ALA Annual is All But Done

5 minute read

I’m conferencing at ALA Annual. I should be here in Philadelphia to improve my professional knowledge but, I spend all my time here in the kidlit world. Without question, the connections I try to maintain in that world are critical to the work I do, but so is maintaining my librarianship. So, I’ve taken some time to reflect on ALA as a place where I go to do just that.

The American Library Association s trying to figure itself out. Currently, it’s still a 20th century creation with all its hierarchies, functional divisions, centralized decision making, and fee structures. It seems to embrace the capitalist model that more is better, delivering this huge conference filled with so much stuff that it’s impossible to know everything that’s going on or sometimes to decide what to do. I wonder what could organizations –particularly those servicing information professionals— look like in the 21st century.

Most of the people I spoke to this week whether, they were librarians, authors, or publishers, admited that they come to Annual to be with their people: to find solidarity, restore connections, or build a team that they do not have elsewhere. For many of us, ALA Annual is a place, both physical and social, where we come for a particular experience. To move forward, we have to consider how did this place get to be what it is? And, what dominant forces are maintained here?

ALA provides school and public librarians with information on current trends, and policies in the field, as well as a professional network. Academic librarians get this too, but we also get the opportunity to obtain support for research, publish in professional journals, and to perform service to our profession on a national level. Think about all those librarians who are not involved in ALA, who cannot afford membership or attendance, who do not feel seen in such a large organization, or whose libraries will not support them. At the CSK Award Ceremony, author Jason Reynolds, who co-sponsors grants to bring Black librarians to Annual, questioned “How do you get the resources if you can’t afford to come to the resource maker?” Historical forces of oppression privileges membership, attendance at conferences, and participation in the organization. How can 21^st century organizations provide equity and remain economically viable? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was possible.

As I plan to rewire (my 21st century vision of ‘retire’), I think of all my peers who have aged out of ALA over the years and I consider all of  the institutional knowledge they have taken with them, and then, there’s the space they’re leaving behind. I think that vacating that space can be a good thing, assuming of course it is filled with a younger, degreed librarian. As relevant as I want to feel, there’s a whole new way of being out there that this boomer can appreciate and learn from, but cannot lead.

Thinking more about Annual as space, and considering what oppressive forces it maintains, how does this organization work to provide care to those in a profession who are poorly paid, highly educated, unappreciated by politicians and community members, and too often lacking in the resources necessary to do our job? Moving beyond Annual, how does ALA sustain itself in ways that don’t exploit its members? How can it strategically build collaborations to enhance literacy? How does it fight for freedom of speech and intellectual rights, not only in politically contentious times but in times when technology is being created (and not regulated), that subverts privacy rights, intellectual rights, and challenges the validity of human creativity? How do we safeguard electronic and print based information from eradication? Which literacies do we prioritize in the 21st century? How often does this organization lift the practice of librarianship, and celebrate the work we do to the same, if not greater extent, that we do for those in publishing? What role should ALA play in figuring out how we prepare for the massive change that AI is bringing to our profession and the resources we maintain? How do we bring a sense of eco-justice to the resources we use to access, share, and present information?

How do we, as colleagues and caretakers develop a place filled with a transformational love that exists as “the capacity, will, and courage to nourish and affirm oneself, another, and community toward unapologetic wholeness and completeness”? (source)

I’ve had so many conversations in the past few days that echo many of these thoughts. So many of my friends don’t feel like they’re necessarily keeping their head of above water in their everyday lives but they managed to find a bit of respite conferencing and connecting with their people. I do think we still need professional organizations, and I think we need them in real life, face to face spaces. We’ve learned that virtual does not sustain us. Librarians are brilliant people who focus on serving our communities. I think right now, we need to take some time to focus on serving and focusing our own community.

These are just the thoughts of one librarian, I would love to hear others.

Filed under: Professional Development, Uncategorized