The Illinois Library Association's annual conference is this week, and for the first time in many, many years, I'm not attending.

For those that may not be aware, I stepped down from my role as President of ILA at the end of June this year, shortly before my term as Past-President was to start. I shared that decision, and my reasons behind it, privately with a small network of people, but have decided to speak more publicly about it. When I ran for this role in 2024, I noted in my candidate statement that I wanted to work to “support those library missions that are being challenged, support the populations who need libraries, and most importantly, support library workers.” Ironically, in the end, I never felt the institution extended that same support to me. I'll do my best to keep things as general as possible, but the truth is that I have never felt more invisible and unsupported.

The issues only really started after I transitioned to the President role in mid-2025. My President’s address at the annual conference in 2025 was a chance for me to speak to Illinois library workers and acknowledge what they and their communities were facing, which at that time included increased immigration activities by ICE agents. At the time, multiple Chicago neighborhoods and suburbs were seeing these incidents daily. In fact, just the day after I gave the speech, there were two such events in my own neighborhood, a few blocks from my home. Further, as the first Latina ILA President, with the first Latino president-elect, I could not ignore what was happening in our communities. However, while I felt that it was important to acknowledge what was happening, I also wanted to center libraries. As with COVID, many patrons who rely on libraries were afraid to leave their homes, and so I suggested that we look at how we supported our homebound communities in 2020, and consider offering those same supports.

The feedback I received from attendees over the remainder of the conference was overwhelmingly positive. I was thanked for bringing attention to something that was on everyone’s minds. Shortly after the conference, I learned that ILA staff wanted me to be reprimanded for my speech because I had brought something political into a realm that was meant to be apolitical. Forgive me, but violence against our neighbors is not something I consider political.

After learning of this request to essentially censure me, every news story, every mention about ICE filled me with quiet rage. People were being kidnapped, families torn apart, some dying, and I had been told I shouldn't have talked about it.

Two weeks after the conference, I learned about the proposed Chicago city budget, which included a 50% reduction in the Chicago Public Library’s collections line. After consulting with others, it was decided that I – as a resident, a librarian, and President of ILA – would write a letter to the mayor and City Council. The letter was vetted by others in Illinois library leadership. However, right before I sent it off, I learned that ILA staff demanded that I remove any mention of my role as ILA President. I removed it from the letter but made it clear that I was doing so under protest, and I did not agree with the decision. The very first word in ILA’s mission statement is advocacy, and ILA was making a decision to not advocate for this issue. I can only assume it was because my name was involved.. After sending the letter to Mayor Johnson and the City Council, it was then published in the Chicago Sun-Times and picked up by WBEZ. Ultimately, the mayor reversed his decision and the funds were returned to the budget. While I harbor absolutely zero idea that my letter played a pivotal role in that decision, ILA chose to remove itself from advocacy efforts for the third largest library system in the state and the fifth largest library system in the country (based on population).

There continued to be concerning situations involving membership that I won't address in this statement, but those situations were handled in such a manner that, combined with everything else, it became clear that I could no longer continue to be a part of the organization. I felt like I was flying a plane while building it at the same time and there was radio silence from anyone on the ground.

Lastly, and this feels so tiny in comparison to others but it is emblematic of my entire tenure as President. On June 28, I was invited to open the ALA Annual Conference and represent Illinois libraries. I was incredibly honored. I have spent my entire library career in Illinois and representing all of the hard work those libraries do is why I ran. I was disappointed to see that there was no mention of my speaking at ALA, the largest conference in our profession, on any of ILA’s social media accounts. Other ILA activities at ALA were highlighted in photos and posts. Let me be clear: I am not chasing social media clout, but other than email, those social media accounts are the primary channels of communication between ILA and their membership. In this communication, I did not exist.

Over the course of my year as President, I was silenced, censured, and erased. So many situations left me feeling scapegoated, disrespected, undermined, and devalued.

I'm still reeling from the toll this took on me. While I'm content not being at the conference this week, I didn't expect to feel like I was on the verge of a panic attack every time I see a photo or receive a text update from a friend.

As I've grown older, I’ve come to feel strongly about speaking out for what I believe in. I want to set an example for my daughter. I want others to know that sometimes change only happens when you make very hard decisions. But above all, I could not be silent.