How the stereotype-busting Derrick Jefferson sees his job.
The term librarian likely brings to mind spinsterly archetypes not unlike those currently in the news about “cat women.” Absurd as this stereotype is, there is little in mainstream U.S. culture that speaks to the diversity of librarian identities or, more importantly, the evolving complexity of their role in society. Yet, librarians are on the front lines of today’s misinformation crises.
For this column, I sat down with research librarian, critical information literacy (CIL) advocate, and stereotype-buster Derrick Jefferson in hopes that he could shed light on his field. I was particularly interested in how his understanding of today’s library and information science (LIS) can enhance our understanding of the field and the work of decolonizing informational landscapes.
I know Derrick as an extraordinary artist, a fellow hip-hop head, and a dedicated, highly credentialed supporter of my students’ research needs. Derrick serves with me on American University’s Critical Information Literacy committee (CILC). He self-describes as a “SoCal” lover of old-school hip-hop and punk rock; a “sneakerhead”; the fun uncle with “all the tattoos”; the son of an educator and career Navy man; and the queer, Black grandson of a Pentecostal preacher, who never thought he’d be a librarian. He nonetheless brings his “whole self” to his work and labors to bring antiracist criticality to our faculty and students.
LIS is defined as an interdisciplinary field in which librarians support learners in navigating collections and information technologies. You also, more and more these days, teach people how to evaluate the information they find on their own. That’s criticality. What else do you all do? How else do you see your field?
I see a spiritual dimension to librarianship — one that involves loving one’s neighbor as self and treating people how one wants to be treated. Critical library studies enables us to support learners in relishing people who are different from us. When I was growing up in San Diego, church was a community-centered meeting post. We had churchified rent parties for one another and networks of caretaking. Librarianship is an extension of that.
So true! Libraries can be sanctuaries, can’t they?
Mm-hmm.
I love libraries almost more than anything and have absurdly high regard for librarians. I sing you-all’s praises constantly. But in our work on the CILC, I learned that this kind of “vocational awe” can be problematic! Can you explain?
Vocational awe is a term coined by my dear friend Fobazi Ettar. It’s the idea that libraries and librarians are inherently good. But that’s a loaded notion. We aren’t perfect. We can be biased and bring our biases to our work. At our very best, we are allies and equals in helping learners search for understanding. At our best, we are nonjudgmental of students and cheerleaders who are there for them. We work alongside them as they seek knowledge. It’s really gratifying to do this and see it all come into focus for them. I love talking to students who think they can come to a librarian expecting the commonplace and end up demystified about what librarians really do.
Yes! In our own professional explorations on the CILC, we read Leung and Lopez-McNight’s Knowledge Justice. They said so many things that make me think of my work as a professor differently. I guess that’s why our joint discipline is critical information literacy; it makes people think. What else is critical information literacy?
Critical information literacy is first and foremost an acknowledgment of the world that we live in. The world is intersectional; we aren’t all just one thing. Your story may not be canonical. It may not be “Ozzie and Harriet” or “Leave It to Beaver.” Looking at things through a critical, intersectional lens means that whatever your story is, it matters.
The language we use to discuss it matters, too. The language we use to identify people — even white men — can be reductive. Like how many “types” of “white men” are there? A whole lot. It’s important for me to help students see that and learn to be precise.
I like to expose students to the world-is-your-oyster. I see the world as a text. We can’t just reduce people for our own ease to form opinions about them. Like I say when I show students to the cultural studies on Beyoncé’s work: We can’t just reduce people to the obvious. Everything is worthy of scholarship and examination.
[laughs] You do talk about Beyoncé a lot when you come to class.
I do! Everything is worthy of scholarship and examination.
Amen. This all seems so important to remember in the post-truth era. But for the record, I don’t really like that term post-truth. It suggests there is no truth anymore. But in rhetorical studies, it really refers to folks’ preference for emotionally satisfying material that affirms their opinions and identities. How do you see post-truth?
For our students, what we’re calling post-truth thinking starts on social media. First of all, it makes me feel old [laughs] because students correlate TikTok to research. But would a TikTok search lead them to the databases? We librarians buy a LOT of important databases and we curate collections, and a big part of my job is leading students to those. I mean, what about primary-source research?
Right? Great point. Thinking critically about whatever they find in any of those places is a skill newly named metaliteracy. How does that idea resonate with you? What does it mean to you?
Looking at our current political climate, metaliterate criticality means stuff like trusting science and medical experts. Distrust of systems is useless when there’s an inability to think critically and evaluate sources! Again, what we ask students to do in college translates to these real-life decisions. Thinking through and evaluating things is beyond crucial. Yet folks are doubling down on their notions about how to make decisions. But I’m like: What is the credibility in your source of information? Folks are so binary, like [rapping] “you can get with this, or you can get with that.”
[laughing] Right?
People these days are like, “I have to drag you and eradicate you.” It can’t just be, “We respectfully disagree.” Public discourse is reduced down to talking points, full of buzzwords and linguistic signifiers to identity.
Again, amen. Derrick, I could geek out with you forever over this stuff, but I suspect I’m over my word limit, as usual. Is there anything else you’d like to say about your profession?
Many people who seek us out at libraries get focused on the academic. For me, though, it’s more about the life skills. Even if they’ve been assigned an annotated bibliography, it’s my job to help students realize that they’re doing more than writing an annotated bibliography, more than writing a paper. School is also real life, and I’m here to help people navigate these waters!
Also: This job feels like a privilege.
The privilege is ours. Truly. ‘Nuf respect.
Respect!
Sarah Trembath is an Eagles fan from the suburbs of Philadelphia who currently lives in Baltimore with her family. She holds a master’s degree in African American literature and a doctorate in Education Policy and Leadership. She is also a writer on faculty at American University. She reviews books for the Independent, has written extensively for other publications, and, in 2019, was the recipient of the American Studies Association’s Gloria Anzaldúa Award for independent scholars for her social-justice writing and teaching. Her collection of essays is currently in press at Lazuli Literary Group.
