In his Hiddingh-Currie award-winning autobiography, “His story is history,” published by Unisa Press, Dr Tlou Setumu asked a daring question: When does life begin? In the same text, Setumu offers different answers from different people. Some say life begins at 40, others say at birth, there are those who are saying in a womb, while others say when a person starts to stand on their own. Indeed, people perceive the beginning of life differently. This is also the same with the establishment of many entities. For example, some universities which merged in 2004/05 only recently celebrated 20 years despite the existence of their precursor institutions.
The relevant question to ask here is “what marks the birth of a university library?” Too often, institutional histories settle for a single, convenient date – the moment when a library is formally established, funded, and housed within governance structures. While this moment is undoubtedly important, it offers only a partial truth. For example, the history of the Unisa Library and Information Services (LIS) demands a more nuanced reading – one that recognises not just a point of origin, but a process of becoming. This year Unisa LIS celebrates its oak jubilee (80 years), making it to be counted among the strongest in the voice of King David, under the theme “Timeless treasures of empowering futures: Unisa LIS 1946 to 2026.” However, it should be noted that the oldest record in the custody of Unisa LIS is dated 1841, making it 185 years old. As the mother institution, Unisa itself was formally established in 1873, and this complicates matters, with Setumu ‘s question becoming more relevant. The LIS celebration will include a mini documentary, murals for the history of the LIS, a coffee table book as well as a symposium.
Now the concept of “185 in 80”, which is an improper fraction, captures this layered reality as approximately 185 years of intellectual heritage intertwined with the 80 years of formalised LIS. This duality invites us to rethink what a library or archive is. Too often, libraries and archives are defined as buildings or administrative units, established at specific dates in the history of the organisation or unit. The “formal date” of inception is the moment marked by charters, budgets, staffing, and governance structures, all clear indicators of institutional maturity and legitimacy. The “formal date” provides a neat narrative that aligns well with accreditation requirements, donor expectations, and administrative reporting. However, this “formal date” narrow interpretation excludes the evolving knowledge ecosystem rooted in both material practice and institutional intention. Limiting the inception of a library to its formal opening date erases the intellectual labour, informal networks, and early knowledge practices that precede formalisation. If we shift our gaze from governance to materiality, a different history emerges.
At Unisa, as in many universities, the library did not suddenly emerge fully formed. It was preceded by quieter, less visible acts of accumulation, organisation, and access. The true beginnings of the library lie in the early collection of sources – donations, acquisitions, and the gradual formation of catalogues and access systems. This “material origin” tells us far more about the intellectual ambitions of the institution than any charter ever could. It reveals the knowledge that was valued as important to preserve, how access to information was mediated and whose voices and disciplines were prioritised. Following the “material origin” infers that the library was not born in a boardroom; rather, it was born in the circulation of information to advance knowledge constructs.
For Unisa, this notion of a “material origin” is not merely an interesting historical aside – it is foundational to understanding the institution’s identity as a pioneer of correspondence education to comprehensive open distance e-learning (CODeL). Long before the formalisation of LIS, the university’s intellectual project was already shaped by a fundamental constraint and opportunity: how to provide access to information to students who were not physically present on campus. The early circulation of information through distributed texts, correspondence-based learning materials, donated collections, and rudimentary cataloguing practices reflects an emergent philosophy of access.
These early practices of circulation effectively prefigured the core principles that would later define Unisa’s CODeL model. The decentralisation of access, the mediation of information through systems rather than spaces, and the prioritisation of reach over proximity were already present in embryonic form. What may appear, in retrospect, as fragmented or informal processes (loan systems, mailed materials, early catalogues), can in fact be read as proto infrastructures of distance learning. As the Unisa LIS evolved, these foundational practices were progressively formalised and scaled. Such scalability created the foundation of a library service that became a central infrastructure in the realisation of a CODeL university.
The “material origin” of the Unisa LIS should be understood as the moment where access was first enacted – not declared. It is in these early acts of gathering, organising, and circulating information that the DNA of Unisa’s contemporary digital and open access strategies can be located. The scale may have changed dramatically, but the underlying logic remains consistent: to move information resources to the student, rather than require the student to move to the information resources. Now it is even done through the library app.
Rather than choosing between “formal date” and “material origins”, a more compelling approach is to hold both in tension as LIS celebrates. The history of Unisa LIS is best understood as a continuum; a movement from roots to reach. The root phase commenced with collection building, informal cataloguing and early access practices, whilst the rooted phase can be marked by the formal governance of the library services. This dual timeline reframes the library as a dynamic system rather than a static entity where early intellectual practices are not replaced by formal structures, but rather absorbed, scaled, and sustained by them.
The dual-timeline narrative embedded in “185 in 80” provides a compelling account of continuity, growth, and sustained institutional impact. By tracing both the early material accumulation of knowledge and the later formalisation of library services, the narrative demonstrates a trajectory of development that is both deep and resilient. This has tangible value in contexts of accreditation and funding, where institutions are required to evidence not only current capacity but also historical depth, stability, and ongoing relevance. The “185 in 80” narrative strengthens the library’s identity as both a heritage institution and a forward-looking knowledge infrastructure.
