An Island beyond this World

By Matt Dineen

“Well, I better get back to work now…”

When I returned to the back room of the café to tend to the dishes, I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this. Feeling my boss’ passive-aggressive gaze as we stood in front of the counter talking about the zine, Fulvia could probably sense my discomfort. Unlike the rest of that shift, our conversation actually mattered—a brief moment of liberation from the stifling on-the-clock constraints of wage work. 
After abruptly saying goodbye to Fulvia I found myself standing at the industrial sinks cleaning plates and coffee mugs, thinking about the Wooden Shoe. I thought back to when I first moved to Philly and how the Shoe helped me stay balanced, providing meaning to my new life here. This was particularly true after I started working at a nearby grocery store. The contrast between my experience at this hierarchical capitalist workplace and participating in the Shoe’s directly democratic collective further confirmed my desire for a new world, one that looks more like our dear infoshop. Everywhere. Everywhere.
Despite the fact that the Shoe is still a store operating within the current system it is still an island of possibility, a respite from the pervasive miserablism of capitalist society. The fact that we just celebrated our 35th birthday proves that there are functional alternatives to top-down decision making, oppressive social relations, and greedy individualism. The Shoe is an island beyond this world. One in which solidarity, community, and mutual aid is part of the air we breathe. A radical island where no one is in charge, because we are all in charge…together. Beyond the daily challenges we face lies an unlimited potential because the island is ours; it is what we make it.

Luckily, the Wooden Shoe is not completely alone amidst this vast sea of hierarchy and authoritarianism. We are part of an archipelago of resistance, a local (and global) network of liberated spaces in which ideas and compassion are elevated above power and domination. Our continued existence all these years is proof that a new world is not just possible, but already here. Let’s keep it going.

Art by Albo Jeavons

 

 

 

Learning. Exploring. Listening.

By Sarah Rose

Wooden Shoe Books is a relatively small store. It’s a one floor bookstore that sells music, books, patches, t-shirts, zines, magazines, patches, and pins. The first time I went into the store, I remember thinking that I thought it would be bigger. I had done research on Philly for months prior to moving, and I knew that the Shoe was my best bet for picking up new zines (and distributing my own locally). I signed up to be a volunteer, but some things came up with school and work, and I got distracted.

Between then and the day I actually did start staffing, I started another volunteer position, two small businesses, a job, and a relationship. Shit comes up, you know?

When I started staffing, I was pretty intimidated. Everyone seemed a lot cooler than my country self. Vegans, anarchists, bike punks, crusties, academics, heavily tattooed hipsters … everyone seemed much more confident about themselves, their politics, and their place in Philadelphia. Between staffing and helping to organize Philly Zine Fest, I got to know several people who overlapped between those communities, and made several friends.

And how has staffing at the Shoe changed my life? Am I a vegan anarchist? No. But I am more political. And I am more comfortable talking about things like conflict-resolution, building community, and various forms of radical activism. I’m much more receptive to hear about someone else’s ideas without doing so through the cloudy lens of my own experience. I’m much more confident in my ability to get things done, and in very real ways, that positively affects the communities to which I belong.

I’m more comfortable saying that I don’t know about a particular theory, form of activism, or political prisoner. Where the Shoe is concerned, I’m still just a volunteer, and a relatively new one. So, I’m learning. I’m exploring new political and religious theories, and I’m thinking a lot about how my history and socioeconomic status affects the way I take in new experiences. Maybe that’s the most that an infoshop can do for anyone: provide an environment that makes change less scary, and foster a community that embraces and celebrates our differences.