial resistance from one region to another, indeed globally, and how is struggle queered in transit, indeed local? How does postcolonialism evoke not the aftermath but rather a perennial response to the eternal recurrence of imperialism, including in its disappearance? In what ways do postcolonial cultures serve as reminders of empire’s disappearance and remainders unable to be disappeared in empire, that is, queer rem(a)inders that in their unassimilability threaten the system, that in following existing lines reconfigure them? How, in particular, do identities activated by transregional movement—transatlantic and hemispheric blackness, transpacific Asian/American subjectivity, diasporic/minority non-citizenship, nativism around the world—reify their postcolonial borders, like the normative postcolonial state, or remain postcolonial, amid subjection thereby ever in transition, to replicate and subvert the boundaries through which empire disappears?

Given the sustained engagement afforded by the ACLA Conference structure of multi-day seminars, we invite proposals to think critically about some aspect of these lines of inquiry that, in the spirit of comparison, seek conversation with others beyond their field. We are especially interested in papers that explore literary, visual, and other forms of culture to trace the dynamics of and resistance to colonization beyond conventional boundaries. Please submit an abstract of 250-300 words through the ACLA website between Thursday, August 30, at 12 noon EST and Thursday, September 20, at 9 a.m. EST.


Derrida’s Deconstruction of the Sign

(An earlier version of this was posted in (mass)think! in 2008.)


In “Différance” (1968), perhaps the most systematic articulation of something—“literally neither a word nor a concept”—he “has been able to utilize” in previous works, Jacques Derrida begins by highlighting the letter a and attempting to explain the neologism, intended “less [as] a justification […] than an insistent intensification of its play” (3). Derrida argues that what he calls a “neographism” is “a lapse in the discipline and law which regulate writing” (3), disrupting it. By thus coining différance to highlight the lapse in writing, language, and the order of signs in general, Derrida performs one of the most significant critiques of the structuralist theory of language developed by Saussure, inaugurating the poststructuralist practice known subsequently as deconstruction.

Derrida’s performance takes place in the context of the tradition (of linguistics, of philosophy, of thought) he aims to critique. The Western tradition, as Derrida has argued in previous works, is characterized by a set of hierarchical binary oppositions. Two elements (terms/concepts/things) are distinguished and then one is elevated as primary while the other is relegated as derivative or supplementary. In the philosophy of language, this takes the form of the privileging of speech over writing. In Plato (as in the Phaedrus, read by Derrida in “Plato’s Pharmacy,” interpreted by Christopher Norris in Derrida), for example, writing is considered a “mere inscription” consisting of “alien, arbitrary, lifeless signs” (Norris 30). These written signs serve as “mere substitutes” for speech, which, in contrast, expresses immediately, without contamination, and actively the truth (30). Speech, according to this tradition, is close(r) to the source, the origin. This proximity gives it the character of an “authentic living presence” (33). The Socratic dialogue exemplifies this: the vocal exchange between two speakers—thanks to the powers of reasoning of one (i.e. Socrates)—leads to the truth. In contrast, in writing, “the logos is deflected from its proper, truth-seeking aim and abandoned to a state of hazardous dependence on the vagaries of unauthorized transmission” (33). Such hierarchical logic, Derrida points out, is operative not only in Plato but in the whole Western tradition. This is made evident by binaries such as speech/writing, presence/absence, immediacy/delay, origin/supplement, correspondence/arbitrariness, truth/untruth, reason/unreason …

This order is precisely what Derrida is trying to subvert in the coinage of différance. As a preliminary formulation, it can be said that the choice of différance—with an a instead of an e—is a performance, even a stunt, by Derrida to reinforce his point. In French, the nasal sounds en and an sound exactly the same. Thus in uttering them (as Derrida explains comically on page 4), one cannot tell whether one is saying différence or différance. Thus, with a word like différe/ance, the word’s meaning can only be gleaned, apprehended, and understood by looking at the graphic inscription, i.e. by looking at writing. As Derrida says, the “marked difference between two apparently vocal notations, [… the difference in which their meaning consist,] remains purely graphic: it is read, or it is written, but it cannot be heard” (3). The same motivation underlies Derrida’s choice of neographism instead of neologism, logos being associated with reason and speech, graph with the written sign. In other words, différe/ance is one of those revelatory instances in which the order where speech supposedly expresses or manifests instantly and immediately—without delay, without confusion, without detachment (no remove)—self-present meaning or truth (as discerned by reason) is disrupted. What more, it is writing—supposedly but derivative—that performs the function that speech can’t. What was thus thought to be secondary—supposedly alien, lifeless, late; mere inscription, mere substitute, but supplementary—is revealed to have the primary function in the system, on which it turns.

Derrida goes further. He asserts that “a written text [… always and already] keeps watch over my discourse [including spoken discourse]” (4). “We will be able neither to do without the passage through a written text [i.e. we need to pass through writing], nor to avoid the order of the disorder produced within it” (4). That is to say, contrary to the suggestion that speech precedes writing, Derrida claims that speech, in fact, is immersed in an economy of writing. As Norris explains, “speech […] is already inscribed in a differential system which must always be in place before communication begins. And this system is very much like writing, in the sense that written signs have traditionally been thought of as marks of difference, supplementarity or non-self-present meaning” (92). Derrida is hinting here at Saussure’s theory of signs, in particular at Saussure’s assertion that individual units derive their meaning by virtue of their difference from other units, an assertion that has gained Saussure’s theory the appellation “differential.” Derrida, however, refers to this differential system not as language or semiotics, but as writing, based on the tradition’s own derogatory descriptions of this supposed derivative of speech. In the process, Derrida blurs the distinction between the two terms: speech/writing. More importantly, the hierarchy between them is overturned, as writing turns out to be the unexplored yet key term in the opposition (hence Derrida’s call to substitute grammatology for Saussurean semiotics, which is yet different from Deleuze and Guattari’s pragmatics.) After all, as Norris explains, “if language is always and everywhere a system of differential signs, […] then the classical definition of writing would apply to every form of language whatsoever [including speech]. ‘From the moment that there is meaning there are nothing but signs” (85).

Derrida’s use of différance has been described as a performance, even a stunt. This is not to say that the operation Derrida uncovers is somehow unique to the word différance. Derrida asserts that what is at work in différance is at work in signs in general, that, in other words, différance is at work in language all the time, perhaps as a “natural” operation, or the way in which it works. This is illustrated by différance itself, a “new” term that, as Derrida points out, is in fact barely a neologism. The a of différance simply comes from the present participle of the French verb différer, différant (8). In English, this is tantamount to saying, instead of difference, differing (as in the differing of opinions, the –ing form of the verb functioning as a noun, a gerund). Différance, the word, is thus not a radically new term invented from nowhere but is, like différance itself (the mechanism Derrida uncovers), an essential part of how language works, which has been at work in the tradition—albeit hidden, buried—all this time. Take, for example, the assertion, long held in the tradition, that language (especially Western languages) is a phonetic system, i.e. a linguistic system premised on the correspondence between symbols and sounds. With regards to this, Derrida boldly claims that “there is no phonetic writing” (5). “There is,” Derrida argues, “no purely and rigorously phonetic writing. So-called phonetic writing, by all rights and in principle, and not only due to an empirical or technical insufficiency, can function only by admitting into its system nonphonetic ‘signs’ (punctuation, spacing, etc.). And an examination of the structure and necessity of these nonphonetic signs quickly reveals that they can barely tolerate the concept of the [phonetic] sign itself” (5). As with writing and speech, what was supposedly secondary, the nonphonetic, turns out to underlie what was held as primary, the phonetic. In fact, even Saussure’s play of difference between signs in which their meaning consist “is in itself a silent play,” i.e. is nonphonetic, not unlike the graphic difference between the letters (5).

In highlighting différance, Derrida’s goal is not merely to invert the hierarchy, say by putting writing over speech, and undermine the primacy of the privileged elements, e.g. truth and reason. Derrida’s target is not any particular element, but the order of binary oppositions itself. Thus after he undermines speech, spoken language, and phonetic writing, Derrida notes that “graphic difference itself [as discerned in the written text] vanishes into the night [literally, since without light, it cannot be seen], can never be sensed as a full term” (5). Derrida points out the way in which “the difference marked in the ‘differ( )nce’ between the e and the a eludes both vision and hearing” (5). Rather than asserting a différance that writing somehow has privileged access to, Derrida points toward “a différance which belongs neither to the voice nor to writing in the usual sense, [… but] between speech and writing, and beyond the tranquil familiarity which links us to one and the other, occasionally reassuring us in our illusion that they are two” (5).

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