A Seat at the Table

For 150 years, the American Library Association (ALA) has shaped the landscape of libraries and the profession itself—but its leadership has often reflected the racial and gender biases of society at large. For this special anniversary issue, American Libraries spoke with eight barrier-busting Association leaders about their struggles, triumphs, breakdowns, and breakthroughs. The stories and lessons they share reveal how diversity fuels and transforms the power of libraries everywhere.

Robert Wedgeworth

Wedgeworth served as ALA’s first Black executive director (1972–1985).

In virtually all my professional ­positions, I was the only Black person. I never had problems as a result, because almost everybody accepted that I had to be exceptional in order to be in the position I was in. Earlier, as an undergraduate in the mid-1950s, I had been a basketball player, and often I was the only Black player on the floor. I had the ability to shut out cheers and jeers.

The first year I was at ALA was the year that the Nixon administration decided it would no longer have federal funds for libraries. We had a very astute director of our legislative office, and she said, “If you can’t get Congress to see the light, you have to make them feel the heat.” We started a grassroots campaign called “Dimming the Lights on the Public’s Right to Know.” We got libraries across the country to dim the lights at noon during National Library Week and explain to patrons what was going on. The congressional staffers said that they got more letters about that than they had had on anything prior. And Congress reversed the administration’s recommendations to zero out the library funds.

Almost everybody accepted that I had to be exceptional in order to be in the position I was in.

Now, there had been a longstanding tradition that ALA didn’t get involved in social issues. The younger librarians in my generation didn’t accept that, because we were right in the middle of the Vietnam War. We had tremendous problems with poverty. We had tremendous problems with race and gender.

It came to a head in 1977, when [ALA’s Intellectual Freedom Committee] produced a film called The Speaker about a high-school student group that wants to invite a speaker to talk about the inferiority of other races. The film pitted librarians against librarians. It became so fierce that Dan Rather came to the Council meeting at which they were discussing whether ALA would allow the film to be released. They did agree to allow the film to be released, but there was still very strong feelings within the membership as to whether it was appropriate.

When I became executive director, there were very few female directors of major public libraries. That changed within a period of about five years, in part because of the pressure that the membership put on these institutions. Female librarians have assumed leadership roles in unprecedented numbers over the years. Minority librarians have advanced in almost every sphere of our field. So I think that we’ve done very well.

Linda Crismond

Crismond served as ALA’s first female executive director (1989–1992).

I went to ALA saying that I came as a candidate who was not active in the ALA structure, so I didn’t have a bias of who were my favorites and who were not. I said, “You need to hire a woman. Because in our woman-dominated profession, it’s kind of sad that we’ve never been represented by a woman at the top of ALA.”

One of my idols was Robert Wedgeworth. I remember meeting with him at the International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions conference in 1991 in Moscow [during the August Coup, which accelerated the Soviet Union’s collapse]. I was having lunch with Bob in the hotel when we heard this rumbling coming down the street, and it was tanks rolling into Moscow.

In our woman-dominated profession, it’s sad that we’ve never been represented by a woman at the top of ALA.

The organizers of IFLA had planned a farewell reception on the top floor of the Kremlin. So we all went to the Kremlin and celebrated, and the Russian librarians were doing a conga line. I remember the bottles of vodka and orange Fanta down the center of the table.

I got along wonderfully with the ALA staff. I embarked upon a plan to visit every state library association, all the affiliates of ALA. I think I had accomplished 15 or so different states before I left.

I went on to work in the book business. Now I am completely retired. I’m the leader of the book club at the Tarpon Springs (Fla.) Public Library, which I enjoy. You want to know what our current book is? Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books by Kirsten Miller. Nothing has ever turned me off from being a librarian.

Tracie D. Hall

Hall led the Association through the COVID-19 pandemic as its first Black female executive director (2020–2023).

When COVID first appeared, there was this idea that libraries would stay open as an essential service. But when we realized it was a pandemic, we knew that if we were going to serve our communities, we had to keep librarians and library workers healthy. We had to find a way to be viable, but we had to find a way to stay alive.

I was learning how to lead during a pandemic. Every day brought some major issue, and if you tripped up over any of those issues, that could decide your fate. During that time, I would dream about the Association. I hope that I’ll never have a leadership moment like that again.

We had to find a way to be viable, but we had to find a way to stay alive.

The decision that the board and Council made to recommend that libraries close their doors, it took a lot. But that was absolutely the right thing to do. Nobody just went home and turned off the lights, right? We truly moved our services into the digital age, and the pandemic was the prompt for that.

My ALA leadership was symbolic for so many people. To hear from folks that even some part of it inspired them has been some of the most meaningful feedback I’ve gotten. I’ve had a few of the children of my friends say that they want to go to library school, and some are there now. I’ve gotten emails and social media messages from people saying, “I wanted to let you know I just got my MLIS, and you inspired me.”

I think that we still have a lot of work to do in terms of public perception of what librarians look like. I was walking with some librarians, and one of them said, “I just want to thank you for your enthusiasm for libraries, even though you’re not a librarian.” I laughed, and I said, “Why would you think I wasn’t a librarian?” They stopped, and they said, “Oh my goodness, I really apologize.”

Patricia “Patty” M. Wong

Wong served as ALA’s first Asian American president (2021–2022).

Being president of ALA kind of knocked me over. I should have done it when I was younger, because it takes a lot out of you. Because of the anti-Asian sentiment that erupted during COVID, it was personally very difficult. No one within the ALA hemisphere was disrespectful at all. But I’ve had people spit on me, telling me to “go back,” et cetera. It takes a lot of physical and mental strength in order to do your best by the community.

In my tenure, services to American Indian library communities were not as robust as they should have been. There was still this economic and technological divide. Because I gained a little bit of attention being the first Asian American president of ALA, then–Federal Communications Commission Chairwoman Jessica Rosenworcel asked to talk to me. So I had her at my disposal to ask questions like, “What can we do about our American Indian communities that don’t have any internet access? What can we do to make sure that every child has opportunities to do their homework at night?” Little by little, she created policy. The E-Rate for American Indian tribal libraries—that came from us. I’m very proud.

Everybody needs to see themselves and be acknowledged. Because everybody counts.

What’s amazing is that we have people who are winning the Newbery and the Caldecott—and not just in the honor category—who are people of color, who are talking about people-of-color everyday things. And that is where we want to be.

Back in the Sixties and Seventies, I really didn’t see anything that reflected who I looked like as a Chinese American. What I did see, though, were a lot of caricatures and stereotypes and things that evoked a Western interpretation of a folk tale.

But one of the children’s librarians at my San Francisco public library was a world traveler, and she knew that my sister and I were two of the few kids of color in the neighborhood. So she did her best to bring artifacts and picture books from China, from Russia, wherever she traveled, and shared them with my sister and me. Everybody needs to see themselves and be acknowledged. Because everybody counts. Everybody’s welcome. Every door is a right door.

Camila Alire

Alire served as ALA’s first Latino/a president (2009–2010).

I have to tell you, I was very proud of holding the title [of first Latino/a ALA president]. And I have to thank Reforma, because that’s where I was able to step into leadership positions that helped prepare me for the presidency and exposed me to others so that they could experience my leadership abilities.

I liked the idea of training people to be library advocates—people who are working at circulation desks, the reference desk, and places like that, who know so much about how libraries operate. I wanted them to be prepared to advocate for libraries anytime and anywhere. Who better than the front-line folks? The directors are, quite frankly, always in meetings.

I wanted [front-line staff] to be prepared to advocate for libraries anytime and anywhere. The directors are, quite frankly, always in meetings.

Front-line staff don’t have the same experience as library deans and directors do, but they sure do have the exposure to all the users who come in every day. It just made sense to me that if we could get them to a comfort level where they could speak about their library in very passionate terms, that’s hundreds more people who could do that than just the head of the library. I get excited thinking about it all over again.

We need to get more Latinos in master’s programs to be able to work in academic libraries and public libraries, and to some extent, school libraries. And one way to do that is to help them finance their education. A lot of these MLIS programs are at private institutions, so you’re looking at private tuition. A lot of library staffers are Latinos, particularly in public libraries. The pool’s there. We just have to find the resources to get them qualified.

We didn’t have problems with censorship when I became ALA president. In the political climate that we’re in now, we have to be on our toes all the time, you know? If you’re in a very conservative community, you need to understand that there could be challenges to the material that you purchased, challenges to the programs you might want to offer, and that’s when libraries have to be the strongest. We have a chance to take a deep breath here and there, but not for very long.

Emily Drabinski

Drabinski served as ALA’s first self-identified queer president (2023–2024).

I decided to run for office just after the pandemic started. I was back in my office, but no one else in my library had returned yet because we were still navigating a prevaccine era. I wanted our professional association to be bolder and stronger about what library workers were facing at the time. The drama about me is I’m a Marxist lesbian, so I assumed I wouldn’t get selected as a candidate, and I definitely didn’t think I would win.

I’m not the first queer president of ALA. There was one person who was out to only a small number of people, and another who was out to only her friends and immediate community. To have someone at the top of the profession say “I’m a lesbian” meant a lot to some people.

There is something distinctive about being the first openly queer person in a public role. I got all that shit for being a Marxist, but it’s really all about the hatred of queer people.

I think the answer is for us to be as organized as our enemies are.

Becoming a target for the right, people will sometimes blame you, so I struggled against that a lot, both inside the Association and out. I remember being in a meeting with a state chapter president, and he was screaming at me to quit, because I was the reason things were bad in his state. That kind of stuff.

Legislation in multiple states that addressed me, in some cases, by name. I had a meeting one evening with a group of librarians and library supporters who were afraid to even talk to me. That’s a lot, right?

When you’re in a public position, your feelings about that—your experience—have to be in the background. I think I did a lot of good stuff, and I kept sticking with it, even though many people would probably tell you now that the big mistake I made was sticking with it.

It’s not enough to be right. You also have to be organized, and you have to build power that’s bigger than theirs. And I believe ALA is one of those engines—that’s why I ran. I think the answer is for us to be as organized as our enemies are.

On my “Road to Annual” library tour, I intentionally traveled to places where ALA and I as a person are not always embraced. It affirmed the distance between the social media–driven drama and what’s actually happening on the ground: No matter what people believe politically, the library is something that unites them.

Elizabeth Martínez

Martínez cofounded Reforma in 1971 and went on to serve as ALA’s first Mexican American executive director (1994–1997).

I made my name as the first Chicano librarian, but I’m actually Native American. When I went to the University of California, Los Angeles, as an undergraduate, I met a librarian who was giving a course in the English department. I watched this very formidable, tall woman tell Germanic stories, Scandinavian stories. I was so impressed by her and her storytelling, but what struck me was that there weren’t any stories about my people. I thought, “Maybe that’s something I could do,” and I decided to go to library school. This was when Native books were cataloged with the dinosaurs, you know?

My first job was with Los Angeles County, and I was fortunate enough to be placed with six librarians to work in Black and Latino communities. They were a very multicultural group of women who came from all walks of life. Today, most librarians don’t have that diverse multicultural mentorship. Now there’s enough of us in all these different ethnic and cultural racial groups that we tend to be with each other. But this group mentored me, and I’ll always be grateful. I learned so much from them, their stories, their histories, and that’s how I started developing as a Chicano librarian.

This was when Native books were cataloged with the dinosaurs.

I’ve been trying to change the face of librarians as a profession for 50 years. One of the things that we accomplished with the Spectrum Scholarship Program is that it brought other perspectives in. People come up to me and say, “Thank you.” I’m looking at them ’cause I don’t know who they are, and then they tell me, “I’m a Spectrum Scholar.” They’re proud of themselves, and that makes me feel good.

I have to be optimistic [about the future of libraries]. I’m not willing to toss away all the good work people have done. My grandmother told me, “Good is better than evil. It always wins. Take your time.” We have to leave our footprints. Otherwise, we weren’t there.

The people I met and the places I got to experience made my three years at ALA pretty good. When I went to Florence, I went to the library Michaelangelo designed, and the librarian said, “We know who you are, and we have something here that we think you would like to see.” They brought out this big, big book. It was leather and metal and it had a lock and a key, and she opened it, and inside was an encyclopedia of the Mayans. She said, “These are your people.”

Cindy Hohl

Hohl served as ALA’s first Spectrum Scholar president and second Indigenous president (2024–2025).

I was recruited into librarianship by my husband, who is a second generation librarian. I applied to the Spectrum Scholarship Program, which has become my home base within ALA. When I became the first Spectrum Scholar elected as ALA president, that was very meaningful.

I believe leadership is a selfless service. When we elect leaders who do not fit that bill, we must hold them accountable and do our best to make sure no one’s left behind.

As an Indigenous woman, I’m never bewildered by American politics because Indigenous people have experienced generations of oppression, and our trust in the federal government was broken a long time ago. We have seen similar behaviors to what we’re experiencing right now. Racism has been the American standard since the first contact with Indigenous people. Little has changed when people still lose their rights to their bodies, their identity, and their freedom.

Indigenous people have experienced generations of oppression, and our trust in the federal government was broken a long time ago.

As ALA president, I strove to represent the best of us all with humility, grace, and fortitude. During my term, I used my platform to remind us of our humanity and that we’re in this together. I stood up against the face of absolute ignorance and destruction. I was told that no other president endured such relentless attacks on the field and the profession, with attempted censorship, political attacks, and adverse legislation. But you can’t predict the environment that you’ll serve in.

I carry the strength of my ancestors with me, no matter where I go. I was raised to believe that we’re all related. We say “mitákuye oyás’iŋ” in Dakota, which means “all my relatives.” That helps us center ourselves as human beings. I was also raised to protect the vulnerable and to speak out against injustice. That warrior spirit is within me.

On my “We All Belong” library tour during my presidency, I learned what I already knew: That librarians are some of the best people among us. I also saw that literacy in all forms should never be negotiable, because it’s a necessity for people, enabling them to live their best lives. I believe in the power of working together as helpers of society for the public good. That’s what librarianship is.