Perhaps you should take a look at things from a different perspective. Here is a personal account of life inside the Soviet Union that you might get something out of: https://archive.org/details/ViktorSuvorovTheLiberatorsMyLife...

It’s a little on the long side, but I’ll quote from near the end of the introduction:

Towards evening, we finished the job. Everyone took delivery of
his final load of [fertilizer], but this time no one carried it
off to the river, but instead to his own kolkhoz. It was then
relayed to Moscow that everything was going well and that this
year's harvest would be a record, thanks to the Regional
Committee's First Secretary. Moscow promptly replied with a
congratulatory telegram to the First Secretary and to all workers
of the Region. And that was that.

Late that night, I delivered one and a half tons of the fertilizer
to the kolkhoz and reported to the Chairman that I had fulfilled
the task ahead of time. He thanked me but did not go into
detail. Everything had been clear to him from the very
beginning. He had long been accustomed to the fact that, whenever
the Communist Party issues instructions, these invariably end in a
way no one wishes to remember.

'Where shall I put this one and a half tons?' I asked.

'Keep them yourself! If necessary, I could produce record harvests
without fertilizers. But what's the point?'

And that was that. I poured the liquid over my own tiny private
plot. It proved an unpardonable mistake. Apparently, there was too
much fertilizer for my tiny area of ground and I applied it at the
wrong time. In May, when all the neighbouring kitchen gardens were
producing strong shoots mine was barren. I was horrified. What
would I eat during the winter? I was not going to become a soldier
until the following spring: so how was I to live until then? The
money I would receive for my work at the kolkhoz would be hardly
enough for two months of very frugal existence. The peasant's only
hope is his private plot which is not much bigger than the palm of
his hand. And if nothing grows on that - what then?

I had to make some urgent decisions. But what? I could not run
away from the kolkhoz: under socialism a peasant has no right to a
passport, although everybody else has an internal passport. As a
result of this simple restriction, a peasant cannot live in a
town, cannot marry a town girl or stay in a hotel. Travelling on a
plane is also forbidden. Who will let you board an aircraft
without a passport? Maybe you are a criminal?

Don't think it is just a Soviet communist caprice, either. It is a
vital necessity. If you are trying to establish material equality
among the inhabitants of any country, you must introduce similar
measures against the peasants. If you make all people equal, there
will be mass migration of peasants into towns, where the working
day is limited, where one need not work on rest days and holidays,
and where one can have a holiday in summer. But, if all the
peasants go to live in towns, your state of universal equality
will perish from hunger. And, in order to prevent that state of
affairs, you will be obliged to revert to the free market system,
that is to capitalism, or else keep the peasants in their villages
by force, by barbed wire, guard-dogs, threats and the introduction
of special anti-peasant legislation.

I was a convinced supporter of the material equality of all
mankind and therefore was prepared to spend all my life without an
internal passport, which means never flying in an aircraft, never
staying at an hotel and never marrying a town girl. But, in
compensation, we would have equality. There would be no
exploitation of man by man and we would have no rich and no poor!

That bloody fertilizer which ruined my harvest also ruined all my
plans and forced me to look for some new way of life. The choice
was not great: I could land up in jail, where the food is free, or
I could become an officer, where the food is also free. Taking
into consideration the fact that it is not difficult to land in
jail, I decided to exploit this possibility only if I did not
succeed in becoming an officer. And that didn't turn out to be
particularly simple!

In order to become an officer, I had to become a citizen of my
country, in other words somehow or other obtain a passport. They
say that, in the USSR, the acquisition of a passport for going
abroad is so difficult that it sometimes takes a man's whole life
to achieve. But, for anyone not entitled to receive one, to obtain
an internal passport is an altogether more difficult task. If you
have an internal passport and are trying to obtain one allowing
you to go abroad, theoretically the law is on your side. You can
protest, go on hunger-strike or write letters to Brezhnev. In the
end, if you persist, you may well be successful. But how to obtain
an internal passport if you are not entitled to one by law? If you
are just a Soviet peasant and if the law is against you and if you
live in a country but are not considered a citizen of that country
but only its peasant? If you have no right to any form of defense?
If you are born simply to work, simply as an integral part of the
agricultural work force, then what do you do? What can one do if
one does not represent a legal entity, just like for instance, a
horse or a pig, which also has no right to an internal passport
(let alone one for going abroad) and which is similarly forbidden
to stay in hotels or to travel by air?

To all intents I, like any other Soviet peasant, was an
outlaw. And yet, in spite of everything, I managed to get a
passport. It is a very long story indeed which I take no pleasure
in recalling. I had to blackmail the kolkhoz Chairman, deceive the
Chairman of the village Soviet, bribe a village Soviet Secretary
as well as an employee of the Military Commissariat: there was no
other way.

And, after all that, my passport was still not quite legal. At any
moment, it could have been proved that, even though I had been
born in the USSR of Soviet parents, whose ancestors down several
hundred years had never crossed any frontier or had any contact
whatsoever with foreigners, I had illegally appropriated the name
of a USSR citizen. So, as a matter of urgency, I had to change my
half-legal passport for another officially-issued document in my
name. And, to achieve that, I entered the Kharkov Guards Tank
Command School. They took my passport and I was given a new red
'military Card' in its place. Now nobody on earth could send me
back to the kolkhoz. There is no way back from the Soviet Army.

You may not appreciate being graded on how much profit you can make, but Suvorov makes the point that there are jobs that people do not do voluntarily. Maybe there are enough people who enjoy farming enough to raise enough food to feed everyone in the world, but even they would lose their appetite for the work if you took away all the rewards of the job. Later in the book he has a similar conversation with someone about modern sewers replacing latrines. Even once sewer systems are built everywhere, somebody will still have to maintain them. Even if they aren’t emptying out latrines with shovels and wheelbarrows, it will still not be a desirable job. The benefit of capitalism is that it rewards people who get things done, whether that is hard work or clever work.

There are, of course, alternatives that don’t get brought up much these days. I believe that it is still possible to sell your belongings and join a monastery. By doing this you could free yourself from material concerns, and devote yourself to a lifetime of study, contemplation, and spiritual growth. Of course, monks must eat, so someone must peel the vegetables and clear the drains. Monks must bathe, so someone must clean the bathrooms. But at least you will be doing it for yourself, and for people you know and trust, rather than for a salary.

And yet, most people don’t bother to go to that extreme. There is far more “material equality” in America than there ever was in the Soviet Union. Farmers here do not lack televisions, telephones, or the freedom to fly in an airplane any time they choose. The civil engineers who maintain our sewer systems are rewarded well enough that they voluntarily enter that profession.

Maybe in the future we’ll have something better, but whatever it is it will definitely still reward people for their labor.