I spent part of this summer in New York, and the city that once called itself the capital of the world is visibly fraying. Cracked roads, broken sidewalks, neglected buildings, and a subway so hot and filthy that it is hard to breathe in. This is the city where the new radical Left has become a governing force. And during Pride Month, I saw where that force comes from.

I saw the Soviet flag. Not as irony, not as a museum piece — as a demand. Young Americans carrying the hammer and sickle, in shirts calling for socialism to be built here and capitalism to be torn down. I grew up under the real thing. I reviewed the KGB archives in Tbilisi, Georgia, in 1996 with my own hands. I know what that flag cost the people who lived beneath it. To see it waved as a fashion statement in the richest city on earth is not nostalgia. It is amnesia, organized and on the march.