WTF is a Radical Librarian, Anyway?

So recently there have been a slew of anti-librarian legislation. Between library boards trying to remove the young adult designation or Louisiana’s HB 777 which would criminalize libraries or librarians who join the American Library Association with steep fines, jail time, or hard labor, it’s definitely a rough time to be a library worker.

But sometimes it’s the librarians who are doing the wrong things. In 2020 I wrote about the ways that various libraries were failing their employees and patrons. Whether it was inviting a known TERF to speak at the library (despite trans employees speaking out) or the downplaying of an actual Proud Boy in the library, library workers continue to uphold white supremacy in libraries.

Recently, an article came out about prison libraries. This article discussed the various ways this Texas women’s prison regulated and restricted the information the prisoners were allowed to access. And unfortunately one of the people restricting access to the prisoners was the librarian. Here is the full quote:

“People in solitary aren’t allowed to go to the prison library… we qualify for one book a week… the librarian always sends a Christian themed book.

In 2018, I asked her, “Why don’t you give me what I request?” She said, “I’m called to save your heathen soul.”

How Texas Prisons Regulate Women’s Knowledge Behind Bars—
Kwaneta Harris

As you can imagine, I was absolutely horrified when I read this. Librarianship is about the freedom to read, the freedom to choose materials that fit their needs and desires, and the freedom to privacy. It’s totally against our core values of librarianship of access and equity and privacy. It’s why we have a Library Bill of Rights. It’s why these stories about book banning and censorship are so horrible.

Most of the responses to the article and to the librarians words were repudiative and dismissive. That is to say the common response was “that person is not a real librarian.”

So, yes I was horrified. But was I surprised? No. Librarianship has a long history of trying to “civilize” the patrons that come into the library. Dewey hired women because he believed they would be a caring and civilizing influence. Women’s entry into public librarianship was only justified to the patriarchal authority by emphasizing how their femininity made them inherently fit to do the work. The abundance of white women in librarianship was not an accident, but done on purpose as they were considered germane for the moralizing missionary projects meant to “civilize”
early library users (Augst, 2001; Eddy, 2001; Garrison, 1979; Pawley, 2006;
Rubin, 2010). And Gina Schlesselman-Tarango‘s article “The Legacy of Lady Bountiful: White Women in the Library” discusses the archetype of Lady Bountiful and her role in librarianship as the “ideal woman/worker.” Lady Bountiful’s job/purpose was to reform others’ characters. And her ability to do so is directly attributed to her sex, and they thus carried a charge that was missionary in nature and emphasized “saving souls.” (Gerard, 1987). In fact part of the criteria for admittance into library school for white women was based on their personality, specifically their “breeding and background” as well as “the missionary spirit, cultural strength . . . gentleness, and sense of literary values” (Garrison, 1979).

And so you see, as much as we want to deny this Texan librarian as “not a real librarian” she is in many ways the quintessential librarian. She is only continuing the long line of (white) women who see their job as librarians as missionary work to save the souls of those they consider beneath them. And prisoners in most people’s perceptions are considered subhuman.

I don’t really have anything else to say except for please stop being shocked. POC have been telling you this forever. Trans people have been telling you this forever. Queer people have been telling you this forever. The disabled have you been telling you this forever. It is exhausting to see the disbelief and the repudiation. It’s exhausting to see the constant denial of a truth that we (should) all know— there is no one true librarian. There are plenty of librarians who are homophobic and transphobic and racist and sexist and ableist and so on. There are plenty of librarians who believe their job is to “civilize the rabble.” There are plenty of librarians who are also KKK members and Proud Boys. And not matter how much as we wish it wasn’t so these librarians will continue to exist. The foundation of librarianship has always been white supremacy. Librarianship is an institution, and all institutions are built according to hegemonic values which are inherently exclusionary to all populations considered “unworthy.” The sooner we as a field recognize that, the sooner we can actually start to make change. I’ve said this all already in my post “This is who we are” and I hope that I won’t have to make a 3rd post about this.

Works cited:

Augst, T. (2001). Introduction: American libraries and agencies of culture. American Studies, 42(3), 5–22.

Eddy, J. (2001). “We have become too tender-hearted”: The language of gender in the public library, 1880–1920. American Studies, 42(3), 155–172.

Garrison, D. (1972). The tender technicians: The feminization of public librarianship, 1876–1920. Journal of Social History, 6(2), 131–159.

Garrison, D. (1979). Apostles of culture: The public librarian and American society, 1876–1920. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

Gerard, J. (1987). Lady bountiful: Women of the landed classes and rural philanthropy.
Victorian Studies, 30(2), 183-210.

Pawley. (2006). Unequal legacies: Race and multiculturalism in the LIS curriculum. Library Quarterly, 76(2), 149–168.

Rubin, R. (2010). Foundations of library and information science. New York: Neal-Schuman.

Schlesselman-Tarango, Gina, “The Legacy of Lady Bountiful: White Women in the Library” (2016). Library Faculty Publications. 34.

*This post is unedited, so any mistakes are on me. Thanks for reading!

Happy New Year’s Eve everyone! Can you believe it’s about to be 2024? Honestly, I still think of the year as 2020 and 3 years later. I don’t think I’ll ever get over thinking of life in two halves-one before the start of the pandemic, and the one we live in now. In any case, as you can see by the title, I am finally fully “coming out” as disabled. Now some of you may already know I have sickle cell anemia. But for those who don’t, hello. Sickle cell is a hereditary blood disorder which causes, amongst other things, chronic pain, mobility issues, and fatigue. It also causes sickle cell “crises” where my red blood cells (which are shaped like sickles or bananas hence the name) get stuck in my capillaries and cause tissue and organ death to the surrounding areas due to the lack of oxygen which land me in the hospital.

Now, I’ve had sickle cell since birth and while most kids (62%) die before their 18th bday I’m still here! Huzzah! But sickle cell is not why I am now identifying as disabled…though it’s valid in and of itself! No. I am calling myself disabled because of a complication of the sickle cell…chronic kidney disease. Remember how I said that sickle cell crises cause tissue and organ death? Well, for me it has ruined my kidneys. And I’m at a point now where I am on dialysis while awaiting a new kidney.

It’s still very scary and vulnerable for me to say. I’ve been on dialysis/the transplant list for over a year now and it has taken me this long to finally accept that I am well and truly disabled. What you have to understand is that despite my sickle cell, I was still a fairly healthy and active person! Sure I had to take precautions but I could travel and conference and do what a lot of other people in their late 20s/early 30s could do!

But the addition of the kidney disease on top of my sickle cell has DRASTICALLY decreased my level of activity and ability. And it has been extremely difficult to accept my new normal.

I have tried to write this post at least thrice before to no avail so this is a big deal for me. There are tons of reasons why disabled people use the various words you might have heard and seen describing themselves…person with disability (PWD), disabled person, etc., and the politics of the community, like all communities, are complicated and myriad, but for me, I find using the D word helpful to kick my internalized ableism in the ass. It’s hard when you grow up a pastor’s kid (PK) – and your mom (the pastor) thinks that your disability can be “prayed away” – to remember that being disabled is not something that is going away. I think using the term chronic illness made it easier for me to pretend that I was “normal” for most of the time.

~sigh~

So. Why now? Why am I finally coming out now? Because I need your help with holding myself accountable. I’m an overachiever! It comes with being an immigrant’s kid— gotta make sure I’m doin all I can to justify my parents emigrating to a new country! And so it’s very hard for me to say no to things.

I know! The vocational awe scholar has trouble not doing too much! It’s a mess for sure. And so as we enter 2024, this post is a reminder to myself to do check-ins with myself and say:

1. yes, you are disabled
2. yes, it’s ok to be disabled
3. it’s ok to take care of yourself

And this post is also my permission to kick my tuckus if you see me doing too much! Slow and steady is the name of the game, and I would love if you all would join me in doing so! I’m turning 35 (!!!) this year, and I want to prove my first academic librarian supervisor who believed I would burnout of librarianship by 36 wrong.

It was already important for me to keep things slow and steady with the sickle cell, but if this year on dialysis has taught me anything it’s that willpower can only go so far. Your body will take the rest it needs if you don’t give it a chance to recover. So join me in 2024 in taking it slow and steady!

I have been trying to write this post for half a month now and it is incredibly difficult. In fact, writing in general, has been difficult lately. I still haven’t written my feelings about Library Journal’s Mover and Shakers announcements and how Library Journal has buried all the controversy about their transphobic actions in the hope that the field will move on. I haven’t written about my own experiences with book banning and censorship as a school librarian when parents brought highlighted sections of books that “proved” the book was pornography. I haven’t written about my own experience of coming out in an incredibly conservative African Christian family. All of these feelings float amorphously through my self-conscious…never coming into actual fruition and yet feeling necessary to expel.

-sigh-

Perhaps the problem is that everything that can be said has been said already. Or at least it feels that way. Will my experience of furtively checking out books about homosexuality and being incredibly grateful to all the library workers who affirmed me during this difficult time cause another library worker to keep Pride collections in their library? Should my story be a catalyst to fight for queer patrons? Or is it dismissive to the very valid threats to various library workers’ careers to do so? Is my continued condemnation of Library Journal and their incredibly cowardly transphobic acts important or does it take away from the very real life or death experiences our trans fellows are going through?

In today’s climate so many want to speak on things as if they have expertise. So few people actually stay in their lane and learn from others. I feel compelled to speak about how vital libraries were to my coming out process, but I also would never want to ignore the very real trauma library workers are going through during this era of hate groups and bomb threats and overall violence that are the Christian Nationalists and alt-right.

I don’t know. As I said all my thoughts and feelings are mostly amorphous and embryonic. All I know for sure is that Pride is incredibly important right now. Affirming and supporting queer folks is more vital than ever. We need all the support and allyship you can give.

p.s. Seattle Public Library you’re still the worst and Library Journal you’re the worst for standing by your decision to award them Library of the Year. How many Pride marches do you have to be kicked out of before you realize the error of your actions?

Can you believe it’s been over 3 years since the world shut down? March of 2020 feels like a lifetime ago! So much has happened since then! Some of it has been good, such as—

*massive BLM protests and conversations about institutions and their complicity in upholding white supremacy

*a wave of strikes and unionization that haven’t been seen in ages and the subsequent conversations about workers rights and their exploitation by said institutions/organizations

*in personal news, the start of my PhD journey at UIUC as well as signing my very first book to Seven Stories Press (out early 2024)!!!

However, a lot of it has been very bad. That doesn’t really need to be listed. But there have been very few days when the sun didn’t rise on yet more horror and trauma. Libraries are under attack from book censorship and banning; human rights are being stripped away like candy. And at least 3 wonderful Black women librarians whom I’ve known and loved have left this earth/gone to heaven. Not to mention that in more personal news, that my chronic kidney disease reached a point where I had to start dialysis, and am on the transplant list.*

So, yes, a lot has happened in these past three years. I say all this because some might wonder why it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. I’m still here! I am just taking things day by day.

COVID officially “ending” this month has prompted this bit of introspection, and so I wanted to say hello and check in. How are you? How are things going? COVID of course hasn’t ended for me, and seeing as even hospitals and medical offices are loosening their masking policies, it most likely never will. I can at least say that -knocks on wood- I have never gotten it, not even once, and I hope to continue that streak for as long as I can.

In any case, back to final projects I go! I hope that you all are hanging in there! It can be hard not to dwell on all the bad things going on in the world, and in libraryland. But, it’s important to remember to give yourself grace. We are all here on this beautiful planet, alive. That is something to celebrate! That is something in which we can all take pride.

I love you all. Happy National Library Week!

Fobazi

*I’m not quite ready to talk about this yet, but no my sister isn’t a match. And yes, I will make a post about how you can help me when the time is right.

I love conferences. Absolutely love them. And for better or worse, librarianship is full of them! Before I became a librarian, I had rarely traveled outside the northeast corridor/tri-state area. And now, because of libraries and conferences I’ve been all over the country! And I’ve met amazing people I can now call friends. There are people I will invite to my wedding that I would not have met without conferences. I say all this to impress upon you how important conferences are to me.

I can no longer go to them. Well not in person anyway. And honestly? Neither should you. I know that the narrative of COVID and disabled people focuses on those who are completely homebound and need full-time carers, but I had a busy and full life before COVID! While sickle cell meant that I had to be more careful in managing my pain level and activity, I was able to go out to restaurants and movies and theme parks! I had a ”normal” life. But the combination of sickle cell and COVID is deadly. And that is not hyperbole, it is a fact. And honestly, should I be permanently housebound in order to get sympathy?¹ Of course not. How quickly all the promises made to ”the vulnerable” at the beginning of COVID have been forgotten.

By continuing to go to conferences that are only in-person, you encourage more conferences that are only in-person. And that is exclusionary to so many different people! It excludes not only disabled and chronically ill library workers, but any and all library workers who have disabled people in their lives! Not to mention parents with children under 5 who don’t have access to a vaccine. I have yet to witness an in-person conference during the pandemic that has not become a super spreader event.

And so as 20,000+ library workers and vendors ready themselves to converge on DC, here are the 5 stages of grief that I’m going through.

Denial- There can’t really be an in-person Annual can there? ALA is one of, if not the biggest, professional organization in the US, and Annual always has at least 20K people attend! The smaller conferences I’ve seen have become super spreader events and that was with 1/10th of the amount of people attending! And yet…

Anger- Do we mean so little to y’all? Sure you say that it’s fine because you as a group have decided networking and seeing people is worth the potential sickness (even though 1 in 5² seems like way too high of a chance for me!), the conference workers and the hotel workers and all of the transportation staff do not have a choice in serving you while you travel from afar and pretend the pandemic is over. There is no world where thousands (tens of thousands!) of people can gather and no one gets COVID. None. And it’s so infuriating to know that now so many people have to choose between their career and their health. There is a library worker out there right now who is on a ticking time bomb regarding their health and bodily autonomy. In a short time, they won’t be able to get out of bed without oxygen or will be unable to recall the simplest things. Their life as they know it will end, all because they made a choice to attend an in-person conference! And we as a field are encouraging this! It’s infuriating!

Bargaining- Everyone is moving on. Maybe I am the one being silly? I might not be able to do ALA, but maybe I can do JCLC? It’s not as big of a conference. And there are more people there I miss and would like to see than at ALA. Maybe there will be a lull! God, if there could just be a lull, I could actually go out into the world without worrying. I would do about anything to be able to go to a conference. My disability means I haven’t even been in a store or restaurant in years, an in-person conference with real people sounds like a dream.

Depression- Lord, why do I even bother staying so safe when no one else bothers to do it? Will I ever be able to do fun things again without anxiety? Perhaps the only field that loves conferences more than libraries is academia, and I’m starting my PhD in the fall! What will my community be considering I can likely only go to virtual conferences and events? Especially if virtual conferences are few and far between compared to in-person events! When I see my friends at these conferences I know I will be sad and envious. The world is passing me by and there’s nothing I can do about it. And whenever disabled people talk about their needs we get shut down like we asked to kick someone’s dog in the face. It’s so hard not to feel despair.

Acceptance(???)– I have to remember my own scholarship and communities! An institution can never love you, especially with how intensely vocational awe underpins the culture. If and when people get sick, the likelihood of their institution supporting them is infinitesimal. And so while I might be sad in the short-term not going to these conferences and events in person, I can know for a fact that I won’t get COVID/Long COVID because of attending one. I have to remember that the truth is often hard to share, but that it’s always important to be heard. I know that I am mostly in a place to share this truth without retaliation, a blessing that other library workers might not have. For my fellow disabled library workers, I hope that this has given y’all some comfort and solidarity. You are not alone! I am here, with you. And for my able-bodied colleagues, I hope that you remember that we exist and that we matter, too.

1- Those who were housebound before and after COVID are a population even more erased and ignored, and their voices have a right to be heard in all of their complexity. And not just be cast as boogeymen or expendable.

2- Recent research shows 1 in every 5 people who get COVID will get Long-COVID.

Hello everyone. Long time no chat. I wish I could say this will be an eloquent post, but frankly I don’t have the spoons or bandwidth or whatever you would like to call it for eloquence. Please forgive me.

I am popping on here because I am seeing a worrying trend when it comes to conferences. Fewer and fewer conferences are virtual or at the least have virtual option. I had a not so great experience with one of the conferences I keynoted for recently. When they first contacted me for an in-person talk, the vaccine rollout had just started for essential workers and delta was just an airline and/or greek letter. And so when the time came closer, I assumed that it would be virtual. Or at the very least that I could speak virtually. Their response to my request was not only to shame me for my decision, but also to attempt to cut my honorarium in half. Their reasoning? That people really wanted to see me in person and that I’d be disappointing all those who came in person and that setting up the technology to broadcast me is an expense they didn’t foresee.

This is how vocational awe pushes people out of the field. Even as someone whose very talk was about acknowledging and breaking down the barriers that vocational awe inflicts on the field, my accommodations were treated as selfish and unfair.

And so it got me thinking about the larger issues surrounding the idea of being present. Librarianship has a really hard time with letting workers leave the building. In many of my presentations when I discuss the difference between occupation and vocation, I mention how as a pastor’s kid (shout out to my fellow PKs!) while you may physically leave the church building, church never really leaves you. Between Bible studies and retreats and vacation Bible school, you are always in church. And perhaps more important is the idea that showing up is 9/10ths of the work needed to show your faith.

And that same expectation of being present lives within librarianship. Physically showing up to the library every day is seen as paramount. In every single one of my library jobs it was incredibly difficult to get a reasonable accommodation that would allow me to work from home. At CSU Dominguez Hills the closest I could get was a compressed work schedule where I worked 9 hours a day to receive the second and fourth Friday ”off.” At Temple you were only allowed one WFH day a week, and that was if your supervisor allowed it. Ironically, it took a global pandemic to actually give me the accommodations I needed.

And now, as we are rushing back to “normal,” the ability to work from home is the first thing to go. Why is being physically in the library so important? When the pandemic started, the NJ governor instituted a 5pm curfew for all organizations that weren’t essential, and a 9pm curfew for those that were. Do you know what NJ libraries did? I’m sure you can guess. That’s right; they declared themselves essential and not only did they stay open, but in many cases -extended- their hours! It took another mandate stating that libraries, including those on college campuses, were not classified as essential workers and had to close. It took -multiple- ProPublica articles to force Chicago Public Library to close. All around the country the very idea that the buildings would be closed for an undetermined amount of time caused panic! Despite the common rhetoric that, ”Libraries are so much more than books!” there was a real crisis of faith amongst the field of librarianship.

And the pandemic demonstrated that the most important resource in libraries were the people. Library workers all over country did amazing work! They worked at home; they worked in coffee shops; they worked at the beach; they worked in different states; they worked in different countries! And the libraries continued to run.

So why? Why does this idea that being physically present in the library is the only correct way to do the work persist? Do you know what happens when being physically present is seen as a core part of librarianship? The same thing that happens with emphasizing and rewarding perfect attendance: the alienation and marginalization of those who can’t adhere to that standard. Library workers with disabilities, library workers with children, library workers who take care of family and/or have other responsibilities. Or library workers who just do better working from home! Not only that, but it encourages a workplace culture of overwork and flattens all reasons why one might not physically be in the building as frivolous. It pressures people to come into work sick. It pressures people into not using their vacation or personal days. It creates a culture where just showing up is more important than actually doing the work. At its extremes it leads to burnout and even death as seen with the situation with my mentor Latanya. All those times she and I dragged ourselves into the building so that we could be seen was energy wasted from doing actual work. All those months I spent working a 9/8 schedule and burning myself out just to have one day “off” was time I could have been more productive than I was. The energy it took convincing the conference organizers that presenting virtually wasn’t shameful could have been used doing literally anything else!

The thing about vocational awe is that it creates a rigid and harmful standard of library excellence. There are so many ways to be a successful librarian! Let’s deconstruct it and figure out what a new and healthier normal can be.

I had written a whole different kind of post to announce this. But this has been a hard week, especially for Black and Brown people. The world seems to be doing its best to stamp us out of existence through police brutality. Between that and Latanya’s death, I know that living life full of sincerity and joy is paramount. And that’s what I’m going to do. But wait. Let me back up and start from the beginning.

It has been almost 7 years since I stepped into Lincoln Middle School as a School Library Media Specialist. I had just graduated Rutgers with my MLIS and NJ school certification and I was excited to get into the field. While library school had already started to disillusion me with its racism and homophobia (more on that here), I was still so happy to be a librarian. And for the most part years later this hasn’t changed. I loved working with the middle schoolers. I loved teaching and doing displays and listening to the kids stories and I even liked grading at times! In another world I would be tenured at a school in NJ laughing at how much 13 year olds still love MCR (aka My Chemical Romance).

But, as I worked at the middle school, I saw pretty quickly that in order to best pursue the research I had started in grad school about intersectionality in librarianship (article here) that I would have to switch to academic librarianship. Even if I limited myself to just Midwinter and Annual, those conferences fell during awkward times in the K-12 school year. Not to mention the costs! I knew that academic librarians had more money and time to pursue research. And so, I switched to academic libraries. First as a Resident Librarian, and then afterward as a Undergraduate/Student Success librarian.

There are definitely things I love(d) about being an academic librarian, and especially one whose focus was the first year freshmen/undergrads. I got to use my school library background, I got to do outreach and social media, and programming. Best of all, I got to work with the student affairs folk. They are the best when it comes to student relations and so much fun! I would definitely recommend any librarian working in an outreach role to connect and collaborate with the student affairs folks in their various departments.

But the part that I’ve loved most is research. The act of researching and writing the Vocational Awe and Librarianship article was stressful but amazing. And the subsequent workshops and keynotes based on that research have been life-changing. It has been such an honor to speak with library and archival workers about vocational awe, labor practices, social justice, white supremacy, and so on. And as I get invited to more places to talk about my research and I think about the different ways that vocational awe fits into larger scholarly conversations, I’ve realized that this work is what brings me joy. I want to research. I want to write. And even the most lenient academic library job has a cap on that. Usually 20%. Only 1/5th of my week every week can be dedicated to that. And it’s not enough.

So, all this to say I’ve left Rutgers and don’t see myself working a regular academic library job for a while. Latanya taught me that life is way too short to waste it. I’m heading off to get my PhD! I will be joining the iSchool at the University of Illinois’ Urbana-Champaign. I’m excited to see how my scholarship expands and grows as I learn more. I can’t wait to focus on what truly makes me happy. I think that I can help libraries more through my research than through being a practitioner. It’s bittersweet because I never got to tell her, but I know she would have been so proud of me. And I know she’s jumpin for joy for me on the other side.

So yeah! That’s my update. Perhaps eventually I’ll end up back in a library, but for now I’m more than happy to start a new chapter in my life. #BlackJoy #BlackExcellence

p.s. If you want to reach me for speaking engagements feel free to email me at my personal email fobettarh@gmail.com. I have message forwarding for my Rutgers email but better safe than sorry!

This is a story about my friend and mentor Latanya Jenkins.

Now Temple Libraries has an absolutely barbaric medical absences policy. If you are absent more than 3 days within a 6 month period, you are subjected to a disciplinary meeting. These actions can ramp up from there to being fired(!!!). Latanya had cancer for years. And throughout her time at Temple, they would force her to come in. Come to work or get written up and eventually fired. She and I would discuss our respective methods of coping with such a draconian policy. We would laugh at our stories about sleeping in our offices. We would groan at the idea that being in the building was somehow more productive than working from home (telework was dependent on supervisors and limited to one day a week).

Throughout all of this pain, the expectation at work was that the library (and library work) was more important than everything else. Libraries after all, serve The People. Librarianship is a calling. You shouldn’t go into the field for money-only love! Meanwhile Anastasia and I were literally being called “the Black and Asian ones” and other horrible racist things. And the ableism was unimaginable. But after any chats with Latanya I would feel empowered and willing to try and change the world…or at least change librarianship.

Today I learned that she has died. And all I keep thinking is how Temple Libraries refused to let her take the time she needed to heal. How “the love of libraries” was used as a bludgeon against advocating for your own health and wellness. Not only was she unable to take sick days w/o being punished, but she, like so many of us disabled folk, couldn’t work from home. She had to come to work directly after chemo or risk losing her job and health insurance. All that wasted energy to drag oneself to work-and for what?

Latanya was an amazing woman and librarian. As one of the few Black librarians (at a primarily Black school btw) she served her community in ways her colleagues couldn’t. And librarianship bled her dry. She took the time she needed when she could but she had to fight for every bit. All I keep thinking is while Latanya lived life to the fullest despite the shenanigans, she shouldn’t have had to spend so much time going to work instead of resting. She shouldn’t have been made out to be a “bad librarian” just because she was sick.

The last message she sent me was on thanksgiving, reflecting on our friendship. I am so thankful to have had her friendship. She was a beautiful soul who spread light and love wherever she went. She was especially important to Black women in LIS. I mourn her today and I mourn that librarianship didn’t thank her for all she was by offering her the space to heal.

I love you Latanya. Rest In Peace. Rest in Power. And know that your life and your memory has and will continue to be a blessing to everyone.

That smell of books that people are so obsessed with is the smell of the book slowly molding. I think that’s a pretty good metaphor for what’s wrong with being obsessed with the materiality of books. And yet as library and archival workers we are supposed to love books. Despite the amount of work many in the field have put in to expand the idea of libraries beyond books and monographs, they are still the main character of the ensemble that is the institution of libraries.

And so why does this matter? Books are pretty cool! And it’s true, book are pretty cool. But they are, in most cases, not inherently sacred objects. They have a life cycle just like anything else. They are born, they live, and they die. And when books die, they get pulped and recycled and the cycle begins anew.

At least that’s how it should work. But the nostalgia tied to books means that it’s a battle for books to actually die peacefully. Whenever it’s time for books to get thrown out it becomes a huge kerfuffle. The picture of books in a dumpster, without fail, will go viral and it begins “how could a library throw out books????” Or something like this happens:

And the library worker is seen as some monster. And while the poster in this case isn’t a librarian look at the conversation that later takes place in regards to this situation:

The librarian and patron agree that this must not have been a real librarian that was helping them. A real librarian wouldn’t be so callous and understand the sacredness of a book. If books are seen as sacred objects they cannot be “misused” in any way. Their life cycle can never end because of fear. It’s the same fear that leads to people archiving everything rather than having holistic acquisition and disposal policies.

As we start to dismantle vocational awe in ourselves and advocate for healthier work-life separations it’s important to remember that the books themselves are just tools. They will always be important as a medium for information. The accessibility of books are unmatched; physical books don’t require technological devices like electricity and WiFi. But they’re not sacred objects. It’s not a requirement for a library or archival worker to be in love with physical books and monographs.

That’s the most important takeaway really-it’s not a requirement to be in love with physical books in order to be a good or even great librarian/archivist.