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elloarlfellow · 6 years

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“seattle | by rcarver seattle | by rcarver”

In the last year, I was celebrating many firsts. It was the first time I ever attended a concert. First time I ever traveled on my own. First time my mom felt it safe enough. And, it was the first time after a long time that wishes once painted in naivety came true. I felt welcomed and connected in an academic, professional space. This little 20-year-old black girl in undergrad was respected. My work, what I wanted to do, what I wanted to become, who I was now was not accepted as mere asset in the name of ~Diversity~ but rather a welcomed addition to a growing national conversation about creating space for people of color rather than training us to accommodate to white, elitist spaces. I no longer had to hope for such a home. It was curated for me, molded to me, and shaped by the rest of my cohort. The Association of Research Libraries 15th Annual Leadership Symposium fulfilled a dream I had long relinquished, introduced me to people I was in awe of without feeling like I could never be like them. They're all only a message away. It was everything I imagined I would have to forge far in the future, when I had just enough social and material capital to make it happen. Central leadership like Mark Puente and the tireless work of those who believed in this work like Amy or Mira, and others behind the scenes made it happen for us. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

When I arrive back home, I am tired but replenished. I felt I could tackle all the projects circling in my head and give them a narrowed focus as I lessened my workload and signed up for courses that inspired me. I'm still dealing with the same hesitance and uncertainty in myself, but it is no longer rooted in shameful fear. It is an uncertainty inherent to a future I am still writing. But after meeting my cohort, after meeting those who entered a continually changing space from differing fields joined together by their love of innovation, of learning, of creating that welcoming space, I feel this fear is no longer in vain. It is part of a bigger conversation of fear that all youth has, all innovators, trailblazers, and scene-shakers. I am again reminded that I'm part of a legacy of change for the "greater" good, even in seemingly minute ways. That good can just be for the better. That's good too.

This is the impression I left with. That academic libraries were leading the charge in creating open communal spaces that could work to unite a university's charge in inclusive education. And then I hear of the conference that happened in the same city as my revelatory experience and I smacked back to the reality. Ah... this space was refreshing because I didn't have to deal with racism from the attendees and organizers. Ah, I felt safe because I was constantly reminded that I could speak however I wished. Ah, I was comfortable because this space made me a priority. Ah, this is a rarity. A luxury.

Was I marked by a youthful naivety again? Naivety. Is that simply the second name thrown at hope in the face of reality?

I was told about this incident through panicked groupme texts with the rest of my incredible cohort. But, I didn't have the energy to search through twitter hashtags to figure out what the hell was going on. So I avoided because I could. The privilege and irony in this doesn't escape me. Soon after, I was reminded in a meeting with my supervisor, and I could only stumble out a "yeah" when asked if I knew what was happening. I didn't. But I could assume I knew. I was all too familiar. When my supervisor shared the work of April Hathcock through her blog,At The Intersection, I first wanted to familiarized myself with her legacy in librarianship. I did not want my first interaction to be one of shared pain. I did not want to define her as the woman harassed, as the interchangeable face of racist and misogynist conflict. But her work, like my own, is intrinsically, intricately tied to our identities. How then can she avoid speaking at length about how this identity is perceived by the ever-looming white response? At the intersection. Black women reside here, resting where we can, surviving as we must. And after reading her piece"ALAMW: What Happened, and What Should Happen Next", I find a quiet murmur of "of course" leave my lips. Because of course this happened. Because of course "this" is a repeated misery, of white rage and dystopian response to black women who focus their work on the humanity of PoC, especially when examining this relation in professional spaces. But that damned beast Naivety - or maybe it’s that damsel Hope- returns.

"I thought they were working to make us feel safe. I thought we mattered. I thought they witnessed the problem and were working to fix it." As April writes, "Boy, was I naive and wrong."

I don't think it can be described as hope anymore.

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When applying to the Diversity and Inclusive Excellence Fellowship, I wrote:

"In every institution I make my professional and academic home, I discover secrets buried beneath the foundation. These secrets, piece by piece, connects my history as a black queer woman to those before me. Despite the complicated relationship marginalized identities have with various institutions, I understand the privilege I have by being exposed to this history while having the opportunity to ensure the narrative is controlled by those within it. It is not simply a matter of making sure a story is shared with the world, but rather ensuring the people involved become the main architect of their legacy. "

I seemed to have stumbled across potholes so deep they rock the foundation of the entire road. Is this a path that I once again must repair, fill by stretching myself, allowing myself to be run over so people can pretend the whole road is fixed again? I mean, who cares of the collateral damage if you make it to the other side, right? What matters of the roadkill.

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When I was reflecting on my time in Seattle with my supervisor and an Associate University Librarian at VCU, we talked about the Symposium being a place of comfort and safety, even if I was completely ignorant to what the library was in the 21st century. I couldn't deny that my impression remained "Cool, free books." It was all new and it gave me an entirely new direction on what my career course may be. When summarizing the fish out of water feeling I had when talking to various lead directors of libraries all across the nation, I tried to pin down an anxiety that I felt would seem foreign to professionals who had been at VCU Libraries for at least a decade.

"I mean, I couldn't even drink at the bar." I got a chuckle out of it. So maybe it was an adept summary of youth, of the rush of time, of that uncertain fear again. But even still, with such inexperience in this new professional world, I am already familiar with the language used to resist people like me; the words chosen, the looks given, the expectations of incredible excellence that can only be explained as "black girl magic", the expectations of incredible disappointment that can only be explained as "lottery pick, quota fulfiller". I learned a long time ago how to navigate all these possibilities, even if they occupied the same person.

Do I celebrate this as survival skill? Is it 'black girl magic'? Is it clever? Strategic?

"I may not know how to swim, but I do know how to shrink myself. Make myself easy to swallow."

How do I add this to the resume?

I think a lot of the time when I was listening to people speak about the lack of diversity in the libraries, it sounded like it was incidental. Like it was only a branding issue. The libraries just so happen to not have people of color high in its ranks. But after learning of the racism that was embedded in the ALAMW, the question of lacking diversity is never incidental, even if it is not exactly purposeful. It is, however, a fact that white people, even in the academy, are resistant to learning their involvement in displacing, silencing, and threatening people of color in any and all spaces. This resistance is summarized by some scholars as White Fragility, adopted by Robin DiAngelo who even spoke at the ALAMW conference - though I also read that many walked out in the midst of it. None of ALA's publications speak to this, of course. Whatever we decide to call it, it becomes part of the system when the leadership controls initiative and program and languages used in the announcement of both. This critique, of course, isn't unique to the Library. But, by having such polar experiences in the same field, same city, same days, the disparities become all the more evident. The work needed becomes all the more present. But it also becomes all the more possible. If I could be in a room with other undergraduates with various majors, those working to complete their masters in Library Sciences, and working professionals without ever feeling like I had to focus on merely surviving the possibilities of racialized trauma, then it could be possible in a field where this Symopoisum resided.

I don't believe this to be naivety. I believe it to be hope. A good hope, a real hope.

So, here's to hoping.

#alamw19 #ARL Annual Leadership Symposium #Seattle trip;ARL #Jan 24th - Jan 27th

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