Recently, I opened an email from a librarian who shared a story that has become all too familiar. She was being vilified in her community, simply for being a librarian.
It’s a story I know all too well. In July 2022, I endured a similar fate. After I made a brief speech against banning books with LGBTQ themes from my hometown public library in Livingston Parish, La., two men began making false accusations about me on social media. Their campaign unleashed a flood of bullying messages and death threats. People in my community began calling me a pedophile and a porn pusher. It was deeply unsettling. I spent days crying and having panic attacks. I was afraid to leave my home. I still am.
But this librarian who emailed me reported a slightly different experience. She hadn’t even spoken out. She had been too afraid. And yet, because of her position in the library, the book banners on social media came for her anyway.
“I don’t think I can take it much longer,” she wrote to me. “How can complete strangers spread lies about me on social media? I no longer want to be in this job that I love.”
Sadly, I’ve received dozens of messages just like hers. Over the last two years I’ve spoken at numerous library-related conferences, and at every single one multiple librarians have approached me, often in tears, to share their stories of being targeted by book banners in their communities. In July, at the PEN Unified Voices Summit, a fellow educator hugged me, breaking down into sobs, unable to even get the words out.
My heart breaks with every story I hear. I want to tell them that things will get better. And if we stand together, I believe they can. Despite attempts to intimidate me into silence, I have resolved to fight back. And you can too.
For me, fighting back meant suing the men who harassed me—litigation that continues as of this writing. But it has also meant organizing. In my hometown, I launched the Livingston Parish Library Alliance and helped found Louisiana Citizens Against Censorship, two grassroots organizations committed to fighting against censorship efforts.
And it meant telling my story. In August, my book That Librarian: The Fight Against Book Banning in America was published by Bloomsbury. The book not only tells of my personal experiences but of the attacks that so many librarians across the country have endured.
It wasn’t always like this, of course. Until recently, librarians and teachers might see one or two challenges to books on our shelves annually, if any. And those challenges were dealt with professionally, according to well established policies and challenge procedures. But beginning in 2021, things changed. In communities across the country, a politically organized minority began showing up at library and school board meetings with lists of books disproportionately targeting LGBTQ and BIPOC communities, angrily accusing librarians and educators of seeking to sexualize children or being too “woke,” often reciting cherry-picked, out-of-context passages to generate outrage and headlines.
This is the book banner game plan today: it is about fear and intimidation.
We also know that this unprecedented wave of attacks follows a common political script, often involving a push for cutting library funding, for control of school and public library boards, and for anti-library legislation in state legislatures. And years into this book-banning movement, the threat is still growing.
Not a day goes by that I don’t read about another book ban attempt, or another piece of legislation that seeks to intimidate librarians with threats of jail time, fines, or loss of their jobs. And I continue to read about right-wing politicians spreading the lie that librarians are for some reason conspiring to place pornographic material in the children’s sections of libraries.
Perhaps the scariest realization for me is that for every incident we read about, many more are going unreported. As ALA representatives have repeatedly stressed in releasing their annual stats on book banning, for each book challenge reported and tracked, hundreds more are not.
As we head into the fall election season, I believe we are at a critical moment for the freedom to read. But I also believe that if we are as organized and tenacious as those who seek to ban books, we will ultimately defeat this movement to silence diverse voices in our communities. Broadly speaking, we know that book bans are not popular. But never forget, elections are decided by those who show up.
Furthermore, we must recognize and confront the darker, lingering threat from this movement to ban books: the silent wave of shadow-banning or soft censorship that has taken root—that is, librarians and teachers who are now so afraid of losing their careers and livelihoods or being harassed in their communities that they simply stop buying books they think might cause a problem. This in addition to many dedicated librarians and educators leaving the profession altogether because of the stress.
Who could blame them? I know firsthand how hard it is to be attacked, and how hard it can be to stand up and speak out. That’s why I wrote That Librarian: my hope is that librarians, educators, and advocates who find themselves under attack in their communities can read it and know that they are not alone. There are strategies, tools, allies, and support available to help them find their voice and stand up to censorship.
I’ve been told that I am brave for taking a stand, but I do not think I am brave. I am simply doing what I was raised to do: love thy neighbor as thyself. And amid all that has happened to me, this experience has also afforded me a platform. And I intend to use it.
If you are a librarian or teacher being targeted, know that you are on the right side of history. Stand up for your patrons and students, who have a right to be represented on library shelves. And to the publishers, authors, and vendors working in the school and library space, thank you for your support—and I urge you to continue to help us organize and fund this fight.
Last year, I was fortunate enough to hear author Samira Ahmed speak. In her talk, she urged librarians to “use your power and privilege for purpose.” I was so moved by that statement that I had honored it with a tattoo on my wrist. Librarians and allies, we must use our power. And we must not shy away from this fight, even if it is a fight we didn’t ask for.
Amanda Jones is a school librarian in Livingston Parish, La., and the author of the memoir That Librarian: The Fight Against Book Banning in America.
