Ibalik ang mga library sa mga plaza

November is a particularly meaningful month for those of us who believe in the power of books. As we celebrate National Reading Month and Library and Information Services Month, I would like to raise a challenge to the local government, particularly here in Iloilo City: Bring our libraries back to the plazas.

And I mean actual libraries, not just book carts, temporary reading corners, or a few shelves of donated books placed under a roof and presented as evidence of a successful literacy campaign. I am talking about permanent, functional, accessible, and properly maintained public libraries where children can walk in, pick up a book, sit down, read, study, and return whenever they want. Libraries that do not require anyone to buy something before they can enjoy the privilege of staying. Libraries that recognize reading not as a luxury but as a public right.

Let me be clear. I appreciate the efforts of the city government to introduce outdoor libraries and pop-up reading initiatives. I recognize the good intentions behind these projects, and I certainly welcome any effort to bring books closer to the public. As someone who has spent years working in independent publishing, organizing book fairs, teaching literature, and advocating for regional languages, I understand how important it is to make books visible and accessible in our communities.

But here is something we really need to consider: Are these initiatives enough? Can a few book carts and outdoor reading structures fulfill the responsibilities of a genuine public library system? Can we honestly claim that we are making reading accessible to children simply because we have placed some books in a public plaza?

I do not think so.

In fact, I think we have become too comfortable celebrating small literacy projects when what our communities actually need are stronger public institutions. We have learned to applaud the launching of reading corners, take photographs of children holding books, organize storytelling activities, and publish accomplishment reports. These activities have their place, but they should not distract us from asking whether we are providing the kind of library services that our children and communities deserve.

The plaza is not just a public space. It is a democratic space.

Why should we bring libraries back to the plazas in the first place? The answer goes beyond convenience. It has something to do with how we understand public space, citizenship, childhood, and the distribution of knowledge.

Historically, plazas have been among the most important public spaces in Philippine towns and cities. They are where communities gather, children play, families spend their afternoons, public celebrations take place, and people from different economic backgrounds share the same surroundings. The plaza is one of the few remaining places where people can spend time without being expected to spend money.

Think about it. A child can enter a shopping mall, but eventually, someone will have to buy something. A child can visit a commercial bookstore, but books are not always affordable. A student can use a café as a place to study, but that space is primarily intended for paying customers. Even some public spaces are increasingly being shaped by commercial activities.

But a public plaza should belong to everyone.

This is exactly why a library in a plaza makes sense. It places knowledge in a space that people already occupy. It removes some of the psychological, economic, and geographical barriers that prevent children from accessing books. It makes reading part of everyday community life rather than an activity reserved for those who have the money, resources, and convenience to pursue it.

For a child whose parents cannot afford to buy books regularly, a public library is more than an additional educational facility. It is an opportunity to access something that economic circumstances might otherwise deny them. For the child of a market vendor, a tricycle driver, a construction worker, or a minimum-wage earner, a library in the plaza can become a place of discovery. It can be where a child encounters a story that is not prescribed by a teacher, a book that does not appear in a textbook, or a writer whose imagination introduces them to an entirely different world.

And that matters.

We often talk about reading as though it were simply a matter of personal discipline. We tell children to read more, develop good reading habits, improve their comprehension, and spend less time on their gadgets. But how often do we ask whether we have actually provided them with the spaces, books, and resources they need to develop these habits?

It is unfair to demand that children become readers when the very resources they need remain inaccessible. We cannot keep telling children to read while making books difficult to find and reading spaces difficult to reach.

This is why we need to understand public libraries as social equalizers. They provide opportunities that should never depend on the purchasing power of a child’s family.

The IFLA-UNESCO Public Library Manifesto of 2022 makes this principle clear. Public libraries should provide equal and free access to knowledge, support formal and informal education, promote cultural diversity, and serve as accessible spaces for the exchange of information and ideas. A library is not simply a storage facility for books. It is a public institution that allows people to participate in cultural, intellectual, and educational life.

If we take this principle seriously, establishing libraries in our plazas is not merely an architectural or beautification project. It is a political commitment to making knowledge accessible to everyone.

Iloilo has already shown us why this matters.

We do not need to look very far to understand the importance of this proposal. Iloilo City has already taken steps toward bringing reading spaces closer to communities.

In June 2025, the city launched its first outdoor library at Plaza Libertad. According to reports, the initiative was intended to encourage reading among children and make books more accessible in public spaces. At the time, the city also had seven community libraries, with plans to establish similar facilities in other district plazas.

By July 2025, the Philippine Information Agency reported that the city’s library system had expanded to ten libraries and reading centers, including the outdoor library at Plaza Libertad. The report also recorded 7,262 visitors across several library locations. These facilities offered free Wi-Fi, computer access, study areas, storytelling activities, and other learning programs.

More recently, a Philippine News Agency report on the opening of Library sa Merkado at Iloilo Central Market indicated that the city had two operational district libraries, eight barangay reading centers, four outdoor libraries in city plazas, and one market-based library.

These developments deserve recognition. They demonstrate that the city government understands the importance of bringing learning spaces closer to communities. They also show that there is already a foundation upon which a more comprehensive public library system can be developed.

But we should not stop here.

If anything, the expansion of these initiatives should encourage us to demand more. The presence of four outdoor libraries should not be the final measure of success. It should be the beginning of a much bigger conversation about the future of public libraries in Iloilo.

How many children actually use these facilities regularly? How many books are borrowed? How many children return after their first visit? Are there trained librarians or reading facilitators? Are the collections regularly updated? Are local children’s books available? Are there storytelling sessions, reading clubs, creative writing workshops, and programs for children who need additional reading support?

More importantly, are these facilities accessible during the hours when children and families actually need them?

We need to move beyond counting structures and start measuring the quality of public service. A library is not successful simply because it has been inaugurated. It is successful when people use it, when children return to it, when books circulate, when communities participate, and when it becomes a meaningful part of everyday life.

A library that closes when it rains is not an accessible library.

Let us talk about the weather, too.

Iloilo is not a city where we can casually assume that outdoor reading facilities will remain comfortable and functional throughout the year. Our weather alone should make us reconsider how we design and maintain public reading spaces.

PAGASA’s climatological records for Iloilo City show an annual average rainfall of approximately 2,085 millimeters, with July recording around 361 millimeters and August around 351 millimeters. The same records show that the average maximum temperature reaches 33.8 degrees Celsius in April and 33.2 degrees in May. These are not insignificant conditions for a city that wants to encourage outdoor reading.

So what happens when the afternoon becomes unbearably hot? What happens when heavy rain arrives? What happens when strong winds blow through the plaza? Where do the books go when the weather becomes unfavorable? Where do the children go when the reading area becomes too hot to occupy? Are there adequate roofing systems, proper ventilation, protection from moisture, secure storage facilities, and comfortable seating?

We cannot design reading facilities as though Iloilo had permanently pleasant weather.

An outdoor library may look attractive in photographs. It may provide an appealing backdrop for an inauguration, a storytelling activity, or a social media post. But its actual usefulness should be measured by the conditions under which people are expected to use it.

I am not arguing against outdoor libraries. I am arguing against the assumption that an outdoor structure, by itself, is an adequate substitute for a functioning public library.

There is a difference between having a library located in a plaza and having a library exposed to the elements.

What I am proposing is a permanent, weather-protected, properly ventilated, and accessible library building within or immediately beside our district plazas. It can have an open architectural design, large windows, a shaded reading garden, and an outdoor storytelling area. It can preserve the openness of the plaza while providing the protection and facilities that books and readers require.

We can have the best of both worlds: the accessibility of public space and the functionality of an actual library.

We should not force children to choose between reading a book and finding shelter from the rain.

The library must be where children already are.

One of the strongest arguments for bringing libraries back to our plazas is that children should not have to travel far to find a place to read.

Consider the everyday experiences of an Ilonggo child. A child might accompany a parent to the market, pass through the plaza after school, wait for a relative, or spend an afternoon with friends. These ordinary movements create opportunities for reading if books and reading spaces are available in places children already visit.

This is what makes a plaza library particularly valuable. It does not require children to develop an entirely separate routine just to access books. Instead, it makes reading part of their everyday experiences.

Imagine a child visiting Molo Plaza and discovering a collection of Hiligaynon children’s books. Imagine another child in Jaro finding a book about Philippine history, science, or local folklore. Imagine children in La Paz participating in storytelling sessions while their parents attend to errands nearby. Imagine a student in Mandurriao spending an hour reading instead of simply wandering around a commercial establishment.

These are not extravagant ideas. They are achievable public services.

And they do not have to involve expensive architectural projects. A modest but well-designed library with sufficient seating, a carefully curated collection, accessible toilets, drinking water, reliable electricity, internet connectivity, and a trained librarian can already make a significant difference.

What matters is that it works.

We should also reconsider who we expect to use these libraries. They should not be limited to elementary school children. High school students, college students, senior citizens, teachers, researchers, writers, unemployed young people, and lifelong learners should also have reasons to enter.

A plaza library should be a community institution, not merely an extension of a daycare center.

Do not underestimate the power of local books.

As a publisher, I have another concern: What kind of books are we actually putting in these libraries?

It is not enough to collect donated books and fill shelves with whatever materials happen to be available. A public library must be intentional about the books it makes accessible. Its collection should reflect the educational, cultural, linguistic, and intellectual needs of the community it serves.

Where are the Hiligaynon children’s books? Where are the stories written in Kinaray-a and Aklanon? Where are the books about the history of Iloilo, the stories of our communities, our local folklore, our environment, and our cultural heritage? Where are the books written by contemporary Ilonggo writers?

We cannot keep talking about developing a reading culture while overlooking the languages and literature of the very communities we intend to serve.

For many children, their first meaningful encounter with literature should happen in a language that is familiar to them. A child should be able to find a story written in the language spoken at home, a story that reflects the landscapes, traditions, humor, struggles, and imagination of the community where they grew up.

This is particularly important in a multilingual city like Iloilo. Our libraries should recognize that knowledge and literature do not exist exclusively in English or Filipino. Hiligaynon, Kinaray-a, Aklanon, and other regional languages have their own literary traditions, writers, storytellers, and publishing communities that deserve space on public library shelves.

A public library in the plaza can become an important venue for cultural preservation and the democratization of regional literature. It can introduce children to local authors and illustrators, encourage them to explore their mother tongues, and show them that the stories of their own communities are worth reading, preserving, and celebrating.

Our libraries should not simply reproduce the hierarchy of languages that already exists in our educational and publishing systems.

If we want to decolonize our bookshelves, we must begin by making regional literature visible and accessible to children. This means allocating an actual budget for local publications, not simply waiting for publishers and writers to donate their books.

There is also an opportunity here for the city government to work with local publishers, writers, illustrators, universities, teachers, and cultural organizations. These groups can help develop reading programs, organize storytelling activities, conduct writing workshops, and curate collections that reflect the cultural diversity of Iloilo.

The local government does not have to do everything alone. But it must provide the institutional leadership, budget, and long-term commitment necessary to make these partnerships work.

We need libraries, not just literacy projects.

There is a fundamental difference between a literacy project and a public institution.

A pop-up book cart can introduce a child to a book. A storytelling event can encourage a child to listen to stories. A donated collection can provide temporary access to reading materials. These are valuable interventions, and I would never dismiss their contributions.

But they cannot replace the functions of a library.

A library has continuity. It has a collection development policy, trained personnel, borrowing and reference services, a stable environment for research and reading, and programs that respond to the needs of its users. It develops relationships with schools, universities, publishers, and cultural organizations. It maintains its collections, provides access to information, and creates opportunities for lifelong learning.

Most importantly, a library is a public institution with a continuing responsibility to its community.

This is not an entirely new expectation. Republic Act No. 7743, enacted in 1994, provides for the establishment of city and municipal libraries and barangay reading centers throughout the country. The law recognizes the importance of public libraries in promoting literacy and making knowledge available to communities. It also provides that libraries and reading centers should form part of local government development plans and that local government units are responsible for their maintenance.

In other words, libraries should not be treated as optional decorations in a local government’s development agenda. They are part of public service.

A 2023 study examining eleven municipal libraries in Iloilo Province also offers an important warning. Researchers found that most of the libraries examined did not comply with several aspects of public library standards. Many lacked adequate local government support, professional staffing, updated collections, appropriate facilities, and sufficient financial resources. These conditions contributed to their underutilization and undervaluation.

This tells us something important: Building a library is only the beginning. Sustaining it is the real challenge.

We must resist the temptation to equate the number of facilities with the quality of library services. A city can have several reading structures and still have an inadequate library system. It can inaugurate new facilities and still fail to provide sufficient books, trained librarians, regular programs, and reliable operating hours.

The real question is not how many libraries we can photograph during an inauguration. It is how many libraries we can sustain long after the inauguration is over.

Bring the libraries back to the plazas.

I would like to challenge the Iloilo City Government to consider a more ambitious public library program. Let us establish permanent, weather-protected district libraries in our major plazas, beginning with the districts that need them most. Let us strengthen existing facilities rather than simply multiply structures. Let us consult professional librarians, educators, publishers, writers, architects, and, most importantly, the communities that will actually use these spaces.

Let us allocate a regular budget for books, personnel, maintenance, utilities, and programming. Let us establish partnerships with schools and universities. Let us ensure that every library has a meaningful collection of local books and multilingual materials. Let us extend operating hours so that children, students, and working families can actually use these facilities.

And let us evaluate these libraries according to their continuing public use, not simply the number of visitors during their launch.

I would even propose that every district plaza have a small but fully functional community library, complete with a reading garden, a children’s section, a local literature collection, and regular storytelling activities. These libraries should be connected to the main city library through a coordinated system of collections, staff development, programming, and resource sharing.

Imagine what this could mean for Iloilo.

Imagine our plazas becoming places not only for festivals, political gatherings, leisure, and recreation, but also for intellectual discovery. Imagine families spending their weekends reading together. Imagine children growing up with a library as familiar as the church, the market, or the playground. Imagine writers and artists regularly visiting these spaces to conduct workshops, read their work, and introduce young readers to the possibilities of literature.

Imagine a child discovering a book that eventually changes the way they see the world. Imagine a student finding a quiet place to study without having to buy a cup of coffee. Imagine an elderly resident spending an afternoon reading a newspaper or a local history book. Imagine a community that has a place where people can gather, exchange ideas, learn, and discover something new without being required to spend money.

This is how a city develops a reading culture. Not through slogans, not through occasional book donations, and certainly not through photographs of children holding books during ceremonial events.

A reading culture is built through consistent access, public investment, meaningful programming, and institutions that communities can depend on.

As someone who has devoted much of his professional life to publishing, teaching, and advocating for literature, I believe our children deserve more than temporary encounters with books. They deserve places where reading is part of everyday life. They deserve libraries that remain open when the sun becomes unbearable and when the rain begins to fall. They deserve librarians who can guide them, collections that recognize their languages and identities, and spaces where curiosity is welcomed without requiring them to spend a single peso.

We often say that Iloilo is a city that reads. But what does that statement really mean if a child cannot easily find a library? What does it mean to celebrate literacy if access to books remains uneven? What does it mean to call ourselves a city that values education if our public spaces are not designed to encourage learning?

These are questions that deserve more than ceremonial answers.

A city that reads should be a city that invests in libraries. A city that values education should make knowledge accessible beyond the classroom. A city that celebrates its cultural heritage should give children access to the literature, languages, and stories that make them who they are.

This November, my challenge to the local government is simple: Ibalik ang mga library sa mga plaza.

Not as a temporary project. Not as a decorative structure. Not as another item in an accomplishment report.

Bring back the library as a permanent public institution.

Because a plaza without a library is a missed opportunity. And a city that constantly tells its children to read must first give them somewhere to do so.

Let us make our plazas places where children do not simply pass the time, but discover the world.

***

Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and educator at the University of the Philippines Visayas. He teaches in the Division of Professional Education and at UP High School in Iloilo. He currently serves as faculty-in-charge of the UP Visayas Language Program and as secretary of the National Committee on Literary Arts of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA). His poetry has been recognized by the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature.