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Tonight Hamburg is buried under snow.

The streets are quiet, almost tender white roofs, muted sounds, a city wrapped in stillness. From the outside, it looks peaceful. Yet the calm does not reach me.

While Europe sleeps under warm ceilings, Iran bleeds in the streets.

The news is relentless. Protesters, young people, are being killed with military weapons. Not in war zones. In their own neighborhoods. Some are wounded and forced into hiding, afraid to seek medical help because arrest can mean execution. Survival itself has become a crime.

And the world?

The world looks away.

I sit here, safe, free, treated with dignity by a country that is not my own and I feel the weight of that contrast. Gratitude and grief exist side by side. How can ordinary life continue when people are hunted for demanding dignity, and mothers wait for children who will never come home?

I want to say this clearly:

Do not close your eyes.

Where are the loud voices now?

Where are the politicians who never stop speaking about freedom, humanity, and dignity?

Where are those who turn certain tragedies into permanent headlines, yet fall silent when Iranian lives are erased one by one?

Selective outrage is not justice.

Silence is not neutrality.

This is not about ideology.

This is about human beings being shot in the streets for demanding the most basic rights: life, choice, dignity.

Snow continues to fall here, soft and indifferent. Elsewhere, blood stains the streets and fear dictates every movement. Distance is no longer measured in kilometers, but in safety.

I am angry.

I am heartbroken.

I am exhausted.

But silence is not an option.

If you are reading this from a place of comfort, remember: your comfort does not depend on someone else’s suffering. Speak. Share. Witness. Do not let Iran disappear behind other headlines.

Tonight I will try to rest under this heavy snow, carrying a country in my thoughts.

Tomorrow, the responsibility to remember — and to speak remains.