Bookstores take up censorship fight by featuring banned books, art and community

BALTIMORE – Growing up in Atlanta, Robert Stradford filled his bookshelf with titles like “All Boys Aren’t Blue” and “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” books that gave him a lens into the queer Black experience. At the time, the state of Georgia still offered its students a curriculum filled with diverse authors and subjects.

Stradford, 26, said he felt “fortunate” to have been given books that allowed him to discover a language for a feeling he had but could not yet name.

But today, Georgia’s education curriculum and reading lists in schools and libraries have begun to eliminate books that feature LGBTQ+ people and their experiences as part of a growing trend in conservative states to ban books.

Stradford, who recently relocated to Baltimore, a more progressive city, has found his way to spaces where he felt his identity would be welcome — spaces that act as a safe haven for readers who fear mounting censorship laws elsewhere in the nation.

On a recent Thursday, he and a few dozen others gathered in Red Emma’s, a worker-owned socialist bookstore and café that hosts daily events, to listen to stories of the Black African diaspora at an event called “Black Ocean Storytelling.”

Bookstores across the country, like Red Emma’s, are building community spaces and organizing events that celebrate banned books — especially those that showcase the experiences of Black and Latino Americans and members of the LGBTQ+ community, subjects that in other states have been targeted by censorship laws.

“I was kind of excited when I found Red Emma’s,” Stradford said.

Red Emma’s shelves are filled with banned titles. Under warm lights and soft jazz, Stadford stood among them.

“I would’ve been a fraction of who I am today if I hadn’t had access to those books. They gave me a language. They gave me a mirror. My nephew isn’t going to read these books in school,” Stradford said. “So it’s on me to introduce them, and the only way that I can still access these books that are banned in Georgia, is through bookstores.”

“Events like this remind us that storytelling is an act of resistance,” added Kenneth Brown, a worker-owner at Red Emma’s. “When Black folks gather to speak truth, what we’re doing is reclaiming space. Book bans try to silence us, but here, we’re amplifying each other.”

In the city of Baltimore, bookstores like Red Emma’s, Charm City Books, and Everybody’s Place are doing more than just selling books. These independent — often family-owned businesses — are typically located in neighborhoods shaped by issues of gentrification, displacement and cultural erasure. Some owners take that as a charge: to preserve the stories relevant to the communities they want to serve by creating safe spaces of cultural and educational preservation.

“Who’s going to tell the true story?” said Tabia Kamau-Nakati, owner of Everyone’s Place African Cultural Center, a Black-owned bookstore in West Baltimore. “The government is picking excerpts out of books about slavery and acting like people were gaining skills, instead of being enslaved.”

The importance of preserving history about Black issues is crucial for Kamau-Nakati, who has been a bookstore owner for 38 years. She emphasizes the role of bookstores as hubs for information about Black people and their culture and experiences. 

Everyone’s Place routinely stocks newspapers as well and free books to ensure the community has access to information — regardless of income level.

“People come by asking, ‘When are you having free books again?’ And that’s really fulfilling for us, and for them,” said Kamau-Nakati.

News of efforts around the country to ban books and remove certain titles from library shelves and schools has driven some customers to stockpile books they fear will disappear, said Olakekan Kamau-Nakati, who also works at Everyone’s Place with her mother.

“People panic and come here thinking they have to buy 20 copies of the same book at once,” said Olakekan Kamau-Nakati. “The truth is, these books are not going anywhere, unless we let them disappear.”

Digital copies of books can be removed from online libraries more easily than physical copies can be pulled from circulation. Government websites have, in recent months, been scrubbed of various words and topics.

“A lot of people buy so much digitally, and they can wipe digital things at any time. So you need tangible hard copies of the books you want,” said Ernandie Innocent, who went shopping for books at Charm City Books last month.

This summer, Charm City Books plans to partner with performance art nonprofit Fluid Movement to host “Dive Into Banned Books: A Water Ballet of Resistance and Joy.” The bookstore also has plans to set up stacks of banned children’s books, inviting customers to buy one and gift another to students in Title I schools around the city. Title I schools, federally classified as high-poverty schools, rely on federal and state funding to provide resources like books to their students. 

The dance performance will follow a group of curious children, a censoring parent, and a determined librarian as they navigate through five banned books: “A is for Activist,” “The Handmaid’s Tale,” “And Tango Makes Three,” “Parable of the Sower” and “Julian is a Mermaid.” The performance, organizers said, aims to turn resistance into fun, encouraging audiences to stand up for intellectual freedom and the right to read.

“It’s an amazing way to bring a lot of people in, and shed light on why these books have been challenged and also highlight why they matter,” said Daven Ralston, owner of Charm City Books in the Seton Hill neighborhood.

A queer elementary school teacher from the area, who is a regular customer at Charm City Books, recently shared with Ralston her struggle to incorporate LGBTQ representation into her classroom for Pride Month in June. She had multiple meetings with administrators at her school to negotiate what was and was not allowed to discuss with students.

“This year in particular, she had a really difficult time presenting a curriculum,” Ralston recalled. “I remember how stressed she was trying to make it work.”

People like the teacher come to these bookstores for more than books and inspiration, Ralston said, they come to find support.

The open mic at Red Emma’s ended with Stradford’s performance.

He had been watching from a far corner as poet after poet stepped to the mic. Stradford had never read a poem in front of an audience before.

Just before the event ended, he walked forward, past rows of seats, and added his name to the list of performers.

When it was his time to read, he stood at the microphone, before an exposed brick wall, and held his phone up to see the words he had typed into his Notes app.

In that moment, in that bookstore, Stradford said, he felt something that had been increasingly rare: a sense of freedom.

Freedom to read, to speak, to feel, to imagine.

The poem — a short piece — was brief, but powerful. Other poets came up to him afterward to introduce themselves and thank him for his words. In that moment, Stradford found something else he had been seeking: community.

Morelys Urbano is a recent journalism graduate from Morgan State University. She was recently part of a team awarded an Emmy for a documentary about the history of her alma mater. She aspires to a career in broadcast journalism and documentary filmmaking. Reach her at morelysurbano [at] gmail [dot] com.