Whose Reviews? And Other Thoughts on Collection Development, Intellectual Freedom, and Diversity

I was recently talking to a library school class about intellectual freedom and the importance of following policies and procedures. At the same time, I was thinking about the discussions that have taken place around diversity in some of the collection development workshops I’ve been part of. And about the discussions that have taken place on social media, where cries of censorship are inevitable every time someone has had the audacity to suggest that a book by a beloved author or illustrator, or book that’s been collecting a string of positive professional reviews, or is an old favorite of many, falls short or is problematic when it comes to cultural representation and does not necessarily deserve a place in every library collection.

I’ve written thoughts on this subject here, and here, but lately I’ve been thinking more about the relationship between collection development, intellectual freedom, and inclusiveness.

I want to start by saying that yes, there are absolutely threats to intellectual freedom when it comes to collection development in libraries, even beyond the self-censorship that is an ongoing struggle in the work we do. For example, in many libraries, collection development is done with little time, and sometimes even less training. This can be especially true in smaller libraries and schools. A person may have great instincts but no access to, and sometimes even no awareness of, review journals and other professional resources. They may have had little or no exposure to intellectual freedom as a concept that provides the philosophical framework for collection development to help ensure access to relevant resources for the entirety of the communities they serve.

Because of time or resource and other constraints, some may rely on Amazon to find out about books, or an algorithm to select what they’ll purchase. It may feel like an efficient or accessible or even necessary way to do the work of collection building, but at what cost?  It’s likely to eliminate or severely hamper the odds of acquiring books that are outside of the publishing mainstream, and undermines what it is we are striving to do in school and public libraries: meet the many and varied needs and interest of EVERYONE in our communities, an idea that goes hand in hand with intellectual freedom.

These are sometimes the realities of working in understaffed and under-resourced libraries. Policies and procedures, if they exist, often have a tenuous relationship to what is actually happening.

Or there’s this: the absence of board-approved policies and procedures for collection development and reconsideration of materials; or the subversion of policies and procedures by administrators and boards; or the stripping-down of policies and procedures to such a bare minimum that they provide no real guidance for either collection development or, in the case of a challenge, reconsideration (what, exactly, is the book being evaluated by to determine whether it belongs in the collection?).

But even as we grapple with these things--and we have to grapple as a profession with all of this--we also need to be talking about how library staff are choosing the materials they are collecting specific to the question of whose voices are privileged and whose go unheard in that process.  

So if you’re worried about intellectual freedom, ask yourself this:

How does a school or public library collection development policy support—or inhibit—seeking out books beyond the mainstream—those from large and mid-size presses – to include collecting materials from small presses, or self-published materials, that may speak to the diverse population and diverse needs of their constituencies?

Do policies and procedures demand professional reviews?  Many small press and most self-published book will never be reviewed in professional journals.  They may be highlighted on a website or blog devoted to promoting critical discussion of inclusion and diversity in books for youth, however.  The same kinds of blogs may also offer cultural critiques of books lauded in mainstream journals.  Chances are these voices are marginalized in terms of collection development, if they are considered at all.

How can we address the fact that some of “procedure’s” part of policies and procedures may be undermining the critical need for building collections that are inclusive, reflective of and responsive to the needs of children and teens who are diverse themselves and living in a diverse world?

I think we are at a critical juncture in our field as we consider the relationship between intellectual freedom and diversity and inclusion. They are foundational values to the work we do, in theory. In practice, the institutions that have developed—the review journals, the recommended lists, mainstream publishing itself and those acting as mouthpieces or influencers in social media and elsewhere—too often pit one value against the other.

The bias toward traditional publishing—and Whiteness--in the field of children’s and young adult literature isn’t necessarily going to go away in the next five years. Some collection development policies already call for materials that are free of stereotype and bias. But openly acknowledging the bias toward traditional publishing in professional review journals and providing ways to counter that bias is another way to codify real commitment to inclusiveness in collection development.

There is nothing wrong with citing the need for professional reviews and recommendations in policies and procedures. What’s wrong is narrowly limiting how we tend to define those sources.  In the 21st century, there is a significant critical discourse happening beyond traditional outlets, and policies and procedures should reflect this and validate a broader range of sources and resources for making informed, professional decisions: blogs on which librarians and educators of color review books and provide recommended lists are just one example. I invite you to share others.

Megan Schliesman

Bring It Back: The People Shall Continue

Ortiz, Simon. The People Shall Continue. Ill. Sharol Graves. Children’s Book Press, 1977. 23 pages. ISBN: 0892391251


First published by Children’s Book Press (now an imprint of Lee and Low Books), Simon Ortiz’ epic, poetic story of Native peoples, The People Shall Continue, begins with creation. It honors and reflects the differences among cultures (“Some say, ‘from the ocean.’ / Some say, ‘From a hollow log….’”) while also connecting the dots to demonstrate their similarities and cohesion (“The teachers and the elders of the People / all taught this important knowledge: / ‘The Earth is the source of all life… The people must be responsible to her.’”)

Never does the People’s story fall into the “it was a simple paradise” trope. As the People from the North, West, East, and South give and take meat, fish, corn, and hides to each other, there are cold winters, famines, and fights among them. Their leaders stress the need for patience and respect for each other and the Earth. Also absent is the “Columbus, the first European to discover the Americas, arrived out of the blue” narrative. In Ortiz’ story, the People remember visitors from a long time ago, who never stayed for long before returning home. Likewise, nothing about European invasion is sugarcoated; the Spanish, “heedless and forceful,” come “seeking treasures and slaves.” Soon, the English, French, and Dutch arrive as well, teaching about “a God whom all should obey” and claiming they are “special men of this God.” Thus, Ortiz names the specific invaders, and though he does not cite Christianity by name, he includes it as a means by which European invaders justified genocide.

As colonialism takes root, the People fight back. Here, for the first time, Ortiz names specific tribes and leaders: “In the West, Popé called warriors from the Pueblo and Apache Nations. / In the East, Tecumseh gathered the Shawnee and the Nations of the Great Lakes, the Appalachians, and the Ohio Valley to fight for their People…” There is no submission, no “lambs to the slaughter” narrative; and, after over 300 years of war, from necessity, the People “began to settle / for agreements with the American government.” Next come the Treaties, then the missionaries, boarding schools, miners, railroads, forced resettlement--all are named for the destructive forces they were and are. And yet, Ortiz grounds everything the People endure with survival and hope: “All this time, the People remembered. / Parents told their children, / ‘You are Shawnee. You are Lakota… / This is the life of our People. / These are the stories and these are the songs. / This is our heritage.’”

The book ends with a new beginning. As the People learn and live history, they assert: “We must fight against those forces / which will take our humanity from us. / We must ensure that life continues. / We must be responsible to that life. / With that humanity and the strength / which comes from our shared responsibility / for this life, the People shall continue.” At this point, “the People”--which begins the book as a phrase that denotes Native peoples--expands to include all marginalized groups. In that expansion, that invitation, Ortiz preserves, protects, and honors the humanity of everyone who has been dehumanized by systemic racism, poverty, and oppression. In this poem, Ortiz suggests a way forward: Recognize our shared humanity. Work together. There are more of us. They cannot dehumanize us if we humanize each other.

I can see a multitude of uses for this book in classrooms, as well as within families and communities. An English teacher could dig into the language that somehow reaches the pinnacle both of melodic poetry and accessible storytelling. A history teacher could use it as a framework for an entire curriculum or unit. Book creators and publishers should take note of the last page, which models responsible bookmaking with a note that thanks people who helped by name, and also acknowledges that although the book is in English, it’s meant to be told orally by a tribal storyteller.

I would love to see this back in print, ideally with new art. Currently, while there is a wide variety of People portrayed (I am not expert enough to know whether the clothing and hairstyles are accurate), the backgrounds are one or two solid colors, and little storytelling happens in the pictures or in the turn of a page. I would so love to see what Julie Flett would do with this text, were she given the opportunity to re-illustrate it…

Please please please, bring it back!!

-Allie Jane Bruce

Alongside, Not Despite: Talking about Race and Settler Colonialism in a Children’s Literature Graduate Course

Photo courtesy of Megan Dowd Lambert

by Megan Dowd Lambert
I teach an elective graduate course called The Child and the Book at Simmons College, in which we critically examine how children, childhood, reading, and childhood reading are represented and constructed in fiction. We turn to scholar Rudine Sims Bishop’s framework of Mirrors, Windows and Sliding Glass Doors to consider who is included and who is excluded from those representations and constructions, we read adult memoirs of childhood reading, and we address the role of adult mediation in children’s reading transactions in various contexts. I open the semester with a reading memoir assignment that asks students to revisit a book from their own childhood reading in order to juxtapose their memories of reading it with their rereading as adults. This exercise highlights the slipperiness of memory, the pitfalls of sentimentality and nostalgia, and the instability of textual meaning when one rereads a text and it provokes responses unrecalled from an earlier reading, or when one considers readings from diverse perspectives and critical lenses.

The majority of my students are White women, and in almost every semester I’ve taught this course I’ve had students use this assignment to revisit a book from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series. I also assign either Little House in the Big Woods or Little House on the Prairie in this course, and we inevitably discuss how rereading books from this series prompts students to critically examine the series’ overt racism and its attendant, unvarnished idealization of settler colonialism and Westward expansion. The most recent time I taught this class, I paused the discussion after a student said she was struggling with how to reconcile her fond childhood memories of co-reading the books with her mother and her contemporary recognition of how the series perpetuates ideologies that are abhorrent to her.

“I feel bad saying I love these books despite their racism,” she said.

“Then don’t say that,” I told her. “Say you love them alongside their racism and then interrogate what that means for you as a White reader.”

I don’t think this directive made her feel less “bad,” but that wasn’t my goal. Some of the best learning can happen when students become uncomfortable with their readings and must interrogate them. To quote scholars Perry Nodelman and Mavis Reimer: “Although certainty is comfortable, it can also be oppressive and limiting.”1

As a teacher, an important part of my role is to prevent such discomfort from devolving into defensiveness. My shift to have students say “alongside” rather than “despite” was spontaneous that day, but it ended up being an effective tool to push them beyond affective, nostalgic responses and into critical engagement with, not only books in Wilder’s series, but others we studied throughout the semester, as well. The word “despite” had allowed White students to neatly avoid confronting the text’s racism, and to thus cling to a reading imbued with a false racial innocence.  On the other hand, the word “alongside” prompted White students to grapple with the racial privilege necessary to say they loved a book even as they plainly regarded its racism. Then they progressed toward a consideration of how they would respond to a similar statement about a book that somehow denigrated a marginalized population to which they belong: “I love this book alongside its misogyny, its anti-Semitism, its Islamaphobia, its homophobia, its ableism, its classism…”

Many of my students are future teachers and librarians, so we also considered how actions, not just words, can communicate attitudes toward particular books through decisions about displays, book-talks, programming, curriculum, or collection development.  During this discussion, a student asked, “But how can we know which book will harm or offend which readers, patrons, or students as we make these decisions?” This question got to the heart of the ethical dilemma that my students were grappling with in their thinking about real readers’ responses to literature and how they would serve them in their professional lives, and I drew on personal experience to help inform our conversation. I am not a librarian, nor am I a classroom teacher who works with children. But for nearly a decade I worked at The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, where I led drop-in storytimes and oversaw the Reading Library. Leading storytime isn’t a regular part of my work now, but whenever I do get the chance to do one as a volunteer at The Carle, in my kids’ classrooms, or as a visiting author with two picture books of my own, I’m careful to always include books by diverse authors and illustrators, and I track the titles I use in order to keep myself accountable (a practice I advocate to my students and that I stretch to model in my syllabus development).

But today the young readers with whom I interact most often are my own children—three sons and three daughters, ages 2-20. Ours is a multiracial, adoptive, blended, queer family, and issues of representation, diversity and inclusion have been every bit as important in my family reading life as they have been in my professional life. Two of my sons are Black, and I don’t think they could be more dissimilar in temperament and personality. Their differences lead me to believe that my younger son is more likely to be personally harmed by a book’s racist content than his older brother ever has been—meaning  that he might internalize something he found degrading and have feelings of embarrassment, shame, sadness, hurt, or a questioning of his own worth.

While I do believe the potential for individual harm is important, it isn’t the only factor when I (and, I’d wager, others, too) speak out about racism in books for young people, or when I guide my students in considering how their critical reading will inform their work in classrooms and libraries, or when I think about the books I choose to purchase or borrow for my family’s reading at home. In addition to weighing the potential for individual harm, I also think about how literature, like any art, not only both reflects culture and its attendant sociopolitical power structures, it helps create it. My older son might scoff at what he reads as a flat, racist caricature of a Black teenager devoid of humanity and brush it away like so much dirt off his shoulder, while my younger son might feel personally wounded and wonder “Is this how other people see me?”; but both are harmed and endangered by the perpetuation of dehumanizing depictions of Black people in a society rife with the stereotype of the Black male menace to society.

The stakes are high in a society where the phrase #BlackLivesMatter needs routine explanation and justification, and where, as Native scholar Debbie Reese, a Nambe Pueblo Indian woman, reminds us in her work, Native people are routinely relegated to the past and erased as contemporary members of sovereign nations.2 I’m not naively saying that efforts to call out racism and idealized depictions of settler colonialism in children’s books will directly prevent the many violent manifestations of racism and attacks on Native sovereignty in our society. I am saying that the stories we tell (and read and teach and display and circulate) can subvert or reinforce underlying dominant ideologies of race and White supremacy that contribute to that violence and often allow its perpetrators to act with impunity.

The work of critiquing books that reinforce such ideologies can feel woefully inadequate, especially when confronted with seemingly intractable indifference or resistance amid cultural forces that extend well beyond our bookshelves. But I’m hopeful when I see my students (all of them, not just the White students I reference above) push themselves in their critical thinking about books and about the child readers that they will work with in their careers.  There’s grace in this work, and it’s a necessary corollary to that of creating and advocating for diverse books that can help create a safer, more humane society for all.

1 Nodelman, Perry and Mavis Reimer. The Pleasures of Children’s Literature, 3^rd edition. Allyn and Bacon, 2003, p. 3.
2 In this blog post, Reese shares these guiding questions that she uses when reviewing children’s and YA literature with Native content:

1. Is the book by a Native author or illustrator?
2. Does the book, in some way, include something to tell readers that we are sovereign nations?
3. Is the book tribally specific, and is the tribally specific information accurate?
4. Is it set in the present day? If it is historical in structure, does it use present tense verbs that tell readers the Native peoples being depicted are part of today's society?

Megan Dowd Lambert grew up in Vermont and earned her BA at Smith College and her MA in Children’s Literature at Simmons College, where she is now a Senior Lecturer in Children’s Literature. She is the author of Reading Picture Books with Children: How to Shake Up Storytime and Get Kids Talking About What They See, which introduces the Whole Book Approach to storytime that she developed in association with the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art. In 2009 she was named a Literacy Champion by Mass Literacy, and she has served on the 2009 Geisel, 2011 Caldecott, and the 2012 Boston Globe-Horn Book Award Committees. Megan won a 2016 Ezra Jack Keats New Writer Honor for her first picture book, A Crow of His Own, illustrated by David Hyde Costello (Charlesbridge 2015). Her second picture book, Real Sisters Pretend, illustrated by Nicole Tadgell (Tilbury House) was published in 2016. Charlesbridge will publish A Kid of Their Own, a sequel to A Crow of His Own, in 2019. Megan reviews and writes for Kirkus Reviews and The Horn Book and is a Staff Blogger for Embrace Race: A Community about Race and Kids. She lives with her family, including six children ages 2-19, in western Massachusetts.

RWW Interviews: Elizabeth Denevi & Teaching While White

By Elisa Gall

I’m excited to continue our RWW Interviews series today with a conversation with Dr. Elizabeth Denevi. Elizabeth is the Associate Director for Mid West Educational Collaborative, a nonprofit that works with schools across the United States to increase equity, promote diversity pedagogy, and implement strategic processes for growth and development. Before that, she served as Director of Studies and Professional Development at the Chicago school at which I work - and she is a current parent in my school community.

Elizabeth writes and presents nationally on topics of social justice, equity, and diversity as educational excellence. She recently co-founded (alongside Jenna Chandler-Ward) Teaching While White, a new blog and podcast resource for promoting racial literacy and helping educators build skills to create anti-racist classrooms. I look forward to learning from TWW and I hope everybody adds it to their resource lists and bookmarks toolbars.

How did you get started doing anti-racism work? What has changed over time?

I started when I was teaching ethnic studies courses. As I got more into American history and literature, it became impossible to ignore issues of race. I went back to do my PhD so I could study racial identity development and to develop strategies for teaching about racial identity and racism in schools. Unfortunately, not much has changed over 25 years. We are still struggling to understand how race affects teaching/learning. And most teachers do not know that racially diverse classrooms create higher levels of critical thinking.

Can you share with our readers your definition of “diversity?”

“Diversity” is simply the presence of difference. In a school context, we are referring to differences which impact learning. Since we can correlate racial identity development with academic achievement and the social construction of race in schools, we know that racial differences matter. We need to explore our own racial identity as teachers so we can help our students to explore theirs.

Can you tell us about your new site?

I felt like I needed a way to keep my Whiteness front and center in my work with schools. And I don’t like to do anything alone, so as Jenna and I continued to talk about the kind of work we wanted to do with teachers, this felt like the right way to go. Writing has always been a way for me to consolidate my thinking, so I was eager to try the blog format. And Michael Brosnan has been a wonderful writing partner for years as he published the first piece I ever wrote about being White. Jenna had the brilliant idea to do a podcast, which is both terrifying and exhilarating. I think it’s a very powerful medium that I’m eager to learn more about.

Who are your heroes, both within and outside the education world?

Oh, my. This will sound corny, but my husband, Randolph Carter, is one of my biggest heroes. He was a Black Panther and has spent his life working for social justice in all kinds of contexts. He never quits and never backs down. He is uncompromising when it comes to the lives of children and people of color in schools. And he has raised three amazing children.

In your opinion, can classrooms or libraries ever be “neutral?” Why or why not?

Absolutely not.  This is such a critical issue. I am talking to teachers across the country who are terrified to talk about race or what is happening around race and ethnicity in our country right now. Most are White teachers who are scared to death of getting in trouble for saying or doing the “wrong thing.” They have seen their colleagues sanctioned, and even fired, for challenging racism and racial privilege in our current climate. They hope their silence, or even their decision to avoid any “controversial” topics, will keep them safe. The problem is that it’s an illusion. Because staying quiet is the same as keeping the status quo in place. And this collusion with racism extends way beyond classrooms and into administrative offices and boardrooms. The leadership structures are just as complicit, hoping they can just “go along to get along.” It’s an old story, but one that will always have the same ending. Teachers make choices every day what to teach. There is no generic curriculum. We have so much content out there, and we carefully choose what to teach based on many factors. Not one of those factors – be it our experience, identity, or location – is neutral.

Do you have a favorite children’s book to share? Can you recommend a professional book?

What a hard question! Because I’m a mom of multiracial kids, I love Black, White, Just Right because it names and affirms racial difference as just that -- different, not deficit. I’m also a huge fan of Todd Parr because his books do the same thing: affirm difference. For teachers, I love Mica Pollock’s work and Robin DiAngelo’s scholarship on White fragility. I’m also a fan of Paul Gorski  because he has held our feet to the fire on promoting equity. He reminds us that our work to make schools more just and fair is not about “inclusion” or “cultural competence.” It’s about being excellent, informed, well-trained teachers who know how to manage all kinds of differences so all children can thrive.

What advice do you have for other White people working on anti-racist practices?

Challenge racism because it’s bad for White people. If you try to end racism for people of color, then you can choose to fight or not. And if you get tired, or it gets hard, you can stop. If you do it for you, because it’s the only way you can get up in the morning and look yourself in the mirror, then you won’t stop. And you will see why racism is bad for everyone. The effects of racism clearly impact White people and people of color differently. But as B. D Tatum noted, it’s a kind of smog, and we are all breathing the same air.

#WPC18

By Elisa Gall

Photo from http://www.whiteprivilegeconference.com

 In two weeks, a few of us from RWW will travel to Kansas City, MO alongside teachers, librarians, academics, nonprofit leaders, activists, counselors, members of spiritual communities, high school and college students, and more to attend the 18th annual White Privilege Conference, or WPC. If you haven’t heard of the conference before, you might have questions about what it is all about. 

The WPC website offers several explanations:

• WPC is a conference that examines challenging concepts of privilege and oppression and offers solutions and team building strategies to work toward a more equitable world.
• It is not a conference designed to attack, degrade or beat up on white folks.
• It is not a conference designed to rally white supremacist groups.
• WPC is a conference designed to examine issues of privilege beyond skin color. WPC is open to everyone and invites diverse perspectives to provide a comprehensive look at issues of privilege including: race, gender, sexuality, class, disability, etc. — the ways we all experience some form of privilege, and how we’re all affected by that privilege.
• WPC attracts students, professionals, activists, parents, and community leaders/members from diverse perspectives. WPC welcomes folks with varying levels of experience addressing issues of diversity, cultural competency, and multiculturalism.
• WPC is committed to a philosophy of “understanding, respecting and connecting.

The conference was founded by Dr. Eddie Moore, Jr. and it “looks at White Privilege intersectionally, in the context of various systems of privilege.” (You might also recognize Dr. Moore from the documentary film, “I’m Not Racist...Am I?”)

Dr. Eddie Moore, Jr.
Photo from https://eddiemoorejr.com

If you are attending WPC, there are pre-conference workshops held on Thursday. The main conference starts on Friday and goes through Sunday. There are a few keynote talks each day, and several sessions from which participants can choose. There are also daily caucus meetings where people with shared identities can get together and process learning from each day. There are early morning walks and discussions with Dr. Moore, and at night, there are film screenings, dinners, fundraisers, performances, and additional community events. All of these sessions offer learning opportunities for people to practice the process of anti-racism work.

You can register for WPC here. In addition, the Association for Library Service to Children is supporting a meetup at 7 p.m. on April 29 for members and prospective members interested in joining together to discuss their learning and conference experiences.  All are welcome to that event, even non-librarians and folks not registered for the conference. Click here for more information and to R.S.V.P. for that meetup. Allie, Ernie, and I will be there and look forward to meeting and learning with everybody. Please spread the word!

If you can’t make it to Kansas City this year, follow along with participants as they share their learning via #wpc18. ALSC members will also use #alscatwpc. If you are planning your professional development for the year ahead, note that WPC is always around the end of April. We believe this conference is a learning opportunity not to be missed, and we hope our conversations and tweets encourage even more people to engage in this work and perhaps attend the conference next year.

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