Viewing censorship as an irrational ritual

Viewing censorship as an irrational ritual

It isn’t what you say, but how you say it that gets by
sanctions

My column for this week was originally supposed to be this
really wonderful how-to guide to bizarre sexual practices and
subversive anti-government warfare. But since, for some petty
reason, the Daily Bruin refused to print that, I decided to write
about censorship instead.

Now, when this topic comes up, there are a couple of standard
arguments that always seem to be debated. They range from the
general question of the necessity of censorship at all in a country
that prides itself on guaranteeing freedom of expression, to the
quarrel over basic priorities and choices in censorship, and the
discussion of specific instances of it.

Things like: "Why is it that, on American TV, it is OK to show a
shotgun frontal lobotomy, but not full frontal nudity?"

Or: "If the sight of nude female breasts seems to be something
so dangerous to our moral well-being, should babies be required to
wear blindfolds while being breast-fed?"

And: "Why was my favorite scene cut from ‘Lesbian Biker-Zombies
from Outer Space III’ when they showed it on cable?"

Of course, there are also roads of inquiry in a more academic
vein, like the question of what happens to our reading of a text
when some part of it has obviously been censored. Does the way we
fill in the blanks undercut the purpose of the censor; does it tell
us something about ourselves?

Well, whichever argument you look at, all share a common
premise: They assume that censorship is a rational phenomenon. Even
if they don’t like it one bit, they at least grant that its origins
are rooted firmly in reason.

You’ll probably share this view, like everybody seems to, and
you might not think there’s even a question about its
justification. But this is the point where I’d like you to hold on
for a second – or even a minor third (ha, there’s one for the
musicologists!).

I’d like to propose a different view of censorship, one that
might lead to new ways of thinking about it. In this view,
censorship is an irrational ritual, an act of superstition, an
arcane service performed in a world full of strange, mighty gods.
(Or even mighty strange ones.)

To understand this, first we have to be clear about one thing:
Censorship does not deal with real things, its domain is solely
that of signs and representation.

If people are prohibited from performing certain erotic
activities, or they are punished for doing highly antisocial and
unpleasant things to their fellow men and women, we do not call
this censorship – we call it making and enforcing laws.

Censorship only becomes an issue when we are talking about the
suppression of some kind of representation (novels, movies, songs,
comics – whatever) of these acts.

When you look at the way it deals with this fact, you’ll soon
notice how blissfully unaware censorship is of any remotely recent
theoretical thinking about how signs, language and representation
work.

In its effort to prevent certain things from being expressed, it
is steeped in a fear of explicitness that leads it to declare
specific words and images taboo. But at the same time, it is
constantly satisfied with the same concepts being clothed in
different, less overt and more metaphorical language.

Implication, if it is made to be distant enough, is fine; it is
direct denotation that is the focus of anxiety.

Of course, people will always think of a different way to say
the same thing. Only think of the countless inventive moves by
which Hollywood under the reign of the Hayes’ Office assured that
sex stayed in the pictures, if outside the frame.

Or take, for example, Czech master director Frantisek Schlupp,
who managed to get a scathing satire of Russian occupation past
every censor in the country with his allegorical masterpiece "Oy
borschni balalaika."

It is really not so much what you say, but how you say it that
gets sanctioned by censors, which of course means that being able
to express what you want is just a question of being clever enough.
In fact, I think that a whole history could be written about the
ways in which censorship has furthered the more inventive use of
language.

Considering this, it becomes apparent that the view of the world
in which censorship makes sense is one in which there is "strong
language," indeed. It is one where the pen is as mighty as the
sword, and some words can hurt as much as sticks and stones.

It is a world where signs still have a direct connection to
whatever they are supposed to represent. A world where words and
images can conjure the things they stand for into reality.

Censorship is an act that tries to prevent the use of certain
signifiers because it believes that calling a perceived evil by its
proper name will make it come to life like a demon of old.

Censorship firmly stands in the ancient tradition of talking
about some of the gods by names they will not be able to understand
as their own, so that they will not unwittingly be called
forth.

At the heart of every "expletive deleted" you read, of every
"censored" bar you see, is the caveperson’s (is that the right
politically-correct term?) belief that throwing a spear at the
painting on the wall will grant a successful hunt.

The people in network editing rooms or on the MPAA’s rating
board are like a caste of priests, watching over every whisper in
the hallowed halls of mass media, assuring that those irate deities
of sex, violence and subversion are not disturbed in their sleep
and will not come visit upon the real world.

So, the next time you read a bowdlerized book, the next time you
see suspicious word balloons placed over interesting parts of
anatomy in the pages of Heavy Metal, the next time you come upon a
movie that has been "edited for content"… – be very, very quiet:
You are in the presence of magic.

Thomas Willmann is a German exchange student at the musicology
department. His column appears every other Tuesday. Due to strong
language, adult themes and partial nudity, parental discretion is
advised.

Thomas Willmann

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