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.

I was invited to participate on a panel at the Tufts University Libraries staff development day, 6 June 2018, on the theme of critical librarianship. Before opening the panel to a more discursive question and answer period, each of the panelists — myself, Stacy Collins, and Liz Phipps-Soeiro — were asked to briefly speak about our own practices of critical librarianship. These were my remarks.

I decided to use my brief presentation time here today, before we move into a more conversational mode, to share three questions with you that I use to frame and reflect on the practice critical librarianship at my workplace and in the field more broadly. I want to note here, at the top of our discussion, that I received no formal training in critical theory when I was pursuing my MLS degree at Simmons College, between 2007 and 2011; last night, when I was preparing my remarks, I did a quick search and found that the #critlib Twitter chats go back to 2014, and the DERAIL Forum at Simmons — a student-led forum for “critical discussions of the intersections between social justice issues and our roles as students and information professionals” — began in 2016. Five years after I finished my graduate education.

As someone who entered the field of librarianship because I was seeking a way to put my leftist politics into practice, I am really excited that these discussions are happening — and often happening in ways that are accessible to library workers who are no longer students themselves (on Twitter, at professional conferences, in forums like this). While I love to read and think about critical theory, I want to underscore that you don’t have to be a theory nerd to think and act critically in library spaces. And I hope that these three questions, which I have found helpful in clarifying my role and responsibilities to work for social justice on the job, help you think about what you can do in your own work space to make our practices more inclusive.

Question One: What are my core values?

A key insight of critical theory is that power is distributed unequally in every area of our lives. Critical theory especially highlights the way that systems and structures — cataloging standards, workplace hierarchies, the physical organization of space — presented as objective, neutral, and natural that may appear “neutral” (in part because powerful people present them as such) in fact actively work to produce and reproduce power and privilege whether or not they are ultimately good for human flourishing.

Many of us became librarians because we are passionate about access to information — particularly access that is made available on an equal basis to everyone in the community (however defined) that the library serves. The hard lesson that critical theory teaches us is that the practice of librarianship is not inherently the practice of social justice. We learn that libraries, too, are sites of oppression. Of colonialism, of racism, of anti-gay, anti-Muslim, anti-fat, ableist, and sexist attitudes and exclusionary practices. And we learn that sometimes these harmful attitudes and actions are not incidental to librarianship but are, in fact, foundational to the history of our field and woven tightly (perhaps inextricably, in some cases) into our daily work.

This is why my first question — for myself, and for all of you — is: “What are my core values?” Current best practices, organizational mission statements, codes of ethics established by professional bodies — these may be useful, but they should not be your only way of holding yourself accountable for socially just practice. Instead, I encourage you to identify (or create) communities of accountability outside of your workplace, perhaps even outside of your field. In the months following the 2016 election, for example, it became clear to me that speaking out against GOP policies required more than the language of professional ethics and best practices. Identify those people and spaces that help you hold on to your deepest sense of justice and joy, and check in with those people, spend time in those spaces, purposefully reflect on how your daily work can better reflect those values you hold dear.

Question Two: Who is missing from this table?

The second question I encourage you to ask — and ask often — is “Who is missing from this table?” Who is missing from your conversations about policy, about access, about inclusion? When you post a job opening, who is applying for those positions, and who is invited for interviews? If those people all come from very similar backgrounds and all fit a very similar profile: Are they all (or almost all) white? Are they all from middle-class backgrounds? Are they all able-bodied?

Particularly when it comes to questions of power and agency in our institutions, getting into the habit of noticing who is and isn’t at the table when decisions are being made, when resources are being allocated, is a crucial step in taking action for change. Think critically about who serves (and who is asked to serve) on committees. Who has the financial resources to participate in professional development. Whose needs are framed as central in your workplace and whose comfort is considered as a postscript in event planning? And task yourself with documenting the exclusions you notice, and speaking up. To take one example, the Massachusetts Historical Society recently established a lactation space for staff and researchers, and when an email went out to staff announcing this the email referred to the space as a “Mother’s Room.” Not all parents who provide milk for their children identify as mothers, or as women — so I asked the facilities staff to consider more inclusive language for any signs or information text on our website.  In another case, a staff member noticed that our registration form offered no gender-neutral alternative to Mr. and Ms. — a careless oversight that was easily remedied once he brought it to our attention. While sometimes true ideological differences exist, and need to be dealt with, in many cases change can be made with minimal fuss institutionally and make a HUGE difference in how welcome staff and patrons feel.

Question Three: Where, and how do I have agency?

Once you start thinking about the (mal)distribution of power in your library, and once you start noticing who’s being excluded, and how, it’s time to think about where and how you have agency to make change. All of us carry complex identities that mean we have institutional and social power in some contexts and may be marginalized in others. It’s important to do the work of discerning where you, specifically, can bring insight to bear and where you have the power to act. When it comes to social privilege, for example, I am a white woman, I am able-bodied, I hold advanced degrees, English is my first language, I have birthright citizenship. Institutionally, I have the advantage of ten years’ tenure, a supervisor who supports me, and I’m salaried with benefits. On the other hand, I am queer and a woman; I’m not a department head, and in many cases am not at the table when institutional policy discussions take place. I am young compared to many of my senior colleagues. But that doesn’t mean I lack agency. In the comedy world, they talk about jokes that “punch up” rather than “punch down”: Jokes that punch down — fat “jokes” or rape “jokes,” for example — reinforce existing prejudice and police already-marginalized people further. Jokes that “punch up” work in the opposite way, naming and ridiculing those policing practices in a way that exposes their violence and hopefully helps turn the cultural tide. In a similar way, I have come to think about practicing critical librarianship “from the middle” of an institution as an exercise in sheltering down and amplifying up. Assess where you are in your organization, who your allies are, and who among those allies has more structural power and who has less. It’s your job to amplify the voices of those with less structural power. Remember those people not at the table? If you are at the table, do everything you can to bring those people to the table. And if they can’t be there in person, bring their concerns forward yourself. And in the other direction, identify the harmful ways power is being used against the vulnerable in your workplace — and do what you can to mitigate those harms, even if you are not in a position to unilaterally change policies or practices.

Critical race theorists assert (and here I am quoting from Richard Delgado’s Critical Race Theory: An Introduction) that society should “ ‘Look to the bottom’ in judging new laws [and] if they would not relieve the distress of the poorest group — or worse, if they compound it — we should reject them.” I argue that the practice of critical librarianship is the continual process of checking in with our most vulnerable, our most marginalized community members and challenging ourselves and our organizations to make their experiences, perspectives, and needs central to our policies and practices.

In 2016, while I was serving as New England Archivists’ Inclusion and Diversity Coordinator, we conducted a survey on contingent employment in the archives/library field. I was asked to present the findings of this survey at NEA’s annual business meeting. Because of some time constraints, we ended up deferring the presentation from spring 2017 to spring 2018. I will be presenting a ten minute snapshot of finding at the business meeting held on Saturday, March 23, 2018 in New Haven, Connecticut during the New England Archivists/Archives Roundtable of Metropolitan New York Spring 2018 Joint Meeting (22-24 March 2018).

Because the presentation will be a brief ten minutes, I am making the slides available here for anyone who wishes to review them at their leisure.

You may also download a PDF of the presentation slides here.

The full data set (stripped of identifying information) will eventually be made available for researchers in some to-be-determined format through New England Archivists. I will update links when that transpires! In the meantime, I am happy to discuss these findings with anyone who has a further interest in this area. Contact me here or @feministlib!

UPDATE ONE: 2018-03-26.
At the request of a couple of folks who wanted the survey questions for possible reuse in their own region, I have made two Google Documents available:

Appendix 1: Survey Questions (Doc.)
Appendix 2: Semi-Structured Interview Questions (Doc.)

UPDATE TWO: 2018-08-18
I have finally completed cleaning up the footnotes on the final report (January 2017). Here is the report in PDF (via Google Documents), a folder of anonymized interview transcripts:

NEA Contingent Employment Study Final Report 2018-08 (PDF)
Anonymized transcripts of the qualitative interviews (PDF)

UPDATE THREE: 2018-TBD

Anonymized survey responses may be found here (Google Sheets) [Link to come]

This piece was written as a farewell when I stepped down from my three-year term as New England Archivists’ Inclusion and Diversity Coordinator. It first appeared in the October 2017 issue of  NEA News (44:4). As I have been following the #DERAIL2018 conversation on Twitter this weekend, it seemed like this reflection on the possibilities and problematics of institutional diversity work in the archives world might have broader applicability. So I’m reposting it here. 

I accepted the position of New England Archivists’ first Inclusion and Diversity Coordinator in November 2014 with some trepidation. With our recently-adopted Inclusion and Diversity Statement in hand, the leadership was ready to take action. But what would effective short-term and long-term action look like? Would I have support from the organization to institute change? How would I adequately assess and address the needs of New England’s archivists for a more just and inclusive professional environment? These were some of my initial reservations as a relatively young and newly-involved member of NEA, yet I felt it was important to work on these issues and was committed to charting out a path that future Coordinators might find useful to follow.

Over the past three years, I have been grateful to my fellow archivists within NEA for enthusiastically welcoming my proposals and bringing their own concerns forward that we might address them together. Thanks to the members who brought me ideas and requests, we have made structural changes to our Spring Meeting to ensure people of all genders feel welcome, that nursing parents have space to feed their children, people with a wide variety of dietary needs are fed, and that specific accommodations for participants with disabilities are advertised and provided. These changes have been institutionalized as part of the Spring Meeting planning guide. We are also in the second year of our three-year pilot program to encourage session proposals on social justice themes with the Inclusion and Diversity Travel and Session Award that funds travel expenses for the winning panel participants.

Thank you, also, to the membership for your overwhelming support for adopting our code of conduct that is the policy instrument backing up our stated commitment to building and maintaining an environment where members and guests are free from harassment. While this anti-harassment policy was not developed in response to any specific incident of exclusionary hostility, it does establish a framework through which we can handle any such incidents as they arise. Even more importantly, in my opinion, the code of conduct establishes a common expectation for all members and guest participants in NEA events that we respect the full humanity of one another, honor each others’ complex life experiences, and strive to learn how our multiple identities inform our perspectives both personally and professionally.

These are steps in the right direction, but we still have a long journey ahead to address the structural inequalities baked into our profession. Continue reading →