Last updated 9 July 2020.

Salaries and wages in the non-profit libraries/archives/museums field are — no secret — chronically low. Many staff in the field struggle to cover basic necessities like rent amidst a rising cost of living plus financial obligations like student loan debt and retirement savings — if that’s even something they can think about putting money aside for. (And that’s all without the context of a global pandemic.) Salary transparency is one way to hold employers in our sector accountable. During the annual Society of American Archivists meeting in Austin, Texas last year (2019) an impromptu Archivists Salary Transparency Open Survey was created that, as of this writing, has over 500 entries (if you work in the archives field and feel safe sharing some of your own salary details, please consider adding your job to the list!).

I’ve been writing about aspects of our family’s finances for a number of years now. I’ve shared our household income and taxes, how much we pay in rent, our student loan debt, and the fact that we have financial support from my parents to offset student loan repayments. But despite the fact that a worker’s right to speak about their own compensation is legally protected in Massachusetts, I’ve always found it difficult to speak about my specific salary. It feels awkward, socially taboo, and politically charged. However, I’ve come to believe that maintaining an air of secrecy around compensation both shames workers and discourages concrete, fact-based discussion about what we get paid and why.  When workers are encouraged through cultural conditioning not to speak about money matters, we might worry that we’re paid embarrassingly little — is that our fault for not being good negotiators? — or disproportionately more than our colleagues — would they be mad at us if they knew? I have worried about both of these things. In the absence of data — that clears the air and helps us understand the macro and micro conditions that have led to our salaries — shame and intimidation flourish.

So I have decided to practice my values and be transparent about what I make, and the history of what I have made in the library field. The more I practice saying the words, the more normal I hope it will become.

MY SALARY HISTORY in LIBRARIES

When I transitioned from part-time retail and office work to the library field in 2007, I was newly arrived in Boston from the Midwest. The Massachusetts Historical Society hired me as a part-time Library Assistant for the hourly wages of $14.00/hour. At the time, that was the highest hourly wage I had ever earned.

During most of my graduate school career (October 2007 to December 2010) I worked as a part-time employee in various part-time and stipended positions in Boston-area institutions; the hourly work was paid at $10-15/hour. On January 1, 2011 I was promoted to a full-time salaried position of Assistant Reference Librarian at the Massachusetts Historical Society. This was my first professional (MLS required) position in the library field. My starting salary was $34,000/year.

The MHS operates on a fiscal year schedule so our annual raises typically kick in July 1st. Below are the salaries quoted to me in each of my annual salary and benefits statements as well as raises that came with promotions to new positions and salary adjustments that have come in the past two years in thanks to a salary study done by the MHS.

2011: $34,000 (promotion to Assistant Reference Librarian, 1 January 2011)
2011 (b): $35,020 (3% cost of living raise)
2012: $37,120 (6% cost of living raise)
2012 (b): $44,000 (promotion to Reference Librarian, 1 September 2012)
2013: $47,900 (2% cost of living raise + $2k deferred promotional increase)
2014: $48,860 (2% cost of living raise)
2015: $50,080 (2.5% cost of living raise)
2016: $51,080 (2% cost of living raise)
2017: $52,072 (2% cost of living raise) 
2018: $53,665 (3% cost of living raise)
2019: $57,453 (4% salary study adjustment; 3% cost of living raise)*
2020: $59,796 (3.6% salary study adjustment; no cost of living raise)

In addition to my salary, I currently receive:

• A 4% match to my 403(b) retirement fund
• Healthcare coverage, including dental and vision benefits
• Short- and long-term disability insurance
• Life insurance
• Pre-tax monthly transit passes
• Unlimited paid sick leave**
• Twenty days paid vacation time annually

*In 2019 the MHS hired a consultant to do an in-depth industry salary study. Following the salary study, each staff member was told the midpoint “market value” for their position and put on a five year trajectory to bring their salary up to that level (in addition to any promotions and cost-of-living raises). The 2019 midpoint market value for my position was determined to be $65,900. The 2020 midpoint market value for my position was determined to be $67,416. Raises in 2019 and 2020 were calculated to accelerate me toward that target. 

**Until February 2019 the MHS provided 12 paid sick days annually to salaried staff (hourly staff earned according to hours worked). When the Covid-19 pandemic reached the United States, the paid sick leave cap was lifted indefinitely for both part- and full-time staff to remove a barrier to staff remaining home when ill.

I wrote this email last week Friday and emailed it to Meredith Schwartz, who assumed the position of Library Journal‘s editor-in-chief this past January. I have lightly redacted some references to a specific project we were working on together but left the substantive critique of Library Journal‘s actions around the Library of the Year award intact. 

Updated 2020-06-11 in response to the second message LJ posted. See below the original email.

Dear Meredith,

This isn’t the email I wanted to write this morning. I was hoping to be able to touch base about [project]. Instead, it turns out I need to put my [participation] on pause. I’m sure you know why.

I learned yesterday that the 2020 Gale/LJ Library of the Year award has been given to the Seattle Public Library. As I know you are aware, based on the statement Library Journal issued in response to criticism, the SPL decision to create an unsafe environment for their trans/nonbinary staff and patrons by hosting an anti-trans group in the library this past February makes this award deeply problematic. Even if – as the LJ statement argues – the SPL is taking critique seriously, and working to make institutional change, this award would be (at best) premature.

It’s particularly difficult to stomach such an accolade during Pride month, when we remember the queer and trans youth of color who led the Stonewall uprising. You also made the decision to gloss over the February event during a historical moment when trans/nonbinary people in the United States are being targeted by organized, reactionary forces on the political right who feel emboldened by the Trump administration to pursue an aggressive anti-trans legislative and legal agenda (see for example here, here, and here). Context matters. It is also important to remember that trans and nonbinary people are part of the “vulnerable communities” that you argue in your statement SPL has “radically improved” services for. Trans and nonbinary people of color are disproportionately likely to experience homelessness and poverty, for example, and struggle to access trans-competent mental and medical health services. SPL should not be earning gold stars for “radical” improvements in addressing systemic racism while ignoring the experiences and needs of trans people of color in their community.

Your statement frames the backlash about the award as one that revolves around a harmful, imagined binary between “intellectual freedom” on one side and “equity and inclusion” on the other. Such a framing suggests that for libraries to be champions of intellectual freedom – a notion that makes most white, cisgendered, straight, middle-class, able-bodied liberal-identifying Americans feel warm fuzzy feelings – they must, sadly but necessarily, accept the cost of harm done to marginalized people. Freedom, after all, is supposedly an ultimate good. Where does this leave the freedom (intellectual and otherwise) of trans and nonbinary staff and patrons of libraries like the SPL that allow groups that jeopardize trans lives to convene? Where does that leave the freedom of the trans staff member who must welcome individuals who aggressively misgender them, or patrons unable to access the library’s resources because the presence of the anti-trans group makes the library inaccessible to them? True freedom requires equity and inclusion rather than standing in opposition to it. If an institution argues that maintaining the “freedom” of group A requires the continued unsafety or dehumanization of group B, that is a false freedom.

 My relationship with Library Journal since 2013* has been a long and rewarding one. I value my relationships with my editors, and the staff I work with on professional development courses, deeply. They have all helped me do better work as a librarian and as a human being who cares about justice and strives to do better. It is because of these relationships that I am taking the time to write this email at the end of what has been an exhausting week. 

 I sign this letter in hope that LJ will reconsider their decision and, as this open letter ** requests, chooses to donate the $10,000 award to the Seattle-based Gender Justice League.

Sincerely,
Anna

UPDATE: Library Journal has issued a second response to the criticism it is receiving. They continue to refuse to withdraw the award, arguing the racial equity work of the Seattle Public Library outweighs harm done to the trans community. They plan to, separately, donate $10k to the Gender Justice League and outline a series of things like trainings and special issues and forums they plan to host on queer and trans issues as next steps.

Hmmmmmmm.

First, I want to foreground the activism of both LJ staff who called out this problematic award and members of the broader library community who organized a swift response with clear demands. It is never without risk to stand up to your employer and we should remember those who did and continue to support them. And the $10k to the Gender Justice League is a clear win for those who crafted the open letter and identified concrete reparative action. You didn’t get everything you asked for, but this donation surely would not have happened without you. Organized activism works!

Second, I continue to be deeply frustrated by the way LJ is using racial equity as a shield to deflect criticisms about harm to trans people. This erases the embodied experience of trans people of color who were harmed by SPL actions, and for whom racial equity will not be effective in the absence of trans-inclusive practice. It’s also incredibly tacky and transparent to argue that work on behalf of marginalized group X makes you immune from criticism about, or cancels out harm done to, marginalized group Y. White queer folks don’t get a pass on racism because they’re queer; libraries don’t get a pass on trans harm because they do anti-racism work.

Third, a suspicious number of LJ’s promised “actions” rely on the labor of queer and trans people. While trans people are the experts on their own experience it is not their job to fix this situation. All that I can say at this point is anyone approached to provide labor for these action points should make an informed decision about participation, be clear in writing about what they will be responsible for providing (and make sure the intellectual rights remain with you), and ask for an abundant amount of money. This work should be well compensated, full stop. A company that can find $10k to donate in less than a week can pay queer and trans people well for their labor.

*In the email I mistakenly indicated I had been reviewing since 2014.

**I have signed this open letter (signature #1172) and by doing so indicated that if the award is not rescinded, with the award money going to Gender Justice League, by 30 June 2020 I will voluntarily rescind my 2019 Reviewer of the Year award due to “irreconcilable differences in values” (wording suggested by Fobazi M. Ettarh).

Answering email on the couch, with Teazle as my lap assistant (March 2020).

I’ve worked in frontline reader services at an independent research library since October 2007, serving the public both in person and remotely at the Massachusetts Historical Society (Boston, Massachusetts) for nearly thirteen years. On Tuesday, March 10th, 2020 we learned that at the close of business that day the library would close to the public until further notice due to the covid-19 (coronavirus) public health emergency in Boston. By noon on Wednesday, March 11th, all staff had retrieved necessary equipment and personal belongings from the building so that they could transition to fully remote operations.

I haven’t set foot in our building at 1154 Boylston St. for over two months.

As a library worker, I’ve rarely been busier.

Across the nation, as pressure increases for libraries to reopen — and for staff to return to their physical spaces — the call #ProtectLibraryWorkers has grown louder. It has become clear that many people don’t understand that the work that library workers do carries on even when the physical library is closed for the health and safety of library staff and the many communities within which we are embedded as both members and service workers.

I want to be clear that it is morally abhorrent to expect library workers, at any level, to risk death to provide library services in the midst of a pandemic. If the choice is fewer — or no — library services, for a time, in exchange for the health and safety — the lives — of library staff (and of patrons who would enter unsafe conditions if visiting an open library) the correct choice is to protect your people and resume services when it is reasonably safe for everyone to do so. Donna Lanclos and Stacy (@DarkLiterata) break down how the push to reopen libraries without regard for the lives of workers fits into the deeply problematic narrative of vocational awe, and I encourage you to read their threads. The are absolutely right.

That said, the choice being presented is a false one because in most cases* no service is not what happens when the library’s physical doors remain closed to the public while infection rates remain high and a vaccine remains under development. So in light of that, I thought it might be helpful to provide a behind-the-scenes glimpse of what is actually happening in my own research library environment during pandemic times. To that end, between Tuesday, May 26th and Friday, May 29th I’m going to live tweet my work day at the hashtag #WFHLibrarian. At the end of each day, I’ll collate the Tweets and share them in narrative form below. I hope that others will join in as well, since my own experience is specific to my institution and my position within it. Continue reading →

I wrote a longer-than-intended Twitter thread about the Romance Writers of America (RWA) implosion tonight — I got a bit ranty — so here it is as a blog post, tidied up only a bit for blog post format.

I have no idea what percent of my timeline is #romance and romance-adjacent and therefore already tuned in to the RWA implosion. But beyond romancelandia, if you are in the nonprofit / membership organization world this situation concerns you.

Detailed timeline (currently being frequently updated):
The Implosion of RWA by Claire Ryan, Author.

A good summary: “Romance Writers of America cancels annual RITA awards contest amid racism controversy,” Entertainment Weekly (6 January 2020).

If you are on the staff of a nonprofit and/or volunteer on a board of a nonprofit, this cascade of events concerns you. Particularly (I believe) the way that efforts toward justice (diversity, inclusion, equity, access reforms via policies and processes) were used against intent. The labor of marginalized members, particularly women of color within RWA, who were fighting to make concrete changes in their national professional organization, was appropriated and used to destroy their work (and directly used to try and silence them).

This isn’t an isolated incident, either in RWA or in the world of nonprofit cultural institutions and organizations, where underrepresented people are fighting to re-center their own stories and voices in the face of the imperialist, white supremacist ableist cisheteropatriarchy. If you work and/or volunteer in any space of this kind — and you care about fighting for a more just future therein — be on the offensive. Think about how your policies and procedures could be weaponized. Think about who is most likely to weaponize them.

Build defenses, contingency plans.

We can’t stop the work.

We absolutely shouldn’t stop the work.

But be ever aware that there are people for whom the change we are fighting for is something they will literally put their entire career (hell, the very existence of RWA as an organization!) on the line to stop our success, our right to be and thrive, its tracks.

Ask who would rather your organization cease to be than become truly anti-oppression in its orientation and practices. And plan to cut them off at the pass.

One key vulnerability in codes of conduct, codes of ethics, statements of diversity and inclusion, and other policy instruments that we often turn to within organizations to work toward justice is that they too often rely on language of non-discrimination. They rely on the very (white) American belief that the solution to inequality is treating everyone equally. To be “colorblind” … to be proud that you couldn’t tell your colleague was queer … to “not notice” a disability.

When policies and procedures require treating everyone “the same” they are VERY VERY EASY to weaponize against those who name discrimination. Because it’s not the quiet white supremacist who broke the rules … it’s the mean black woman who called them names. Drawing attention to inequality, in effect, becomes equated with creating the inequality. IF YOU JUST DIDN’T NOTICE the inequality, you marginalized person making a fuss, everyone would be treated the same BUT NOW I (the person expressing bigoted opinions) am being treated badly.

So you get situations like this:

person expressing bigoted opinion

files code of conduct violation complaint

against the person who identified the bigotry

So ask yourself, your committee, your organization … what does your policy require you to do in this instance? If your policy is written as a “neutral” document (there are no neutral documents) then likely your policy encourages you to find fault with the person who used Mean Words against the person who had a Bigoted Opinion because, after all, we must be inclusive. Welcoming to everyone. And look, we haven’t been so welcoming to the person with the Bigoted Opinion have we? Clearly, something must be done to address their complaint. 

So.

Think.

And think DAMN hard.

About when push comes to shove who gets to be welcome in your space, who gets to be included, and who pays the price of that welcome by being excluded.

Because someone ALWAYS pays the price. And I, personally, would rather the shitty white supremacist grifters paid the price than the queer black lesbians writing me good kissing books. And I’d like organizational policy documents to back me up on that one.