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Confessions of a young communist
Confessions of a young communist
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Confessions of a young communist 

In my youth, I served a brief stint as an executive and member of the Victoria, British Columbia chapter of the Young Communist League. Every Tuesday, our small, awkward group of teens would sit in the basement of a local Unitarian Church—a space provided to us for free—and hash out issues of Party progress.

It might sound corny, but we started and ended every meeting with playing (some of us singing) the Internationale. In Russian, no less.

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