Caveat Lector

Sometimes I manage to convince myself that I don’t actually run off at the keyboard too much. Been pretty quiet lately, as a matter of fact; combination of too much to do, nice spring weather, keeping vows about putting Somebody Else’s Problem fields around things that just make me hyperventilate uselessly, and a slow-motion adrenaline crash from the move and the getting-settled. (I think I could use a vacation. Not much point in taking one until these damn driving lessons are over with, though, so I’m looking at August, earliest.)

But then I see myself splashed all over the latest Cites and Insights like so much blood in a slasher flick, and I just wince. Walt did a good job finding me-antidotes, though; I’ll give him that.

I happen to know about the incident with which Walt opened the latest C&I; I confirm that it was a real situation. I have to disagree with his analysis, though: to me, the crucial bit is that the vendor had been invited specifically to talk about his gizmo. I think it enormously unethical of conference organizers to pay or reimburse a vendor to talk about his gizmo. If he’s talking about the library-relevant IDE he uses to build his gizmo, or the metadata standard whose committee he sits on and which his gizmo happens to support, okay, that’s different; he’s an “outside speaker” then with whatever perquisites apply. And, within reason, he’s entitled to mention his gizmo, mostly to illustrate other points, without raising eyebrows.

But we do not pay vendors to talk about their gizmos at our conferences. They’re supposed to be paying us (for “conference” values of “us”) to do that. I should think that other paying vendors/sponsors would object! (Exception: I don’t see an ethical problem with actually designing a vendors-show-off-gizmos conference. That’s an “expo,” and lots of industries have them, including book publishing. But mixing paid gizmo-showing vendors with unpaid librarians in what is not supposed to be a sales situation, and not so much as telling the audience the compensation difference? Very bad. The kind of bad that starts rumors of kickbacks.)

Honestly, even were the vendor not being paid to talk about his gizmo, I would still have a problem with it; vendors take our money already, so why are we paying them yet more when we won’t pay our own? I wouldn’t, however, consider it unethical, just misguided; I have had my nose repeatedly rubbed in the fact that librarianship simply doesn’t have a take-care-of-our-own ethic. (I think that sucks, for a variety of reasons, but I accept it as reality.) As the situation was described to me, though—yes, I believe it’s unethical. We can’t do sweetheart deals with our own members, but we can with vendors? Pull the other one, it’s got bells on. Doesn’t ALA, to take one cogent example, already have enough of a reputation of existing to provide a captive market for vendors and library schools?

For the record, I’m also not on board with the idea that associations can’t pay members for speaking labor (though I am completely on board with the idea that members can and often should decline such payment as a contribution to the organization). Walt doesn’t go into why that is, just takes it as read, but from the tenor of his comments, I assume (and all are welcome to correct me, especially Walt) that the problem is sweetheart deals and cronyism.

To which I have two reactions: one, that existing controls probably suffice to keep gross abuse to a minimum, and two, it’s happening already, wake up and smell the rooibos!

Part the first: We have conference organizing committees, and unlike some committees, they turn over relatively rapidly. It might not be impossible to create a crony bloc, but it wouldn’t be easy, either. We have conference accountants, who I presume would not be beholden to a crony bloc even if one existed. We also have trackable, maintainable data in the form of those annoying but necessary session-feedback forms. (I would add attendance data if I were running a conference, but perhaps that’s already tracked. On that basis, TXLA shouldn’t invite me back; I wasn’t a sufficient draw.) And we are also grown men and women, and professionals. How many of us would actively harm our professional organizations to shoot a few hundred bucks at a friend? Seriously, how many?

Part the second: I wouldn’t have even the pathetic speaking career I do were it not for Allen Renear, who has heard me talk (a lot, the poor guy) and still finds it in his heart to recommend me. I got the STM Innovations slot because Allen Renear looked Geoffrey Bilder in the eye and said “Trust me. Salo can do this.” (And for once, I will say of myself that I actually met expectations, sprained knee and all.)

All y’all who are lucky enough to turn down speaking invitations, what do you do? Say a flat no? Of course not (except, of course, in cases of gross speaker abuse). You recommend somebody else. I did it for Top Tech Trends, though as it turned out LITA had already approached the folks I suggested. In fact, all y’all who want a speaking career would be well-advised to catch the attention of folks who already have one, especially if you get a sense they’re overloaded or likely to become so. That’s one way the wheel turns—and with every scintilla of honesty I possess, I don’t see how compensating association members for speaking labor changes it. I really don’t. Enlighten me. Maybe there are horror stories I just haven’t heard.

There certainly are sharks in these waters. Representation and diversity issues are the great white shark, of course; innocent cronyism (such as recommending friends!) that unconsciously reinforces systemic privilege is the hardest thing in the world to root out. Let us consider, however, that our disadvantaged association members and eligible members—whatever the disadvantage in question: women in tech, people of color everywhere, rural versus urban librarians, public and K-12 librarians versus academic and corporate librarians—often have more difficulty securing invitations, funding, and time off for conferences than others.

In that case, blind adherence to no-compensation rules is actually keeping our conference slates disproportionately white, male, urban, and academic. (Anyone who thinks I’m playing identity politics in order to get grabby for myself here is invited to recognize that I’m in three of the four privileged demographics I just mentioned. I happily aver that I don’t need to see more people like me behind podiums. I need to see more people not like me.) And the problem feeds on itself, what’s more, because them that has, gets—and recommends more just like them to boot. So tell me again how no-compensation rules improve association conferences?

One counter-argument I will make myself: either conference organizers and association brass must recuse themselves from conference compensation entirely, or the organization must have a fair, transparent, and inviolable compensation policy for them. No first-class airfare, penthouse suites, and jetskis, please. I just haven’t seen anyone else making genuine counters yet—the old hands are simply taking them for granted. I’m a newbie. Here’s a clue bat for you. Hit me with it, as hard as ever you please.

All that said… this is my second-to-last post about conferences. My last post will blow this post completely out of the water. I believe, more and more strongly as time passes, that the mega-conference and the association conference as currently constituted are on their way out, so all this wrangling over compensation models will eventually become moot. I intend to support this radical position as best I know how… but not in this post. In my I-hope-to-$DEITY last post ever about conferences.