We Matter: Independent publishing in a dangerous world
Books themselves have become increasingly commercialized—and small publishers are often the ones willing to take a chance on the most needed voices.
MARGARET RANDALL
In every culture, courageous, innovative, or experimental thinkers—those unafraid to explore the deepest questions and our most complex public issues—search for venues in which to express ourselves. And it is most often the small independent publisher who is willing to take a chance on our voices.
As a longtime author, I’ve been fortunate to have found such outlets for my work. But the independence and integrity of creative spirits and those who fearlessly make our books available to readers is a combination that is threatened in today’s dangerously commercialized and commodified world.
What can we specifically—life-affirming authors and the independent presses that promote our voices—do at this critical time, and why is it so important?
I believe that the first thing we must do is understand that words always precede action.
We must continue to get our words out there, and I don’t simply mean political messages. I mean something much broader: an anti-racist, anti-sexist, anti-homophobic and inclusive respect for all peoples, our love of the land, a welcoming attitude toward those who come to our shores for political or economic reasons, attention to the most vulnerable among us, a simple love of beauty and creativity. The best defense against narrow exclusionary values is to disseminate values such as compassion, solidarity, civility, and the great worth all good art has.
I have some dramatic personal experience with this relationship between words and life.
In 1984, after almost a quarter century in Latin America, I returned to the United States. In the sixties, while married to a Mexican, I had taken out Mexican citizenship and inadvertently lost that of my country of origin. When I came home, I had to apply for residency with the hope of regaining my nationality. The US Immigration and Naturalization Service denied my petition based on the contents of seven of my books. It claimed that this content “went against the good will and happiness of the United States.” Their words. I was given twenty-eight days to leave the land in which I was born.
I decided to stay and fight. With the support of wonderful lawyers and many other writers, artists, and ordinary people, I won my case and full restoration of citizenship in 1989, but at enormous personal cost: harassment, difficulty in finding work, the inability to leave the country while the case was ongoing (meaning I could not travel to see my children or welcome grandchildren into the world), and the stress the case meant for my elderly parents.
Margaret Randall reads at Collected Works in Santa Fe.
This experience sensitized me to censorship in a very personal way.
Over the past decade in this country, we have seen censorship in many different forms. Iconic literature has been removed from our schools, librarians have been harassed, our corporate press has become more and more beholden to rightwing influence. Our historical memory has been distorted or erased. And censorship leads to self-censorship. Many of the larger publishing houses have grown cautious about the books they will release.
Small independent presses are the first line of defense against this dangerous curtailment of critical thought and cutting-edge creativity.
This would be reason enough to celebrate the creative minds that resist and the dedicated publishers who make their work available. A simple love of good books is another. We are keeping our nation’s most profound cultures alive through a dangerous storm.
We matter.
Margaret Randall
Margaret Randall is the author, editor, and translator of more than two hundred books—with six titles of poetry and essays (and counting) from Casa Urraca Press. Her latest work includes Last Words: Essays and Home: Poems. She has been decorated with the Medalla al Mérito Literario, awarded by Literatura en el Bravo in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico; the “Poet of Two Hemispheres” prize by Poesía en Paralelo Cero in Quito, Ecuador; an honorary doctorate of letters from the University of New Mexico; and the City of Albuquerque’s Creative Bravo Award. She lives in Albuquerque.