I don’t approve of censorship in any form. I think it is vital for a free society to resist any and all attempts at censorship. In daily life this can be a hard line to walk, though, because often censorship is seen as the moral, responsible solution.
I don’t appreciate the dubbing or beeping of movies based on some unknowable person’s idea of what words are or are not acceptable to “decent” people. I don’t believe in removing books from libraries, even from school libraries, in a misguided effort to protect impressionable young minds.
I firmly believe in my right to read what I like, watch what I like, think what I like, and say what I like to whomever I like as long as I am willing to accept the consequences of doing so. Of course, as a young person this was a point of contention between my mother and me.
In a recent visit to my mother, we were discussing and comparing our cell phones. She is now in her eighties, I am in my sixties. As I was demonstrating the various features of my phone, a listing of my recent website visits came up. Her eyes immediately caught a title that brought a sniff of disapproval. She refrained from comment, other than a stiffening of the spine, but clearly still has a problem not being able to control her little girl’s reading habits.
This all being said, I will readily admit that I don’t have children of my own, so I don’t fully appreciate that innate drive to protect one’s offspring from information deemed undesirable. Still, it seems that parental sheltering all too often results in a big child loosed on the world without an adult’s ability to deal with it. I understand that it’s a scary world out there, but since you can never change that, it seems wiser to equip a child to cope with the world as it is.
I will readily grant that access to information is dangerous. Ideas are dangerous. Sticks and stones may break our bones, but we all know that words can hurt us. The one thing, though, that I find far more perilous than total freedom of information is the hand—the one single, faceless, individual power—that defines and controls that access.
I trust no one—not parent, priest or president—to be the final arbiter of my information access. I will read what I like, watch what I like, think what I like and say what I like to whomever I like. As long as I am willing to shoulder the consequences of that freedom, I will accept no less.
Pass the fruit.