My local library has been protested at by the usual suspects because they have done some Pride month programming for teens. I went to their monthly board meeting to support the library and the usual suspects threw around a lot of words that had nothing to do with the issue at hand. One lady went off for her 2 minutes about drag queens, which had nothing to do with the Pride programming in question, for example, but they sure do like their talking points.
Anyways, I had my two minutes too. I had prepared the below letter to read but quickly realized two minutes wasn’t enough time. I summarized the letter I had written and got only a little emotional telling the board that their work was saving lives. It was interesting seeing the contrast between the usual suspects and the LGBTQIA+ folks and allies. The usual suspects screeched about pornography and drag queens. The ten or so of us who talked about their experiences being not-straight as a teen all said the same thing: libraries saved their lives.
Below is my letter to the board. I hope it helped them realize their impact, despite the screeching of the usual suspects.
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I grew up in a household that supported reading… but only of approved kinds of authors. My father let me read science fiction and fantasy, but only by authors who, by name, appeared to be men. According to him, women only wrote “trash” that would lead me down the path to sin and heresy.
Since I was homeschooled, my mother would take my brother and I to the library every week to check out books to supplement the curriculum. However, she and my father were in agreement on what I was allowed to read. As such, she would go through the stack of books I had selected to check out from the library to look for “inappropriate” authors/covers. About one out of every three books was sent back, deemed too sinful for my parents’ taste. God help me if I tried to check out a book with a dragon on the cover, or anything that smacked of magic.
And then a miracle happened: my local library installed a self-checkout system. No longer did I have to stand in line, handing the books, one by one to the patient librarian under my mother’s supervision. Instead I could take the tote bag I had won in the summer reading challenge and fill it to the brim with books, safely putting the “forbidden” books deep in the bag, covered by books for my school research projects and approved authors. This saved my life.
I checked out books by Anne McCaffrey and learned what empowerment looked like from an author who shared my gender. The White Dragon inspired me to look at the complex and frightening world around me with hope that maybe things could change and showed me that even though I had been told I was useless and powerless, that didn’t have to be the truth.
I checked out books by Harlan Ellison and learned that even in the darkest nights of deep depression, I wasn’t alone. Ellison’s short story “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream” showed me that even though I was so small and hurt so deeply, other people felt the same way, which, even though the story was horrific, made me realize I wasn’t alone.
I checked out books by Ursula K. LeGuin and learned the importance of diversity of human experience and belief. Like Ged in The Tombs of Atuan, these books came into the temple of my world and shook it to its foundations, but left me stronger and wiser.
I could name many more authors whose work gave me comfort and solace. Growing up isolated, homeschooled for much of my schooling, and struggling with debilitating mental health issues I was told to treat with prayer, these books were my window into a world where, in comparison, “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt” (to quote Kurt Vonnegut). When I was suicidal, I could lose myself in a book and even for a moment, feel like things were ok. Having access to those worlds gave me an escape into a world more beautiful and grand than my own, a world where I could not only survive, but maybe even grow into someone wonderful. They were an escape hatch when things got too dark and I felt too lost.
These books taught me how to love and live fearlessly with hope. I learned the value of living, despite everything, with hope and an open heart, no matter how much it hurt. I learned how words could heal, how stories gave us power.
Libraries offered me the universe, full of its complex messy glory, and invited me to explore freely from the safety of the books they offered. I can’t say how important it was to me to have that lifeline to hope. The power of the library is the power of humanity, of community, a beacon in the dark for many, myself included.
So, dear librarians, please keep the light on. Please be this beacon for kids like me, lost kids, queer kids, kids told they are worthless, kids who need a light in the dark. Thank you for supporting Pride this month, and in particular for the signs for hard-to-ask-about topics.
Keep up the good work.
Cover image courtesy of Hanro Bauermeister on Unsplash
The Library of Random Things 