How do you understand information literacy, and how do you see it shaping the work of reference and instruction librarians? What are some critical, ethical, and/or political dimensions of information literacy?
We are the most informed the human race has ever been. Or at least, we have more information at our disposal than ever before. This begs the question: how do we make sense of it all? What resources are available to help us parse through this sea of information, and with what ethical compass do we navigate it? These are the questions Adam has helped me consider this term, all through the lens of reference and instruction librarianship. Though this term constitutes the first time I’ve explicitly learned about information literacy, I thought much of what I learned in RADS about the ethics involved in cataloging, or the flattening of books and their authors and subjects—all fundamentally convoluted things—into simplistic metadata categories.
The definition of information literacy—if we can even point our finger to a definitive one—has evolved concurrently with the changing capacities, resources, and roles of libraries. Over the past six weeks in References, I have learned that it is incumbent upon librarians of all kinds to facilitate the skill of finding, evaluating, understanding, and considering the ethical implications of information (both its production and dissemination) in the communities they serve. For college librarians, faculty, researchers, and students comprise these communities. When I consider my place within this ecosystem of academic work, I think of my role as a student who has been lucky enough to participate in faculty research and attend a college where there is such an emphasis on learning the research process in humanities classrooms. As a result of this, I came into this phase of my library internship having a decent understanding of some basic tenets of information literacy, such as the value of skepticism when encountering both primary and (especially) secondary sources, and the connection between power and epistemology.
That being said, I’ve learned much from my readings and conversations with Adam about how it shapes reference and instruction librarianship specifically. In connecting the two, I can’t help but think of a quote from Reference librarianship and justice: history, practice and praxis: “Ettarh reminds us that, “Librarianship, like the criminal justice system and the government, is an institution. And like other institutions, librarianship plays a role in creating and sustaining hegemonic values, as well as contributing to white supremacy culture.” As librarianship’s public face, reference is the key ambassador of such a legacy and practice” (Adler et. al, 2018, 13). As someone interested in subaltern studies, I’ve thought much about why historical subjects are rendered invisible by dominant power structures, and the connection between reference librarianship and information literacy seems especially important here. Reference librarians should teach students in these courses that, in addition to finding sources, information literacy entails the critical interrogation of the gaps and silences within the library’s collection. If, as Reference librarianship and justice suggests, librarianship is “entangled in complicated histories of… colonialism [and] patriarchy,” then the work of the instruction librarian is to teach students how to read against the grain of these dominant narratives, and to “[collect] and [make] accessible materials pertaining to groups who would normally be erased” (12, 7).
Information literacy is as—if not more—important now than it ever has been. The rise of populist demagoguery in this country (and many others) and the rapidity with which generative AI is advancing (both in terms of technological advancement, as well as the mediascapes and landscapes in which it is taking hold), and the ever-increasing number of ways in which we can offload cognitive duties: these all have made it increasingly critical that everyday people know by whom, how, and why the information they consume has been made.
I feel quite privileged, yet wary, of the Carleton bubble and the specialized access to information it provides. While I see many “Carls” concerned with developing their own information literacy in ways implicit, lest I stray too far away from reference librarianship: I often wonder how many of my peers actually engage with reference librarians on a regular basis. If students are primarily only interacting with reference librarians during a one-off first-year seminar, I must ask: how else is this being taught? In our context, it often happens in everyday, small interactions and increments, through the work of faculty, and/or the rigorous peer-review culture of humanities classrooms. But this all relies on resources that don’t exist everywhere.
This leads to my deeper wariness regarding information literacy outside the ambit of academic libraries. For someone whose primary resource is a local public library, “becoming information literate” is a much steeper climb. Even if they attend a relevant workshop, they are operating within an infrastructure that is often underfunded, relative to the amount of public good they do. It seems that barriers to developing information literacy are amplified in the public sphere.
As a budding historian, I am continuing to see information literacy less as a destination to be reached, but as a continuous practice. I cannot help but worry about how the use of GenAI will effect change for the worse in generations to come. But for now, I will be thankful that I have an opportunity to think about these things, and continue to be curious about their practical implications for a broader sector of the population.