Downtown, just past the Sun Center, beside the Citizen’s Co-op, the Civic Media Center has a sign on its door. After glancing at the various posters stuck to the inside of the glass — The John Locke Initiative is presenting a discussion, a transgender workshop, a coming poetry jam — the sign makes itself apparent. “The Civic Media Center,” it reads. “Reading Room and Library of the Non-Corporate Press.” The door opens with a creak.
Immediately, you can smell the books. The walls are lined with them. Their sheer number is striking; the way they rise up and surround you. There is a sign that says “People Before Profit,” and another that says “End Corporate Personhood.” Eleanor Roosevelt and a young Noam Chomsky watch everything from their places on the wall, smiling down benignly. The walls, it seems, are books.
What is interesting about The Civic Media Center is that it is essentially a large room: Its ceilings are high, the floor plan is simple. The impression you get is a pleasant, musty warehouse. At the same time, it is visually complex: all of the different book spines blend together, invitingly.
“If you have realized that the news you get from the mainstream media isn’t really comprehensive or truthful,” the Center’s website reads, “You’ve found a home.”
Founded in 1993, the Civic Media Center is a library, meeting space and community: it’s a multipurpose space with a multi-dimensional purpose. While it quickly introduces itself as a political sanctuary, offering a place for activists to gather and hold meetings — it’s hard not to note the assertive signs — the Center is also a social space, where like-minded people can gather and enjoy each other’s company. Each year they host Shmanksgiving, an “epic vegan feast.” This week they invite people to come in and play Munchkin, a card game. When I went, volunteers sat around a table in the center of the room eating lunch and talking.
The Center, being at once a public meeting space and a library, is a literary environment. The Center has a collection of over a thousand books, CDs, movies, zines, and periodicals. With a membership — between $10 and $50 — you can check the materials out.
Emily, one of two paid staff members, encourages anyone to stop by and check out the Civic Media Center. “We are a community resource,” she says. “It’s a great place for research.” She recommends Doris Zine, which covers topics like gender roles and anarchism, all in the author’s highly personal voice.
Schuyler, a volunteer, recommends A People’s History of the U.S. by Howard Zinn. Although the Center is a great place to find excellent non-fiction like A People’s History, he was surprised by the fiction selection. I was, as well: in the back is a bargain shelf — used books and CDs for a dollar — where I found an anthology of poems by Coleridge wedged between “The American Political Dictionary” by Jack Plano and “Letters to Judy” by Judy Blume.
Phaedra, another volunteer, is currently reading In Our Image: America’s Empire in the Philippine, which she found in the Center, and recommends. The books offered in the Center are not only politically-minded, but also culturally diverse. Anyone who has a desire to learn and be culturally and politically mindful would be rewarded sifting through the Civic Media Center’s library.
Brandon, yet another volunteer, enjoys the social atmosphere of the Center. “I come for the camaraderie,” he says, to which the other volunteers nod fervently. “Everyone knows each other really well,” he adds, and the group, seated around the table, makes sounds of agreement. The volunteers are comfortable and easy with one another; someone puts coffee on. We continue to talk about books.
Brandon recommends Earth First Journal, a magazine about environmental activism. He’s waiting for the coming issue to arrive at the Center so he can consume it, eagerly.
Anyone can join the fleet of volunteers at any time, which is inclusive and encouraging. Membership is on a suggested donation basis, and volunteer meetings are held Thursdays at 5:30, which is the best way to get a taste of the environment and community. With this in mind, I left the Center refreshed, passing by the looming walls of books and exiting through the creaky door. The smell of must and coffee stays with me while I leave—and as I do so I pass a sticky note, stuck to the brick wall. “Gonna fall in love with a tattooed beautiful lady in New Orleans,” it reads.
