The List as the momentum of censorship

In March 2025, The New York Times published a list of nearly two hundred words that the US Federal Government was (and still is) attempting to suppress from scientific discourse. ^{Reference Yourish, Daniel, Datar, White and Gamio1} As we previously discussed in a BJPsych editorial by Malhi et al, terms such as ‘mental health’, ‘women’, ‘bias’ and ‘disability’ have been removed from funding proposals, research agency websites, etc. ^{Reference Malhi, Adlington, Al-Diwani, Ali, Arya and Baldwin2} The editorial defends the continued use of these terms, affirming the BJPsych Portfolio’s commitment to publishing rigorous, inclusive mental science that serves all populations.

In the present editorial, I choose to capitalise this list as ‘The List’ to highlight a form of institutionalised violence against politically targeted groups – commonly referred to as censorship. Drawing on historical and philological work, I argue that The List is not merely a bureaucratic artefact but a tool of ideological control that continues a long history of repression of marginalised populations. As with earlier instances depicted by historian Robert Darnton and philologist Viktor Klemperer, The List reshapes reality by narrowing the language through which it can be known and contested. ^{Reference Darnton3,Reference Klemperer4} Darnton’s comparative history of censorship – which gives this editorial its (adapted) title – examines three cases across different times and places: 18th-century France, 19th-century British India and 20th-century East Germany. ^{Reference Darnton3} He defines censorship as a process that is ‘fundamentally political and enforced by the state’. Furthermore, he argues that investigating censorship requires a methodological attention to the dynamic between censors and the censored. In doing so, he reveals the violence of the former against the latter – a violence that seeks, quite simply, to control them, if not to erase them altogether. The momentum embodied by The List might well be considered a fourth case for the 21st century.

Certainly, science has long been a target of censorship. This is not surprising: the very logic of scientific inquiry – based on questioning, doubting and demonstrating – acts as a counter-power to ideology. Across eras and cultures, scientific books have been burned in acts of repression. Now, in our digital age, where keywords and prompts serve as gateways to knowledge, censoring specific words might be seen as its modern adaptation. Targeting the language used in medical science, which is fundamental to shaping our understanding of health, well-being and life itself, reveals the calculated nature of this repressive strategy.

From censorship to self-censoring: a perverse mechanistic

The List does not openly prohibit scientific research – although one might argue otherwise, given that terms like ‘science-based’ and ‘evidence-based’ are themselves prohibited – but rather dictates how findings can be communicated. This tactic allows an administration to claim that it is not censoring science while subtly shaping discourse to align with its political agenda. Klemperer’s work shows us that this is precisely how authoritarian language control begins – not with an outright ban on knowledge, but with seemingly minor linguistic constraints that eventually reshape how knowledge is framed and understood. ^{Reference Klemperer4} Scientists are effectively amputated, not only from parts of their vocabulary but from entire research questions and fields of inquiry. To survive, they are encouraged to stay ‘voluntarily’ within the approved boundaries. Yet, by complying, they risk becoming complicit in a deeply perverse form of power – self-censorship. That is, to continue working, the censored must internalise the logic of censorship and in doing so become its most effective agents. Once again, Darnton offers crucial insight into the inner workings of this particularly insidious and effective form of control, drawing on the experiences of Solzhenitsyn, Kundera, Kiš and Manea. ^{Reference Darnton3} Manea did not regret the specific cuts he had ‘agreed’ to make in his novel The Black Envelope, but rather ‘the entire process of compromise and complicity’ that was required to produce texts acceptable to the censors. ^{Reference Manea5} Censors place censored in a position of constant negotiation – over meaning, interpretation and acceptability. Beyond confronting the censor, self-censorship becomes ‘a double that peers over your shoulder and interferes with the text, preventing the writer from making an ideological misstep. It is impossible to defeat this double/censor: it is like God, it knows and sees everything because it comes from your own brain, your own fears, your own nightmares’. ^{Reference Kis and Sontag6} Through the same mechanism of self-censoring, The List will place scientists in a quite paradoxical and perverse position because they are both targets of censorship and conduits for political violence aimed at rendering invisible the listed groups and individuals.

The politics of language: banning words or banning people?

The selective banning of words by The List exemplifies the violence of state power, which ultimately targets not just language but the ideas and people those words represent. It is important to note that this is not a new mechanism. Klemperer, who was a professor of philology in Germany in 1920, chronicled the gradual modification of language by the leaders of The National Socialist German Workers’ Party between 1919 and 1945. ^{Reference Klemperer4} The banning of words, their replacements and the creation of neologisms began years before they came to power, to instil a worldview that aligned with their political agenda. For instance, hyperbolising the regime’s acts, personifying the power or euphemising crimes were usual rhetorical processes. One striking example he gives is the positive revaluation of the word fanatisch (fanatic), which had previously carried a strongly negative connotation then became a celebrated virtue used to describe the ideal soldier’s unwavering devotion. ^{Reference Klemperer4} Similarly, blinder Gehorsam (blind obedience) was recast as an admirable quality, essential to loyalty and discipline. ^{Reference Klemperer4} Klemperer’s key argument is that linguistic control does not merely reflect authoritarian power, but actively constructs and enforces it. ^{Reference Klemperer4}

Furthermore, Klemperer demonstrates that linguistic norms did not merely support a repressive agenda – they were among the earliest tools deployed to discriminate against targeted populations and to prepare their systematic exclusion and persecution. ^{Reference Klemperer4} For people considered as German by the regime, first names from the Old Testament were simply banned and Christian names cast suspicion on their bearer, suggesting affiliation with the opposition. ^{Reference Klemperer4} On the contrary, people considered as Jewish by the regime, but who did not bear a clearly Hebrew name according to the regime standard, were required to add Israel or Sara to their name. ^{Reference Klemperer4} These mandatory names, much like the yellow star, made individuals easy targets for street and state hatred. ^{Reference Klemperer4} This mechanism also applied to notable names in science, such as the interdiction in physics to use the name ‘Einstein’ and the unit of frequency ‘hertz’ – after Heinrich Hertz. ^{Reference Klemperer4} The elimination of words was never arbitrary; it was meant to ultimately eliminate the people they represented.

The current political climate necessitates a rigorous distinction between censorship as a form of state-enforced political repression and other forms of language change that also involve the removal or replacement of terms. Efforts to reform language – such as the rejection of racist, sexist or transphobic terminology – are not acts of repression. On the contrary, they are often driven by the advocacy of those directly affected, aiming to reduce harm and promote dignity and rights. These changes rather reflect a democratic process of ethical reflection and social justice. Censorship, by contrast, is imposed from above to silence and control, often targeting specific groups for exclusion or erasure. Conflating these distinct phenomena risks obscuring both the political violence of censorship and the importance of addressing other forms of linguistic harm, such as insult and stigmatising language.

How can historical lessons shine light on The List’s momentum?

History warns us that linguistic censorship, even in seemingly minor forms, sets a dangerous precedent. The List clearly falls within Darnton’s definition of censorship as a form of political power enforced by the state. ^{Reference Darnton3} This is no longer a time for calls to vigilance – political agendas are already dictating scientific discourse to shape the society they envision. Klemperer invites us to recognise that it is the people listed who are the ultimate target – barely concealed by language – and warns against underestimating the insidious and performative power of words over their lives. ^{Reference Klemperer4} As warned by Darnton, ‘rejecting censorship as a crude repression exercised by ignorant bureaucrats is a misunderstanding. It is, in fact, generally a complex process that requires skill and training, extending deeply into the social order’. ^{Reference Darnton3} His ethnographic perspective on censorship portrays it as ‘a system of control that permeates institutions, colors, human relationships, and penetrates the hidden mechanisms of the soul’. ^{Reference Darnton3}

Resisting censorship

Engaging with the content of The List already means accepting its existence and, in doing so, playing into the logic of the censor. By creating lists – of books, journals or words – censors confine debate within their repressive framework. Such lists, by their very nature, invite classification, negotiation and ultimately hierarchies: who is included, who is excluded and of course who is permitted to speak. This can lead to perverse dynamics – for instance, individuals or groups named in The List may seek to distance themselves from it, even at the cost of disavowing others. We must make no concessions by debating what or who belongs within such as The List: this is a dangerous and slippery slope that accelerates the marginalisation of the most vulnerable. More importantly, negotiating its content distracts from the deeper scandal – the existence of The List itself. This is a deliberate tactic of the censors: to shift the centre of the discussion so far that the battle is already lost for the targeted groups.

In my view, science cannot operate under such a framework – there should be no list at all. The very idea of establishing censored word lists in science is an affront to intellectual freedom, which enables scientists to remain relatively independent from state ideology. Such impoverishment of language inevitably enforces ideological conformity. More broadly, we must reject the principle of censorship itself – as a linguistic form of political repression directed at the groups targeted by that ideology.

Klemperer believed that language could be both a tool of oppression and a means of resistance. In the context of The List, the scientific community has a responsibility to resist. This means continuing to (a) use accurate terminology to push the boundaries of knowledge; (b) create any new concepts and notions required to explore, explain, model and understand; and (c) openly discuss the implications of such censorship, in particular uncovering the repression against targeted groups. This is undoubtedly much easier to achieve in some parts of the world than in others, and those who are able to do so must act. Beyond the scientific community, the media and academia must call out these linguistic repression tools as they happen, rather than allowing them to become normalised. As Klemperer demonstrated, once authoritarian language becomes commonplace, it is much harder to challenge. People begin to think within the boundaries of permissible vocabulary, limiting their capacity for critical thought and resistance. The disappearance of a word makes the reality it once described (in this case, people’s health and life) difficult to articulate, explain, understand or advocate for.