Trials of a Paraprofessional

Judy Hadley

It looks like a fortress, but the sign on the Roman brick wall reads "Library." Students flood through the turnstiles to each of the university departmental libraries which are staffed by a hierarchy of professionals, p*a*r*a*professionals and student assistants. All together, but not so together.... All equally responsible for public service; all unequal in most other respects.

What is it like to enter into this blobocracy as paraprofessionals? (A blobocracy is a system wherein foreign bodies are caustically digested and diffused long before they have a chance to become effective or to make waves. See "The Blobocracy Blight," Albert Shapero, Innovation, May, 1971.)

We are expected to become invisible and to do our jobs without complaint, question, or creativity. It will go better for us if we do, since very few of the "professionals" are interested in new ideas, and suggestions are often passed off with a comment that that's not what we are here for. Or they may say that the proposal is simply idealistic. Somehow the term "idealistic" has taken on the connotation of wild, irresponsible abandon and even sounds like a dirty word. The best thing for one's sanity then is to remain silent, take whatever money is left after taxes and retirement - and run.

Nonetheless, certain emotional responses are evoked among us, such as: anger, outrage, resentment, hostility, frustration, anxiety and hopelessness. The disease of pessimism is rampant. Library assistants, as paraprofessionals were called before the Greek prefix became fashionable, begin to take on schizoid tendencies, being caught between the strict definitions of professional duties and sympathy for the students we are to commandeer. Library assistants are asked to make decisions of a professional nature and receive neither a salary commensurate with the amount of time spent in public service nor - most important - a voice in the policies which govern the areas of their responsibilities.

All this with few words of encouragement. Oh yes, occasionally someone will remark: "What would we ever do without the paraprofessionals?" (speaking as if there were no one in the room.) What would they do indeed, for the truth is that these personnel are absolutely indispensible. There will never be any budget allotment large enough to replace them with professional librarians. And as no librarian worthy of that title would ever touch a typewriter with any frequency, the ever-inundating mounds of paperwork must make their circular course through the hands of the minions.

Paperwork and public service without much remuneration, voice, or recognition is the trip. We are expected to find solace in the self-recognition of a job well done. Now, one may know whether or not he is doing his job up to the expectation of his job description, but unless he is given an occasional word of encouragement, morale may plummet, thus causing the onset of Parkinson's Law. Certainly, the idea of a self-regulating, self-evaluating kind of employee is desirable, but this becomes increasingly difficult when the only comments made about the quality of work produced occur when an error has been made.

That a definite pecking order exists is witnessed by the manner in which student assistants are handled. These employees are really invisible, from the very beginning of their employment. Their status has always been sketchily defined, owing it is said, to their transient nature. One might well look into the reasons for this transiency other than for those of graduation and transfers. One would think that the purpose of a university and all its facilities is to serve the students and that to withhold from them what is rightfully theirs, namely visibility, is in error.

Until recently, students were salaried far below the federal wage scale. When budget cuts are necessary, the first economizing measure is usually that of shortening student hours. Student employees are caught between the forces of federal work/study regulations, the library budget pay restrictions, and the demands of the civil service paraprofessionals and professional staff. Some say the students have an easy job of it. But who could put up with a job for very long that consists of tedious shelving, the reading of the collection, filing, typing and taking charge of the reference desks four to five hours daily? There is no question of their absolute necessity, but they are treated as though they were being granted a great favor. The students are also conveniently blamed for everyone else's mistakes. This is easy to do because they are often inadequately trained in the work assigned to them, and can provide handy scapegoats for others' frustrations and inadequacies.

The library in general suffers from "The Communication Thing." This is a subject that has been talked to death without anything ever being done about it. It is ironical that the library should do its best to withhold information from its employees, apparently expecting any developments to be picked up at coffee breaks or on the underground wireless. (One's coffee breaks would be presumed to be one's own in any case.) This is partly due to the lack of an organized meeting for all strata of employees. Of course the professional staff have their departmentalized meetings from whence all bits of information may or may not flow. But there is no provision for others to share information except catch-as-catch-can. Occasional meetings on all staff levels would be valuable if only on a comparative basis. As it now stands, none of the departmental libraries have any idea as to how the floor above them or below them is operated. Thus, constant idle speculations are made as to how much or how little a particular floor is producing.

After this rather negative critique, it might be asked: why stay in such a frustrating atmosphere? Many people stay (although the paraprofessional turnover rate is not all that low) because they simply need the money and because the matter of job security is usually settled after a probation period. Others stay because they sincerely believe that conditions can be better and that the more than one-third of their lives spent in paid employment can be more rewarding. Besides, library work in itself is vital and dealing with the public can be a crazy, funny detective-story trip. Leaving the library is like leaving this country simply because you disagree with some things that are wrong with it, instead of staying and trying to make changes.

The question has also been put that if one wants a real voice in library affairs, why not get a library degree and then become a really acceptable part of academia? But should a paraprofessional have to change status in order to relieve frustration? One should be able to be what he is at the time to achieve satisfaction; when the times comes to do otherwise, a change can be made. And can there really be any guarantee that things will be different with a different title - as some problems touch all staff members? Wouldn't it be running away from one set of problems to another? People I know who have left this scene in order to found a more ideologically and emotionally meaningful library at the core of community life (an almost-free, grass-roots library employing all the available media) are having an equally difficult time funding the project and integrating a number of divergent philosophies.

There aren't any guaranteed remedies, but some suggestions might be made in order to make working as a paraprofessional more satisfactory. One proposal is for one set of rules that are recognised by every staff member. When a regulation is set down and then flagrantly ignored by one's superiors, the undermining of that organization's authority has begun. No one has the right to lay down laws and then break them. Either the law must be lifted, or the legislator must respect his own rules.

Library administrators must accept the responsibilities of management. Just being a librarian in a library is not enough to give one an automatic set of credentials with which to deal with management problems. Complications in an organization must be met squarely in terms of one's role as manager and not only as librarian.

Civil service paraprofessionals have begun to realize their sizable group pressure strength and should begin to exert that pressure in a responsible manner without being afraid of it. Here, we have recently learned that among formidable opponents are the state legislature and the university administration. It is the responsibility of each civil servant to make sure that he is adequately represented at the state level and to demand a voice in university affairs. University civil servants are trapped in a nether world between faculty and students and are, at present, merely 8-to-5 onlookers.

It's time for the entire library to take a look at where it's going as well as where it's been. Will the library be more, or less accommodating to undergraduate students? Is there any chance that the library could become the vital cultural center of the campus, or will it remain an isolated study area? Surely, the questions of goals might be decided as a joint effort on the part of the entire staff. This effort might even produce a more important side-effect: unity. As it now stands, disunity is one of the most pressing problems in this organization. Librarians are convinced that no other stratum could possibly share the same interests. Civil service personnel are highly suspicious of the professional staff, accusing them of elitism. Student assistants are sure that everyone thinks they are cretins.

Here, an attempt at a staff association has been started, but without much success. The publication of a staff newsletter has been received with mixed reviews. It would seem that until each group is willing to drop some of its defenses and stereotypes and really decide it's time to work for changes in the interests of all, not much will be accomplished in this area.

Probably none of this might have been so apparent or important if one could keep sharpened the very most important piece of equipment for a paraprofessional position - a keen sense of the absurd.

Alas, there's not a spare moment to hone.