When Leadership Falls Short: The Crisis of Care in Library Work
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Hope Is a Choice: Practical Tips for Avoiding Despair
Posted on January 27, 2026 in Blog Posts
Authors:
Stephen Krueger
Writing is hard right now.
Most things are hard right now.
In what I suspect is a common view, someone (who is not a member of any of the groups currently being aggressively targeted in the United States) complained to me recently that “nobody is doing anything,” a conclusion reached from consuming some collection of articles, posts, and videos out of a well-meaning desire to stay informed. The result was a feeling of being overwhelmed, despair, inaction. I think by “nobody” she meant “no politicians,” but that view ironically ends up turning the person who wants to help into one of the ones not doing anything. It also is, frankly, pretty insulting to the many, many, many people who are taking action, though those efforts may not be as easily findable on the internet as social media posts by people who think that making them counts as doing something. And it is not exactly news to trans and gender diverse people (as well as, presumably, plenty of other groups, of which I am not a member) that we cannot expect protection and support from the vast majority of politicians, public figures, and news media.
Despair is tempting; it can feel good to be told that it’s okay to give up when things are difficult, because that certainly seems easier than finding something to do and then doing it. A similar inclination shows up in professional contexts, where library workers rarely possess the formal power to prevent our institutions from taking harmful stances and actions. My own employer has quietly removed the few supports it had in place for trans and gender diverse students, and there is nothing I can do to change that. But this does not mean I must sit passively and wait as things grow worse. The fact that the official protections were so minimal even when they existed, and so easily removed, demonstrates that we must find our own ways to support one another just as we always have done.
In a Twitter post from 2022 (the only entity I ever knowingly deadname), @CrowsFault wrote, “People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider’s webs. It’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go.” In a longer poem, Caitlin Seida wrote, “Hope is not the thing with feathers.” Choosing to hope—and doing so over and over, until it becomes a habit—is itself an action, necessary so we can then do more. In some cases, I think despair is a privilege; it seems awfully easy for people who are not personally impacted to decide that the situation is hopeless. Imagine the impact if all those people instead took action, joining the many others who already are.
For me, a few building blocks have been fundamental. Certainly, these won’t work for everyone, but here they are in case they can be adapted for some:
- Doing something. Or more accurately, many small somethings. In a professional context, my article “How to Gender Include” is intended to guide library workers in determining which actions toward gender inclusion make sense in their specific work. Outside of work, local mutual aid and community defense groups are for supporting one another in practical, immediate ways. Even seemingly small actions mean something; helping one person truly does matter. They also help us as individuals develop the habit of doing something rather than despairing, which we can then build on.
- Engaging in sustaining activities. For me, this means folk music and game nights; it also means taking regular time to be home alone without talking to anybody. In addition to these just being things we have the right to do as people, we cannot help anyone long-term if we are spending our own energy reserves without regularly refilling them.
- Getting offline. I deleted all my social media (including LinkedIn, which was weirdly freeing) a while ago. This was prompted by my involuntary and unwilling appearance in a right-wing article naming various people at my institution doing something that could be categorized as DEI work. Nevertheless, it remains one of the best choices I’ve ever made for my own mental health and general usefulness. I do try to stay informed in manageable ways, such as by subscribing to local news outlets and following Erin in the Morning for updates on legislation and other news that impacts trans and queer people.
I almost didn’t write this at all. Partway through, when my cat mewed at me from the floor, I almost went directly back to the computer without stopping to pet her. Now I have done both things, and I feel far more like a person than I did an hour ago. Last week, I delivered food to someone who needed it. Taking one action, however small, reminds us that we are capable of more than despair. That lesson learned, we can take another; the third comes even more easily, and so on. It builds a habit. Eventually, responding with tangible support for one another and resistance to those who are trying to enact harm becomes more automatic than giving up.
Pet your cat. Make your library a little safer for trans and gender diverse students. Invite friends over for games and ban any discussion of work or current events. Volunteer with or donate to a mutual aid group; start one if you have to. Decide to hope. I promise you can do something. Please, please do it. Then do the next thing, and the next, and the next.
About the author:
Stephen G. Krueger is an academic librarian in the United States. Ey is the author of Supporting Trans People in Libraries (2019) and co-editor of Trans and Gender Diverse Voices in Libraries (2023). Learn more at www.stephengkrueger.com.
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Header image is a detail of This is Harlem by Jacob Lawrence. Courtesy of Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden. © 2021 The Jacob and Gwendolyn Knight Lawrence Foundation, Seattle / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. For more information, click here.