100 Books Like Political Solidarity Economy

I grew up in a middle-class family in Palo Alto, California, during the years when the community transformed from a quiet college town to a hub of the technology sector’s Silicon Valley. While multiple family members and friends were part of this boom, I found myself questioning what all this “progress” meant and for whom. These questions led me across Latin America, South Asia, and Southeast Asia. I collaborated with grassroots efforts in which community-led groups successfully stopped extractive “development” projects and instead built alternative pathways to economic flourishing.

In my (continued) learning about what it takes to change our economic systems and what else is possible, these books have been important reads for me.

I grew up in a middle-class family in Palo Alto, California, during the years when the community transformed from a quiet college town to a hub of the technology sector’s Silicon Valley. While multiple family members and friends were part of this boom, I found myself questioning what all this “progress” meant and for whom. These questions led me across Latin America, South Asia, and Southeast Asia. I collaborated with grassroots efforts in which community-led groups successfully stopped extractive “development” projects and instead built alternative pathways to economic flourishing.

In my (continued) learning about what it takes to change our economic systems and what else is possible, these books have been important reads for me.

I grew up in a middle-class family in Palo Alto, California, during the years when the community transformed from a quiet college town to a hub of the technology sector’s Silicon Valley. While multiple family members and friends were part of this boom, I found myself questioning what all this “progress” meant and for whom. These questions led me across Latin America, South Asia, and Southeast Asia. I collaborated with grassroots efforts in which community-led groups successfully stopped extractive “development” projects and instead built alternative pathways to economic flourishing.

In my (continued) learning about what it takes to change our economic systems and what else is possible, these books have been important reads for me.

I grew up in a middle-class family in Palo Alto, California, during the years when the community transformed from a quiet college town to a hub of the technology sector’s Silicon Valley. While multiple family members and friends were part of this boom, I found myself questioning what all this “progress” meant and for whom. These questions led me across Latin America, South Asia, and Southeast Asia. I collaborated with grassroots efforts in which community-led groups successfully stopped extractive “development” projects and instead built alternative pathways to economic flourishing.

In my (continued) learning about what it takes to change our economic systems and what else is possible, these books have been important reads for me.

I’m a Brazilian economist working in Paris and dedicated to historical scholarship. I have always been deeply impressed by the political weight carried by economic arguments across Latin America. Debates on economic policy are typically contentious everywhere, but in Latin America, your alignment with different traditions of political economy can go a long way to determine your intellectual and political identity. At the same time, our condition as peripheral societies – and hence net importers of ideas from abroad – raises perennial questions about the meaning of a truly Latin American political economy. I hope this list will be a useful entry point for people similarly interested in these problems.

I accidentally fell in love with Latin America, a love that has lasted my lifetime. When I was young, I lived in a Dominican neighborhood in New York, learning Spanish from my neighbors. After I graduated from Columbia Graduate School of Journalism I got a job covering the Cuban community in New Jersey because I spoke Spanish. Eventually I ended up living in Colombia and then Managua as a foreign correspondent. Now I edit a magazine at Harvard about Latin America. It's not just the news that interests me; I love the cadence of the language, the smell and taste of its varied cuisine, the warmth of the people, the culture, and, yes, soccer.

I lived in Peru for five years, working as a writer, filmmaker, and anthropologist and have travelled extensively in South America, voyaging 4,500 miles from the northern tip of the Andes down to the southern tip of Patagonia, lived with a recently-contacted tribe in the Upper Amazon, visited Maoist Shining Path “liberated zones” in Peru and later made a number of documentaries on the Amazon as well as have written a number of books. Historically, culturally and biologically, South America remains one of the most interesting places on Earth.

I worked at the International Center for Transitional Justice in 2009 when Uruguay held a second referendum to overturn the country’s amnesty law that protected the police and military from prosecution for human rights abuses during the country’s dictatorship. Despite the country’s stable democracy and progressive politics in the 21st century, citizens quite surprisingly rejected the opportunity to overturn the state-sanctioned impunity law. My interest in broader accountability efforts in the world and that seemingly shocking vote in Uruguay drove me to want to study the roots of that failed effort, ultimately compelling a broader investigation into how human rights culture in Uruguay evolved, particularly during and after its period of military rule. 

I became fascinated by the science, technology, and social landscape of mining during my time teaching English in the Cerro Colorado copper mine in the north of Chile. Listening to miners and their families speak to each other gave me a small sense of the knowledge embedded in the language of mining communities. The experience showed me just how little I knew about metals and how much they shape our world, from the copper wiring in phone chargers to expressions like “mina” (mine/woman). That curiosity led me to a PhD program and to write my first book, Mining Language.

How might we live and write otherwise? I am preoccupied by this question, and am fairly certain that at minimum we have to start by imagining it. As a culture worker and writer I hope my projects and experiments do just this. There is so much to reinvent, and so much that interconnects us. I am inspired by the ways the authors of these books take on their times and passions, and tell stories in ways I find unexpected. Their abilities to integrate divergent avenues of thought, deep research, and truly weird characters and circumstances has lit my imagination and I hope it does yours as well!