Le Dragon Déchaîné

The Secrets of the Roots, and Other Stories from the Village

by Konstancija Kevisaite

Foreword from the Author:

Before you delve into the story of a life still set in dark, misty forests, surrounded by Lithuanian mythological creatures and supernatural mysticism, it is important to note that these stories are not entirely the fruits of imagination. Samogitia, a Lithuanian ethnic region, was the last place in Europe to be christianized in 1413, 200 years after the mainland. Even though many believe much of the water has flown under the bridge since then, ancient traditions were incorporated into the new religion, and old Baltic superstitions still thrive in countless households.

Many Lithuanian ethnologists and historians claim that the foundation of the nation lies in a tree cult culture and that a person’s entire life cycle depends on their relationship with a tree, from the kids’ toys to wooden kitchen utensils on the oak dinner table. There are not many private properties without a garden or some arable land, so while cities evolved, village life remains closely tied to the seasonal cycle.

These stories are distinctly Samogitian, born from its language, myths, and ethnic past. The following excerpts were written over six months during a challenging personal journey, driven by burnout and a longing for grounding.

Medė švabieja api Pondeivs žėna kū, no būktas api žmuonis.

Trees are whispering about only God knows what, but probably about the people.

May your walk in the woods be peaceful.

THE SECRETS OF THE ROOTS, AND OTHER STORIES FROM THE VILLAGE

How do you fit together a city daughter, raised among grey, few-floor Soviet-like buildings, and a village granddaughter who was only allowed to cut her hair when the cherry trees started to bloom and the Moon was still young? How do you fit remnants of the long-gone past in the person that is so modern it barely has time to take a breath? How do you explain to the hectic world around you, that you start carrying a coin in the back of your pocket so you would not be condemned to eternal poverty when the first song of the cuckoo bird escapes its trembling, tiny body after a long, harsh winter? How do you say “no” to someone who wants to borrow your hairbrush or try on your ring when you were constantly reminded that this would result in soul exchange? How do you even ask these questions out loud? .. Do I seriously sound insane when I say I cannot sit on the ground? There has not been a thunderstorm yet.

A three-hour gap between classes turned into a drive to the nearest forest. The treetops intertwined into an incomprehensible labyrinth. The dense forest increasingly resembled a long-lost kingdom ruled by ancient tree spirits. The rustling leaves followed every step like a mysterious whisper. Moss hid its secrets, swamps of unfathomable depth, beckoned with the forest’s treasures. When animals noticed a wandering person there, they would remember one’s face, immediately smell one’s intentions, and eventually run away to complain to some deity about how someone would kick a mushroom, hit a tree branch, or scream at the top of their lungs. Mom used to say that only by merging into the flow of forest life could one escape from it. Nature does not satisfy human needs; it protects what should be eternally sacred. I stop at the winding path. In front of me, there are the remains of the stairs up to the castle mound. For a couple of centuries, an eternal fire burned here, golden threads of fate were woven, grass snakes slithered, and bees sought refuge. Now, only a lone oak tree remains in place of the altar, like a witness or warrior guarding a place of eternal peace, or so it still thinks…

Once the storm passes, I will harvest the fruits, and my mother will make my favourite jam.

I told my grandmother I was exhausted from all these current changes when we were sitting on the bench outside. Her limb fingers, suffering from arthritis, held a knife and skillfully wielded it to peel apples and later throw them in the bucket. The wind picked up, and I could hear faint raindrops falling on my dirty boots. The toughest woman I know glanced at me for a second and then her eyes returned to the falling peels of bright pink apples. The last thunder of the season shook the ground. I have just realised I do not remember a time when she addressed it by its common name, perkūnija, rather than the god Perkūnas, who is responsible for it. She always tells me that everything will pass in a matter of days, and if not, a few moons. I knew the remedies of the soul by heart – honey with milk before bed, lavender in the closet, small rituals in the morning, daily walks outside, preferably away from the city.

Hug the tree, borrow its strength. Will that get me through these upcoming weeks?

Beyond Peaches: The Concept of Dreaming Big in a Small Country

by Nini Iaganashvili

Whenever I say I’m from Georgia, people light up and ask, “Oh, really? How’s Atlanta?” But, a simple correction — not the state, the country — resets the entire conversation. And in a way, that small misunderstanding says a lot about where I come from and who I am.

This is a story of what it means to grow up Georgian, in the Caucasus region; in a country woven with traditions, hospitality, the famous “Supras” where strangers become lifelong friends, various unpopular concepts, wine and the words, the voices of some of the greatest writers of our age, where beliefs are more than personal — they are collective, binding communities together across generations.

Ever since I can remember, I have been fantasising about what was outside my existent borders, or how far I could have stretched those borders, or even so, where it started, and where it ended. Not everyone can have the answer to that question. Everyone has their own possibilities and realisations towards this concept.

I have to mention Georgia’s historical and geographical context. The country lies between Europe and Asia, it borders Russia and is a post-Soviet country. Living in the constant shadow of Russia with centuries of invasions, meant living with constant fear and tension. It meant that acquiring independence in 1991 was both liberation and uncertainty, the moment when my parents’ generation had to suddenly adapt to a future they had never been prepared or taught for. Generations before my parents, my grandparents had been fighting for the freedom of our country, for the best of it all, and now my generation has taken the matter of EU integration into their own hands.

All this tension has shaped me into who I am, as much as the traditions have. As you can already tell, traditions have been a cornerstone of our community for generations. Starting from early teenage years, as I grew, I understood that in my family, my community and in the whole of Georgia as one, the rules and beliefs were two-sided. While I perceived these unyielding beliefs and traditions as huge walls of obstacles, I learned how to use them as a beneficiary for myself; I understood that maybe these walls were the ones that needed to be broken down in order for me to grow and actually pursue my goals.

I have always known, not even thought, that I was born to live life to its fullest. However, that conviction carried its own doubts: the fear of making wrong choices, choosing the wrong career, or taking a step that might seem irreversible. It was scary, too, because of how much effort I poured into my goals and how much pressure I placed on myself. At times, the weight of those expectations felt overwhelming. And yet, I also knew that Georgians — my family, my community, even teachers — would have been supportive in their own way, proud that I was trying to reach higher. But it appeared that the fear of standing still was greater than the fear of moving forward.

Dreaming big has always been my quiet rebellion, especially in a country deeply rooted in tradition. The concept of leaving home and starting a new life at such an early age, as a minor, was seen as an impossible privilege that only a few had. I can recall many times whenever I mentioned studying abroad, while talking about future plans at various Supras, and the guests would just laugh it off, while I was left merely confused, as if this was something equivalent to traveling to space; the concept of studying abroad has always been achievable to me, as long as I worked hard. This specific concept was never just a dream, or something I looked at from afar, or something I knew there was no point in trying, but instead, it was a destination that I refused to let go of. Therefore, having grown up in a place where aspirations, that may not be popular, can be seen as ambitious and biased, I learned from an early age that it is better to stay patient and reach beyond the set borders, be stubborn when needed and have faith in the said “impossible”.

For me, studying abroad was not just about education, but about possibility. Growing up in a small country often overlooked on the world map, I wanted to prove that voices like mine which were shaped by tradition, history, and centuries of resilience, deserved to be heard on more of a global stage. And finally, each effort, each late night study session, each moment of doubt that I had and have overcome, became another step to me fulfilling my wishes and setting an example to my younger brother, cousins, and loved ones.

Starting a new life at 17, packing my whole life into a suitcase and flying over 3,000 kilometers across the world appeared to be harder than I had anticipated. Getting away from the loudness of such a small country, of my family, of the small fights me and my friends would have, of my relatives and most importantly of the Supras which we hosted every Friday night as a family; and then living in small apartment all alone, in the deafening quiet, was probably one of the hardest things I had to deal with. I remember putting on music first thing in the morning so I would not feel the loneliness of my own company. I call France my second home, but even now, when I was coming back, I remember crying on the way, as I remembered all the good times I had spent with my family, relatives, even remembering the scent of my mom’s perfume on her jacket, that specific scent of my house, my room and so on. However, my determination, my goals, my community: those things have kept me going all this time. Knowing that I get to go back in no time, knowing that I will see the proud smiles and watering eyes with the tears of happiness, makes it all worth it.

Still, I never wanted to leave Georgia behind, but I did not have to. To dream big from a small country is not to abandon it, but to carry it with you, to take its traditions along with contradictions, its warmth and sometimes scars, and weave them into different stories you tell the new people you meet while living your new life. To me, that is what it means to be Georgian, beyond stereotypes and beyond peaches.

My Case Against Using Generative AI

by Siri Manneri

In a world with more political polarization than ever, one of my current most controversial beliefs has to do with my position on generative AI. For the past two or three years, I’ve continually observed more and more students around me using forms of generative AI in academic spaces, as well as in daily life. I’m specifically making a distinction here between Generative AI and other forms of AI, since I’m solely going to be critiquing the former category. Generative AI, in a general sense, refers to Large Language Models such as ChatGPT or Claude. Today, I’m arguing my case against using Generative AI mainly due to sustainability concerns, as well as general ones regarding how these types of AI actually work.

To start off, Generative AI is known to be incredibly harmful to the environment due to how much water is used in the huge data centers required to power these Generative AI chatbots. According to Adam Zewe, a writer in MIT News, data centers have the aforementioned impacts relating to water usage while also endangering the surrounding communities of data centers, which are often also communities of color. In our current world, where, according to a study by the Global Carbon Project science team, we now only have five years to stop climate change, we must try to do everything we can to be as environmentally conscious as possible. This may mean limiting at least the most unnecessary AI usage in one’s life.

When it comes to the companies behind prominent Generative AI tools, there is often also a darker corporate side to the chatbots we know and love. To give an example, OpenAI, and specifically its CEO Sam Altman, have notably been embroiled in different scandals. One of them includes Sundar Pichai, an OpenAI whistleblower who was recently found dead in his apartment prior to an important hearing in his OpenAI whistleblower case, according to The Guardian. If you are willing to divest from any corporate entities that have committed wrongdoing, I then urge you to consider divesting from this one as well.

Generative AI, as a whole, also doesn’t particularly work in the ways that many think it does. While Gemini may seem like it has knowledge, these types of AI platforms don’t strictly know anything at all. Large Language Models, as a rule, are simply just regurgitating what may sound right based on patterns that have been picked up by the data and language that has been previously scraped by the AI company behind each specific tool. Arguably, the most compelling reason to disavow AI might be how blatantly incorrect it often is. AI “hallucinations,” as they’re often called, are fairly common and often hard to spot for those using each AI chatbot. A notable example of this type of hallucination involves the famous cases of lawyers using ChatGPT in court cases, before being fed precedent and case law that didn’t actually exist.

In conclusion, my brief argument attempts to shed light on some of the rationale behind my conviction to personally never use any form of Generative AI in my own life. In this piece, I hope to encourage you to potentially reconsider your own AI usage, if only to limit your usage whenever deemed possible in order to help fight against climate change, corporate ills, and to ultimately help your own success overall.

Anchored in Solidarity: The Seamen’s Club of Le Havre

by Naran-Ochir Khulan

Nestled in downtown Le Havre, the Seamen’s Club of Le Havre welcomes seafarers from around the world. The warmth of old friends replaces the chill of the sea, bridging language and culture, kindling a home far from home.

Image Credit: Hervé Tainturier

No man is an island, entire of itself. Nowhere is this truer than at sea, where trust, cooperation and solidarity is offered without hesitation. Maritime solidarity calls for seafarers, states and international actors to share legal and moral obligations to protect human life, secure trade routes and safeguard marine environments. This notion has deep historical roots, as far back as in the Book of Jonah, where sailors cooperate to calm the seas and protect their crew despite differences in faith. Maritime solidarity ensures that seafarers’ safety is an international responsibility and operates on different levels to support seafarers and other stakeholders involved. In Le Havre, one of Europe’s busiest maritime crossroads, this spirit of solidarity is carried from the docks to the Seamen’s Club by a community of hands and hearts ensuring that seafarers are not faced with the loneliness of a foreign port.

The atmosphere at the club is shaped by whoever is managing the team on a given day. When Camel Brik is working, the whole room pulses with Daft Punk’s rhythms on the TV. Christophe Thoraval loves order and precision; offering clear guidance and a serene environment for the seafarers. Bruno Machet greets seafarers in their native languages; and perhaps the visitors’ favourite, Didier. A thrives on joking with sailors, sparking conversations and promising easy companionship. These daily shifts make each visiting experience unique — yet the underlying warmth and accommodation remains constant, making every seafarer feel at home, no matter the day.

The Seamen’s Club plays a practical role that extends beyond its walls. Each year, thousands of ships, carrying millions of tonnes of goods, call at Le Havre. Every ship consists of a crew of individuals who spend months at sea, working long hours under strict regulations, far from their families. Their objective is to ensure the well-being of seafarers by providing them with free shuttle service between the ship and the club, practical information and assistance such as free bike rentals; along with a bar and a shop that offers drinks, snacks and other necessities. Within the context of these services, the club receives up to ten thousand seafarers annually, hailing primarily from South East Asia and Eastern Europe. The club’s impact is part of a wider system of maritime solidarity by supporting individual seafarers: perhaps less visible, but no less essential. It reminds us that maritime activity is not sustained by machinery alone, but by the humanity of those who operate them.

The mutual strength and solidity of men at sea takes root ashore. Here in Le Havre, it starts with a ride into town, a warm welcome, and a feeling of belonging.

Connecting Solidarity and Sailing: the Transat Café L’Or

by Hannah Schepers

Image Credit: Hannah Schepers

Under stormy blue skies and cheered on by the public, the sailors participating in the Transat Café L‘Or have left the port of Le Havre on Sunday, Oct. 26. The boats will head across the Atlantic Ocean, towards the goal of this year‘s regatta in Martinique.

The city of Le Havre has hosted this race for the 17th time this year. The regatta was created in 1993 and retraces the route of trading ships transporting coffee from South America to Le Havre, the biggest port to import coffee in France. The sailors compete in teams of two to be the first to reach their goal in South or Central America, which is newly picked for every race.

With the race village set up right in front of campus, it has been quite hard for Sciences Po students to miss this event. During 10 days before the departure, the public was able to participate in several activities, learn about the regatta and admire the boats resting in the Bassin Paul Vatine.

Embarking on a journey of solidarity

Among the many competitors is the team of skipper Sophie Faguet (38) and navigator Nicholas Jossier (49) who are participating in the regatta for the second and third time, respectively. This year, they are sailing in cooperation with the social organisations L‘Arche en France and Ellye.

For this article, I had the opportunity to accompany Faguet and Jossier when entering the Bassin Paul Vatine on their boat, together with a group of residents of the newly founded community of L’Arche au Havre.

With a rumbling motor the boat leaves the port of Le Havre, for the short distance the sail will stay rolled up in its cover. We are not far out at sea but we are still met with a strong wind. I can only imagine how strong it will be on the open Atlantic.

While organising ropes on deck, Faguet tells me about her history in sailing.

She grew up in Normandy, close to the sea, and started sailing when she was still in primary school. What she likes most about this sport is the connection to nature and the feeling of true freedom: “You can go wherever you want.” Looking out on the open water lit up by the setting sun, I think I grasp the idea.

She participated in various sailing competitions for over ten years, becoming a full-time professional in 2019. Her next goal is to participate in the transatlantic regatta Route du Rhum in 2026.

When asked about challenges she faced, Faguet mentions the search for financial support from sponsors. In this race she and her teammate Nicholas Jossier are sailing in cooperation with Ellye, a non-profit organisation that is engaged in educating people on cancer affecting the lymphatic system; as well as L‘Arche en France, an organisation that works with people with a mental disability, to create more visibility and solidarity for these topics.

On the way to the Bassin Paul Vatine, she discusses the programme of the next days before the departure with the residents of L‘Arche au Havre. This cooperation started in 2024 when L‘Arche au Havre was still in development and Faguet participated in the Tour Voile, a regatta around the coasts of France, from the English Channel to the Mediterranean. In October this year L’Arche has celebrated its official inauguration, only a few weeks before the Transat Café L‘Or. The community consists of people with and without a mental disability who live together in a shared house, supporting each other in their daily lives.

We have nearly reached our destination when we pass in front of the Sciences Po Campus and enter the basin through the open bridge. Students leaving campus now will have to make a detour.

“[The hardest part is] making the right meteorological decisions for taking the fastest route,” Faguet explains. The sailing boats in the regatta are dependent on wind and taking the wrong route can cost their team precious time.

Especially this year, with storm Benjamin hitting France right in the week before the departure, the weather is not to be underestimated. The strong winds have overturned three trimarans in the English Channel that had already left on Saturday night, a few hours before the official departure. All of the sailors have been rescued, but they will not be able to continue the race.

Nonetheless, both Faguet and Jossier are optimistic: “[…] I am sailing with someone I trust completely,” Jossier states in an interview with Le Figaro Nautisme. “Our strength will come from our ability to remain united and stand by our choices,” Faguet underlines in the same interview.

The boat with the number 185 comes to a halt at the very end of the basin and our small group leaves the deck.

In the next days, Sophie Faguet and Nicholas Jossier will make their last preparations before leaving Le Havre to cross the Atlantic Ocean.