What the hell is a pacifist Communist?

I want to rehash a little paradoxical nostalgia. A conversation I once had with a friend. He was a good guy—liked to drink, fight, tell wild stories and explore life. We met due to unforeseen circumstances after a night of heavy drinking—we were going to fight. In the end both of us and another friend took a pretty good beating from bouncers. He was tough little son of a bitch. I liked that. I though I was a tough little son of a bitch too. It was an easy understanding to start out with. About a year later things got fucked up and we both wound up in University. There were three us. Two writers and a painter (artist for you academics) walking from one world into another. Four years later and an English degree later the university had killed his brain. He fell under its pseudo rebel spell. It started out with a Noam Chomsky book and ended with a conversation we had. The transformation was gradual. The conversation was not:

Pipeliner writer: Well I’m a pacifist Communist.

Angryroughneck: You can’t be a pacifist Communist. That’s impossible.

:Pipeliner writer: What do you mean? I’m against war and I believe in Communal living. What’s wrong with that?

Angryroughneck: Well what if I say no?

Pipeliner writer: No to what?

Angryroughneck: No to everything. No to you taking my house, my money, my land, no to you telling me where to work, where to live, no to you telling me which books to read and how to educate my children. No to everything!

Pipeliner writer: Well I wouldn’t do those things?

Angryroughneck: How do you think they are decided under Communist rule?

Pipeliner writer: Well if everyone shared--

Angryroughneck: I already told you once, fucking well NO! So what do you do about it? Do you just sit idly by? Because then other people would tell you no, and then the system would crumble. How do you enforce communism if you are against violence? It’s a logical absurdity.

Pipeliner writer: I would reason with you.

Angryroughneck: I told you fucking no. Pretend I’m crazy and it’s impossible to convince me. Pretend. So what do you do then?

Pipeliner writer: You’re impossible to reason with!

He walked away from the table. Most conversations with collectivists end this way. It’s sad when friendships do. It’s a wonder I like to stay home and drink too much beer.