At Eikei University of Hiroshima (EUH), with its academic mission to contribute to society through engaging with timely and relevant societal issues, explore practical and innovative solutions to these issues, and foster a cadre of young potential change-makers, we are exposed to a wide range of knowledge- and skill-based courses that harness the competencies needed for the realities waiting outside the school. The Social Entrepreneurship – Human-Centered Design for Sustainability and Impact course, developed by SPICE and instructed by Dr. Mariko Yang-Yoshihara, is an excellent intensive program that amplifies and reinforces the school’s focus and goals while providing students with a different perspective on comprehending the socioeconomic world and its stakeholders through understanding oneself.

This course directed us to explore how a human-centered approach can address sustainability challenges within communities. We gained highly valuable skills and insights into social innovation through intensive lectures, interactive discussions, and hands-on workshops. The hybrid learning format allowed us to engage with our three special guest speakers, who are globally active contributors to the field of social entrepreneurship. At the same time, the later sessions immersed us in fieldwork with our assigned local Design Thinking Partners (DTPs)—professionals and entrepreneurs dedicated to creating positive impact in the Hiroshima/Setouchi region. This combination of global and local perspectives, along with the support of our student assistants (SAs), made the entire learning journey vibrant, engaging, and memorable.

One of the takeaways I still carry are prompt questions that were asked of us even before the course started: What drives you? What is your belief and purpose? What is your ‘why’? For me, this self-examination laid the foundation for understanding the human-centered approach. I realized that entrepreneurship is never about the hope of making profits, but about identifying what society truly needs and responding to it with a purpose—the whys that give direction to the work we do, the force that pushes us forward, shaping the impact we aim to create. Additionally, through our DTPs, I also learned that human-centered design revolves around uncovering ‘unmet needs’ rather than simply identifying or restating explicit goals. This realization not only enriched the outcomes and the overall experience of our fieldwork but, more importantly, recalibrated the angle at which I see and engage with the world around me with empathy. 

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What made this 10-session intensive course special is the way it catered to the needs of all students. The SPICE course invited a diverse group of students and student assistants from across Japan (Hiroshima, Kumamoto, Osaka, Shizuoka, and Tokushima) and the world (India, Liberia, Mexico, Philippines, Senegal, Slovakia, and Vietnam). The course was carried out in English, but some teams interviewed the DTPs in their native language, Japanese. Every student was asked to create a safe and inclusive space to learn in the best way possible, and this encouraged each team to choose the language that ensured richer discussion outputs. This aided better communication for all; however, it posed a challenge to me since I was assigned to a team with varied language backgrounds and, by default, I had to serve a role of a mediator. With a short background in learning the native language, I was intimidated and worried about not being able to contribute meaningfully.

Nonetheless, with the encouragement of Mariko-sensei and the support of my teammates, this challenge turned into one of my proudest breakthroughs since coming to Eikei. I gradually grew more confident using Japanese, overcame a long-standing insecurity, stepped out of my comfort zone, and rekindled the power of teamwork, persistence, and appreciation. Looking back, I came to realize that this was an unmet need of mine—at the heart of what human-centered design thinking strives to uncover. With the trust I received from Mariko-sensei, what initially felt like a source of anxiety transformed into one of the most rewarding aspects of this intensive course.

SPICE's course on Social Entrepreneurship with Eikei University of Hiroshima is one of SPICE’s local student programs in Japan.

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The following reflection is a guest post written by Millie Gan, an alum of the Spring 2025 Stanford e-Entrepreneurship Japan Program. Earlier this year, Millie launched Teenage Business Contest Japan, a platform for encouraging social entrepreneurship among teens.

Japan is a place people love to visit, featuring bullet trains, temples, and sushi. Up close, I saw shrinking rural towns, an aging population, and customs fading from daily life. I wanted to do something that wasn’t just talk. The questions that kept coming up were: Who will have the creative ideas necessary to address these issues? And how can we best encourage and empower them?

This summer in Tokyo, the Teenage Business Contest Japan (TBCJ) 2025 invited high school students from across the country to develop business ideas that would help revitalize Japan’s communities. What started as a project organized by students evolved into a nationwide platform where young people could address problems that are typically left to politicians and businesses. As a participant in the Stanford e-Entrepreneurship Japan (SeEJ) program, I planned and built TBCJ in parallel with my SPICE coursework, applying classroom concepts—such as problem framing, rapid testing, and iteration—to real-world challenges.

SeEJ shaped the way I worked: start small, learn fast, and ship. I taught myself Python and JavaScript for websites and games, but for the contest I needed a different kind of tool. I used the Kotae.ai platform to launch TB-Chan, an AI helper on our website. Building it took minutes; training it took discipline. Every morning, I updated TB-Chan with new information—rules, schedules, government datasets, and simple “nudge” prompts—so students, media, and sponsors got instant, consistent answers. Without TB-Chan, we couldn’t have handled the volume of questions.

I was very thrilled that my SeEJ instructor and mentor, Dr. Makiko Hirata, presented the opening speech during the contest. Her message that young people can solve even the most complex challenges if they are given the chance set the tone for the day and encouraged everyone who was there. Getting TBCJ off the ground wasn’t glamorous. Working with government agencies entailed months of preparation; demonstrating impact to institutions demanded patience; securing funding from major companies required persistence. In the end, we raised over ¥3 million and built credibility the old-fashioned way: by delivering. The contest drew reporters—including from The Nikkei and the BBC—and more than 300 online articles followed. Importantly, the work didn’t end on stage. After the event, finalists began collaborating across schools and regions, and the University of Tokyo invited all four finalist teams into its WE AT CHALLENGE Business Program for coaching and potential funding.

A story about Japanese soccer guided me throughout. For years, there were few strikers—too risky, too exposed—until kids watched international players who took the shot. The talent was always there; what was missing was the example. On our stage, every finalist was a striker: a student who led without a guarantee. I also had to be one. Organizing a national contest as a teenager meant acting before certainty existed, and letting action create momentum.

That is the link between TBCJ and SPICE: SeEJ is not just theory; it is a bridge to action. It teaches you to listen carefully, test quickly, and improve openly. TBCJ proved that teens aren’t only future leaders—they are present-tense builders. With the right tools, data, mentors, and faith, young people can connect ideas to implementation and turn problems into opportunities.

The message I hope readers take away is simple: let’s be the strikers. Take the shot. Others will follow.

Stanford e-Entrepreneurship Japan is one of several online courses offered by SPICE.

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On August 2, 2025, Minamata High School once again opened its doors to celebrate the beginning of a new year of the Stanford e-Minamata Program. The familiar sense of anticipation in the auditorium was met with something new as well: the confidence of a community and a program stepping into its second year. If last year’s guiding spirit was resilience and renewal, this year carries the feeling of growth and leadership, an acknowledgment that the seeds planted in 2024 are already beginning to bear fruit.

In his opening remarks, Mayor Toshiharu Takaoka reaffirmed the city’s dedication to supporting young people through this international partnership, while Dr. Gary Mukai, Director of SPICE, offered words of encouragement that were both lighthearted and deeply meaningful to the eager students in the room. Reminding students that mistakes are not just acceptable but essential to learning, Dr. Mukai underscored the courage and curiosity at the heart of leadership development. His message, paired with the mayor’s steady vision, set a hopeful tone for the year ahead.

That spirit was quickly brought to life by Minamata High School students Asuka Umekawa and Yudai Hirata, who delivered their opening remarks in English. Their poise and determination captured the excitement of their classmates, and their eagerness to bridge local and global perspectives embodied the purpose of the program itself. Their words were not only a reflection of their own commitment, but also a reminder of the potential within this year’s entire cohort.

Photo below: Yudai Hirata, August 2, 2025; photo courtesy Minamata High School.

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As the program enters its second year, the three themes of environment, emerging technologies, and U.S.–Japan relations remain at the core. Yet, like any thriving endeavor, e-Minamata continues to evolve. This year introduces a new sustainable agriculture module in collaboration with a regenerative farmer in Saga Prefecture, offering students a direct look at innovations shaping the future of Japanese agriculture. Alongside this addition, an expanded roster of guest speakers—some familiar, others new—will broaden the perspectives brought into the classroom.

The 25 students who make up this year’s cohort include first-, second-, and third-year students, creating a dynamic mix of voices and experiences. Their curiosity mirrors that of last year’s inaugural participants, many of whom continue to apply the program’s lessons in their studies, community activities, and even their plans for higher education. The continuity between these groups makes clear that the program is more than a single-year opportunity, it is building a culture of inquiry and leadership that extends beyond the classroom.

Looking ahead, one of the most anticipated elements of this year’s program will be the introduction of a community showcase. Students will work together to identify local challenges and opportunities in Minamata City, and at the end of the year, present their proposed solutions publicly. This new feature not only empowers students to see themselves as problem-solvers, but also invites the broader community to engage with their ideas. In doing so, the showcase promises to deepen the connections between classroom learning and community vitality.

The program’s growth would not be possible without the continued support of many partners. The leadership of Mayor Takaoka and Minamata City Hall remains steadfast. The Minamata Environmental Academia has taken on an expanded role, now guiding much of the program’s coordination. Within Minamata High School, Principal Yasunori Takaki, Vice Principal Fumiko Niibu, and Planning Manager Saho Yagyu continue to provide invaluable support. And while Mr. Hiroki Hara, who was instrumental in the program’s early development, has since relocated to Tokyo, his contributions remain an important part of the program’s foundation.

This year’s opening ceremony revealed the unfolding of student journeys and the steady expansion of a program that is becoming an anchor in Minamata’s ongoing story of renewal. The courage of Asuka and Yudai, the curiosity of their peers, and the unwavering support of local leaders and partners all point to a larger truth: Minamata’s youth are stepping forward not just as students, but as leaders whose perspectives will shape their community and extend far beyond it. The Stanford e-Minamata Program is an invitation to grow, to lead, and to imagine a future rooted in resilience, innovation, and connection.

Stanford e-Minamata is one of SPICE’s local student programs in Japan.

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I am coming into the MIP program from the world of foreign and defense analysis. I’ve had the opportunity to work for various groups in and out of the government in Washington D.C. looking at the foreign policy and defense strategy of various parts of Africa, the Gulf, and how the U.S. interacts with these regions.

I am particularly interested in a range of complex policy areas focusing on peace and security. My interests include evolving dynamics of drone warfare by great powers and middle powers, use of paramilitary groups by states, and strategies for countering political violence in authoritarian regimes.  

That technology aspect is one reason that drew me here to Stanford and its proximity to the Silicon Valley ecosystem. And, of course, there’s the AI aspect as well. “AI” is the buzzword in everything right now, but I want to know how these new tools and technologies are shaping political violence, democracies, and the global governance structure as a whole. If we don’t understand where the violence is coming from, we can’t understand how to pursue strategies for peace.

Another big appeal of the MIP program was that it allows me to interact with scholars like Francis Fukuyama, Larry Diamond, James Fearon, and Joe Felter. These are names I’ve read and referenced in my analytic work, and now I have the opportunity to learn from them directly. And who knows; maybe I will come back someday as a colleague if I return to Stanford for my PhD! With the hands-on experience at MIP, the networking opportunities here, and the emphasis on both quantitative and qualitative learning, I know I’m going to be in a good position to meet my goals and make a difference.
 

If you had told me ten years ago that I would be working on artificial intelligence at Stanford, in the heart of Silicon Valley, I wouldn’t have believed you. When applying to undergrad, I had to submit my application from an internet cafe in Beirut because the internet in my village in Lebanon wasn’t fast enough to upload my application. To go from a small village in Lebanon to studying at Stanford is a dream come true.

The path that led me here isn’t straightforward, but the thread that connects my experiences is a desire to be a voice for people who aren’t in the room. When I was a foreign correspondent, I published stories about systemic inequities and disadvantages. At the World Bank, it was pointing out biases and gaps in the data sets that directly impacted the distribution of aid and personal protective equipment. Today we are told artificial intelligence is going to be a “democratizing” technology. What about people who don’t have electricity? Who don’t have $20 for a ChatGPT subscription? Who have no AI literacy?  

If AI is going to impact every single person on earth’s life, how we build it can’t be decided by 0.01% of the population. If this is a printing press, Gutenberg Bible moment in history, we can’t simply leave entire communities, entire countries, nor entire continents out of the conversation. 

Drafting better AI policy is why I came back to school to the MIP program at Stanford. I worked with engineers who were Stanford CS alumni, and they were always so collaborative and inclusive. They patiently answered all of my questions while training an LLM. Those are the kinds of people and the kinds of values I want to work with to tackle these challenges. I’ve already seen that spirit here in the few weeks I’ve been at Stanford. These values of connecting the dots between engineering, policy, law and other disciplines has given me confidence that working together, we can write better AI policy and improve outcomes well beyond Silicon Valley. 
 

I come from Haiti, which is a small country. As such, we don’t always think about our foreign policy in an integrated way. How are our population, demography, topography, and borders linked? What about our trade partners and migration patterns? How do those impact our relationships with neighboring countries, or places with diaspora communities like the U.S.? I studied some of these questions while I was an undergrad at Princeton, but there’s much more to understand. 

My dream job is to work in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Haiti. So while I’m here at Stanford, I’m trying to write a handbook of sorts for myself and build out the agenda I hope to have someday. That is what is giving me direction for my time here at Stanford. If I’m learning about the balance of payments, the question I’m asking myself is, “What is Haiti’s balance of payment? What does it look like? What are the policy implications of that?”

By the time I graduate, I want to have a fully drafted idea of where Haiti’s policy landscape is currently, so I know what priorities to set to work on for the future. The fact that the MIP program is so customizable is one of the big reasons I wanted to come here; I can really tailor my studies to support these bigger projects. I get to make this time what I want it to be, and what will be most helpful to my goals.

But I also want to challenge myself to think beyond my field and learn about other parts of the world that may not have anything in common with Haiti, at least on the surface. I want to have a local impact, but I also want to develop as a global thinker. There’s a lot that connects us beyond our borders, and being able to think about those connections in a systematic, global way will only become more and more important as populations continue to migrate and integrate into communities throughout the world.
 

When I was serving as an active duty Space Operations Army officer, I had the opportunity to work on electromagnetic warfare and space control operations around the globe. My background is originally in history, and I began my military career as a military police officer, but I’ve always been really passionate about being part of the future.

There’s so much incredible defense technology out there, but the most up-to-date and effective versions don’t always get down to the individuals who really need them to operate effectively. There are so many inefficiencies and gaps between what’s actually codified in policy and what the warfighters on the ground need to execute their missions.

And that’s true of large-scale policies as well. Take the Space Treaty, for example. It was written back in 1967 when there were just 24 known satellites in orbit. Now there are thousands of satellites in orbit, yet we don't have another foundational governing document around space protocols. That’s got to change.

That’s what I want to start tackling while I’m here at Stanford. Making systemic changes in big organizations like the Department of Defense isn’t going to be easy, but we’ve got to close those knowledge gaps between the policymakers, the high level leaders and stakeholders, and those who are actually pressing the buttons of our space systems. We can't avoid these issues anymore, because it’s not just about the military or defense: it’s ATMs, it’s GPS, it's traffic lights, it's everything. There are no borders in space, so we must work hand-in-hand with our partners and allies to be successful in this emerging domain. This problem set truly involves everyone.

This is why being here at Stanford is going to be so beneficial. In addition to my courses in policy, it’s so easy to take a law or a business class or sit in on an aeronautics course. And we’re right in Silicon Valley where a lot of this technology is being built and distributed. That makes it so easy to look at these issues from different perspectives and get new insights into how to tackle them. We need a well-rounded perspective in order to get the right knowledge to the right people to make the right decisions.
 

At the root of all my interests in policy and foreign affairs is a desire to help people. I’ve always been drawn to problems that involve alleviating difficulties, whether that’s humanitarian issues, conflict resolution, or any other issues where civilians are not fairly represented. When I was first considering working in government, it was the consular aspect—being able to serve people from Thailand all over the world— that really appealed to me.

When I had the opportunity to serve at the UN as a Peace and Security Intern at the Permanent Mission of Thailand, my excitement for that assignment came from the same place; I liked the spirit of people coming together to discuss problems. There’s been waning faith about the usefulness of these types of big, multilateral organizations, but I still believe these kinds of bodies are important forums for dealing with conflicts. Reforms are needed, yes, but we can’t simply sideline conversations that are difficult to have or shut out nations we don’t easily agree with.

My own country of Thailand, for example, is not the biggest or most influential nation on security issues, but we have a lot we can teach and discuss when it comes to development. How do we balance some of that influence? How do we give countries in the global south more representation on these stages? Or domestically, how can we create policies that actually make a difference to people for the better? There tends to be a lot of talk and lofty goals, but then little action or follow through. 

That’s why one of the major appeals of coming to the MIP program was the emphasis on studying policymaking frameworks. In my undergrad at Columbia, I studied a lot of political theory and philosophy through the core curriculum. Here at Stanford, I want my focus to be on framing, implementation, and learning how to do things that address issues, not just identify them. I will be entering the Thai Foreign Service when I’m finished with my schooling, and I want to be as prepared as possible to excel as a diplomat—someone capable of solving problems effectively as part of a team, and, above all, helping people. I’m excited to learn from the experiences and perspectives of my cohort. MIP may not be as big as the UN, but we’re our own multilateral, multinational group trying to make a difference.
 

Behind all of my interests and experiences in policy is a commitment to understand how we shape and are shaped by the environment. Living  in different places and engaging with many kinds of people in different cultures has shown me how our lives are deeply connected to the environments we inhabit. No matter where we come from, we all depend on the same planet. We all have a stake in sustaining this place we share.

That being said, as a former negotiator for the Ministry of Economy, Trade, and Industry (METI) in Japan, I know that the best course of action for how to protect the environment is not always easy or straightforward. Climate policies that make sense in one place may not be feasible in another. Requirements about renewables that work here may not work elsewhere. There are some things that we can do universally, but it’s also important that countries realize and respect that each nation has different circumstances that will require unique planning and policies to address.

One of the areas in which I would specifically like to develop is finding ways to incentivize trade policies that accelerate the dissemination of clean, low emission, or zero emission technologies. How can we make climate-related goods more appealing to the global market? How can we get over price barriers and lower the cost of climate-related products? I want to live in a world where products and trade that support climate goals are the norm, not a specialty, and those goods are easy for everyone to access.

I’ve been fortunate to have experiences already in international engagement and inter-government coordination on climate and trade negotiations, but I am looking forward to being able to learn much more about the science side of climate and the environment. Having the ability to combine my MIP classes with courses from the Doerr School of Sustainability was one of the big appeals for me in coming to this program. Gaining that dual background in policy and analytical skills from MIP and science and research from Doerr through my electives is going to be incredibly beneficial to bring back to my ministry.
 

My archival research at Stanford University has focused on the legal and civil rights advocacy of key Mexican American leaders and institutions, including civil rights scholar Ernesto Galarza; voting rights attorney and co-author of the California Voting Rights Act Joaquin Avila; and the organizational records of the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund (MALDEF) and California Rural Legal Assistance, Inc. (CRLA). These legal organizations have played a critical role to advance the civil and voting rights of Latino communities, utilizing litigation as a strategic tool to secure equal protection under the law and promote equitable political representation through legislation. The collections offer extensive documentation of decades-long legal struggles and grassroots advocacy, illuminating both national and transnational dimensions of Latino American civil rights movements.

My research has also included conducting oral history interviews with prominent legal and civil rights leaders, such as General Counsel Thomas A. Saenz, current MALDEF President; José Padilla, former CRLA Executive Director; Ambassador Vilma Martinez, former General Counsel of MALDEF; and the only oral history ever conducted with the late Joaquin Avila, voting rights attorney and former General Counsel of MALDEF. These interviews, which are archived and publicly available through the Stanford Department of Special Collections and the Stanford Historical Society, offer invaluable firsthand accounts of the legal strategies, institutional histories, and personal commitments that have shaped Latino civil rights advocacy over the past several decades.

During the past 15 years of conducting research at Stanford, I have been consistently inspired by the dedication of lawyers and advocacy organizations working to improve the lives of marginalized communities. One formative moment occurred when I first encountered archival photographs from the 1950s of former braceros, legally contracted guestworkers. The Bracero Program was a binational labor agreement between the United States and Mexico that brought over two million braceros to the United States from 1942 to 1964. These images offered powerful visual narratives of migration, labor, and hope—stories reminiscent of iconic photographs of immigrants arriving at Ellis Island. However, these photographs pointed to a different but equally significant point of entry: The U.S.–Mexico border. This research solidified my commitment to public scholarship and the importance of making archival materials accessible to broader audiences.

Through my research in the Stanford Department of Special Collections and ongoing collaboration with the Stanford Program on International and Cross-Cultural Education (SPICE), as well as through teaching and public engagement, I have developed initiatives aimed at bridging the gap between academic research and public history. I founded the Bracero Legacy Project to share these important histories with wider audiences and have continued this work by designing ethnic studies curricula for school districts and organizing educational events that highlight the contributions and experiences of Latino communities in the United States.

This commitment to public history culminated most recently on June 10, 2025, when I co-organized, alongside Monterey County Supervisor Luis Alejo, a public commemoration marking the 50th anniversary of the banning of the short-handled hoe—a tool that had long symbolized exploitation in agricultural labor. Used for over a century by farmworkers of multiple ethnic backgrounds, the short-handled hoe required workers to remain stooped over for long periods at a time, leading to chronic injuries and long-term disability. Labor leader César Chávez himself suffered from debilitating back pain as a result of such work. The tool was officially banned on April 7, 1975, following the tireless advocacy of local farmworkers Sebastian Carmona and Hector De La Rosa, who, with legal representation from CRLA attorneys Marty Glick and Mo Jourdane, successfully brought the case before the California Supreme Court. The Mercury News opinion piece, [May 30, 2025], “Farmworker victory ending use of ‘El Cortito’ 50 years ago,” noted that the victory provided an “empowering lesson.”

The anniversary event brought together over 200 people and distinguished guests including Glick, Jourdane, and other CRLA alumni, as well as iconic figures such as labor and civil rights leader Dolores Huerta and playwright Luis Valdez, who spoke about the “long civil and labor rights movements.” I also invited the legendary music group Los Tigres del Norte, who hold a special cultural resonance in the Latino community. Their music shaped my immigrant upbringing, reflecting the complexities of navigating bicultural identity, bilingualism, and persistent anti-immigrant sentiment. Their songs—such as “La Jaula de Oro,” “Somos Más Americanos,” “Campesino,” and their tribute to César Chávez—articulate the lived experiences of immigrant communities and assert a counternarrative of dignity, resilience, and resistance in the face of marginalization.

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Jorge Hernández, co-founder of Los Tigres del Norte, has often spoken about the group’s first U.S. performance at Soledad Prison in 1968—the same year Johnny Cash played at Folsom State Prison. Since then, they have received multiple Grammy Awards, sold out Madison Square Garden, and, this past summer, were honored with a namesake street in Brooklyn. During the Monterey County event, Supervisor Alejo and the Board of Supervisors presented Los Tigres del Norte with a lifetime achievement award recognizing not only their musical legacy but also their decades-long advocacy on behalf of immigrant and Latino communities. Photo above: Dr. Ornelas (third from the left) pictured with Los Tigres del Norte band members (left to right) Luis Hernández, Hernan Hernández, Jorge Hernández, Eduardo Hernández, and Óscar Lara | photo credit: Pep Jimenez.

As part of our continued collaboration, I have invited Los Tigres del Norte to visit the Department of Special Collections at Stanford to study Ernesto Galarza’s personal papers and bracero correspondence. In particular, we will examine Galarza’s documentation of the 1963 “Tragedy at Chualar,” in which 32 braceros were killed in a devastating collision between a makeshift bus and a train. Galarza served as the principal investigator of the accident, and the archival record he left offers profound insights into the structural neglect and human cost of exploitative labor systems. Our hope is to draw from these materials to inspire a new song that honors the 32 bracero lives lost and continue to educate the public about this overlooked chapter in U.S. history.

This kind of scholarly interdisciplinary and community-based collaboration underscores the vital role of archives and public scholarship in shaping collective memory and advancing civil rights education. As I continue my work with SPICE and within the Stanford Department of Special Collections, I remain committed to collaborating with scholars across disciplines and transnationally to deepen public understanding of Latino American history and to ensure that these stories are not only preserved but heard.

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