This supporting statement seeks to add context to ‘Who Speaks’, namely Lyotard’s critique of the figure of the intellectual and of representation, and outlines the deconstructive intentions of my video essay.
In 1978 the philosopher Jean-François Lyotard appeared on Tribune Libre (Letter to the editor), a French TV series dedicated to platforming political and intellectual discussion. However, instead of using his fifteen minutes on the show to engage in a traditional conversation with the host Jean-Claude Courdy, Lyotard took the opportunity to carry out an audio-visual performance in which his image was purposefully desynchronised from his voice. What was Lyotard attempting to achieve through such a technique? In the words of Courdy, Lyotard intended to ‘critique his own discourse and to ask himself questions concerning his presence among us on television this evening'. That is, Lyotard wished to bring in question his status as a ‘public intellectual’, how an intellectual should appear and conduct themselves. Such a technique however also deconstructed the logocentric tradition in which presence is equated with truthfulness, the real and authority.
In a voice-over Lyotard begins: ‘You are going to see him; you are going to hear him. You do not know who he is . . . he’s an intellectual, he has written several books that are attempts to philosophize. You have seen them, you seem them now, you do not recognize them. . . You didn’t ask him to speak this evening'. This self-reflection continues with Lyotard asking ‘[i]f he were famous, his appearance would obviously be of benefit to the program. . .But he isn’t famous’ and ‘[w]hy is he allowed to speak in these conditions? What is expected of him...?’
Moreover, Lyotard’s uneasiness with the figure of the intellectual is directed towards its representation as a universal subject who speaks on behalf of others, and in turn enacts a sort of injustice whether well intentioned or not. As elucidated during his time on Tribune Libre, ‘“intellectuals”’, for Lyotard, ‘are more like thinkers who situate themselves in the position of man, humanity, the nation, the people, the proletariat, the creature or some such entity. That is to say, they are thinkers who identify themselves with a subject endowed with a universal value so as to describe and analyse a situation of a condition from this point of view and to prescribe what ought to be done.’ Therefore, as Bill Readings asserts, this reluctance to speak ‘has little to do with modesty or shyness. Rather, it is a matter of the pragmatics of discursive legitimation’ and a refusal to play by the expected rules of representation.
Furthermore, as noted by Irmgard Emmelhainz, as Lyotard’s deconstructive television performance continues, ‘a distinction between scientific expertise and philosophical opinion’ is instituted. In other words, for Lyotard, whilst scientific expertise strives towards knowing things, ‘the paradox of philosophical expertise lies in the fact that the philosopher precisely ponders on the matter of authority while drawing a distinction between philosophy and scientific knowledge, saying that philosophers and intellectuals' discourse does not purport objective knowledge but belongs to the domain of opinion'. As such, ‘Lyotard is pointing out the paradox of the disappearance of the intellectual as a public figure, problematizing the authority bestowed on 'opinion', given the public's need to believe in figures who display authority and knowledge'.
‘Who Speaks?’ transposes Lyotard’s approach into an audio-visual form; with his voice becoming unspoken text that in turn splits into an interviewer Lyotard and a philosopher Lyotard, forming together a heuristic double like two mirrors facing each other. Yet, whilst Lyotard’s original TV appearance is principally concerned with the figure of the intellectual, the film turns to representation more broadly, namely its failure, incongruity and limits vis-à-vis the events of May 1968 in France. For Lyotard, the events of that summer showed that ‘[a]ll dissidence can be expressed, provided that it allows itself to be represented'. That is, as long as subversive energies, desires and events can be made to conform to the rules and processes of a particular regulating system, it will be seen as a valid representation. Whether this is representation in the sense of a political voting or representational standards in art and film, a representation only becomes one in accordance with the ruling representational order which monopolises the legitimating processes of what is a 'proper' representation. Against this, Lyotard attempts to offer an alternative approach to both artistic and political representation, proposing the question: how can we safeguard and legitimate liminal representations which do not conform and escape ruling and normative systems? How do we allow for marginality without subsuming it within hegemonic systems of representation? In relation to the political, therefore, the ‘problem lies’, for Lyotard writes Readings ‘with the [mis]understanding of politics as the struggle for, rather than against, representation. A minoritarian politics does not seek to take its place in big politics, to gain representation in parliament’. Artistically, it is a call for subversion and the production of representations which are not traditionally recognised as such within particular modes.
 Jean-François Lyotard, Political Writings (University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis, 1993) p.90.
 ‘This philosopher thus refuses to appear before your eyes and ears as an authority, as he is asked to do. . . And for the rest, if he has chosen this little mechanism of transmission by which you don’t see the one who is speaking and you don’t hear the one you see, he has done so in order to destroy the image of authority that inevitably comes to frame itself in your screen’ Ibid. p.94.
 Ibid, pp.90-1
 Ibid. p.90
 Jean-François Lyotard, ‘Tomb of the Intellectual’ in Political Writings, p.3.
 As such, it should not be confused with an anti-intellectualism a la Michael Gove to ‘do away with experts’
 Bill Readings, 'Foreword' in Jean-François Lyotard, Political Writings p. xxi.
 Irmgard Emmelhainz, Jean-Luc Godard’s Political Filmmaking, (Springer International: New York, 2019) p.118.
 Ibid. p.118.
 Bill Readings, 'Foreword' in Lyotard, Political Writings (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1993) p. xxv. This is seen, for example, in the case of Sinn Fein, a party that refutes the legitimacy and sovereignty of the UK Parliament and as such does not take up the seats that it wins during UK elections. In its eyes, to do so would be to fail as representatives of those it purports to represent.
Oscar Mealia (30) is an audio-visual PhD researcher currently awaiting his Viva Voce examination at the University of Birmingham, England, with an interest in the intersections between film, philosophy and the moving-image. They are also a multidisciplinary artist, filmmaker and composer under the moniker of Oscar Vinter.