Censorship is alive in New Zealand. I should know: my book was banned
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Version 0 of 1. I grew up in New Zealand in the 1960s before the genre of young adult fiction had been invented. The books offered to me were watered-down versions of the classics (Sir Walter Scott, Wilkie Collins etc), which I would grind through in an attempt to discover something interesting. When I finally came across Keith Waterhouse and Alan Sillitoe it was a revelation. Even though their worlds were far from mine they carried the sharp stink of authenticity. They began me on a path of reading – and much later, writing – that led me to where I find myself today; a minor literary celebrity, for all the wrong reasons. Related: New Zealand bans award-winning teenage novel after outcry from Christian group My entire working life has been in secondary schools, mostly here in New Zealand but I also spent a formative six years in London and Sydney. At all these schools I was confronted with the problem of getting boys to read. Not just any boys, but boys from working class backgrounds, immigrant boys in Brixton in 1970s London; “new Australian” migrants in Marrickville, Sydney; and Māori and Pasifika boys in Auckland. These guys were like me, back in the 60s – there did not seem to be any real connection between themselves and the world of novels. I would hand out books to them in the school library, read excerpts, try to enthuse them with books that I had bumped into during my reading career, but it was largely unsuccessful. The stories were as alien to them as Walter Scott’s The Talisman had been to me in the Tokoroa high school library in 1963. One day, when I was told that one of NZ’s leading YA books was “boring crap”, I decided to take up the challenge myself. During the Christmas holidays I got up at 5am, every day, with the goal of belting out 2,000 words, every day. After 40 days I had a novel in my laptop called Thunder Road, all about boys and cars, and swearing, and girls, and fighting, and sex and ... did I mention swearing? I sent the manuscript off to a local publisher, Longacre Press, and had the good fortune to strike paydirt at my first attempt. The book went on to win YA Book of the Year. More importantly, it went into schools where it was picked up by the sort of boys who label all books as “boring crap”. They loved it. It was a miracle. Soon it became the go-to book for English teachers with tough classes and I felt I had achieved something really worthwhile. 10 years later I wrote another novel that follows familiar territory, Into The River. It focuses on the backstory of one of the protagonists of Thunder Road, Devon Santos. It follows him from his small village and whanau (extended family) to a prestigious boys’ boarding school where he has won a scholarship. He carries the hopes and aspirations of his people; they need educated young leaders. At this school his “difference” – being Māori, non-sporty, sensitive and vulnerable – is under constant attack from the other boys; particularly the bigger and older boys. This seems to have the tacit approval of the teachers (it has always been thus). Devon must bury his difference, form alliances with other rejects, and harden up if he is to survive. The bullying he endures is what shapes him; he becomes smarter, tougher, more devious, less human. He’s a survivor. I couldn’t find a publisher for Into The River, so I self-published it. I struggled to get it into shops, even ones that had my other books in their shelves. Related: Why I've written a book for teenagers about taking drugs I entered it into the NZ Post children and YA book awards. This time I won not only best YA novel, but book of the year and the inaugural Margaret Mahy award. My jubilation was short-lived. The award meant that sales increased exponentially (from about 150 to 3,000; that Maserati is still, sadly, out of reach) and a different readership picked it up. It soon found itself in the hands of a Christian group called Family First, who are dedicated to the “lifting” of moral standards. I was then contacted by the office of the NZ censor; my book was to be reviewed for obscene language and the depiction of sex and drug use. It was given a rigorous 14-page evaluation (the most thorough analysis any of my books has ever had). It passed! For the second time, I was jubilant. It was a “free at last” moment. Family First appealed the decision, a new body was assembled (four co-opted members) and they overturned the censor, imposing an R14 restriction. To my knowledge this was the first-ever restricted New Zealand novel. I was upset but philosophical. After all, the head of this group, Dr Don Mathieson, had wanted an “R18-sealed-in-plastic” ruling. When he didn’t get his own way, he distanced himself from the group and published his own judgement. Many would see this R14 ruling as undesirable but tolerable; after all, at least the 14 year olds would get to read it, right? But this was not the case. Prior to this judgement, Into The River was the most-borrowed NZ-written YA novel in the country. After the ruling, it was removed from libraries’ shelves and either placed behind the desk or in the basement stacks. Young people could borrow it if they searched for it in the catalogue and produced ID but most who go to the library choose from what is in front of them. Borrowing dropped to virtually nil. A year or so later, I was in Auckland central library. On display was a mock-up of a bonfire of banned books from around the world. They were drawing attention to books and countries where freedom of expression was under threat, unlike New Zealand. I called for the head librarian to include Into The River, because the R14 restriction had worked so effectively as a gag. He was initially taken aback by my claim but after investigating discovered I was telling the truth. This began a fight-back by librarians in schools and small towns across the country. Into The River was reconsidered by the censor – taking account of the passage of time and the heavy-handed outcome of the restriction – and the censorship ruling was over-turned. Cue a third period of short-lived jubilation. Two days ago, when I opened the NZ Herald, I discovered the whole circus had happened again. This time though, selling, displaying, sharing or any of the normal book activities would be met with a $3,000 fine. Since Monday, the whole world has been looking at New Zealand and not because of the All Blacks, for once. Related: Can you pick the quotes from Ted Dawe's banned novel Into the River? I have been inundated with emails of support, some expressing embarrassment, others outrage. There have been a few of the other sort of emails too. They usually begin with the words “Shame on you Ted Dawe”. At this point I stop reading. I won’t speculate on how all this will end, because my thoughts are for those boys I set out to connect with. You know the ones. They are the dudes who don’t read. Don’t succeed. Appear in the newspapers for the wrong reasons. And, instead of finding their place in society, find it in jails, mental hospitals and morgues. Reading can be a lifeline to these guys, its just often one good reading experience that sets them down a new path. And I am sorry, Sir Walter, they won’t get it from reading your novels. |