Cancel Culture and Censorship: Will Anyone Stand the Test of Time?

Director of Communications and Engagement

Like most (older) adults, I remember when the only way I’d learn about celebrities—beyond their professional activities—was if they’d done something noteworthy enough to warrant inclusion on the nightly television news (and subsequently, in the following day’s newspaper).

Unquestionably a simpler time, it allowed me to love authors for their books alone, admire athletes purely for their on-field performance, and listen to music without concern about how my favourite bands behaved offstage.

However, the advent of social media brought with it the use of personal information as fodder for such platforms. As a result, the notion of privacy diminished and along with it, the threshold for what we deemed ‘newsworthy’. Suddenly, stories of celebrities’ personal behaviour dominated headlines in a way that made tabloid magazines seem archaic, generating interest and revenue; of course, this benefits media and individual alike. Yet, with every reward comes a risk: while ‘candid’ behind-the-scenes glimpses into celebrities’ lives may delight fans, interest in the elements they wish to keep private, the less-than-desirable traits, the metaphorical skeletons in one’s closet, have garnered not only interest, but action.

Cue: ‘cancelling’—publicly rejecting or boycotting someone because they’ve said or done something deemed offensive. There is a wide array of behaviour that contributes to one being ‘cancelled’, and some of it is horrific, and criminal. But importantly, some of it is not—so, how do we determine that someone has crossed the ‘line’ and deserves to have their career, their reputation end up in ruins? Can we denounce an artist’s actions without dismissing their art? And what of the blurry line between artists’ behaviour and their work? As Novak (2022) notes, ‘Hemingway’s works and his well-documented antisemitism can inform us about acceptable attitudes at the time of writing. Bukowski can teach us what brutal misogyny looks like.’

We know that exposure to diversity of thought, opinion and topic—content that challenges us—contributes to informed discussion, allows us to consider our own beliefs, offers the opportunity to learn and be better (Gorlewski, 2023). As Oscar Wilde posited in The Decay of Lying – An Observation, if art becomes too concerned with facts and reality—if morality triumphs—‘art will become sterile and beauty will pass away from the land’ (Shulevitz, 2023). The lines between cancel culture and censorship are blurred, at best; at worst, one can masquerade as the other.

Roald Dahl is but one of many examples of both in action. Am I better or worse off for knowing that Dahl—who introduced me to the magic of Matilda, the fear of The Witches, and the mischievous brilliance of the eponymous character from George’s Marvellous Medicine—was likely a philanderer, racist and sexist? Do I condone his behaviour? Of course not. But, despite it, I still admire the magic of his writing—writing that has recently been edited to remove language ‘deemed offensive’. While the edits run into the hundreds, some include replacing ‘fat’ with ‘enormous’, removing the word ‘ugly’ as a descriptor, the Oompa Loompas are now ‘small people’ rather than ‘small men’. These changes were ostensibly made to ensure Dahl’s stories could ‘continue to be enjoyed by all’ (Vernon, 2023). Is Dahl’s ‘cancellation’ due to his questionable personal attributes, offensive language, or both? Should we boycott his work? Or, now that it’s been edited, does it remain consumable? Can we separate Dahl the person, from Dahl the author?

This is clearly a complex topic without a simple answer. However, the idea that we should ‘cancel’ anyone who’s transgressed seems short-sighted and counterproductive: we’d never have any art to enjoy (for everyone has made a mistake); we’d lose important benchmarks that signify how as a society we have evolved, become better and hopefully more accepting; we’d deny ourselves the beauty of being lost in a book, a movie, a song. The power of enjoying, being surrounded by the beauty and joy of art in a world where productivity dominates, should not be underestimated.

Can art ever truly transcend the artist? To give an inherently human answer: I don’t know. Some people would vehemently argue that yes, it is possible, while others find the two inextricably linked. I think there’s a lot of ‘grey’ space in between these black-and-white approaches. Perhaps it comes down to Hess’ (2017) observation that, ‘if a piece of art is truly spoiled by an understanding of the conditions under which it is made, then perhaps the artist was not quite as exceptional as we had thought’. And the decision of whether something is spoiled for us is one we have to make for ourselves.