I was only ten years old in fifth grade English when I first found a book that completely changed the trajectory of my life. Back then I couldn’t have imagined calling this book controversial or radical because I thought we were all in agreement that the atrocities committed by Nazi soldiers to the Jewish communities and other minorities, like Romani and black people, were horrendous. I believed that history taught us not only what happened in the past, but to not repeat it. It’s now 2026, I’m about to be 22 years old and, for the life of me, I sometimes still can’t believe how wrong and naive I was.
Number The Stars by Lois Lowry
Number the Stars was the first fiction book I ever read concerning World War II and the Holocaust, but it was so much more than that. It was the first book that showed me the real meaning of empathy, sacrifice, courage, and friendship. Of course, I later read Night by Elie Wiesel and The Diary of A Young Girl by Anne Frank, but these only reconfirmed everything I had learned in Number the Stars: genocide = bad, helping people = good, bravery = needed. Annemarie was my first real hero: a ten-year-old girl whose family risks everything to help innocent people escape a Nazi controlled Denmark. She was quick-witted, with the presence of mind to rip off her best friend’s Star of David when soldiers are about to discover her, and the awareness to quickly realize that a great-aunt’s funeral was a gathering of Jewish people escaping. She was the ten year old I wanted to be and the little girl my twenty-year-old self remembers whenever I recall that helping people is no longer about lending someone a charger, but about giving up comfortability for someone else’s survival.
Again, I never thought these sentiments would ever be radical. I believed all adults had the common human decency to fight for equality, equity, and everyone’s basic needs. Throughout the book I remember asking myself and my teacher: “Why did no one stop this monstrosity?” to which she very wisely answered: “Unfortunately, you will understand when you’re older.” Unfortunately, I do; and part of what helped me understand this further was the following trilogy.
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
Rant Incoming:
I read The Hunger Games trilogy when I was entirely too young to fully understand it. I have since reread the first three books as an older teenager and could finally understand my fifth grade English teacher. Since I read these recreationally, I was able to take my time and ask myself questions without having to worry about a grade.
The key things I learned were:
Human beings don’t kill other humans for fun:
I personally don’t believe in the killer mentality, literally speaking. Katniss is a very skilled hunter and yet, even though she is scared of dying in the arena, she’s horrified at the idea of having to kill people, even when she knows they are hunting her.
The Power of Resistance:
Katniss never really set out to be a rebel, but her small acts of defiance like volunteering for Prim, refusing to kill Peeta, and decorating Rue’s body with flowers, started a flame of resistance in the districts. By the series’ third book, Mockingjay, we can see her as more of a person than a symbol and I remember feeling very empowered to believe that change doesn’t always start with huge protests or an army, all we need to kickstart it is an ordinary girl’s bravery.
Media and Manipulation:
I was taught to always be wary of headlines and the news in general, especially when it came to politics, but the way media was used and abused in The Hunger Games made me truly fear how gullible society can become. The Capitol turns The Hunger Games into a reality TV nightmare, shaping the way people see the world through flashy interviews, edited footage, and forced narratives. Katniss and Peeta are pushed into a love story not because they want to but because it makes “good television.” Later, in Mockingjay, the rebellion flips the script and starts using Katniss as their own media figure. She becomes the star of their propaganda videos, called “propos,” which shows that both sides understand the power of storytelling. And then there’s Peeta’s hijacking, which might be one of the most chilling examples of media manipulation — he’s literally brainwashed to hate the person he loves. It’s disturbing when you connect it to today’s world.
The Cost of Power and Oppression:
The Capitol functions on violence, fear, and spectacle. The Games aren’t just entertainment, they’re psychological warfare in order to keep the districts in line. However, what struck me when reading was realizing that even heroes can be corrupt, that good people in power have the capacity for evil as well. District 13, though fighting for freedom, uses tactics that mirror the Capitol’s. President Coin proves that even “good guys” aren’t always truly good. Sometimes power just shifts hands, instead of shifting systems. The cost of all of this: trauma, loss, and disillusionment. Prim’s death hits harder than anything when reading, not just because she was Katniss’ driving force, but because it came with the difficult realization that victory always has casualties and leads to heartbreak.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
When I was assigned To Kill a Mockingbird I thought it was just another book that adults called a “classic” to sound smarter and make it seem more important than fairytales and romance. I quickly figured out I was wrong. This book taught me the most important lesson about justice that has stuck with me to this day: sometimes, the truth doesn’t matter when the justice system wasn’t meant to care.
What stood out to me wasn’t just Tom Robinson’s trial, although that was heartbreaking enough, it was the way the townspeople claimed to value fairness and decency, yet clung to their racism even when the evidence was right in front of them. Tom didn’t stand a chance, and everyone knew it. But the book wasn’t just about the obvious injustice. As I got older and revisited it, I started to question Atticus too. When I first read it, I saw him as the hero: the good white man trying to do the right thing in a bad world. Now I see the complexity. He was a product of his time, sure, but he also chose to work within a system he knew was broken instead of challenging it more directly. It made me realize that just being a “good person” isn’t enough if you’re not willing to disrupt the status quo.
Scout was the character I related to the most: watching, learning, asking questions adults didn’t want to answer. Like her, I started out believing justice was fair and that good people always win. Like her, I had to grow up and unlearn that. What To Kill a Mockingbird really taught me was that injustice isn’t always loud. Injustice wears a smile, it says “Hello” and “God bless you.” Sometimes it hides behind laws and politeness. And sometimes the people you think are on your side are just trying to keep the peace, not actually make things better. That book didn’t radicalize me all at once, but it definitely started the process.
Animal Farm by George Orwell
To be perfectly upfront, I was already extremely set in my beliefs by the time I was assigned Animal Farm in high school. However, I saw a change in the people around me connecting the dots between “fiction” and our reality.
My classmates began questioning whether leaders and systems in society are truly trustworthy and fair. In doing so, they learned that even the most well-intentioned movements can become corrupted. Then everybody started noticing patterns in how politicians, media, and even our education system use language to shape how we think and how we don’t question it until we are exposed to external information and language. I believe younger people now aren’t as gullible because of globalization and social media, but when you compare it to how our parents and grandparents consume media, it’s scary to realize that no one is questioning what they’re being told. My favorite lesson from Animal Farm is the blind obedience of Boxer who puts full belief in the system, always repeating “I will work harder,” and “Napoleon is always right.” It challenges us to think critically about why we follow the norms presented to us and, more importantly, who those norms serve. The seeds planted by this book have come to beautiful fruition in my college years, and I’m excited to see how they continue to blossom.
War Against All Puerto Ricans by Nelson A. Denis
I was lucky enough to have my senior year history teacher expose us to books about the real history of our island that many people aren’t privileged enough to learn. I say this because much of the real and ugly truth of Puerto Rico is well hidden by the government. Meaning that if you’re not exposed to very dedicated educators, it’s almost impossible to casually stumble upon this knowledge.
Nelson A. Denis’ War Against All Puerto Ricans is a searing examination of Puerto Rico’s 20th-century history under U.S. colonial rule. Denis exposes how American intervention reshaped Puerto Rico’s economy and government, stripping the island of its autonomy. He highlights the courage of resistance leaders like Pedro Albizu Campos and the Nationalist Party, whose fight for independence was met with brutal state violence, like the Ponce Massacre and widespread FBI surveillance. These stories don’t just recount past struggles, they position resistance as a moral necessity in the face of an empire.
Denis also emphasizes the human cost of colonial oppression and the importance of historical awareness in shaping Puerto Rico’s future. By confronting readers with the harsh realities of systemic exploitation and repression, the book offers more than a history lesson: it’s a call to action. For those already critical of U.S. imperialism, like me, War Against All Puerto Ricans can deepen their political convictions, offering both validation and urgency. Despite debates over its historical accuracy, the book resonates as a radicalizing text, pushing readers to question official narratives and engage more critically with ongoing struggles for decolonization and self-determination.
Tiempos Revueltos (Troubled Times) by Vionette G. Negretti
One of the books that the teacher I previously mentioned presented to us in class was Tiempos Revueltos. Reading this book pushed me to read War Against All Puerto Ricans and learn more about the Puerto Rican Nationalist Movement and the fight for independence. The novel portrays the 1950 Jayuya Uprising. The novel perfectly intertwined love, sacrifice, and rebellion, showing that the fight for freedom is not only political, but also emotional, intimate, and deeply costly. Negretti used real historical records and interviews that challenged almost everything I knew about the history of my home prior to reading. It once again forced me to question official narratives. It challenged dominant narratives by exposing overlooked details, like the short-lived declaration of the Republic of Puerto Rico. Additionally, it emphasized the cost of rebellion through imprisonment, exile, and death. Tiempos Revueltos left me with perfectly combined feelings of inspiration and outrage, more aware of how US imperialism still shapes Puerto Rico today and how we came to be that way.
Each of these books lit a fire in me at different stages of my life: some subtle, some blazing. What began as assigned readings for class or picked up out of curiosity became pivotal turning points in my understanding of the world. These books radicalized me not through preaching, but by planting seeds of doubt, compassion, rage, and responsibility. Number the Stars introduced me to empathy and quiet bravery, for example. Books like these ones made it impossible to unsee injustice, and even harder to stay silent. In a world where questioning is often labeled as rebellion, I’ve learned that radical simply means remembering our shared humanity and refusing to accept injustice as normal. If that’s radical, I wouldn’t wanna be anything else.