Try a Little Tenderness…

Girl feeding fawn, circa 1930s
Girl feeding fawn, circa 1930s flickr photo by Seattle Municipal Archives shared under a Creative Commons (BY) license

Hello from the pandemic. I’m in the middle of my third week sheltering in place, working from home and juggling childcare responsibilities with my partner also working from home, trying to enrich said child and make sure they are doing ok. All of this is on top of my existential worrying about the world collapsing, people getting sick and dying (people I know, people I don’t know, the sheer humanity!), the social safety net already battered and tattered from the 2008 recession breaking under the strain. Add in the economy and the likelihood of many more job losses on the horizon, it’s hard not to be constantly on edge.

Normal is gone. This new normal seems like a white-knuckled ride that I have to take day by day. I have to check with my partner every evening and morning to figure out when I can fit my work in around child care, when do we have meetings, who’s responsible for lunch a the kid’s “quiet time”? It’s a lot to deal with and I feel like my mind is a million places. Always at work and always at home.

I feel like I’m doing the best I can, and in this moment, in this week, that’s good enough.

I know that I’m not alone and that helps me stay sane and productive. I deeply appreciate that the institute I work for early on took a very humane and rational approach to the situation. They’ve understanding that stuff still needs to happen but that we all have lots to deal with on top of our jobs. Every meeting seems to start with a check in on how we’re doing, some chit chat about how hard it is to buy food, and then we get to work. I have also really felt supported by my union siblings who have helped me feel connected and cared for. The mostly useless responses from many professional associations hasn’t really been upsetting, but a reminder that they are focused on organizations and not people. The displays of support and solidarity I’ve seen in libraries and transportation have been inspiring, though it’s bittersweet because it seems like many of us realize this is the end of so many things. How many libraries are going to close? How many transit agencies will be hollowed out? Is this it for the Highway Trust Fund? I take some comfort in knowing I have no control and just accept the situation will be what ever it will be. (I guess reading Zen Flesh, Zen Bones has been worth something…)

Using this week as an example: I spent all weekend working on some stuff for Monday deadline. The project had been hard to work on because the resources were off kilter, a reflection of the haste we all prepared to work from home. Also it’s hard to focus on complex analytical tasks when your whole life looks and feels like chaos. Just as I was finishing up my assignment I received the news that a colleague passed away from COVID-19 complications. I was stunned and sad, and then realized this was going to likely happen again and I would need to figure out how to work through this news. When I met with a team about my work, I mentioned the whole situation – well, not my messy desk and house – and it felt weird mentioning that I found out a colleague died as I was finishing it but it also felt weird not mentioning it.

The thing that has stuck with me is seeing how people are coping – those who are trying to get through with acknowledging the severity of the situation, those who may need direct help, and those who are trying to publicly act like this is fine. The last group seem so dissonant from the rest, and lately they’ve been in a distinct minority. Which is why this afternoon, when I checked my email after getting the kid down for a nap and saw an email re-litigating arguments that really aren’t that important now, I was really annoyed. And I realized a big source of my annoyance wasn’t only bringing up old grudges and conversations that had kind of been settled, nor that it’s not something really actionable right now because other parties are also more focused on survival than volunteer committee work. No the thing that really riled me up was that yet again some of my colleagues were sending terse emails with the subtext, “Kendra, you’re not doing enough” without acknowledging that I’m doing a heckuva lot. And they never will.

And it’s that weird emotional labor, that emotional weight I have to carry that they won’t. I have to be charitable to them because that’s how I want to be treated, even though they rarely demonstrate that charity towards me. I know I’m not alone with this situation and I truly value my friends and colleagues who are kind, understanding, and supportive. The only way we can get through this is if we all work together.

I wish everybody would just try a little tenderness.

The power is us – on library work, mental health, and unity.

A moment of power: UC-AFT 1474 demonstrating for academic freedom. (October 2018)

This week is LIS Mental Health 2020 – you can follow along with #LISMentalHealth. I wasn’t able to participate in the chat the other night, but I have been following along and it’s been enriching to know I’m not alone in my own struggles.

I’ve been kicking around this idea, and meant to write a reply to Chris Zammarelli’s post last week, “Libraries Gave Us Power.” About the importance of community and collaboration in doing library work on many levels – to develop best practices, to stay current and innovative, to have an emotional support network. Professional associations and societies filled that need in many ways, but they’re faltering. Chris describes how he pulled back, pulled away and now wants to re-establish connections. (Do it, Chris!) I identified with a lot of his thoughts, but it also made me reflect on the role the union has served for me in the last few years. Through UC-AFT, I have felt part of a different community and it’s reminded me that I do have power.

This afternoon I got some bad news at work that is a pretty significant setback on some fronts. I had that moment of panic where I catastrophized the situation, freaked out, and thought about exit strategies. Thanks to some classes on coping skills and some therapy in the last year, I was able to recognize what was happening – a perfectly normal response to bad news leading to anxiety, and I needed to let it dissipate before feeding back into spiral of thought distortions and panic. So I did some deep breathing, bought some records I have been meaning to buy, and then replied to the email that triggered the whole thing. Then I started mapping out a plan of action to compensate, sent off a few more emails to get things moving and decided to finally write this post.

2018 and 2019 were some of the hardest years of my career due to the ever changing nature of my workplace, the uncertainty of SLA, and my involvement with UC Librarian contract negotiation. The latter really forced me to grow and do things that made me uncomfortable, but I was able to only mildly breakdown because I had the support an community of my fellow unionistas. When one of us struggled or had a bad week, the others stepped up to help and that support was immense. It’s something I still carry with me now, the knowledge that they have my back, and I theirs, in a fundamental way that I’ve not really had with SLA or TRB. (Well, a couple of SLAers fit that description, but for the most part not quite.) One of the reasons the union has been so supportive is that we’ve been honest with each other. The work can be hard and soul crushing until its rewarding, and we remind ourselves of that. During one of my darkest days while waiting for the ratification vote of the new contract, I had a moment in my office with another union librarian where the months of emotional pressure from life, work, and the contract campaign were released. We were both vulnerable but human, and just having that moment and recognizing it made it easier to pick up and keep moving forward on all fronts.

I write this now during LIS Mental Health Week because I feel like in addition to being more open about mental health and mental illness in library worker, we need to also be open about the emotional weight of the work. (Or I guess all work.) It seems like most of the projects I’m working on right now are emotionally exhausting in that they require massive change and upheaval. And while I am excited to get to the end of these projects, have the results, and with a new focus, I also need to recognize to get there it’s just a string of hard decisions that have to be made that suck. It’s not pleasant and there’s a lot of second guessing, and some of it goes against my professional fabric, but it will be OK. The balance is giving myself the space to recognize this is going to be hard and painful, and maybe not as procedural as I would like, but also rolling up my sleeve and pushing forward. If more people just said, “Yeah, this is hard but we can do it” rather than just ignore the human element and assume everything should be fine, I think work would be better for everybody. But that also requires a humanity and vulnerability that lots of organizations and workers like to avoid.

And that’s why I derive my power from my union workers friends who hold me accountable but also empathize with my struggles, and give me a model of how to support my organizations and my colleagues as we figure things out.

Professional associations: maybe we should start from scratch?

I’ve been thinking a lot about the structures, roles, and necessity of professional associations since it seems like every one is going through some existential issues. TRB has its Strategic Alignment, to update the structure and make it less bureaucratic. SLA is going through a major realignment that will likely see a name change. ALA has its Core Question, and there’s several more.

I put forth my vision for professional associations last year in my manifesto. I should probably rewrite it because I think it’s a bit too safe. The thing that I keep thinking about is in remaking associations that we basically need to start from the ground up. Without a common understanding of the mission, vision, and purpose there are lots of not entirely productive arguments. Some of this requires hard truths, about the lack of resources or major blunders, but I think also a clear articulation of how we are similar or different.

Within the SLA context, I haven’t weighed in much in the official channels because I (of all people) just don’t have the energy. I don’t want to litigate the past, but I also don’t really find a lot of the old information useful. I understand people are invested, but I feel like we (the old timers) had our chance and it didn’t really work. Why not focus on what the future could be, not tied to the present. I worry in the SLA case that we’re going to waste energy and burn any goodwill with those who are still members and who still care in the process. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t engaged much. I don’t have time for grudges so old most people don’t know the players. It’s not moving us forward.

But then we need to get to the point. Do the associations exist so that they exist? (Then what’s the point?) Or do they exist for the members? And then what do members want? I want to connect with others doing similar work. I want to learn what they’re doing. I want to share what I’m doing. I want to advocate for a democratic information ecosystem. I want to support others in the profession.

The worrying thing is I might not have an organization like that anymore because SLA will go in a different direction. And then I’ll be reminded that the real value isn’t a certificate or the lines on my CV. It’s the friendships I built along the way…

So anyway I think it might be most efficient to start from scratch, rather than try to retrofit organizations that are still stuck in the 1990s.

You know why metadata matters.


Beauty queens with time capsule rock, Dana Point, 1966 flickr photo by Orange County Archives shared under a Creative Commons (BY) license

I often forget that information workers (librarians, archivists, what have you) have a different way of viewing the world than others. How things are described and presented so that people might be able to find something at a later date is something I think about a lot. It’s metadata. It’s preservation. It’s a time capsule. It’s a should be deliberate part of anything (online), but it’s often overlooked and assumed that search engines will take care of it or something.

This weekend Rachel Swan, a journalist I know, discovered that their bylines from a previous publication were erased:

It’s frustrating. It’s erasure. It’s also (as Swan seems to understand) likely just an oversight through likely a number migrations of different content management systems (CMS), without thinking about how to preserve all of the metadata from migration to migration because it’s messy and hard.* So much time is spent moving over the content, stuff like authors who no longer in the system as creators might get lost in the cracks or get turned into “staff”. Whether that’s nefarious or not. *cough*Deadspin*cough*

But I see this a lot from other sources. Like white papers or tech reports that don’t have any context – Who wrote it? When was it written? Who sponsored it? Where is it being published? The internet has made it so easy to publish stuff, and I guess people have a lot of faith in major search engines and webarchives to take care of their stuff. Making sure your work is minimally described makes it so much easier for people to find it at a later date (unless you don’t want people to see it). Even then, we can get into where your stuff is indexed to be found, and ensure that the link won’t be broken with next CMS upgrade. Someday AI and machine learning will take care of it all I guess, but even then it will only be successful if the building blocks are deliberately in place.

So my call to action for you is if you’re publishing something – a blog, an email blast, a paper, a report, an article, a mixtape – include attribution and a date at the very least.

* Also important to note that the SF Weekly is an alt-weekly who probably doesn’t have the resources or staff to think about these issues because it’s often all overhead. It’s hard not to think about that fresh on the heels of news that the OC Weekly is shutting down. Or remember when Gothamist and DNAinfo were shut down with no proviso for an archive or anything.

#MeToo, Redemption, and moving forward without forgetting in the Library Profession


Royal Australian Air Force in Australia during World War II flickr photo by State Library Victoria Collections shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC) license

In the post-#MeToo era, it’s hard not to think about sexism in the form of abuse, assault, and harassment. What started in the entertainment industry has spread. We’ve seen it in academia, in science, and kind of in libraries. The discussion in libraries centered mostly on public library users against library workers stopped short of dealing with these issues in the profession, particularly professional associations. 

The library world did have a conversation around this before the #MeToo era but post GamerGate. That context is important when going back and looking at the record for this discussion because much of it reflects the MRA zeitgeist around GamerGate, and pulled in commenters outside of the library world, using it as an example that fit their agenda. (And hindsight has made this whole thing more chilling, since this kind of sexism has been used to lure men into white supremacist groups.)  Through that noise, there was a discussion among library folk that talked about issues around sexual assault and harrassment in professional settings – particularly conferences. The conversation was cut off through the chilling effect of a SLAPP lawsuit and public retractions/apologies. Those who spoke up are no longer in the profession and the person who was accused pivoted to a different, tangential field. In the intervening years many people moved on and the episode faded from memory. Or they didn’t really forget but didn’t really talk about it.

Some recent conversations have made me examine what would be necessary for any kind of reconciliation or redemption. Would it even be possible for people who may have behaved inappropriately to be welcomed back? (If they actually went away). I think the bare minimum would be some acknowledgement of harm, which would also accompany an apology. (Like when Dan Harmon apologized to Megan Ganz.) I recognize that many (men) cannot even do that. Any kind of redemption has to start with some basic accountability: acknowledge the harm that occurred, sincerely apologize for that harm, stop the harmful behavior, and take action to repair or mitigate damage to those who were harmed. The ABA has a really good post discussing restorative justice in the wake of #MeToo that has many excellent points. But here is how they summarize the path to redemption: 

What is required for those called out by #MeToo to rebuild their moral and social identities may depend, in part, on the nature of their offense – its severity, intentionality, and pervasiveness. Attention to these nuances is important in order to avoid moral flattening, the temptation to conflate crimes and behaviors that are meaningfully different. But insufficient attention to building a foundation for redemption can cause efforts at reintegration or “comebacks” to fall flat. As actress and early Weinstein accuser Ashley Judd has noted, “There’s an appropriate sequence. Accountability, introspection, restitution, then redemption. You don’t get to skip the stages that lead to redemption.”

So bringing it back to now, and facing so many issues that many of my colleagues have swallowed, buried, and tried to forget, many inappropriate and upsetting situations that we have witnessed and did nothing about. There has been no accountability and I don’t know if there really can be since many of these situations took place long before #MeToo, and it a more difficult environment for people to speak up. And a lot of these kinds of transgressions happen in those murky grey areas, where somebody with influence and notoriety (and thus power) abuses their stature to behave inappropriately. It could be groping, it could be unwanted advances, it could be sexually suggestive jokes in professional settings. That kind of behavior is silencing, makes people feel unwelcomed, makes people complicit, and drives people away. 

When I was a young librarian, fresh out of library school and trying to get a foothold in the profession, I went along with moments of inappropriate behavior because I wanted to stay in favor of those in positions of privilege. I laughed at wildly inappropriate and offensive jokes in bars of conference hotels because they were told by leaders I looked up to. I tried to hang with that crowd because I thought it would help get ahead, but in hindsight it didn’t (outside the fact I came to see many of the “leaders” as flawed humans like the rest of us). I am fortunate that I was spared some of the worst behavior, but that makes me feel more complicit. It also makes me wonder about how many rising stars, movers and shakers, and other great librarians we lost because they were driven away by this kind of behavior. I am writing this to hold myself accountable and to encourage others to hold the whole system accountable. (Nevermind that there’s also likely a correlation between men abusing their privilege and getting speaking gigs to promote innovate-or-die hucksterism.) We live and work in a time where codes of conduct are standard, which we sadly need to remember. I feel like we take it for granted that #MeToo was a watershed, but then also forget that it just means we have the vocabulary and tools to address inappropriate behavior that never really went away.