Reflections on Are Libraries Neutral?Highlights from the 2018 Midwinter President’s Program9/21/2020 Friends, yesterday was a hard day. Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on Friday, potentially opening up the Supreme Court for another ultra-conservative appointment that could put the last nail in the coffin of a progressive, compassionate United States for some time. To complicate that mourning, a friend reminded me yesterday of Ginsburg’s troubling response to Colin Kaepernick’s “take a knee” protest and white gay men’s tendency to throw Blacks under the bus after their rights are advanced (she posted this article on Facebook, but this one might explain it better). “I got mine. Fuck you.” What a world. In this context, I’m trying to figure out this public library neutrality thing. The stakes are high and getting higher, and, as Rush said, “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” To end up reinforcing the status quo is not an option, for the status quo is a division and stratification where everyone, except white, Christian, straight, rich, cis-males, loses. The central questions that arise from this article, recording Jim Neal’s 2018 Midwinter President’s Program, include
The first question is answered best, I think, by R. David Lankes, director of University of South Carolina’s SLIS: “I have seen libraries organize brutal conversations on racism that have included the views of white supremacists, not to ensure neutrality, but to directly counter hateful ideas.” Include it all but take a stand as to which is right during library programs and events. This ensures neutrality in collection development (we collect the publications so that people have access to all sides, and thus all the information they need to refute the errant side) and justice (including letting marginalized people know that they are welcome in the library) at the same time. Am I being naïve? Is this a recipe for disaster? Certain questions would be easier to take a stand on than others, no doubt. But surely, white supremacy is a no-brainer. For now, I’m leaving it at that. We can pick it apart later. (“But,” you may say, “What about the white supremacists who are obviously not made welcome?” My initial thought is “Fuck ‘em.” But perhaps I will think more deeply about that and come back to it.) The second question involves both ethics and public relations, which naturally have an uneasy relationship in many instances. According to the ethics of our profession, we must market to everyone. (How can you say the right to read exists if they don’t know where to find the books?). (La Rue reminds us that we place limits on behavior and refuse to let anyone act in an abusive way in the library. Does this extend to obvious symbols of abuse—a swastika, for example—or to other expressions of beliefs that are inherently abusive, such as white supremacy? Including Nazi and white supremacist works in the collection might be valuable for reasons explained above, but allowing a real live adherent to these ideas to take up physical space in the library, prepared to enact or defend their chosen belief erects a reasonable barrier to access for the targets of their beliefs. Would we ask a Jewish person or African-American to simply “have courage” to face this potential danger? James La Rue, to be clear, does not endorse this idea; he states, “There has to be imminent and immediate physical danger.”) A problem arises, however, when we consider the practical matter of sending the message that we include everyone. The hypothetical case of the Black patron who decides not to share space with a Nazi has been explored. What about the working class white conservative patron who sees all of the liberal claptrap in today’s public library and decides that they are not welcome? I base this on an exchange reported by Kathleen de la Peña McCook, distinguished university professor at the University of South Florida, lifetime member of REFORMA, the National Association to Promote Library and Information Services to Latinos and the Spanish-Speaking, and 2016 recipient of the Elizabeth Martinez Lifetime Achievement Award, among other awards: The worker who came to my house to help me said, “You might not want me to come in. I am a deplorable.” And I said, “Why would you say that?” And he said, “Your kind of people”—I guess I had Hillary things up still—“don’t like me, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” The image of the library, with its LGBTQ Club and Black Lives Matter display, is what keeps this potential patron away. He (mistakenly?) thinks he is not welcome because the liberals have marked their territory. And we have, really. But our intention, I think, is not to repel people just because they identify as Trump voters. Is it? That clearly goes too far.
In her journal article “From the One-Mule Tenant Farmer to the Hillbilly Highway: How Librarians Can Support the White Working Class” (The Library Quarterly, 2017), McCook posits that library service to three groups, overwhelmingly white in composition, has dwindled over the past few decades. Reduction in focus on “union members, the drug-addicted working class, and veterans” has left behind large groups of working-class whites who would benefit from public library materials and programs. Embracing these three groups would go a long way toward fixing the library’s image problem with white working class conservatives without reducing services to (other?) marginalized groups. Other members of the panel expressed other ideas and weaved other eloquent phrases. It’s definitely worth checking out. But my time has run out, so I must away.
0 Comments
Two stories about me:
Story #1. When I was a Libertarian (in my 30s, living in Chicago and working for a libertarian organization that opposed taxation), I had a discussion with my sister—a lesbian who is very much on the left—about the right to exclude people from a private event. I described to her a hypothetical wedding between her and her partner and asked if she would like to exercise the right to keep right-wing, fundamentalist Christian bigots away from the event. She agreed that that would be nice. Extending the right of private entities to guard the safety and comfort of their most vulnerable guests, the environmental integrity of their land, and the free expressions of all their people lay at the heart of my beliefs. I did not trust the government to do these things, and I thought making it possible for the private sector was the solution. Story #2. When I began my journey proper toward librarianship, after losing faith in the private sector, I came across an issue of The Trumpet, a fairly extreme right-wing Christian magazine. (I imagine it is distributed free of charge to public libraries across the country whether they want it or not.) It was suggested to me that I should use my own discretion to decide the fate of that magazine. I could place it on the magazine rack, I could throw it away. I chose to place it on the very bottom of the pile of free publications on the end table in the reading area. This, I know, would be censorship according to the ALA’s definition just as surely as if I put it in the garbage. The truth is, I didn’t want to encourage the beliefs expressed in the magazine so I, as a government employee, chose to suppress it. This wasn’t the right thing to do, but given the chance, I’m not sure I wouldn’t make the same choice today. It is conceivable that this makes me a bad librarian. Even though I now tend to believe in government intervention to secure and protect an enlightened society where all are treated equitably and with compassion, there are many instances that cause me to question the logical consistency of my position. My immediate reaction to white supremacists, for example, is not inclusion and compassion. Is exclusion sometimes necessary to create the kind of society we want? Who gets to decide just what that society looks like? What happens to the excluded? (Do they explode, like the “dream deferred,” causing chaos and strife in the very society that excluded them?) Nathan Rinne * is that rarest of creatures these days, a conservative librarian. I do not agree with his premise that a successful free society is only possible in a West steeped in “the heritage of Christian tolerance” (“Against the Library …” footnote 10). Christianity has exhibited more intolerance than tolerance in its 2,000-year career. Tolerance in the West, I speculate, comes more from the agnostic and Unitarian corners of society. In addition to Christian supremacy, Rinne’s arguments rest on the notion that facts matter very little in contemporary arguments. I find it difficult to argue with this. You can’t observe the rabid debates on Facebook these days without running into this brick wall: “rational arguments are always nothing more than rationalizations which follow innate and tribal impulses. … For the most part, we stick to our group and follow charismatic and confident persons, fads and flows” (“Should offensive books …” par. 11) The facts matter less than the source, and the source is evaluated based on whether their words and sometimes actions correspond to what we have already decided is right. Go ahead, try to convince me otherwise. At any rate, my focus is elsewhere at the moment. Back to the issue. Rinne’s thoughts on collection development in “Should offensive books be removed from your library’s collection?” and “Against the Library Bill of Rights” spark the old debates in my head. His commentary mainly pertains to private or religious libraries, but he also seems to support extending his ideas to public libraries. Should a librarian exclude certain points of view from the collection in order to influence the beliefs and behaviors of the patrons? Or, if you prefer, in order to create an enlightened society? This was, after all, the original impetus behind the public library movement. (See this link, referenced by Rinne.) According to Rinne, it is human nature to do so and perfectly acceptable: “it is inevitable that ‘public executions’ (i.e. shunning, stigma, shaming) happen to those deemed worthy of them, and any books representing their views share a similar fate” (“Against the Library …” par. 8). What deserves these “public executions”? Rinne says that librarians in practice “do not include certain topics in their collection … because they do not wish, in general, to have particular viewpoints which they find immature, offensive, irrelevant, irrational, or threatening represented in their collection.” The examples he provides are generally extreme, but they make the point. Even liberals who purport to value non-Western cultures stop short of giving equal time and space to cultures that practice what nearly all of us (Americans) see as abhorrent. No library, for example would include a book making the case for pedophilia or human sacrifice, would they? (Is this point academic? Would no publisher make them available?) So where is the line, and who draws it? There is a substantial history of public library inclusion of “pornographic” materials, such as Fifty Shades of Grey; law-breaking manuals, such as The Anarchist Cookbook; racist books, such as The Turner Diaries. These types of materials remain controversial and all seem to make Rinne’s list of the excludable. Not every librarian seeks to add them. Should they? The answer seems less and less clear these days, as liberal librarians adopt exclusion in the name of equity. To make of the library a safe space for marginalized community members, we first rescind the invitations to white supremacist groups and anti-LGBTQ groups to use space. Next, we take out materials that reinforce racist or homophobic views; next, those by racist or homophobic authors. Take a look at T.J. Lamanna’s “Dispositif: Or Subjectivity and Neutrality in Libraries.” And then, ask these three (or so) questions:
The latter two (or three) are the stickiest, although there is plenty of disagreement about the first. Within the library profession, a clear majority favors a world that recognizes a responsibility in the white community to step aside and strive consciously to improve the situation of African-Americans, immigrants, the Latinx community, the LGBT community, etc., under the direction and guidance of those communities. Resources are finite, so as a practical matter, this means a devaluation of the Western canon, some degree of exclusion of many conservative viewpoints, and a necessary decrease in the number of white people on library staffs. Assuming the majority vote carries the day, the first question is already decided. Now, about those other two. I am still forming my opinion, which is the purpose of my project, reading and reflecting on these articles. I can be down with imposing criteria that say, “This far, and no farther” to the conservatives. If they want to argue that Black Lives Matter is a terrorist organization, say, or that Kyle Rittenhouse is a hero, there are potentially ways of doing that without necessarily explicitly denying the humanity of Black people. (Implicitly, it’s a different story, and so the liberals will win those debates.) But if you want to defend the KKK or the Neo-Nazis, no. Just spitballing. The issue gets me dizzy at this point. Is Mein Kampf available in an edition that clearly voices disapproval of Hitler? And where to draw the line? Maybe it’s because I’m a white cis-male of middle-class extraction, but I don’t want to get rid of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or To Kill a Mockingbird, even though they are problematic, and I can understand why they would make for an uncomfortable experience for an African-American reader. I don’t want to throw away Ernest Hemingway or Dr. Seuss because of their personal flaws. I don’t want to jettison J.K. Rowling because of an anti-trans tweet or Alexie Sherman because of a pattern of sexual harassment. I don’t want to exclude the works of the Black Power or Black Arts movements due to their misogyny and homophobia. Imagine a library completely purged of the works of anyone whose personality or history includes something reprehensible, how small and truly undiverse it would be. This is not the world I want to create. Some might say this is a straw-man argument, and perhaps it is. But the rhetoric on both of the far sides of the political aisle makes me anxious. I’ll give you this: librarians are not neutral, nor should they be. However, we must live and work in a human world that is necessarily complex and messy. At some point, safety and comfort must give way to challenge and character-building. (I can see where “challenge” and “character-building” favor those in power, however, like boot-strapping. Perhaps resilience is a better word. At any rate, we need to negotiate the particulars.) I must believe that we can empower marginalized people without destroying the quality of the library collection. I must believe we can figure this out, together. Reflections on GARE's Advancing racial equity in public libraries: Case studies from the field9/14/2020 “It takes political will, intellectual energy, and practical skill, first, to recognize the racist legacies of LIS structures ... and, then, to devise ways to transform them.” (Christine Pawley, “Unequal legacies: Race and multiculturalism in the LIS curriculum,” Library Quarterly, 2006) The document Advancing racial equity in public libraries: Case studies from the field from the Government Alliance on Race and Equity is thick with jargon and initially sets off my alarms for corporate masturbation. Like “sensitivity training” for police, would this be another elaborate but ineffective exercise that looks good on paper but never gets outside of the training room? Thankfully, the report delivers multiple examples of the plan carried into action by a handful of public libraries, proving its point that “change can happen quickly when it becomes an institutional priority.”
On a practical and measurable level, GARE defines racial equity as “When race can no longer be used to predict life outcomes and life outcomes for all groups are improved.” Ultimately, the goal according to PolicyLink’s “Equity Manifesto” is “just and fair inclusion into a society in which all, including all racial and ethnic groups, can participate, prosper and reach their full potential.” GARE takes this rather lofty and utopian goal and addresses it with a six-step plan designed to tackle every aspect of the issue. Under the rubrics of “Normalize” and “Organize,” the GARE plan first calls for gathering support among the leadership, then moving out into the staff and other stakeholders and into the community itself. It then “Operationalizes” by using established tools to measure problems and devise solutions in a “Racial Equity Plan.” The advantage of this elaborate plan is its involvement of people of color at all levels in leadership positions. Libraries have long been dominated by well-meaning white folks who have assumed that they know what communities of color need without having to consult them. That library staffs are so overwhelmingly white does not help the situation. Past problems associated with this unbalance include segregation; “neglect[;] paternalism[;] … tacit approval of prevailing norms[;]” “adding scattered voices from communities of color without a meaningful shift in power, representation or authority[;]” and multicultural initiatives that “merely celebrate[] differences as exotic” (Lorna Peterson quoted in Honma, 2005) and are “usually focused on creating more tolerant individuals rather than more equitable institutions.” As April Hathcock says, this was (and is) “a self-congratulatory and complacent approach to the ‘problem of diversity’ without ever overtly naming and addressing the issue of whiteness” (2015). Frankly, we white people are naturally incapable of seeing the problems without assistance. Our privilege blocks us from the realities that people of color live with on a daily basis. We need to take our direction from people of color who have a clearer view. At the same time, we need to own the “issue of whiteness.” Racism is a problem, but it’s not “their problem”—it’s ours. We can’t see it because we have been immersed in it for our entire lives. By “ensuring people of color are leading the work and involved in planning early and often,” we gain access to that valuable outside perspective and are given an opportunity to make real changes. But what matters are the results, not the rhetoric. It is essential to point out that none of these solutions are in the form of a quota system. Each one addresses a disparity that affects communities of color more so than white communities, therefore improving racial equity without erecting artificial barriers for white patrons. This should legitimately take all the wind out of the sails of whatever opposition might arise. Here are just a few of the important changes that the GARE plan has been able to achieve: Fines and Other Access Barriers
Programming
Computer Access
Hiring and Workplace Culture
The GARE plan appears to be extraordinarily successful in helping libraries to reach their racial equity goals. Old solutions have failed for too long. Widespread adoption of the GARE plan would lead to giant steps in the right direction. The ALA Annual Conference 2017 was a big deal. Hillary Rodham Clinton was the closing speaker, just about a year after her loss to Donald Trump. In a speech surprisingly devoid of political rancor, Clinton praised librarians, saying, “The work you do is at the heart of an open, inclusive, diverse society.” The stark reality is that to do this work properly, librarians must take sides.
Traditionally, mythically, public libraries have held on to a “neutral” stance, providing a place equally for all voices in the community. The argument gaining in popularity now is that neutral stances encourage the status quo, perpetuating the marginal status of marginalized groups. Librarians’ focus, according to this stance, should emphasize equity, not equality, helping marginalized people overcome barriers specific to them in order to bring about equality of the outcomes of service. Do I have that right? Sendaula’s article reports on an ALAAC 2017 panel discussion on public library neutrality, kicked off by librarian Cory Eckert. Speaking from her experience working with the Navajo community in New Mexico at the Octavia Fellin Public Library, Eckert recommends reaching out to all parts of the community and in languages other than English where needed. Kendra Jones, District Manager for Youth & Family Services at Timberland Regional Library in Washington talks about kicking Santa Clause to the curb along with all other holiday programming. Karen Jensen, creator of the Teen Librarian Toolbox, discusses her controversial Black Lives Matter display in her “conservative, mostly white town.” Debbie Reese focuses on her work with American Indians in Children’s Literature and the importance of serving the often invisible native members of the community. Jessica Anne Bratt of the Grand Rapids Public Library, just a bit north of me, advocates pointing out racial differences during story time to model inclusion. Nicole Cooke, of the University of Illinois’s School of Information Sciences, describes the activities of the Ferguson Public Library in the wake of Mike Brown’s death. The panel’s twin themes are creating safety and normalizing radical action. Eckert says that social justice work is “what we've always been doing” and so not radical. While I’m sure public libraries were not working for social justice when they were segregated or when the professional practice of censorship was widespread (see, for example, these articles on public libraries in St. Louis and Chicago early in the 20th century), public libraries have for a long time now strived for equitable service to marginalized people. I’m guessing Eckert means to reference this period, roughly since the late 1960s. She recommends reading a blog by April Hathcock called At the Intersection. I read a few posts on this blog about the attitude privileged white folks need to adopt to be effective allies to marginalized groups in the fight against racism. It is eye-opening and a little anxiety-provoking and, yes, radical. I get that “not radical” is a necessary selling point for the majority of timid, mainstream Americans, who did not sign up for a fight when they applied to library school. But this kind of bold rearrangement of the power structure is radical, and radical change is necessary to correct an entrenched systemic racism that comes from hundreds of years of oppression. As Eckert herself said at another point in the discussion, “We don't live in an America where it's safe for people to speak out.” When the country is this far gone, any effective remedy must be radical. Neutrality dictates that library resources be available to everyone equally: no special treatment. It endorses the mainstream inclusion strategies of pretending race doesn’t exist and hoping silent representation of our very real multicultural society is enough to encourage tolerance. These strategies send the message, “Everyone is equal. All Lives Matter. No need to rock the boat.” Like the millions of Americans who claim to be “post-racist” and “colorblind,” these strategies are designed to reinforce the status quo, and the status quo defaults to the historical power structure. What could be more radical in a “post-racist” American than to say with Bratt, “It's okay to be different. Don't ignore it”? Celebrating difference is so far outside the norm in this country, it is bound to make some people (read: straight, Christian, middle- and upper-class white people) uncomfortable. Despite what Eckert says, advertising in languages other than English and to an audience formerly neglected by the library may be viewed by some taxpayers as subversive, radical. When Jensen says, “My job is to create a library where people feel safe,” she is not talking about the conservative white folks in her little town whom one can predict might be frightened at the prospect of the terrorist organization (according to Trump and his followers) Black Lives Matter invading their community. Reese points out that colonialism is not neutral, suggesting that librarians who do not go the extra mile to make sure Native American patrons have the resources they need and literature that reflects them reiterate the aggressive and destructive actions whites have advanced toward the indigenous at least since the 15th century. How is upending hundreds of years of white European cultural and political supremacy not radical? I get the marketing angle, but I think more realism is in order. Perhaps less effort should be spent trying to comfort people that this is just business as usual and more put into preparing librarians for a fight. Communication and legal strategies, resolving ethical quandaries, taking care of one’s own mental health and that of one’s patrons during an extraordinarily demanding and draining period in history: these deserve and need the time and energy currently diverted to the ultimately futile and counterproductive campaign to play down the radical nature of the changes we are undergoing. Obviously, we have to convince taxpayers to continue funding libraries, but there must be more honest and effective strategies than pandering to the majority’s need for comfort. After all, as Cooke says, “People might have to be uncomfortable; that's part of the process.” |
AuthorJeffrey Babbitt, MLIS, is a graduate of the School of Library and Information Science at Wayne State University who is pursuing a career as a librarian in Michigan. Subject Headings
All
Inter- Library Loan004.02020025.431027.62090813.009Archives
June 2021
|