The Australian Library Journal

New freedoms - new responsibilities

[editorial] John Levett
Over three decades ago, ALIA adopted its first Statement on the freedom to read. Its adoption was a curious process, since although its principal invokers were public librarians, who seemed always to be on the firing step in the debate, centring as it did on censorship, all elements of the profession supported it (or did not actively gainsay it) even though academic librarians had always had, under the rubric of genuine research, the freedom to import material which HM Customs (whose officers were then the de facto gatekeepers of Australian morality) might otherwise have impounded; children's librarians were largely outside the debate, and special librarians had their own corporate agendas. In the sixties, we all wore our hearts on our sleeves: the nineties have induced a more pragmatic stance, but since those early intoxicating days, when the censors were routed, customs put firmly in their box, and thanks to that now all-but-forgotten keeper Don Chipp, our Statement has evolved to its present form, within which, it is safe to say, librarians will supply any information to anybody, [including, by default information available via the Internet] subject only to implied caveats regarding the need to safeguard the young. We fought those early battles not on the lofty heights of political freedom, or of the right to religious expression, but on the much rougher and raked-over terrain of obscenity, usually focussed on the use of the Anglo-Saxon copulative verb. Uncharacteristically, we paraphrase here, perhaps because of the broadside delivered by a recent departing dinner guest (not a librarian) after a more than usually heated debate on the freedom to read: 'You librarians' she said 'are all for the freedom to read, but if you printed the word Fuck just once in your precious journal, your colleagues would drum you out of office.' Quite right too. At any rate, in those innocent days, that was the go-word that set any number of local government councillors by the ears. Nowadays, as the song says 'anything goes'. Up till now.

But the whole texture of Australian civil life has been wrenched apart by those few shattering hours at Port Arthur, and governments which had hitherto pussy-footed around the issue of gun-control and technicolour violence suddenly found their voice and their courage, buoyed up no doubt by a unanimity of public opinion which has not before been seen in this country. That tidal wave of outrage may ebb and spend itself - or it may reach out to a much wider review of the conventions and mores which govern ordinary life in Australia. Librarians are not immune from this: in the days after Port Arthur, we noticed that whilst guns had disappeared from the shelves of local sporting goods shops, books about them were to be found in abundance on our library shelves; were we taking a stand for freedom on the side of the gun bigots? Did we think the issue did not affect us? Or were we just being insensitive? Whatever the reason, some serious implications now emerge: if government outlaws a certain class of firearm, should we carry and display literature about it in the name of freedom to read? Do we do the same regarding illicit drugs? Abnormal behaviour? Paedophilia? Pederasty? Do we know that the recipe for the Oklahoma bomb can be found in a well-known book of formulas on all our reference shelves, as well as in many books on rural lore in Australia? If a certain class of firearm is outlawed, will we carry information (frequently contained in gun magazines) on how to convert lawful weapons to the outlawed variety? Is the freedom in our Statement the same quality as that which the Gympie gun-nuts assert 'can only be redeemed in blood'? So far, we have not been required to address our Statement with the intensity with which recent debate focussed on the pricing of library service: if the 'sea-change in Australian public opinion' (to quote one state premier) is sustained, perhaps we may be required to rethink our position on freedom to read. We live, as we have seen, in a much more dangerous society than formerly: in such a climate, the liberties which we have formerly enjoyed, taken for granted, even, may be curtailed, and guardians of the public morality, some of whom may be as extreme in their views as the cordite-addled right, will once again assert their duty to determine what we can see, read and hear. In such circumstances, the debate will not be as simple as it once was, and our Statement may not stand. Perhaps it is time to re-open that particular file and examine its implications while we still have time and leisure to reach a considered viewpoint.

In this issue we are delighted to publish the first Australian Library Week Oration, delivered by a distinguished jurist and friend to libraries, Sir Anthony Mason. We also revisit the Metcalfe Medallion, and publish the essay submitted by the 1995 winner, Michael Cooper, based on work completed at Monash University. Roxanne Missingham takes a cool look at women and the Net, and comes down on the side of Dale Spender; Coralie Jenkin takes us on a tour through the complexities of compiling a directory of Australian theological libraries; Victorian Branch stalwarts Sue McKnight, Eva Fisch and Bea Donkin talk about their work in establishing a mentoring scheme, and Richard Owen goes for a walk on the wilder side of information literacy. Our infant book reviews continue (with the first to be submitted by respondents to our recent call: we still need many more reviewers), and (frabjous day!), two of our readers re-open the Letters pages with a broadside or two for the Editor on whether or not articles for the Journal should be fully refereed. More correspondence on this (or any other topic) will be welcome. In the meantime, we encourage you to submit your contribution, actual or contemplated, to the Editor: we live in interesting times: it would be a pity not to make your mark on them.