The cure for liking socialism? Visiting a socialist country

One of the reasons I am alarmed by the socialist/communist trends in my own country is that I visited such countries in my youth.

My first look at communism was at Checkpoint Charlie in West Berlin in 1984. There, you crossed into East Berlin (the communist side) through a barbed wire, land-mined, machine gun-guarded, no-man’s land.

The bite wound — on her hand — appeared serious enough to require an antiseptic. But where could they find that, late at night, in Havana?

People had died trying to cross it.

Once inside East Berlin, you immediately saw why. The city was lifeless, poor, and depressing. The people were ugly and not safe to interact with. The general misery was suffocating. It was a huge relief to get back to West Berlin.

In the following years, I had other experiences in the “democratic socialist” countries of Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, which were also chillingly prison-like and horrific.

After several decades of communism, all the normal people in these countries had escaped or died. Only the creeps, criminals, and mentally enfeebled remained.

I always believed that if Americans could see for themselves what “democratic socialism” looks like, they would be instantly dissuaded from supporting or advocating for it.

But as I’ve learned, that is not always the case.

Americans abroad

My favorite example is when an American friend (35) and her mother (61) visited Cuba in the 2010s. They were an adventurous duo and fairly seasoned travelers.

They were also very liberal. They both donated to NPR. They were both ardent fans of Rachel Maddow. And they would later suffer from severe cases of Trump derangement syndrome.

So what did they think of socialist Cuba? And its poverty, corruption, and lack of economic opportunity?

They loved it. They thought Cuba was great.

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Royalty among the peasants

Now, I have traveled to third-world countries myself, and I have been impressed by the resilience of the people. There is something romantic about such cultures, something satisfying about the simplicity and earthiness of their lives.

Part of the enjoyment of such places is that all standards are lowered. The locals are poor and uneducated. You are practically a philosopher-king among the peasants. You can relax and enjoy your superiority.

Havana moon

When my friend and her mother returned from Cuba, she told me about their trip: the great food, the picturesque street life. The two had gone to nightclubs and danced to incredible live music.

The locals fawned over them. A kindly Cuban woman invited them to her house for dinner. They bought peasant skirts, handmade hats, and local jewelry.

It was all very romantic. Everyone was so nice to them. The locals appreciated their interest in Cuban culture.

Straight from the horse’s mouth

They did have one problem though. The mother, while strolling along the promenade in Havana, was bitten by a horse.

The bite wound — on her hand — appeared serious enough to require an antiseptic. But where could they find that, late at night, in Havana?

No pharmacies were open. So they found a sympathetic bartender who doused the wound with vodka and wrapped it in a bar towel as best he could.

In the morning, it was worse. They had to find a doctor, which was not easy to do.

Finally, they found an English-speaking doctor, who was eager to help them once he found out the mother was married to a doctor in America.

He properly dressed the wound but mostly peppered the mother and daughter with questions about doctors in the USA. How much did they make? What kind of car did they drive? How big was their house?

The doctor hounded them for contact information. He was plotting his own escape. Fortunately, he had not escaped already and was there to help the mother with her horse-bitten hand.

Socialists love their socialism

I don’t mean to be critical of my friend, but this trip demonstrated why left-leaning liberals don’t see any problem with a socialist government.

To them, the slower pace of life is spiritually enriching. Not to mention the delicious food. And the soulful music.

If only Americans could be more like the Cubans. If only we weren’t such money-grubbing workaholics and could just relax and enjoy those sultry nights and the gorgeous Havana moon, which shone so bright in the sky (mostly because there was no electricity for street lights).

No, socialists love their socialism. Or rather their dream of socialism. I noticed that my friend was very happy to be back in the suburbs, to get back to her yoga class and her air-conditioned Suburu.