To a free people, the very word “censorship” always has been distasteful. In its theory, it runs counter to all democratic principles; in practice, it can never be made popular, can never please anyone.

Everything the censor does is contrary to all that we have been taught to believe is right and proper. The Post Office Department, for example, has two proud mottoes: “The mail must go through,” and “The privacy of the mail must be protected at all hazards.” But censorship stops the mail, it invades the privacy of the mail, it disposes of the mail as may seem best. The same thing holds true in the publishing business. Censorship limits the lively competition and free enterprise of reporters. It relegates many a scoop to the waste basket. It wields a blue pencil—both theoretical and actual—on news stories, magazine articles, advertisements, and photographs. Censorship also enters the radio industry, where it may edit scripts and in some cases stop entire programs.

Yet even the most vociferous critics of the principle of censorship agree that in war-time some form and amount of censorship is a necessity. It then becomes not merely a curtailment of individual liberty, but a matter of national security. It is one of the many restrictions that must be imposed on people fighting for the right to throw off those restrictions when peace returns.