From one spoon to many: How community spaces restore what capitalism takes

17 June 2025

By Gayathri Kumar Rajeev Mullath, Education, Gender and International Development MA

On 5 March 2025, Master’s students on the module Feminist Approaches to Knowledge and Pedagogy and Gender, Sexuality and Education were joined by undergraduate students on the module Gender, Sexualities and Feminisms in Everyday Lives for a visit to The Feminist Library in Peckham, South London.

Dr Hanna Retallack and Dr Sara Bragg were joined by a group of students to visit the collection of feminist materials and literature, and for a ‘zine making’ workshop.

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I recently came across the Spoon Theory, which is often used to explain the experience of living with chronic illnesses or conditions. The theory uses “spoons” as a metaphor for units of energy. It’s a helpful way to visualise and communicate the limited capacity disabled or chronically ill people have for handling daily tasks, and it highlights the importance of prioritising and conserving energy.

It was on a one-spoon day that The Feminist Library trip had been scheduled. Contrary to my expectations, I had woken up with no energy or tolerance for inconveniences. I decided to not go alone but to meet the team at IOE, grab a sandwich, and travel with them so that I wouldn’t have to worry about navigating alone and could rely on the safety of being in a group.

I’ve come to realise that there’s something about community that a city like London often lacks. The kind of community where someone notices when you’re crouching or frowning and pops around to check on you, where someone understands when you just need a bit of rest, and where someone gives you a gentle nudge to do the right thing on a tough day. This “someone” isn’t always the same person, it could be anyone within a network of care. But this is something that spaces built on independence and individuality as liberation often miss out on. The West is rooted in ideals of individualism and independence, framing them as freedom, which stands in stark contrast to the values of interconnectedness found in many communities across the globe. Capitalism, in particular, thrives on this hyper-independence, using it to fuel consumerism, sell products, and often prey on people’s insecurities.

Living in London as a student can feel like a balancing act. I’ve seen classmates walk miles to campus instead of taking the Tube, just to save a few pounds. Others skip meals altogether, changing their food budgets to make ends meet. When even the basics feel out of reach, the idea of joining a society, visiting the local library, or attending a community event becomes unthinkable. This is a systemic issue that capitalism thrives on. The pressure to prioritise survival over well-being reduces the time for the community. Instead of studying together in libraries, we are forced to stay home, missing out on the camaraderie and support that comes from shared spaces. Instead of enjoying a hot meal with friends, many are left skipping lunch to save money. In a city as expensive and fast-paced as London, this isolation can feel overwhelming, leaving us disconnected and alone. The grey skies and lack of vitamin D and sunshine do not help us either!

As a big supporter of walkable cities, community spaces, and access for all, I was looking forward to The Feminist Library trip despite feeling unwell. A group of us met Sara and Hanna at IOE, walked to King’s Cross, and hopped on the 63 bus. The bus took us from the historic and well-photographed St Paul’s, Millennium Bridge, glistening red bricks in the sun, to the tranquil and raw streets of Peckham. Peckham instantly felt more silent and peaceful. There wasn’t much traffic where we got off. The library building was named the Sojourner Truth Community Centre, after the American civil rights activist whose “Ain’t I a Woman” had inspired me as a rebellious teenage undergraduate student. She also happened to be the first Black person to win a court case against a white man. While these details might seem innocuous, names, stories, and their origins speak volumes about the socio-cultural contexts they emerge from.

We entered the library and were given a briefing about its history, operations, and collections. It was a hall filled with sunlight, posters, and some bright-eyed young feminists. My eyes were immediately drawn to the 1980s periodicals with Arabic script and newspaper articles on the West Bank occupation. We all browsed the aisles and explored the collections. There was an immense collection of journals and magazines from the women’s liberation movement. I flipped through a few magazines where women communicated with each other through letters, offered support for lesbians, organised meetings, and shared information about what the police or nurses could and could not do.

I always have this feeling when I’m in London and chance upon a blue plaque or a historic spot, knowing that the people I’ve read about, admired, and who created revolutions, whose ideologies and works have held me through my hardest days once stood there. Did they like the way the sunlight fell on the wall? Did they sleep well? I’ll never know. It was a similar feeling that I encountered at the library. I imagined what it would have been like to be a woman at the time, without access to resources, rights, or the freedoms many of us have today. I felt so grateful for all the women and queer people who came before us, who fought so that we could have what we have today—an attempt at a reasonable life.

Later, we were taken to the fiction room, where we explored zines. We were awestruck by some of the works and the creativity on display. It pushed at least some of us, who were initially worried about our zine-making skills, to feel more excited. Later, we sat down in the larger room and were given instructions to make our own zines. We were provided with old magazines, coloured pens, glue, scissors, and paper. We were asked to imagine what a feminist safe space meant to us.

For the next few minutes, we were fully engrossed in the activity, so much so that we had to be almost pulled away from our seats when time ran out. All of us enjoyed the activity far more than we had anticipated. Sometimes, in a world with so many rules, creating something that makes sense only to us can feel therapeutic. In retrospect, that’s what a feminist safe space would be like: a place where you can be a little girl, a loudmouth, a critic, or an empath, whoever you are without judgment. We left with joy, excitement, and contentment, with many of us hoping to return soon

We often don’t understand the importance of community and feminist spaces in our lives. Feminist spaces, political feminist spaces, spaces that welcome all of us—black, brown, Asian, mixed race, disabled, gay, eccentric, all of us. Having spaces to read, exist, and rest without fear or judgment is a luxury for many of us. The existence of feminist spaces like this is an act of resilience and resistance to capitalist structures that emphasise self-care and hyper-individuality as solutions to everything. They remind us that collective care is a necessity, a radical act of resistance against a system that profits from our isolation. By creating opportunities for people to gather, share resources, and support one another without financial barriers, these spaces challenge the capitalist narrative that everything, even our time and relationships, must be commodified.

The Feminist Library healed me in a way I couldn’t have imagined. It reminded me that healing isn’t always something we do alone, it is also found in the spaces we share. We undervalue what community spaces can do for us, dismissing them as luxuries rather than necessities. But in a world that prioritises profit over people, these spaces are acts of resistance. They remind us that care and community are the essence of what it means to be alive.

I’ll end this with a quote from The Wellbeing Scientist, whose work on Instagram I thoroughly enjoy:

I don’t need therapy. I need public spaces where people can gather without having to spend money. Community centres that are actually funded and accessible. Libraries open seven days a week with free programming. Parks and green spaces within walking distance. Free community classes and skill-sharing spaces.

Universal healthcare that removes financial barriers to wellness. Living wages that allow time for community engagement. Paid family leave and flexible work policies. Free mental health crisis response teams. Community-owned businesses and cooperatives. Participatory budgeting for community health resources. Environmental justice initiatives for healthier communities. Universal basic income to reduce chronic stress. Restorative justice programs that heal community trauma. Multi-generational housing that combats isolation. Community gardens and shared meals. Time banks where we can exchange skills and support. Public transportation that connects the community.

I don’t need therapy. I need affordable housing policies that create stable communities. Therapy is vital, but it’s not enough on its own. We need to rebuild the village that makes healing possible because when we invest in community care, we’re not just treating symptoms—we’re creating conditions where everyone can truly thrive.