Why banning should be banned
There’s a scene toward the end of Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 dystopian crime drama “A Clockwork Orange” in which Alex DeLarge (Malcolm McDowell), whose fondness for indulging in what he calls “a bit of the old ultra-violence” results in his being rounded up by authorities, convicted of murder, and subjected to a unique behavior-modification punishment: With his eyes forcibly propped open, he’s made to watch video of violent behavior to a classical music soundtrack while sickness-inducing drugs are injected into his body.
The treatment succeeds in making Alex averse to violence; its unintended consequences leave him defenseless as he becomes a victim, rather than a perpetrator. He’s been robbed of his free will. He grows nauseous when he hears Beethoven.
So-called “aversion therapy” exists in real life; therapists sometimes try to modify a person’s behavior by teaching him or her to associate the behavior (or even think about the behavior) with something negative, like an electric shock or feeling sick. The ethics around such therapies are complicated. Most of the time, patients have to voluntarily agree to experience these negative experiences as a temporarily unpleasant path to what they hope will be a cure.
I love this film, though a lot of people find it distasteful. When it was released in the U.S. in 1972, it was rated X, which led Kubrick to excise about 30 seconds of sexually explicit footage from two different scenes. That allowed the film to be re-released with an R rating later that year. It was withdrawn from theaters in 1973 after some raised concerns that it had led to copycat crimes.
Kubrick objected and released a statement that read: “To try and fasten any responsibility on art as the cause of life seems to me to put the case the wrong way around. Art consists of reshaping life, but it does not create life, nor cause life. Furthermore, to attribute powerful suggestive qualities to a film is at odds with the scientifically accepted view that, even after deep hypnosis in a post-hypnotic state, people cannot be made to do things which are at odds with their natures.”
That’s a cogent argument against censorship. Art draws from life; it doesn’t warp us into anti-social beings.
Another early ’70s artifact I love is “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” a massive (and massively popular) 1971 publication that placed women’s health in a radically new political and social context.
It quickly became an underground success that year, selling 250,000 copies, mainly by word of mouth.
My copy, like those belonging to many women I knew, quickly became beat up and dog-eared from being continually consulted about subjects that weren’t commonly addressed by health professionals and educators, such as gender identity, sexual orientation, birth control, abortion, pregnancy and birth, perimenopause, menopause, breast and ovarian cancers, and sexuality and sexual health as we age—“those things that your mother forgot to tell you,” said an early reader, or more likely things your mother didn’t know herself.
After undergoing numerous content revisions over the years in the U.S. and other countries, in 2011 its ninth edition was published. Library Journal named it one of its Best Books 2011 in the consumer health category and hosted a global symposium, “Our Bodies, Our Future: Advancing Health and Human Rights for Women and Girls” in celebration of its 40th anniversary.
Recognized by Time magazine as one of the best 100 nonfiction books since 1923, it’s sold more than four million copies and has been translated into 31 languages.
Copies can still be found, although there are no plans for a new print edition. And I doubt it’s part of the collections at many high school and public libraries.
As of 2020, the Top 10 reasons books were challenged or banned, according to the American Library Association, include sexual content, offensive language, unsuited to age group, religious viewpoint, LGBTQIA, violence, racism, use of illegal substances, “anti-family” content, and political viewpoint.
When Anthony Burgess wrote the novel “A Clockwork Orange,” it was in part a reaction to a trip he’d taken to Russia, when he encountered both an authoritarian government and dangerous roving bands of teenagers on which he based Alex and his Droogs. (The novel—and to a lesser extent the film—is peppered with Russian words.)
Alex’s country was the sort of place where books were banned and free will was siphoned away from individuals. And America has historically been a country where we’ve agreed people should have the opportunity to decide for ourselves what we want to read or watch or hear. If there’s material out there that you find objectionable, either for yourself or others for whom you are responsible, it’s simple: Don’t use it. Don’t allow your children to use it.
But don’t presume your objection should affect the rights of others to decide differently. The world is complex, and good intentions can have unintended consequences.