I’ve been thinking about this problematic term for a while, and I’m hoping to expand that thinking into a book.

I know, I know – it sounds pretty boring, and maybe a little obvious. But wait a second – let’s talk about this.

The context for “literacy” – as a term in itself – often relates to the ability to read. If you saw this in a headline in a mainstream media outlet, it would be safe to assume that they were talking about the ability to read. It’s almost always unequivocally good, and almost always used in an almost colonialist sense – i.e., “Those uneducated people over there have low literacy rates, and here we come with books and hamburgers and chain stores to change that!” Or something like, “These people area so poor and uneducated that literacy rates are in the low teens.”

Consider an excerpt from an article based on a CNN Indonesia report, posted in Indonesia Expat:

Awaluddin posited that the problem of poor literacy in rural areas is not only a matter of children’s interest in reading, but also stressed the importance of access to books. Attempting to tackle the issue, he said, Kemendikbud has invited the Australian government to find solutions so that students in these regions do not get left behind.

One of the ideas is to create an experiment by building a reading garden in several areas such as West Sumatra, North Kalimantan, and West Java, where students are encouraged to read a book after school. In addition, teachers also help students understand the subject matter using regional language in order for students to gain a better understanding.

I think that the language here is telling: literacy is about access to books. Literacy is something that requires access to a library. Literacy looks a certain way. It’s not a huge step to see that literate people often look a certain way, according to our stereotypes.

And here we are imagining a “reading garden.” How cute! I admit that I would love to read in a garden. But try to explain that to someone from outside the United States, or in a language other than English. It sounds ridiculous. “How can you grow reading in a garden? What do you plant in the soil?”

I’m trying to make the point that our models of literacy are cultural. “Reading,” by itself, isn’t necessarily cultural. But the ways that we read – what we picture in our heads when we imagine “a person reading,” very much is a cultural stereotype, and too often we bring the baggage of culture along with this not-so-innocuous word. If we admit that, then our judgment of other people – other cultures – as inferior or impoverished feels wrong.

I love books, and I want everyone on Earth to have access to these marvelous objects. But I don’t want to say that someone lives an inferior or unfortunate life merely because they can’t drive to a Barnes and Noble or get something delightful to read this weekend from Amazon Prime.

Let’s insert the term “literacy practices” here to clarify. What does that mean? The ways that people encode and decode symbolic meaning. That’s a slight departure from many definitions. I think that most scholars on the subject would say “print” or “written” or “alphabetic,” but a significant number would nod along with my definition, or offer a slight clarification without limiting it to print or writing.

Again, I’m not encouraging people to abandon the alphabet, writing, or books. I mean, I’m a book nerd writing on a blog. I’m never going to let my books or my pens and notebooks go. (“Out of my cold dead hands . . . “)

I had hoped to say more about the problematics of this term, but I think it’s going to need to be a later post. For now, I want to make the point that our understanding of this term is bound up with our culturally-conditioned ideas about the “right” way to consume books. I wanted to also make the related point that that doesn’t mean we have to abandon the ways that we read; it just means that we need to broaden our understanding of “reading” and, ultimately, “literacy.”

More soon.