My experience of doing Latin American history has been inseparable from dialogical and communal dynamics. In my view, every history is a question, and behind every question is a community or set of communities. So let me begin with a question made famous by Marc Bloch: What's the use of history? Looking at our globalized society, where short-term commercialism runs rampant, and breeds temptation to push aside broad education in critical thought while pursuing a more narrowly focused credential, we can ask the question again. What indeed is the use of history? It's a legitimate question. Students have a right to know what we think about it. They may have experienced history in school as learning stuff that doesn't seem relevant.

Juana Tapia did not know how to sign her own name. Yet, on September 12, 1900, Tapia successfully initiated a suit in federal district court for her son's release from military service. Her son, Miguel Álvarez, had been imprisoned by a local prefect during the recent municipal elections in the city of Hermosillo, Sonora, for alleged criminal activities. Instead of consigning Álvarez to a criminal judge to be prosecuted for these alleged crimes, the local prefect had ordered Tapia's son to nearby Torim to serve in the Mexican army's twelfth battalion.

The influenza of 1918, the disastrous global pandemic known to many as the Spanish Flu, could not have come at a worse time for Mexico. The nation was eight years into its decade-long revolutionary struggle, a conflict that claimed the lives of well over a million citizens. Of those lost, several hundred thousand perished due to the influenza alone, usually from secondary complications such as pneumonia or bronchitis. Along with exposure, famine, and a myriad of other wartime ailments, the 1918 flu ranked as one of the leading causes of death in the Revolution, far surpassing combat casualties.

As young medical students at Guanabara State University, Luiz Roberto Tenório and Ricardo Agnese Fayad received some of the best medical education offered in 1960s Brazil. For six years, the peers in the same entering class had studied the principles of the healing arts and practiced their application at the university's teaching hospital. They had also witnessed the Brazilian military oust a democratically elected president and install a dictatorship that ruled the country for 21 years (1964–85). After graduating, however, Tenório and Fayad embarked on very distinct paths. The former became a political dissident in opposition to the military regime and provided medical assistance to members of the armed left. The latter joined the armed forces and, as a military physician, participated in the brutal torture and cruel treatment of political prisoners. At the end of military rule, Brazil's medical board would find him guilty of violating the Brazilian code of medical ethics and revoke his license.