At Bronzeville’s Semicolon Bookstore, a handwritten sign reads: “Banned Books Are Welcome Here.” Owner Danielle Mullen says the store has seen a 40% uptick in sales of titles under fire nationwide—books like The Bluest Eye, Stamped, and All Boys Aren’t Blue. “When someone tries to erase us, Chicago shows up,” she says. “And we read louder.”
The numbers back her up. According to the Chicago Public Library, requests for banned or challenged books jumped nearly 60% over the past year. CPL’s “Freedom to Read” campaign—launched in response to the national crackdown—has become one of the most successful outreach efforts in its history, drawing families, educators, and civic leaders to its events.
But here, it’s not just about policy—it’s about presence.
For Black professionals in Chicago—many of whom are parents, educators, community leaders, or simply people who remember what it meant to find themselves in a book—this issue cuts deep.
“Censorship is a luxury for people whose stories are never questioned,” says Mark H., a 49-year-old CPS principal on the West Side. “For the rest of us, it’s a warning shot.”
And it’s not just about novels. Many of the banned books focus on race, sexuality, and history—realities that shape Chicago’s neighborhoods and homes. Stripping those stories from libraries doesn’t just limit imagination. It narrows identity. It tells a generation of Black children that their lives, questions, and truths are too political to be on the page.
The ripple effects are already here. Some suburban school districts near Chicago have faced pressure to “review” curriculum materials, prompting quiet concern among teachers and administrators. Parents are forming informal reading circles to preserve access, and Black teachers across CPS are sharing banned books under the radar.
In response, local organizers are getting creative. Pop-up banned book fairs have appeared on the South Side, offering free copies of titles under attack. The Chicago Teachers Union is working with independent bookstores to get prohibited titles into classrooms—whether the state likes it or not. And Black-owned publishers like Haymarket Books are offering free eBooks of challenged works and partnering with local schools to lead discussions.
The fight is also legal. Illinois recently became the first state in the U.S. to pass legislation penalizing libraries that ban books—a bill co-sponsored by Black lawmakers who grew up understanding that literacy is survival. The law not only protects libraries from political censorship, but also signals that the right to read is non-negotiable.
But advocates say this is just the beginning. “The danger isn’t just what’s removed,” says Brittany Washington, a cultural historian and community archivist. “It’s what’s replaced. Sanitized versions of history. Textbooks with gaps where the truth should be. Curriculums that praise progress but ignore pain.”
In Chicago, resistance looks like a book bag with Assata and The 1619 Project tucked inside. It’s a father reading Between the World and Me to his teenage son on the Red Line. It’s a teacher assigning Beloved without waiting for permission. It’s a city choosing memory over myth.
This isn’t just about protecting stories. It’s about protecting power—our children’s, our community’s, and our future’s.
Because when the country bans books, Chicago doesn’t stay quiet. We pass them around.