Part of physical media’s allure is its promise of permanence. In the age of streaming and book banning, it’s comforting to know we still have ways to ensure the legacy of our favorite things. Public libraries and movie theaters encourage widespread, cost-efficient access to media and information, a vital contribution to our rapidly changing, profit-concerned society. The library, in particular, has lent itself to a number of groups, through its promotion of community engagement, diverse range of genres, and accessibility. In recent years, the library has gone viral on social media for its non-literary resources, including free National Park passes, thus reaching a whole new sector of supporters. 

The library was an undeniable constant in my childhood. I navigated its expansive array of offerings: checking out the maximum number of books permitted each time, renting a free camcorder and tripod, browsing its surprisingly large CD collection, and using monthly Kanopy credits to watch Criterion films that were otherwise unavailable. It overwhelms me to think of the infinite information available on every shelf. While I never took the library’s resources for granted,  it took learning more about overlapping library-affiliated movements to wholly appreciate how beneficial the institution is. The San Francisco Public Library, for example, is a mecca for music lovers, maintaining a room of music and film that looks like a record store, with up-to-date releases and knowledgeable librarians. At the library, the forward physicality of information and media promotes an in-person quest for knowledge and community.

The ability of public libraries to promote curiosity merits a connection to a different kind of community-driven engagement: the punk scene. Varied definitions of the term punk draw comparisons between its  musical culture and public libraries. 

Greg Graffin, for example, lead singer of the band Bad Religion, wrote in his “Punk Manifesto” that “PUNK IS: the personal expression of uniqueness that comes from the experiences of growing up in touch with our human ability to reason and ask questions,” which, in many ways, is the same kind of inquisitiveness encouraged by the library’s dedication to free and open resources. Since 2021, the D.C. Mount Pleasant Library has sold t-shirts with a singular prompting question: What’s more punk than the public library????????????? (complete with a whopping thirteen  question marks). While generally well-received across social media, resulting in $100k sales in a year alone, some were quick to reject the idea of the public library as a punk space. 

Osita Nwanevu pushes back on blogger Matt Yglesias’s take that the bureaucratic upkeep libraries require excludes from the anti-establishment foundation of punk culture. Nwanevu’s defense of the public library references their own experience utilizing the space to source music, among other accounts, such as Carlos Izurieta, president of the library’s nonprofit and punk music lover, and D.C. librarian, Chelsea Kirkland, who created the flier that inspired the shirt’s design. Izurieta and Kirkland center their defense around the DIY culture both spaces embody and frame the public library as “a communal collection of books and materials made freely available to all⁠… a kind of alternative to mainstream capitalism.” As Graffin indicates, punk scenes  are “social places,” where “views are accepted, sometimes adopted, sometimes discarded, but always tolerated and respected.” Graffin’s endorsement of punk culture emphasizes connection and a desire to learn. The driving force of preserving integrity and breeding innovation is found in environments that tend to curiosity through the acknowledgment of questions otherwise excluded from conventional spaces. 

An Ethical Quest for Information

As upheld by the vignettes of library lovers and punk aficionados alike, access to a depth of knowledge is valuable. Despite our world’s sensationalized take on the vastness of artificial intelligence (AI) platform capabilities, there is a price to pay. The internet’s reception of ChatGPT, among other artificial intelligence assets, displays a desire to learn and gain power through knowledge, but what are the implications? The availability of AI and its neverending return of results falsely mirrors the idea of free use/open access that draws people to the punk and library communities, but the politics of the technology refute that. Conversations surrounding the open access movement have circulated the internet for decades. The late Aaron Swartz, co-owner and developer of Reddit as well as  hacktivist, pioneered the open access movement, publishing a digital manifesto that begins with “information is power.” Swartz believed in libraries and resources, such as JSTOR, resisting privatization. While the public library promotes a quest for knowledge that emphasizes community (and even nature, e.g. Sustainable Libraries Initiative, climate justice presentations, and national park passes), a singular search on a platform, such as ChatGPT, is actively contributing to climate change. Not to mention, AI hinders connection by matching conversational chatbots to users, inhibiting face-to-face interactions. In a University of Washington interview, researcher Sajjad Moazeni puts into perspective the amount of energy queries on AI platforms require: on average, one day of searches is “the equivalent of  the daily energy consumption for about 33,000 US households.” Information sought from libraries, on the other hand, does not possess nearly the same kind of environmental impact. Sure, it’s possible to break down any action or digital resource into watts and carbon emissions, but it’s also clear when the output is disproportionate to the act, especially when there are alternatives. 

 If we consider AI platforms as the current cultural norm, a thinly veiled ruse of information at your fingertips, they are comparable to Nwanevu’s stance on public libraries and punk culture. The United States’ current administration is a major proponent of artificial intelligence, making the concept of a public library even more “punk”—you can access information on your own terms (and in an environmentally conscious way). 

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It’s worth questioning if an AI search is worth the impact.

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It’s worth questioning if an AI search is worth the impact. Not every question merits the process of placing a hold or a physical trip to the library, but at least the privilege of choice and the act of physical publication can provide peace of mind when it comes to vouching for the validity of information. The library houses vessels of escapism, buried first-hand accounts of history, and rare films, among so much more. Although the process might force us to take a step back or slow down, the payoff is participating in an act of counterculture, whether through the quest for knowledge itself or the way in which you apply it.

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