In its ideal, pure form, the value of storytelling and promoting marginalized voices is self-evident. Diverse representation in media, the arts, politics, and social life not only makes the world feel more hospitable and welcoming, but it also makes life more vibrant and interesting. Colorful, instead of black and white. But over the past eight or so years (since, really, President Trump 1.0), I have seen how the concept has been used to control marginalized communities in subtle and not so subtle ways. The chosen representatives of stigmatized and marginalized communities tend to be limited in what they are allowed to represent. In these cases, representation is used as a kind of shield against criticism for the organization or institution in charge of elevating these diverse voices. The underlying structures that maintain the existence of stigmatized and marginalized communities remain, more or less, fully intact.
And in this context, that I have to admit I recoil a bit at the phrase “human book”. Conceptually, I think it’s a great idea: creating space and a service in the library to promote direct interaction between community members. It’s the human-as-object angle that troubles me. Of course, it’s safe to assume this is a me problem, considering the participants are volunteers so it’s not something that troubles the people actually participating in the program as the books. But I do wonder if there’s a way to expand the idea, to move it a little further away from validating and reinforcing the public perception that libraries are, first and foremost, places for books, and therefore anything in the library has to relate, in some way, back to books.
That’s not to say I think programs like the Human Library are cynical operations, exploiting the marginalized voices they elevate, only that my alarm bells go off a bit when I read their FAQ and their description of the vetting and publishing process of these stigmatized human books. The page on the Human Library Reading Library washes most my concerns away, especially the video, which provides the portrait of the spaces as an incredibly fluid, open environment designed explicitly as a space for people to get together and talk. Here, I can see how the objectifying language is somewhat necessary in defining the space. People often need a hook, something to make them feel comfortable approaching and asking complete strangers about details of their lives and experiences.
The ability to provide a free and open platform and distribution channel for people and ideas that are normally neglected and ignored by for-profit media conglomerates is the true value of these programs. This was the basis of my Innovation & Strategy Roadmap. And I wonder how libraries could build up from the “human book” and “human library” into something less formal, less objectifying and structured.
Storytelling is usually framed as an expression of personal identity and experience, meant to highlight and humanize a smaller segment of a larger community. But storytelling also relates to fiction and art, more abstract expressions of an identity or perspective. Could a library become a venue where stigmatized and marginalized communities can produce and publicly display original work? Can these communities be given space to represent themselves and tell stories that are not predominantly grounded in what defines them as stigmatized and marginalized? Can, for example, trans and anti-trans community be brought together around a shared interest or shared concern, something that does not rely on explicitly confronting the tensions between the two groups? What would this hook look like?
In a world where Chick-Fil-A is creating its own original content for its own streaming service, Chil-Fil-A-Play, is it impossible to imagine a federally funded public streaming service, a place where local library systems can upload original, locally produced media? In the current political situation, it might be hard to imagine but it’s certainly not impossible.