At a school board meeting last month in what I choose to call Bumf--k, Virginia, elected officials dropped all pretence of rational debate by outright calling for the immolation of books they deemed offensive because of sexual explicitness.
“I think we should throw those books in a fire,” declared one councilman. A marginally less combustible colleague chimed in about wanting to “see the books before we burn them so we can identify within our community that we are eradicating this bad stuff.”
While both books, Call Me by Your Name and 33 Snowfish, are critically acclaimed, their respective themes of gay kids and exploited homeless teenagers were just too much for the officials.
"Standard American reaction," I thought to myself. Next, however, DiManno turned her sights on Canada:.
Some titles in particular have drawn recurring wrath. To wit: “To Kill a Mockingbird.”
Three years ago, the Peel District School Board issued a fiat declaring the literary classic by Harper Lee could only be taught “if instruction occurs through a critical, anti-oppression lens.” That followed a recommendation from a pedagogue, Poleen Grewal, associate director of instructional and equity support services.
That, in itself, is not alarming. I can't think of anyone, myself included, who would teach that novel in a historical or cultural vacuum. Indeed, I used to include a recording of Strange Fruit, as well as talk about the history of racism in the U.S. when exploring the novel.
But then things turned uncomfortable.
The Toronto school board got its knickers in a knot last month, rejecting an autobiography by renowned criminal defence lawyer Marie Henein for a book club event, essentially because she (successfully) defended Jian Ghomeshi in his sexual assault trial.
Hamilton’s public school board announced in November that it would be launching a review of all the books in its libraries — and those entering its collection — as part of an equity and learning strategy, blah-blah-blah. Because that’s all the rage now, part and parcel of a societal reckoning with our collective racist history, to hear tell. The upshot could be not just removing contentious books from the curriculum but from libraries, denying students access to books in which they might have an interest. Which surely is counterintuitive to promoting reading and independent critical inquiry.
Just down the road from Hamilton, a similar process is underway, vowing to cull books that don’t meet modern standards — “harmful to either staff or students” — by the Waterloo Region District School Board.
“As our consciousness around equity, on oppression work and anti-racist work has grown, we recognize some of the texts and collections that we have are not appropriate at this point,” Graham Shantz, the board’s co-ordinating superintendent of human resources and equity services, told trustees, as reported by the Waterloo Region Record.
From all of this, DiManno draws a lacerating and, in my view, accurate conclusion.
Where is all this equity lens forensic auditing of books leading? Answer: to an unholy alliance between the left and the right.
There’s nothing more intrinsically virtuous about censorship, whether it’s coming from reactionaries in a lather about sexual content — gender panic and trans rights the cri du jour — or activists on the progressive end of the ideology spectrum sifting for any hint of historical oppression and white or straight privilege.
The banning/burning of books has occurred in many eras, most notoriously that of Nazi Germany. The contemporary zeal for eliminating books that challenge or discomfit the reader has the same genesis and the same result: the narrowing of thought and capacity for critical thinking, no matter its official justification.
Perhaps Ray Bradbury captured this misguided messianic fervour best in his classic dystopian novel, Fahrenheit 451: "It was a pleasure to burn."
