Volume XLVII: Free Speech and Capitalism

How the publishing industry reinforces censorship

Mar 31, 2025

Introduction

In the past month alone, there have been numerous conversations circulating in the bookish world that touch on access and investment: Who gets published, and who doesn’t? Who has “freedom” of speech, and who does not? Who receives publisher investment and who won’t? These questions are all related, and what we’re seeing play out in publishing news and beyond points to the greater picture: free speech cannot exist in an industry that roots itself in capitalism.

The publishing world never exists in a silo; any updates or drama we see in the industry are often reflections of what’s happening in society at large. Take, for example, the industry’s reaction to widespread upheaval in 2020 demanding racial equity and justice. Publishers shared statements and new plans for investment…only to have seen most of those efforts dissolve in the following years, and some even lean further into conservative publishing. This is no surprise, which we discussed earlier this month, as the industry—particularly the Big Five—is rooted in capitalism. Like most businesses, many publishers make decisions based on what they consider “trends” (despite that problematic labeling) and what will increase stakeholder profits.

A few weeks back, readers took to social media to express frustrations with the release of Oathbound, a beloved YA novel in Tracy Deonn’s bestselling series. Readers were upset with the industry’s lack of investment in Deonn—whether that be by the book’s publishers or sellers like Barnes and Noble—particularly in comparison to the release of Rebecca Yarros’ Onyx Storm earlier in the year. Originally, this newsletter was going to focus on Barnes and Noble’s problematic corporate decisions—something we have discussed in a prior newsletter. But as the month went on, and the news (intentionally) continued to pile up, it grew impossible not to focus on the greater picture.

This lack of support for Deonn’s series; Barnes and Noble’s general disinvestment in authors and readers; the terrifying and indefensible targeting, abducting, and deporting of individuals like Mahmoud Khalil, Rumeysa Ozturk, and Yunseo Chung; and yet another year of author withdrawals from the PEN America Jean Stein Award all might not seem connected at first. (In fact, even placing all of those events together in the same statement feels kind of weird.) But they completely are.

Publishing, for obvious reasons, often champions the concept of free speech. But in many ways, not only is the industry complicit in forms of censorship, but in perpetuating the dangerous cycles that attempt to normalize censorship.

A Deeper Look

Censor, verb: “To examine in order to suppress or delete anything considered objectionable.” (Merriam-Webster)

By now, most of us are familiar with book bans and challenges, and how they aim to prevent readers from accessing certain books—predominantly those by and/or about LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC individuals. We’re also seeing the Trump administration’s terrifying attacks on students and others who have spoken in support of a free Palestine (despite immigrants being protected under the First Amendment), including member of the Kid Lit community Rumeysa Ozturk. The administration is also attempting to defund the Institute of Museum and Library Services and dismantle the Department of Education—moves meant to curtail access to information. And earlier this month, a PEN America employee published a story in Mondoweiss about the censorship they’re facing at PEN, as well as the censorship Palestinian authors continue to experience.

But many of us are probably far less aware of other forms of censorship occurring, such as soft censorship or self censorship, meaning they tend to go unnoticed.

What do we mean by soft and self censorship? Soft censorship refers to preemptively limiting or preventing access to something, out of fear of retaliation. This looks like booksellers stocking LGBTQIA+ stories in the part of a store that receives less foot traffic, librarians not creating displays that feature stories with Black protagonists, or educators removing or not ordering a specific book for their collection in the first place, even while knowing their students would benefit from it.

Self censorship is similar, but relates to an individual modifying their own words or other forms of expression, often out of fear of backlash. Authors might do this when trying to get a book published, or individuals might do so on social media out of fear for their careers.

But beyond authors, librarians, and educators, publishers themselves play a role in these less blatant—but still firm—examples of censorship. For example, we’ve known for a while that publishers are hesitant to publish Palestinian voices because they are deemed “controversial.” In doing so, they actively prevent books from going to market out of fear of retaliation. And what about the authors that do get publishing deals, but don’t receive significant—or any—sales, marketing, or publicity support? Predominantly, these are stories by BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ individuals. Their stories might be published, but they aren’t necessarily in many bookstores like those by white, cishet authors. There are so many stories we will never read.

And this is where Oathbound comes in. Even if Simon & Schuster, Deonn’s publisher, is not complicit in direct censorship, their company decisions still have consequences. In this case, these decisions led to stores not creating as much fanfare around the book as other popular fantasy series. Yes, the book might not sell as well as the Fourth Wing series, but that’s because the book was never given the chance—by the publisher and its budget, by booksellers and their displays, or by readers and their biases—in the first place. (Deonn also has been a victim of book banning attempts, for those who are curious.)

Often, this happens because publishers claim the book won’t sell “as well” (as well as what, you might wonder? Stories by white, cishet authors), so they don’t invest as much in it from the top. Booksellers see the lack of publishing support, or are flat out told it’s not as high of a priority, and they don’t purchase as many copies. Readers don’t see flashy marketing campaigns, and so they don’t buy the book. The cycle repeats itself.

Here, publishing normalizes censorship—whether direct, soft, or self—for the sake of profits. The concept of free speech is intended to enable articulation of beliefs and ideas without fear of suppression. But what happens when that concept is compromised by capitalism? Nonprofits are barred from certain political activity; they themselves might not be working for profit, but the government that grants them funding certainly is rooted in capitalism. Students who use their voice to push for change are abducted, fueled by a military industrial complex, and in response their university demolishes educational programs so as to not lose or upset donors. Publishers don’t invest in Black, Indigenous, and Brown authors because they claim they don’t sell as well. Barnes and Noble disinvests in middle grade authors—particularly BIPOC authors—for the same reason, even though they should be investing in young readers to ensure the next generation fights book bans. (But they do platform white supremacists and others who use “free speech” as a scapegoat to champion violent ideals in the attempt to prove they don’t censor (also likely because they think they’ll sell), including to the Rupert Murdochs of the world who have stakes in a company.) Free speech cannot truly exist until capitalism is destroyed.

Ways to Respond

Not long after outlining this newsletter, I came across the following passage in Liquid by Mariam Rahmani:

“In the US, one was also forced to self-censor—if not in the name of the state, then the market: the publishing market, the job market; in America there was never any shortage of markets. Academic presses feigned freedom from such concerns, but what else did it mean to ask whether a book ‘had an audience?’ You were asking whether it would sell…You wrote what they wanted you to write. Here, there, there were forms of power so insidious that the policed did the policing: that was the sign of their success.”

We’ve expressed concerns before about what happens when authors and publishers self-censor or pre-comply with the Trump administration’s ideas: basically, as Rahmani states, when those being watched police themselves.

So, if publishing reinforces this type of censorship, or at the bare minimum monitors speech, how do we work around that? Especially within the current political, fascist landscape?

In Part III of his LitHub series The Challenges We Face, Josh Cook writes about the importance of rebuilding media and journalism, investing in LGBTQIA+, immigrant, and BIPOC stories, and building civic spaces. On the first point, he writes:

“Maybe, rather than piling onto the biggest platforms available, we cultivate a ton of smaller ones that can be stitched together into something national when we need a national response. Maybe a loose network of newspapers, alt-weeklies, zines, journals, and other media both printed and online that only have a readership of a few thousand each, but who create passion, engagement, and action for those readers is the best response to the hyper-concentrated corporate media ecosystem that creates such a profoundly uninformed public. It’s also harder to squelch opposition expression or co-opt it, when it has thousands of outlets. Maybe being small is a strength.”

As we’ve noted, free speech is a lot easier to uphold when one isn’t reporting to stakeholders. Like mutual aid networks that don’t rely on “traditional” (read: often discriminatory) funding efforts, small publications can be a powerful way to spread and uplift voices. We need the indie presses that are mission driven—the Haymarkets, the Arsenal Presses. We need the zines distributed by hand, or freely left in coffee shops. We need the electronic files that are DRM-free. We also need the BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and disabled-owned bookstores that commonly invest in stories that don’t receive as much publisher support. All of these modes and methods of communication play a powerful role. And the hope, ultimately, is that as more content is shared, as more ideas are spread that go beyond what is deemed “sellable” (or “safe”), that society changes—that people better understand the long history of Palestinian oppression, the reason why billionaires shouldn’t exist, the necessity of true investment in DEI initiatives, and so much else, and act accordingly.

Final Musings

When readers noticed Deonn’s new book not receiving nearly as much attention as it should, they began amplifying it all the more across social media. In particular, Black content creators were the drive behind midnight launch parties at bookstores and more visibility for the series in general. They took it into their own hands to do what traditional media was failing to do.

And, finally, we can’t have a conversation about free speech without circling back to a very important point, briefly mentioned earlier: there is a difference between enabling free speech and enabling hate speech. Publishers actively profiting off of hate speech or authors that revel in it is not them championing free speech, or allowing “ideas” to circulate; in addition to upholding white supremacist ideas of who and who does not get access to free speech, it’s giving someone who often already has a large platform an even bigger one—with monetary support—to further oppress those who need the most societal support.

As always, we readers have power. Being more mindful of our reading choices, whether the publishers and bookstores we support, or the way we find out about new releases, are all important.

Today is also Trans Day of Visibility, and we have recommendations for your TBR, as well as ways to fight for trans rights every day of the year.

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And don’t forget to fight for libraries. They need our help more than ever.