All right, December 6, 1933. Let’s set the scene: we’re in a courtroom in New York City. A judge named John M. Woolsey has just finished reading James Joyce’s Ulysses, and he’s probably thinking, “What the hell did I just read?” But instead of throwing the book in the trash or setting it on fire like people with fragile egos wanted, this guy makes history. He stands up and says, “Listen, this thing isn’t obscene. It’s just weird. Let it in.” And just like that, censorship took one right to the jaw.
Now, let me explain why this was such a big deal. Ulysses wasn’t just some random book. It was a masterpiece. But it was also super controversial because Joyce had the nerve—the gall—to write about people’s inner thoughts, including the dirty ones. The book had been banned all over the place—America, England—you name it. Governments were treating it like it was the literary equivalent of a ticking time bomb. Customs agents were seizing copies like they were bootleg gin, all because some pearl-clutchers decided it was too “sexy” for public consumption.
But here’s the kicker: most of the people freaking out about Ulysses hadn’t even read it. Of course, they hadn’t! Have you seen this thing? It’s not a page-turner. It’s a commitment. It’s like trying to read the manual for a nuclear reactor while blindfolded. And yet, they were banning it based on a few out-of-context passages. That’s like canceling a comedian for a single joke you misheard at a bar. (Not that anyone would do that today, right? Oh, wait…)
So, this guy Bennett Cerf—co-founder of Random House and a genius in the fine art of trolling—decides to make a point. He wants the book banned. Why? So he can fight it in court. He literally smuggles a copy into the country, basically hands it to customs, and says, “Hey, guys, you wanna confiscate this? Wink, wink.” And sure enough, they bite. Boom, court case.
Enter Judge Woolsey. This guy deserves a medal for what he did. He didn’t just skim Ulysses for the dirty parts like everyone else. He read the whole thing. Every single word. And after slogging through it, he delivers this brilliant ruling: Yeah, some parts of this book might make you squirm, but it’s not porn. It’s art. He even said—and I’m paraphrasing here—“Look, it might be a little gross in spots, but it’s not going to get you all hot and bothered. Case closed.”
This was a game-changer. Woolsey basically said, “Hey, maybe we shouldn’t judge a book by a couple of spicy sentences. Maybe we should look at the whole thing. Crazy idea, right?” His decision set a precedent that protected free expression and gave authors the freedom to explore complex, messy, human stuff without the fear of some moral crusader kicking down their door.
Now, fast-forward to today—December 2024. You’d think we’d have learned our lesson, right? Nope. Here we are, banning books all over again. Schools, libraries, even public spaces. And it’s not just about sex anymore. Now they’re coming after books that talk about race, gender, history—anything that makes certain people uncomfortable. And let me tell you, there’s a whole lot of discomfort going around.
You’ve got groups like Moms for Liberty out here running book-banning campaigns like it’s their full-time job. And then there’s the other side—Grandparents for Truth—basically a bunch of old folks saying, “Hey, maybe let the kids read, huh? Maybe give them a chance to learn something before you sanitize the world into oblivion.” It’s like a generational cage match over whether knowledge is dangerous or necessary.
And it gets worse. This whole censorship craze is being supercharged by the rise of Christian nationalism. Look, I’m not here to knock religion. Believe what you want. But when you’ve got politicians like Oklahoma’s Ryan Walters mandating Bibles in classrooms and threatening teachers who don’t comply, that’s not religious freedom. That’s a hostage situation. And it’s exactly the kind of thing Ulysses fought against.
Here’s the thing: censorship isn’t about protecting anyone. It’s about control. It’s about people in power deciding what you’re allowed to think, read, and believe. And every time we let that slide, we’re handing over a piece of our democracy. You think banning a book is where it stops? Come on. That’s just the warm-up act.
The lesson of Ulysses—and Judge Woolsey’s decision—is simple: freedom isn’t neat and tidy. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. But that’s the point. You don’t get to cherry-pick who gets to speak, who gets to read, and who gets to think. The minute you start doing that, you’re not protecting society. You’re suffocating it.
So, yeah, raise a glass to Ulysses and Judge Woolsey. They didn’t just defend a book. They defended the idea that freedom of expression matters—even when it makes us squirm. And as we head into 2025, with new threats to democracy looming, let’s remember this: a government that controls what you read today isn’t going to stop there. Next, it’ll be what you say, what you think, and who you are. And if we don’t fight back, we’ll have no one to blame but ourselves.
