Choose the Struggle. Choose the crimson dawn over barricades, scarlet banners tearing through the smog of oppression. Choose the laughter of street children turned revolutionaries and the burning eyes of youth reading Marx by candlelight. Choose hands calloused from labor and bread shared equally like sacrament. Choose tractors plowing collective fields, the molten steel of progress, the first rockets of liberation piercing the imperialist sky. Choose not "I," but "We"—solid as a miner's fist raised in solidarity.

Choose Party meetings where truth was born, not lies. Choose free libraries, factory clubs, and maternity benefits before they became a bourgeois trend. Choose neighbors who share their last potato, not police snitches. Choose rebel songs that outlast empires, not Spotify algorithms. Choose the free clinic built in 1938, not insurance you can’t afford.

Choose life without landlords and bankers. Life where the factory is yours, the land is yours, the power is yours. Where the word "comrade" rings proud, not archaic. Choose a future without chains—but with responsibility. Choose communism—because what else is there?