Boston has always been a city that remembers how to rise. From the Boston Tea Party to abolitionist rallies and civil rights marches, the city’s history is rooted in standing up to what many have viewed as overbearing government power. Looking back a few days after the “ICE Out Everywhere” protest on Saturday, January 31, it feels clear that this legacy was once again being called upon. Standing on Boston Common that morning, bundled against the cold, it felt as though the beast that resides in Boston, the one that awakens in moments of great change, was waking up.
I attended the protest in person as thousands gathered despite freezing temperatures and lingering snow from a recent storm. Protestors filled Boston Common and moved toward the Massachusetts State House, demanding that Massachusetts and local governments end all cooperationwith U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).
The rally was organized by a coalition of activist groups and was part of a nationwide day of action, with hundreds of similar demonstrations taking place across the country. The size of the crowd and the willingness to show up in such conditions reflected a deep sense of urgency and commitment.
Speakers addressed the crowd from the State House steps, calling for nonviolent resistance, greater protections for immigrant communities, and accountability for federal agencies. Between speeches and bands playing their music, the people’s determination echoed through the Common, keeping energy high as protestors chanted and waved signs demanding justice and reform.
Walking through the crowd, I noticed how varied the protesters were. Longtime activists stood alongside first-time demonstrators. Families brought children wrapped in scarves and winter coats. Older Bostonians carried signs shaped by decades of political engagement, while youngerattendees, many college-aged, documented the event on their phones. Community organizers, faith leaders, labor supporters, and immigrants themselves made up a crowd that reflected Boston’s diversity and its long-standing culture of civic participation.
Yet one thing became more noticeable the longer I stayed: very few Bentley University students were present. This absence stood in stark contrast to the level of engagement Bentley students have shown online and in academic spaces. In the days leading up to the protest, and even afterward, social media posts, classroom discussions, and group chats were filled with commentary on immigration, ICE, and the protest itself. Many Bentleystudents clearly care about these issues. But caring did not translate into showing up.
Reflecting on this now, days after the protest, it raises difficult questions. Are Bentley students hesitant to step outside the safety of their screens and classrooms? Is fear (of visibility, confrontation, or consequences) a factor? Or is the absence strategic and rooted in a belief that protests are symbolic rather than effective, and that change is better pursued institutionally.
Boston’s own history suggests that real change has rarely happened quietly. This city did not become a birthplace of American independence through discussion alone.
As I think back on the chants echoing across the Common and the determination of those who showed up despite the cold, one question lingers: if Boston is once again being called to stand up, who is willing to answer that call? And for Bentley students in particular, it is worth asking whetherengaging with justice from a distance is enough, or whether meaningful change requires stepping into the crowd, just as generations before us once did.
