Bans are blunt, crude weapons. Banning something is like trying to stem bloodloss with a chainsaw. It’s not that you’re not helping; it’s that you’re making things worse on yourself. Because information, like life, finds a way. And as much as that may sound like the war-cry of a revolution, it isn’t. In 2015, it’s just fact. Whether it’s the Snowden files, or a shaky camera phone video of an ex-serviceman being beaten up by cops in Bangalore, or a documentary you don’t want people to see. Information just finds a way.

When you ban something, you’re not proving that you don’t understand the power of freedom of expression, or the right to contrary positions, or the ethical implications of suppressing voices. That stuff is almost secondary. You’re proving something worse; you’re proving that you aren’t aware of the fundamentals of space-time. You’re proving you don’t know what year it is. You’re proving that you don’t understand that people figured out a long time ago that information is entirely too important to be subject to the whims and principles (I use the word loosely) of governments and power structures. Every single development in the history of information, from the Gutenberg press to the Internet has by accident or design, worked to wrest narratives out of institutional hands. Can’t say it on TV? Someone will write a book. Can’t buy the book? Someone will make a movie. Can’t say it in a movie? Someone will put it on the internet, which is where things really become fun.