The Preservation of Books

Professor of history at the Catholic University of America Michael Kimmage writes an impassioned defense of a library in danger. It is rhetorically quite impressive.

Two oceans can be said to defend the United States. There are also the islands in the Pacific and the Caribbean, outposts of security and pivot points on the U.S. Navy’s map of the world. The American territory not bounded by water is bordered by countries with no reason and no will to invade: Mexico, Canada, and the United States still have the remarkable option of friendship, should they choose to accept it. Were the will to invade ever to materialize in Mexico or Canada, it would have to contend with a military that commands immense power on land, on sea, and in the air. For those still undeterred, countless nuclear weapons stand ready. The security is not total — total security is an illusion; but it is a fact so formidable that it can be (and almost always is) taken for granted.

Washington, DC, lies within this endless zone of security. Daily the city that defends a nation and a hemisphere defends itself. It does so seamlessly, as the task of the millions who wear uniforms, work in cubicles, decipher intelligence, and debate strategy so that the nation’s capital might be forever unharmed. The War of 1812 scarred Washington and the Pentagon was hit in 2001, two vivid exceptions to the rule that the American capital is impregnable. Only bad weather can go where no great power would dare to go; only it can barge in and break things down. Apart from the remains of a few Civil War forts, Washington, DC has no ruins. It is unlikely ever to have ruins.

The unlikelihood of erasure, of ending, of extreme loss is psychological. Since it reflects certain realities – the reality, say, of two world wars that never directly threatened the American capital – this unlikelihood is unspoken. It is assumed, implicit, built-in, less an unlikelihood than an axiom of national security (and daily life). The White House was rebuilt after it was burnt down in 1812. The Pentagon was quickly repaired after it was damaged in 2001. And yet – a ruin is conceivable in this world-historical fortress, a ruin in a massive building on Pennsylvania Avenue a few blocks from the statue of General Sherman (who laid waste to Atlanta in the Civil War) and a few blocks from the White House. I am sure that such a ruin is conceivable in Washington, for I saw it with my own eyes.

This turns out, of course, to be the threat of Trump and DOGE; specifically, the threat posed by spending cuts, in this case to the Wilson Center for International Scholars' library. It does sound like an impressive library, and I agree that a collection like that deserves preservation. 

The rhetorical flourishes are less impressive at the conclusion of the essay, however.

The libraries of Washington, DC must be protected by the citizens of the city, book by book, collection by collection, and if they have to be saved they should be saved merely as the necessary objects that they are, not as metaphors. Better yet, the city’s books should belong to the city’s employed librarians, who are not primarily guardians or warriors or self-conscious defenders of civilization but the giver of gifts, the enablers of so much that is necessary. Without them, an abyss opens. With them, the abyss is kept at bay. We must save the books.

That view of librarians is unfortunately antiquated, and not consistent with what the American Library Association has taken to be its actual mission. They defend their practice of "collection maintenance" -- a euphemism at best -- as "weeding." This is often done with ideological ends in mind, given the ALA's very clear and deep bias towards progressivism. All of the links in this paragraph are to the ALA's own sources, in the interest of fairness. 

This shows up in local library collections finding themselves purged even of classics of world literature 'that are no longer of interest,' combined with additions that are drawn from 'the latest' fashions -- fashions that have been shaped by a parallel bias in publishing. Also in the interest of fairness, that link is to the NY Times. 

Now, here's how that tension plays out locally, which is emblematic of the problem we face at scale.

“I continue to get hounded by people about the stuff they’re displaying in the libraries,” said Commissioner John Smith, who led the discussion about possible withdrawal. “They’re promoting the same ideology that most people in this county reject.” 

[County Manager Kevin King] told the board that its most direct power over the library was through its appointments to the library boards, its appropriations to the library and its ability to exercise the right of withdrawal as permitted in the FRL interlocal agreement.

“The fourth option would be to close the library,” said Hooper, chortling audibly....

King said, “I guess that’s an option.”

Commissioners seem to be upset by some of the displays that are put up in the library, and voiced their disapproval that the nature of the displays have not changed... Commissioners also made it clear they were not happy with library leadership.... “It seems like they’re really promoting certain agendas,” said Commissioner Michael Jennings....

“You ought to be able to go to the library and not have to be appalled by anything that’s there, no matter which side you’re on,” said Jennings, apparently referring to political affiliation. Jennings and all his fellow commissioners are Republicans.

That's how we really got here, and it's a problem that has to be addressed if the libraries are to be preserved. 

I agree that valuable collections ought to be preserved (rather than "maintained" in their euphemistic sense); even if Kimmage's rhetorical flourishes are a little overstated, I agree that keeping good libraries is a fundamental function of civilization. I too want to save the books, as a lover of books and of learning. 

If librarians wish to resume the role that Prof. Kimmage ascribes to them, they need to reflect honestly on what they themselves have been doing to drive a wedge between themselves and the community of which they are a part. The work is itself communal, because the community pays for it even if most of the community doesn't do any of it. A community won't pay forever to be insulted, undermined, derided, or dissolved.