Dahlia Shevin, 2016, "You belong/ Tú perteneces." |
In the Italian theatrical genre of commedia
dell'arte--picture motley characters with names like "Harlequino" and
"Punchinello" and broad farce--there is a constant tension between
servants and masters, more precisely, the audience is left questioning which is
which. As a librarian, I am constantly thinking about how the servant-master
dynamic is central to our profession. Since I have chosen a field that is
service-oriented, I ask myself: in what ways am I servant? And what is it that
I am servant to or to whom? Are there ways that acting like a servant betrays
my other core ideals? Are there ways that I can use my status as a "servant"
to subvert oppressive power?
At the current political moment, I find these
questions particularly inescapable and much more situationally specific: as I
ponder whether or not to send a check to renew membership in an organization
that "hastily" sent out a statement supporting initiatives of our
President-elect, as I ponder the rush to formulate information literacy plans
that tackle fake news and filter bubbles, as I ponder safety pin initiatives.
Respectively, the questions that are raised for me with each of these examples
are the following: Are librarians to be "neutral" servants who curry
to power, no matter how much that power repudiates what we claim to be some of
our highest ideals? Are we to be servants to the latest way to be on topic,
ambulance chasers running after the victims of the fake news story? Are we to
be, as one skeptical librarian put it, "Becky with the pin" by
remaining silent while displaying our safety pin as a symbol of our goodness
while someone with a marginalized identity gets attacked?
At my saddest, darkest, smallest, I am afraid that
we might be all of these things already & that the current political and
historical moment is just throwing a particularly harsh light on our
profession's flaws. I am afraid that no
amount of information literacy is going to save us from the powerful and
apparently intoxicating draw of fascism. But most of all, I am afraid for our
students, the black, the brown, those wearing hijabs, those who go by
they/theirs, the disabled, the students whom I protested alongside with fifteen
days ago and who reacted so passionately when a Native American staff member
told them about the North Dakota Access Pipeline.
When I saw a young black woman wearing a "Black
Lives Matter" pin, I thought she might be headed to the student protest. I
didn't have full details. I talked to her as he walked towards the Student
Center. She had no clue about Steven Bannon.
But while the students chanted about their local context, their local
struggles, it was clear that the current political moment had prompted this
feeling of urgency. It was also clear that they wanted to know what was going
on, that they believed in the power of information and communication.
So for now, I'm going to set aside my doubts about
safety pins, LibGuides on fake news, and official statements. I'm going
super-super local to be there for all the students who were at that protest and
all the students who were not there but are also legitimately scared.
Post-truth might have been designated the word of the year, and on some level,
that terrifies me. On another deeper level, though, I understand that as a
librarian I am ultimately a servant to the truth. I suppose other librarians
might say "knowledge" or "information." What I care most
about is the truth. And one of the most important truths sustaining me right
now is that my brown skin and lived experiences tangibly help me to connect
with some of these students. The truth is, as one autistic student yelled at
the student rally, "I am not broken," though it has felt that way, at
times, since the morning of November 9.
And yet, there are
moments that give me hope. Last week, a Latina who had come to me during the
most stressful point of her spring semester last year, came back with a group.
At the end of our appointment, she asked me a question about study abroad and
we laughed about how much she trusted what I had to say. And she said that she
could tell that I was the sort of person who would tell her the truth, who
would just say what they really thought. Truth and trust--I will be a servant
to those and I guess also to love though I'm not the kind of person who hugs
readily. But to be truly present for these students is one thing I can give and
that, I think, is no small gift in a political time that seems hell bent on
repudiating human connection along with its "no facts/post truth"
significations. Tell it like it is,
especially to students. Love them &
call the post-truth that endangers all of us, especially the marginalized, by
its proper name--call it and denounce it as propaganda.
Michele Santamaria is the Learning Design Librarian at Millersville University. Aside from #alwayslibrarianing, she is a year-round poet and advocate for social justice. She has a chapter forthcoming in an ACRL autoethnography publication and a chapter forthcoming in a Library Juice publication about being a poet-librarian. Apparently, there are a bunch of them. She is happy to interact over social media via Twitter @infolitmaven.
Thank you.
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