An Island of Safety

Last November the Ashland Library featured a pianist at the monthly Music in the Library program. Her music was beautiful, and the emotive way she played touched my heart, but it was something she said that has stayed with me for the last two months. The performer, Iryna Kudielina, is from Ukraine, but now lives, studies, and teaches in Southern Oregon. She played a wide selection of classical and modern pieces, including one by a friend of hers from Ukraine, written in the early days of the current war with Russia, called An Island of Safety. It is a tranquil piece that evokes a feeling that everything will be okay, at least for a little while. 

Having a window into the circumstances in which it was written would have been powerful enough, but as I looked around at the library patrons listening to Iryna play, the impact of the piece and the idea it represented – that together we can create a small, safe place – became personal to me. Gathered in the impromptu performance space, I saw unhoused patrons with their belongings tucked close around them, a grandfather holding his toddler grandson up to see the musician, a group from a local addiction recovery program that had come for the music, retired couples who attend  each month, Symphony season ticket holders, and people who had happened upon the music and decided to stay for a while. Each of us, together, co-creating an island of safety. 

That is what I want my library to be. In a world that does not always feel safe, I want the library to be an island of safety for my community. As one person, I don’t have a lot of control over the broader world, but as a staff person at the Ashland Library, I can have an impact on the kind of place we are and the kind of environment we create here. And I choose safety. I want all those people who came to Iryna’s performance, as well as all the parents bringing their children to storytime, the folks using our public computers for work or fun, patrons looking for their next favorite book or movie, the people who need a place to sit out of the cold, and the people who enjoy attending our lectures, craft programs, and discussions to feel safe at the library.  

And when I say safe, I mean safety for everyone. I reject the idea that we need to exclude one group to ensure the safety of another. If all library users can agree to share the space and keep the welfare of their fellow patrons in mind, then we can have a place that is safe. I don’t think that kind of social compact is too much to ask for. I want library users to know they are safe to be who they are without fear, safe to share their public spaces and connect with their neighbors.  

Safe, because they live in a community that prioritizes kindness.  

I know some people will think this ideal is unrealistic, but why not reach for it and see how close we can get? I know I can’t change the outside world into that kind of truly safe place (at least not today). But the library is within my sphere of influence. I can work toward creating an island of safety here. And I think I will. Even if it isn’t perfect. Even if it only happens sometimes—like when a gifted musician unites an outwardly disparate group in a few minutes of harmony—those moments are what makes the endeavor worth the effort.