Defending our public libraries is part of a larger struggle for the integrity of institutions essential to democracy, writes one rural sociologist

Rear view of a parent and young child holding hands, walking through a public library

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They once looked forward to bumping into neighbors at the grocery store, catching up with former teachers or sharing a friendly wave. Now, for some people in small towns, those familiar faces trigger avoidance, even dread. After seeing a community pillar post “horrible things” about politics online, one parent lamented, “I miss when you would get excited to see someone… but now, I saw what she posted on social media, and I don’t want to talk to her.” The sentiment isn’t isolated. Yet, even in places where political tensions run high, the public library is a space where people with diverse political views can find common ground.

During the fraught 2020 election season, I set out to research parenting in a Northern Appalachian community where 75 percent of residents voted for Donald Trump. A recurring sentiment among the parents I interviewed was the genuine anger and sorrow caused by political conflict in their daily lives and relationships.

In the face of such deep personal and community fractures, my research study in Rural Sociology points directly to the essential democratic function of our local public libraries. These trusted places are increasingly under attack by extreme partisan efforts to reshape public institutions through financial strangulation and by censorship. Defending our public libraries against these attacks is part of a larger struggle for the integrity of the institutions essential to democracy.


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Paradoxically, these pressures mount even as libraries enjoy massive public support. Pew Research found over 90 percent of Americans see them as vital community assets. Polling for the American Library Association (ALA) showed strong cross-partisan majorities, including Republicans, oppose book removal efforts.

Public libraries nonetheless face increasing threats to their budgets. In March, President Trump issued an executive order aimed at dismantling the Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS). As the sole federal agency supporting libraries and museums, IMLS grants are critical for resource-strapped rural areas to maintain programming. The order mirrors wider efforts to weaken public education through K–12 vouchers and ideologically motivated cuts to university programs. These actions make it harder for institutions to do their jobs effectively.

Public libraries also face attacks through censorship efforts designed to divide people. Driven largely by organized political groups rather than concerned individuals, the unprecedented wave of book bans since 2021 overwhelmingly targets books concerning race, gender and LGBTQ+ experiences. Efforts to remove specific ideas and perspectives from public access in libraries run parallel to legislative pushes restricting teaching history, race and gender in K–12 schools and pressures on universities to limit diversity initiatives and academic freedom. From library shelves to classrooms, censorship limits exposure to diverse viewpoints and restricts informed engagement with complex social issues.

While these attacks threaten public institutions everywhere, they especially harm small, rural towns dominated by a single political viewpoint. With fewer avenues (media outlets, cultural organizations or specialized bookstores) to encounter different perspectives, it becomes significantly harder for anyone to practice the critical thinking skills needed to make well-reasoned judgments on civic issues. As gateways beyond the echo chamber, public libraries provide resources needed to understand policy proposals or evaluate electoral candidates through open access to government data, legislative records and diverse media sources. In doing so, libraries equip citizens with skills to counter disinformation intended to disrupt democratic processes.

Rural Democrats and other political minorities in my study felt stressed, defeated and sometimes directly threatened for their beliefs. The library can offer essential services and a connection to broader resources for these individuals and others from diverse backgrounds or facing hardship. Cutting funds relevant to these groups or censoring materials reflecting their experiences deepens their marginalization and chills dissent.

Simultaneously, the library acts as a natural bridge over social class divides. The often college-educated people who were of the political minority in their town told me they relied heavily on the local college for parenting resources, political activism and validation. Their affiliation with the college reinforced what some perceived as a “haves vs. have-nots” divide, as other town residents felt excluded from college resources. The public library served as a place where everyone felt comfortable. Some community members relied on digital tools and workforce development and career services, while others gravitated towards cultural and intellectual offerings. Sharing public space creates opportunities for positive interactions across political and class lines in ways that increase empathy and strengthen shared community identity. Public libraries are, in this way, great equalizers.

Defending public libraries against financial and censorship threats is necessary to preserve social cohesion, intellectual freedom and the very foundations of democracy in vulnerable rural communities. The ALA urges everyone to contact their federal legislators to overturn the IMLS executive order. The organization also suggests people share personal stories, write local editors and form groups to take action. In small towns, where social relationships and mutual reliance are important, the breakdown of trust and the intensification of division is particularly damaging. We need our libraries, and they need us.

This is an opinion and analysis article, and the views expressed by the author or authors are solely their own and not those of any organization they are affiliated with or necessarily those of Scientific American.

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