The following is a guest article written by Wenxin Fu, a student from China studying at the Graduate School of Asia Pacific Studies at Waseda University in Japan. Wenxin enrolled in the 2025 SPICE/Stanford–Waseda Intensive Course: Exploring Peace in East Asia and Beyond Through the Lenses of Cultural Understanding, Education, and International Relations, which was organized by SPICE and Waseda’s Faculty of Social Sciences and taught by Meiko Kotani. The course brought together students from the Graduate School of Social Sciences, the School of Social Sciences, the Graduate School of Asia-Pacific Studies, the School of International Liberal Studies, and the School of Political Science and Economics. With participants from Japan and international students representing 10 different countries, the course created a truly dynamic and diverse learning environment.

If I had to pick out a few moments that reshaped how I see things, two come to mind. The first was in what seemed like an ordinary seminar classroom in the UK where I experienced, not exactly a cultural shock, but a striking contrast between the student-led discussions there and the education system I grew up with in mainland China. The second is this time, through the 2025 SPICE–Waseda program, where I encountered not just diversity, but a sense of collaborative equality, where difference didn’t translate into distance or hierarchy.

In both instances, I was far from my home country—surrounded by faces of different colors, speaking my second language, and engaging in conversations that ranged from broad theoretical questions to concrete, real-world issues. But the experiences felt very different. Back then, I was trying hard to blend in, to insert myself into a conversation shaped by others. I wanted a seat at the table, not just physically present, but to be part of the actual dialogue. This time, however, diversity felt less sharp, less hierarchical. Skin color didn’t map onto power relationships, and the usual lines between who’s “in” and who’s “out” felt blurred. I felt more comfortable speaking up, and more importantly, I felt genuinely heard.

I think this contrast also speaks to a commonly criticized tendency in international relations theory to center the dominant voices of the world’s most powerful countries. There’s now a growing emphasis on the globally relevant, rather than the globally dominant. That’s why this program’s focus on East Asia resonated so deeply with me, not only because I’m from the region, but because I’m eager to engage with perspectives and lived experiences that reflect the richness and complexity of the region. These are stories often told less loudly, but no less powerfully. This aligns with what we were often encouraged to do throughout the course: to anchor our reflections in personal experience.

And it’s also why I want this reflection to stay personal.

To be honest, even after a full semester as an international relations major, I still struggle to articulate anything truly meaningful about shifting global dynamics, geopolitical tensions, or the strategic calculus of major powers. Coming from a media studies background, I often feel I lack the kind of structural, macro-level thinking that international relations seem to require, and I’m rarely confident in how I speak about it. But still, one thing is clear to me: we don’t need to be experts to understand how important peace is. It’s not just a theory, it shapes our everyday lives and connects all of us through our shared hopes and fears. While international relations theories often emerge in response to crisis, it’s peace that fills most of our time on this planet. And peace isn’t just the pause between wars. It’s something that takes effort, patience, and long-term commitment. That’s what we should really be focusing on.

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When we ask ourselves how to contribute to something as vast as peace, I found this course offered both clarity and encouragement. It didn’t stick only to traditional international relations theories themselves, but brought in topics like cultural understanding, education, migration and mobility, and identity. Each day added a new layer, helping me connect big ideas to real-life issues. Looking back at the course title, I noticed the word “intensive.” I was mentally prepared for five days packed with lectures, seminars, group work, and a final project under pressure. But what I encountered was something else entirely. There wasn’t pressure to impress—just space to think and share. The assigned readings were meaningful but not overwhelming, and the discussions felt open and welcoming. I showed up, I listened, I reflected, I exchanged. I was inspired, not in bursts, but in a steady, unfolding way. Ideas moved, and so did I. That was the most rewarding kind of intensity for me.

I’m grateful for the way this program was designed, for the freedom to move at our own pace, and to learn in a space that felt both focused and generous. Thanks not only to my teammates, but also to the organizers who made this possible. Our group included undergraduates, master’s, and PhD students. I had concerns at first that our different nationalities, academic backgrounds, and levels of experience might lead to friction. But as we worked together on the contemporary challenges related to peace-building, I saw something quietly powerful: a shared spirit of curiosity, openness, and care. What moved between us was real peace and love, flowing quietly in the smallest units, from one person to another, and beyond.

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