Intellectual Freedom

When I was in high school, I wanted to read The Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie.  I wanted to read it for no other reason than that it had been all over the news.  Libraries were banning it. People were burning it. Ayatollah Khomeini put out a fatwā  on Rushdie's life. What, I wondered, could be so powerful, to cause so much fuss? 

Likewise, I would walk slowly past the section where Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire sat on the shelves of my public library. I was a bit of a chicken when it came to scary things, so vampires were a no-go at the time, but the book called to me because I had heard whispered conversations that it was "bad", read the newspaper articles saying that it should be "banned" and "taken off the shelves".  (It would take me another 20 years to get around to reading the book. In 2015, Louis and Lestat were hardly terrifying, but the images of grief, remorse, redemption, loneliness, forgiveness, and suffering hit me like a fist.  I wondered again, how could anyone want to keep people from this book?)

Last week, I was at home discussing the upcoming Banned Books Week festivities I hoped to host.  My youngest daughter asked what "banned books" meant, so I tried to explain it to her. (Full disclosure:  I am a fervent, tireless advocate of intellectual freedom.  I have a very strong bias against banning literature.) It went something like this:

Me: Well, there are some people who don't like certain books or certain topics, so they don't want to read books on those topics.  But they also don't want other people to read them either, so they try to get them removed from the classroom or the library.  

Her: (puzzled look)

Me: I know. 

I am a strong advocate for self censoring.  If one does not like something, one should avoid it. That doesn't mean that one can tell others that they must avoid it too. 

I am also a strong advocate of parental involvement in children's lit selection.  I do see what my children read, mostly to have an idea of what they are reading about.  But occasionally I do warn, "That is really violent" to my child who is sensitive or "You need to be a little older to read that" for topics more mature.  

I know some people bristle at even that, but parenting is a difficult path, and this is how I choose to navigate that road.  I don't tell my kids they can  never read something, just that they need to be older. And I do have a child who read The Hunger Games at 11. After flying through the series (and dressing as Katniss for Halloween), she wanted to read Divergent.  It is more

mature (especially in latter books), so I was hesitant, but trusted in her ability to self-censor and her judgment of herself and her interests.   She read Divergent , then lost interest in the follow up books (where things became more mature). She recently expressed a desire to read them again, and I continue to trust her judgment.  

So then people ask, what if she wanted to read Fifty Shades of Gray? She needs to be older. Period. 

What if she wanted to read something with an LGBT character/issue?  This is simply a nonissue for me. She has classmates who are LGBT (whether they are out or not), friends, family. Books today reflect reality in a more brilliantly vivid and accepting way than ever before.  And, again, if such a topic bothers her (which I hope it would not), she should self censor. That is not my place. Period. 
  
What if she wanted to read something that I personally found offensive?  I think it depends on what it is.  
If it is something sexual, it is probably a "read it when you are a bit older". 
If it is illegal (child porn), no. That is an issue of consent and privacy, not censorship.  
If it is violent, I would caution about that and let her decide (she doesn't like violence). 

If it is obscene?  

Good question.  Obscenity varies from person to person.  When I was a child, I knew a woman who was like a grandmother to me. She was kind, loving, and generous. I respected her above all others and valued her opinion as the law.  And she could not say the word "pregnant". She grew up in a different time with a different set of values, and the mere mention of the word was impossible. It was obscene.

So, I guide my children the best I can, knowing that what bothers me may not even register to them.

15 years ago, I taught with some teachers who were horribly offended by Harry

Potter and crossed those books off on the Scholastic Book Order that they sent home. 

Now I think, honestly?  Who is bothered by Harry Potter? Well, According to the ALA Office for Intellectual Freedom, the Harry Potter series was the most frequently challenged book in libraries in the 2000-2009 decade.   

Today, though, it seems most challenged books are due to either religion or sex. 

One of my favorite books of all time is The Librarian of Basra. It is the true story of a librarian who saves books, many ancient or sacred, during the war in Iraq.  And people wanted it removed from libraries because it was "violent" and promoted "the Koran and praying to Mohammed". This is a book I have read to my children again and again. The librarian risks her life for books and freedom and knowledge. And she wins.  The books are saved, in spite of war and bombs and flame, and it unites her communities. How is that dangerous? Powerful? Yes. Dangerous? Only to tyrants. 

I my children to grow up in a world where And Tango Makes Three is a fun, sweet,cute book and nobody raises a stink about the fact that the penguins are the same gender. I want my children to read I am Jazz and marvel at Jazz's strength and fortitude, not clutch their pearls at the LGBT aspect of it. People are LGBT; moving right along. 

At the same time, I am in a public school library, so it is a bit different from a public library itself.  Some books do not fit in the mission and focus of the school library (which shapes the collection and the books I purchase), so, no, my library does not have Fifty Shades of Gray.  But the public library in town does, and that is as it should be.

And yes, we have Twilight. Don't think it is quality 
literature? That is not important. My library is here to create lifelong readers.  And if people want to read about sparkly vampires (which, based on sales and circulation data, they clearly do), then I am happy to help them. 

Do we have the Walking Dead graphic novels? You bet!  I can't keep them on the shelves. The kids want to read them! Are the pictures creepy and gross? At times. I would not ever read a book about a zombie, much less an illustrated book on zombies.  But the artwork is amazing, the story lines are great, and the students want to read them.

While I call my students "my kids", they are not, in fact, my children, so it is not my place to censor their reading. Period. I am here to guard their access to information.  

And so I have my Banned Books Week display up for all to see.  A few kids have asked about it, and I am happy to talk about why it is important to have access to literature.  

And I am hosting a school wide Banned Books Bingo. (Spoiler

alert: Mine is The Librarian of Basra)

And I carry on the good fight.  Talking about books and reading and intellectual freedom. Buying books. Promoting reading. Encouraging students to self censor. (Don't like it? Don't read it.) Discussing why things have been challenged in the past, and why that is important. 

It is an important discussion why Huck Finn is a challenging read, that stabs at the heart of America and many of the issues it still struggles with.  We need to talk about why one can't just remove the N-word from the book to try to soften that blow, that reality.   

It is important that students have access to the information they need: accurate, current, unbiased information. 

It is important that we not forget that in the past people did pile books up and burn them. (And unfortunately still do. In America.) It is essential to realize that one can still be killed for owning certain books in parts of the world today.

And lest Western arrogance cloud our eyes, it is crucial to realize that the Chicago Public School system recently talked of removing Persepolis from the

summer reading list and pulling it from the library, with planned confiscations that drew national attention and the focus of the mayor.  Why? Because the book deals with issues like war, growing up, totalitarian regimes, and a "brief sequence depicting torture in Iran, including a man urinating on a torture victim."  The students reading Persepolis are the same ones who must grapple with the realities of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay.These are issues that are important and real. Painful, but important. 


It feels odd to say I celebrate banned books week, because it is less a celebration and more a reflection.  
A call to see what is happening. 
A rallying cry for intellectual freedom. 
A view of what we have come through and how important it is to protect the freedom we have. 

As a kid, I worried about Salman Rushdie. His family. His well-being. His life.  I feared for him (though I barely knew who he was) and wondered at the disguises he must wear and the fear he must shoulder.  I suppose my young heart thought that as an adult, the world would have moved past that sort of judgment, shame, and censorship. 

Apparently not. 

Losing Anonymity, Finding Purpose

I am a really private person.  I am an extreme introvert.  (Also, I'm a Ravenclaw) 

My comfort zone is well defined and gives me strength. The thing is, many people don't realize these things about me.  

Several years ago, I had students in my psychology class take a Myers Briggs typology test. It indicated (as it has every single time I have ever taken the test, consistently over a 25 year span) that I am deeply an ISTJ. My students, however, were willing to go to war with me over whether I am an I or an E, that is, an introvert or an extrovert.  

Which led to a great conversation for a psychology class about the fact that in my professional life, I appear to be an extrovert.  I can be talkative, passionate, unyielding, loud, bold, and entertaining. But in my personal life, I am quiet, thoughtful (though still unyielding), reserved, and inwardly focused.  I value solitude, anonymity, and silence. I am intensely private.

When we moved to our current area, we came from a metropolitan area of over 350,000. I could go to Walgreens (10 to choose from! all open 24 hours!) and likely not see anyone I knew. But the town I work in, where my schools are, is just the opposite. 900 students K-12. One town of just over 700 residents, another of just over 600, a third with around 2,000.  

Anonymity is a thing of the past.

Working with high school students mostly, it was still a bit preserved.  They are happy to duck around a shelf to protect their own privacy in public or just give a polite wave as they drive down the road. 

But elementary is an entirely different ball game. I went into a local gas station yesterday and was greeted happily by three different students, one who explained she was with her grandmother, and one who gave me a hug.  A hug! In the gas station!

And it was great.

In a second grade classroom the other day I asked who could guess what my job is.  (I had mentioned my title and a few of my duties on the previous visit, so I was just checking for recall). Four different kids called out "You read books to kids!"

And it really hit me that reading books to kids is a part of what I do, and it is an important part. Maybe one of the most important parts. 

I can still remember being read Tailypo as an elementary kid and having a delicious terror and thrill all mixed together until I memorized the book. It was a scary book I would never ever have read on my own.  

I can very clearly remember years later being read "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" and having such a vivid idea of the way words can be used to persuade, to move, to influence. 

I just spoke with a teacher who said she is reading a book to her kids, and they are loving it. "They would sit there all day and listen if they could!"

Many times I have students call out, "Read it again!" And if there is time, I do. 

I grew up being read to.  It was important in my family, so it was prioritized.  And I recognize very profoundly that the ability to prioritize that is a product of many types of privilege: socio-economic, educational, occupational.

I read to my children, and now that they are older, I readily check out audiobooks for them (Yay! for Overdrive through my public library!)  so that while they are playing with LEGOs or action figures, they are being read to. (They spent the summer reading through the entire Harry Potter series and are now on the Percy Jackson series. ) 

But to make that happen, I check out books on Overdrive and use our WiFi to upload them to an old smart phone I no longer use (a Samsung Galaxy S4, still new enough to use Overdrive). 

And that takes time. Time for a person to be able to go into the online system, find the book, download it, or place it on hold if it isn't available.  

And it takes money. We live in an unincorporated part of the city, so we pay the tax equivalency to access the public library.  I am happy to support the library, but I fully recognize many people could not afford to do this. Also, I pay for WiFi. (We live in the boonies, so we have satellite internet which is far from inexpensive.)  And I have a new (not cheap) phone that frees up another (older, but by no means old) for my children's recreational use. 

And it takes knowing that the resource exists, finding out how to use it, and troubleshooting when it doesn't work exactly as planned. 

All of these are things that in today's world, today's economy, my local economy, many people do not have access to.  Time. Money. Resources. 

So, I step into that gap.  I read to kids. I get to see their eyes light up and hear their laughs or groans. I see the light bulbs go on over their heads when they figure out the trick or twist or joke.  

And they now know me as the person who reads to them. I do lots of other things, but first graders neither know nor care about grants, purchase orders, circulation statistics, curriculum alignment, footfall tracking, weeding, or technical support. They know and care that I show up in their class with a fun book and read to them. 

I now have no anonymity. My public life has no privacy. I get hugs in the gas station. I am introduced to grandparents and talked about from two aisles over. I get vigorously waved to in hallway at school and in The Dollar Tree.

And I love it. 

I read to kids.  

I am kind of a big deal.