Check Out What’s Putting Public Libraries On Hold

The most useful items a Stuyvesant student could ever need, barring, well, food, can be found, borrowed, and sometimes kept in the school library. A phone charger when you’re suddenly running low (yes, even for Androids), a sheet of looseleaf when there’s none left in your folder, and a printer to get started on your homework early or, more often, to turn in your work for next period, are all in the place that somehow feels as if it has the most stable internet connection in the entire expanse of the school. These resources “up for grabs” aren’t merely coincidences or the product of people being friendly. Instead, they come from the recognition that the environments of public-serving libraries, besides bolstering free access to information and, consequently, democracy, also help members of a community grow into people who can learn anything they desire, gain a Wi-Fi connection, and find support when applying for jobs. Libraries help, especially at a time when the long-simmering migrant crisis in New York City has roiled to an undeniable, unignorable boil. 

The record-breaking influx of migrants to the city this past year is compounded by bureaucratic restrictions on the ability for them to receive working papers and employment authorization. Libraries provide migrants with NYC Identification cards (IDNYC cards), which they can receive no matter their immigration status. These cards include the option of opening a bank account, as well as a free one-year membership to over 35 museums and exhibitions in the city, from the Public Theater to the Brooklyn Academy of Music. IDNYC cards also function as gateways to public library cards and affordable housing, which supports a virtuous cycle of access to resources. Though we take them for granted and don’t often believe in a system that grew out of Andrew Carnegie’s philanthropy (it’s true! By 1930, over half of American public libraries had been funded by Carnegie, perhaps to distract us from his considerable wealth), we can no longer show apathy when legislators discreetly restrict their funding and autonomy, as this restricts the critical ability of libraries to assist us.

 Most familiarly, public libraries encourage us to read books most aligned with our interests. Book-banning efforts have come a long way from 2015 when we might have joked about how our favorite “Crash Course” host, John Green, wrote a semi-autobiographical and barely graphic book titled Looking For Alaska—a novel that became the most challenged book of 2015, as the American Library Association (ALA) reported. The ALA found that nearly half of the “controversial” books it tracked between January and August of this year took place in public libraries, an increase of 33 percent compared to last year. This rise should alert us to the tactics leaders like United States Representative Clay Higgins of Louisiana, who recently advocated for libraries to be replaced with “church-owned” alternatives, are using as they test book bans first in school libraries before applying them more widely to state public library systems. Book-banning efforts—which undermine the ability of librarians who are trained in helping library visitors, especially young people, discern between different sources of information and determine what might be appropriate for them to read—show that legislators are trying to prevent young people from engaging responsibly with a variety of opposing ideas and formulate opinions outside of the classroom. On the topic, John Green, himself an educator and an author of a book depicting teen sexuality, has said, “I think teachers and librarians know more about teaching and librarianship than I do. And I believe they must be allowed to do their jobs, serving the whole public.”

Conversations about public libraries in the United States (as sparse as these conversations might feel) will always be full of contradictions. The idealized images of them—a book club for the elderly in one area, an ESL course happening across the room, in addition to author talks, 3D-printing, and studio recording resources galore—all fall short against the reality that, for a long time, libraries have not been considered by younger generations as the place to hang out. Late fees were cleared in 2021 as part of an effort to encourage people to return following the pandemic, getting rid of a measure that was an unintentional deterrent for forgetful kids (which is all of us), as well as kids who do not have time to visit the library (which are the people who need its resources the most). Depending on the borough, this decision to increase accessibility in the library led to a nine to 15 percent increase in visitors. What’s more, not all libraries have the pristine quality of the Stephen A. Schwartzman building or two watchful lions named Patience and Fortitude guarding their doors. Our 200-plus branches of public library wonderment are tragically underfunded; the city has a $100 billion budget, of which it has allocated only $400 million to this network that helps people of all ages stay connected, do well in school, and remain employed.

Taking away funding from public libraries is taking away funding from an essential city service of providing safe and comfortable public spaces. When we leave Stuyvesant for the day to begin our commutes home, there’s a self-check that we complete to ensure that we can arrive home safely. Do we need to use the bathroom before we leave? Do we have water? Does our phone have enough battery? The gleam of Whole Foods and Barnes and Noble, with their late closing times, easily beckons on. It’s no surprise; the magnetism of shopping centers and corporate spaces, provided they have seating areas, is built into our city design. From the hostile architecture of sloped half-benches in subway stations to the quiet absence of any form of seating in the glaring expanse of Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station, we’re missing seats out here. And when it gets dark, it’s not just seats, but shelter.

One could point to our museums, open to minors for free but only until 5 p.m., or if we’re lucky, 6 p.m. Teens and people with no place to go are asked to compromise by going to malls and sterile commercial environments that are open later and longer, where the ticket for staying is to spend money on enough items to leave out on one’s table so no one raises questions.

In general, the city isn’t in favor of public spaces. We have about 590 “POPS,” which are privately owned public spaces. Yet, despite the name, these aren’t particularly popular or even special enough to stand out. The largest proportion of these are outdoor plazas, and though replete with benches, property owners have little incentive or design standards for making them inviting, engaging, and particularly safe. Therefore, the importance of libraries as resourceful educational services as well as protected public spaces is vital for the citizens of the city. 

At first, the idea of supporting public libraries to make them a place that young people want to go to doesn’t feel glamorous. It isn’t always the first idea that comes to mind when we think of solarpunk or other movements that envision what our future would look like if we designed cities that prioritized people over profit. But when we use our optimism and power as young students to imagine what an even stronger library could look like, one whose “library economy” could let us borrow all sorts of tools that are deprioritized in our typical school system’s curriculum, from gardening tools to musical instruments to furniture and clothing for the greater population of our city, libraries begin looking like a foundation for serious change. It’s achievable if we can get our leaders, like Mayor Eric Adams, who proposed to cut funding for public libraries by $20.5 million each year for the next three fiscal years, to put their money where their mouth is when we agree that “information wants to be free.”

This isn’t an easy task; conservative leaders view us students as mere children and, crucially, as voiceless when it comes to education. They’re even willing to claim that they support a parent’s right to choose, not so much in whether to have a child in the first place, but on whether their child can have access to Genderqueer by Maia Kobabe or The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Last year, these books were two of the most commonly disputed books in states with conservative leadership, but also happen to be beautiful books that have contrasting, but importantly, visible writing concerning gender expression and sexuality. It shouldn’t strike as a coincidence that interrelated efforts are underway requiring that parents be notified if children want to be called a different name at school. Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill was signed into law as the “Parental Rights in Education” bill, and the intention of restricting instruction about gender identity for young people while simultaneously removing books that they could read to learn about concepts on their own is doubly cruel. They want us to forget those three words marked on our NYPL library cards: “Knowledge is Power.” Legislators across the country feel as if we, teenagers and children, need to be protected from ideas, like the idea that people innately have different lives and interests that need to be protected by our government. It’s our turn to show our dedication to protecting and expanding our libraries for all that they are, and all that they can be.