I attended a conference this week where the organizers arranged a screening of the newly released documentary The Librarians. In a room of ~400 people, at least 200 of us shed tears during the viewing.
Working in the profession in one of those states, I have been well aware of the growing attacks on books, libraries and librarians. But it was an extra level of intense seeing actual interviews and footage of people who have served their communities, for decades in some cases, slandered and under attack for working to preserve access to literature, for dedicating their lives to igniting a love of reading, for insisting on inclusion for every person who comes through the door.
Some have lost their jobs. Some have fled the homes they loved to start over in a new place. Some have had to hire security (on librarian wages!) One was pictured driving through her hometown saying something like, “I have made sure everyone here knows I do own a gun.” This in response to death threats she has received. All because they want kids and adults to have access to books that combat racism or affirm the dignity of LGBTQ individuals.
I very nearly ugly cried (mild spoiler alert) when the filmmakers interviewed the gay son of a woman who has crusaded in the most vile way against school librarians for having books with diverse characters and messages of acceptance. He ultimately decided to go speak against his mother’s message at the same school board where she had been showing up and making a spectacle.
Mixed in with the tears in the room were cheers for these folks who have been thrust into the role of intellectual freedom warriors, a battle they didn’t anticipate. Importantly. the documentary pulls back the curtain on some of the behind-the-scenes funding and organization behind the pro-censorship groups.
If you get a chance, I highly recommend a viewing of this movie. But have your hanky ready.
Can a bag of onions make a meaningful difference in the world? I sure hope so!
I know many of us are searching for ways to make a positive impact right now in a time when a lot of things are going very wrong. While we might not experience many opportunities to take big actions, every one of us can do one thing. And those individual contributions add up.
I’ve come to believe community building needs to be an essential focus right now. One specific part of that is supporting local businesses and local agriculture. It’s becoming more vital every day to reinforce strong local food systems.
For a while, I had a subscription to an every-other-week produce box through a local store’s community supported agriculture program. But that was not working out for me logistically, so I cancelled a while back. My little city has a nice, largish, year-round farmer’s market, as well as some smaller seasonal ones. I kept telling myself I should hit them up for some of my food. But even thinking about it made my anxiety spike.
The big market, at least, is a perfect storm of social anxiety and sensory issues for me. I would have to deal with a lot of noise, bustle and crowds while trying to make decisions in a setting where I wasn’t sure of the rules or expectations. That’s every one of my buttons pushed, right there in one go.
But then I made a plan. A bite-sized plan. I could get myself used to farmers’ market shopping and learn the ropes by starting small. All I had to do was go in and buy one item, then leave. Still an improvement over no items from local farmers.
And I did it Saturday morning! I was a little overwhelmed, but I wore my Loop earplugs to minimize noise, looked around for one clearly marked item that I needed, found the onions, and paid. Then I went on to the usual grocery store for the rest of my shopping trip. It’s a start. I can keep taking more steps.
What if we all looked for one step each day or each week? How much difference could we make? Let’s try it and see! Let’s go!
“What most did not understand then was that I was not only married to the man I loved, but I was also married to the movement that I loved.” – Coretta Scott King
On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I’d like to take a couple of minutes to think about the person who, perhaps more than any other, made sure the message and the work of social justice continued after his death. Coretta Scott King was married to Martin Luther King, Jr. for 15 years, a full partner in leading the movement for peace and equal rights.
For another 38 years after his death, she continued leading the charge not only in the U.S., but around the world. This is taken from The King Center website. That would be The King Center that Coretta Scott King founded.
“One of the most influential African-American leaders of her time, Mrs. King received honorary doctorates from over 60 colleges and universities; authored two books, edited a compilation of selected quotes by Dr. King, maintained a nationally-syndicated newspaper column, and served on and helped found dozens of organizations, including the Black Leadership Forum, the National Black Coalition for Voter Participation, and the Black Leadership Roundtable.
Mrs. King died on January 30, 2006. She was the first woman and the first African American to lay in honor in the rotunda of the Georgia capitol. Also, a few days after her death, thousands of people stood in line in the rain to pay their respects at a viewing in the heritage sanctuary of the historic Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta.“
The Kings taught us a lot about the importance of unity, community, and standing together with the oppressed. I believe those principles are more important today than ever.
A friend I hadn’t seen in a while was looking for a buddy to do this 5K walk to raise money for childhood cancer research and treatment. It was a beautiful day and well worth it for this “not a morning person” to roll out of bed early. I got my exercise, raised money for a good cause, and reconnected with a friend. Plus new achievement unlocked. I’ve never before participated in an organized 5K walk/run.
Lizzy’s Walk of Faith Foundation was started by the family of Lizzy Wampler, who died of osteosarcoma in 2018. The organization does amazing work in the field of pediatric cancer. Graphic from their website shows where the money goes.
You can, of course, donate without walking or running five kilometers.
Hug your loved ones and then find a way to do some good in the world today.
Today’s entry for the City of Refuge Poem-a-Thon is an erasure poem. That’s where you take some found text and erase or black out parts of it. My found text is the Missouri attorney general’s emergency rule making trans health care nearly impossible to obtain — an attempt to erase trans Missourians.
I usually stay away from politics on this blog, but this issue is urgent and huge. Missouri Secretary of State, Jay Ashcroft, who seems desperate to stay in the spotlight through ever more extreme and controversial measures, has proposed a new rule for public libraries in the state, deceptively title “Library Certification Rule for the Protection of Minors.”
Under this proposal, public libraries would lose funding if they continue their policies of allowing parents and families to make the choices about what their own children are allowed to read. Instead, libraries would be required to make available to minors only books approved by the state.
Beyond the free speech implications, this kind of rule is setting libraries up to fail by making it logistically impossible to function. How do you enforce it at the library level? Do you station a staff member at every self check machine to demand photo ID and act as a bouncer for anyone under 18 trying to check out materials?
A similar state law has already gone into effect regulating public school libraries, to chilling effect. Thanks to SB775 “School districts have banned works on Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, graphic novel adaptations of classics by Shakespeare and Mark Twain as well as The Gettysburg Address, the Pulitzer-prize winning Maus, and educational books about the Holocaust. Also banned have been comics about Batman, X-Men, and Watchmen; The Complete Guide to Drawing & Painting by Reader’s Digest; Women (a book of photographs by Annie Leibovitz); and The Children’s Bible,” according to this article in PEN America.
Public library boards, professional organizations such as the Missouri Library Association, workers’ unions, and many others are uniting their voices to oppose this radical attack on libraries and the right to read. See what some of them have to say on the matter:
The time to take action is now. Public comments are accepted through December 15. If emailing, send your message to comments@sos.mo.gov (15 CSR 30-200.015 must be included in the subject line.)
Access to abortion once allowed someone I love a whole lot to be around and keep raising the two children she already had.
I try not to swear gratuitously. I save up those words to use when really needed for maximum impact. Here’s my gut reaction to today’s news about the U.S. Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade: we’re fucked. We are truly fucked. I live in a state with trigger laws. Everyone in this state who possesses a uterus no longer possesses full human rights. Here are some links to give an idea of the full extent of dystopia we have just entered.
I know parents of young children who are seriously investigating leaving the country. Between the increasing number of gun deaths and the stripping of human rights, they’re realizing this is a pretty dangerous place to raise kids. As one friend said, “It feels irresponsible to raise my daughter in this country now.”
If anyone is currently composing a response playing “devil’s advocate” or providing a “logical” anti-choice explanation from a person without a uterus who’s never had to ponder how a pregnancy would personally affect them, I invite those folks to keep your typing fingers off my page. Your time is better spent listening, really listening, to the loved ones in your life who are devastated today by this ruling. This post isn’t an invitation to debate whether roughly 50% of the population should or shouldn’t have fundamental rights.
I know this post is disjointed and lacks eye-catching graphics, but if feels necessary. We have to find a way to right these wrongs. I wish I knew what that way is, but I know it’s not going to be done by remaining silent.
Quark’s workers unionize on Star Trek, Deep Space 9
I see I haven’t checked in here for a while. I’ve been a little busy helping to organize a union and reading The Count of Monte Cristo, both of which turned out to be huge time commitments. The two efforts came to fruition within a couple of days of each other. Saturday I finished Alexandre Dumas’ 117-chapter epic tale, and on Monday the state of Missouri announced the results of our union election, which we won with 65% yes votes.
Both efforts held surprises for me. Union organizing — gaining big new insights into people I thought I knew. I saw aspects and layers previously hidden to me, most of them good and inspiring, with a small handful of disappointments. The number of hours spent looking at spreadsheets was not something I had anticipated. And I didn’t do nearly as much of the work as some of my colleagues, bless them. Count of Monte Cristo — a lot more drug use than I expected. The psychedelic 1970s had nothing on the 1800s, it seems. There were some truly trippy scenes. Ease up on the hashish, there. Also, a young, early nineteenth century female character who wished to avoid marriage and live independently.
Of course, I was also working both of my paying jobs during this time. So all of this labor movement activity and classics reading led to late nights, with Zoom meetings followed by just another chapter or two. I honestly don’t know how anyone ever runs for office. The stress of campaign-type activities nearly did this introvert in. Often, after yet another meeting, followed by phone calls (shudder) I’d promised to make, or an elaborately-arranged meeting with someone who wanted to sign a union card without being seen to do so, I found myself with an actual need to lose myself in the drama and tension of a fictional character’s story. It was somehow cathartic to transfer the intensity of my feelings into the life and perils and plots of Edmond Dantes, wrongly imprisoned, losing everyone and everything he loved, seeking revenge but unexpectedly finding his heart warring with itself in his resolve.
I’m a different person than I was at the beginning of 2022. This has been the year I determined to pursue some long overdue goals – getting a seat at the table in my workplace and finally pulling The Count from it’s decades-long spot on my to-be-read list. I’m a union woman now, and someone who can speak with knowledge about a Dumas classic.
We’ve won our election, but there’s still organizing to do around electing officers, contract negotiations, etc. And there are enough literary gaps in my world to spend a lifetime filling them. But I might take a breath or two and enjoy some lighter pursuits before plunging myself into the next intense adventure.
Following are a few readings relevant to the day. The point of the list isn’t to tell anyone they should absolutely agree with every word of every one of these writings, but just to prompt folks to spend some time examining different viewpoints and really thinking about what peace is and how we might work toward it. Feel free to add your own suggestions for titles in the comments.
The Racial Healing Handbook by Annaliese Singh. The theme for 2021 is “recovering better for an equitable and sustainable world.” This book seems like a good fit. The subtitle is “Practical Activities to Help You Challenge Privilege, Confront Systemic Racism, and Engage in Collective Healing.”
Nonviolent Communication: a Language of Life by Marshall Rosenberg and Arun Gandhi. I have found this book helpful in my personal and professional life, especially as I have a job that requires a lot of interaction with the public.
Peace Pilgrim: Her Life and Work in Her Own Words. In 1953, a woman began a decades-long journey on foot throughout the United States and Canada, carrying a message of peace to everyone she met. This is her memoir. Talk about walking the walk.
The War Prayerby Mark Twain, who was a consistent critic of U.S. military action in the Philippines. This had a huge influence on me when I read it as a teen. In the story, a church assembly prays for victory in battle for their soldiers. Immediately, an unknown man in a long robe appears, promising the request will be fulfilled, but only if the congregation still wants it after hearing the full consequences of what they are asking.
This is going to be a departure from my usual “On Today’s Walk” type of post. I want to talk about an under-discussed, quiet and insidious form of discrimination that continues to happen to women, and how I’m discovering that it’s widespread.
On today’s walk, I participated in the local Women’s March. The temperature was bitter cold, so I didn’t take photos. But here are a couple of stories to illustrate some reasons we still need to march in this day and age.
An hour before I left to attend the rally and walk, our mail came. The bank where my husband and I have done business for twenty years is being sold to another bank, and in the mail was a letter about a loan we have, explaining how it will be transferred. Here’s the kicker. The loan is in both of our names, but the letter was addressed solely to my husband. My name appears nowhere in it.
I immediately called customer service to get this straightened out, because this is not my first experience with getting erased from an account. It has led to problems in the past. The customer service worker told me the reason my name isn’t on the letter is because my husband is listed as the primary owner of the loan, something that has never been explained to either of us or agreed to by either of us. In fact, I’m the one who makes sure they get their payment every month, since I handle the finances for the household.
In the politest voice and phrasing I could muster, I insisted my name should be included on all correspondence. (How hard can it be?) The young-sounding woman who was helping me wasn’t sure that could be done. She kept repeating that letters go out in the name of the primary person. I also did the broken record thing, saying I never was told that and never agreed to it, and even if it were the case, my name needs to be on all documents related to the loan. My husband and I both signed the paperwork and took on the liability. And I’m certain, if something happened to my spouse, the bank would suddenly remember me and expect me to keep paying. I courteously stood firm in my request. A manager is supposed to contact me on Tuesday.
Before I ended the call, I said, “If this ever happens to you, please speak up for yourself like I am. Don’t let yourself be erased.” I’m probably the story she’s telling at the dinner table tonight.
Over the thirty-plus years of my marriage, this sort of thing has happened to me more times than I can count. My name gets dropped from accounts, left off of correspondence. It has never happened to my husband. Not once.
A few years back, when we still used a landline phone, I contacted CenturyLink to make some changes in the account and they said I didn’t have permission. This was an account I set up when we first moved to town. I personally was the one to go to the phone company and handle everything to do with creating our account here. I put both of our names on it. But at some point in time, the company decided only one name should be on the account, and removed mine. They removed me from my own account that I set up, and then told me I had to get my husband’s permission to be added back on.
Now my bank has removed my name from correspondence about my own account.
I shared all of this in a facebook post a few hours ago. Since then, I have gotten an outpouring of comments from women saying the same kind of thing has happened to them, and is still happening. A utility company wouldn’t accept a change of address from a woman; they had her husband listed as the account holder, even though — guess what? — she was the one to set up the original account. Another friend had a credit union account in her name, added her husband to it when they got married, and a few years later was denied a car loan from them because she wasn’t listed as the primary account holder. Like with my phone account, nobody could tell her when it was changed or by whom, only that it couldn’t be changed back without her husband’s permission. A woman’s name was left off the title to her house, something she only discovered by accident after a few years, though she was on the hook for the mortgage along with her husband.
One friend direct messaged me because she didn’t want anyone else to see her comment with her name attached to it. She said her now ex-husband was able to get her name removed from their joint bank account when she was leaving an abusive marriage.
As far as I can determine, this is happening repeatedly to wives, and not to one single husband of my acquaintance. It’s the institutional erasure of women.
I want to ask the same thing of all women that I asked of my bank customer service rep. If this happens to you, please don’t accept it without discussion. Please make noise about it. Let’s raise awareness and make it uncomfortable for business and institutions that do this. And seek out better businesses as recipients of our money, if possible.
Nomadic Noesis 