It's never lost on me the miracle that is the library.

I've been spending quite a bit of time in them lately (more than usual, that is), as I've been getting deeper and deeper into research for my book. Every time I go into one I'm amazed all over again that the space is free and open and that I can access everything without credentialing or gatekeeping.

At a time where everything is designed to extract as much from you as possible, whether it is money, time, or attention—or all three—the library is a radical space. Which is, in part, why they are so often under attack.

This week the school district in the progressive college town that I live in announced that they would be cutting all middle school librarian positions in a misguided attempt to try and staunch the bleeding from years of budget mismanagement. (This is not a post to say fuck you to the administrators that made that decision, but just to get that out of the way: fuck you.)

Ever since that announcement, I've watched and rewatched this speech from Chicago poet José Olivarez so many times. In it, he talks about his experience as the child of undocumented immigrants in the far south suburb of Calumet City.

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