There are things we learn not to say long before we understand why.
I remember moments when words would come to mind clearly, but wouldn’t move beyond that to be written or spoken. As if something inside me had already edited them. Not out of choice, but out of habit, rooted in somewhere deep, that not everything could be said safely.
Censorship is often considered external, imposed by systems of power. But what about self-censorship? As if we shape our inner thoughts in response to external experiences. Censorship teaches us to filter and modify our thoughts before they are even spoken.
In my autobiographical play, Echoes of My Silence, I found myself returning to the moment where something should have been said, but wasn’t. Through memory, I confront the silence that has shaped my understanding of gender, power, and even my sense of self. While creating the play, I noticed that I was still debating with myself: How much can I reveal? How directly can I speak? What must remain implied?
The work engages with experiences that are often pushed into silence, such as sexual assault, and the patriarchal beliefs instilled at a young age. These are not only personal histories, but also examples of how censorship can be internalized, how entire narratives are muted before they are ever fully formed. Silence, in this sense, becomes a learned condition.
Silence, I realized, is not a void. It carries the weight of what cannot be expressed, and over time, it begins to shape the way we tell our stories. It teaches us to speak in fragments, in metaphors, or sometimes not at all.
Self-censorship not only erases, but it transforms. It rewrites the expression before it reaches the surface.
And yet, something resists.
Even within limitations, there is a persistent impulse to express, to give form to what has been held back. In Echoes of My Silence, that resistance is being expressed in words, and also as presence in pauses, in repetition, and in the tension between what is shown and what is withheld.
To create, then, is not only to express, but to reclaim. To make visible the traces of what was silenced.
Because what cannot be spoken does not disappear.
It echoes.
Editor's Note: Azadeh Kangarani , the contributor of this thought piece on censorship, is currently performing her autobiographical theatrical work Echoes of My Silence as part of the 2026 NYC Fringe Festival.
Read a preview of Azadeh Kangarani's 2026 NYC Fringe Performance with performance dates here.
