The Helpers Need Our Help: How Book Bans Will Erode More Than Our Freedom to Read
In 1983, Fred Rogers wrote, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” It’s a quotation that speaks to finding that ray of hope when, even in times of tragedy, we can find those who are ready to step up and help others. In this context, Fred Rogers was talking about how to speak to children who might be scared watching the news during world events—and how to offer them a ray of hope when things seem hopeless.
In this country right now, there are two helper professions on the front lines of the escalating threat to our freedom to read: teachers and librarians—and they need help. Or, should I say, we need help.
In addition to being a librarian myself, I’m also the author of the Drew Leclair mysteries, a new mystery series for middle-grade readers. When I set out to write these books, I was focused on one thing: writing books that would make kids feel seen. Growing up, I faced a lot of challenges: I was chronically ill and had social anxiety to the point of missing days and even weeks of school. While I was never formally diagnosed, I was frequently labeled as “ADD” by my teachers who would often tell my parents I had my head “in the clouds” and never on the lesson. As a result of all of this, I was the target of daily, systematic bullying throughout elementary school. The message was clear: you’re different. And that’s a bad thing.
I was (and am) also queer, a fact that I felt I had no choice but to hide when I was already different in so many ways. Writing my debut book, Drew Leclair Gets a Clue, I wanted to write a happier ending for a kid who faced all that. While I’ve always loved mysteries and dreamed of writing them myself, the passion for writing kid’s books was born in my desire to correct an injustice. My aim through it all was the same: I wanted to uplift kids. I wanted them to feel good about being themselves.
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Imagine my surprise when I discovered that some people were asking for my fun, middle-grade mystery to be removed from a public library in Alabama for “inappropriate” content. And that’s just the one that made the news. Apparently, after Drew Leclair Gets a Clue was featured on the American Library Association’s Rainbow List, it caught the attention of some parents because Drew Leclair is questioning whether she likes boys or girls. When I first heard the news, I almost laughed. My book? The book I actually worried wouldn’t be gay enough to make lists, or be accepted as a queer title? The same book where my main character thinks kissing is gross (unlike her straight friends) and holding hands is asking for a virus? Huh?
But, after letting the news sink in, I admit I felt a familiar pang that took me right back to those days being bullied in grade school. What these parents were saying was so similar to what I’d heard growing up: that kids needed “protection” from queerness—even if it was at their own expense. It was at that moment that I remembered the shame I felt like it was yesterday. People weren’t upset about any content. My character was the content. My character, merely by being herself, was dangerous. Thinking of kids growing up with that shame devastated me. This wasn’t about “moving a book to a more appropriate place”—a regular line used by people who want to convince people they aren’t interested in book bans. This was about erasure. It was about stripping kids of their freedom of expression from the ground up.
The problems with this are many, but here’s an important one to note. If these book bans succeed in changing laws and policies, we’re in a whole lot more trouble. I had a conversation with the remarkable author, Ellen Oh recently, who spoke to me about how many kids didn’t see book banning as a priority. She was able to help them see every other freedom that could fall with the freedom to read. The problem with book banning is books, but it isn’t only books. It’s that the freedom to read is tied up with every other freedom. If this falls, we are looking at a grim future and a long fight.
As a kids’ author, librarian, parent, and former teacher, I’m in a unique place to see just how under threat these freedoms are. Teachers are being held hostage by escalating laws that prevent them from teaching history, social science, and even showing PG-rated Disney movies at school without the threat of being fired. This is all while navigating a job that is much more dangerous than it used to be with the rise in school shootings. Librarians are on the front lines too—risking their jobs and even arrest to provide safe and equitable access to books.
Last month, I joined librarians in blocking a group of far-right protesters from filming children (including my own) at a drag queen story hour. They were yelling hate speech, all while taking video of the kids at the event. To say it was frightening is an understatement, although it was an event that was later framed as “peaceful” on the local news. Librarians, I saw that day, are literally having to put their bodies on the line to protect our freedom.
Something that both of these roles have in common is that they are “helper” professions. Like the ones that gave a young Fred Rogers comfort as a child. Both professions pay markedly less than private salaries, and most of the jobs in the field require years of education in child development and literacy. People in helper professions often feel a sort of “calling” to dedicate their lives to others. I know I feel that call to service as a public librarian today. During the pandemic, librarians fought tooth and nail to make sure the public had access to our books. We masked up all day, bundling together recommended books for families who were struggling, and doing our best to fulfill our duty to the public while following strict health guidelines.
As I think about Fred Rogers, and that shred of hope we give children in dark times, I’m also thinking about my role as a parent. To me, it’s simple. We cannot look for the helpers if they’re not there. To make sure they are, we need to use our voices to stand with them. The helpers need our help right now. And I, for one, am ready to use my words and join them.
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