Are Libraries a Vestigial Organ?
Why the Heart of the Community Deserves More Than to Be Written Off
I always loved going to the library when I was a kid. The public library in my small town was the hub for events, parties, and summer camps. It was one of the only things we had as a town. There’s a picture of me, at two or three years old, standing on a bench outside the library, kissing the bronze statue of Mark Twain that sat on it.
Even before I could read on my own, I loved the library. My first library card was issued to me on the 17th of October, 2009. I wasn’t even four years old. I still have that library card in my wallet alongside my two others: one for the city I moved to at 11 years old and one for the city where I now go to school. My library cards are some of my most prized possessions.
Ostensibly, not every library has vaulted ceilings and Neo-Gothic architecture—the kind of library that makes you feel like you’re some important scholar working on a world-changing treatise—but for as long as I can remember, libraries have always felt like that to me.
There’s something empowering about a library. Even without a library card, you can sit in the stacks, read until closing time, and then come back the next day to do it all again. The moment you step foot into a library, you are its patron. It offers you sanctuary for no charge, no matter what.
As we move further into the digital age, the things we leave behind stack up behind us: landlines, cable TV, DVDs, etc. But we’ve been leaving behind much more than technology and now outdated sitcom tropes. In a much less tangible sense, we’ve been leaving each other behind.
These days, libraries are fading out of the way we think about our time. In an age where you can Google just about anything, it stands to reason that there are those who are of the opinion that perhaps the library has become much like the appendix—something that at one time had value and use but is now known for having no real purpose.
A vestigial organ.
A library, however, has the ability to do far more than Google. Yes, libraries are—and always have been—a source of information, a house for books and magazines, and hundreds of references for whatever paper you may need to write. But they are also much, much more.
Libraries, I would argue, are the lifeblood of communities. Many still host free or low-cost summer programs for children and teenagers, which not only help engage young people but also provide a cost-effective way to fill summer days, especially when a parent has to work. These programs often teach new skills, like the beginner woodworking class offered by the San Antonio Public Library in Texas. Classes like these aren’t unique to summer programming, either. Library event calendars detail their events and are easy to find. Aside from creative programs, libraries offer practical help. Many libraries in Texas offer classes to help immigrants study for the naturalization and citizenship exams. Libraries all over the country have different programs dedicated to making their communities safer and more equitable for all their residents. In some libraries, like the Cambridge Public Library, social workers are becoming part of the staff, providing free and equitable access to necessary social work services for their patrons. Whether it’s assistance with government programming, or helping the library staff ensure safe conditions in their library for those who need it.
Additionally, libraries—unlike vestigial organs—have worked hard to adopt practices that keep them up with the age we live in like implementing QR codes to make it easier for their patrons to explore their services, or including an account to the e- and audiobook database Libby with an account or library card. From library therapy dogs to free 3-D printing, to computer skill classes and storytimes for all ages, libraries across the country are evolving to meet the needs of their communities, even when the communities have all but turned their backs on them.
In many places, like Montana and Nevada, public libraries face losing their public funding, which would effectively end many, if not all, of these programs. Across the country, especially in Southern states, there are many legislative challenges to funding libraries. Libraries face book bans in many states, including my native state, Texas. These bans work in a way that puts funding for libraries on the line, threatening them with defunding if they do not comply with the censorship being forced upon them. Many libraries face defunding if they fail to keep what politicians deem “age-inappropriate” books away from where children could access them. Additionally, in some states, libraries that offer free drag storytimes face defunding for continuing these programs. Between censorship and the challenges public libraries face in maintaining the interest of their constituents, funding libraries is becoming harder for some politicians to justify. When people lose interest in libraries as a foundation for knowledge and community, many local decision-makers tighten their budgets. Even so, this is far from the biggest threat to our public libraries. We are in a paradoxical moment: there has never been more information available to us than there is now, but our access to this information is under attack.
Libraries are a foundation of community, not a figurehead, not a vestigial organ. They’re fundamental to the survival of people and to the furthering of our towns, cities, and villages. They create space for equitable treatment, offering free internet, computers, books, magazines, movies, and music. Libraries host parties and campaigns. They’re polling locations. D&D campaigns, book signings, Tai Chi lessons, resume workshops—the library is multifaceted.
When we view a library as a vestigial organ, we ignore the work libraries do to adapt with us. We rob ourselves of the opportunities they provide to connect, both with other members of our communities and with ourselves. There is no end to the list of resources public libraries will find some way to provide for their patrons, and as far as your local librarian is concerned, everyone is a patron.
I have always loved libraries because I have always known they were an extension of home. No one is ever really a stranger to the library. It works to welcome all. To help all.
The library is not the appendix of the community; it’s the heart.
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