Censored Words, Silenced Voices: The Power and Politics of Banned Books in the United States
By Selina Wu, Spring 2025 Barbara Harlow Intern in Human Rights and Justice
“Censorship is to art as lynching is to justice.” – Henry Louis Gates Jr.
Literary censorship is far from a new phenomenon, yet even in contemporary times, its legacy continues to imperil the supposed core values of free expression and equal representation in the United States. Early censorship in the United States focused on suppressing religious texts and politically charged pamphlets, which later evolved into the 20th-century targeting of works considered “obscene” or “un-American,” highlighting a historical pattern of American attempts at literary control.[1] However, whether these acts of censorship are aimed at silencing dissent during wartime or shielding youth from controversial topics, they have consistently raised questions about exactly whose values are being protected and whose voices are being erased. Today, the dramatic resurgence of banned book challenges—particularly in schools and public libraries—continues this outdated and sobering heritage, often under the guise of protecting children or upholding community standards, while in reality, echoing age-old struggles over power, identity, and the control of knowledge.
In 2025, the current wave of book challenges—particularly targeting works that engage with race, gender, and LGBTQ+ identities—reflects an alarming trend toward ideological control and the suppression of diverse voices. These sweeping acts of censorship transcend partisan lines, evolving into a deeply polarized issue where both major political parties have weaponized book bans as tools to further their agendas. At the heart of this issue is a tension between the right to free expression and the desire to protect children or maintain social order. But what if this seemingly ostensible fight for protection points to a calculated effort to silence perspectives that challenge dominant narratives and power structures? After all, of the 10,046 instances of book bans across the country in the 2023-2024 school year alone, one must question whether these actions were truly taken with society’s greater good in mind.[2]
If we look beyond the surface arguments of protecting children or preserving community values, we find a deeper, more troubling pattern of control. Literature is more than entertainment; it is a powerful vehicle for exploring identity, confronting uncomfortable truths, and preserving the narratives of diverse communities. In her groundbreaking work, Resistance Literature, Barbara Harlow contends that literature is not simply an artistic or educational endeavor—it is inherently political.[3] In this context, storytelling becomes one of the most potent forms of resistance—to reclaim erased histories, reshape collective memories, and critique entrenched power systems. Through her work, we come to understand that the current movement to ban books in the United States takes on deeper significance: it is not just an attempt to shield young readers from controversial content, but an effort to suppress the potentially radical power of this literature itself. By silencing stories that question inequality, celebrate identity, and reveal structural injustice, book bans aim to dismantle the very resistance that Harlow identifies at the heart of literature’s political role.
Moreover, Resistance Literature offers a critical framework for understanding censorship as an extension of political control rather than a neutral act of protection. Her assertion that “the theory of resistance literature is in its politics” emphasizes that literature, particularly under conditions of repression, cannot be separated from the struggles it reflects and engages with.[4] Unsurprisingly, resistance literature demands us to do just that—resist. It serves as a vital counterforce to censorship and strives to protect the histories, identities, and rights to self-determination of the oppressed. In the face of efforts to erase or suppress these stories, such literature becomes a tool of defiance, reclaiming spaces of visibility and a voice for marginalized communities. Harlow’s observation that “ideology always goes for the simplest solutions” also helps explain the mechanics of censorship: by targeting books that serve to memorialize the past, ideological actors seek to flatten complexity and suppress critical inquiry.[5] The current wave of book bans in the United States thus represents more than discomfort with controversial topics; it signals an attempt to neutralize literature’s radical potential. Resistance literature, as defined by Harlow, not only endures this suppression—it confronts it head-on. Her invaluable insights urge us to challenge the structures of power that seek to control which narratives are told and who gets to tell them. It is our responsibility then, to continue her legacy by defending the right to tell—and to hear—truths that disrupt, resist, and reimagine the world.
Harlow’s work also serves as a cautionary tale, warning us that the current wave of book bans is not merely a reaction to content some deem inappropriate, but part of a broader, long-standing historical pattern of suppressing literature that challenges existing power structures. The United States’ history of silencing marginalized voices through the suppression of literature is an ongoing legacy that must not be forgotten. From the banning of works by African American authors during the Civil Rights Movement to the censorship of feminist literature in the 1970s, these acts have consistently reflected an effort to control which stories are allowed to shape public discourse and which are silenced.[6]
During the antebellum period, Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852) was perceived as a direct threat to Southern ideology and was deliberately banned to defend the institution of slavery and maintain the established social and racial hierarchy. Likewise, in the early 20th-century, James Joyce’s Ulysses (1922) was banned for obscenity, as its unfiltered portrayal of sexuality and profanity defied both literary traditions and prevailing moral standards. During the Civil Rights era, authors like James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, and Toni Morrison faced challenges for daring to center Black identity, trauma, and resilience. Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969) faces repeated censorship threats for its frank exploration of racism and sexual abuse, while Morrison’s The Bluest Eye (1970) continues to be targeted for its unflinching depiction of racialized beauty standards and systemic violence.
Each banned book reflects not only an attempt to silence an author but also a broader attempt to erase the lived experiences of entire communities. Literature that confronts injustice, challenges dominant ideologies, or empowers the oppressed has always been a threat to those who benefit from the status quo. But they continue to provide a voice to the marginalized and give power to the silenced, forcing society to engage with harsh realities. For those who hold power, these writings become dangerous because they have the potential to inspire social movements and change the very fabric of society.
However, why does literary censorship continue to persist despite the strong legal and cultural protections for free expression in the United States? In 1982, the landmark Supreme Court case Board of Education, Island Trees Union Free School District No. 26 v. Pico held that school boards cannot arbitrarily remove books merely because they disagree with the ideas expressed within them.[7] Yet, despite the Court ruling in favor of the students in the Island Trees School District, efforts to restrict access to literature have not only endured but have escalated in recent years. At its core, the decision lacked the clarity and scope necessary to establish a strong and lasting precedent for protecting literary freedom in schools. Rather than delivering a clear and comprehensive statement on the scope of free expression in schools, the decision was fragmented, with no majority opinion offering a strong, unified defense of intellectual freedom.
Additionally, the Pico decision does not extend protections to materials removed on the grounds of perceived “vulgarity,” “educational appropriateness,” or any other subjective criteria that might limit access to certain content. It also fails to safeguard works that have not yet been added to school collections, leaving them vulnerable to exclusion before they even have the chance to be included. Consequently, but to no surprise, the vague and ambiguous language used in the decision has proven to be problematic and an exploitative loophole for subsequent challenges in lower courts across the states. With this in mind, it becomes evident that while the case was intended to safeguard literary freedom, it ultimately falls short of that goal. Although the case cannot be deemed a complete failure, the Court’s inconclusive ruling prevents it from being celebrated as a definitive victory for intellectual freedom. Instead, the lack of clear guidance has progressively weakened the protections initially established, ultimately permitting censorship efforts to not only persist but expand in the years that followed.
The most troubling aspect of the growing trend of book bans and censorship is its direct and profound impact on the educational system, particularly on the capacity of literature to foster critical thought and as a driver for social change. Literary freedom is not merely an academic concept; it is an essential tool for personal and societal development. It empowers students and individuals alike to engage with a wide range of ideas, expanding their understanding of the world and encouraging them to consider perspectives beyond their own experiences. It is only through thoughtful engagement with literature, that we recognize systemic injustice, galvanize collective dissent, and foster dialogue about the complexities of identity, culture, and history.
However, when books are removed from libraries and classrooms, students are barred from the stories and narratives that shape their understanding of the world around them. In this way, censorship does more than limit access to information—it curtails intellectual growth, stifles curiosity, and narrows the scope of critical thinking. Consequently, students and individuals lose more than just an educational resource—they lose an essential human right.[8] Henry Louis Gates Jr.’s remarks at the 2021 PEN America Literary Gala remind us that “the freedom to write can thrive only if we protect the freedom to read—and to learn,”[9] underscoring the inseparable relationship between literary expression and access. Without the freedom to read widely and critically, the right to write meaningfully is diminished, becoming isolated rather than impactful. Literary freedom, then, is not merely about individual authorship; it is about the collective right to encounter differences, complexity, and the truth. In a time marked by polarization and a surge in censorship, Gates’s call for “more humility, and more humanity” is a reminder that the right to read—to listen, to reflect, and to question—is fundamental to cultivating empathy, democratic resilience, and a more inclusive cultural imagination.
To this end, while censorship is far from a new political battleground, it remains one of the most urgent human rights issues of our time. The suppression of literature is not merely a matter of taste, propriety, or educational discretion; it is an assault on intellectual freedom and a deliberate attempt to silence voices that challenge persisting narratives. Our privilege does not afford us the right to forget the countless literary works that continue to echo through history as symbols of courage, defiance, and resilience. To ignore or suppress their significance today is to dishonor the sacrifices of the past and undermine the very principles of free expression that writers for generations have fought to protect and remember. To this end, defending literary freedom is not just about protecting books—it is about protecting the people, histories, and truths they carry. Ultimately, we must remember that to censor a book is to deny the humanity and lived experiences etched on its pages, erasing voices that demand to be heard.
[1] Amy Brady, “The History (and Present) of Banning Books in America: On the Ongoing Fight Against the Censorship of Ideas,” Literary Hub, September 22, 2016, https://lithub.com/the-history-and-present-of-banning-books-in-america/.
[2] Kasey Meehan et al., “Banned in the USA: Beyond the Shelves,” PEN America, November 1, 2024, https://pen.org/report/beyond-the-shelves/#heading-8.
[3] Barbara Harlow, Resistance Literature (New York: Taylor and Francis Group, 1987).
[4] Ibid, 30.
[5] Ibid, 29.
[6] Scott A. Leadingham, “15 of the Most Famous ‘Banned’ Books in US History,” Freedom Forum, https://www.freedomforum.org/famous-banned-books/.
[7] Board of Education, Island Trees Union Free School District No. 26 v. Pico, 457 U.S. 853 (1982).
[8] Henry Louis Gates Jr., “Literary Freedom as an Essential Human Right,” The New York Times, October 12, 2021, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/12/books/review/freedom-literary-expression-henry-louis-gates.html.
[9] Ibid.