The French philosopher Jacques Rancière
has published an unusual book of travels.
He does not travel to distant places. Instead
he travels to places “by the wayside
of the trodden path or at the end of the
subway”.
I myself took the subway to such a
place over a period of four years. It
took me to my place of work, which
was the public library in a suburb to
Stockholm, called Alby. Alby is often
described in a stereotyped way as being
one of these major city multi-ethnic
and dysfunctional suburban areas.
Through my work as a librarian at its
local public library I experienced and
learnt things, which made it possible
for me to see and move beyond the
stereotype. And for this I am forever
grateful. But I neither can nor want to
speak for Alby. It would be just another
person pushing aside the voice of Alby
itself.
It will be made obvious that I see oppressive
structures inherent in society.
Yet, working at a local library, it seems
unavoidable not to realise the force, as
well as the potential for change in the
meeting, the conversation and in relationships
between people. People, views
and conceptions of the world meet and
are transformed within the space of the
public library. Structures consist of
relationships and I wish to bring these
forth as inspiring and encouraging. If
one wants to learn about an area or a
certain locality, the best place to do so
will be at a public library. In the tolerant
public space there are numerous
ways to study the welfare of a community
and how a user, or resident, perceives
their own situation and their
relationship to the community. One
gets to meet them all, from the youngest
to the oldest.
The most amazing thing is that people
who make use of the library also remain
active and involved. They have
often made their way to the library
because of a desire or a need, and seldom
because of a problem. As a user
you are permitted to remain co-creative,
which is an unusual state of being
and something that deserves to be safeguarded.
There is no doubt that this
particular space is full of potential. The
sociologist Slavoj Zizek talks of ‘canned
laughter’, the kind so often heard on
silly sitcom TV-shows, and what their
real meaning is. I had never given them
much thought before, merely believing
they highlighted comic situations.
Zizek, however, implies that they
function as a kind of filter, so that after
a long, arduous day at work, I need
not even bother to laugh out loud. The
laughter is already there to make me
feel as if I am having a good time without
actually having to decide whether I
think it is funny or not. Canned
laughter is laughter to replace real
laughter. Before I had even set foot in
Alby I knew lots about the area and
other areas described in a similar fashion.
The media had bombarded me
with ‘knowledge’ from the likes of journalists,
civil servants, experts and politicians.
I had given this kind of ‘canned
knowledge’ as little consideration as I
had ‘canned laughter’. It is a kind of
‘knowledge’ to replace real knowledge.
It was ‘knowledge’ served on a platter,
denying me my own point of view. Not
long after I had established my own
everyday life in Alby did I realise the
enormous discrepancy between the
dominant ‘knowledge’ handed out by
the media, to what I was actually experiencing
on a day-to-day basis. Inevitably
I had to make a stand. As one
piece of ‘canned knowledge’ after
another was squashed, an entirely different
area arose before me, different to
the one I had at first seen and entered.
And once this new way of seeing set in
there was no turning back.
Dogge, one of Sweden’s most wellknown
rappers, grew up in Alby. On
Friday April 20, 2001 he wrote a column
for the free newspaper Metro and
the headline read: “All life’s good things
are here in Alby”. Dogge writes about
the beautiful countryside, its animal
life, children playing and the sense of
joy, friendliness and generosity. He
portrayed Alby in a way never done
when done from the outside looking
in. I was struck by how Dogge’s point
of view coincided with mine. Those
who spoke to me about the column
took for granted that I, and they, could
see what Dogge described and how
pleased people from the area were to be
able to share that with me. This would
never have happened a year earlier. I
had finally learnt to see an Alby beyond
the stereotype and the ‘canned knowledge’
of experts.
In Alby you learn to appreciate and
handle differences. It is done in a
manner that I have never seen
elsewhere in majority Sweden. I grew
up myself as a white, hetero, middleclass
person inhabiting the inner-city
area. If someone had asked me at the
age of twelve: “Who are you?” I would
most likely have failed to even understand
the question. Normality does not
reflect and one just IS. It is the universal
human condition. For better or
worse the people of Alby have understood
from an early age that they are
being questioned. One can from early
on position oneself in relation to different
identities and society in general. It
is constantly said that the marginalised
possess no language or voice. This is
bullshit! It is the majority who need to
learn to listen and appreciate the range
of differences in people’s experiences,
living conditions, knowledge and
competence.
At its best, the public library is a fantastic
place for this kind of search,
involving challenging and qualified
dialogues. It has been said that all the
major problems of our age relate to the
setting of boundaries, in the differentiation
of peoples, the Us and Them
syndrome etc. In these dialogues we
need to challenge these boundaries and
seek to overstep them to gain new
experiences, and along this path create
a space for dialogues that transcend.
Translated by Jonathan Pearman
At its best, the public library is a fantastic place for this kind of search
