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Attending COP25 in Madrid was more than just an opportunity—it was a necessity. This was the last UN climate conference before the Paris Agreement officially came into effect in 2020, and I knew that youth voices had to be present. The decisions being made inside those negotiation halls weren’t abstract—they were our future. Yet, most of the people deciding that future wouldn’t be around to experience the consequences.
I was at COP25 alongside some of the most dedicated youth activists I know—Greta Thunberg, Alexandria Villaseñor, Luisa Neubauer, and Xiye Bastida. Together, we represented the movement that had mobilized millions of young people around the world to demand real climate action. But from the moment I stepped inside the conference, I felt the tension between the words spoken by politicians and the reality happening outside those walls. COP25 was meant to be a place of climate ambition, but instead, it felt like a stage for rehearsed speeches and empty promises.
Outside the venue, 500,000 people flooded the streets of Madrid, marching for climate justice, demanding that world leaders wake up and take meaningful action. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming—a sea of people, voices united, banners held high. Every chant, every step forward, was a push against the inaction happening inside the halls of power. It was a moment of unfiltered people power—a reminder that no matter how much politicians tried to delay action, the people weren’t going anywhere. This was a movement that couldn’t be ignored.
But inside COP25, it was a different story. Negotiators delayed, argued, and compromised away the urgency of the crisis. As world leaders debated technicalities, the window for real action grew smaller. It was frustrating, but not surprising.
On the fifth day of COP25, we—Fridays for Future activists—staged a silent sit-in inside the conference. We sat in complete silence as delegates walked by.
Some stopped. They felt our presence, they made eye contact, they saw the weight of what we were doing. Others hurried past, uncomfortable, unwilling to acknowledge us. That was the point.
The silence was a confrontation. It was a stark contrast to the endless political speeches inside the negotiation rooms. Because we—the youth—were not being heard. And when the world refuses to listen, silence can be deafening.
No matter how the delegates reacted, our silence forced them to recognize us. And that moment, however brief, proved one thing: our presence made them uncomfortable. It meant we were doing something right.
One of the most unforgettable moments of COP25 wasn’t a negotiation or a protest—it was an art exhibition featuring work by children under 12 years old.
Walking through that gallery, I saw the crisis through their eyes. Their drawings weren’t sugar-coated. They weren’t diplomatic. They were raw, emotional, and devastatingly real. Some had drawn animals drowning, forests burning, oceans rising—visual representations of the world they were inheriting.
It reinforced what I already knew: climate action cannot be left to politicians alone. It must be intergenerational, involving not just scientists and policymakers, but artists, activists, storytellers, and children themselves. They see the world in a way that adults often forget. They imagine possibilities that policymakers won’t even consider. They must be included in shaping the future, because it belongs to them.
Despite the passion in the streets and the pressure from civil society, COP25 failed us. Countries refused to come to a strong consensus, Article 6 negotiations collapsed, and the lack of ambition was suffocating. But COP wasn’t just about the policies—it was about the people.
At COP, I formed alliances with activists from across the world, each fighting in their own communities for climate justice. I met the most inspiring, dedicated, and brilliant people—people who refused to accept the status quo, people who carried the same fire I did. While COP25 showed me that we cannot trust politicians to do what is needed, it also proved that we are not alone in this fight.
I left COP25 with a renewed sense of purpose. I had walked among half a million people demanding change. I had stood in silence as decision-makers were forced to face our presence. I had listened, learned, and most importantly, I had hope.
As much as this COP felt like a battle between us—the youth—and them—the policymakers—the truth is that it doesn’t have to be that way. If we are going to create a truly just and sustainable future, we need holistic collaboration. Politicians must stop seeing youth activism as an opposing force and start bringing young people into the decision-making process. We do not strike because we want division. We strike because we know that the climate crisis is bigger than all of us, and solving it requires collective action across generations, sectors, and borders.
I left COP25 more determined than ever. Because we are the future. And we demand a voice in how it will look.
And no matter how long it takes, we will not stop until we are heard.