Instructional Design

Community-Centered Information Literacy for a New Era

Reflections on the power of collaboration at the LOEX Information Literacy Conference in Pasadena amid institutional uncertainty

The world shifts instantly in the opening episode of HBO’s The Last of Us. Infrastructure fails, panic erupts, and people must decide who to trust, what knowledge matters, and how to preserve what’s essential when systems collapse. But another phrase, “Look for the light,” is more than a slogan graffiti on walls. A rallying cry to the public to remember resistance against fascist rule, it also stands for a group mantra–that even in the most oppressive times, there is always hope. It is not a passive act; hope is a commitment through actions, and promise to the future. When existing structures are destroyed, the only choice is transform. So why not?

As I prepared to present at LOEX 2025: Crafting a Future for Information Literacy Conference with my colleague and mentor, Alliston Salisbury, the Undergraduate Instruction & Outreach Librarian, in Pasadena, California, I found myself drawing on apocalyptic narratives for insights on preparing for systemic disruptions. This isn’t just escapism; it reflects that our higher education mission may soon operate under radically different conditions.

LOEX’s intimate scale offered a refreshing contrast to larger gatherings like ACRL. The conference’s tight focus on information literacy created meaningful spaces for connection, reflection, and deep engagement. One session that stood out was Robin M. Katz’s workshop on primary source literacy. More than a toolkit of learning outcomes, planning templates, and assessment strategies, the session demonstrated collaborative pedagogy in action. Katz fostered active dialogue, turning the room into a temporary knowledge commons—an example of the kind of participatory learning space we’ll need more of as institutions face mounting instability.

I paid close attention not only to the content but also to how it was delivered. The distinction between passive lecture and active exchange felt more consequential than ever. It highlighted a key aspect of resilience: it’s not just about preserving access to content but cultivating networks of people who can use and adapt that knowledge in real time.

LOEX’s unique approach to conference feedback, which involves participants evaluating each session individually, is a powerful model of how resilience is built. This built-in, iterative assessment loop mirrors the adaptive learning culture we need in our institutions—responsive, granular, and continuous. LOEX reminded me that adaptation is not just an institutional process, but a profoundly personal one. While observing other sessions, I found myself questioning which presentation methods genuinely engage participants and foster active learning rather than passive consumption.

These reflections continued after my session on ASU’s collaborative tutorial project. I left with a clearer vision of how to make future presentations more participatory–how to model the very principles we aim to teach. The foundational skills of information literacy–critical thinking, flexibility, and synthesis–are not just concepts we convey to students. They are strategies we, as professionals, must adopt in how we teach, share, and evolve within shifting institutional landscapes.

The Persistence of Community

LOEX also reminded me that professional relationships are an enduring source of resilience. In the hallways between sessions, I reconnected with Hailley Fargo, a mentor from graduate school whose path I’ve long followed. That brief check-in underscored how small moments of connection strengthen our collective fabric.

Later, I was surprised and honored to see my former professor, Melissa Wong, attend. Our conversation afterward—reflecting on how the library landscape continues to shift—felt like a full-circle moment. These enduring relationships, rooted in shared experience, persist through career transitions and institutional change. In times of uncertainty, these informal networks often provide the most reliable forms of continuity. Mentors, colleagues, and peers offer grounded support that no organizational chart can fully capture. They exemplify a form of professional resilience that transcends any one institution.

Recent developments—the dismissal of Dr. Carla Hayden from the Library of Congress leadership, legislative attacks on DEI, the ongoing defunding of public information resources—are more than troubling headlines. They’re signals of a shifting foundation beneath our work.

These questions—what endures, what is preserved, and who decides—loomed quietly behind many LOEX conversations. As we presented Arizona State University (ASU’s) work developing cross-departmental, platform-agnostic tutorials for more than 145,000 students, I realized that this work isn’t only about scalability. It’s a blueprint for resilience under pressure.

Lessons from the Survivalists

Oddly enough, we may have something to learn from communities often dismissed as fringe. Survivalists ask vital questions about continuity: What skills matter when infrastructure fails? How do you pass on knowledge without institutional channels? What is truly essential to preserve?

Our work at ASU reflects this ethos. Our collaboration across departments isn’t just efficient—it’s distributed resilience. In a context without dedicated instruction departments, we’ve built cross-disciplinary partnerships to create modular, shareable, and persistent tutorials. These learning objects function across platforms and locations, embedding redundancy into the system.

In essence, our model mimics a decentralized network that can endure disruption. It offers a pathway forward, not just for scaling instruction but also for preserving knowledge when traditional structures falter.

Beyond Institutional Walls

This moment of institutional vulnerability invites us to reimagine education itself. The traditional academic model often guards access behind credentials, paywalls, and physical infrastructures. However, our work at ASU suggests another possibility: knowledge that is created once but shared widely, open, adaptable, and resilient.

If traditional degrees become less accessible or less valued, we may shift toward certifying demonstrable skills through micro-credentials. Information literacy instruction could evolve from generalized support to modular, competency-based frameworks that allow learners to build and prove expertise more flexibly.

Collaboration as a Survival Strategy

Our LOEX session on ASU’s tutorial development revealed something deeper than efficiency. When departments pool their knowledge and resources, the result is scale and structural resilience. These modular, shareable systems parallel what survivalists and game designers understand: centralized systems fail hard. Decentralized collaboration bends, adapts, and persists.

There’s unique power in bringing together professionals from different disciplines to focus on a specific project or goal. When subject librarians, instructional designers, technical specialists, and disciplinary faculty converge around information literacy, the resulting work transcends what any single perspective could produce. This cross-pollination of expertise doesn’t just create better pedagogical tools—it builds the conceptual adaptability and creative problem-solving capacity that becomes essential during institutional change. The focused inquiry that emerges from these collaborations generates solutions that are simultaneously more robust and more flexible than what siloed departments typically develop.

Higher education has long promised to prepare students for the unknown. Today, that preparation must be more literal. In a world where misinformation can destabilize democracies, information literacy becomes a civic survival skill. Teaching people how to evaluate, synthesize, and act on information becomes core to rebuilding and resilience.

This reframing elevates our work. What we shared at LOEX wasn’t just a case study—it was a distributed, durable learning design model for a world in flux. Returning from LOEX, I saw our ASU project anew. It’s more than a solution for instructional demand—it’s a knowledge preservation system, a digital campfire, a place where future learners might still gather.

In this light, collaboration is no longer a nice-to-have. It’s a survival mechanism. We weave networks not just to extend our reach but to endure. In uncertain times, our ability to creatively adapt and connect may be our most essential professional asset.

Uncovering Expectations and Opportunities, Opening Doors

It’s hard to believe, but we’re already wrapping up week two of the fall semester at my campus. This means that my information literacy instruction responsibilities are starting to ramp up. Teaching has been a big part of every library job I’ve had since grad school. So it naturally follows that teaching dominates a lot of my time and thinking, not to mention my posts here–from reflections on experimenting with specific activities or strategies in the classroom to the evolution of my teaching practice over the years and attempting to uncover the research process. It’s that last bit in particular that I want to pick up on here, with fresh eyes.

For many years now, transparency has been a guiding principle of my approach to teaching and all information literacy-related work, in and out of the classroom. I aim to expose embedded–and often invisible–information literacy concepts, skills, strategies, and expectations in order to make the mysteries and complexities of the research process more accessible to students and engage them in it.

A few weeks ago, I attended the faculty development series my campus offers just before the start of each semester. My colleague led a session about strategies that instructors can use to support neurodivergent students. Her recommendations included providing explicit and intentional directions about academic and behavioral expectations and providing options for student participation to give students some control. Her suggestions made sense to me–I could imagine how such clarity, as well as choice, might support neurodivergent students’ engagement, and neurotypical students’ engagement, too.

I’ve tried incorporating some of her recommendations in the few classes I’ve worked with so far this semester. More specifically, I’ve tried to make clear at the beginning of each class how students might choose to engage in the session. I provided, for example, a list of what engaging might look like including participating in the in-class activities, asking questions, and contributing comments, as well as avoiding distractions in order to focus, actively taking notes, reflecting on how the day’s content relates or applies to their own experience, etc. I also articulated how students might accomplish these things: vocally in class, in the online platforms as part of our day’s activities (e.g., Padlet, Jamboard), or after class by emailing me or stopping by my office. I provided these expectations in writing on a slide and described them during class. I have always articulated how I hope students will participate in class, suggesting that they ask questions or share their thoughts. This new level of intentionality and detail at the outset, though, brought a more focused spotlight than I have been in the habit of offering. To be honest, it felt a bit awkward to me. I was concerned that it might feel forced or be perceived as juvenile or even didactic. So I’ve attempted to frame these introductory remarks as an invitation to students rather than a patronizing prescription, explaining that I understand students might be uncertain about how to participate given that I’m an unfamiliar guest instructor and I want to be clear that I hope they’ll actively engage in the class. To me, that framing feels more comfortable and authentic.

I’ve only tried this in three classes so far this semester. It’s a limited sample, but I have to say that I’ve been struck by how engaged many of the students in these three classes have been. Of course, that could have nothing to do with this tweak! But maybe…

What strikes me now is how this new, small change is, in fact, so closely aligned with the transparency I’ve been cultivating around information literacy. This intentionality in being explicit about class engagement options is just another kind of unveiling, another way to increase clarity, accessibility, and inclusion.

It makes me wonder what else I could be working to uncover and clarify for students in and out of the classroom. Where else might I be making assumptions? What other paths and processes– established and expected to me but invisible to students–could be unveiled? How and where do you practice transparency in your teaching?

Reflecting on Library Instruction

Palms are sweaty, knees weak but I’m not talking about spaghetti (sorry, Eminem); I’m talking about teaching a credit-bearing library course! This last Fall semester, I not only started my first official librarian position, but I also taught my own credit-bearing library course for the very first time. It’s something I’ve briefly mentioned in previous posts, but it’s actually been a huge part of my experience as a first-year academic librarian.

Within my library, my position falls under the Teaching and Outreach Department. In addition to outreach services, my department’s responsible for teaching several one-shot library instruction sessions per semester as well as teaching credit-bearing library courses. Most of our one-shots are delivered to first-year undergraduate courses, but we also offer the usual library orientation session and course specific instruction as well. Our credit-bearing classes are often co-requisites of corresponding courses. For example, we teach library research classes that support the following programs: Speech and Audiology, Honors, CHE (a TRiO Program for first-gen students), History, and Criminal Justice. The course I teach, LIB 160: Library Research, supports the Criminal Justice program.

There are several components that come with teaching a co-requisite course. Myself and my colleague, who has been teaching 160 for some time now, regularly collaborate with the faculty member in charge of the course we’re a co-requisite of, CRJ 380: Research Methods in Criminal Justice. This means we do our best to ensure the work that’s done in 160 is closely aligned with what students are expected to do in 380. The major project students complete in 380 is a research proposal. The final assignment in 160 is a literature review which becomes a part of students’ research proposal for 380. Though we work hard to ensure that 160 provides students with the information literacy skills necessary to be successful in their field, planning for and teaching the course is not without its share of struggles.

Some of the struggles that came with teaching 160 were fairly standard for teaching a new course. In spite of finishing my MS-LS with a solid understanding of information literacy, learning an entirely new curriculum designed for a subject matter outside of my expertise was my first big challenge. Though my colleague who taught the course before me was open to questions and more than willing to share her materials, I still had several lessons and assignments to familiarize myself with in a relatively short period of time – My position started in July and classes began in August. Thus, a great deal of my orientation process was dedicated to learning the ins and outs of 160. After starting to learn the curriculum, actually being in the classroom itself and teaching the lessons became my next challenge.

Thanks to my colleagues who introduced me to the idea, reflection has become a part of my teaching process. Last semester, I got into the habit of journaling after every class. I’ll be the first to admit that not every day was my best last semester. To give you an idea, the words and phrases I used to describe my first week of class were: nervous, felt weird, stress, sweaty, talking too fast, and I think they liked my personality. Imposter syndrome loomed large for me. Though I have years of experience teaching high school, the thought of teaching in a university was intimidating for me. I was always a little nervous whenever I taught high school, but this was different. In hindsight, it may have been a combination of different things: new job, new responsibilities, first time teaching a new course. Yet, all of that isn’t to say that there weren’t any successes last semester.

Seeing my students learn and grow has always been among my greatest successes as an educator. This past semester was no different. At the beginning of 160, my first assignment asked students to illustrate their current research process. At the end of the course, I asked my students to carry out the same assignment but to add any new steps they may have developed in 160. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the majority of my students added several steps to their old processes. Course evaluations were another new but pleasant surprise.

Needless to say, teaching an in-person course during a pandemic is a challenge. Though my institution has a vaccine and mask requirement, the semester was not without its fair share of quarantines, sicknesses, or students dealing with labor shortages at their jobs. I’ve always felt that, before anything, students are people with lives outside of the classroom – Lives which are often subject to circumstances outside of their control. Because of this, I’ve always strived to be an open and understanding instructor. Even so, it was my surprise to see that several students noted my approach in their course evaluations with comments like, “Professor García truly cares about his students and them succeeding” and “He was very understanding with assignments and helped me when I needed an extension.” Though I often felt like maybe I didn’t know what I was doing, I’m happy to report that I never lost sight of my students’ humanity and my responsibility to them as an instructor.

Flash forward to the present, my class is entering its third week and I’m happy to report that it’s been great! In spite of the current Omicron surge, students in quarantine, and snow days, I feel so much more comfortable as an instructor this time around. Looking at my reflection journal, the first week was described as comfy, easier, nice balance, and connecting with students well. Though I know improving one’s pedagogy is a continuous process, knowing the semester has gotten off to a great start fills me with great optimism.

My view of my classroom.

Culturally Responsive Teaching: Reflections from MILEX

Last month I attended MILEX, a Maryland library conference. The subject was Culturally Responsive Teaching in Libraries, and it gave me a lot to think about. The timing was great: I’ve been looking forward to reflecting on my teaching practices this summer. As I’ve written in the past, library school did not prepare me for productively thinking about pedagogy, so I’m always eager to learn about different approaches from my peers.

Culturally Responsive Teaching (CRT) was a new term for me (one of the reasons I wanted to attend this conference). Ashleigh Coren, the keynote, asked us to write our own definitions of CRT before sharing an “official” one. This exercise showed me that most of us intuitively grasp what culturally responsive teaching must include: understanding your audience, inclusive language, and Universal Design for Learning. Coren shared Gloria Ladson-Billings’ definition: “a pedagogy that recognizes the importance of including students’ cultural references in all aspects of learning,” with these main characteristics:

Positive perspectives on parents and families
Communication of high expectations
Learning within the context of culture
Student-centered instruction
Culturally mediated instruction
Reshaping the curriculum
Teacher as facilitator

We spent the rest of the day exploring applications of CRT, discussing teacher efforts and exercises that successfully make space for multiple perspectives as well as those that were less successful. Here are a few of my main takeaways.

All of the presenters touched on the importance of disclosing a bit of who you are at the beginning of class. This might seem 101, but I truly never considered meaningfully introducing myself to students in a one-shot. I feel pressed for time and I assume they don’t really care who I am or why I do this work. I just launch in after a quick, “This is my name, this is what librarians can do for you” spiel. But CRT isn’t just knowledge of the identities, learning styles, and values students bring to a classroom, but an awareness of my own identity, worldview, and blind spots. These students are going to meet me for 50 minutes one day, and if I don’t share anything about myself, why should they trust my expertise? Why should I expect them to feel comfortable approaching me or admitting they don’t know something if I remain a complete stranger to them? This conference helped me see how the disclosure of personal information (to the degree that you’re comfortable) can build trust with your students.

For example, several people at the conference suggested sharing your pronouns as part of your one-shot introduction. I know a lot of librarians already do this, or have pronouns in their email signature or name badge. This not only reveals something about your identity, but also communicates a degree of inclusion, even safety, in your classroom. Again, this must be to the degree you are comfortable, but as a cis woman I see this as a simple change I can make starting today.

Another lightbulb moment for me: reach out to the faculty ahead of the one-shot and ask about the classroom culture. I never think to do this. I ask for assignment instructions, resource requirements, and maybe potential topics, but it would be great to know ahead of time if the class is shy, prefers small-group work, or has lively group discussions. Asking the instructor about her classroom culture also shows that I care about her students’ comfort enough to adapt my one-shot to resemble their classroom environment.

For me the best part of CRT is student-centered instruction, where the teacher is a facilitator rather than sole bearer of knowledge. For librarians looking to make one-shots more engaging, I recommend turning over some control to the students. For one thing, it introduces a little bit of the unknown to your classroom, which always spices things up. But also, as Coren said after her keynote, “students think they know less than they do.” In the reverse: they know more than they think they do, and I believe they know more than we think they do.

CRT demands awareness of the student perspective, but also appreciation for their insights and experience. No one is a blank slate. Anyone who has made it to college has encountered information already, using strategies that work for them. I don’t want to be an instrument of assimilation, telling students that there’s one right way to navigate ideas, that there’s one right way to measure truth. My way is not a blank slate either; it’s informed by my identity, my education, and my privilege. I want to foster a learning environment where students bring their own instincts and cultural values to the research process.

I wanted to end with specific strategies to make your classroom culturally responsive and welcoming to all, because the practical takeaways are always my favorite part of a professional conference:

Create a safe place for students. Disclose pronouns and establish ground rules for group discussion.
Introduce yourself and explain where you’re coming from.
Spell out library jargon. Specifically, write the words you’re defining on the board or in your slide.
Repeat directions. Go slowly.
Allow time for small group discussions before asking people to share their answer with the class (think-pair-share style). Lindsay Inge Carpenter suggested that collectivist cultures might favor this approach; it also helps shy people feel comfortable speaking up.
Make your classroom a “no stupid questions” environment. Tell students they won’t be punished for asking about plagiarism or other topics they might be nervous about.
Regularly do peer observation with colleagues.
Know that cultural competency is not a box to check, but a skill to build over time.

Correction: Originally I had misattributed Ashleigh Coren’s quote about student knowledge to her keynote. The quote came from the Q&A that followed, not from her formal address. This post has been updated to reflect this.

Small Steps, Big Picture

As I thought about composing a blog post this week, I felt that familiar frustration of searching not only for a good idea, but a big one. I feel like I’m often striving (read: struggling!) to make space for big picture thinking. I’m either consumed by small to-do list items that, while important, feel piecemeal or puzzling over how to make a big idea more precise and actionable. So it feels worthwhile now, as I reflect back on the semester, to consider how small things can have a sizable impact.

I’m recalling, for example, a few small changes I’ve made to some information evaluation activities this semester in order to deepen students’ critical thinking skills. For context, here’s an example of the kind of activity I had been using. I would ask students to work together to compare two sources that I gave them and talk about what made the sources reliable or not and if one source was more reliable than the other. As a class, we would then turn the characteristics they articulated into criteria that we thought generally make for reliable sources. It seemed like the activity helped students identify and articulate what made those particular sources reliable or not and permitted us to abstract to evaluation criteria that could be applied to other sources.

While effective in some ways, I began to see how this activity contributed to, rather than countered, the problem of oversimplified information evaluation. Generally, I have found that students can identify key criteria for source evaluation such as an author’s credentials, an author’s use of evidence to support claims, the publication’s reputation, and the presence of bias. Despite their facility with naming these characteristics, though, I’ve observed that students’ evaluation of them is sometimes simplistic. In this activity, it felt like students could easily say evidence, author, bias, etc., but those seemed like knee-jerk reactions. Instead of creating opportunities to balance a source’s strengths/weaknesses on a spectrum, this activity seemed to reinforce the checklist approach to information evaluation and students’ assumptions of sources as good versus bad.

At the same time, I’ve noticed that increased attention to “fake news” in the media has heightened students’ awareness of the need to evaluate information. Yet many students seem more prone to dismiss a source altogether as biased or unreliable without careful evaluation. The “fake news” conversation seems to have bolstered some students’ simplistic evaluations rather than deepen them.

In an effort to introduce more nuance into students’ evaluation practices and attitudes, then, I experimented with a few small shifts and have so far landed with revisions like the following.

Small shift #1 – Students balance the characteristics of a single source.
I ask students to work with a partner to evaluate a single source. Specifically, I ask them to brainstorm two characteristics about a given source that make it reliable and/or not reliable. I set this up on the board in two columns. Students can write in either/both columns: two reliable, two not reliable, or one of each. Using the columns side-by-side helps to visually illustrate evaluation as a balance of characteristics; a source isn’t necessarily all good or all bad, but has strengths and weaknesses.

Small shift #2 – Students examine how other students balance the strengths and weaknesses of the source.
Sometimes different students will write similar characteristics in both columns (e.g., comments about evidence used in the source show up in both sides) helping students to recognize how others might evaluate the same characteristic as reliable when they see it as unreliable or vice versa. This helps illustrate the ways different readers might approach and interpret a source.

Small shift #3 – Rather than develop a list of evaluation criteria, we turn the characteristics they notice into questions to ask about sources.
In our class discussion, we talk about the characteristics of the source that they identify, but we don’t turn them into criteria. Instead we talk about them in terms of questions they might ask of any source. For example, they might cite “data” as a characteristic that suggests a source is reliable. With a little coaxing, they might expand, “well, I think the author in this source used a variety of types of evidence – statistics, interviews, research study, etc.” So we would turn that into questions to ask of any source (e.g., what type(s) of evidence are used? what is the quantity and quality of the evidence used?) rather than a criterion to check off.

Despite their smallness, these shifts have helped make space for conversation about pretty big ideas in information evaluation: interpretation, nuance, and balance. What small steps do you take to connect to the big picture? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.