Vague criminal laws are worse than book bans

A writer blames the targets of the culture war raging in our public spaces

In the last issue, I highlighted the deliberate “Bannonist” destruction of government institutions planned by Republican presidential candidates. In this issue, I go into more detail about a seemingly concerted multi-state effort to attack one of the great American institutions. —JPB

For several years, I’ve wanted to work in and for my community; something more than only writing about public policy. Policy is important, but it usually deals with trends and data viewed from a 30,000-foot view. There is little opportunity to provide hands-on help in the day-to-day lives of people who need it. So, last year, I took the opportunity to do part-time work in my local library system, where I still work today. (N.B.: This newsletter is exclusively my opinion and at no time does any employer or nonprofit I work with have any say in its content unless explicitly noted.) 

Like many people who work in public libraries, I’ve become rather protective of the institution of writ large, gripes with our individual systems notwithstanding. So when a friend approvingly shared this Kat Rosenfield piece on libraries, my jaw dropped.

In her essay, Rosenfield makes two dubious claims: she laments that libraries have become culture war battlegrounds—as do I—but she blames the librarians for this; second, Rosenfield tries to pour water on the idea that conservatives are banning books in any significant way. 

In both instances, Rosenfield misdiagnoses and thus greatly underestimates the dangers to the independence and utility of public libraries, particularly in red states.

On library staff:

She writes:

“Today's librarians…often see themselves not only as custodians of literature, but gatekeepers, educators, and activists, and they've been as instrumental as anyone in turning the library from an ideologically neutral space into a political battleground.” 

While I don’t think most library workers would call themselves educators, it’s hard to imagine a library’s role that doesn’t include education. It sounds trite, but libraries are repositories of knowledge set up to encourage and enable independent learning. Librarians and other front-facing library staff guide and help develop those skills; we are not stoic desk sentinels here just to say “shh!,” mete out fines for overdue books, or whatever other activity Rosenfield imagines ‘literature custodians’ perform. 

In reality, library staff develop and schedule programming, including social events like game times, chess clubs, and author book talks, but also personal and professional skill-building like adult/GED education, job training, and computer classes. Most of these programs are naturally apolitical, but writers—and their books—are very often not. Writing is an inherently political act, as most non-technical writing (cf., Android Phones for Dummies) will have something to say about how the world is, was, should be, or could be. To fully de-politicize the library would be to remove everything in it.

That said, as a rule, we do not foist our personal politics onto patrons. Making the library a welcoming place for everyone is among the core functions of my job. Yes, librarians and other personnel design displays that may feature materials associated with LGBTQ pride, Black History Month, or books banned elsewhere in years past; but in the same branches, one often will find displays featuring whimsical Broadway musicals, materials associated with religious holidays like Christmas and Holi, basic financial planning, or how to take care of family members with Alzheimers and dementia. That is, while some displays may seem overtly political because some in the community might object to a particular idea or religion, it is not the function of the library to only display entirely unobjectionable materials—if such things even exist. Our job is to provide a welcoming environment for all members of the community regardless of faith, race, sexual orientation, age, socio-economic status, disability, or education level.  A welcoming environment does not require catering to every whim or avoiding any potential prejudice within that community.

Furthermore, I’ve never seen any library worker steer patrons toward a different political direction or to a different book if the patron chose one that was off putting to the employee. I’ve both been in and witnessed interactions in which a patron starts complimenting one of the more odious members of Congress and praising their work and we just nod our heads and help them with whatever they need, be it contact information, hearing schedules, or whatever. I don’t know who these “activist” librarians are or where they work—though I’m sure some fit that description somewhere—but I’ve never seen anything approaching it despite working in 25 different library branches in one of the bluest U.S. cities.

Indeed, it’s hard to read Rosenfield’s piece without assuming at least some bad faith on her part. An example:

As one blog post on the American Library Association website coyly explains, “While I’m not saying you need to out-and-out remove Tikki Tikki Tembo, Dr. Seuss or Little House on the Prairie from your library, what I am saying is we all — most especially white librarians — need to be more conscious of the messages our recommendations send to our public, and the lessons children are learning from those recommendations. If a classic isn’t circulating the way it used to, if it no longer meets the criteria set for inclusion in your collection — maybe it’s time to weed."

In other words, we're not saying you need to remove this book. We're saying, you should do everything in your power to stop people from reading this book, and then remove it because people aren't reading it anymore… for some strange reason.

Needless to say, this brand of content suppression rarely makes the news, nor do the people doing it want to admit that they're engaged in their own culture war over books they perceive as morally objectionable.

The “everything in your power” Rosenfield references is, typically, leaving a book on the shelf with the rest of the books not on thematic display. The vast majority of books in libraries are not on display nor are they recommended by librarians or staff, regardless of their content or quality. Books get weeded when they don’t get read or checked out over significant periods of time, but that doesn’t amount to anything approaching “content suppression.” 

As for the white librarian comment, it reminded me of an incident from my childhood. My near-retirement age, white fourth grade social studies teacher showed our largely Black class the film “Gone With the Wind.” I have no idea what she was thinking at the time, but today it would rightly be considered inappropriate to put the Mammy stereotype—and the slavery in which Mammy lived—in a history class without explaining the context or qualification. It doesn’t mean that she or anyone else who likes the movie is racist, but it is entirely justifiable to avoid showcasing that character in an educational environment without further explanation. 

Indeed, the next graf of the ALA blog post Rosenfield cites doesn’t read like a “wink wink, nudge nudge” to me, but an appropriate remedy to books that may demean some of its readers:

If that classic is still quite popular, however, perhaps you could make guides for discussing race and racism available for caregivers—on your shelves or at your circulation desk. 

Unless providing context for books is suppressing ideas, it doesn’t appear the ALA post author is being coy about anything. Old books that may be deemed problematic that aren’t getting checked out can probably be weeded just like everything else that isn’t circulating, but, say,  when dealing with Black children, a white librarian not suggesting her childhood favorite Little Black Sambo seems entirely reasonable.

Rosenfield did identify one post on a left-friendly book blog that called to weed racist books. I have no idea how many libraries heeded the words of this blogger, but I don’t think any library employee would be shocked to learn their library carries Mein Kampf or any number of other books with varying amounts of racist language or themes. 

This is not to say that there are no other scolds on the left who want to bowdlerize or change books—the “anti-racist” editing of Huckleberry Finn among the most egregious examples—and I am very much against that too. One can’t learn about the racism of the past if it’s been hidden. But Rosenfield’s post started off laying blame on the politicization of the library on librarians, and her evidence is unconvincing. 

That blame is particularly galling to me, as I’ve walked into a library to find Sean Spicer and other Republican operatives flanked by massive security teams staging an event to continue their Christian persecution grift. (The library workers probably lean left politically, but many of my colleagues are church-going Christians.) The Kirk Cameron/Jack Posobiec book event went off without any serious incident on either side because, again, the library is a public space and its employees conduct themselves accordingly.

Indeed, part of the appeal of working at a public library is to escape the politics-on-the-brain mindset of the D.C. policy world. Of course, some staff are certainly very political in their personal lives and private moments, but I’ve never worked at any organization with a greater diversity of people and perspectives than I have at this job.

Besides, of all the issues we have to deal with on a day-to-day or week-to-week basis, partisan politics and messaging just don’t register until people like Cameron and Spicer make them our problem. Taking care of the large unhoused and mentally ill populations, getting resources to and for the many community members on the wrong side of the digital divide, and creating a positive environment to the many teens and younger children that visit our libraries every day take up too much intellectual and emotional space to worry about fighting culture war nonsense at work.

Of course, the culture war has come to libraries anyway. 

On book bans and other government interference:

Rosenfield plays down book ban fears because when certain books are targeted, many end up selling well on Amazon and often get picked up elsewhere. And there is something to the claim that such reports are often overstated: I have been very critical of “cancellation” claims when a publisher, say, decides not to run a new Norman Mailer centennial compilation, particularly when his books—and the offending essay that scuttled the project—still appear in libraries and bookstores nationwide. (I find far more overt political and ideological messaging in bookstores than libraries, yet many still stock books by writers controversial to or disliked by people on the left.)

But there is no doubt that the politicization of libraries is real, though the culprits aren’t usually found in the stacks. Many of the worst offenders are in statehouses across the country. 

Rather than target certain books, legislators use vague definitions or subjective standards to criminalize or otherwise threaten libraries and their employees for lending books. This has led to school libraries in Florida to pull books off the shelves for official review to protect its teachers and librarians from criminal exposure. While not technically a book ban, it certainly a chilling effect that greatly incentivizes schools and libraries to err on the side of caution. 

In North Dakota, a law was enacted that criminalizes adult books in general collection if kids can show up there. From the law’s text:

A person is guilty of a class B misdemeanor if he the person willfully displays at newsstands or any other business establishment frequented by minors, or where minors are or may be invited as a part of the general public, any photograph, book, paperback book, pamphlet, or magazine, the exposed cover or available content of which either contains explicit sexual material that is harmful to minors or exploits, is devoted to, or is principally made up of depictions of nude or partially denuded human figures posed or presented in a manner to exploit sex, lust, or perversion for commercial gain.

…

“Where minors are or may be invited as a part of the general public” includes any public roadway or, public walkway, public library, or public school library.

The italics note what has been changed in the text and thus make it clear libraries are the targets of these new laws. 

Again, Rosenfield would be technically correct to say that no specific book is being banned here, but the overall effect threatens libraries and library workers in case a minor—say, a 17-year-old future English major—checks out a book with explicit sexual content that a zealous prosecutor believes violates the subjective norms of North Dakotans. Indeed, the absence of specificity increases the jeopardy libraries and their employees face from these laws because they don’t know what books someone will claim lack literary merit. Rosenfield believes the talk of bans is overstated, but even a cursory look at the laws criminalizing book lending and incentivizing walling-off general collections to “protect” children should elicit the opposite reaction. 

The language similarity in proposed legislation in several states suggests a concerted political effort to undermine public libraries. Everylibrary.org has a running list of 2023 state legislation that potentially threatens libraries and their employees. It also includes direct links to the legislation pages on state websites so people can see the text for themselves.

Sometimes, media narratives should be challenged because panic sells better than banal changes. But sometimes, when real laws endanger access to functioning libraries—even if those laws are ultimately likely to be struck down—the ability of these institutions to serve the public is diminished.

Blaming the people working in the communities and providing direct support to make them better gets the story exactly wrong.

Until next time, wishing you peace, love, and soul…