The Revival of Censorship in America’s Schools
Walk into a school library in Florida or Texas this fall, and you may quickly notice the absence of some of literature’s most iconic titles. It’s not just the classics that are vanishing. According to PEN America’s latest “Banned in the USA” report, nearly 6,800 books were removed—either temporarily or permanently—from public school libraries nationwide in the 2024–2025 school year. That marks a sharp retreat from the previous year’s peak of over 10,000, yet represents a trend still far above anything seen prior to 2021.
What’s driving this modern resurgence of book censorship in the United States? Much of it boils down to policy, activism, and politics. Florida, for the third consecutive year, tops the nation in school book bans with over 2,300 instances. Texas and Tennessee follow closely, together shouldering more than 3,400 removals. The numbers are staggering, but these statistics only begin to reveal the gravity of the crisis. PEN America’s findings highlight how new state laws and top-down political pressure are converting once-occasional parental complaints into systematized purges of literature.
Many of the titles targeted—overwhelmingly those featuring LGBTQ+ characters, themes of racial justice, or unflinching accounts of violence or sexual content—reflect precisely what conservative politicians label as “divisive” or “inappropriate.” In reality, these are often the stories that help young people grapple with the complexities of the world they inherit. According to Harvard education scholar Dr. Ava Reed, “When we erase these narratives, we don’t protect students—we deprive them of context, empathy, and sometimes, their own reflections on the page.”
Political Motivations and the Geography of Censorship
A closer look reveals how geographical divides dramatically shape children’s access to literature. Florida Governor Ron DeSantis has dismissed claims of widespread book bans as a “hoax,” claiming instead that the state merely empowers parents to object to “obscene” material. Nonetheless, evidence shows that state officials’ interventions and new laws drive much of the recent escalation. After government scrutiny, school boards—like Hillsborough County’s—have preemptively removed over 50 books in the past year alone, often erring on the side of overcompliance, wary of legal penalties or public outcry.
These efforts are by no means limited to Florida. Texas reports about 1,781 bans while Tennessee closely trails at 1,622. In both states, state-level directives and activist groups have translated legislative action into administrative anxiety, prompting school officials to err on the side of restriction. The result? Children in these regions face dramatically narrowed reading lists in their formative years.
Contrast this with states such as Illinois, Maryland, and New Jersey, where recent laws actually limit the power to remove books from school or public libraries. Illinois now requires libraries receiving public funds to adopt the American Library Association’s Bill of Rights, protecting access to a wide array of materials. The national map of 2024 doesn’t just detail which books are disappearing—it reveals a nation splintered by ideology over what children should read.
“We are normalizing censorship in a country that once prided itself on intellectual freedom, and students are the ones paying the price.” — Kasey Meehan, PEN America
The Human Cost: Who Loses When Stories Disappear?
Tucked into the statistics is a more personal story. Imagine a queer teenager in suburban Tennessee, desperately searching for a narrative that checks back their isolation, only to find that all literature reflecting their experience has quietly been erased from library shelves. Or consider the children in military families under the Department of Defense Education Activity, which recently purged nearly 600 books—including “To Kill a Mockingbird,” “The Kite Runner,” and “A Queer History of the United States”—after new federal educational policies spurred a review. The American Civil Liberties Union has since filed suit, arguing the removals violate free speech and equal protection.
This year, PEN America identified best-selling horror author Stephen King as the most-censored writer, with 206 removals affecting 87 different King titles, from “Carrie” to “The Stand.” The single-most banned title, though, was Anthony Burgess’s “A Clockwork Orange,” yanked from classrooms and libraries 23 times. Other frequently banned works—”Sold” by Patricia McCormick and “Last Night at the Telegraph Club” by Malinda Lo—tackle themes of trauma, identity, and love, precisely those subjects that allow young readers to safely encounter, process, or question their own realities in the company of literature.
PEN America’s report cautions that Americans are becoming desensitized to the rapid normalization of book bans. As free speech expert David Hudson, Jr. of the Freedom Forum Institute warns, “When censorship becomes so routine that we stop noticing, we risk our ability to recognize and fight it.” Decades ago, book challenges often died quietly in school board meetings, but the current climate is driven more by political strategy than authentic public concern—a difference with lasting consequences for our democracy and for the next generation of readers.
Turning the Tide with Community and Policy
States that have chosen to protect intellectual freedom offer instructive counterexamples. Illinois, Maryland, and New Jersey have seen dramatically fewer removals since enacting pro-access laws. Local and national litigation—from ACLU lawsuits in Tennessee and DoDEA schools to authors challenging Florida’s new policies—signals growing resistance to censorship. Communities in affected states are mobilizing, from grassroots read-ins outside school board meetings to coordinated campaigns by teachers and librarians who refuse to accept this “new normal” without a fight.
Will federal courts step in decisively to define what constitutes unconstitutional censorship? That’s yet to be seen. But as the 2024–25 school year unfolds, one thing is clear: Access to books remains a bellwether for the robustness of American democracy. For many, this struggle echoes earlier eras—from the McCarthy-era blacklistings to the book burnings fought by trailblazers in the Library Bill of Rights. Each chapter in the fight over literature underscores a simple truth: a democracy’s health can be measured by what it permits on its bookshelves, as well as what it silences.
