So I Married a Communist

No, I didn't marry a liberal, nor a progressive. I married a card carrying communist.


I am not a communist but I've known him since we were teenagers. In that time, he has been a missionary, a bible translator, a mixtec outreach coordinator (unpaid, he was basically drafted by the larger community), a medical interpreter, and pretty soon, a nurse. His goal is to get shipped to some godawful location via Doctors Without Borders. I'm staying as far away from that last bit as I can. I don't like mosquitos and I like malaria even less.


The upsides of marrying a communist are many. Among other things, he's a whiz with bureaucracy, he's not afraid of hard labor, and he really likes to share. It's enough to help me look past his fondness for Trotsky and his penchant for literature written by men with ridiculous beards. It's also nice not having to worry about a cloaked cultural Marxist plot to engineer society like I would if I married a progressive. Nope, his Marxism is front and center. I don't like hidden agendas. I prefer my communist infiltrations right out in the open, where I can keep an eye on them.

On the other hand, I've had to set some ground rules, like no turning the basement into a gulag, or painting over in-laws in our wedding photos with potted plants. I've also had to insist on forgoing busts and murals of Stalin. He's a brutalist architecture enthusiast but I keep telling him concrete isn't everything. For all that, at least he realizes the importance of boundaries in a relationship, but razor wire and cement aren't what i had in mind.

Our first car buying experience together was a bit trying. He's a stickler for classics, and wanted an old Soviet T-50, while I insisted on a Toyota Camry. I don't think Pemco covers infantry vehicles, or really anything without turn signals. We compromised and got the Toyota, but in true Soviet style it's held together with string and the promise of a better tomorrow.

Between the tedious intellectualizing about Bakunin and field stripping the bedside AK we still manage to share quality time, even if it's spent reminiscing about Kronstadt - I'll take what I can get. He may be a commie but he's my commie and I love him.

Down with capital! And stuff.