The speech brought out the true me, hidden for a long time. It was one task that uncovered who I really was, a task that forced me to speak when silence had been safer. It educated me in ways no classroom ever could. It pushed me to learn, to question, and to understand the systems around me.

That single task shaped my path. It made me a musician, a writer, a poet, a speaker, and a political activist. It became my teacher when there was no guidance, no support, and no clear future. Even when hope was absent, that task demanded honesty, courage, and voice and through it, I discovered myself.

My first encounter with a journalist was during a street interview in front of the Munich Parliament in 2019. I was standing there surrounded by hundreds of federal police officers. Their presence was heavy and intimidating, and for a moment, the questions left me silent. Silence came first not because I had nothing to say, but because the weight of the setting demanded it.

Then the journalist asked me:

“Destiny, how do you see and how can you explain police brutality and violence in the camp?”

The question cut straight through the noise of the street. It was not an abstract issue for me; it was lived reality. Police brutality in camps is often explained away as security, order, or enforcement, but for those inside, it feels like punishment without crime. Violence becomes normalized, and fear becomes part of daily life.

What the public often does not see is that camps are spaces of extreme power imbalance. Refugees live under constant control, with little ability to question authority or defend themselves. When force is used, there is rarely accountability. Complaints are dismissed, voices are doubted, and silence is encouraged.

That moment in front of the Munich Parliament marked something important for me. Speaking about violence in camps, under the watch of armed police, showed how fragile freedom of expression can be for refugees. Yet it also showed why speaking out matters. Silence protects the system. Truth challenges it.

We are being seen as people who do not want to integrate, who do not want to learn. That is the narrative being pushed: refugees are criminals. What is not told to the world is that refugees often face serious challenges and are denied opportunities to learn and integrate, simply because their asylum applications are rejected. They are blocked from language courses, education, and work, yet they are still asked, “Why don’t you speak German?”

This contradiction defines the refugee experience. You are denied access, then blamed for not entering. You are kept at the margins, then accused of choosing isolation. The system creates exclusion and later points to that exclusion as proof of failure. Integration is demanded, but the doors that make it possible are deliberately kept closed.