I found out about the Sewell Stipend program thanks to a notice shared on the listserv of the Asian Pacific American Librarians Association. While reviewing the program’s website, however, I was slightly discouraged by the fact that I didn’t fit the typical candidate profile. The majority of past participants appeared to be employed at academic and medical libraries and seemed to possess extensive research experience on a variety of health topics. I, on the other hand, have worked primarily in intensively front-facing roles in large public library systems. Often I’m also one of the few (non-Black) people of color to hold an official librarian role. The Sewell Stipend doesn’t collect demographic information about applicants, nor does it describe any efforts, however limited, to improve the racial diversity of each cohort.
Still, I was motivated by the possibility of learning more about the work of others who are similarly invested in issues of equity. In fact, the theme of this year’s conference was about “strengthening social connectedness,” which has additional resonance due to the global pandemic. As in 2020, the majority of conference sessions were held virtually and recorded for later viewing. I was afraid of getting Zoom fatigue, but having a video call option helped to decrease my anxiety about being with strangers. I noticed, too, that being in a virtual space encouraged me to be more present and engage with the topics being presented.
Most of the discussions that I listened to aligned with my own interests in community health, mental health, and the experiences of QTBIPOC youth. I recognized the relief that participants in one study felt when they finally found the language to self-identify as trans and non-binary and express their emotions. In this same study it was interesting (or maybe unsurprising?) to learn that the participants were all white, college-educated individuals. This was true of other studies even where the researcher or research team was diverse in its racial and ethnic composition. For instance, I wondered why there were no BIPOC participants in a study on the healthcare-seeking behaviors of queer Philadelphians, despite the study having been conducted in a large and predominantly Black city.
Incidentally, an earlier poster session touched on how researchers continue to privilege the experiences of white-identifying individuals. While this is common knowledge for BIPOC, I’m always heartened when the supposed neutrality of our fields is explicitly called out. Even providers who serve marginalized populations exclusively aren’t exempt from these mistakes. Participants in a study on reproductive health services reported visiting LGBTQ+ providers and being subjected to racialized sexual stereotyping, particularly salient for Black transmasculine youth who were assigned female at birth.
If far too many of us are still deliberating on each other’s personhood, the very idea of collective well-being—and how we each have a stake in it—is downright laughable. It’s likewise challenging to bear the sluggish pace of reforms, only to be frustrated by how little has actually changed. I appreciate that there’s an increasing awareness about structural injustices and the specific tolls it exacts on Black Americans. At the same time I wonder what specific practices, policies, and legislation will be borne out of the solidarity statements and calls to action that have been issued just in the last year, many for the first time. What would collective well-being look like in reality? The APHA sessions I attended reminded me to be hopeful and to keep seeking out others who are committed to the rest of the work.
Charisma Lee is a librarian in the DC metro area. She enjoys coffee, design history, and Internet rabbit holes.