A reminder why libraries matter
Every now and then, when public libraries are under attack, a great writer steps up to defend them. Margaret Atwood showed how it was done in 2017 when she wrote that tyrannies and dystopias all share one trait, which is ‘‘the ferocious opposition to free thought, open minds, and access to information’’.
Libraries, she wrote, are a democratising and liberating force that encourages new thinking and offers ‘‘support to immigrants, students, to anyone with a well-developed curiosity or deep need for community. It is a place for minds to meet minds and hearts to move hearts.’’
There are no libraries in the fictional Gilead of her most famous novel, The Handmaid’s Tale.
Even the reading of books is punished.
It seems remarkable that the democratic concept of libraries ever needs defending, but that was the case when Atwood wrote in support of the underfunded New York Public Library.
The notion that libraries are in some way a waste of ratepayers’ money surfaces from time to time. Business magazine Forbes ran, then deleted an opinion column by an economist who argued it would be better if libraries were closed down in favour of Amazon bookstores. Supporters of libraries pointed out that students, the elderly, immigrants and the under-privileged would be the worst affected if libraries vanished.
It has been a while since such an extreme idea was floated in New Zealand. The Taxpayers’ Union came close when it called an interactive touch wall in Christchurch’s new Tu¯ ranga central library ‘‘a million dollar TV’’ and ‘‘a luxury’’.
The criticism was made months before the building even opened. Rather than an expensive folly, the wall has proved a popular and innovative way of presenting the library’s visual collections.
Two recent stories have emphasised the cultural and social value of New Zealand libraries as one of the few remaining uncommercial, fully accessible public spaces. Most visitors to Tu¯ ranga have been impressed by its architecture, the life it returns to central Christchurch and its mix of old and new ways of displaying information. But a vocal minority has become obsessed with the name.
Library information explains that Tu¯ ranga connects to Nga¯ i Tahu’s North Island and Pacific origins as well as the building’s location in Cathedral Square. It is an apt, generous choice for a major new facility in Christchurch. The happy irony is that complaints from some have reinforced a name that may otherwise have taken longer to become embedded with the public.
Further north, culture wars broke out at the Paraparaumu Library when non-binary performance artist Olivia St Redfern read to children as part of the Rainbow Storytimes programme. The Ka¯ piti Coast District Council’s Facebook page was overrun by trolls. The good news is supporters argued back and the council stood its ground.
These stories have much in common. One is about the growing acceptance of Ma¯ ori language and biculturalism in general, and the other about the new frontiers of gender. In both instances, libraries have done exactly what they should, acting as the innovative, inclusive, democratising and liberating forces Atwood alluded to, rather than dusty collections of books where silence is enforced.
‘‘The happy irony is that complaints from some have reinforced a name that may otherwise have taken
longer to become embedded with the public.’’