How a High School Librarian in Abilene Fought Back Against Moms for Liberty 

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Recess in the schools of Abilene, Texas can be cancelled for any number of reasons. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. The students broke all the rules that day. Baby rattlesnakes were spotted by a custodian on morning duty. 

That last one is fairly common at my children’s school. I’ll admit that when my in-laws from Ohio visit, I play up this fact. There’s something about saying, “My kids couldn’t go to recess today because rattlesnakes were spotted around the playground equipment,” that makes me feel very Texan. 

Despite an origin story that would suggest otherwise, I haven’t always felt Texan. I grew up in Menard, right on the edge of the Hill Country. My father was born on the second floor of Menard City Hall, and he raised me two blocks from that very location. My great-uncle, Nicholas Pierce, wrote The Free State of Menard 80 years ago, and it is still considered an important historical text in the area. 

Yes, I should have felt Texan, but I never owned a pair of cowboy boots, I tended to trip up doing the two-step at London Dance Hall, and I always knew that if I was ever to have a chance at fitting in, I would need to keep my opinions to myself. It is possible I would have fit into Ann Richards’ Texas, but I was born too late to ever know.  

Like so many misfit kids, I found belonging in a library. In the early 2000s, no figure at Menard High School loomed larger than the librarian, David Fondersmith. His towering height was matched only by the bushiness of his eyebrows. Anytime I finished an assignment early, I asked to go to the library where I was met with the deep, rumbling voice of Mr. Fondersmith, a dictionary opened to whatever word he was curious about that day, and shelves upon shelves lined with books I could not get enough of. There were Pulitzer Prize winners, bestsellers, and classics. I didn’t know Young Adult literature was a thing, but I was reading what Mr. Fondersmith provided, and it was a rich canon. I read books by Wallace Stegner, Richard Russo, Anne Tyler, Margaret Atwood. I crafted my first 20-page paper on Walt Whitman using Mr. Fondersmith’s collection to study the great poet who happened to be (gasp) gay. 

After high school, I left Texas, hoping that the beauty of Kentucky’s trees or the rolling hills of southern Oklahoma would fit me better. My husband was a minister, and I poured myself into building community in these foreign lands. What I found was the same cultural purity tests I’d failed all my life, but with lower quality barbecue and Mexican food.

So I returned to Texas—not because I expected to fit in, but because it is home. And through a circuitous career path, I found myself a librarian sitting at the circulation desk of a high school library in Abilene. I am my campus’s Mr. Fondersmith, only shorter and with less impressive eyebrows. Also, my collection pales in comparison to his. I can’t have many of the books I loved in high school. Modern collection development policies and state laws don’t allow for it. 

I entered this profession just as the storm clouds of the current book-banning push were starting to gather, but I enrolled in a librarian certification program hoping it would pass over me like lamb’s blood was painted on my doorframe. 

And for the first three years, wishful thinking worked. No challenges. Just me and my colleagues planning programming to get high schoolers reading, inviting authors to visit, and crafting displays for all the National months and weeks and days people don’t even know exist until they walk into a library. 

In late summer last year, I received a message from my fellow librarians. We’d all been watching the legislative session as Senate Bill 13, which regulates school library materials, made its way into law. We arranged to meet at a local coffee shop a few weeks before school would start to discuss the bill, strategize, gnash teeth, and gird our loins. The upcoming school year had officially become unchartered territory. 

There were so many things we didn’t anticipate because we simply didn’t understand the full implications of the law. A handful of words could change everything. For example, SB 13 made it mandatory for all districts to now accept book challenges from residents who had no children attending their schools. Before, best practice was to limit who could challenge books to the students, staff, and guardians of students within a district. Now, a person only needed a local address to issue challenges.  

SB 13 also neutered a librarian’s authority over their collection. I no longer determine what goes into my collection. I make recommendations, and a council of parents called a School Library Advisory Council (SLAC) decides whether or not to recommend approval of my list to the school board. Ultimately, the school board decides if a book will be in my collection. In many districts, AI is being used to assess the lists of books turned in by librarians. 

With this new law looming over high school libraries, it didn’t take long before Tammy Fogle, the leader of our local Moms for Liberty group, issued 27 book challenges. She had no children attending our schools, but SB 13 had opened the door for her. The broader group began showing up to our school board meetings, reading passages from our books. There was no nuance, no context; just scene after scene read with the assertion that only an evil person would expose a high school student to this paragraph, this sentence, this word. Outside of the meetings, their social media platforms became single-mindedly focused on the two large high school libraries in our district, one of which is my own. The comments called for mine and my colleague’s arrest while questioning our integrity and faith. Local news played along, posting salacious headlines for clicks and platforming the key book challenger. 

After two months of sitting through board meetings dominated by Moms for Liberty, the librarian at the other high school, Kate Stover, and I began inviting parents to come and voice their own perspectives, and a group formed who now attend regularly. They are grateful for the diversity of our collections, the opportunities their children are given for growth in their school libraries, and the effort our district has made to keep parents in control of their child’s individual access to books. Kate and I also speak monthly, taking back the narrative around our libraries. 

Meanwhile, our district’s SLAC processed the book challenges, making a concerted effort to read the books in full, have honest discussions about the content of the books, and make decisions that reflected the values of our community. A few books were ultimately taken off the shelf, but more books were kept, and a few were limited to only 11th and 12th grade students. Each 

member devoted dozens of hours of reading and meetings to the process, and our school board honored their service by upholding all of their recommendations. 

Just as I was ready to reshelve the challenged books, appeals were issued by the book challenger. Once again, our board upheld the choices of our SLAC. SB 13 requires that two years pass before a book can be rechallenged after an appeal fails. We all breathed a sigh of relief. For now. 

But this past week after failing to win her appeal, the challenger has filed a 15-page petition to the Texas Commissioner of Education Mike Morath asking he order the removal of the books our district voted to retain. Headlines began popping up in conservative Texas media lauding her efforts. In interviews, she seemed offended that people had organized and resisted her efforts. 

As I write this, spring break is a week away. When we return to school, the remainder of the year will spend itself in a flash of recitals, award ceremonies, and sentimental goodbyes, and just like that, the hardest year of my professional career will come to an end. School will be out for the summer. The rattlesnakes can have the abandoned playgrounds, at least for a little while. 

I don’t know how the story of this year in my library will end. Will the commissioner respect the choices that resulted from layers of local governance? An elected school board voted on members of a committee to vote on what books to retain for our students. Committee members spent hours upon hours reading these books and engaging in good-faith discussions about their

content. The elected school board upheld their decisions. Will our state government tread on their choices? 

And if the state chooses to overthrow our local choices, will we be silenced? It is widely known but nonetheless fun to share in small talk that most people are more afraid of public speaking than they are of death. Each time I stand up to speak at a school board meeting, my knees shake, my voice catches, and I feel certain that this will definitely, most certainly be the time I don’t survive public speaking. It isn’t that I’m more afraid of public speaking than death; it is that public speaking feels like it could cause my death. But I do it every month because I am a high school librarian in the state of Texas in times such as these. 

In fact, it is only now, at the age of 41 and after six months of concerted advocacy for my library, that I finally feel like a true Texan. Looking at the snake raised and ready to strike on the Gadsden flag never spoke to me when I saw it waving in the yards of my neighbors. Like the not-Texan-enough Texan I am, I’ve never owned a gun. But when we’re talking about the public schools where my children attend, where I manage the library with as much pride and care as the legendary Mr. Fondersmith, where the students I love and serve choose their next great read, I feel it. I feel my jaw clinch and my gut tighten and the words “Don’t Tread on Me” pulsing through my veins. 

I was told my whole life that being a Texan was about the clothes you wore, the music you listened to, and the party you voted for. I wish someone had told me in high school that Mr. Fondersmith, wearing his cardigans and with a worn book in hand, was as Texan as any cattle rancher. I wish I’d seen in him that no one cosplayed their way to being a Texan. Mr. Fondersmith embodied intellectual freedom, trusted his teenage students with the grittiest and richest of books, and infantilized no one. He was a badass librarian, and what could be more Texan than that? 

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American Citizenship and Other Myths

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In widely quoted speeches delivered over the past couple of years, JD Vance has made the claim that he is more American than you. (Well, unless you happen to be his cousin, or a very distant nephew of James Madison.)

“People whose ancestors fought in the Civil War have a hell of a lot more claim over America than the people who say they don’t belong,” he said during one of these addresses last July. In another, he described how his family had been buried in an eastern Kentucky cemetery since the 19th century, arguing that this particular ancestry is what undergirds patriotism: “That’s not just a set of principles. … That is a homeland. That is our homeland. People will not fight for abstractions, but they will fight for their home,” he said.

The vice president remains just a bit slippery in these lectures. Full context sometimes makes the snippets more alarming and sometimes less. In the first quote, for instance, he’s specifically claiming primacy for Americans of Civil War-era descent who also hold views that would cause the Anti-Defamation League to label them domestic extremists. (I’m serious; the transcript is online.) On the other hand, the cemetery quote was part of a sentimental riff about his proposal to his Indian-American wife. 

What’s clear, even if he doesn’t use the precise phrase, is that Vance is toying with an idea lately popular on the online right: the so-called heritage American. The idea, per its promulgators, is that a distinct national identity emerged in this country sometime between the early colonial period and the mid-19th century and that this identity, preserved through bloodlines, deserves special privilege today. In theory, this category can include some African Americans and Native Americans, but at least one far-right writer has conveniently doffed the mask, writing for The American Conservative: “Heritage American is more palatable to the public than ‘white.’”

IF CONSERVATIVES ARE GOING TO UNSETTLE WHAT IT MEANS TO BE AMERICAN, MAYBE IT’S BEST TO ACCEPT THE INVITATION.

If this idea sounds equal parts stupid and dangerous, you’ve understood it correctly. One can imagine a heritage-American future where jackbooted federal agents are pulling people over to demand their 23andMe results. The concept’s semi-prominence also owes to Vance, whose political career depends entirely on Donald Trump, whose paternal grandparents and mother were, of course, all immigrants. The very same Trump whose notion of Americanness is so profound that he advertises a “Gold Card” whereby $1 million, plus a $15,000 processing fee, buys you a glide path to citizenship.

Yet the idea also pulls on bloody threads that wind back to our country’s most formative ideological struggle. It is a rejection—which Vance explicitly affirms in his speeches—of the notion that America is principally “an idea,” or a nation formed by a shared creed. In other words, it’s a rejection of the dominant and long-standing interpretation of Lincoln, whom I’ll let speak for himself (with but minor abridgment):

“We have … among us perhaps half our people who are not descendants at all of these men [of the Founding era],” the then-Senate candidate said in July 1858. “If they look back through this history to trace their connection with those days by blood, they find they have none, they cannot carry themselves back into that glorious epoch and make themselves feel that they are part of us, but when they look through that old Declaration of Independence they find that those old men say that ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,’ and then they feel that … it is the father of all moral principle in them, and that they have a right to claim it as though they were blood of the blood, and flesh of the flesh of the men who wrote that Declaration, and so they are.”

On the streets and in the courts more than a century and a half later, we’re seeing the dire consequences that come from attempts to curtail, contra Lincoln, who counts among the nation. The Supreme Court is set to rule this summer on Trump’s bid to deny Americanness to babies born of undocumented immigrants—through his January 2025 executive action titled “Protecting the Meaning and Value of American Citizenship”—which could upend the constitutional legacy of the Civil War’s outcome. Further, in internal guidance late last year, the administration called for an unprecedented increase in denaturalization, meaning the stripping away of citizenship already granted; the president has begun promoting the concept of “remigration,”  which is grounded in the idea that some racial or ethnic groups are unassimilable no matter their legal status; official government social media accounts have used white nationalist propaganda to attract recruits; and, in response to Minneapolis, we’ve seen the political right argue that the Constitution should not extend to citizens who use their rights to defend noncitizens targeted by the feds.

With the future of the GOP up for grabs in a few very-long years, far-right ideas like Vance’s that should be fringe can’t be safely ignored—especially if they hold a grain of truth. As dumb and deadly as the heritage American label is, it draws on something that the political left has long recognized as well: American citizenship as presently constructed is often unstable and arbitrary. It is incomplete, unsatisfactory, and even a lie. 

Citizenship: Notes on an American Myth by Daisy Hernández (Courtesy/publisher)

In a new book out this February, Citizenship: Notes on an American Myth, the author Daisy Hernández blends her own story as the daughter of a Cuban father and Colombian mother with a review of academic literature to unsettle the concept of citizenship in this country. Her critiques come decidedly from the identity-conscious left, and they’re expressed in a number of memorable, if somewhat obscurantist, lines. 

“I learned as a child that citizenship was a private story, one women told in the dark,” Hernández writes near the book’s beginning. “We are citizens of the stories we tell,” she concludes later on.

Hernández surveys the history of American citizenship, a term with roots in the English language dating back seven centuries, she writes, but whose meaning has always been mercurial. The 14th Amendment and subsequent jurisprudence might seem to have largely settled the question—those born on U.S. soil shall have that “right to have rights,” as Hannah Arendt put it—but Hernández’s view is more expansive. 

She discusses how queer Americans have long been essentially semi-citizens, denied “a robust social citizenship.” She also draws on Susan Sontag’s famous line about illness, that “Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick.” And she walks us through the supercharged exclusion of the Trump era.


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As a reader, the book for me fell somewhere in between a memoir and an academic treatise, without the payoff of either. But, for another, it might be just the right invitation needed to complicate a notion that many consider self-explanatory. For some liberals who are responding to the right’s hard-nationalist turn, perhaps this book can push them beyond a blithe defense of the status quo circa Obama’s second term. If conservatives are going to unsettle what it means to be American, maybe it’s best to accept the invitation.  

The funny thing about Vance’s blood-and-soil patriotism is that he means to add depth to Americanness by grounding it in a few generations’ worth of human ancestors buried in a particular patch of dirt. But this is stunningly shallow. If you’re going to redefine this nation away from its Lincolnian ideals, why not start with something sturdier? Perhaps “America” is just the silly name we give to a sprawling expanse of sacred land that’s hosted many names bestowed by many peoples—a “real” American being someone who stewards that physical land and the nonhuman life that’s filled it since long before Vance’s oldest white American ancestor had a species to emerge within. Maybe an Indigenous Mexican immigrant has far more claim to this land than Vance’s Appalachian Scots-Irish, but maybe the rights of both should carry with them across imagined borders.

Rather than let our citizenship be honed to violence, in other words, perhaps we should expand it past its breaking point to create something new.

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Prewar US intel assessment found intervention in Iran wasn’t likely to change leadership

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By MICHELLE L. PRICE and MARY CLARE JALONICK

WASHINGTON (AP) — A U.S. intelligence assessment completed shortly before the United States and Israel launched a war in Iran had determined that American military intervention was not likely to lead to regime change in the Islamic Republic, according to two people familiar with the finding.

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The National Intelligence Council’s assessment in February concluded that neither limited airstrikes nor a larger, prolonged military campaign would be likely to result in a new government taking over in Iran, even if the current leadership was killed, according to the two people, who spoke on condition of anonymity to describe the classified report.

The determination undercuts the administration’s assertion that it can complete its objectives in Iran relatively quickly, perhaps in a matter of weeks. The administration has asserted that it was not seeking regime change in Iran, even as President Donald Trump considers whom he would like to see lead the country.

The intelligence assessment concluded that no one powerful or unified opposition coalition was poised to take over in Iran if the leadership was killed, according to the people familiar with the report. It determined that Iran’s establishment would attempt to preserve continuity of power if Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei was killed, the people said.

In line with the assessment’s findings, Iran’s leading clerics on Sunday chose a new supreme leader, Mojtaba Khamenei, to succeed his father, who was killed in the war’s opening salvo. The son is believed to hold views that are even more hardline than his father, and his selection is a strong sign of resistance from Iran’s leadership and an indication the government won’t step aside quickly.

A poster of Ayatollah Mojtaba Khamenei, the successor to his late father Ayatollah Ali Khamenei as supreme leader is placed on an anti-riot police car as policemen stand on top of the car, during a rally to support him in Tehran, Iran, Monday, March 9, 2026. (AP Photo/Vahid Salemi)

The details of the assessment were reported earlier by The Washington Post and The New York Times.

Trump and other top administration leaders have given different justifications for the strikes that began on Feb. 28, saying they were necessary to set back Iran’s nuclear weapons program or to preempt an Iranian ballistic missile attack. While Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has said the war is not aimed at regime change, Trump has said it’s something he wants to see.

A message seeking comment from the Office of the Director of National Intelligence was not immediately returned Monday. Director Tulsi Gabbard fired the council’s acting chairperson last year after the release of a declassified NIC memo that contradicted statements the Trump administration has used to justify deporting Venezuelan immigrants.

Trump, dating back to his first term, has been deeply skeptical of the U.S. intelligence community and has frequently dismissed its findings as politically motivated or part of a “deep state” effort to undermine his presidency.

Associated Press writers Aamer Madhani in Doral, Florida, and David Klepper in Washington contributed to this report.

Belarus journalist convicted of treason and sentenced to 9 years in prison

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By YURAS KARMANAU

TALLINN, Estonia (AP) — Belarusian journalist Pavel Dabravolski was convicted Monday of treason and sentenced to nine years in a maximum-security prison, activists said, the fifth media worker to be jailed in two weeks in a relentless government crackdown on freedom of the press.

Dabravolski, who has reported for international and domestic news outlets and won numerous prizes for his work, was found guilty during a closed-door trial at Minsk City Court, according to the Belarusian Association of Journalists. The 36-year-old most recently worked for BelaPAN, which the Belarusian authorities have designated as extremist.

President Alexander Lukashenko, who has ruled Belarus for over three decades, has stayed in power through a relentless crackdown on dissent.

Massive protests broke out following the 2020 elections, which were widely denounced as fraudulent. More than 65,000 people were arrested and thousands were beaten. In the wake of the protests, hundreds of independent media outlets and nongovernmental organizations were shut down and outlawed.

Exiled opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya said Dabravolski was being targeted by “trumped-up charges.”

“Dabravolski’s only ‘crime’ was doing his job and covering the 2020 protests after the stolen elections,” she said. “We see that the conveyor belt of repression inside Belarus continues unabated.”

Activists have reported a sharp increase in government pressure on Belarus’ media workers.

“Repression is escalating and Dabravolski’s sentence shows that the authorities are increasing pressure on journalists in a country that already has the worst freedom of speech in Europe,” Andrei Bastunets, the head of the journalists’ association, told The Associated Press.

The group says that 28 journalists are imprisoned in Belarus.

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“It contradicts the idea that the human rights situation in Belarus has allegedly improved due to the release of prominent political prisoners,” Bastunets said.

Under Lukashenko, Belarus has faced years of Western isolation and sanctions for repression and for allowing Moscow to use its territory during its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. He has recently sought to improve relations with the West by releasing hundreds of political prisoners.

Many more remain behind bars, however, with human rights organization Viasna estimating that there are 1,140 political prisoners.

Also on Monday, Belarus’ main security agency, the KGB, designated four independent publishing houses that publish books in the Belarusian language as “extremist” without any explanation.

Lukashenko has made Russian an official language, alongside Belarusian, which like Russian uses the Cyrillic alphabet and is hardly heard spoken on the streets of Minsk and other large cities anymore. Official business is conducted in Russian, which dominates the majority of the media. Lukashenko speaks only Russian, and government officials often don’t use their native tongue.

Viasna activists say that independent book publishers have been facing increased pressure lately, with authorities targeting them with raids and detentions. At least 10 people have been arrested in the last month as part of that campaign, Viasna said.