Library Snitch Gets Raw Education on the First Amendment

I stopped by the Northwest Regional Library in Coral Springs for what I thought would be a simple audit — check out the building, take some shots of the art and public notices, and move on. What actually unfolded was a mix of history, humor, and a little bit of drama, proving once again that even a quiet suburban library can become a classroom for the First Amendment.

Remembering 9/11 in Coral Springs

Before heading inside, I took some time at the September 11, 2001 memorial that sits just outside the entrance.

This isn’t just any plaque in the ground. At its center is an authentic piece of steel recovered from the wreckage of the World Trade Center. After 9/11, thousands of pieces of steel were stored at JFK Airport, and in the years that followed, communities around the country applied to receive them for local memorials. Coral Springs was granted one of those pieces on October 18, 2002. By September 11, 2004, it was permanently placed at the library, surrounded by a modest but powerful memorial.

The plaque reminds visitors: “Let us never forget the innocent victims who died or were injured on that day.”

I read the words aloud on camera, pausing to let the weight of it sink in. Just as I finished, a squirrel darted into frame with a peanut in its mouth. I couldn’t resist joking that the squirrel was just trying to get a nut, and I was just trying to get a video. The juxtaposition felt oddly fitting — life goes on, even in the shadow of tragedy, and sometimes you need a moment of levity.

Words from Dr. King

Moving closer to the library’s front doors, I passed another monument — this one honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It was etched with some of his most enduring quotes:

• “The time is always right to do what is right.”

• “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

• “Courage faces fear and thereby masters it.”

Reading those words before stepping inside was a reminder that civic spaces like libraries are meant to embody those ideals. They’re open to all, funded by the public, and grounded in principles of equality and access.

First Impressions Inside

It had just finished raining, and the pavement was still wet as I stepped toward the entrance. Just beside the doors was a plaque marking the building’s opening in February 2001 — just months before the world would change forever that September.

Inside, I filmed some of the artwork on display. The standout was a towering bronze-colored sculpture stretching two stories tall, inscribed with a scroll of text in English and what looked like abstract letters. Like much public art, it was open to interpretation, but it gave the lobby a sense of grandeur.

Further inside, I noticed signage in multiple languages — a reflection of Coral Springs’ diverse population, which includes large Hispanic, Brazilian, and Caribbean communities. Libraries in Broward County often serve as cultural hubs, not just book depositories, so it made sense to see information presented in different tongues.

At the front desk, I filmed a sign advertising the Instant Library Card program. The young woman working there explained that anyone can get a card — free for Broward residents, $38 annually for non-residents. It struck me as a smart way to make the library accessible even for folks outside the county, whether snowbirds, students, or frequent visitors.

Upstairs Encounters

Skipping the youth services area (I don’t film minors), I took the stairs to the second floor. At an information desk, two staff members were adjusting a bracelet. One of them smiled warmly at me and asked if I needed help. I told her she already had — her smile had lit up the room. She laughed, which gave the moment a nice human touch.

From there, I circled the perimeter where study rooms line the walls. Most people ignored me, but one young woman clearly noticed the camera. She raised her hand to block her face. Amused, I did the old “I’m squishing your head” gag with my fingers, then walked away.

That’s when things escalated.

The “Snitching” Debate

Moments later, the same woman came out of her study room and asked me to stop recording. I declined and suggested she return to studying. Instead, she marched to the information desk, phone in hand, to complain.

I even told my viewers, “I think she’s gonna go snitch.”

At the desk, there was also a man nearby. At the time, I didn’t know what role he played — he was just there while she was talking to staff. A few minutes later, I noticed him at one of the public computers, and that’s when I saw him point me out to the security guard.

Curious, I approached him to ask why. He admitted he’d done it so the guard wouldn’t have to walk around looking for me, but he added that he didn’t think I was doing anything wrong so long as I wasn’t filming kids. He even showed me an email he’d sent to the library director with photos of people sleeping in the building, explaining how staff weren’t equipped to handle mentally ill patrons. We wrapped up our conversation on that note, and I thanked him for sharing his perspective.

As I turned to head back toward the study room area, I noticed security and another staff member talking with the woman who had originally complained about me. Naturally, I wanted to capture what was being said, so I made my way over to join the conversation.

Tattling, Snitching, and Third Grade

That’s when the young woman doubled down. She claimed she had a “right not to be filmed,” insisted the camera made her uncomfortable, and even tried to argue that being a woman should grant her special protection. I reminded her bluntly that I wasn’t there to provide comfort — “I didn’t bring any pillows.”

When she said I didn’t care about other human beings, I corrected her: it’s not about lacking care for people, it’s about not sacrificing constitutional rights because someone feels uncomfortable.

From there, the discussion spiraled into what I’d call playground semantics. She didn’t like me saying she was “telling” or “snitching,” and she snapped back that she was simply “informing” on me. I pointed out that it really doesn’t matter what word you choose — telling, tattling, snitching, informing — it’s all the same thing. She rolled her eyes and shot back that my language sounded like I was stuck in third grade.

I reminded her I wasn’t the one running to the teacher.

At that point, even the staff member at the desk gently reminded her that this was a public space, and she couldn’t make me leave.

Education in Real Time

The exchange went in circles: she argued about feelings, I pointed to rights. She asked about the purpose of my video, and I explained again: it’s to educate the public about their rights to record in public spaces.

She wasn’t happy about it, but by inserting herself into the situation, she had become the most interesting part of an otherwise routine audit. I gave her my business card, explaining she could use my website if she wanted to opt out later.

Wrapping Up

Heading out, I passed a Muslim woman in traditional clothing. She walked by without incident. The irony wasn’t lost on me — unlike a previous audit where someone invoked religion to try to stop me from recording, here was someone of faith who understood that public spaces are just that: public.

I cut briefly to that older clip for contrast before closing out my visit.

About the Library

The Northwest Regional Library is part of the Broward County Library system, one of the largest in the country with more than 30 branches. Opened in 2001, it quickly became a community anchor for northwest Broward County, offering not just books but free internet, cultural programs, and spaces for civic engagement.

Broward libraries are also known for their public art collections — everything from sculptures to murals commissioned through the county’s Art in Public Places program. The bronze scroll sculpture I filmed is part of that effort to integrate art into everyday spaces.

About the 9/11 Steel Program

After 9/11, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey stored over 1,800 pieces of steel recovered from Ground Zero. In 2009, they began distributing them to communities across the U.S. that applied, usually for use in memorials. Coral Springs was among those selected. Today, these relics stand in fire stations, city halls, and libraries nationwide — silent reminders of loss, resilience, and unity.

Final Thoughts

What began as a quiet visit to a suburban library ended up showcasing the tension between personal comfort and public rights. The MLK quotes outside remind us that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere — and that includes injustice against the First Amendment.

This audit wasn’t about picking a fight. It was about documenting how the public reacts when someone exercises their right to record. Sometimes you get warm smiles, sometimes you get pushback, and sometimes you get a squirrel with a peanut.

Either way, the lesson is the same: rights don’t vanish just because they make someone uncomfortable.