Reflecting on the first half of 2025

B3 Taisho Ito

The past six months have flown by, filled with ups and downs, new experiences, and maybe a few surprises along the way.

In January of 2025, I joined the coming-of-age ceremony in my hometown, “Ogawara Town,” in Miyagi Prefecture. The Coming-of-Age Ceremony, or Seijin-shiki in Japanese, is a traditional event held in Japan to celebrate young people who have turned 20. After the mayor gave a speech at the ceremony, we watched a video message from our former junior high school teachers. Seeing their familiar faces brought back many memories from our school days. At the end of the ceremony, I took lots of photos with old friends I hadn’t seen in years. When I took a group photo with all eight of my close friends from junior high school, I was very happy and realized how much we had grown. After the coming-of-age ceremony, a class reunion was held, where I shared memories of my junior high school days with my classmates while looking at our yearbook. Now that I’ve officially become an adult, I want to take more responsibility for my actions. I hope to contribute to society in a meaningful way and stay true to the values I’ve learned over the years.

In March, I purchased a VTR250F motorcycle from a relative who works at a bike dealership, allowing me to get it at a reasonable price. To be honest, I wasn’t originally interested in motorcycles, but my relative told me about the charms of riding, and that’s what got me interested in getting one myself. Recently, I visited a hot spring called “Ichigo no Yu” in Moka City. It was a relaxing experience, and I enjoyed soaking in the warm water after a short local ride. I haven’t taken any long trips yet, but this summer, I’m planning to go on a touring trip with friends to the Venus Line in Nagano Prefecture—a scenic 75-kilometer driving route that I’m really looking forward to exploring. I’m still new to riding, so I want to make sure I stay safe on the road while enjoying every moment of the journey.

From January to May this year, I participated in the 17th Nelson Mandela World Human Rights Moot Court Competition. The World Moot is open to undergraduate and master's students, and teams that pass the memorial screening and online preliminary rounds take part in the final rounds in Geneva, Switzerland, where they argue both sides of the hypothetical case, representing, alternatively, the applicant and the respondent. 

This year’s hypothetical case focused on whether a certain country’s immigration policy, the use of technological surveillance for refugee management, and its approach to gender identification violated international human rights law. 

It was my first time taking part in a moot court, so I struggled a lot with even the basics—such as how to write a memorial and how to conduct proper legal research. However, as I researched various regional human rights conventions—including the European Convention on Human Rights and the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights—I found the work both challenging and fascinating. 

Although I was not selected to advance past the memorial round, the experience was invaluable to me. I gained a great deal of knowledge and insight, and I hope to make use of what I have learned in my future studies. 

In July, alumnus Tomoki Yokoyama delivered a career talk at Utsunomiya University. He now works for Oracle Corporation Japan, and during his graduate studies, he earned second place in the ICRC International Humanitarian Law Role-play Competition. After his lecture, we had the opportunity to chat with him informally at dinner, where he shared vivid memories of his student days and gave us detailed insights into his professional life.

He also offered valuable study advice, emphasizing the importance of hands-on practice and collaborative learning. Since I am participating in this year’s ICRC International Humanitarian Law Role-play Competition, he provided me with helpful tips—such as the areas he focused on during the role-play and the methods he used to prepare for the competition. Based on the advice I received, I will continue to work hard to win a prize at this year's competition.

Looking back, the first half of 2025 has been both academically and personally fulfilling, and I genuinely feel that I have grown as a person. In September, I will participate in the V. Kırımlı Dr. Aziz Bey IHL Competition & Advanced Summer School in Turkey. In November, I will participate in the ICRC International Humanitarian Law Role-Play Competition. As I move into the second half of 2025, I hope to continue working hard in my studies while also enjoying my personal life, making the most of my time as a student.

A Journey Through Culture and Memory: My Hobby of Collecting Goshuin

B4 Tokiwa Takahashi

Among my most meaningful personal pursuits is collecting Goshuin—handwritten stamps and calligraphy given at Shinto shrines across Japan. These are not simply mementos; they are living cultural expressions, combining artistry, history, and spirituality in each brushstroke. For me, they represent a personal record of discovery—both outward, through travel, and inward, through reflection.

While Goshuin can also be received at Buddhist temples, I focus mainly on Shinto shrines. I find each shrine to be a unique cultural site, deeply rooted in regional history, mythology, and seasonal rituals. Standing before the offering counter, watching the priest or shrine maiden quietly prepare the ink and delicately inscribe the page, I feel a sense of stillness and reverence that modern life rarely affords.

Kyoto, with its deep spiritual heritage, has been a central destination in my Goshuin journey. I have visited shrines such as Fujinomori Shrine, known for its connection to horses and victory; Awata Shrine, tucked away in the quiet streets of Higashiyama; Kitano Tenmangu, where students pray for success in their studies; Kenkun Shrine, which honors the warlord, Oda Nobunaga; and Toyokuni Shrine, built in memory of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Each site offered not only a beautifully crafted Goshuin, but also a distinct atmosphere that lingered in my mind long after I left.

One particularly memorable experience was during a Goshuin campaign in Kyoto, where certain shrines offered limited-edition stamps in collaboration with famous Japanese swords associated with their history. As someone interested in traditional culture, this added a personal layer of meaning. The stamps featured artistic elements inspired by the swords—names, patterns, and sometimes small emblems—blending centuries of history with a modern appreciation of heritage.

My travels have also taken me to Ashikaga in Tochigi Prefecture, a town renowned for its rich spiritual and academic traditions. There, I visited Orihime Shrine, dedicated to the goddess of weaving and romantic destiny. Situated on a hillside, the shrine offers a spectacular view and is especially atmospheric during the Tanabata season. The Goshuin I received was adorned with star motifs, representing wishes sent to the heavens. The priest kindly shared local lore and festival customs, which made the visit even more intimate and enlightening.

In Ashikaga, I also explored other sacred sites such as Ise Shrine, a peaceful neighborhood shrine with a strong connection to the local community, and the small Inari Shrine located within the historic Ashikaga School, known as Japan’s oldest academic institution. The contrast between the scholarly setting and the vermilion torii of the Inari Shrine reminded me of how spirituality and learning have long been intertwined in Japanese culture. Receiving Goshuin from such places felt like stepping into the footsteps of countless people from the past—students, priests, travelers—each seeking meaning in their own way.

Through Goshuin collecting, I’ve come to see travel not simply as movement from place to place, but as a form of mindful engagement. Each shrine visit invites quiet observation, personal reflection, and deeper cultural understanding. The pages of my Goshuincho have become more than a collection—they are a living journal of encounters, moments, and questions that continue to shape me.

As I continue this journey, one shrine and one Goshuin at a time, I hope to deepen not only my appreciation for Japanese tradition, but also my understanding of how culture lives on—through places, through people, and through the ink that carries their stories.

Testing the Shield: Finding IHL's Protective Power in an Age of Conflict

M2 Hagiya Corredo Magda Yukari

It is easy to be a cynic about International Humanitarian Law (IHL). Watching global events unfold, one can feel that the laws of war are more of a noble suggestion than an enforceable reality. Now more than ever, IHL has come to the forefront of discussions; while some defend it as the tool that governments still use to hold each other accountable, many question the effectiveness of laws that are seemingly broken every day with very little consequence.

I arrived at the Jean-Pictet competition with this heavy question: In a world of seemingly endless conflict, does this legal framework truly function as a system of protection? The competition didn't provide easy answers, but through its simulations and conversations with judges and other participants, it revealed that IHL's protective shield isn't magical but that its strength comes from the determined, daily efforts of individuals who wield it.

The Competition

The Jean-Pictet is one of the most renowned competitions of IHL, with teams from all over the world coming together for a week where they compete in simulations, testing their knowledge of legal matters as much as humanitarian instincts. This week-long event, which for its 45th edition took place in Antalya, Turkey, immerses participants in a single, evolving armed conflict scenario. Unlike traditional moot courts where you argue a fixed case, the Pictet competition is constantly evolving, with members of the "Kitchen," who write the situations and tests teams are to compete in, watching in real-time how teams respond to tests and tailor the next problem accordingly. 

Throughout the week, our team was required to take on different professional roles. For example, one day we were acting as military legal advisors making life-or-death targeting decisions; the next, we were delegates for the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) trying to gain access to a prisoner of war camp and interview detainees. This constant role-playing forces participants to apply the law not just in theory, but under simulated pressure.

The Shield for People – From Abstract Rules to Individual Dignity

A moment at the beach near the hotel where the competition was held

My initial skepticism about IHL was rooted in its seemingly abstract nature. The law felt distant from the realities of conflict I saw in the news. However, the competition systematically broke down that distance by forcing us to confront the human beings at the absolute core of the law, and the real consequences decisions made in a fraction of a moment could have in people's lives.

This became even clearer during a simulation dealing with the displacement of a civilian population and attacks on cultural property. Visiting a museum that had been victimized during the conflict the teams had to explain to the curator why their cultural property was protected and how the law protected it. However, the most pressing question is: how does one tell a victim of conflict that they are protected under international law when the violations already happened? What consolation is it to say that intentional damage against cultural property is prohibited under specifically article 53 of Additional Protocol 1 when they are facing the very real ruins of what is dear to them? Those are questions I still need to grapple with myself. However, in the same simulation, we also learned that a general's forces were coercing civilians from occupied territory to move southward, claiming it was for their own safety. Suddenly, Article 49 of Geneva Convention IV, prohibiting the forcible transfer of civilians unless their security or imperative military reasons require it, was not just a line in a textbook. It was the only legal tool we had to defend the homes, safety, and way of life for these specific, named communities. The simulation forced us to advocate for them, transforming an abstract rule into a tangible defense that could be used to make a difference.

The most powerful lesson in individual protection came during the simulated ICRC field mission. Our team was tasked with visiting a prisoner of war (POW) camp where we interviewed a POW who had been held in isolation since his capture and had been denied any contact with his family. The briefing outlined a list of potential violations of Geneva Convention III we had to investigate, including the rights to adequate food, religious expression, and communication with the outside world.

Our task, however, went beyond a legal checklist. The Kitchen designed the test to emphasize the need to establish a rapport with the detainee and genuinely listen to his grievances. At that moment, the "system of protection" was not about international treaties; it was about one human interaction. It was about using the law as a lever to restore a measure of dignity to a single person.

Finally, the competition demonstrated how the law shields the most vulnerable from disproportionate security measures. In another scenario, we had to analyze the legality of a mass internment of all men over 90 years old based on a piece of intelligence. While Article 78 of Geneva Convention IV allows for internment, it can only be used when "absolutely necessary for security reasons" and must be decided on an individual basis. Arguing against this discriminatory, category-based detention, it became clear that the law is designed to resist panic and prejudice. It acts as a crucial check on power, demanding that the rights of every individual, especially the most vulnerable, be respected even amidst a security crisis.

Through these tests, the competition taught me a foundational lesson. The grand system of IHL is built not on sweeping ideals, but on the protection of one person at a time: the displaced family, the isolated prisoner, and the vulnerable elder.

The Weight and Worth of the Shield

I began this journey, and this article, with a difficult question born from watching a world rife with conflict: Is International Humanitarian Law truly an effective shield against brutality, or is it merely a set of noble but powerless ideals? My week in the competition didn't provide me with an easy yes or no answer. It did, however, help me build a more accurate perception of what it means to work in a field filled with contradictions, of ideals of good and evil, but more importantly of humanism. Through conversations with judges and other participants who have worked in the field, I realized that although little is seen at the macro level, the law and the people who do the hard work of being in the thick of it bring forth change to individuals who would otherwise not have had that opportunity. The work of the ICRC and UNHCR, among other humanitarian organizations, may not change the course of a conflict, but it can change the course of a few lives. 

The competition showed me that this shield is not a single, impenetrable wall but a multi-layered system operating at every level of conflict. Its protection is for the individual, as seen in the fight for the rights of a single POW denied contact with his family and the defense of a community against forcible transfer. It is a shield for society, preserving the cultural heritage that forms a people's identity and demanding accountability from commanders who fail in their duty to prevent war crimes.

Ultimately, I learned that I had been measuring the effectiveness of IHL incorrectly. It cannot be judged solely by the absence of war, but by the presence of defiant acts of humanity within it. Effectiveness is found in the quiet, determined work of the ICRC delegate who documents violations in a POW camp. It is in the legal advisor who insists on precaution and in the state that meets its obligation to review a new weapon to prevent future atrocities. The shield of IHL is substantial yet imperfect. However, the competition proved to me that it was real. Its strength comes not from some automatic power, but from the unwavering commitment of those willing to bear its weight. It is a system of protection worth defending—one person, one principle, and one defiant choice at a time.