Reflections on American Communism

In the 1930s, the Communist Party of the United States had about 100,000 members. Fast forward to today, and it’s a shadow of its former self, with only a couple of full-time employees and a small faction that still embraces the label. It’s rarely seen as a significant threat anymore.

Interestingly, even though many places around the world still align with communist ideology, only a few, like China, are nominally communist. Countries like Vietnam primarily operate like capitalist enterprises, and Cuba grapples with a shaky economy. Yet, “communist” often gets tossed around by some right-wing figures to describe any leftist they disagree with.

It’s curious, isn’t it? President Trump has labeled opponents as “communist” quite liberally, perhaps to evoke the red scares of the past. Recently, he targeted New York mayoral candidate Zoran Mamdani. This tactic has evolved over time, forming a staple in Trump’s arsenal against not just the Biden administration but also the Democratic Party and other figures, all ramping up since the last election.

When I think of communists, I can’t help but recall my cousin, Isiah “Si” Podlin. His story intertwines with the peaks and valleys of our nation’s past.

Back in the 1960s, my dad shared a cautionary family tale about Si. His father, having served as an infantry lieutenant in WWII, lost his political zeal afterward. He warned that Si’s leftist ideals drove him to exile in France, keeping him from returning to the U.S. After witnessing the Red Scares of the 1940s and 1950s, my dad’s advice seemed straightforward: “Don’t sign anything.”

Yet, as I dove deeper, I realized Si’s lessons were richer than my dad suggested. He embodied the spirit of American communism from decades ago.

Despite the Communist Party’s flaws—like its unwavering loyalty to Stalin and the Soviet Union—it championed labor rights and racial equality ahead of its time. It’s not surprising that Si, who juggled work as a teacher and machinist, would commit to these values.

In 1937, aligning with fellow American leftists, Si joined the Abraham Lincoln Brigade to defend the Spanish Republic from fascist forces. He served as a political commissar in this fight. His unit notably faced significant challenges, including betrayal by a French spy, leading to some frustrating moments during their missions.

Si survived through the civil war until 1939, when leadership sent him—and other “foreigners”—home as the Republican side crumbled.

During WWII, he tried to enlist with the U.S. Army, but rumor has it he was rejected due to his communist past. By 1943, he was frustrated with the FBI labeling him an undesirable kind of anti-fascist. He still sought to engage in the fight against the Nazis.

Through a communist-aligned maritime union, he joined the U.S. Merchant Marine, volunteering for dangerous convoy operations in the North Atlantic. He faced peril twice when ships he was on were torpedoed, but he remarkably managed to survive both incidents. However, the tides of the Cold War and McCarthyism proved challenging for him.

In the 1950s, he roamed through Europe, eventually settling in Villefranche-sur-Mer, near where the U.S. 6th Fleet docked. I heard he married a French woman and even opened a wine shop. He dipped his toes into writing, crafting pulpy novels and contributing sketches to the Lincoln Brigade’s newspaper.

I finally had a chance to meet Si in the 1970s at a family gathering. He was a tough but wise figure promoting his novel. I wanted so much to express my admiration for his fight against fascism, but we were the only two leftists there, and I hesitated. That moment still lingers in my mind.

Though records are scarce, I like to think Si spent his later years in France, still advocating for leftist ideals and reading communist publications, until his passing in 1999. To me, he remains a hero and, without a doubt, an American communist.