One Picture, 1,000 Words: A Censored Doonesbury Strip

Have a look at what I found, footling around the Internet, complete with this self-explanatory comment: "All of the Gannett-owned newspapers removed 'Doonesbury' from last Sunday's (2/18/24) comics section -- here it is." As the assault on the First Amendment kicks into higher gear, many organizations are saving themselves the trouble of fighting for it, and rolling over in advance, apparently to save the goon squads the trouble. 

At least, I'm assuming, that's the scenario they're running over and over in their minds, though such impulses prove of limited use, once authoritarianism becomes an entrenched reality. That being said, I can recall similar instances of softer censorship. I remember the controversy that swirled around my hometown paper, just as I was starting my own career, when -- without comment, or explanation -- it abruptly shifted a For Better Or For Worse storyline about homosexuality onto its editorial page, where it sat for the next two or three weeks.

What made the whole business noteworthy, from my recollection, is that my hometown paper initially tried to avoid the subject altogether, even though the letters they begrudgingly printed -- as they began to appear -- raised the million dollar question. if socially relevant-themed comic strips can't appear in the comics section, where else do they belong?

As I recall, our paper  finally did respond. Management claimed that, since the comic raised a hot button issue of the time -- coinciding with the first calls for the legalization of gay marriage, for example -- readers would benefit from seeing it more prominently placed on the editorial page, where the usual robust discussion of truth, justice, and the American Way, or what those ideas meant, could occur.

I'm not sure that a lot of readers bought the explanation, pro or con, especially when For Better Or For Worse returned to its allotted spot on the comics page. Of course, this is the trouble with censorship, which thrives in the shadows. I recall one instance from my college years, when the Crucifucks' lead singer, Doc Dart, recounted the hassles of trying to play a show at Michigan State University.

Chief among those hassles, as Doc explained it, was the university's objection to printing the band's name in the advertising, since he and his merry men were actually supporting the Circle Jerks -- a more established name, but hardly one that might inspire any PTA members to buy the tickets! Who, I ventured to ask, was making such an issue?

Doc had no idea, beyond a shrug. "Eh, I don't know just people in higher places at the university, I don't know all their names. We never get to hear who does the complaining." Guitarist Gus Varner further claimed that MSU voiced no problem with the band's name, at first, only to backtrack the next day, and ask, "Can't you guys call yourselves something else?" Which, in fact, did happen, later in their existence -- with "Christmas Folks" apparently being the go-to alternate moniker of choice. I've never seen any flyers with that variation, but it wouldn't surprise me.

Other bands in that era experienced similar hassles, like the Dayglo Abortions -- who won a landmark obscenity case involving the cover art for their Here Today, Guano Tomorrow (1988) album -- and Vampire Lezbos, who took their name from a Cramps song (lifted, in turn, from a '60s Italian erotic horror film).

They actually came to a teen club that I also ended up playing, in the wilds of Southeast Michigan -- and I couldn't resist asking singer/guitarist Dave Whiting, "Has your name ever gotten you in trouble? I couldn't imagine why..." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. You know the drill.

I didn't need to wait long for my answer. "We haven't been allowed to play shows because of it," Whiting responded. "Sometimes, they won't put our name on the flyers, because of it." 

As I recall, the local paper ended up using the name, connotations of undead or lesbianism be damned. Not a single soul complained, or if they did, it didn't inspire a letter, or emailed comment from anyone. Of course, this is the logic behind censorship -- a purely arbitrary yardstick, one that's based around, "What is not dirty? What is not clean? What should we not hear? What shouldn't be seen?", as Public Image asks in their 1992 song, "Acid Drops."

Of course, the man who penned those lyrics (John Lydon) is now a full-throated Trump supporter these days, apparently. While that may take some of the sheen off his outlaw reputation -- as we chronicled in our 2022 essay, "God Save The Queen (She Weren't No Human Being)" -- the basic point of the song still stands: "Who censors the censor? Can I do that myself? Make up my own mind, like anyone else? You read, but missed the plot -- You only see that what is not!"

So, in the spirit of public service, we present this panel from Doonesbury, just as we will present any other suppressed materials we come across. Apparently, the creator's sin was to offer a view of the Civil War that may rile up more Confederate-minded readers, who seem fine with free expression, and all the collateral rights that follow it, by implication -- as long as it's their own. And therein lies the heart of our current predicament. -- The Reckoner