Censorship, or "What I Know That You Shouldn't"

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Censorship (n) - the suppression of speech, public communication, or other information, on the basis that such material is considered objectionable, harmful, sensitive, or "inconvenient".

Censorship is a bit like that friend who’s always preaching about the virtues of a healthy diet while sneaking chocolate under the table. On one hand, it’s all about maintaining the purity of thought and content, while on the other, it often indulges in a smorgasbord of double standards. It's a (not so) noble endeavor of making sure no one ever has a thought that might make someone, somewhere, a teensy bit uncomfortable. Buckle up as we time-travel from the dusty corridors of medieval censorship to the hyperconnected labyrinth of today’s digital realm.

"All this time we're talking and sharing our rational views; a billion other voices are spreading other news."

Picture this: It’s the Middle Ages, and censorship isn’t just a profession; it’s an art form. Imagine being a scribe in those days. Your job is to meticulously copy manuscripts while avoiding any unauthorized dalliances with spicy content. The church holds the power to decide what gets published, and they’re not exactly known for their loose grip on morality.

Take, for instance, the perennial battle over offensive language. Public platforms are swift to remove content that might offend someone—except, of course, when it’s humor from a “respected” source. The joke about the “respected public figure” that would have a normal person flagged as hate speech? Oh, that’s just part of “edgy” comedy. It’s all about context, after all, or perhaps the paycheck of the comedian.

"Talk of a Peaceable Kingdom, talk of a time without fear. The ones we wish would listen are never going to hear."

Here in Texas, the Karens and Richards, helicopter parents, or simply anyone who believes that they hold some form of moral, ethical, or proprietary high ground are all taking the idea of rampant censorship out for a spin to see what they can make it do. Never mind that most of these people couldn't figure out how to operate the Tilt-a-Whirl at the traveling carnival or are absolutely convinced that "diction" (the choice and use of words and phrases in speech or writing) is some sort of sort of degenerate sado-masochistic trip. Granted that in many parts of our great state, the riposte "f--k you!" will get them a seat at the local Algonquin Round Table, but to my way of thinking, none of these give sufficient reason for anyone to believe that they have a mandate to determine what should - and should not - be said or read, or by whom.

"All this time we're living and trying to understand why a billion other choices are making their demands."

Medieval censors had a rather dramatic approach to dealing with offensive material. If a manuscript was deemed inappropriate — whether it was a cheeky tale or a naughty illustration — there were two options: a swift, red-inked veto or a public burning. Yes, that's right — burning books. It’s the medieval equivalent of a social media ban, but with more fire and less finesse. The only “likes” you’d get were from the smoke signals rising over the town square.

Modern censors are blessed with the delicate art of nuance. Instead of torches and pitchforks, they wield “community guidelines” and “terms of service.” Controversial content is often addressed with a polite “This post has been removed for violating our community standards,” which, let’s be honest, sounds more like a passive-aggressive note from a disappointed landlord.

"Dream of a Peaceable Kingdom, dream of a time without war. The ones we wish could hear us have heard it all before."

History is where censorship’s hypocrisy really shines. Remember when ancient Rome silenced anyone who opposed the empire, only for the same empire to become infamous for its moral laxity? Or the medieval church, which insisted on burning books while having its own notorious love affair with indulgences and questionable theology? Fast forward to the 21st century, and the legacy lives on. Modern censorship often tries to present itself as the guardian of public morality while occasionally letting its own biases slip through the cracks. It’s a bit like a well-meaning parent telling their child not to touch the cookie jar while simultaneously hiding their own hand in the jar.

Medieval censorship tools were, quite literally, tools. Think quills, ink, and a lot of parchment. If something was deemed unacceptable, it was either rewritten or set ablaze. The job was physically demanding and, admittedly, a bit dramatic. Modern censors have a decidedly less hands-on approach. Their toolkit includes software that can track keywords, algorithms that can flag posts, and a never-ending stream of user complaints. The drama is now digital, and instead of a bonfire, you’re faced with a series of cryptic error messages and “Content Not Available” screens.

"All this time we're hoping and praying we all might learn while a billion other teachers are teaching them how to burn."

Let’s not leave out the news cycle — a veritable circus where censorship gets a front-row seat. One day, a network will passionately condemn misinformation while simultaneously broadcasting sensationalized content. It’s as if they’re saying, “We’re here to protect you from falsehoods, but if it gets us a few extra viewers, well, who’s counting?” Imagine a news anchor earnestly denouncing conspiracy theories while a ticker at the bottom of the screen promotes the latest “shocking revelation” about a celebrity’s private life. It’s like a magician who insists on the magic of "clean" magic tricks while pulling a rabbit out of a hat that’s stuffed with questionable ethics.

"All this time we're burning like bonfires in the dark, a billion other blazes are shooting off their sparks. Every spark a drifting ember of desire to fall upon the earth and spark another fire."

The ultimate punchline of censorship’s hypocrisy is that it often ends up silencing exactly what it claims to protect. In its zeal to create a “safe space,” it sometimes stifles the very creativity and discourse that make societies vibrant. It’s a bit like trying to build a sandcastle while insisting that no grain of sand ever touches the water. The true irony is that in attempting to shield us from offending ideas, censorship sometimes ends up offending our intelligence. We’re left with a world where certain speech is sanitized while others are glorified, all under the guise of upholding some lofty moral standard.

Both medieval and modern censorship share a common goal: to control and contain information. However, the methods have evolved from dramatic pyres to nuanced algorithms. And while the tactics may have changed, the essence remains the same—a quest to keep things “in line.”

So, whether you’re an old-school censor burning scrolls or a digital guardian navigating the wilds of the web, remember you’re all part of a grand tradition. Here’s to the gatekeepers of yesteryear and the moderators of today — may your days be as intriguing as a scandalous manuscript and as rewarding as a perfectly timed meme.

And to all of the Karens and Richards, helicopter parents, and moral/ethics/proprietary high grounders, yes, you (as an adult) have a perfect right to determine what you and your children are able to read, to see, or to hear. What you don't have the right to do is to determine what anyone else (including anyone else's children) are able to read, see, or hear.

And if you still think that you do have that right, then (1) you're probably not going to see this, and (2) you're probably better off voting for someone else.