Hell Hath No Fury Like a Librarian Scorned

Growing up, I looked upon the school and public librarians in my life with
reverence. They were the keepers of the books and opened the gates to knowledge.
They were there to help me find books and access other worlds, always with a kind
smile. There’s a stereotype that librarians all keep their hair in a bun, wear
cardigans, have cats, and walk around shushing people. Maybe that’s what we
once were, but there’s a whole new type of librarian in the world now. While I can’t
say we don’t favor cardigans, librarians are so much more than the stereotype.
Little did I know growing up that librarians are secret badasses.
When I stepped into my role as a librarian, I made a concerted effort
to befriend any and every librarian I could find, whether locally, across the state, or
across the nation. There is strength in numbers, and I wholeheartedly believe that
we learn more from one another than from any other place.
I discovered pretty quickly that librarians come in all forms and from all
backgrounds. At my first national librarian conference, I sat in on conference
sessions that emphasized that librarians are sometimes the only defenders of
intellectual freedom and that it was a job to be taken seriously.
I couldn’t have imagined that one day I would join the ranks of the
FReadom Fighters and step up to defend my town against people set on destroying
our public library system. But I knew immediately that I had found my people, and
the feeling settled around me like a warm blanket on a freezing day and gave me
such comfort and joy. I do have a penchant for cardigans, and you will find me with
my hair in a bun when I’m at home, but you will never catch me shushing in the
library, just like you will not catch me backing down when I see an attack on a
library or librarian.
I am a librarian, damn it. I’m not some weakling. So, after a weekend of
crying and hiding for days as I watched my reputation being dragged through the
mud, my shock and fear solidified into anger. I was livid at some of the comments
from people I knew. It was like a who’s who parade of people in my town, people
who had committed actual misdeeds, who were suddenly judging ME just because
I spoke at a public library board meeting.
For several days after the initial barrage of hateful posts, I went through the
first stages of grief: shock, bargaining, and depression. Pretty quickly the pain
solidified into the fourth stage: anger. The anger was building up into a mighty
storm, and it scared me. It’s not a pleasant feeling to walk around with pent-up
rage for weeks on end. My blood pressure soared, I had several panic attacks, and
I started losing chunks of my hair. My weight was plummeting because I was too
upset to eat. My blood sugar was all over the place and I had fainting spells.
I didn’t know that stress could be so traumatic that you can forget to eat or drink.
I wish I hadn’t learned it from experience.
Throughout all the pain, I was able to rely on an amazing group of Louisiana
school librarians, who were on the executive board of the Louisiana Association of
School Librarians with me during this time. They were truly my rocks. I honestly
don’t know what I would have done without them. They let me scream. They let me
cry. They offered jokes and support and were outraged on my behalf.
I don’t remember who first suggested that there had to be something that
could be done. I lodged a criminal complaint against the two ring-leaders, but the
sheriff’s department said it was more of a civil matter. That was a huge letdown.
Someone in our group suggested I file a lawsuit. My friends were just as enraged
and wanted to see justice take place. None of us knew how to do that or how much
it would cost, but we talked about it at length. The more we talked, the lighter I
felt. In shifting to discussions about getting revenge and filing a suit, the sadness
eased a little, and I focused more on what I could do to set the record straight.
I thought about filing a lawsuit for several days. My mind changed every
few hours from thinking it was a great idea to thinking it was pointless. I went
back and forth, worrying myself silly over all the pros and cons. It seemed
impossible at first, because I had no prior experience in court proceedings. I didn’t
know how to obtain an attorney or have any idea how much the process would
cost. I was lucky that I’d never had to deal with the court system, but some
knowledge of the law would have come in very handy at that moment.
I asked the group for ideas about raising the funds for a lawsuit. My friend
Tiffany said I should set up a GoFundMe. I laughed at first. Who was going to
donate money to me? But the group came to the consensus that I should at least
try and find out. I was skeptical. My friend Tiffany created a GoFundMe, and I
announced on social media that I intended to sue the people dragging me through
the mud and posted the link. Boy, did it take off! I was shocked when I met my goal
of $7,500 within fourteen hours. I knew that I’d eventually need more than $7,500,
so Tiffany increased the goal to $15,000. With the money, there were also many
messages of support from all over the country.
The messages of support starting rolling in by the hundreds. Strangers,
former students, friends I hadn’t spoken to for ages. I was also messaged by
librarians who related how they were dealing with similar situations in their own
towns. With each message the tide of grief and anger receded a bit more. I had
been harboring tremendous self-doubt.
I wrestled with the fear of the additional hateful posts that might come
from the attention, and the thought of losing the lawsuit hung over me. However, I
started to realize that I was not alone. So many other librarians contacted me to
thank me for speaking out and taking action. Librarians were experiencing similar
situations all across the county, and it was so difficult to speak out or fight back.
The main thing I realized was that it didn’t really matter if I won in court, because
I would defend myself in the court of public opinion against the lies just by filing.
And, broadly speaking, I had faith in the public, especially as I received messages
of support.
One of my favorite authors, Newbery Award winner Erin Entrada Kelly,
tweeted, “This is moxie. Sending my love and support to you, Amanda. I’m so
proud you’re from my home state. #FReadom.” I was so honored by that tweet I
got a tattoo of the word moxie on my left wrist to remind myself to hold fast in my
determination and have courage. That bit of ink gives me strength when I start to
doubt myself and reminds me that I am on the right side of history.
They wanted to silence me, which cemented my will to speak my truth. These
groups operate by instilling fear so that no one will challenge them, and I knew it
was important to take a stand. I knew I had privileges that others did not. It should
not be up to the historically marginalized groups most at risk to be the only ones
speaking out. I had the platform, the support, the connections, and lower risk to
my job that put me in a position to fight back. If not me, then who? In the end, the
outcome of the court case didn’t matter, but having the courage to file it in the first
place did matter. Speaking out matters.
I filed a lawsuit to stand up for myself and to stand up for other librarians
and educators who are tired of being raked over the coals. I filed for those of us
who are tired of being defamed by keyboard warriors on social media. I filed to
prove a point that they would not silence me. I filed to show others that there is a
way to fight back. I filed because I wanted my reputation back. If they could take
me down and silence me, they can do it to anyone. Someone needs to stand up to
them, or they will continue attempting to silence others. I filed because I had done
nothing wrong. Regardless of whether I won or lost the lawsuit, I would win just by
taking a stand. I fought back and I spoke out. I made the right decision.
These people set out to destroy me, but they woke something up inside me
that I hope never dies. The court labeled me a public figure and their lawyers
called me an activist when I was just a school librarian. I figure if people are going
to label me an activist, I might as well act like one and show them what I’m made
of—grit and perseverance.
From That Librarian: The Fight Against Book Banning in America by
Amanda Jones, forthcoming from August 27th, 2024 by Bloomsbury
Publishing. Copyright © 2024 by Amanda Jones. All rights reserved.