Continental Fusion

CONTENTS
13
The storm of life
A poem by Colin Raby
Photo: Juan Moreira
19
My student asked
me the subject
of the equation
A poem by Ibrahim Nureni
20
Ennui
A story by Azharuddin
14
Life at LSU as an
international student
An essay by Naqib Mashrur
26
Bonsai
A story by Mohua Ferdousi
18
Memento Vivere
A poem by V. C. Grom
33
I am the ocean;
the ocean is me
A poem by Gyaneshwar Agrahari

35
What’s geauxing on?
An essay by Lyric Mandell
37
Tall, Undiminished
A poem by Anang Bungwon
Photo: Nikhil Dasari
41
The song of the Degreed
A poem by Sarah Nansubuga
38
Turmoil in Sri Lanka due to the
Oppressive Rajapaksha Dynasty
An article by Tharuka Fernando
40
My resergence
A poem by Gyaneshwar Agrahari
42
Chronicles of the child
Jesus of Colombia in LSU
A story by Vivian Iles
44
Book Review
by Soheil Kafiliveyjuyeh

meet the team
Ayushi Patel Anang Bungwon Joses Omojola
Ishara Senadheera
Nila Pradhananga
credits
Design: Ritu Ghose
Front Cover Design: Nabanita Ghose
Title: Anang Bungwon

I'm pleased to introduce you to Continental Fusion,
the first publication from Louisiana State University’s
International Student Association.
The name speaks for itself! Continental Fusion is
unique in that it showcases work created by LSU
students from all around the globe. Along with
offering fascinating and exciting stories, it will also
shed some light on some of the secrets of living
abroad. The profound poetry will make you pause.
The vivid eye-catching photographs will take you on
a trip to places.
I am humbled to be in the company of so many
talented writers and artists. I would want to express
my sincere gratitude to everyone who contributed to
make this magazine the compilation of intriguing
writing and beautiful artwork that it is. I genuinely
hope that you, the reader, will find this to be as
enjoyable as I did.
Ritu Ghose
Editor
President, ISA

I want to express my sincere appreciation for
the contributions of the international community
to LSU. Your experiences and perspectives
add to the richness of the cultural fabric
at LSU.
I came to the United States from Canada in
1990 for graduate studies, and after graduate
school, I decided to live here permanently and
become a US citizen. I have had the great
fortune of traveling to about 40 countries,
including living and working briefly in Costa
Rica, Sweden and Spain. I have gained valuable
insights and am a better person because
of my international experiences. I believe that,
if everyone in the United States had the
opportunity to travel abroad, the world would
be a much better place. We may never be able
to provide that opportunity to all, but we can
certainly increase interactions between American
students at LSU and international
students, faculty, and staff.
Learning about other cultures and countries
is personally enriching, and it also something
that is sought after by employers. Our goal is
to graduate globally engaged and culturally
competent individuals that have the ability to
succeed in an increasingly interconnected
world. International experiences allow an
individual to view their own culture and life
from another point of view. That is useful not
only in understanding the world, but our
neighbors. One of the most important skills in
life is the ability to look at a situation through
someone else's eyes.
Sincerely,
Roy Haggerty
Executive Vice-President & Provost
Louisiana State University
Thank you for creating a community to support
and connect with your fellow international
students, and thank you for being here at
LSU where you help make this a vibrant,
engaged and international community. Your
work to increase awareness of the importance
of internationalization is paving the way for
an even better LSU.
6

Dear ISA
and Readers,
It is my privilege to serve as the Staff Advisor to the International Student Association at
LSU. As Assistant Director of Business Operations for International Programs I am
grateful to work with international students, faculty, staff, and organizations every day. I
am also an LSU Staff Senator and part-time graduate student in the School of Leadership
and Human Resources Development.
Coming to study in the United States is a long road for every international student. Your
dedication and resiliency are admired by many. Only in partnership with strong and diverse
organizations such as ISA will the university progress towards greater support, infrastructure,
and understanding for international students and scholars. We must collectively work
towards improving the international student experience and cross-cultural competencies
for all members of the campus community. Bring your perspectives, concerns, requests,
and solutions to the table. Support one another and take hold of every opportunity you can.
Have fun and find joy along the way.
I hope this magazine is a showcase of the brilliant and beautiful work you do. I hope you
celebrate all of the things that make you unique as well as those that bring us all together.
Enjoy the process and the journey, my friends. Congratulations on this exciting new platform.
I look forward to reading every page!
Jennifer Kennison
Assistant Director of Business Operations
International Programs, LSU
7

Dear Readers,
As part of the LSU academic community, I was thrilled to learn that LSU’s
International Student Association would be launching ISA Magazine this Fall.
This endeavor marks the first time that a dedicated voice will systematically
engage with our university community with a focus on the university’s position in
a world that extends well beyond state and national boundaries. I am particularly
enthusiastic about this new development because it also fills such a need in the
broader community of Baton Rouge and Southeast Louisiana. While Louisiana
has long been a mixing bowl of global influences ranging from French and Spanish
explorers, to enslaved African individuals and migrants from the Caribbean
and Canada, it is also now defined by its position in a global economy both
culturally and economically. As this new international perspective grows, Louisiana
State University becomes ever truer to the history of Louisiana.
As the Dean of LSU’s Graduate School, I have a particular interest and responsibility
to ensure that our students have access to a wide-ranging, diverse set of
ideas and experiences. I also share a responsibility to ensure access to the
resources that support the over 1,000 international graduate students, who hail
from over 100 different countries. I am so proud of ISA leadership in making the
magazine you are reading immediately available to our community but am equally
enthusiastic about ISA Magazine’s potential to be much more. With thousands
of LSU graduates living around the world, ISA Magazine presents a
unique resource to encourage our alumni abroad; I hope it will motivate them –
whether they miss the sweltering summers and raucous Saturday night games in
Tiger Stadium or not - find common experiences and forge shared social and
professional fellowship wherever they are. In facilitating these global communities,
I believe that ISA Magazine also stands to help grow LSU’s global reputation
for scholarly excellence, its footprint on solving the pressing global challenges
we face today, and the resources available to its students searching for their
own place in the world.
To be sure, these are ambitious aspirations. However, a research university of
LSU’s stature has long been at the center of Louisiana’s connection to the world
beyond our national borders, even though the media highlighting them have not.
With the publication of the ISA Magazine, LSU will have an outlet to share the
research, scholarship, and human stories that have long forged these connections.
I anticipate that the ISA Magazine will not only be a forum to share stories
of our students, but also of our other Louisiana communities that hail from the
different corners of the world and who have made our state their permanent
home. With ISA Magazine, LSU can further consolidate its position as one of
the foremost flagship universities providing voices to diverse communities in
higher education.
8

In sum, I would like to congratulate the recent and
current leaders of Louisiana State University’s International
Student Association on bringing this dream to
fruition and wish the ISA Magazine my very best
wishes as it launches a new day for international education
on LSU’s campus and beyond. Geaux Tigers!
James Nguyen H. Spencer
Vice Provost and Dean of the Graduate School
Louisiana State University
9

I am pleased and excited to see the advent of the ISA magazine this year. What a wonderful
platform to highlight the creativity and diverse voices of our international student
body. I can’t wait to read along with you and to discover what you all have to offer!
I hope to see this magazine grow into a yearly tradition that offers a new mode of connection
and communication.
As international students, you are a vital part of the LSU family. Each of your individual
voices and stories brings such vibrancy and value to campus, and LSU is where it is
today because of your contributions. We know how hard you all work at academics,
extracurriculars, community building, and sharing your cultures and customs across
LSU, and we truly value the time that you chose to spend here. From myself and all of
the International Programs team, thank you for contributing to this magazine, and for
sharing your creativity with all of us!
Finally, I’d like to thank the International Student Association for putting this magazine
together. ISA is a pillar of strength and community at LSU that has been supporting
and connecting international students for years. We at International Programs
wholeheartedly support this initiative, and the continued growth and innovation within
the International Student Association.
Samba Dieng
Senior Internationalization Officer and Executive Director
International Programs
Louisiana State University
10
Dear LSU
International
Student
Community,

Dear International
Students at LSU,
When we first heard about the International Student
Association’s magazine initiative, we were so excited
to support a new platform on campus for sharing and
celebrating our wonderful student community. Each
one of you brings a unique story with you when you
travel across borders to our campus. We truly believe
that one of the best ways to grow and learn about the
world is to hear the stories of others, so we are
thrilled for the launch of this new platform where the
LSU community will be able to see and experience
your creativity. Thank you for taking the time out of
your rich and busy lives to share your creations.
To the International Student Association, we truly
commend this initiative, and the creativity this year’s
Executive Board is bringing to your programs.
Thank you for dedicating your time and effort to
making LSU a welcoming place for international
students, and for carving out a space where everyone
at LSU can learn about the world, and find a home.
We are excited to see where this year will take you,
and we can see this magazine growing into a valued
tradition.
Laura Dean
Director of International Student Engagement
International Cultural Center
Louisiana State University
Sincerely,
Laura Dean & Killian Dumont
Killian Dumont
Coordinator of International Student
Engagement
International Programs
Louisiana State University
11

a note from ISA President
“Share our similarities, celebrate our differences.” – M. Scott Peck
Often, when discussing diversity, we use this reference. In actuality, it explains International Student Association
(ISA) very clearly. The primary objectives of ISA are to embrace variety in an inclusive environment and to
celebrate cultural diversity.
Since the beginning of our journey, ISA has not only organized several cultural events and festivals to promote
diversity at LSU, but has also given all foreign tigers a safe haven and a sympathetic ear. ISA fosters camaraderie,
engagement, and understanding between domestic and international students as well as within the larger
Baton Rouge community.
ISA is getting ready to launch its inaugural magazine this fall in order to provide a creative outlet for all international
students and cultivate a new media platform for them to interact, celebrate, and represent diversity at
LSU. This magazine will be cherished as a souvenir by about 1,500 international students from six continents
and almost 100 nations.
Finally, I want to take this opportunity to thank each and every ISA board member, ISA advisor, as well as to our
friends and well-wishers. As the ISA president, it has been a privilege for me to work with this wonderful group
of people.
Ritu Ghose
President | International Student Association
PhD Candidate| Geophysics
Louisiana State University

The Storms of Life
Colin Raby
How to come back from the jaws of defeat?
The crushing weight of having been beat.
The growing fury as a storm rages inside
The rumbles and tremulous surges as thoughts and feelings collide.
Building to a crescendo, the pangs of thought
As the world seems to crumble in the grips of distraught
Then the rain, a rough pitter patter
As you reflect on what still seems to matter.
This storm ebbs and flows, harsh noise without song
A quite resolute test separating the weak from the strong.
It’s easy to lose hope and quit, just like all the rest
But let this storm pass, and go back to giving your best.
While the clouds may seem to block out the sun
Don’t rob your future of what still can be done
This too will pass, the winds will subside
And when they do, this truth still will reside
That it’s not how many times the wind knocks you down
But how you stand up, recover,
That brings success, content, and renown
Do not give up because of this rough bout
Because if you persevere, the sun will come out
And success can follow failure
When properly turned inside out.

Life at LSU as an
international student

Moving away from the shelter of home to attend
university is a shared milestone in many people’s lives.
Fewer share the experience of moving to another
country to do so. It is an experience both exciting and
daunting.
‘Culture shock’ is one of those heavy phrases that you
learn in high school and write essays about. But you
never really comprehend what it means until you have
gone through it yourself. Some people have a mythical
image of America in their minds – the land of opportunity
– the pinnacle of modern civilization itself. I used
to think I that I had a more measured understanding of
what to expect before I moved here, but I was not
nearly as prepared as I thought.
Having lived all my life in a densely populated city, the
first thing that stood out to me when I first arrived
here, was how few people there were. People’s houses
weren’t clustered in cramped claustrophobic concrete
jungles. There wasn’t a mess of unplanned spires
obscuring the view of the horizon and the wind could
hit my face unobstructed. Of course, this is not true
everywhere; the large metropolises that one would be
more familiar with if they watched American tv shows,
definitely have more of those spires, but even there,
there is room to breathe – not every inch of ground
had been thoughtlessly seized for profit, and I greatly
appreciated that.
The next thing I noticed was the people, the locals
especially. I had heard of Southern hospitality before,
but I always thought it was an exaggeration. Cashiers
at supermarkets, drivers on buses and uber drivers,
and even random strangers waiting around on a park
bench, greet you with a warm smile, ask you how your
day is going, and wish you a nice day
Photo: Arnab Paul
15

before leaving. Everyone holds the door open for everyone
as a gesture of courtesy, something I hadn’t experienced
ever before. And if you start a conversation with any of
these strangers, they will tell you the most amazing stories.
I met an old man who claimed his son was a famous
artist (I looked up his son’s name and he wasn’t lying); a
cashier lady who was genuinely amazed when I showed
them pictures of my home town Dhaka (which in turn
shocked me); even a braggart uber driver who went into
some raunchy details about what some of his clients got
up to in the back of his car (which I won’t share here). And
of course, the students I met at university were extremely
friendly too. I was quite taken aback by the number of
people who knew Bangladesh already.
Food is always a difficult thing to adjust to when moving to
a different country. It is hard to find suitable cuisines that
appeals to a very different palette than the ones one is
accustomed to. Overtime though, I found some new things
that I did enjoy quite a bit. Mexican food is amazing, one of
the favorite places to eat here is Chipotle. There’s also a
food truck that sells Venezuelan food near Fred’s bar. They
have scrumptious tacos that are a steal pricewise. But if
you are missing the taste of home, there is at least one
restaurant that will cater to your needs.
One of the best things to do as a student is in the US is to
grab a couple of friends, rent a car and go on a road trip for
the weekend, preferably a long one. From Louisiana, you
can drive a few hours to Florida, with its pristine beaches,
Arkansas to observe the dramatic shades of fall, or if you
can make the time, go all the way to Colorado or to see the
Grand Canyon. Louisiana itself has a ton of state parks that
are great for a day out but you must be wary of mosquitos
at night though.
All in all, I would say life as an international student is a life
changing experience. It can get tough sometimes without
your friends and family, and it’s not for everyone. But it is a
once in a lifetime opportunity for anyone who takes the
leap.
Naqib Mashrur

Memento Vivere
V. C. Grom
Sometimes I think about the past
Those earthy paths, no cemented sidewalk
I smell the wax chalk, the afternoon rain
I feel the light kiss after a loud laugh
All those stumbles and bumps into people
The alcohol, the cigars and heated fights
The stress and the choices
And I realize that among all the possibilities
I ended up in this exact timeline
So, I acknowledge and accept
That all those moments
All the beautiful and ugly ones
Built this carcass I walk around with
Build this story I complain about
And being the human I am
Of course, I can’t help but wonder
What would be of me if I could change
At least a little something
So, I press some buttons in the time machine
And I’m back in those days
Which had a weird blue filter in my memory
And I do the exact same things I did
Because at the time I wasn’t who I am
So, I walk the same roads
Kiss the same light kisses and bump
Into the same grumpy people
I build the same carcass and wonder
With a smile in my face
While pressing the same red button
How could it be any other way?
18

My student asked me the
subject of the equation
Ibrahim Nureni
“How do we make x the subject of the equation in a country
where:
a is a metaphor of darkness,
b is a feast of vultures,
c is an abattoir of human bones,
d is a breastfeed of hunger?”
My student asked about the market storm in October 20.
This question, like a bird, flies but fails to hear a hunter’s gunshot:
when a cow eats up her own farm
& beg the left-over grass for forgiveness
“the equation is: ax = b + c + d” I said to him.
Here:
two eyes drop streams of sorrow in wilderness,
no subject can be expunged from the equation,
it rather transforms – like chameleon – and travels into a new
colony.
“a” divides itself in both sides:
ax = b + c + d
a a
x is now the subject of the country:
x is synonymous to death & death is synonymous to x
“Tell me the value of x? Or is it an antidote of burning freedom?”
I asked.
19

Ennui
Photo: Brandon Freire

He stood in the balcony staring
absently at the nothingness of
the night. The loud honk and
incessant grating noise of occasional
passing by vehicles occupied
his senses to no effect. The
cigarette burned his nostrils, but
he would not stub it. Everyone
was headed somewhere in a
great hurry, he thought, but to
get where exactly? He had
thought of writing an absurd
story about it, but the art was
dead like everything else which
required a moment of reflection,
scrutiny, and considerable
amount of empathy.
An e-mail brought him back to his
current predicament.
The message struck him like
lighting, rendering him immovable.
All the time spent in the
library flipping through books,
searching through databases,
painstakingly looking for an
essay or article which would
match his interest followed by
meticulously extracting relevant
passages and transcribing the
idea in his own words in the best
possible manner. Everything had
been a colossal waste of time and
energy. A certain rage mounted
to face. He pulled out another
cigarette, lit it, and took a long
drag. Bloody Wolfowitz that
joke-of-a-professor wants an
original abstract. Well, someone
should tell him that an original
idea does not exist in the world,
he thought to himself, and the
profundity of it distracted him.
The submission date was due next week,
and it was Friday already, Saturdays and
Sundays were reserved for relaxing after
a long week of copying, pasting and
plagiarizing. The fresh hell that he was
going to inhabit for the next two days
had to be complemented with some fun.
He opened a new tab on his computer
the choice between YouTube and Pornhub
was a difficult one. He hated ordeals
like this, he did not have the option of
buffering both simultaneously owing to
the slow internet speed which reminded
him that he had a score to settle with the
internet service provider. Rage, libido,
confusion, and mortification made him
hungry. While the video was buffering,
he thought he should quickly prepare a
sandwich for himself.
Photo: Ivannova Lituma
He finally sat down at his desk after
attending to his carnal desires to
finally do the thing that mattered—thinking
about the abstract. All
the abstract ideas which hit him were
abstract like the color white of the
white board. This moment of
unproductivity inspired him yet
again to write a short story
which in his mind ran no longer
than a few sentences. The
shortness of the short story
discouraged him to open the
flap of his laptop, and he continued
staring at the whiteboard.
Earlier that morning he had
drawn a mockery of a flowchart
in the hope of reaching a workable
idea for his paper. His
world like everyone else’s shifted
between image and idea. He
was aware of it, but the relationship
between image and
idea was superficial he had read
some time back. He thought
about the thin line dividing a
genius from a charlatan. A
genius works ceaselessly without
bothering about the result
and a charlatan is always concerned
with the result rather
that the process even before
beginning the work.
He found it difficult to base
ideas for his abstract on some
solid conceptual ground all
thanks to Derrida and his concept
of logocentrism. From the
ancient to the medieval to the
present age of decadence the
logos—meaning and the material
base on which it stands is
always slipping. The word ‘decadence’
gave him comfort—it
suited his temperament and
talents. This age did not
demand nobility of thought or
expression. Decadence fit the
temperament of the time
where everyone was merely
reduced to nothing but miniature
mechanical bots serving
the giant capitalist automaton.
He felt like cracking the deluded
Prof. Wolfowitz’s skull after
rationalizing his action which
suited the temperament of the
time.
21

His morning passed by in desultory meditations of
inconsequential existential crisis which, he thought,
had some redeeming capability, a philosophical generalization
a day keeps the psychiatrist away. Like his
friends he also gave utmost priority to keeping himself
updated with the events transpiring around him,
social networking sites had the power to be the most
effective tool of information. He religiously devoted
the first few hours of his day after waking up and the
last hours before sleeping to social networking sites,
but wasn’t virtual sociability a sham of the highest
order where array of people enjoyed voyeuristic
intrusion into each other’s life. Personal moments of
success were complimented with congratulatory
remarks followed by despair and insecurity of the
self. Skeptical as he was, he read the underlying
apprehension in congratulatory comments and
insincerity in empathetic ones and hence avoided
sharing anything which he regarded personal. But he
could never completely defy the efficacy of something
as cannibalistic and pervasive as Facebook and
Instagram. He himself relished the idea of logging
into his account with the intention to mock his stupid
friends and laugh at their banal exchange of comments
and complacent remarks. He derived sadistic
pleasures from others’ success, the ones that bothered
him a great deal.
After a cursory scrolling of expected updates from
expected people, he stumbled upon a sponsored
page advertising the ongoing world book fair. He
instantly took the onus upon himself to represent
the literary world at the book fair visiting it with the
same reverence as a pilgrim does to a holy place. He
picked up his cell phone and checked his contact list
searching for someone he could invite to accompany
him to the event. After a good ten minutes of indecisions
and hundred vision and revision of his hypothetical
company, he caved in front of his ego and
dismissed the futility of companionship. He felt
suspiciously happy after the bold decision of marching
into the fair all by himself. Only weak people
needed companionship which itself was a deceptive
idea for people to fool themselves with the illusion
of not being alone where essentially everyone functioned
to serve their own self-interest.
At around 5 in the evening, he headed out for the
train station. It was hot and humid outside. He used
to imagine himself in an exact opposite scenario of
his current predicament, physically or mentally, it
was his coping mechanism and now in this sweltering
heat he teleported his self into some winter wonderland—dark
and gloomy with relentless snowfall.
Some writers owed a great deal to snow.
22
As he waited in the queue to enter the platform, he
thought about how the corporatized, pro-capitalistic
world has reclaimed the wet dream of the staunchest
of classicists of the past. They have bestowed
order and form to the otherwise chaotic humans
trying to hold on to their useless dreams. This was
evident at the station where long queues of unassuming
people awaited to be ripped off by thieving
vendors for their ticket of displacement to the next
stop. It was overwhelming to witness the human
flood exiting and entering the compartment with the
same gusto repeatedly as in a tableau. The scene
inside the metro was even more precarious all
thanks to the rampant technocracy that awarded
humans with a sense of being busy for nothing to
reinstate their faith in society. He belonged to the
same category and hence made a motion to take part
in the ritual. He fished inside his pocket only to be
dismayed that he forgot to carry his earphone—the
most important tool for sustenance in the world
outside his room.
The world was brimming with people and voices
overflowing with ideas and opinion. Abundance of
both were injurious to mental health— ‘they’ always
mislead ‘you’. After offering his seat to an old lady
more out of fear of being judged by others than a will
to help, he drifted to a corner gazing at the pitch
darkness passing by from the transparent windowpanes
occasionally interspersed by light. To break
the monotony, he shifted his attention to the
jam-packed crowd inside, everyone seemed busy but
him, this was not the first time he was travelling in
the metro, but it was the first time when he had come
dangerously close to observing peoples’ action
which he had avoided before. He always made it a
point not to give much thought to the world outside
him and he loathed applying theory to organic
people. Theory and criticality should be restricted to
textbooks. Masses functioned in a completely opposite
way which defied any kind of theoretical comprehension,
the moment anyone came close to
decoding— the masses, responded with a renewed
and more precarious collective reaction.
Despite of his efforts he could not help noticing the
uncanny synchrony of human bodies as if caught in a
symphony of unextraordinary action. The smart
phones popped out of the pockets. Fingers drew the
patterns and pulled down the notification bar. The
magic touch made possible every unfathomable connection
and communication. White earplugs dangled
out as if without that it would be impossible not to
hear. “Everyone will become deaf one day despite no
hearing impairment” he was suddenly reminded of
his father’s prophetic warning. Meanwhile, the train

undaunted, kept its linear motion, vomiting and again taking in new set of people exhibiting
the same characteristic which he had observed earlier. Emotional detachment prevented
him from descending into despair. He always thought he belonged to the more evolved race
of human beings for whom excessive emotion was considered a waste of energy which could
be applied optimally in doing something productive—forging new plans of copy pasting and
plagiarizing, perhaps?
He reached the book fair finding himself in the company of other enthusiasts—just a
common speck of dirt in this vast universe no precious diamond. He started his stroll through
the book stalls. In the privacy of his room he always thought of himself as the sole book lover,
a compulsive bibliophile who loved stacking books in his room—new, unturned and hefty
contrary to the kindle freaks and PDF downloaders who had made the concept of book
buying archaic and anti-technical. He could not reach a logical conclusion as to how could
anyone give preference to ‘soft copies’ neglecting the enticing charm of a brand new ‘hard
copy’. He always affirmed, especially after masturbation or buying a new book that materialism
was a reasonable fetish. He shambled into the Penquick Publication stall, publishers of
the most beloved classic titles. All the towering literary stalwarts of the past stood on the
racks boasting their significance to the present age both for the disillusioned readers and
profit sucking capitalist publishers. He picked up James Joyce’s ‘A Portrait of an Artist as a
Young Man in hardbound jacketed cover with Matisse’s rendition on the cover page, the two
most obscure artists of modernity. He flipped over the book to marvel at its beauty when he
saw the four figures sprawled on a dubious sticker. His usually emotionally detached self
now descended into despair. He had Joyce and Matisse in his hand for which he was far from
incapable to pay. Resolute passion was the only requisite for the fulfillment of desire, he had
read somewhere, the absurdity of that preposterous statement seemed to mock him now. All
the passions and desires lay truncated in that almighty piece of paper called money whose
gargantuan significance was appalling. The book shouted at him with indignation Stop staring!
Start spending. I will stop staring and start filching, he thought back at the book. Fraud
capitalists need to face the wrath of new age Robin hood. He felt a mystical surge of power
overtaking his senses.
Stealing the book gave him immense satisfaction, all the uselessly calcified and oppressive
morality vaporized giving way to a lightness of being he had not experienced in a long time.
The night was terribly beautiful he again went to his balcony, the sand lay heaped at the
corner of the road, the vehicles had stopped swooshing and grating. The night moved
ephemerally transfixed in a watch glass. The sky above his head was a sordid mix of smoky
black and faint orange illuminated by numerous intractable sources of artificial light. The
newlywed couple across the street were making love, intertwined awkwardly, slowly stroking
each other their faces contorted from simultaneous pain and pleasure. He left the couple in
their union that appeared to him as a rehearsed act to return to his self after the light was
rudely turned off on him. He revisited the events of the day.
E
N
N
U
I
Stealing was certainly the best thing he had done that day it was how the governed got
justice as per him. He knew that he would never steal from a library because it served a
greater good; he knew his logic was dangerously twisted, but he nevertheless acted on it to
serve his own motives, like everyone else even he was an individual who was not obliged to
think or work for common good. He had perfected the essence of a modern man—to thrive in
this world by consuming all he could however he could without qualms.
The cigarette smoke irritated his nostrils, he smiled, took a last long drag, and fell on the bed,
hoping to enter a lucid dream; to rise up the next morning with a haunting feeling of nausea
after the phantasmal series of images. He slept off with no regrets like a newborn.
Azharuddin

International
Fusion
2016-2020
International Fusion has been the
most popular annual international
event at LSU organized by ISA over
the years.
Through stage performances, traditional
fashion shows, and cultural
displays, fusion opens the doors
to showcasing cultural diversity.
Due to the pandemic, the event's
continuity has been disrupted, but
we aim to bring it back in 2023!

BONSAI
Mr. Aminul Islam is some kind of introvert. For him,
speaking before the public always is a huge challenge.
He sweats; his palms and legs go cold, and
his voice reduces to croaks. He loves to remain
himself.
Aminul tried hard to avoid this kind of public gathering.
He was invited to give a motivational
speech at ‘Bonsai Mela’ (a yearly exhibition of
bonsai arranged by the Bonsai Association). The
guests were mostly known faces: around 200 in
total – mostly organizers and media persons. He
personally knew nearly all of them. Very little
outsiders had come to the program. Even then,
the nervousness inside him was growing.
It’s just the inaugural day of the Bonsai exhibition.
The fair would go on for five more days, but
Aminul was counting the seconds when he could
walk off the stage.
His nephew Rafi took a seat beside him.
Fidgeting and twitching his fingers, Aminul heard his
nephew speak. The voice, to him, seemed to be coming
in from quite a distance.
“Just read the script and you will be fine,” Rafi said. “You
don’t need to go into the details.”
“As far as I know, you are up after the chief guest’s
speech,” Rafi said.
To hide the nervousness inside, Aminul tried to nod in
confidence – with ever the slightest of bow.
Rafi is an enthusiastic lad. He gets excited with everything.
He lectures more than working. What has this
generation come to? They try showing off at every
littlest of things. Obviously, Aminul cannot understand
them. This is generation gap- he thought.
Aminul gropes for the handkerchief inside his pocket
and wipes the cold sweat on his forehead. It was raining
outside. The air inside is cool – centrally air conditioned.
There’s no reason to sweat such immensely. Aminul’s
sweat was not from the heat, it was from his heart
pulsating in anxiety.
Rafi had written the script well – in a simple and easy
language. The script entailed Aminul’s early works with
the Bonsai and how it led him to his current position.
The lights came on. The stage illuminated, and Aminul’s
heart began to race.
A young lady with heavy makeup was announcing the
names of the guest one after another requesting them
to take a seat. She was looking mind blowing.
Doodle: Kirti Agrawal

The audience was restless. They would have the
chance to show their faces in the television. It might
even make the night news too – who knows! Still, they
would love to show their faces on the TV.
Aminul’s name was announced at the podium. He took
a deep breath and walked forward.
***
It was not so hard after all. Aminul saw that the audience
was listening to him with eagerness. Most of the
people in the crowd were young Bonsai enthusiasts.
They simply loved the lecture!
Aminul himself could measure the enthusiasm. He did
not hesitate to share his own thoughts. For the first
time in his life, he let go of his nervousness and poured
out his heart.
The treatment he received was good too. The hall was
full of claps when he was coming down.
Happy and relieved, Aminul turned to Rafi with a wry
smile. Inside, he was ashamed – how he had rebuked
Rafi for pushing him up to the stage.
Aminul is a Bonsai lover since he was a student. He
hung up a picture of a Bonsai at his school library. He
gazed upon it every day, drawing inspiration. It was
indeed a wonder – at what lengths people could go for
the love of a hobby.
His first Bonsai was a Chinese Banyan. His elder brother
had brought it to him. It had cost 250 bucks.
Aminul’s father was furious. At that time, a whole
month’s grocery could be done with this money. The
elder brother dared to ignore those scolding. He even
later gifted Aminul a book on Bonsai.
Since then, 30 years passed by and Aminul’s collection
of Bonsai grew. Now it’s over 300. It was only a hobby
at first, but later it took a more serious turn.
He takes it as a job for livelihood now. After office, he
spends most of his time in his garden.
His house in Wari (old residential area of southern
Dhaka) is large enough. Though the families are separate,
they all live in the house after death of their
father. The three brothers live on the first three floors
while the 5th floor has been rented out. The ground
floor is a store room used by the two other brothers.
There was a piece of land right beside the house and
Aminul’s mother had a long dream of making a kitchen
garden out of it.
Aminul, however, turned the vegetable dream into
Bonsai. The same went for his rooftop.
There were criticisms at first, from the family,
neighbors, and relatives, but some cared for his
Bonsais. They even took care of the trees while he
was out. Some of the trees were destroyed in their
unprofessional hands. The art of bonsai trees is
more than just a “small tree in a small pot” or
“simple gardening”, but something that takes a
great deal of care, time, and dedication. The trees
need to be shaped in a scrupulous method. Aminul
is an expertise in bonsai tree shaping.
Now Aminul’s family take his addiction very
politely, and why not? Aminul has been awarded
several times for his hobby. He has also been
featured in the news several times.
Aminul is the most familiar and popular face
among the Bonsai lovers. He used to do all the
works by himself from the start. Now Rafi accompanies
Aminul. The young lad liked the attention.
Rafi collects adenium seeds from home and
abroad. Most of the varieties of adenium available
in Bangladesh are in store of Rafi’s collection.
As a bonus, he provides information about Bonsai
to his uncle Aminul. He even managed customers
for Bonsai.
Rafi was very unlike Aminul. He had a lot of
friends. His uncle, on the other hand, was a
recluse. All the goodwill, publicity and popularity
Aminul has, he owed it to Rafi.
It’s possible; they belong to a Facebook group of
Bonsai lovers. Aminul had little idea about the
Facebook. Rafi had tried several times to teach
Aminul about it. Rafi has even opened a Facebook
account for Aminul, but Aminul never got the grip
of it. Now, Rafi himself posts on the Facebook
page on behalf of Aminul; sometimes collects
news.
One of Rafi’s friends named Shoibal works as a
newspaper journalist. Shoibal could be a crime
reporter. He came and went frequently and talked
to Aminul over Bonsai. He knew very little about it.
They ate breakfast in Aminul’s rooftop garden.
Aminul felt encouraged at first at the eagerness
of Shoibal over Bonsais.
Later, he came to understand that Shoibal’s interest
was rather focused on Mitu, Aminul’s daughter.
27

Aminul tried to describe bonsai making as elaborately
as possible. But Shoibal couldn’t take it for long. He
lost interest every now and then. He neither listened
nor left – waiting for Mitu to show up.
He was clearly uncomfortable and stared nervously
at Mitu when she served breakfast. It didn’t go by
Aminul. He used to feel a huge burst of laughter
inside him.
Mitu comes with breakfast regularly. She may have
failed to understand Shoibal’s motives or she could
have interest in somewhere else.
***
Aminul became silent staying close with the trees.
Everybody thought that Aminul too had turned to a
tree – having lived with them most of his time. But it
was not true.
Once, Aminul was a very vibrant man. He along with
his all family members used to go for picnics
frequently and he was an organizer after all.
He packed himself up after his younger son went
missing 15 years ago. Aminul still blames himself for
it.
He and family were going to Rajshahi for the Eid celebration.
It was an important visit too – his father
in-law was ill. Mitu was four years old, his elder son
Turjya was nine year old and the younger don Dibya
was only eight months.
Aminul was taking the suitcases. Dibya was in Turjya’s
lap. Mitu was on her mother’s. He couldn’t pay heed to
them. The crowd and everyone’s rash to board on
train push him away from them.
The train left without Aminul on it. Aminul ran and
caught up with it. He ended to board on a separate
compartment and managed came to his wife almost
an hour later.
Ratna asked Aminul where Dibya was. Dibya needed
to be nursed. It was more than two hours that last
time Dibya was fed. The question was a bolt of thunder
to Aminul. He turned to Turjya. Turjya was looking
at her father like a foolish boy. His arms were empty.
Someone had taken away Dibya! According to Turjya,
a man with white shirt came to him saying that father
called for Dibya. He was pointing towards father.
Father also smiled back to them.
So he didn’t get suspicious. He handed over
Dibya to that man. Dibya had been vanished with
that white shirt man forever.
Aminul did everything possible: complaining to
the police, advertising in the media, seeing a
psychic, and seeking help from the religious
leaders.
The incident led to a chaos in the family for
many a days. Ratna blamed him and he blamed
Ratna. Sometimes he even blamed Turjya or even
himself. The blaming game was seemed to continue
forever.
The feud came to an end as Turjya appeared as a
‘problem child’.
Turjya’s mental condition was deteriorating
amid all the chaos. Doctor said Turjya wouldn’t
be fine again if the environment didn’t change.
Turjya was in need of love and mental support.
Quarrelling parents wouldn’t come to any help.
Finally, they were able to forget about Dibya for
the sake of Turjya’s health.
It was, after all, not wise to lose another son.
Ratna diverted her attention to the family
slowly. Aminul turned to his bonsai trees. He
began to look after the garden as if it was his
own son Dibya.
***
Aminul was watching television that evening. All
his attention was sucked into one news report.
Perhaps it was a series and he has missed the
previous episodes. It was the last episode they
were airing. Rapid Action Battalion (Rab) had
busted a network of criminals in a crackdown.
He was stunned at the news report. Children
were kidnapped from different areas of the
country. They were tortured and mutilated to beg
on the streets. A seven-year-old son of a rickshaw
puller went missing while he was returning
home from school in Dhaka’s Jurain. His body was
found 12 days after, which led to the drive of the
law enforcers.
The Rab officials never thought they would have
to face such brutality. They rescued 37 children
and captured eight of the notorious gang. The
law enforcers thought many children were still
missing and the network of the criminals was
much wider.
28

The drive was continuing. He looked upon the rescued children in television with a stunned face. How can a
human be such inhumane? Excited, he called Mitu and Ratna. “Butchers”! He was trembling in hatred and rage.
He could barely sleep that night. The faces of those tortured children came and went inside his mind for a
few days
Aminul was working on the rooftop of their house. He was surprised seeing Turjya watching him from a
distance. The elder son usually avoided him. Turjya was quieter than usual. Normally, he wouldn’t talk to
anybody.
Aminul stepped forward. Do you want to tell me anything? Turjya nodded in a silent consent. “What? Please
tell me,” Aminul responded eagerly.
Turjya handed a photograph to him. It was Dibya’s photograph. The photograph was taken at a studio. Dibya
was sitting on a chair – at the age he just learnt to sit straight up. Aminul stared at the photograph. What was
actually Turjya trying to tell him?
Dibya was a taboo in the family by then. Nobody would bring him up after Turjya had the mental episode.
In a low voice, Turjya asked, “Do you know how we can identify Dibya easily?” Turjya was breathing hard.
What? Aminul was surprised. Does Turjya search for his brother still? Turjya once used to talk and play with
his imagined Dibya. He is afraid of those memories now.
“There was a spot over Dibya’s right eyebrow; grandmother had said it was a ‘najar fota’ (a black dot put on
child forehead in believing that will keep the baby safe from evil’s eyes). Dibya could be easily identified with
the spot if he ever went missing,” Turja blabbered out without a pause.
“Yes, right,” Aminul was surprised. The mark on Dibya’s forehead was big enough.
B O N S A I
“Would you like to go to a place with me tomorrow?” Turjya said.
“Do you think you have seen Dibya somewhere?” Aminul looked upon his elder son with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t know,” Turjya responded in tearful eyes. “I can’t tell actually. He looks like Dibya to me,” Turjya
answered.
“Have you seen him?” Aminul asked his heart pounding.
“I will take you there tomorrow.”
“Why tomorrow? Can’t we go today?”
“We need brother Shaibal. He is not in Dhaka now. Brother Rafi told me not to inform the matter to anybody.
Don’t tell anything to mother now.”
Why Shaibal? Aminul could not understand. “Turjya, where have you seen Dibya?”
Aminul had looked for Dibya everywhere. There were calls coming in of people claiming they had seen Dibya,
but the baby with the spot on his forehead could not be found anywhere. If Dibya was alive, he would be
sixteen now. Is it really possible to identify Dibya?
Aminul passed a horrible night. He called Rafi to his room that night when Rafi returned home. Rafi did not
want to disclose everything at that moment.
“Uncle, I am not sure,” he said. “It will be tough to identify anybody after a long time. The child is same age of
Dibya and his forehead mark makes me suspicious.”
“Where have you seen the child?”
“I did not see him directly. Shaibal recently uploaded some photographs on his Facebook page of a crime
report published in his newspaper. It was a human trafficking issue. I have seen it in my computer.
29

Turjya was behind me at that time. He first noticed it.
Pointing out a child, he told me, “Brother, look at the
photograph, his forehead mark looks like our Dibya.”
Then I marked it. “He might be,” I thought. I called up
Shaibal to ask details. Then I asked Turja to talk to
you.”
“What have you learnt from Shaibal?”
“Nothing much, uncle. I think that we can’t reach the
children easily without detailed information. We
need Shaibal’s help as well. So we are waiting for him
for two days. Thus, we did not inform you in the
beginning. Shaibal will return to Dhaka by tomorrow
morning and he will take us there. Don’t worry. It is
only the night. It will be wise thing if you don’t share
the matter with aunt.”
“Ok, go. Please inform me when you will go there. I
have to inform my office for a leave.”
Rafi responded by leaning his neck. Aminul was not
at ease despite Rafi’s departure. He passed the
whole night leaning back on a chair.
***
Shaibal told Rafi that he would come around 11:00
am and asked them to be prepared as par. Shaibal
came with a taxi and picked them up to Rampura
Police Station around 12:15pm. They had to struggle
to enter the police station avoiding crowed of journalists
and enthusiasts. Shaibal filled up necessary
papers to take Aminul and Turjya inside. About 10 to
12 handicapped children were sitting in the detention
room. All of them looked aloof as if nothing was
important to them.
It was impossible to imagine what their actual figure
was as most of their body parts were distorted
brutally.
Turjya pulled up Aminul’s arm to point to the fourth
boy sitting on the floor from the right.
Panic gripped Aminul. The spot on the forehead was
impossible to miss. Dibya? Was it their Dibya? It was
quite impossible to identify his face now – after so
many years. Aminul went blank. It was as if an
immense darkness was sucking him into an abyss.
Aminul tried to think of Dibya’s picture as a child and
tried to place it on the boy somehow. Tears washed
away the picture.
They would have to face much trouble to get back
Dibya. Police would send the children at safe home.
Who will bear their burden? Perhaps the boys will go
back to begging a few days later. But none of them
were free from the legal paperwork. Aminul thinks…
30
He, however, got charge of Dibya’s custody.
He would have to face more trouble in the
coming days – DNA tests and other legal
complications.
He could not connect to his lawyer. He could
not feel whether he would be happy after
finding out if it was indeed his Dibya or not.
He wanted to get back Dibya at any cost. But
did he want to get back a Dibya as he is now?
Aminul was afraid of raising such a question
to himself.
He was shouting in anger when he saw the
main culprit before coming out of the police
station. With abhor and anguish in same time
he asked that criminal, “Doesn’t it raise any
question to your mind to commit such a
heinous crime? Doesn’t it shake your heart?”
Astonishing! The criminal named Sazzad
replied to Aminul’s questions. “I know you, Mr.
Aminul Islam.” He was grinning. “You are a
bonsai specialist. You distort trees, people
clap. Your hobby is art. Alas! Mine is a crime.
What a shame!!” Sazzad nodded in disagreement.
Aminul was speechless. Sazzad said
goodby posing for a salam with his cuffed
hands. Aminul turned back. Behind him,
Sazzad burst into laughter.
Aminul felt very helpless before Sazzad’s
cruel laughter. It seemed very difficult to
moving forward. He could barely lift up his
heavy feet.
Mohua Ferdousi

First of all, I want to thank ISA for taking the initiative to publish a magazine.
I am originally from Bangladesh and when I came to LSU, we did not have
any organization for Bangladeshi students. The only way to showcase our
culture was through the international cultural programs arranged by ISA. I
still remember spending a whole night preparing the fashion show props
that represented our country. It doesn’t matter which country you are from
or how many people there are- everyone has a place in ISA. I always found
this organization to be welcoming. In fact, I was fortunate enough to be
elected as the vice-president of this organization, and became directly
involved with different activities. I know how hard it is to organize different
events for students while they are studying, doing research, and being
away from their motherland. But this is something that always makes us
united, makes us whole, and makes us more combined and stronger than
ever. We can celebrate our own culture, country, and nation; as well as get
to know people, all over the world, their country, their lifestyle, and their
passion. I must say we are fortunate to have a student organization like
this. As an advisor, I wish ISA success and prosperity. Now, talking about
diversity, I am from Bangladesh, and Louisiana is home to me for the past
12 years. I want to share some of my captures from Louisiana and Bangladesh-
from both of my homes.
Moinul Mahdi
31

“The beautiful thing about life is that you can choose to
believe whether this is a sunrise or a sunset”
Photo: Suman Das

I am the ocean; the ocean is me
Gyaneshwar Agrahari
I go where these waters take me,
I never question them.
I move with the waves-free and uninterrupted like I am one of them.
I cannot be loved because I cannot stay and applaud beauty.
I voyage around the world and see every star visible in the night sky.
Only miracles unheard by humanity can mesmerize me.
It is a miracle itself to find me let alone love.
I sing in symphony with the waves; none can know how I sound.
I have nothing to live in your memories.
I have no master to serve nor any slaves for restoration.
I have no dreams in my eyes to reach the shores you desire.
I am frozen in my reality,
but for the rest, I never stop moving.
If you can find me, I shall be yours.

My name is Lyric Mandell, and I currently
serve as the President of the Graduate
Student Association (GSA). As a
proud Cajun, my love for Louisiana and
LSU runs deep, and one of the best
parts of our campus and the larger
community is the people! LSU is home
to over 1,500 international students,
and I've been lucky enough to connect
with a large number of them through
the International Student Association,
so I am honored to be featured in the
inaugural International Student Association
(ISA) magazine!
During my time at LSU, ISA and its
members have been a trusted source
for information and friendship- y'all
truly throw the best events! In a time
when connection was difficult because
of the pandemic, ISA provided a community
for international and non-international
students alike and these
connections have truly enriched my
experience as a graduate student.
Culture provides individuals with a
map to understand the world around
them, and through fun programs and
events like dumpling night (my first
ever event at the International Cultural
Center!), and International Fusion
that allows students to share their
culture and learn about others, ISA
promotes cross-cultural understanding
and acceptance for all. In
addition to the social events,
members of ISA have opened my
eyes to the specific issues international
students on campus face,
and my tenure as the GSA president
will focus on solving some of
these issues including but not limited
to locating safe and affordable
housing and healthcare, and
difficult language tests.
I firmly believe we are striving to
become a better place for all students-
including international
and graduate students! Starting
in 2023, the mandatory graduate
student fees will be lifted, and
we are making strides in providing
more opportunities for travel
funding through programs like
graduate student ORF. We have
students and faculty diligently
working on increasing stipends
and providing more affordable
healthcare options.

In addition, we are seeing more opportunities for
representation across campus with new positions
like the Assistant Director of International Students
in student government and chances for graduate
students to sit on faculty senate committees.
Graduate and International students have and will
continue to make real change on our campus!
Graduate education emphasizes the importance of
collaboration and discussion to find new understandings.
As GSA President, I look forward to continuing
to collaborate with ISA and promise to advocate
for not only what I believe will improve our
community but listening to everyone's voices to
achieve our goals and create a better LSU!
Geaux Tigers!
Where are we geauxing?
35

36
Doodle: Kirti Agrawal

Tall, Undiminished
Anang Bungwon
Through the tides untold,
Through the winds that blow,
Beyond the turbulent flow,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
Recall the gusty days,
When the fleeting glimpse of light,
Seeped out the trace of might,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
Recall the raging storms,
When dreams were merely thoughts,
Laying low the silent fraught,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
Tipping heels, unheard strides,
Gliding low, as a dove,
Questioning the skies above,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
The call of whispering valleys,
Sometimes too loud to neglect,
Other times, easier to deflect,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
Recall the beckoning hills,
Resounding your daily high,
But fading swiftly into the sky,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
The sundial says its night,
The moon is in the guise,
Your shadow says otherwise,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
Remember the mountains beckon,
Yearning for all of you,
Could be to lift or subdue,
Yet, you remain tall, undiminished
Crossroads charging towards you,
Though your heavy strides are cold,
Remember the promise you hold,
While you stand tall, undiminished
37

38

39

My resergence
Gyaneshwar Agrahari
Confine me within doors, in darkness, and I will watch the horizons from your windows.
Cut my wings, hold my feet and I will build my kingdom on your lands.
Take me into the shallow flumes and I will find a way to the deepest oceans.
Make me one of your thousands of minions and I will rise as their master.
Break my strength into pieces and I will reunite those into an imperishable sword.
Destroy me, bury me in the muds and I will sprout from the ashes.
Photo: Utsav Kandel
40

Baby,
What are you crying for?
Don’t you know
That tears have no memories?
That salt tastes the ground
And the ground does not bite it back?
Song of the
Degreed
Sarah Nansubuga
Baby,
What are you doing in the bathroom?
Don’t you know
That the sound of the shower
Does not know
The sound of your voice?
It pounds
It steams
It retches all over you
But it does not know the taste of you
Baby,
What are you acting for?
Don’t you know that home only aches
When you are not around?
When you linger in its presence –
As mama’s cooking lingers in your clothes
Packed tight, and unfelt by 23 kilograms –
It wants you to linger too
But once you depart
There is always another to take your
place?
Baby,
What are you walking for?
These flat lands that do not recognize your
arch
Will remind you where you are once you
stop
Imagining
Don’t your feet ache?
Doesn’t your head pound?
Baby…
Rest a while.
Time isn’t going anywhere
41

Stories of Louisiana told from an
idiosyncratic Latin American
perspective, particularly Colombian
in a southern U.S. state.
In this book, the boy Jesus from
Colombia takes a tour of LSU
while making an ethnographic
study of everyday situations in
the best Colombian style. Where
tragedy is never a tragedy, it's
just a joke badly told.
Baby Jesus and the Jambalaya
The LSU buses
I still remember the first time the baby
Jesus from Colombia visited Louisiana.
Everything seemed further away from
normal and, the sun was an enemy
infiltrator that attacked mercilessly.
Of course, the baby Jesus of Colombia
did not have many fresh clothes
because, without a doubt, the sun had
always been warm in his homeland.
Over there, anyone who wants to,
burns, here anyone.
Baby Jesus' little cloth diaper was
never as inappropriate as when he
visited LSU and took one of the TIGER-
LAND buses to get to his new manager.
He sat in one of those chairs facing
others and, to his surprise, found a
Muslim woman looking at him skeptically.
Africans, Hindus, Latinos, and
Asians also looked at him. A whole
esoteric world in one bus with their
eyes on him.
He was not very surprised. He used to
nod his little head and smile with the
charisma of a Colombian. “What else
then?'' he said to Vivian, another
colombian who was waiting for him at
the last stop with some water and a
few empanadas.
A coffee please
The boy Jesus could not
pass up the opportunity
to taste the coffee of
Baton Rouge because
after living in the coffee
axis, he wanted to experience
a tintico with a
honey biscuit.
Who knows what texture,
smell, and sensation a
coffee in the southern
state could offer in the
best style of the library
of l'université.
So, with stoicism the boy
Jesus sips his coffee,
watches the squirrels,
and the students read
and read.
- ''But what a sacred
beverage this is that
Chronicles
of the
child
Jesus of
Colombia
in LSU
Vivian Marcela Hurtado Iles
makes methankful, the good
men who serve with a quick
English accent''-.
Then he thinks of the pleasant
coffee that Don Andrés
used to make for him back in
Colombia with an antique
handmade strainer, needle,
and spool. An orthodox style
that always conquers his
holy baby heart.

Baby Jesus and the Jambalaya
Cajun Jambalaya is a typical Louisiana swamp
food. Very spicy flavors and varied sausages
give the baby Jesus the taste of a lot of bell
pepper, celery and garlic.
In the South American lands, the baby Jesus ate
rice with chicken, patacon, and lots of tomato
sauce which is a culinary feat. Since he arrived in
North American lands, he has been presented
with opportunities to try unimagined recipes.
“Excuse me young man, would you like more
rice?'' - they ask the boy Yisus, who walks with
eagerness as the spiciness of the southwest
pursues him relentlessly.
He still gets used to eating without asking. If it is
too spicy for such a young palate, people look at
him strangely- what a divine palate.
Fraternitates et Sororitates
On one of his walks the child Jesus encountered
a community of blond, elegant,
jasmine-scented people. -''Where do they come
from? I think I saw them once. Maybe in an
American movie, where Hollywood pays them
the bill.''
In his sociologist's eyes, the boy Yisus wanted to
understand how so many people in peace can
live together and learn. Of course, his attention
made him want to return for those big houses
where so much love can be found.
The child Jesus as an Essene observes the
others who want to promote love
as well. So it is that every day he
passes by the houses of the boys
and girls who want to transcend,
either for business, joy, or friends.
The baby Jesus in the UREC
gymnasium
People run and run, jump and jump,
and sweat and sweat.
The boy Jesus used to walk long
distances barefoot and is
surprised to see people who have
faith in movement.
A sanctuary of catharsis, of
strength, and of shouting with
effort, they surprise the child
Yisus, who looks at them without
pretext.
He admires the people and the
Colombian girl who walks in front
of him and says: "Hola mi amigo
Jesús, long time no see".
The boy Jesus observes many
lonely people getting over the
stress of the exams and how the
weight of the machines eases their
minds, and the heaviness of the
environment.
He walks gingerly and sometimes
sits on a bicycle and reflects how
instead of temples, now people
meet in sporting venues, to move
their bodies and heal whatever ails
them.
Baby Jesus learning the history
of the Isleños
When the child Jesus arrived in
Baton Rouge, he never imagined
that islanders would be spoken to
learn their roots.
Canarian Spanish, rustic and colonial,
was spoken by men who
persisted in the jungle without
ceasing.
For years isolated, with a language
in extinction, but their history
consigned in books for the postponement.
The child Jesus learns from
the parish of St. Bernard.
He intrudes in some classes
of a popular teacher.
Doctor Orozco speaks of
the colonial Spanish that
first came to Louisiana
before French or cultural
English.
This child Yisus learns of
the timeless history, of the
Brulis and the Adaeseños
who, with a similar dialect,
could well be today, a
dialectal, folkloric, or
literary heritage or a treasure
of humanity.
Hispanics in LSU
Hispanics at LSU are colorful;
they are made of corn.
The baby Jesus from
Colombia and walks from
here to there with the Latin
tumbao that can be recognized
a thousand miles
away.
He approaches Latinx,
speaks a little English:
''Hello, hola, how are you su
mercé''. They receive him
with great affection,
prayers, and perse
gestures.
They take pictures with the
baby Jesus, welcome him
and even give him a juice,
one of those that they take
in Cali, and an aniseed
snack.
He walks back and forth
and listens to how they
speak Spanish. There are
not only Colombians as you
can also hear Portuñol.
They speak in a variety of
dialects and the occasional
Spanglish accent in their
candor.
43

BOOK
REVIEW
Mason, L. (2018). Uncivil Agreement: How politics
became our identity. University of Chicago Press.
Soheil Kafiliveyjuyeh
In the “Uncivil Agreement” Mason provides a
framework for understanding the polarization
notion in the United States. She mainly argues
that our social and cultural identities directly
have an impact on citizen partisanship. She pointed
out that prejudice within the group leads to
creating new realities, which in turn causes distrust
of others. She also shows that the alignment
of social identity with ingroup identity gave rise
to mega-identities based on religion, race, class,
geography, and the culture that is tied to political
identification.
The book has eight chapters. In the first chapter,
the author makes a strong case of the effect of
the group identity on the people’s behavior, starting
with the example of 1954 Cave State Park boys
and explains how people who were raised under
similar condictions turned to become very competitive
and even hostile as a result of the competition
between groups. This example is very relevant
to reality, which shows why social sorting
and polarization matter. Mason explains this
notion in the following chapters.
The author believes that “social
identities have a special power
to affect behavior” (p. 8). This
happens as a result of the social
cohesion and positive feeling
toward the ingroup versus negative
feelings toward the outgroup
members. Therefore, in
case of threat to the group,
group members try to defend
their group regardless of their
cross-cutting identities. In
other words, if the group is
under attack, even the
cross-cutting identities, which
are considered as the only triggers
for accepting the opposition’s
view, would not dampen
the effects of the harmonized
ingroup identities. She explains
these behaviors based on partisan
prejudice, social polarization,
and feeling emotions on
behalf of the group.

She argues that Americans’ division
around party, ideology, religion, class,
race, and geography and has increased
drastically over the last decade, and
using empirical analysis of American
National Election Data over the
decades, she supports her argument.
This division also reflects in the election
where electorate falls into two
increasingly homogonous parties. The
increase in the gap between the
ingroup and outgroup bias gives a rise
to stronger identities, which she calls
mega-identities. These two
mega-identities (Republicans versus
Democrat) not only represent issues
policies positions but also other social
cleavages. The emergence of these
identities causes the individuals to
close their eyes on the facts which
facilitates achieving the reasonable
interests of the nation and solely
focus on the competition to win, just
because it feels good to win. Mason
also talks about how these identities
magnifying ingroup bias, causing the
more moderate positioned individuals
to take more extreme views. In other
words, social sorting resulted in the
disappearance of cross-cutting partisan
identities. As an illustration, the
conservative Democrats becomes
Republicans as ideologically they feel
closer to the other party, or they tend
to neglect their cross-cutting identities
and vote for their party (Democrats).
The analysis of the data in
Mason’s book shows that the level of
partisanship has moved beyond the
typical disagreement. Even people
prefer their neighbors to be a member
of the same party as theirs! The author
argues that selective exposure also
amplifies the lack of tolerance for
noncongruent messages. One cannot
get rid of their preference for the
group identity receiving the incongruent
opinions. Therefore, people
believe they are in a competition with
a homogenous group of outsiders.
The book’s best moment is in chapter seven, when
Mason lays out her argument regarding political
participation based on the sorted social identities
aligned with the party. While she believes that
political participation is good for democracy, however,
blind political activism driven from nothing
but anger and threat toward the increasingly harmonized
and prejudice social identities may not
yield positive outcomes for the democracy. She
argues that social sorting of American partisanship
created mega-identities which resulted in
voters glossing over the real problems and becoming
numb to the facts; each side of the competition
based on sorted social identities solely fights to
win, while demonizing the other side. She believes
that “as long a social divide is maintained between
the parties, the electorate will behave more like a
pair of warring tribes than like people of a single
nation, caring for their shared future (Mason, 2018,
141).
From my standpoint, the book’s argument is timely
and very relevant to the current political situation
of the United States. The book’s ideas are backed
up with empirical data, which makes the argument
very compelling. However, it comes short about
describing the whole picture. While it provides
excellent evidence for the effects of social identities
on political behavior, it does not pay much
attention to issue-based polarization, which is a
vital component in understanding the polarization
notion in the United States.
45

Art by Nila Pradhananga
Title: "Abode of the snow" - The Himālayas, Nepal
Media: Acrylic on panel
The Himālayas is a mountain range in Asia, separating the plains of the Indian subcontinent from the Tibetan
Plateau. This painting resembles a Tibetan prayer flag, a rectangular cloth, often found strung along trails,
temples, monasteries, stupas, and mountain passes. Few Yaks, humble and hard-working creatures that symbolizes
life in the far-flung Himalayas in Nepal.

C
Photo: Juan Moreira
A
M
P
Photo: Juan Moreira
U
Chienese Students and
Scholars Association
(CSSA) celebrating
Mid-Autumn festival,
chinese caligraphy and
fun games.
S

Published: November, 2022