All Access. Our Profession Is Not Immune from Systemic Oppression

by Chad Heck, October 2021

Normally in this column on ethics in school libraries, I discuss issues of the day and provide an analysis from the ethical framework of our profession. Today's column is much more personal. Earlier this year, the ALA Code of Ethics was amended to address racial and social justice. My purpose in sharing my own story here is to show the work that we still have to do. A lot of librarians, myself included, have believed that our profession is the exception to the issues of systemic bias that have been getting attention lately. My experience has shown me otherwise.

My queer identity developed alongside my professional identity as a librarian. I identified strongly with the values of the profession. The ALA's "Freedom to Read" statement particularly resonated with me and while there wasn't much YA literature written for queer teens at the time, I read into that statement that books that featured characters like me had a place in libraries. Librarians were among the first people I came out to. For most of my life, libraries had been my safe space. In library school I felt affirmed. I focused many of my studies on serving queer youth. In my head, I thought there would be a large queer presence among my classmates in library school, but that wasn't the case. I guess I always assumed that the safety of the library that I experienced in my youth would also attract other queer people to the profession. But then, I was exposed to some of the ugliness in the profession.

Last year, I wrote in this column about an experience I had with school librarians in my county wanting to remove The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater from our countywide Battle of the Books competition because it was about a transgender teen and did a deep dive into gender identity. I had transgender teens on my team. How was I to explain to them that librarians in our county wanted to exclude their experiences from the books we read? Ultimately, thanks to some impassioned pleas from fellow librarians, on a narrow vote the book was retained in the competition resulting in some libraries from backing out of the competition altogether. I fear for the students in their schools.The most blatant homophobia that I have experienced in a professional setting and, well, any setting, actually came from my state library association. While serving on its board, I advocated for the organization to support a Drag Queen Story Hour event where a very vocal group wanted to remove drag queens from the library and its programming. This was the first time since I had been professionally writing and advocating for intellectual freedom that there were censorship efforts not because of the content, but because of who was delivering that content. I wanted my association to affirm the rights of my queer brothers and sisters to exist in library spaces. While there was fervent discussion on both sides, my state association decided to take no action. Then things got worse.

After sharing my experiences, I was asked by leadership to step down. They wanted a diverse board, but board members were told that they could not speak against board action. I was accused of violating my fiduciary duty to the board (board members have fiduciary duties to the organization, not the board), and there were veiled threats that I would be removed if I chose not to resign. One organization leader accused advocates of pushing a gay agenda and said that youth should talk about gender with psychologists, not drag queens. The level of homophobia and transphobia that happened was beyond anything I had experienced professionally before.

I did not resign. I remained on the board and made numerous reports to the board leadership about the sustained and systemic homophobia that was occurring in the organization. I called for action, and my calls went unheard. Fast forward two years later, when our new board president, a friend of mine, experienced racial issues and resigned. The experiences she shared in her resignation letter felt familiar. While our experiences were not exactly the same, I understood intersectionality and how organizations assert their power over minoritized people. I affirmed that I had witnessed the racism she experienced, and I again called for action on the homophobia and transphobia that continued to surface in the organization.

In the midst of scandal, the board was forced to act. Finally, there was an extensive formal investigation. During this investigation, I shared my experiences. While many members sent me support, others told me that talking about what I witnessed was unprofessional and counterproductive. I was even accused of bullying simply for sharing what I experienced and calling for accountability. The most difficult parts of this entire process were the attempts from within the organization to silence me and remove me from my positions.

Ultimately, the investigation substantiated every claim of homophobia that I made. It should not take an expensive investigation for minoritized people to be believed or heard. Inviting minoritized people to the table only works when the profession actively supports their interests.

We need to do better. We need to support each other. We need to serve our patrons. We need to uphold our ethics. It won't be simple. We need to take a hard look at our biases. We need to listen and take corrective action when people tell us we're failing them. We need to support and amplify the voices of colleagues calling for change. We need to stand up for our ethical mandate that calls for serving all of our patrons. This won't be easy. In today's fraught political environment, there will be a price to pay. It will take hard work. It may mean alienating leaders or igniting protests. The price may be high, but we owe it to our patrons and to each other.