The lower strata of the middle class—the small tradespeople, shopkeepers, and retired tradesmen generally, the handicraftsmen and peasants—all these sink gradually into the proletariat, partly because their diminutive capital does not suffice for the scale on which Modern Industry is carried on, and is swamped in the competition with the large capitalists … Thus the proletariat is recruited from all classes of the population.

—The Communist Manifesto

For many people reading the Communist Manifesto for the first time, there’s much that may not make much sense. That was certainly my experience. But studying these lines again, I realize that Marx and Engels were talking about me. My family.

My parents were restaurant owners in the Bay Area. They had a good product—popular both in Berkeley, where two of their restaurants were located, and in neighboring cities. That didn’t matter though.

UC Berkeley students were my parents’ main patrons. In an obvious cash grab, the university offered a new meal plan as part of the tuition package. Parasitic landlords took their pound of flesh, raising rents until we were priced out of the market. The combination of these two forces devastated us financially. We had to leave Berkeley.

From the “American dream” to a nightmare of shame and despair

The whole myth of capitalism is that if you work hard and innovate, you’ll be successful. My mom added new recipes to the menu on a regular basis, and they were popular. It didn’t matter though. We were hit just as hard as anybody by the 2008 economic crisis. A childhood friend’s parents’  restaurant, a fancy Chinese place across the street, went under too.

My parents downsized. They went from five restaurants to one hole in the wall in Oakland. They worked 12-hour days, every day. My mom used her charisma, drive, and creativity to drum up new business. She found plenty, but it didn’t matter. She was being worked into the ground. Then she died. Died making sure we kept a roof over our heads. Died from the despair of feeling like a failure.

My parents had remortgaged the house to keep the business going. My mom felt ashamed. She was smart, creative—a fighter. How could she lose everything? Where was her “American dream”? After she died, Dad sold the business for nearly nothing. His next job was at Walmart.

After my mom died, Dad sold the business for nearly nothing. His next job was at Walmart. / Image: Virginia Retail, Flickr

Why I fight for communism

This is a story about small business owners—part of what Marx referred to as the petty bourgeoisie. They are a declining class in capitalist society, constantly squeezed by big capital and battered by the anarchy of the market. Their hard work and creativity is crushed by a system that pretends to reward these things, but really only serves those who have already amassed great fortunes. During times of crisis, they are ruined by the millions, while the big capitalists are bailed out and use the money to scoop up the little guys.

In the wake of my family’s catastrophe, I joined the ranks of the working class. While the petty bourgeoisie is on the decline, both in relative size and economic weight in society, the working class has never been stronger in numbers—with over three billion workers worldwide. Concentrated in big workplaces and even bigger cities, workers play the key role in economic production. When we unite in militant struggle, we have the power to bring all of society to a halt. Because of this relationship to production, ours is the only class that can put an end to the horrors of capitalism. I don’t want other families to go through what mine did, and that’s why I’m fighting for the revolutionary overthrow of this decrepit system—and I’m committed to making it happen in my lifetime.