By Yuki Ostrovsky | Actual Life Under Communism
Let me paint you a picture of who I was before the algorithm got involved.
My name is Briar. I am twenty-six years old. My LinkedIn headline reads Healing Arts Practitioner | Somatic Witness | Intuitive Guide | She/Her/Stardust. I have 4,200 Instagram followers who tune in every Tuesday for my 'Mercury in Retrograde Survival Series.' I charge $85 per hour to sit across from people in a linen jumpsuit and 'hold space' — which, for the uninitiated, means listening thoughtfully while occasionally saying 'I really hear that' and burning a eucalyptus candle that costs more than most people's lunch.
I also believe, quite passionately, that capitalism is the source of all human suffering and that a collectively managed economy would finally allow people like me to contribute our true gifts to society.
So when I discovered a simulation built around authentic Soviet-era central planning logic — a tool that takes your skills, temperament, and stated passions and assigns you a role within a planned economy — I was thrilled. Finally, I thought. Validation. Recognition. A system that would see me for what I truly am.
Reader, it saw me. It just didn't like what it found.
Step One: Entering My Gifts Into the System
The interface was refreshingly no-nonsense. No personality quiz with whimsical cloud illustrations. No dropdown menu asking whether I'm a 'Creative' or a 'Connector.' Just a blinking cursor and a text field labeled: SKILLS AND PRODUCTIVE CAPACITIES. LIST ALL.
I typed enthusiastically.
- Crystal bowl sound healing (certified, 40-hour program)
- Astrology content creation (Saturn return specialty)
- Journaling facilitation
- Somatic breathwork guidance
- Myers-Briggs: INFJ (The Advocate — rarest type, famously)
- Tarot reading (Rider-Waite and Thoth decks)
- 'Holding space' (advanced)
- Reiki Level 2
- Making adaptogenic mushroom lattes
I hit submit feeling the warm glow of someone about to be truly seen by a fair and rational system.
The algorithm took six seconds. Then it returned its verdict.
ASSIGNMENT: Agricultural Collective No. 7, Kazakh SSR. Crop: Sugar beet. Shift: Dawn to dusk. Start date: Monday.
Photo: Kazakh SSR, via images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com
I stared at the screen. There must be an error. I clicked back and added 'empathic listener' and 'trauma-informed framework.' I resubmitted.
REASSIGNMENT: Coal extraction, Donetsk Basin. Underground operations. Shift: Monday.
Photo: Donetsk Basin, via cdn.britannica.com
Step Two: Attempting to Negotiate With History
The simulation, to its credit, allowed follow-up inputs. A second text field asked: DO YOU HAVE ADDITIONAL QUALIFICATIONS TO SUBMIT FOR REVIEW?
I do not panic easily. I am, after all, a woman who has sat with people in their deepest emotional winters. I typed calmly.
I have a significant social media following and considerable experience translating complex spiritual concepts for a general audience. I believe I could serve the collective as an educator or community wellness coordinator.
The algorithm's response was swift and, frankly, a little personal.
NOTE: The collective does not require Instagram. Reassignment maintained. Coal, Donetsk. Also: your INFJ designation has been reclassified as 'no bearing on output quotas.'
I tried a different approach. I explained that my sound healing practice had helped dozens of clients process grief, anxiety, and difficult life transitions. Surely, I suggested, a people's republic would value mental and emotional wellbeing?
NOTED. Psychiatric support roles require medical degree. Do you have medical degree?
I typed: Not a traditional one, but I've completed several trauma-informed—
COAL MINE. MONDAY. THIS IS FINAL.
Step Three: The Escalation I Did Not See Coming
Here is where things took a genuinely unexpected turn.
In a moment of either inspiration or catastrophic misjudgment, I disclosed that I had once described myself in a workshop bio as having 'leadership energy' and that I was 'comfortable directing group processes.' I thought this might redirect me toward something like a cooperative administrator or a community organizer.
The algorithm went quiet for longer this time. Twelve whole seconds. Then:
LEADERSHIP CAPACITY FLAGGED. REVISED ASSIGNMENT: DEPUTY FOREMAN, TUNGSTEN EXTRACTION FACILITY, KRASNOYARSK KRAI, SIBERIAN FEDERAL DISTRICT. RESPONSIBLE FOR SHIFT COORDINATION, EQUIPMENT MAINTENANCE OVERSIGHT, AND MONTHLY QUOTA REPORTING TO REGIONAL PLANNING BUREAU. ACCOMMODATION PROVIDED (SHARED, FOUR PERSONS PER ROOM). SHIFT STARTS MONDAY.
Photo: Krasnoyarsk Krai, via russiatrek.org
I had been promoted. Straight past the sugar beet fields, straight past the coal face, and directly into a supervisory role at a tungsten operation so remote that the nearest city requires a connecting flight and significant emotional preparation.
I sat with this for a moment. Then I burned some palo santo, which felt appropriate.
What the Algorithm Understands That I Didn't
Here's the thing nobody tells you when you're posting infographics about seizing the means of production between sponsored posts for adaptogen supplements: a planned economy does not care about your relationship with your gifts.
Central planning, in its purest historical form, was an exercise in brutal pragmatism. The state needed coal, so people mined coal. It needed tungsten for lightbulb filaments and military hardware, so people extracted tungsten, often in places where the wind chill makes your ambitions feel very small and very far away. The algorithm wasn't being cruel to me. It was being honest — possibly for the first time in my adult life.
My skills, assessed without the warm affirmation of a wellness community, amount to: I am good at talking, I have moderate organizational instincts, and I own several bowls I hit with a mallet. The collective has coal to mine. The math, as they say, mathed.
A Note on the Linen Jumpsuit
I asked, as a final query, whether personal items could be brought to the Krasnoyarsk facility.
WORK UNIFORM PROVIDED. PERSONAL EFFECTS: ONE BAG, MAXIMUM 20KG. CRYSTAL BOWLS: NOT RECOMMENDED FOR UNDERGROUND TRANSPORT.
The eucalyptus candle, I suspect, would not survive the Siberian winter anyway.
I remain, as ever, committed to the idea that we could build something better than what we have. I just think, going forward, I'll be slightly more specific about what 'better' means before I ask a central planning committee to define it for me.
Deputy Foreman Briar reports for duty Monday. She will be wearing something other than linen.
Yuki Ostrovsky is the founding editor of Actual Life Under Communism. She has never personally operated a tungsten mine but has read extensively about people who have.