By Muskan Shafi Malik
While travelling back from Srinagar to Anantnag, I followed my usual habit — a quick detour to the booksellers and street vendors. Among the faint chatter of passers-by, I overheard whispers about police raids on local bookshops. At first, I dismissed it as another routine administrative action. But a glance at my phone later revealed something unusual: twenty-five books had been officially banned in Jammu and Kashmir.
The news arrived with a strange irony. On one hand, the Chinar Book Fair at SKICC was drawing crowds and igniting interest in literature. On the other hand, the sudden prohibition of certain titles was raising a different kind of attention — the quiet, sharp curiosity that grows when something is kept away from reach.
That moment planted a question in my mind: Does banning a book erase its ideas — or etch them even deeper into public consciousness?
I admit, I hadn’t even heard of many of these books before. But once I saw their titles listed, my interest was piqued. I began to wonder: Which lines, which chapters, which paragraphs had provoked such a decision? What words had the power to prompt the state to step in?
Freedom and Its Limits
The Constitution of India grants every citizen the right to freedom of speech and expression. This freedom extends to literature, art, and other creative forms, allowing us to think, speak, and write without fear. But the right is not absolute. Article 19 also empowers the state to impose reasonable restrictions in the interest of national security, public order, morality, and other concerns.
In this case, the government explained that these books propagated false narratives, promoted secessionism, and contained material supportive of terrorism in Jammu and Kashmir. One can assume that experts in the field of security and literature reviewed the works before arriving at this decision.
As a diverse country with multiple faiths, cultures, and languages, India must strike a careful balance. The democratic principle of free expression must be weighed against the responsibility to protect unity and peace. This balance is delicate — like the relationship between a paintbrush and the canvas. Too much pressure, and the canvas tears; too little, and the image never forms.
Why the Ban May Backfire
In 1966, psychologist Jack Brehm proposed the Reactance Theory, which explains how humans react when their freedom is restricted. The theory suggests that when something is forbidden, our desire for it often intensifies. We resist, rather than comply.
This is visible in the case of banned books. A title that was once obscure may suddenly rise in popularity simply because it has been removed from public shelves. In the age of the internet, a ban can trigger an explosion of online searches, PDF sharing, and underground circulation. This is known as the Streisand Effect — an attempt to hide or censor something that ends up amplifying its reach.
I am living proof of this phenomenon. Before the announcement, I had no intention of reading these books. Now, I find myself searching for them.
Literature as a Mirror
Literature does not function as an instruction manual; it is a mirror. It reflects the world in its complexity — sometimes beautiful, sometimes unpleasant. Its role is not to command, but to question. And in those questions lies its true power.
Banning a book can sometimes energise authors. It reminds them that imagination cannot be confined, that ideas are limitless. In the long run, such restrictions can fuel diversity of thought rather than suppress it.
Of course, not all banned content is harmless. Portions of a text can indeed be dangerous if they actively incite violence, spread disinformation, or threaten social harmony. But the challenge lies in distinguishing between legitimate danger and uncomfortable truth.
A Democratic Test
Banning books is not a new practice. States have long known how to regulate information in the name of public safety. But in a democracy, such bans raise a deeper question: Do they truly protect society — or do they signal a lack of trust in the people’s ability to think critically?
History has repeatedly shown us that suppression often fuels the very curiosity it seeks to extinguish. This is the “forbidden fruit” effect — the more inaccessible something is, the more appealing it becomes.
Towards a Balanced Approach
In a rapidly changing, interconnected world, absolute bans may not be the most effective tool. Instead, reforms could include:
Special Review Boards: Panels of independent experts from literature, law, and security to assess disputed works.
Time-Bound Bans: Restrictions that expire unless renewed after a transparent review process.
Age-Based Restrictions: Limiting access for vulnerable readers rather than shutting the door for all.
Public Debate,Encouraging discussions about controversial works in academic and public forums without hate or hostility.
Such steps would uphold security while preserving the spirit of democracy — allowing citizens to encounter challenging ideas and decide for themselves.
In today’s digital era, information moves faster than any official order. Words travel across borders in seconds, carried by screenshots, downloads, and whispers in coffee shops. When something is forbidden, it rarely disappears; instead, it often finds a more determined audience.
As Ray Bradbury famously wrote, “You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.” In India, the greater danger may not be the books that are banned, but the ones that are ignored.
Ultimately, a democracy is tested not by the titles it removes, but by the titles it allows its citizens to read and by the trust it places in them to judge responsibly.
The paradox remains: banning a book can make it vanish from shelves, but it may also place it firmly in the reader’s mind. Sometimes, the quietest way to kill an idea is to let it speak and be judged in the open
~ Muskan Shafi Malik is from Anantnag & is pursuing her Master’s at AMU..
