2015 NJLA Conference Recap

Once more, the NJLA conference has returned to the seaside town of Long Branch, a stone’s throw away from Springsteen’s fabled land of Asbury Park. There had been a short three year break when the conference was held on the now-closed Revel casino in Atlantic City, a juxtaposition of a city in economic decline hosting a profession fighting off the perception of obsolescence. This place is where I attended my first conference either six or seven years ago, so it feels good to be back.

While librarians make up the majority of those staying at the hotel this week, this place is also a vacation destination for Hasidic Jews. The lobby is a mix of cardigans and yarmulkes, men in large black hats passing by women in short colorful skirts and dresses, a cultural mixing of the religious demure with the professionally conservative. On the first night of the full conference, there could only be what I can imagine is Hasidic speed dating as young men and women chatted in pairs all over the lobby while sitting or walking an appropriate distance apart. It was a far cry from the not-completely- sober exuberance of previous night’s librarian fashion walk-off, featuring peers going  for the most “librariany” to full on costumes before retiring upstairs for room drinking and socializing. (We know how to have a good time here in NJ, a statement I will put up against any other state conference.)

I mention the other hotel guests here because it seems to me that we have a middle ground: we are both groups in the midst of a rapidly changing changing society. I won’t say that we are necessarily aligned in our desired outcomes (keeping the Hasidic traditions versus trying to meet the evolving needs of our patron base), but it’s hard for me not to see the similar struggles. How do we honor the values and traditions of the librarian profession, but meet the needs and expectations of the modern world? A simple question, yet a nebulous convoluted (and contextual) answer. And yet, here we are locked into this constant question.

I was a panelist for a session entitled “Conversation Starter: Professionalism on the Edge”. The room was packed, both a testament to the interest in the issue as well as how the smaller conference rooms couldn’t handle our overall numbers. Together with my fellow panelists, we tackled questions such as handling negative coworkers, “doing more with less”, dress codes, and posting on social media. The last two are the most notable to me because they got the most discussion. There is a delicate balance between formality and approachability, the use of dress codes as a mechanism of oppression for people of color or minorities, and “looking the part” to combat de-professionalism. (Very good question/statement from the audience: “What is women’s business casual? Because we don’t know what that means either.”) From my vantage point, it really depends on, well, everything: the community, your role at the library, what image you are trying to project, and figuring out the fine line between looking the part of an information authority expert and exhibiting your own personal flair. It raises an interesting question: at what point can your appearance be too intimidating for some people approach you but how much dressing down can you do before people stop taking you seriously?

The second and more contentious discussion revolved around posting complaints about patrons on social media. The short, immediate answer is simple: don’t. It is certainly the most HR friendly, the least problematic answer but to me it feels vastly incomplete. It feels like the abstinence education version of an answer: don’t do it because if you do you will get pregnant because condoms fail and you will ruin your lives forever guaranteed. It doesn’t accurately reflect the social reality that has been developing online in the last twenty years.

I can agree that no librarian should complain about a patron in a public forum (and certainly not using specifics such as names or places), but there are now many layers to the social media world. Secret Facebook groups, anonymous blogging sites such as Tumblr and LiveJournal, and other identity detached social media platforms exist where librarians can vent about patrons without having their names next to their posts. Yes, the ideal advice is to not do it, but the pragmatic advice is that if you do, be sure to bury it so deep that no one can find it or do it within a trusted group. Because, like it or not, the new reality of online socializing is here and in case you haven’t noticed, complaining is part of that social fabric. So take the steps necessary to protect your career and vent away if that’s what you need to do because bottling it up is not the path to happiness.

In his keynote, Jason Griffey delivered on what he promised early on in his talk: that everyone in attendance would leave mad about something. He spoke about library vendors (not getting products that actually meet our needs), library technology (unable to match user experiences in the rest of the world), and librarians themselves (not investing in the fields and technologies that are important to us). It was not a “rah rah library”, but a subtle and well meaning “you guys need to get your shit together” kick in the ass that should have left everyone unsettled in one way or another. Technology is transitional and temporary, but failing to provide for our patrons in their basic needs as well as evolving societal information expectations is a damaging stain on our purpose and character. Status quo should be replaced with status queued: taking the steps to meet the next change.

As always, some of the best times were in the spaces between: the conversations in the hallway, the meals shared with others, the small group of people sitting around the hotel room with a drink in hand carrying on about one thing or another. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a good conference, one in which I left feeling renewed in one shape or another. This was a good reminder about how a conference can work in rekindling the passion and rejuvenating the soul. It has done this for me as I stand on the eve of fatherhood and all the joys (and poop) that entails that next stage of life. Hopefully, perhaps, maybe, it will help with that transition as well.

I look forward to next year. In the meantime, keep climbing.

Community, Inclusiveness, and Offensive Materials

When you look at this image, what do you see?

This is the (current) official graphic for 2015 Banned Books Week. If the ALA Think Tank thread is any indication, there are many ways to interpret this image. The image is the unlikely love child between a book and Do Not Enter sign, punctuated with an unwieldy portmanteau that took me a couple attempts for my eyes to read through (or understandification). Some see a reference to a niqab, some find it personally offensive, some find it offensive on the behalf of others, and still others, well, don’t come to any of these conclusions. And I’m not going to share what I think about it and/or what should be done (or not done) about it because I feel there is something more fundamental being expressed here.

What I find most interesting and compelling about this image and the discussion around it is that it represents an example of one of the central paradoxes of the profession: offensive material and the community.

On the one hand, taking the position that this image is offensive and it would deter people from using the library, then it should not be used. Libraries strive to represent the entire community and anything that harms that mission should be avoided. This includes minority populations (eg. Muslims, Hispanics, gays) that otherwise may not have a voice or resource for their needs. What matters here is the outside perception of the image; since it is offensive (or the potential to offend), then it is not to the benefit of the library to use it. (Whether you purchase it is another question, but from my understanding the almighty dollar works wonders for modifying organizational behavior.)

On the other hand, the library is a refuge for materials that some people find offensive. It is a well storied and proclaimed history of how the library is a place for the inclusion of all ideas, including the vulgar, profane, and downright despicable. (Although, to be fair, this is a relatively new development in the history of the library of the last half century or so.) It is reinforced by the Library Bill of Rights, outlined in the first four statements. The Jo Godwin quote (“A truly great library contains something in it to offend everyone”) gets trotted out as a affirmation of the professional commitment to intellectual freedom and diversity of ideas. Under that reasoning, then the poster should stay.

Author’s note: On a third hand, if an individual doesn’t find the image to be offensive, then the question shifts to ‘what is it trying to convey?’ As noted elsewhere, the model is on the side with the words, even if a giant hole has been cut out of the middle. Saying that banning books is bad is a very uncontroversial statement because you’d be hard pressed to find someone to agree with; even the people presenting material challenges are doing it for what they see are noble reasons. Even as a librarian, I’m left thinking, “…so?” Also, based on some other products in the ALA store, this appears to be an image in which librarians are encouraged to put themselves behind the book so this model is just an stand-in.

I’ll concede that this poster is publicity material, not something that people would find in their collections. A library can have a perfectly successful Banned Books Week without it, so this isn’t a “do or die” situation for any institution.

But I have questions, ones to which I feel that astute people can give thoughtful answers to:

• If you find this poster to be offensive, then should this preclude any Islamophobic materials from a library’s collection? What about other material that has offensive content about minority groups? What is collectable and what is contemptible?
• If you find this poster not to be offensive, what is your plan for explaining it to a community member with a complaint? How will you  keep the poster and the patron, especially if they threaten take it to the library board/town council/local newspaper?
• What is the tipping point between inclusiveness of community and inclusiveness of ideas? Which is more important: making sure that every person is represented (no matter who they are) or every idea is represented (no matter what it is)?
• If ALA OIF were to take down the image from the ALA store, how would it damage their credibility when addressing censorship situations and issues? (That is, in acknowledging it as offensive and removing it, what maneuvering room would they (and by extension, ALA) be left with in telling communities not to filter computers or remove library materials because of offensive content?)

The closest thing I have to a conclusion is that I feel this is an effective illustration about the complexity of the issue of community, inclusiveness, and offensive material. As much as the profession tries to deny it, there is a choice that happens: people or ideas. Or, more precisely:

• the larger the community, the greater pool of cultural and spiritual beliefs with notions of what is offensive; or
• the widest ranging spectrum of ideas, the more likely to personally offend members of a community.

I don’t know if I can muster a answer other than “it depends”. The individual context of the library has a strong position in this dilemma, the deciding vote in coming to any decision. I’ll be pondering this for awhile.

Fatherhood, Libraryland, and Other Incomplete Thoughts

I managed to make it through the whole month of March without noting that it was the six year anniversary of this blog. Well, without publically noting, like I am doing right now. It’s a bit of a wild ride down memory lane to look at those blog posts in hindsight; the different styles of blogging that I was trying, the speed and sheer volume of blog posts I posted at the time, and the development of many professional and personal issues in those short years.

When I started writing here, I had only been a employed librarian for eighteen months, married to my first wife, and living in my grandmother’s house after she had passed. Now, I am the head of reference in my hometown (where I am also a resident), married to my second wife, and awaiting the arrival of our first child. The intervening years have seen awards, accolades, missteps, and recoveries, personally accepted as natural ups and downs within the rhythm of life.

In taking personal inventory, it’s undeniable that library, librarians, and library issues have been downgraded as a priority in my life. It’s not that they aren’t important, but they no longer take precedence over other aspects of my life. I can’t tell if this is simply a product of different life priorities, the change in the online librarian world, the history and experience of the past few years, or a combination of everything. I’m blinded by the bias of being in the center of my own personal world, making all measurements as they relate to myself. So I can just try to speak as plainly as possible and muddle through all of the things going through my head.

Fatherhood, so far, has been exciting. Yes, an astute observer may note that I am not the one carrying the child, a biology impossibility that was determined a long time ago by evolution. But, for me, the sentimental emotions I have been experiencing towards this tiny unborn person are ones that I haven’t had in a very long time. I feel hopeful without the looming specter of depression, excited without antagonizing my anxiety, and just (for lack of a better expression) a more complete person. I don’t lay awake at night anymore, pondering my mortality in the company of philosophical demons prodding me with insecurity. It’s a peace of mind that I have not had in a very long time.

I wouldn’t say that I don’t have concerns and fears, but I feel like I have some perspective on them. It’s hard to torment oneself with questions like “what kind of man will he become?” when the most immediate developmental benchmark will be when he is able to hold up his own head. I can worry about the former, but the latter is the more pressing concern. I can’t let myself get drawn into questions that are much further down the path when (a) the present requires more of my immediate attention and (b) there is an entire lifelong journey towards that overarching question, one that will not be answered within my lifetime.

Right now, I can say that my fatherhood is limited to hunter/gatherer mode with a side of personal maid. I get things, whether it is the phone charger from upstairs or a bag of a particular kind of chips from the local convenience store no matter what time of day. As The Wife heads into the last eight weeks, I’ve taken over most of the chores that require physical activity: vacuuming, shopping, washing dishes, etc. Since I can’t physically contribute to the growth process of our child, this is how I help out. I’ve been told this is an exception to other people’s experiences with their partner, which makes me both confused and sad to this kind of antiquated behavior. I’m sharing this not so much as a pat on my own back, but as a statement to be shown by others to get their partners more active via example and/or shaming.

Seriously, get your shit together.

In my librarylife, I’m just trying to get things completed, parked, or set on auto-pilot in preparation for Baby Woodworth. I have a couple of projects going on with NJLA that I’d like to get squared away before May; I’d like to get at least one author working on an article for the Journal of Creative Library Practice; and I have some projects at the library that will need to hit their benchmarks before the first of May. It’s fair to say that there is a lot of my plate as it is, which leaves blogging on the furthest back burner. (For the mildly curious, I’m only able to write this because I am off today and I got the time between chores.)

From my perspective, there doesn’t really seem to be same level of interest in any form of public intellectual kinds of blogs, articles, or columns anymore. It has become very niche, addressing one area of librarianship very well (such as the Storytime Underground and various book blogs). This is not a bad thing but represents the beauty of internet diversity which connects people to their specific needs. It’s only a bad thing for me, a person who likes to address broader issues that span across the professional realm. Based on my changing priorities, even that bad part happens to be convenient.

Perhaps, as my cynical heart tells me, there is a boredom factor to what appears to be the inherent cycle of libraryland topics. The value of the degree, the condition of the job market, the apparent inability to act on basic principles and fundamental values, and other issues operate on a biblio-celestial calendar. They zoom into sight, remarked upon at length, then slingshot their way back into the depths of rhetoric space, doomed to their eventual return trajectory. Even antagonists like Kleinman follow a Mobius strip of stale accusations, attempting to build mountains out of molehills anthills in a vain attempt for an iota of legitimacy. I just can’t keeping repeating the same discussions, arguments, and interactions without feeling like I’m in a constant state of moving old bones to new graves even before the grass has grown on the current one. It’s worse than insanity, it’s a Sisyphean hell of our own making and choosing. I’d like to think I’m making a difference in moving those conversations along, but it feels more like a reinforcement of the status quo.

But, then again, maybe I’m wrong.

In closing, I can say that after six years, I may have the least amount of certainty where this blog is going. I do want to write about fatherhood as it develops for me. I’m coming up on one year in my position and I have many reflections about becoming a supervisor. So there is content ahead, but who knows when it will appear. In the meantime, I thank everyone for their support, comments, and their readership.

I’ll see you around.