Marx Realty
In another online discussion, someone said they’d like a picture of Marx Realty. Since I live nearby, and was having a late lunch right near it, I snapped a picture:

I assume the plethora of American flags (three, counting the tiny, faded sticker below the big flag) is to disclaim any connection to that Marx. In most places, that wouldn’t be necessary—they’d think Groucho, not Karl—but in San Francisco, you wouldn’t be too sure about that. A bakery a few blocks away advertises itself as a “workers’ collective,” after all. Somehow, I have a feeling a “workers’ collective” is a more oppressive place to work than a Wal-Mart in Honduras.
While my political views used to be considerably more liberal than they are today, I never succumbed to a flirtation with real leftism. For this, I think I have two things to thank. First, I traveled a lot in my youth, and saw up close that leftist regimes produced pretty miserable results. Second, while at UC Berkeley, I took a class from a political science professor named A. James Gregor.
Gregor is a Strangelovian character, and while I didn’t necessarily agree with everything he had to say, he was relentless, in that political theory class, about drawing the line between certain political theories and their catastrophic outcomes. Many of my fellow students hadn’t even heard of the mass killings of the Khmer Rouge, or that the Cultural Revolution in China had produced anything more insidious than a lot of people marching around in gray tunics. I never quite bought into his defense of right-wing dictators, but his argument about bad statist theory causing human disaster on unimaginable scales persuaded me.
I can’t vouch for the accuracy of everything on Gregor’s Wikipedia page. It notes accusations that he silenced alternate views, in the class, I can tell you from firsthand experience that this was not true. Some students made contrary points and he argued back. It was the sort of exchange of ideas universities are for. He often made a point of inviting students to his office hours to continue discussing or debating a point.
I supported the anti-Apartheid movement at Berkeley, and I think history has rendered a clear verdict on who was right about that. But I couldn’t exactly join up and march, since the whole thing was led by serious Fellow Travelers, who ranged from the earnest—a woman who wanted to emigrate to Cuba—to the ridiculous—a guy who got to the front of every anti-Apartheid march through Sproul Plaza and Dwinelle Plaza chanting:
Marx and Lenin!
Mao and Trotsky!
We’ve got the team that’s really hotsky!
I am not making this up. I’m sure it got old, even for the commies. I sure did for me, as I tried to study early 19th century European history from my hard-won shady spot on the grass near the Life Sciences Building. It got especially old after the first few hundred times I heard it.
You say you want a revolution. Well, you know.