As readers of the Blue Skunk know, I am great admirer of the work of Gary Hartzell. As a former principal and ed ad professor, he brings an outsider's objective perspective to the library profession, telling us sometimes, not what we may wish to hear, but what we need to hear. Below is another perceptive post...
This thing about what to call school librarians is – from my point of view – counter productive. Terms like “school library media specialist” don’t exactly dance on your tongue and there is a danger in using a metaphor like “Information Manager” or “Chief Information Officer” While metaphors help us gain insight into complex realities, they are not representations of the total reality. Metaphors only highlight certain characteristics of the items they describe. In doing that, they promote certain concepts interpretations, but they obscure others. The way of seeing also becomes a way of not seeing. The cost of illuminating one aspect is to divert attention from others, including those that might be as important or even more important than the one illuminated.
Metaphors can create powerful insights, but always at the risk of distortion. In Gareth Morgan’s words, a metaphor always produces a kind of one-sided insight. Unless we see the whole of something, we can’t fully understand it, our perspective is narrowed, and other possibilities become harder to recognize. Library and librarian metaphors shape our conceptions of both. As communications expert, Philip Clampitt puts it, "we shape our metaphors and, after that, they shape us."
This is dangerous because our understanding of something predisposes how we approach and relate to it. Partial understanding may cause us to discount or all together miss valuable pieces of the whole. It's metaphors like these that help blind principals and teachers to important parts of the library's role and the librarian's skills.
The library as information center is an appealing metaphor at one level. The "center" of anything denotes its core, its heart, and a position of central importance. This a heady image in a school, where information is at once the stock-in-trade of the professional staff and the foundation on which student understanding is built -- and it simultaneously conveys relevance and standing. The “information manager” title is likewise enticing. "Manager" implies specialized knowledge, skill, and status -- especially in this "information age" and in the midst of an "information explosion."
The problem is that each spotlights an important library and librarian characteristic, but each also obscures other important aspects of what the library is and what the librarian does. The information center metaphor emphasizes collection over connection, evoking images of materials and retrieval processes -- but not of learning. In that, it neglects and obscures a great deal of what libraries are about today and defines the library as apart from the classroom rather than integral to it. The idea of “information manager” doesn't so much as whisper collaborator, teacher, consultant, or partner. It obscures those roles that really define quality library media performance and leadership. The greater parts of librarianship are beyond managing a collection and facilitating others' access to what it contains. These kinds of titles can put librarians at odds with teachers who see such attitudes as usurping the value of what they do. See Bill Ferriter’s recent blog called “All Hail the Mighty Media Specialist” to see an example of this.
Of course, these titles and metaphors describe an important part of what the library is and the librarian does -- and they have more of a contemporary ring than "library" and "librarian." But it's what they don't say that tends to make library advocacy more difficult. Titles may only be figures of speech, but they have real work place consequences because they shape people's perceptions. Contrast “sanitation worker” with “trash collector”. They construct and then describe our sense of something. Faculty members who perceive librarians as the “information manager” or the “media specialist” in the information center may seek their assistance in finding information -- but not likley to ask them for help in defining their information needs, nor necessarily welcome the “information manager’s” advice or assistance in interpretation or application. I’d argue that to some extent these metaphors -- although many librarians regard them as improvements -- probably do more to perpetuate stereotypes. They invite people to say, "Help me find what I want and then check it out to me; I'll take it from there."
What, then, might be an appropriate metaphor for the library and title for the libraria? The simple truth is that there may not be one. Each simultaneously illuminates and limits. It seems to me that librarians need to resist others' attempts to impose a single metaphor on them, and certainly to resist the temptation to impose one on themselves. At the same time, they need to promote multi-dimensional images whenever they can. Trying to describe the library in meaningful terms without the color and impact of a powerful metaphor will weaken any argument. At the same time, though, any single metaphor will inevitably narrow the library's and librarian's role and function in the eyes of others. This is why all this name game shifting can be counter productive. Other faculty members really control the librarian's opportunities to contribute. It's difficult gather administrative support if administrators can’t see your whole value, it’s hard to contribute if others can't see what you have to offer, and it’s impossible to collaborate if others won't collaborate with you.
Perhaps the best course when someone characterizes the library or librarian as a certain thing is to respond with multiple metaphors, "Oh, yes. It is that, but it's also so much more. It's also such-and-such … and I also do ….." Multiple metaphors expand the image and reduce restrictions. Using a single metaphor highlights only a single dimension. Instead of a liberator, it becomes a limitation. The images of libraries and librarians are already too limited. Take the words “library” and “librarian” and invest THEM with life and meaning.
Gary Harzell, March 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010 at 07:39PM 
Karl Fisch's concern about links to students work being lost after their Google Apps for Education accounts are deleted started me thinking a little more about the seeming impermanence of digital data, information, and knowledge. When the link is broken to an electronic resource, too often it seems like the resource itself is gone.
