Amid my study abroad journey, I decided to spend some time exploring Berlin on my own. One simple goal guided the afternoon: I wanted a photo in front of the Brandenburg Gate to pair with another journal entry. I squeezed the trip in between classes and museum visits, taking the bus from Citadines in Kurfürstendamm to the Brandenburger Tor stop. I wandered first past the Reichstag, then through the Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe, adding a few unplanned side quests along the way before finally reaching the gate.
It was late, and I hoped the crowds might have thinned enough for a decent picture. Instead, as I got closer, I noticed something felt off. The area was packed. Not just with tourists, but with flags I didn’t recognize, police officers, barricades, and people shouting in a language unfamiliar to me. Before I fully processed what was happening, I realized I had walked straight into a political demonstration taking place in front of one of Berlin’s most iconic landmarks.
I’m not usually someone who joins protests or demonstrations. I tend to avoid the news because there is always something unfolding somewhere, and trying to keep up can feel overwhelming. But this moment felt different. I felt pulled to understand what was happening. I started reading the signs: “12,000 killed since December” and “Now is the time to act.” Walking away didn’t feel like an option anymore. I pushed deeper into the crowd, looking for someone who spoke English and could explain what was going on.
Several people shared their stories with me about Iran’s government, the state of the economy, and the violence faced by citizens who dare to protest. Hearing that people were being killed simply for speaking out was devastating. I felt helpless, unsure of what I could do, so I stayed and listened. I let people talk. Someone handed me a flag, and I held it up. If nothing else, I hoped my presence and attention offered even the smallest sense of support.
When I eventually made my way back to Citadines, I felt changed. Years of avoiding standing up for things I believed in suddenly felt pointless. The Iranian demonstration wasn’t my fight but being there mattered. It reminded me that showing up, especially in solidarity with those risking everything for human rights, has value. Something shifted in me that night. Since then, I’ve been thinking deeply about the ways I can be more engaged, more informed, and more willing to stand behind causes I believe in.