Category: Book Reviews

This slim, but substantive, volume is a welcome addition to the immense body of literature that traces the genesis and development of Paulo Freire’s approach to education. The Making of Pedagogy of the Oppressed: Paulo Freire’s Approach to Literacy, Training and Adult Education, volume 2, focuses on the specific period from November 1964 to April 1969, when Freire was in political exile from Brazil and resident in Chile. The book commemorates the 50th anniversary of the publication of Pedagogy of the Oppressed (2020) and the birth centennial of Paulo Freire (2021).

Venezuela has undergone stark transformations in recent decades. Once hailed as one of Latin America’s most stable democracies, the country has more recently been afflicted by widespread economic and humanitarian suffering, causing a mass exodus of its population that has reverberated throughout the region. Despite its substantive importance, comparatively few deep academic studies of contemporary Venezuelan politics exist that can shed light on the causes of this crisis.

While writing this review, I visited a big bookstore in Los Angeles, where I live in, and I observed that the comic and graphic novel section was put aside in a little corner, somehow hidden from the main and “serious” areas. During the hour or so I spent there, all the people who visited the section were kids and teenagers and I couldn’t help feeling as if I didn’t belong there. The logic which excludes adults as part of the natural public for comics reflects a long-time stigmatization that points them out as banal or childish.

Every time I travel back to Buenos Aires, my hometown, I immediately text my dad, “Can you get tickets to go to La Bombonera?” La Bombonera is Boca Juniors’ stadium, and Boca is our football team—just as it was my grandfather’s and as it is my nephew’s. When I was younger, before moving to the United States to pursue my Ph.D., I used to go on Sundays with friends to la popular—the standing terraces, akin to those in old British stadiums. Now, when I return, we need to get seats, as my father no longer wants to stand for three hours, and my nephew is still too young for the chaos of la popular.

Panama has been in the news recently as the target of intimidating and ill-informed remarks by President-elect Donald Trump. Around Christmastime, Trump first accused Panama of charging “exorbitant” fees to U.S. commerce that transits the Panama Canal, which, according to him, was “foolishly” given away to a country that has been shown “extraordinary generosity” by the United States. “If the principles, both moral and legal, of this magnanimous gesture of giving are not followed, then we will demand that the Panama Canal be returned to us, in full, and without question“, threatened Trump, without explaining how he intends to force Panama into surrendering its most beloved asset, one that is at the very heart of its national identity.

I remember reading with emotion during my adolescence “Juan López and John Ward,” the poem that the great writer of fantastic literature Jorge Luis Borges dedicated to the Falklands War of 1982. What moved me, I think, was the idea that two young men who could have been friends (united by their love of literature, in addition to belonging to the same generation and sharing the same name) saw each other face-to-face only once, but since that one encounter was during a war, each became both Cain and Abel.

About ten years ago, when I arrived at the Cuauhtémoc Moctezuma Brewery in the mountain town of Orizaba, Veracruz, in Mexico, I was excited that the administrator I’d spoken with earlier had arranged a private tour for me. Founded in 1896, the Moctezuma Brewery was saved from bankruptcy when it was bought out by Mexico’s behemoth Cuauhtémoc Brewery in 1985. It is best known globally for its Dos Equis amber lager and for Sol, the light, golden, pilsner-style beer now sold in over 70 countries around the world.

In 2013, I took a repurposed U.S. school bus from the south of Mexico, my adopted home country, to Belize City. Once across the border, we ended up making a lengthy stop when passengers with pre-purchased tickets found themselves unable to board the crammed vehicle and began to protest the perceived injustice. In the scorching heat, the initial exasperation among locals both on and off the bus quickly turned into visceral anger. The episode would stay with me as I wandered around Belize City, shocked by the generalized poverty.

Rebecca Jarman, in her book, Representing the Barrios: Culture, Politics, and Urban Policy in Twentieth Century Caracas, explores the vibrancy and complexity of Caracas’s barrios. In Caracas, the term barrio refers to self-produced neighborhoods––usually defined as informal settlements––where communities self-organize the construction of their territory with no prior planning but through an incremental yet effective system of organization.

Violence has always been a fundamental aspect of human life. We have fought to survive, to defend, and to acquire. States are meant to have a monopoly on the use of violence in order to maintain peace and security in their territory and defend their founding ideology. All countries have had this history of political violence and revolution, but few can match the history of violence as it has happened in Colombia.