It's the last bank holiday weekend before term, so here's an opportunity to spoil it. Your resident Saint has been slaving over a dictionary to produce the Summer 2013 AView Crossword. I'm pretty sure I've weeded out all the mistakes...
Friday, 23 August 2013
Sunday, 18 August 2013
La Forza del Destino
A couple of years ago I wrote (here and here) about how I used Google Sidebar and the Opera web-browser as as my main windows on the internet. At the time I wrote those posts Google Sidebar was set to be killed off, and I was wondering what I might find to replace it. Up to that point my use of RSS feeds was primarily news-based, with a few Twitter accounts and 'blog alerts thrown into a simple index of headlines. The demise of Google Sidebar led me to Google Reader and a centralised feed reader experience with all my content delivered on a plate. No longer did I visit sites ad hoc and on the offchance: Google Reader brought the sites to me!
Opera took the burden of other aspects of my Google Sidebar: the notepad and the Twitter feed in particular. I developed and improved the lists I used in Seesmic, and this became my new source of news headlines. When Seesmic was killed off (briefly) in 2012, I jumped to the near-identical Tweetdeck and tweaked my lists some more. My first column contains news, current affairs and silliness. My second is full of librarians (now just active UK librarian individuals, to keep within Twitter's list-length limits). My third is arts and archives, plus library organisations and librarians from further afield (it lights up at night when the Americans wake up). My fourth is a digest of my favourite tweeters (with an extra-special cadre of quiet but cherished twitterers also being redirected as texts to my mobile 'phone)...
On single-monitor computers, I run Tweetdeck in Opera's side-panel, but recently I've been lucky enough to have two monitors, so Tweetdeck often gets one to itself. It has become a great big side-panel of its own.
Google Reader got axed recently, so now I'm using Old Reader, which is pretty much exactly the same. It briefly got axed too, but not for very long.
The linchpin in my internet activities remains the Opera 12 browser. I've been using Opera for over a decade (albeit with a brief Mozilla flirtation when Opera 7 was launched). It is not a browser with a huge market share, which means that some web sites don't work as well as they should, but these issues are substantially less than they were in the early days when you had to carry Internet Explorer (IE) and Netscape around with you at all times. It lacks the grinding clunkiness of Firefox and the hectoring twitchiness of IE. It may have lost its speed record to Chrome, but makes up for it by being an infinitely customisable Swiss Army Knife rather than a simple plastic fork. Don't get me wrong, I think Chrome is a fine piece of kit, but it's a bit Fisher Price and it's too hard to get the back off.
The added functionality of Opera is particularly useful at work. Let's take a screengrab (this is of my home set-up, but work isn't too different):
Box 1 contains some bells and whistles I use now and again. Many of these tools have their parallels in other browsers, and most are third party extensions. At work I have less of these and I keep them in slightly different places. There's a pixel ruler (handy when making web-pages), a timer to tell me how long I've been staring at different web sites (Tweetdeck has clocked up nearly 200 hours this year at home), an image indexer (handy when looking at image galleries), a tool that lets me draw red lines about the place (very good for teaching sessions), a translator, my Pinterest pin, and the Talis reading lists bookmarklet tool. There's also an option to enforce my own style-sheet on a page, so for instance if I'm using Old Reader in a small window and want to maximise my viewing space, I have set up a hacked style-sheet that removes the top menu bars:
Opera took the burden of other aspects of my Google Sidebar: the notepad and the Twitter feed in particular. I developed and improved the lists I used in Seesmic, and this became my new source of news headlines. When Seesmic was killed off (briefly) in 2012, I jumped to the near-identical Tweetdeck and tweaked my lists some more. My first column contains news, current affairs and silliness. My second is full of librarians (now just active UK librarian individuals, to keep within Twitter's list-length limits). My third is arts and archives, plus library organisations and librarians from further afield (it lights up at night when the Americans wake up). My fourth is a digest of my favourite tweeters (with an extra-special cadre of quiet but cherished twitterers also being redirected as texts to my mobile 'phone)...
On single-monitor computers, I run Tweetdeck in Opera's side-panel, but recently I've been lucky enough to have two monitors, so Tweetdeck often gets one to itself. It has become a great big side-panel of its own.
Google Reader got axed recently, so now I'm using Old Reader, which is pretty much exactly the same. It briefly got axed too, but not for very long.
The linchpin in my internet activities remains the Opera 12 browser. I've been using Opera for over a decade (albeit with a brief Mozilla flirtation when Opera 7 was launched). It is not a browser with a huge market share, which means that some web sites don't work as well as they should, but these issues are substantially less than they were in the early days when you had to carry Internet Explorer (IE) and Netscape around with you at all times. It lacks the grinding clunkiness of Firefox and the hectoring twitchiness of IE. It may have lost its speed record to Chrome, but makes up for it by being an infinitely customisable Swiss Army Knife rather than a simple plastic fork. Don't get me wrong, I think Chrome is a fine piece of kit, but it's a bit Fisher Price and it's too hard to get the back off.
The added functionality of Opera is particularly useful at work. Let's take a screengrab (this is of my home set-up, but work isn't too different):
Examining a similar image in a previous blogpost using Dragonfly
Box 1 contains some bells and whistles I use now and again. Many of these tools have their parallels in other browsers, and most are third party extensions. At work I have less of these and I keep them in slightly different places. There's a pixel ruler (handy when making web-pages), a timer to tell me how long I've been staring at different web sites (Tweetdeck has clocked up nearly 200 hours this year at home), an image indexer (handy when looking at image galleries), a tool that lets me draw red lines about the place (very good for teaching sessions), a translator, my Pinterest pin, and the Talis reading lists bookmarklet tool. There's also an option to enforce my own style-sheet on a page, so for instance if I'm using Old Reader in a small window and want to maximise my viewing space, I have set up a hacked style-sheet that removes the top menu bars:
Box 2 contains my trusty search engines. At home these are Wikipedia, YouTube, Google Maps and Google (plus a host of others on a dropdown tab). At work I have Wikipedia, the library catalogue, Google Scholar and Google, (plus various specialist catalogue searches on the dropdown: I've made particular use of the "periodicals by title" search).
Box 3 is my side-panel: very handy for keeping notes (the one depicted appears to be full of code I've been using while working on the university's LibGuides). It can also display web-pages (usually Tweetdeck). I've dabbled with using Opera for email and RSS too, but it's a bit too basic for my tastes!
And then there's Box 4 on the screengrab: Opera Dragonfly. I've been using this a lot, lately, while I've been working on prettifying the LibGuides. Dragonfly is Opera's built-in DOM inspector, and it allows me to peel apart a web page, component by component, to see what makes it tick. If I want to know what colour this font is, for example, I can just right-click and look at the relevant code in Dragonfly (it would appear to be #B4A7D6). It's very very useful.
Google killed the Sidebar and the Reader, but at least they've not killed Opera...
And then came Opera 15. Due to reasons practical and doubtless economic, Opera have ditched their Presto engine (the gubbins inside Operas 7 to 12) in favour of Blink (the gubbins inside Google Chrome). This necessitates something of a tabula rasa at Opera, and Opera 15 is a completely new browser: a rebadged Chrome with all the simplicity that that implies. You can't alter the browser layout. You can't even bookmark properly. It is a very different sort of browser to Opera 12: from one extreme to the opposite.
A trawl of the Opera forums demonstrates a significant dismay being aired by long-term Opera users like myself. Moaning is inevitable when faced with any change: we hate our routine being disturbed. I mentioned earlier that I briefly left Opera after they launched Opera 7, and that was in part because it was different (though mainly because they were doing naughty things with their advertising). Likewise, I only came to Opera in the first place because I didn't like the look of Netscape 6. But these differences were nothing to the difference between Opera 12 and Opera 15 (Operas 13 and 14 are lost to the fevered imaginings of developers). They are completely opposed in their philosophies. Beneath all the fan dismay is a sense that perhaps even the developers are not so keen. They have been saddled with a corporate decision and would rather have been playing with their own baby than with Google's. Regardless, the consequence is that Opera 15 has none of the features that make me use Opera. None of them. This is a sad thing for me, and for many of the 1% of all web surfers whose board of choice is Opera. But perhaps Opera are thinking that this 1% of geeks and Norwegians might be traded against an as yet untapped market of people who just want a Fisher Price browser upon which to point and click (and they are probably mathematically safe in this belief). It's Windows 8 all over again...
There's obviously an appetite for simplicity. Of course there is. Most people will never right-click on the internet. It's not a question of dumbing down because they were never "up" in the first place. I accept that what I do with Opera is a very niche pursuit, and a consequence too of my age and background. But it doesn't lessen the sense of outrage when a range of possibilities get taken away from you: when freedoms are removed.
For now, Opera 12 is being kept going by a development team that realise their new product is not yet a fit successor. But I fear that this will be Eudora all over again. A web browser is the scrying glass through which you see the internet, and all glass distorts to some extent. I've always admired the clarity of Opera in spite of certain imperfections, and to be forced into a new prescription will be a terrible strain for me. I fear it will be like using the internet with blinkers.
But to return to the sentiments of the paragraph before last... to the sense of loss for something being axed: not something used by a majority of the population, but cherished by that minority who do... Only 1% of web traffic is through Opera, which pales in comparison to the 35% of the population the Society of Chief Librarians claims pop into a library once a month. By accident or design, the erosion of freedoms is very much in vogue.
I'm not quite sure where to go with the analogy between Opera 12 and libraries. It's too late on a Sunday. But for a moment there I saw something at the corner of my eye. I should make the most of such things while I can...
Google killed the Sidebar and the Reader, but at least they've not killed Opera...
And then came Opera 15. Due to reasons practical and doubtless economic, Opera have ditched their Presto engine (the gubbins inside Operas 7 to 12) in favour of Blink (the gubbins inside Google Chrome). This necessitates something of a tabula rasa at Opera, and Opera 15 is a completely new browser: a rebadged Chrome with all the simplicity that that implies. You can't alter the browser layout. You can't even bookmark properly. It is a very different sort of browser to Opera 12: from one extreme to the opposite.
A trawl of the Opera forums demonstrates a significant dismay being aired by long-term Opera users like myself. Moaning is inevitable when faced with any change: we hate our routine being disturbed. I mentioned earlier that I briefly left Opera after they launched Opera 7, and that was in part because it was different (though mainly because they were doing naughty things with their advertising). Likewise, I only came to Opera in the first place because I didn't like the look of Netscape 6. But these differences were nothing to the difference between Opera 12 and Opera 15 (Operas 13 and 14 are lost to the fevered imaginings of developers). They are completely opposed in their philosophies. Beneath all the fan dismay is a sense that perhaps even the developers are not so keen. They have been saddled with a corporate decision and would rather have been playing with their own baby than with Google's. Regardless, the consequence is that Opera 15 has none of the features that make me use Opera. None of them. This is a sad thing for me, and for many of the 1% of all web surfers whose board of choice is Opera. But perhaps Opera are thinking that this 1% of geeks and Norwegians might be traded against an as yet untapped market of people who just want a Fisher Price browser upon which to point and click (and they are probably mathematically safe in this belief). It's Windows 8 all over again...
There's obviously an appetite for simplicity. Of course there is. Most people will never right-click on the internet. It's not a question of dumbing down because they were never "up" in the first place. I accept that what I do with Opera is a very niche pursuit, and a consequence too of my age and background. But it doesn't lessen the sense of outrage when a range of possibilities get taken away from you: when freedoms are removed.
For now, Opera 12 is being kept going by a development team that realise their new product is not yet a fit successor. But I fear that this will be Eudora all over again. A web browser is the scrying glass through which you see the internet, and all glass distorts to some extent. I've always admired the clarity of Opera in spite of certain imperfections, and to be forced into a new prescription will be a terrible strain for me. I fear it will be like using the internet with blinkers.
But to return to the sentiments of the paragraph before last... to the sense of loss for something being axed: not something used by a majority of the population, but cherished by that minority who do... Only 1% of web traffic is through Opera, which pales in comparison to the 35% of the population the Society of Chief Librarians claims pop into a library once a month. By accident or design, the erosion of freedoms is very much in vogue.
I'm not quite sure where to go with the analogy between Opera 12 and libraries. It's too late on a Sunday. But for a moment there I saw something at the corner of my eye. I should make the most of such things while I can...
Monday, 8 July 2013
Look what I found in my bellybutton: a tale of activism, impotence and indolence
Well that's that... the Chartered Institute of Library and Information Professionals (CILIP) will be going ahead with its rebranding exercise, and members will get to vote on a new name in September. Today's general meeting in London was attended by "over 94 people" (97 were apparently registered), and there were 1513 proxy votes. The motion on the table was:
"This General Meeting believes the current rebranding exercise should be halted, believing it to be a distraction from the urgent tasks of advocacy for the profession, and a waste of scarce resources."
752 voted for the motion, 804 voted against and 16 abstained. There were 1572 votes in total from 1610 registered attendees and proxy ballots (wherein "no vote" was a possible response): approximately 10% of the total membership, if Wikipedia is to be believed.
There were something like 436 tweets on the Storify of the meeting's hashtag, from 108 different tweeters (more people than attended the meeting in person)... probably more if you let the hashtag run through the rest of the afternoon. That's a fair bit of attention and excitement for one vote, and I wonder how it compares to previous CILIP meetings. And to other library issues. As @publiclibnews said: " Can we get as upset about closures please?"
We can't, of course. Would that it were so easy. It's little effort to get excited about CILIP... a lot of us are members. We have a direct, identifiable stake. The targets are easy to determine. Everyone knows where they stand, roughly. To take arms against CILIP is nothing in need of soliloquy. It comes naturally.
Closures are a different matter, if only for the simple reason that one can only defend a library if it is actually being closed. It also helps to be a member of that library. Were my local library under threat, I would like to think that I would be out there and getting involved, but thankfully it is not. As for libraries that are under threat, I don't feel qualified to intervene.
This is probably not the right attitude to have but it is one born of practicality as much as of provincialism: I am too far away from Gloucester to play a role in their fight, and when the Sheffield protests began it was a 50' bus ride away (at £5 a throw): a long excursion for someone who wasn't a member of that particular authority's service. It didn't feel sufficiently like my problem for me to get myself out of bed. Again, they came for the librarians in Gloucester but I wasn't in Gloucester...
The sense from the recent Umbrella conference seems to be that public libraries are a write-off. There is nothing to be done. Councils have no choice but to cut, and, in the grand scheme of council services, free books look like an expendable luxury. Break free of council control and you lose the protections inherent therein; stay in council control and you face death by a thousand cuts.
Which brings me back to my last post. To treat library closures as a library issue is to fight a losing battle. In the "something's got to give" mentality, libraries are going to give (we could point out the expenses of local government structures, posh cars and consultancy but it just stays the execution a little). Because libraries are a luxury: a brilliant, fabulous luxury that we've felt it appropriate to afford for over a century, along with a host of other welfare luxuries, each one deserving to live. This is bigger than libraries. It's about local government provision en masse, and it needs a response in like.
I don't know how to do that. I only know how to moan about how we should do that. It doesn't help that the Labour party is indulging in petty suicide again. Mark Steel and Owen Jones tweet a good tweet but so far remain trapped in their own echo chamber. The unions have merged themselves beyond meaningfulness, and 35 years of demonization has reduced their membership to ineffectual levels. The public/private wedge means that any public sector action is instantly decried before it begins, so we need to generate genuine, widespread popular support. The only way to do that is to make this about the welfare state as a whole, but how we build momentum without friends in high places is the most troubling aspect of all.
The unfortunate bottom line is that we are not desperate enough yet to march from Jarrow. Until we reach pre-war levels of poverty we remain comfortable enough to sit here moaning while the powers that be undo every gain of the last few generations. It is serious and troubling but too risky and too much trouble to fight about. The Arab Spring is enough to put any member of the chattering classes off their talk of revolution.
And yet and yet something must be done. What will it take to get me and everybody else off our arses? Or should I just move to Finland?
I'll not move to Finland. I'll move to wherever the job market forces me to go, because I need a job and beggars are limited in their choices (this particular beggar has now limited herself to Yorkshire and so has even less choice than before). My own sector is not all that happy either, and I should probably be blogging about the problems of academic libraries...
It's all related. It all comes back to that ideological struggle we were told was dead but which clearly is not. It's state funding versus private funding: socialism versus capitalism, and the old postwar consensus has got lost in the global market. The left and the right are very much at play, it is just that nobody seems to be representing the left any more. There's a sense that it's a done deal but it needn't be so. Assuming there's the will to stop it.
Who will stand up for the welfare state: libraries, education, hospitals and all? What will it take for us to do something? What will they do that will push us that little bit too far as to wrench us from our bread and circuses and actually kick up a real fuss? I include myself in this. Blogging revolutionary rhetoric is easy and requires little actual effort. I'm now going to drink some wine and play on the computer because real revolution is boring and hard work. Maybe that balance will soon shift. These blog posts are perhaps a sign of something happening: some flexing of my library-saving muscles. But until we do find a way to genuinely excite the population as a whole into some real widespread shock at the plight of public services; until there is a clear flag beneath which to rally, I fear this will remain a provincial pursuit.
We all have different talents. Some are great public speakers and debaters, some can write a mean letter to their MP, some are amazing organizers, some have deep pockets, some are frighteningly good at propaganda, some are just extra muscle, signatories on the petition, votes in the ballot box. To bring us all together requires some sort of framework: some team of likeminded souls with the range of talents required to stick it to the right sticking places. I've already said that I believe the issue to be bigger than libraries, which rules CILIP out as far as I'm concerned, but that's not to say that CILIP doesn't have a role; that it can't have a role. Part of trying to fight for survival is trying to plan for what survival would mean, and there CILIP most definitely has a role. Indeed, CILIP needs to be part of the machine of protest anyway. The general movement has a shared aim, but does not prohibit us from working in smaller units, so long as those units cooperate. Librarian, nurse, teacher, social worker, consultant(?), member of the public employed in the private sector... We need CILIP to be a useful cog in whatever movement we manage to cobble together. We need it to represent us and to represent our interests.
CILIP is not a union. It is not a guild. Furthermore, we are not all members and this means that its power is greatly diminished. CILIP cannot pull strings. Unison is similarly hampered. Maybe we should start rattening the rolling stacks and book sorters to build up a critical mass. The truth is that most people in the world can't be bothered. We want a quiet life. Is that too much to ask? Other people are better than us at this sort of thing.
90% of CILIP membership (so an even larger fraction of librariankind as a whole in this country) did not vote in today's fun and games. That's a lot of people. And most of them are probably shaking their heads at the state the profession is in, and at what's happening to public libraries, and most of them would probably like to stay in a job too. Apathy is normal, especially where professional bodies are concerned. It doesn't mean that these people don't care, just that they've got other things to worry about. We all have. The proportion of librarians involved in various campaigns to save libraries is, I suspect, equal to, if not considerably greater than, the 10% that played today; all of us contribute somehow, when we feel it necessary or possible. It would be great to think that all c.15,000 CILIP members could be out on Kensal Rise and the likes, but it isn't practical. Just as it isn't practical for those same members to attend a general meeting held at short notice in That London. Activism can be an expensive pursuit or a local one.
We mustn't rush to criticise those that aren't actively involved in library campaigns. Someone has to be home doing the librarianing while the others are out saving the world. Some of our best campaigners are not full-time librarians, and it doubtless helps. Others give what they can, when they feel they can, even if it's just moral support. Both pursuits are vital, I suspect. Some of us, like me, are armchair supporters unsure of how to do more of if they could actually be motivated to do more beyond the momentary rush of blood. The important thing is that when they do come knocking we have something to offer, be it a model library service and a template of good practice, or blood, sweat, toil, tears and any other bodily fluids that we can bottle and throw at our enemies. Because in defending our service, we also need a service to defend. Cake is there to be eaten as well as had, and we would be poor librarians if we didn't take advantage of some cake.
All this rambling is my way of saying that I really should do more than I do but that I'm waiting for a proper vehicle in which to do it. We need to save libraries along with all the other local services, and we need to get everyone with us to do it. CILIP aren't going to lead on this. I'm not going to lead on this. Labour aren't going to lead on this. Unison might lead on this. Owen Jones would love to lead on this. Nick Clegg could lead on this but never will. For now nobody is leading on this and my blogs are getting more political than I ever intended them to be. Such are my frustrations: frustrations with myself, with CILIP and with the wider politics that is driving this predicament. I think its time I stopped writing for one night.
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
Pushing bellybuttons
In politics it is an observed phenomenon that when a party loses long-held power it inevitably gazes upon its navel. It then proceeds to tear its navel apart, destroying its electability until such time that the party in power has itself lost it. Public libraries are in serious trouble and academic libraries have some pretty big issues to overcome too. Those are the fights we need to be fighting right now, and for that reason this blog has until now been mum on the whole CILIP rebrand business.
That is not to say that one should not seek to redress problems within the camp at the same time as prosecuting a battle. A well disciplined army may be essential to the victory. There is a fine line between addressing problems at home and burning down the house, and fear of the latter can leave us too scared to light the candles of our extended metaphor. I've made fun of CILIP's name in the past, and something more straightforward would certainly buy extra airtime in a media war of words.
But the way CILIP has gone about the rebrand exercise has been bothersome: bothersomely secretive, bothersomely botched, bothersomely expensive and bothersomely delivered (this post by Tom Roper expresses some of the bothers quite effectively). Now ok, CILIP are a registered charity: the product of lots of lovely people doing hard work in their own time for not much thanks; we might expect (and indeed accept) some degree of inelegant botchery. But they're a charity that exists to represent "information professionals", and frankly stuff like the rebrand consultation report and indeed the exercise as a whole is an embarrassment to the information profession. If any chartered institute should be able to do this sort of thing well (and without the need to use an agency, no matter how 'cheap') then it's surely ours. But hey ho, there we go...
The people at CILIP may have felt it necessary to move this particular deckchair at this particular time, and would have probably expected the move to be met with widespread enthusiasm (it was my first reaction, until I saw the survey). But they moved it right in the middle of the Punch & Judy show and in a way that churned up all the sand on the beach into one really unpleasant sandstorm. The methodology misfired in a big way and has perhaps highlighted deeper problems with the organization. Be our body called CILIP or Information UK, the more pressing issue is that it is not currently geared up to do the job we really need it to do right now: primarily to save public libraries in the face of the biggest wave of shock therapy this country's faced since the more overt privatisations of the '80s and '90s. A name change is not going to solve this (though it might well help in communication, or even just in morale for a profession seeking some self-validation)... it needs a wholesale rethink of what our body is for and is allowed to do. We need a war machine, not a think tank. I personally would love to see something a lot more like a Library Union, though that model would not be without its own problems. Quite what we want is, frankly, part of the problem...
We keep fixating on names. The old chestnut of whether the name "librarian" holds us back was raised at the Umbrella conference today. As a cardigan wearer I feel that our stereotype is a positive one, all the more so for being tangible and identifiable. And I suspect it is easier to mould a stereotype than to attempt to build a new one from scratch. A rose by any other name will still smell of Jif. Big brands can force us into saying Snickers if they're really persistent, but "sex worker" is still just a euphemism. In my view, "librarian" is a good hook we can use, and it has a lot of support, even if it is support that doesn't fully understand what we do. I've blogged a couple of times about the 'Frank Skinner' effect and how it can play both ways. Babies and bathwater require an effective detergent.
The thing is, we haven't got time to sit here squabbling. We may need CILIP to be something it can't be, but by the time we've voted in Michael Foot, lost our Gang of Four, told ourselves "we're alright" and diluted our principles just when we didn't need to, there won't be any libraries left to save. There'll be neither librarians nor information professionals. There'll just be a lot of K6s filled with Catherine Cooksons, and nobody there to clean up the mess.
The issue is bigger than libraries. The latest government spending review slashes another 10% off central funding for local councils that are already struggling to provide the public services that are their raison d'etre. Libraries start to look like a luxury and will continue to feature high in the pecking order of stuff to cut. Perhaps as the cuts take their toll on other areas of local government provision there may be an opportunity for greater unity: the camel's back may finally snap as it gets pressed against the wall, and we will all feel the need to do something at last. We're not there yet, but that, it seems to me, is the angle we need to take. To try to fight for our survival in terms of "libraries/librarians are really important" is not going to work against the divide-and-conquer slashing that pitches us against social care services. We need to make a general stand, something those at the bottom of the wood-pile may be unwilling to do so readily (they came for the librarians but I wasn't a librarian...). We have to fight this in terms of a defence of local government provision (and even state provision more generally) as a whole. But can we do it without sounding like a bunch of Marxists and potentially alienating swathes of the middle classes? Is it all just going to come down to a general strike, another winter of discontent, and who knows what else? Or will we all just sit on our hands and watch the welfare state get dismantled and sold off because those that understand are too idle and those that don't don't?
I type as one of the idle. I'm all fingers, me. Words without actions. More libraries will close. Massive unemployment in our sector. Until the metaphorical faeces hit the other blades of the fan we will just have to keep fighting each individual fire as best we can. Perhaps the sand kicked up by CILIP might be useful after all...
The people at CILIP may have felt it necessary to move this particular deckchair at this particular time, and would have probably expected the move to be met with widespread enthusiasm (it was my first reaction, until I saw the survey). But they moved it right in the middle of the Punch & Judy show and in a way that churned up all the sand on the beach into one really unpleasant sandstorm. The methodology misfired in a big way and has perhaps highlighted deeper problems with the organization. Be our body called CILIP or Information UK, the more pressing issue is that it is not currently geared up to do the job we really need it to do right now: primarily to save public libraries in the face of the biggest wave of shock therapy this country's faced since the more overt privatisations of the '80s and '90s. A name change is not going to solve this (though it might well help in communication, or even just in morale for a profession seeking some self-validation)... it needs a wholesale rethink of what our body is for and is allowed to do. We need a war machine, not a think tank. I personally would love to see something a lot more like a Library Union, though that model would not be without its own problems. Quite what we want is, frankly, part of the problem...
We keep fixating on names. The old chestnut of whether the name "librarian" holds us back was raised at the Umbrella conference today. As a cardigan wearer I feel that our stereotype is a positive one, all the more so for being tangible and identifiable. And I suspect it is easier to mould a stereotype than to attempt to build a new one from scratch. A rose by any other name will still smell of Jif. Big brands can force us into saying Snickers if they're really persistent, but "sex worker" is still just a euphemism. In my view, "librarian" is a good hook we can use, and it has a lot of support, even if it is support that doesn't fully understand what we do. I've blogged a couple of times about the 'Frank Skinner' effect and how it can play both ways. Babies and bathwater require an effective detergent.
The thing is, we haven't got time to sit here squabbling. We may need CILIP to be something it can't be, but by the time we've voted in Michael Foot, lost our Gang of Four, told ourselves "we're alright" and diluted our principles just when we didn't need to, there won't be any libraries left to save. There'll be neither librarians nor information professionals. There'll just be a lot of K6s filled with Catherine Cooksons, and nobody there to clean up the mess.
The issue is bigger than libraries. The latest government spending review slashes another 10% off central funding for local councils that are already struggling to provide the public services that are their raison d'etre. Libraries start to look like a luxury and will continue to feature high in the pecking order of stuff to cut. Perhaps as the cuts take their toll on other areas of local government provision there may be an opportunity for greater unity: the camel's back may finally snap as it gets pressed against the wall, and we will all feel the need to do something at last. We're not there yet, but that, it seems to me, is the angle we need to take. To try to fight for our survival in terms of "libraries/librarians are really important" is not going to work against the divide-and-conquer slashing that pitches us against social care services. We need to make a general stand, something those at the bottom of the wood-pile may be unwilling to do so readily (they came for the librarians but I wasn't a librarian...). We have to fight this in terms of a defence of local government provision (and even state provision more generally) as a whole. But can we do it without sounding like a bunch of Marxists and potentially alienating swathes of the middle classes? Is it all just going to come down to a general strike, another winter of discontent, and who knows what else? Or will we all just sit on our hands and watch the welfare state get dismantled and sold off because those that understand are too idle and those that don't don't?
I type as one of the idle. I'm all fingers, me. Words without actions. More libraries will close. Massive unemployment in our sector. Until the metaphorical faeces hit the other blades of the fan we will just have to keep fighting each individual fire as best we can. Perhaps the sand kicked up by CILIP might be useful after all...
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