O Captain! My Captain!

You can have all the right ingredients and still end up with a disappointing soup. Imagine a school with a beautiful library, a thoughtfully curated collection, sufficient funding, a qualified and enthusiastic librarian, and knowledgeable teachers who understand its pedagogical potential. (On the title)

And yet the library never quite takes off.

Students borrow books, the librarian works hard, and individual teachers may have wonderful collaborations. But the library remains a separate operation rather than an integral part of the school's educational work. What's missing? Quite possibly, leadership.

A Case of Omnipotentia

I have enormous respect for school principals. The breadth of knowledge they're expected to possess is extraordinary. Pedagogy, staffing, budgets, safeguarding, curriculum, parents, legislation and the occasional burning trash can and soothing teenage tantrums. Preferably all before lunch. But how much of their professional education has actually been devoted to leading a school library? I suspect, in many cases, very little. And yet we librarians sometimes seem surprised when our principals don't instinctively understand what we need, what we can contribute or how best to support us.

A principal doesn't need to know how to catalogue a book or develop a balanced collection. That's why schools employ librarians. But they do need to understand what a school library can contribute to the school's educational goals, and what conditions allow that contribution to become reality. The librarian, in turn, needs to understand the principal's responsibilities, priorities and limitations. Two professionals with different expertise, working towards the same goal. Simple enough. In theory.

Freedom Within Frames

One of the greatest gifts a principal can give a librarian is professional freedom. Not the kind that comes with being forgotten in a distant corner of the building. There's a considerable difference between "I trust you to run the library" and "The library is your problem. "Real autonomy needs a framework: shared goals, clear responsibilities, sufficient mandate and the resources to do the job. Within those frames, the librarian needs room to exercise professional judgement, develop the collection, collaborate with teachers and occasionally try something that might fail spectacularly.

A principal who insists on approving every purchase or directing every activity isn't making the best use of the professional they've employed. But responsibility without the means to exercise it isn't empowerment either. It's abandonment with a nicer name. And those frames extend beyond the library walls. A principal can give the librarian a place in pedagogical planning, make time for collaboration and ensure the library is considered when the school sets its priorities. It's one thing for an enthusiastic teacher and librarian to find each other. It's quite another for that collaboration to become part of how the school works.

A good working relationship doesn't require constant agreement. A principal has an entire school to answer for, including the small matter of providing the education children are entitled to by law. The librarian, meanwhile, will never stop advocating for literacy in all its shapes and forms. Nor should they.

There will be disagreements about priorities, resources and professional boundaries. What matters is that both understand the other's responsibilities, respect their expertise and recognise why certain arguments are worth having, even when they don't lead to agreement. 

Freedom within frames. Interest without hovering.

A Little Noise, Please

Schools are wonderfully busy places. Sports, music, technology, student wellbeing, curriculum development and countless other worthwhile activities compete for the same limited resources, time and attention. And every one of them has a perfectly legitimate claim. So why should the principal champion the library over anything else? Because reading is important? Of course it is. But so is mathematics, physical education and student wellbeing. We can't simply declare our work essential and expect everyone else to step aside.

Library activities also have a peculiar disadvantage. Much of our best work is quiet by nature.  A student engrossed in a book doesn't attract much attention. A teacher whose lesson has been improved by the librarian's research may not announce it at the next staff meeting. A child gradually becoming a confident reader rarely produces a spectacular before-and-after photograph. 

Quiet work is not insignificant work.

But it is easily overlooked. This is where principals can make an enormous difference. They can promote the librarian's work, defend its place among the school's priorities and stand beside the librarian when a professionally justified decision becomes unpopular. They can also make the library visible in conversations where the librarian isn't present. But why should they?

We cannot expect principals to champion work they don't understand well enough to explain. Nor can we expect them to make our case for us. We need to give them something to work with. Facts, figures, statistics, examples and stories. Not a forty-page report, but enough to show what we're doing, whom we're reaching and what difference we're seeing. And preferably how that work contributes to the priorities the school has already agreed upon.

Modern library platforms can make this easier. Ossus, for example, provides statistics from several perspectives and reports tailored to the questions at hand. Having that information readily available can be particularly useful when an unexpected opportunity to make your case presents itself. Of course, borrowing figures don't automatically demonstrate improved reading comprehension, and a busy library isn't necessarily an effective one.

Numbers need context, professional judgement and the experiences of students and teachers. You don't need to measure everything. You need to know what you're trying to find out. And you need to explain it. Preferably in thirty seconds as well as thirty minutes.

Yes, librarians. I'm talking about an elevator pitch.

There's no shame in learning to sell something we believe in.

The Queen Is Dead. Long Live the Queen!

A passionate principal and a librarian willing to move mountains can accomplish remarkable things. But what happens when one of them leaves? Do the collaborations slowly disappear? Do the meetings stop? Does the library retreat to its own little corner of the school? I used to worry about how my work would be judged by whoever came after me. Would they understand my decisions? Would they appreciate what I'd built? I suppose experience has made me more comfortable with those questions. I'm proud of what I built. I knew my students, their interests, their struggles and their extraordinary ability to surprise me. I miss them. But the library was never mine. It was theirs.

I've heard it said that if a school had to choose, it should give up the books and even the library room before giving up its librarian. I couldn't agree more. But that doesn't mean it should depend on one particular librarian. Have we built relationships and routines that the next librarian can inherit and develop? Can a new principal recognise the library's contribution without having to discover it all over again? 

Enthusiasm is wonderful. It isn't infrastructure. 

Have we created something that welcomes new ideas without losing what made it valuable? Or have we built a little kingdom that can only function while we're sitting on the throne?

Cinnamon Rolling in the Deep

There's one more responsibility in this partnership, and it belongs to us librarians. We need to get out more. Out of the library, out of our routines and occasionally out of our comfort zones. I often hear librarians say, "Oh, I'm never invited to those things."Well, stop waiting for the scented invitation! Sometimes all it takes is a tray of cinnamon rolls and five minutes at a department meeting. Ask for a slot at the next teachers' conference. Show up at the school's open house and talk to parents. Find out what the after-school programme is planning. Ask a teacher what they're struggling with rather than waiting for a request. Not every initiative needs to originate in the library.

Sometimes our greatest contribution is to flank and support someone else's good idea. This isn't about adding another dozen tasks to an already overflowing workload. It's about using our time strategically and making our expertise visible beyond the library walls. A good principal should ask what the library needs to succeed. But we should be equally ready to ask what the school needs from us.

Understanding what the school is trying to accomplish helps us put our expertise where it can make the greatest difference.

And if nobody has invited you to the meeting yet, you know what to bring.