Written by Shan Min Kha
Co-edited by the Polyphony Team
Polyphony began not just as a student magazine but as a dream, an idea that came alive through a literal dream of Professor Tak Uesugi. He imagined a table seated with four students, cigars hanging at the corner of their mouths, who seemed to be discussing something suspicious. Outside of the dream, these four students are, in fact, passionate individuals, each carrying words unspoken, stories half-formed, and attitudes to shape the world through writing. It was never meant to be merely a collection of polished essays and poems. Instead, Polyphony was born to be a sanctuary for the unfinished, the raw, and the vulnerable—a space where ideas could be molded, voices could be uplifted, and silence could be given sound. It was a way to capture the heartbeat of the Global Discovery Program (GDP), where students from all corners of the world converge to study, create, and debate within the halls of Okayama University.
As ex-editor-in-chief Jia Xuan Chok reflects in the 2024 issue, life as a GDP student is a lesson in engaging with “unexpected messiness.” This spirit permeates Polyphony’s pages, where the chaos of our era becomes the backdrop for thought-provoking explorations. The world outside is turbulent—marked by conflict, environmental crises, and social upheavals—but rather than retreating from this reality, the writers and editors of Polyphony dive headfirst into it. The magazine pulses with questions that resist simple answers, grappling with themes of survival, solidarity, and collective imagination. It embodies the very essence of a community that strives to stay emotionally and intellectually alive, especially in a country where not speaking the dominant language asks for a more creative solidarity.
Susan Li, an assistant layout editor, speaks of Polyphony as an “enabler for freedom to creation.” Her words echo the magazine’s ethos: a platform where creativity isn’t confined by expectations but encouraged to roam freely. Here, traditional academic boundaries dissolve, giving way to transdisciplinary conversations. In the pages of Polyphony, a philosophical essay on subjectivity in science fiction films finds its place alongside deeply personal reflections on cultural identity. As we explore themes like memory, nostalgia, and the human-machine divide, taking inspiration from class materials and discussions, we turn academic concepts into art that can stir, provoke, and resonate.
Yet, Polyphony is not only about lofty ideas. It is also grounded in the intensely personal journeys of its editors and writers. Wakaba Saito, another general editor, describes it as an “extracurricular writing platform,” a space where students bring their backgrounds and experiences to the forefront. This spirit of collaboration is essential; Hana Nagatani’s cover design for Issue 5 is a visual testament to this ethos, interweaving the aesthetics and contributions of her peers to create a tapestry of vision and experiences lived and shared. Snow, who manages social media, finds Polyphony personally challenging yet profoundly fulfilling—a way to construct her sense of self amid the academic and social pressures of university life.
Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake, a novel for our Sociological Imagination class, tells the story of Gogol Ganguli, a boy struggling with dual identities and his experience of cultural dissonance. Similarly, many GDP students who contribute to Polyphony grapple with questions of belonging, as articulated by editor Puspa. Reading and editing the magazine’s submissions often becomes a lifeline, making her feel less alone as a “loner ryugakusei” (international student) trying to navigate the complexities of being far from home. Polyphony is a space that embraces this vulnerability, where writers can express feelings of isolation and the search for connection, turning them into pieces that echo across cultures and languages.
What makes Polyphony truly unique is its ability to be “moving-with-the-times,” as described by Chok. In a world of constant change, the magazine is a living entity, adapting and responding to current global realities. Inspired by the activism that once shaped student journalism during critical moments in history, Polyphony’s latest issue confronts the anxieties of our present: from the devastating impact of climate change to the humanitarian crises unfolding in places like Palestine and Myanmar. The pieces do not merely observe these crises; they challenge readers to engage, to think, and to act. The urgency of now is palpable, as each story and essay reflects a desire to rupture the status quo and envision alternative futures.
As Polyphony grows, it continues to draw strength from the Global Discovery Program’s academic environment, which is rich in diversity and intellectual debate. Here, students are not passive learners but active participants in shaping their education and their world. GDP’s interdisciplinary nature—spanning fields from anthropology to environmental science—infuses the magazine with a distinct academic rigor. But it is never dry or detached. Instead, Polyphony’s pages vibrate with the tension between knowledge and feeling, between global events and personal experiences.
Yet, beyond its academic roots, Polyphony is a community project. The work is collective and sometimes chaotic, as Chok humorously notes in her letter, describing how the team keeps the magazine “half-alive (if not dead!) yet breathtaking in its limbo state.” This spirit of collective effort is what makes Polyphony more than a publication—it is a movement, a gathering place for people and ideas, a testament to the belief that stories can transform the way we see ourselves and each other. In a world that so often seems divided, Polyphony insists on the power of stories to connect, challenge, and heal.
The question remains, however, as posed by authors like Orwell and Shafak: what difference can writing make in a world that seems to be unraveling? Polyphony’s answer is clear. In an age when apathy is our greatest threat, words become acts of defiance. The art of storytelling becomes a way to keep caring, to keep imagining, and to keep building bridges where there are divisions. It is a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming uncertainty, the simple act of putting pen to paper—or voice to words—can be revolutionary.
So here it stands Polyphony, a symphony of voices diverse and nuanced, where each piece, be it academic or creative, contributes to a more extensive, ongoing dialogue. It is a magazine that refuses to be passive or merely reflective. Instead, it dares to be active, ever-evolving, and deeply human. And as long as there are words left unsaid, stories still waiting to be shared, Polyphony will remain a place for those voices, singing in harmony and sometimes in discord, but always alive.
The Polyphony 