“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”
Franz Kafka
Banned Books Week just passed, bringing with it the usual round of Mark Twain quotes and reminders of all the strange, sometimes ridiculous reasons why controversial books have been banished from school reading lists, states, and even countries. We laugh and dig into the occasional lengthy discourse about censorship, and we all collectively agree that hiding books like To Kill a Mockingbird and Mein Kampf does nothing to help the public forward their education in sometimes difficult topics. Reading fiction and non-fiction alike can create doorways into a deeper understanding of a subject and realities that may otherwise feel too dark to face.
But the 21st century has opened up new avenues for censorship, and there has been a recent flare of wants for book warnings and outright removal in the form of ‘the trigger warning.’ There is some disagreement now about what trigger warnings are and how they are to be used in classroom settings. Particularly in college, which has made headlines on multiple occasions over the past few years: students calling for bans on graphic content, parents complaining about what their college-aged kids read/watch, and an overall demand for “sensitivity” and “safe spaces” where students can learn without discomfort. Cue the slew of comments about Millennials, with their iPhones, and their Starbucks, and bleeding heart culture. “Everyone’s offended by everything lately! Life’s tough- get over it!”
For discussion’s sake, a “trigger” is originally described as an emotional or physical response to something that causes a person to recall a traumatic event. A trigger warning, to that end, prepares audience members about the sensitive material they may encounter while watching/reading something. You often see them on national news, with regards to war stories or sexual assault cases. I’ll be clear when I say that trigger warnings are important to have, and matter in the context of real trauma. I’ve spent a lifetime dealing with anxiety disorders and PTSD, so I have nothing but respect for those who respect others’ pain. But as Amanda Marcotte stated to the Slate, “As practiced in the real world, the trigger warning is less about preventive mental health care and more about social signaling of liberal credentials.”
A little research into these headlines shows that many of complaints come from students who find the content questionable because it “makes them uncomfortable” or “lacks sensitivity.” This discussion has unfolded in real life for me with classmates unhappy that they were made to read Lolita or Of Mice and Men because they found the content troubling. Friends who dropped classes instead of pushing through an essay topic they disagreed with. I never could wrap my head around this logic, nor its root, until I entered English 1020. We focused a great deal on poetry and language in there, and one of our larger assignments was to draw contemporary poems from our book and interpret meaning in front of the class. I chose two Li-Young Lee pieces, his words all of Eastern tropes, and earth, and his father. I surmised that his poem “Words for Worry” was a culturally universal example of a parents’ love and concern for their child, even as they grow older and into adults themselves.
Then a girl seated next to me clears her throat: “Don’t you think you ought to revise that statement? That doesn’t reflect everyone’s situation with their parents.”
And there it was. The core to this mindset. This wasn't about my opinion, or even Lee's. It was about everyone.
We can cast blame on a lot of things for the censorship of discomfort: the advent of helicopter parenting, the repressed nature of American populace, an overzealous culture that claims ‘everyone is special’- we could go on. But at the heart of this idea lies the need for representation and inclusiveness. The idea of a perfect world where authors, lessons, and even professors can represent everyone and anyone all at once, with the equality that we are rightly owed. Gone are the 19th-century authors and their dated ideas on women and minorities. Gone are the uncomfortable lessons of the Holocaust and pre-Civil War America, bearing ugly truths about humanity in their maw. Opinions are always inclusive and carefully thought out.
It is perfect, and it is very wrong.
I can appreciate the idea behind the modern trigger warning for what it is trying to accomplish, but just like the girl from English 1020, this mindset misses the idea that humans, by nature, are simply human. Every poet and author, teacher and classmate, have their own developed view on the world. We are, all of us, different, and owe the world our unique perspective: that’s what makes humanity so awesome. Reading the classics doesn’t mean that we agree with the author’s worldview, but understanding said worldview can better equip us to deal with hatred and bigotry in this world. Grasping the nature of history’s darker corners doesn’t mean you agree, but you see the whole picture. There is a difference between understanding something and condoning it. There are things we learn about that are uncomfortable, and they should make you uncomfortable, and make you think. It should get you to imagine more diverse poems, rather than complaining where an anonymous artist failed to represent your perspective. The greatest challenge we face in the wake of discomfort is whether we chose to face it at all, and what we decide to come away with once we do brave that darkness.
What triggers have become to the general public versus what they actually are teeters a dangerously slippery slope, on that note. Many students who suffer from actual triggers find the discussion of classroom warnings low on their priority list, and even feel that the idea only creates barriers for people who might otherwise open up about their trauma. What may look like a form of protection to some can feel like a reminder to stay silent for others.
So please, don’t try to pull books from a curriculum. Don’t ban speakers from schools and call professors sexist for talking about past events and ‘problematic’ writers. The past and life’s darkness are not erasable, and grasping them is a fundamental part of higher thinking. Understand the steps we’ve taken to get where we are, rather than trying to remove them from under your own feet. Those who fail to learn history, after all- well, you know you rest. Understanding the darkness of the world is often the foundation for a future where we can climb higher, and do better.
