Remembrance, Veterans, ROTC, and Libraries

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
 Loved and were loved, and now we lie
 In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
 In Flanders fields.

These familiar words by World War I war poet John McCrae are haunting and poignant. While associated with the horrors of the trench warfare that characterized much of World War I, these words still challenge us to honor their sacrifice as well as continue to strive for peace.

One of my favorite World War I poets, Siegfried Sassoon, penned these incredible lines in his poem, Dreamers. They still ring true today.

Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land,

Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.  

In the great hour of destiny they stand,

Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.  

Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win  

Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.

Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin

They think of firelit homes, clean beds and wives.

I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,

And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,  

Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,

And mocked by hopeless longing to regain  

Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,

And going to the office in the train.

War today, like that of yesterday is horrific, and none comes away from it unscarred. While poetry may seem, to some, an odd response to war, both World War I and II saw many notable poets. They used poetry to protest, to express angst, sorrow, and anger. My generation responded to the Vietnam War through song; songs like Fortunate Son (Credence Clearwater Revival), Gimme Shelter (The Rolling Stones), Draft Morning (The Byrds), and Cruel War (Peter, Paul, and Mary) to name a few. These and others ignited a generation of protest against the war.

In the rush of everyday life it is easy to forget the sacrifice and service of our veterans. They often become invisible to us, even when they are part of our family. Even though I never served in any branch of the armed services, my family is heavily steeped in military service. My father was a World War II Canadian veteran who fought in all the major battles of the liberation of Holland. His brother Nick and three of his cousins all served in WWII, two of the cousins dying in France. Two of his younger brothers all so served, one of them in the Korean War. Likewise my Father-in-law, served as medical supply coordinator, his two brothers served as navigator in a bomber and a forward scout, and all three of my wife’s brothers were also in the service; one in the DMZ in Korea, and one in Vietnam. So much impact: much to remember and be thankful for.

With more than 20 million veterans in the US, they are very likely to be our relatives, our neighbors, our classmates, and hopefully our friends. There are many veterans on our college and university campuses; some visible, others invisible. Some schools do an admirable job in providing a suite of services for veterans. While their needs are similar to other student needs, they have their own set of needs. They are typically older, off campus, and not necessarily involved in typical college life. Many have families and are also working full time. Many have health or mental health needs stemming from their years of service. Campuses often have a veteran services office which provides a strategic entry point for libraries. Libraries should partner with veteran services to understand veterans’ information needs and to develop services tailored to their needs. Veterans should be able to easily locate services for their needs on the library website as well as a librarian should be assigned as a point of contact so veterans know that there is a real person assigned to supporting their needs.

ROTC programs, which faded for a while on some college campuses, are back in force and it is not uncommon to see students in uniform walking across campus, in the libraries, labs, and classrooms. Some people may object to having a military presence on campus, so it is important to make these students feel welcome on campus and in our libraries. Libraries should strategize on how they provide services for ROTC students. Their schedules are busier than many students as they are usually carrying a full academic load and also spending many additional hours on their ROTC training courses and military drills. Libraries may need to add military science collections and appropriate databases to support these students. Another strategy to consider would be to host programs that allow veterans and ROTC students to share their experiences with the larger campus co

Libraries as Conversation and Story

I am a self-confessed architecture junkie. I find architecture to be innovative, inspiring, creative, and sometimes frustrating. I receive a daily email newsletter entitled ArchDaily from archdaily.com.  ArchDaily says its ”… job is to improve the quality of life of the billions of people who will arrive in cities during the next decades by providing inspiration, knowledge, and tools to the architects who will have the challenge to design for them”.  While the newsletter contains a daily dose of the most interesting architectural projects in the world, it also has a monthly theme that explores various topics. The theme for October was innovation.

As part of the “innovation” theme, they published an interview with Richard Saul Wurman, the noted American architect, graphic designer, and founder of the TED Conference. Wurman also coined the term “information architect” in 1975, a prescient move, long before the information revolution. Because of Wurman’s encyclopedic interest, the interview ranged from famous architects, to design, to music, and to knowing and unknowing. As part of the interview, he shared some thoughts from a letter he had written for a graduating class of architecture students where he talked about architecture as conversation. 

“Architecture is the thoughtful making of space and place. It shelters nearly everything that defines civilization: families, factories, football, and the sounds of a flute. Architecture holds formative conversations with everything. The near future is about conversations between those who are similar and those who are different, and about innovative ideas that come from such conversations. What will be your conversation?”

I was struck by the many ways that this idea might be applied to describing libraries. Libraries, like architecture, are about space (physical and digital) and place. Libraries are all-encompassing of civilization; they are global in scope. Libraries and their users converse with everything. Libraries are about intellectual engagement.

Conversation involves multiple ways of learning and knowing. Reading is a conversation that interrogates a disciplinary or interdisciplinary area. Reading opens imaginative space to create.  Likewise, writing is a conversation between ourselves and other scholars and writers. Conversation is both verbal and non-verbal; kinesthetic and gestural. Conversation allows us to see patterns and build connections. Conversation is performative; bringing music, art, and dance within its folds. 

Our libraries provide rich collections, spaces, technologies, and expertise that allow for conversation. Perhaps, looking at Libraries as “conversation” may help students to think differently about libraries and their student experience. Studying, reading, writing, using technology, accessing physical and digital collections are all part of their conversation between themselves, ideas, professors, and their fellow students. Like in life, some conversations are easy and friendly, some are difficult but worthwhile, some are abrupt and disturbing. Conversations both challenge and confirm. Conversation makes it okay to not know, to be tentative, to ask, to be silent, to ask again. The great cellist, Yo-yo Ma, talks about music being the space between the notes. Conversation is sometimes paused and silent. Conversation connotes multiple ways of knowing and doing; it allows students to grow, to change, to find their true selves.

The other idea that I have been exploring is the idea of library as story. For the past half dozen or more years I have been thinking about various metaphors that can be used to describe libraries. This particular metaphor comes from a job talk that I did at the University of Hawaiʽi in late September.  As part of my research into Hawaiian history and culture, I came across the Hawaiian word moʽolelo. While a simple English translation is “story” its essence is not so easily captured.  Moʽolelo can also mean history, legend, genealogy, tradition, and more.  Native Hawaiian culture was and still is, a rich culture of oral tradition. Storytelling was one way that this cultural knowledge was preserved and passed on.  Hula (dance) and mele (song) are closely related story forms that are used to tell, teach, and construct knowledge.

The thing that I like about the idea of library as story, especially thinking about Hawaiian moʽolelo, is that it looks at knowledge and knowing in a holistic and connected way.  Library as story is familial and not individualistic. It does not objectify knowledge in ways that are familiar to most Western ways of thinking. History and genealogy are connected to the environment, Music and dance are connected to governing and social relationships. The land, the ocean, and the culture are both physical and spiritual. In today’s quest for interdisciplinary research, the Hawaiian way of looking at the world provides a valuable lesson on the connectedness of all things.¹

Our libraries contain many stories, although we don’t often think about them this way, other than perhaps in our literature stacks.  Libraries actually tell stories about our cultures, what we value, the histories and ideas we think are important. While American libraries pride themselves on building collections that are broad, representative, and balanced, in many cases this is not so. We have tended to build collections that have privileged white, Christian, male culture. Some of this comes from being attuned to what is published in North America and Europe and not thinking more broadly about the stories that we have missed. Historically we have not done well with indigenous stories or stories from underrepresented minorities. Too often we have privileged stories about these groups written by members of the dominant society.

Many of us have been challenged recently to think about the diversity of our collections. We need to think about what stories our collections tell and what stories they enable.

Libraries are “conversations” and “stories”.  What conversations are we facilitating and what stories do our libraries tell.

1.       I am not at Native Hawaiian and I will not presume to say that my limited understanding of “aloha aina” qualifies me to make any judgments. In my reading, I have become impressed with the Hawaiian ways of knowing and suggest that moʽolelo or story is one way to think somewhat differently about libraries in a holistic and connected way. It forefronts indigenous knowledge as a legitimate and valued part of the cultural story. If these ideas resonate with any Native Hawaiian (Kanaka Maoli) librarians, I hope they will take up and develop this metaphor.

“The Hawaiian term, “Aloha Aina” literally means, love of the land. In its deeper sense, Aloha Aina means love of the people, family (past, presentʽ and future), the community, nature, the environment, and all that physically and spiritually comprise Hawaii. Hawaiian traditional values reflect Aloha Aina, incorporating the ancient Hawaiian practice of utilizing the talents and skills of everyone in the community, all working responsibly together in harmony, with a commitment for the present and a heart for future generations.” - https://bit.ly/2JWFtu5