Established in 1982, Banned Book Week brings advocates and avid readers together to fight for the freedom to read all types of books. This year, the week was observed from September 22 to 28, and although the dates have passed, the urgency of fighting book bans is more pressing than ever. Initiated in response to a surge in challenges to literature across the United States, Banned Book Week highlights the dangerous consequences of censorship. 

Twenty years later, history is repeating itself. The purpose of the week is clear: to challenge the forces that seek to limit access to diverse perspectives and to remind us that silencing stories is an oppressive action. Book bans are an act of systemic erasure and structural violence. Ridding people of the ability to read, think differently, and comprehend a new world is an injustice that should be addressed.

While ample attention has been given to book bans, especially recently, one aspect is, oddly, glaringly absent from the conversation- how are minority children who desire to read these books impacted by these bans? To answer this question, one ought to isolate Black queer kids as a cautionary tale, as they are propelled into the spotlight of racism and homophobia when discussing book bans. Book bans have and will continue to disproportionately impact Black queer kids, ridding them of representation and existence even in fictional stories. 

The Status of Book Bans Now

Recent data from the American Library Association and PEN America, a nonprofit dedicated to literature, outlines the urgency of this issue. Bans are on a meteoric rise, and surging across the country. Over 10,000 books were banned in public schools during the 2023-2024 school year, a stark increase of over 250% from the figure of 3,362 from the last time the organizations gathered data a year prior.

Book bans are often dealt with at the state level and ushered in by various forms of local legislation. For example, the states of Florida and Iowa stand out as new state laws have granted the ability to ban over 8,000 books.  Florida’s HB 1069, effective July 2023, mandates the removal of books featuring "sexual conduct," while Iowa’s SF 496 similarly restricts content related to sex, gender, and LGBTQ+ identities.  It does not stop there.
Utah’s HB 29 law, the most restrictive to date, enforces statewide bans on books deemed "objectively sensitive" by districts. South Carolina's Regulations 43-170 bans sex-related content across the state, and Tennessee's HB 843, effective July 2023, requires the removal of books containing nudity, violence, or mentions of sex.

What books are being banned?

Clearly, this is a trend at the national level, but it is critical to note what types of books are banned and why. As pointed out by PEN America, the American Library Association, The Washington Post, and numerous others, books that deal with issues of race and/or feature LGBTQIA+ characters are challenged the most. Even books that were once considered part of the literature canon, like The Color Purple, have been banned.  The ALA maintains a list of books that receive the most challenges yearly. Seven of the top 10 books in 2023 were challenged for LGBTQ+ content, and most were claimed to have “sexually explicit” material. Black queer story “All Boys Aren’t Blue” by George Johnson was the third most banned book in 2022. 

Moreover, reports from CBS News outline how books that mention issues of race and racism make up 21% of bans, and stories with themes of activism make up around 10% of bans. In a lawsuit, the NAACP calls this “pedagogical and policy violence,” arguing that “book bans have increasingly become the policy tool of anti-black policy leaders who systematically perpetuate intolerance and ignorance.” 

While I fully agree with this sentiment, we must still examine how this violence manifests in schools and its impact on Black queer kids. Imagine being a Black queer child and receiving the message—explicitly or implicitly—that your existence is neither imaginable nor worth exploring in literature. Your existence is so bizarre that no make-believe world accounts for your experience.  Fiction offers no refuge from the poisons of racism and homophobia, leaving these children to fight for their representation.

The Impact: Erasure and Marginalization  

Book bans inflict deep and lasting harm on Black queer kids in multiple ways. On one hand, it is well-founded that students are more likely to read literature that directly relates to their lives/experiences. Thus, the decision to remove nearly all books that feature aspects of queerness and race inherently leaves Black queer students desiring literature they can connect to. This could have massive impacts on reading comprehension and even standardized test scores. Currently, these bans erase vital representation, denying these students the opportunity to see themselves in literature—a crucial element for their sense of identity and belonging during pivotal years. When a Black queer student can’t find a single character like them in the books on school shelves, they are taught that their existence is invisible or unacceptable. As highlighted previously, imagine growing up, and your identity is not even worthy of exploration in someone’s fictional story. Even when people make up stories of liberation and joy, Black queer kids aren’t allowed to experience this in school. This feeling certainly carries once they leave the classroom. 

 Additionally, bans foster ignorance and bigotry in schools, creating an environment where peers (and even teachers) are encouraged to view Black queer identities as abnormal or taboo. For example, the exclusion of books featuring LGBTQ+ characters perpetuates stereotypes, making these students more vulnerable to bullying and discrimination. If people have stereotypes or myths related to the Black queer experience, without literature or intentional discussions in school, students will likely maintain these harmful stereotypes after schooling.   

Book bans are not just about removing texts but about erasing identities.

For many Black queer kids, like myself, literature can be (and has been a salvation). The ability to escape in a story is the ability to survive—the ability to envision one flourishing instead of merely surviving. From James Baldwin to Alice Walker to the recent book The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr, Black queer stories have always been here and will remain. Even during enslavement, the preservation of narratives and stories was paramount. 

Centuries later, stories and narratives still have great power, which is precisely why we must continue to fight for the ability to tell them in all forms.