30th Year Reflections/32: Membership Has Its Benefits

“Standing together in membership lets librarians and library staff access important solutions and resources to address problems you might otherwise face alone. To help meet these challenges, the American Library Association (ALA) works for members in new and innovative ways….” — ALA website

I renewed my ALA/ACRL membership today. I’ve been a member of ALA and its academic division since I entered the profession although the ALA database won’t confirm this. In a few cases over the decades my membership lapsed by a month or so and when I got around to renewing, the system logged me in as a new member. So be it. From my perspective I’ve always been a part of ALA.

I’ve been thinking about the concept of membership for a while. I am a member of some things, e.g. my family, without a choice on my part. I had no say in the matter. One day I appeared and in the process became connected to any number of souls, both departed and still living. I am a link in a long genetic chain. On the other hand, some memberships are voluntary; we choose them. If I wanted, I could change my citizenship or my association with a group. I can join any number of societies and organizations. My motives for joining such groups may differ. As a member of a faith-based community I can access a tradition, set of beliefs, and other activities attached to the group. I assent to those beliefs and try to live accordingly. Something similar might be said about joining a political party. In our voluntary associations we might look for a congruence between our religious faith and political activism. Or we might see such associations as a means of advancement in our career, societal standing, or some other facet of our life. Each link we make in becoming a member of another group informs the whole. Some people might compartmentalize their life and see little overlap between membership in one group with that of another. Such is not my style; it is not who I am. My memberships have meaning.

There is another kind of membership, one that is bestowed on us by someone else. Sometimes we have a say in the matter; in other cases we don’t. Because I was born in the United States I automatically became an American citizen. Such a membership comes with certain benefits unavailable to others. Or, as another example, I might be selected by others (sometimes in secret)—because of some accomplishment or other attractive attestation—and be recognized. I will never win a Nobel Prize, but those who have are now members of a select group. The only say they had in the matter was in the testimony of their own lives and through their work. It was left to others to judge them worthy. I am comfortable with some of these types of membership, especially if they are judged on a depth of character and integrity of soul. If, on the other hand, the judgments are made on some other basis, I would prefer not to be a part of that group. I am happy in who I am and what I do, flawed though I am.

So where does my ALA/ACRL membership fit into all this? Obviously, it is something I have chosen to be a part of, a voluntary association. My relationship with ALA informs who I am as a professional librarian. It offers me opportunities to share my work experience with others, to learn from others, to expand my professional horizons, to enhance my work. I benefit by having access to the latest thinking and theories, of best practices, news, and legislative activities. At the same time, membership demands engagement. Admittedly, this is something I’ve struggled with over the years, especially in trying to connect with a committee or two that matches my professional interests. But I keep trying to find ways to engage with my professional association. Recently I put my name forward for some committee appointments within ALA. We’ll see if anything comes of it. If not, I'll look for other ways to keep connected.

30th Year Reflections/27: Accreditation

“The evidence overwhelmingly indicates that in all four of the cases, accreditation by the American Library Association did not, and could not, guarantee the survival of library education programs on campuses where administrators had determined to eliminate them.” — Marion Paris, Library School Closings: Four Case Studies (1988)

As noted previously, I’m writing a book about the closing of the University of Minnesota library school. The school closed in 1985, three years after I graduated from the program. The framework for my narrative is provided by Marion Paris’s book, specifically her case study of the Minnesota closing. I’m now writing the last major chapter, with the goal of having the book finished and ready for some publisher (as yet unidentified) by the end of January.

One of the issues I’ve been wrestling with in my research and writing is the role accreditation played (or didn’t play, as the case may be) in closing the school. All of my findings line up behind Paris’s original observation: accreditation did not guarantee the survival of the school. Just yesterday, I found a most remarkable letter written by the director of the school, Wesley Simonton, to Elinor Yungmeyer, accreditation officer for the ALA Committee on Accreditation. Here’s one section of the letter that caught my eye:

As the same time I must convey to you my express regret that the faculty of our College of Liberal Arts is unwilling to recognize the importance of accreditation….Unfortunately, our Liberal Arts Dean has told me that the liberal arts faculty generally, being unfamiliar with the accreditation process, tend to assign little weight to its findings. Future events may indicate how University officials “up the line” view the results of accreditation, but knowing something of the resistance of University officials to the many accreditation agencies on their doorstep, I cannot be optimistic. And so I end with the disturbing thought that universities are not sensitive to the accreditation process. This is undoubtedly “old hat” to you, but at least you now have new evidence on the subject. You have a difficult job in explaining the process—its details and its integrity—to university presidents and other high-ranking officers.

The letter is disturbing and makes me wonder what the current state of affairs is with the ALA and its Committee on Accreditation (COA). Are they still fighting these same battles with university administrators? Why do we accredit programs? What utility is there in the process?

I have, in some ways, been involved with the accreditation process. As a student at Minnesota, I observed a COA visiting team and met with them during their visit. While working in Illinois I was a member of an accrediting team, not for a library school, but for a private high school. As an adjunct faculty member of the MLIS program at St. Catherine University in St. Paul I participated with the school in providing feedback for its self-study report, met with visiting team members during a site visit, and saw the process develop into the eventual accreditation of the St. Kate’s program. The accreditation process is hard work. I discovered, while working on my book, how much work the faculty and administration of the U of M school went through for two self-studies and site visits. A year or more was spent working on each self-study. Enormous energy was spent by the visiting team preparing for the visit, making the visit, and then writing a report of their findings. All of which then went up the line to the COA for its evaluation and processing. At every step great amounts of time and careful attention were paid to the process.

Yet I am still left with the question: to what end? I understand the need of accreditation to insure the quality of individual library/information science programs. I’ve seen how this process helps guide a school and its parent institution towards avenues of improvement. I know and understand how the process, in the end, provides the profession with a cadre of new and competent practitioners. But if the parent institution doesn’t grasp the process, if administrators and faculty from other disciplines can hold the process in such contempt, where does that leave us? I’ll admit, I’m not up to speed on what’s happening on this front today; I’m reflecting my findings from three decades ago. But it does make me wonder and want to find out where the matter stands today.