Bradley J. Scott III
The Censorship Cycle
Bart had never been summoned before the Court of Censorship. The high-ceilinged, spacious courtroom intimidated him. He stood nervously. His therapist told him he should bring legal counsel. He chose not to follow her advice.
Bart told his therapist, "I don't think it's that big a deal. And besides, it costs too much."
That feeling of ease changed when he saw a defendant leave through the tall, dark mahogany, brass-handled doors. Cuffed and led out of the courtroom by an officer of the law, Bart saw terror in the poor woman's face. He wished he'd listened to his therapist.
His books being edited for offensive language by the state censorship board for public schools and libraries irritated him. But the freedom to write what he wanted for the free market had always given him solace that he could still create without any outside hindrance.
Staring at the words above the bench:
Libertas Non Offendit
Bart worried that his freedom to write as he pleased ceased today. The subpoena read that failure to appear would result in both imprisonment and fines. He'd heard stories about the penal system and reeducation camps near the Mexican border. There were rumors that reeducation meant hard labor in a hundred-plus heat. With global warming it's always one-hundred-degree heat, thought Bart.
The short Judge entered from a tall door next to the bench. He appeared even smaller when seated behind the high, raised bench. Looks like a midget in a high chair ready for din-din, thought Bart.
The thought made Bart think about his therapist telling him, "Be careful, your imagination will get you in trouble.'
"Mr. Bartholomew Park, using Penal Code 531A, I find you in violation of the California State Bill of Rights C5-24A."
Frustrated, Bart asked, "What did I do?"
Solemn-faced, the Judge said, "Mr. Park, we've a full docket, so I'm going to try to be pithy. Your most recent book used the words wharf and widget."
"That's a crime?"
Impatient, the Judge, in a gruff voice, said, "Speech is free, unless you write or speak words found offensive to any sector of the California public. Hence, you are fined one hundred dollars per inappropriate word. If you say or write them again, I may hold you in contempt."
Looking at the floor, Bart muttered, "I can't believe this."
"Consider yourself lucky."
"Lucky?"
"You only used those words once in your book."
"Sir, may I ask why using these words are wrong?"
Bart stood gripping and threading his round bowl hat between his right-hand thumb and index finger. He stood with an incredulous look on his face. It was aggravating since he'd spent extensive time editing his most recent manuscript for this sort of thing.
"Are you not a writer?"
"Yes, sir, I'm a writer."
"The State of California editorial board found, within your manuscript, the words wharf and widget. Those words have been added to the list."
"The list?"
"Yes. Words deemed offensive to underrepresented citizens who have filed a complaint."
"I knew you couldn't use chiggers or any other word with the igger sound. I knew you couldn't use the words itch, rich, which, or witch or any other word that has the ich sound deemed offensive to women. But what's wrong with saying wharf or widget?"
Looking miffed, the Judge impatiently said, "You're not to use words that rhyme with derogatory words that describe the altitude-challenged. That's another two hundred dollars for using those words and another three hundred dollars for saying ich and igger words."
It might have been Bart's incredulous stare, but the Judge added, in a pedantic tone, "You need to pay attention to the state's Bill of Rights' banned words list before writing any more books."
"I thought I was up to date. I mean I took Mickey Mouse out of one of my recent stories, trying not to offend Irish people."
Like a patient teacher to a schoolboy, the Judge said in a stern voice, "I know it's hard to keep up. In addition to wharf and widget, the board just recently banned any kind of reference to a feeling of dark or the color black as far as mysticism, emotion, or general feelings."
"What?"
"Cats can no longer be black in reference to bad luck. And don't even think about writing about 'having dark feelings.' You do realize there is a whole litany of words that put African Americans in a bad light?"
Bart almost laughed out loud, thinking the Judge was making a joke. But seeing the Judge's serious face, he knew even a smile might get him in trouble.
Bart stared at his shoes. All this is so mentally exhausting, he thought.
"If there is any consolation, you're free to publish demographically offensive-sounding words in Alabama. Their Bill of Rights lets you use half the words we ban...however, here in California we are very protective of any race or sector of the population. You really should know these things."
Ignoring Bart, the Judge continued, "I will say that states in the South have banned a series of words they've deemed scatological. The shortlist includes shit, fuck, cunt, dick, cock-sucker, cum-licker...do I need to go on?"
"No, I think I get it."
"You realize penalties vary from state to state? Ever since the U.S. Supreme Court got tired of all these book-ban cases, they've decided to turn speech rights over to the states. Say if you put a Goddamn or any variation such as Holy crap in your writing, you'll get an automatic year's imprisonment in Mississippi."
"That sounds rather harsh."
"Not as bad as saying the E-word in Mississippi."
"E-word?"
"Changes over time, adaptations, or more explicitly your ancestors came from monkeys."
"What on Earth happens?"
"Let's say the Salem witches had it easy."
Pausing for effect, the Judge lowered his voice and said, "I'm not going to say the E-word. They have sympathizers everywhere."
Sarcastically Bart said, "South, no curse words and no use of God's name in vain. West Coast, fuck is okay, as is saying bad things about God. Is that about right?"
"I think you got it."
Bart wasn't sure why the Judge needed to reiterate when he said, "Again, you need to remember that the people of California do not want you to insult or cause hurt by race or specific group of people."
"I think I got that one down already."
"There are a few other things more county-based." As he began to explain more, Bart heard a loud beep. Before continuing to speak, the Judge stopped to read his computer screen. "Well, Texas has just banned the word wet. From now on you will need to use the word damp instead of wet if you plan to publish in Texas. The text says the word back is now under deliberation."
Bart couldn't believe changes happened so fast. "Anything else new?"
"There are hefty fines if you say or write anything using the word beans in south Texas and California. Eating beans, you like beans, bean burrito are all banned."
The Judge giggled as he said, "You now use the word legume to replace bean in south Texas."
"Why is that funny?"
Smirking, the Judge said, "The liberals are saying we're reducing the populace's vocabulary with all these banned words. Well, legume sounds like a pretty big word to me."
Without any prodding from Bart, the Judge continued, "There are counties in the Miami area that have banned using the cliche brown-nosing and mentioning the house cleaner Spic and Span. Words deemed derogatory toward Hispanics are out of the question."
"Is there any place I can go to write what I want?"
Before the Judge answered another loud beep was heard. "Mr. Bart, the state of California just banned the word maggot. The A-Z group, formally the LBGQTIA, has lobbied for the removal of maggot from the vocabulary. Took a while but they got their wish a few minutes ago."
"What's wrong with maggot?"
"Really? You must ask? It's a word that rhymes with an offensive word used to denote a male homosexual. By the way, you now owe the court another one hundred dollars."
I better get out of here before I'm broke, Bart thought.
Opening the wooden gate to leave the courtroom, Bart heard the Judge say, "Sorry for the interruptions. You asked where can you write uncensored? That's an interesting question. New Mexico has made Taos a free speech zone for writers...but there's a stipulation."
"Stipulation?"
"You can write anything and everything. You can read anything and everything in their library."
"What books?"
"Twain, Capote, Faulkner, Lee, and Welty are five Southern authors that come to mind. You know those books were banned over a hundred years ago in California because of using the N-word?"
Becoming impatient, Bart blurted, "What's the stipulation?"
Ignoring Bart's question, the Judge continued, "You know what's funny, Mr. Park?"
"No."
"We ban Southern authors while Oklahoma bans our best writer, Steinbeck."
Bart knew he had to ask: "Why do they ban Steinbeck?"
"Oklahoma people really are offended about his use of the word Okie. Don't you find that funny, Mr. Park?"
Bart wanted to leave but the Judge's claimed need for pithiness seemed to be false.
"You asked about stipulations to gain entry to Taos?"
"Yes."
"It's simple. You have to agree to one percent royalty and do daily readings and book signings at their independent bookstore, Hooked on Books II."
"One percent...that's robbery." Bart couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"This is all assuming they let you come live in Taos. They love tourists coming to spend money on banned books. But it's quite an intense interview and writing sample process if you want to live there."
"Why's it that way?"
"Mr. Park, don't you know how many good but hungry writers there are in the world? It's all about making money for those people in Taos. Those people have no decency."
"Sir, isn't saying 'those people' kind of racist?"
Bart could tell his words upset the Judge. "You better go pay your fines now." Standing with slumped shoulders, Bart thought about his efforts to write his stories and how censorship killed his creativity. This was the first time he'd been fined. He knew there wasn't much else he could do as the Judge noisily ruffled papers, hinting that it was time for him to leave.
The Judge ended the conversation by saying, "Again, payment for fines is across the hall. We take PayPal, Venmo, or credit cards. We don't take cash or checks."
As Bart turned toward the large chamber doors, the Judge spoke one last time. "Mr. Bartholomew--I forgot to tell you--don"t ever shorten your name to Bart."
Twisting around to face the Judge, he walked backward toward the two big swinging doors. Bart asked, "Why?"
"Bart is too close to the word fart, which offends some of the more snooty or stuck-up areas of the country. Your name alone could get your books banned in Brookline, Massachusetts."
As if trying to add insult, the Judge added, "Right now you're okay with Park, but the fact it sounds like dark may get you in trouble one day."
Bart's diagnosis of manic depression at his annual state-required physical examination made life difficult. Fortunately, California state law enabled him to consult, at the state's expense, a certified therapist. While the law was put into place to reduce murder and suicides among the depressed, Bart's therapist determined that he was not a risk.
"While not a cure, your love of writing will help you get through those days it is hard to get out of bed," said Dr. Jones.
Bart knew before he got his first appointment with a therapist that writing was a cathartic way to reduce his melancholy. It was a bit of a hindrance that his state-appointed therapist made the stipulation that writing was good for him if he only wrote state-approved novels.
Although Bart journaling his personal thoughts was the preferred treatment, his Cal Berkley-educated therapist had an unexpected kindness that allowed Bart to write fiction stories in lieu of journaling. Bart wasn't certain why the therapist allowed the substitution. Maybe there still is some sanity in the world, he thought. Some days Bart thought Maybe she likes my uncensored stories, while on his paranoid days he thought, Maybe she wants written proof that I belong in a mental institution or, worse, a reeducation camp.
Bart never told his therapist that writing stories for fame or money gave him pleasure. The idea of receiving emotional or financial gain broke the fourth Altruistic Intent cornerstone of Non-secular, Anodyne, Homeopathic, Altruistic Intent (NAHAI) therapy training. Bart lied to his therapist by telling her that his books were nothing but an outlet for his creativity.
Bart feared that his recent court appearance with the Office of Censorship might make the news. If his therapist were to find out his published writings offended anyone, Bart might be made to stop.
Maybe my therapist already knows I was in court. I must get into Taos before I get sent to camp, Bart thought.
Bart calculated that to gain entry to Taos through his writing, he'd need to be provocative. After all, the tourists wanted a taste of forbidden fruit in a country that had now become too puritanical.
Why else would they come to Taos, thought Bart.
Bart was versatile, talented, and lucky when it came to applying for entry to Taos. His normal genre for mainstream writing was mystery stories. But while satire was not an easy switch, his rebellious nature motivated him to that genre before he even knew about Taos. Having written a manuscript titled "Zigger the Zebra" as a protest to the censorship craze taking over the country, Bart thought, It's a perfect match for Taos submission.
Bart wrote it with no intention of ever publishing the book. The story was Orwellian in that it had elements of both "Animal Farm" and "1984" as its basis. The novel's main character was a zebra who had to change his name due to censorship laws. The Black Animal Coalition at the zoo were the first ones to protest. The squeakiest of wheels was the Black Bear named Roscoe. He preferred having Zigger roasted and eaten rather than going to the trouble of a name change. Other coalition members-Black Panther, Black Rhino, Black Lemur, Black Widow, Black-Footed Ferret, and Black Mamba-kept cooler heads and only demanded a name change. Zigger's and other animals' troubles in the zoo due to censorship created the storyline and plot.
Using email or the U.S. Mail to submit his manuscript to the Taos book review committee was technically legal. However, censorship worries, draconian measures, and reeducation camps motivated Bart to hand-deliver his story as a tourist. The city was clean and beautiful. Bart knew he wanted to make the move within minutes of visiting Taos. Thinking positive, Bart moved to New Mexico, expecting quick entry into the select writers club of Taos. On his visits he'd fallen in love with everything about Taos. He loved the pristine cleanliness of Taos. The food chain-like placement of the best writers into the most expensive, elegant, and largest of homes was a power thrill that Bart had never experienced.
Working as a waiter, an insurance salesman, and a part-time plumber, it took three years for Bart to gain entry as a non-tourist into Taos. One percent royalty or not, Bart was ecstatic when he received his acceptance letter.
Bart knew most jobs have the good and the bad. Yes, he had the freedom to write as he liked, but he learned at his Taos orientation everything wasn't going to be perfect. One thing the trainers said over and over was "Failure to comply could result in expulsion."
As part of entry his contract letter asked that he agree to four things:
1) Write five complete double-spaced manuscript pages daily to be monitored and verified by your Taos writer's guild-assigned computer.
2) Commit to one hour of book signings and readings twice weekly.
3) Book sales must surpass a half million dollars yearly.
4) And a television or movie contract must be attained within three years of Taos residency.
The last two requirements made him anxious. Bart had never sold that many books outside of Taos, censored or uncensored. And the idea that to remain a Taos writer he'd need to acquire, within a three-year time frame, a movie or television contract created a pressure cooker of a situation.
It was only after Bart signed his contract and became a part of the writing community that he realized Taos writers never grew old. Many were expelled for not meeting their contract requirements. But the successful ones purportedly chose to leave on their own volition. Those deemed successful were like shooting stars. Thus, while their departures were voluntary, most chose death as their way of leaving Taos.
Bart felt the yin and yang of no longer having a therapist and becoming a success. He attributed his success of completing six best-selling novels to quitting therapy. But perhaps no therapy is why it was five years after entry into Taos that Bart chose to leave the planet. His manic depression and the pressure of becoming a successful writer in Taos made suicide a plausible explanation. Who killed him or if he'd killed himself was unknown. His death happened in his home in Taos. The police labeled his death as an accidental sex-based death. Knowing of his severe depression, the police, under the instruction of Taos authorities, were instructed to cover it up.
Naked and hanging from a ceiling fan suggested his death was self-inflicted. The style of death matched one of Bart's storylines. His ex-therapist, who happened to be visiting Taos at the time of his death, confirmed that he had the potential for suicide. Dr. Jones was quoted as saying, "Mr. Park was a good man despite offending many. He had many demons he couldn't overcome."
There were many unreported clues that a murderer was sloppy. And many of the rumormongers theorized the killer wanted it known that Bart died this way to make a point. Broken window glass, blood in the kitchen, and copies of his books My Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Bonzo Knew Ronald Reagan, Sex With Widgets,, Zigger the Zebra, This Maggot's Not Gay, and Fuck You, Mother Goose lay beneath his feet. The scene convinced many in law enforcement it was an assassination. Despite Taos' efforts to cover up how he died, there were leaks. One leak of note was an anonymous letter sent to The New York Times claiming responsibility for Bart's death. The letter offered convincing details about what happened that day.
The biggest rumor was about Taos itself. Bart's death was not the first of many Taos writers to die by suicide. The idea that the assassination was an inside job seemed plausible to those outside Taos.
A Chicago Tribune critic said, "Killing a prominent writer near the end of their success sells more books. We've seen this story from Taos too many times to count."
To keep the writer pool intact and to keep the money train coming, Taos authorities held firm, claiming that The New York Times was irresponsible publishing such unfounded rumors.
A Los Angeles Times article wasn't as kind when reporting on Bart's demise. "Mr. Park's writings managed to offend every human in some manner in the United States. And while he was a success for the city of Taos in his short five-year residency, we at the Times are happy to hear of his death."
Despite Bart's devotion to the city, Taos was about profit. The powers-that-be in Taos had no intention of there being a hint of murder. Investigating Bart's death was quick and definitive. Anything else would be bad for business. His manic depression diagnosis fit perfectly the storyline that he hung himself five years after entering the Taos writers club. While his co-writers mourned Bart's death, the city was quick to move on.
One of the Taos writers did find a prophetic notion in a passage of Bart's book Zigger the Zebra:
"There are no happy endings. We all die in the end. But after death perhaps there is some happiness for someone if a simple zebra's death can result in martyrdom."
The rumors grew that Bart was murdered. His fame accentuated the rumor. No proof provided by the Taos authorities could change the belief and outrage among his fanbase. It took years but Bart's purported assassination caused a movement to end censorship nationwide. While it would take many more years to end some of the censorship craziness, Bart's assassination began the process through his sacrifice.
And the cycle had no beginning or ending.
©2024 by Bradley J. Scott III
