I did not go to Berlin to understand Germany in its entirety. Like many others, I traveled there to attend a programme, exchange ideas, and eventually return home. Yet what stayed with me was not merely the city’s order, its efficiency, or its familiar image as a major European capital. What stayed with me was a deeper reflection on how a state earns the trust of its citizens.
At the Hertie School, this question was rarely posed in such direct terms. Still, it permeated nearly every discussion I attended: in conversations about governance, in the analysis of public institutions, and in the way the state was approached as an entity to be studied, critiqued, improved, and held accountable.
From my earliest days in Berlin, I sensed that it is a city that does not reveal itself easily. It does not display its beauty immediately, nor does it quickly offer visitors a sense of warmth. To someone arriving from more vibrant and spontaneous cities, such as Alexandria or Cairo, Berlin may initially seem cold, reserved, or perhaps even a little dull. But Berlin does not ask to be loved at first sight. It is a city that demands to be read.
I am among those who believe that what may appear in Berlin as slowness is, in fact, a profound respect for procedure. What might seem like distance between people is sometimes a form of trust—trust that public life should not be built entirely on personal relationships or temporary workarounds. For someone interested in governance and institutional reform, this realization matters. The city does not teach you order merely as an external aesthetic; it pushes you to examine the very foundations that make order possible.
In this sense, Berlin is not a city built for display; it is a city built on institutions. It stands at the intersection of history and the present. In its streets, one can trace the scars of an old division; in its buildings, the signs of a long, deliberate process of reconstruction; and in its public spaces, a constant reminder that the past has not disappeared. Instead, history has become an integral part of how the state and society view themselves. One might even say the past remains an active participant in an ongoing conversation with the present, and inevitably, with the future.
I do not say this from a position of naïve admiration for the European experience. Learning from others does not mean surrendering to them, nor does it mean reducing their experiences into ready-made recipes for import. Whoever wishes to learn from another nation must approach it with intellectual parity, confidence in one’s own history, and a genuine willingness to understand what lies beneath the surface.
I am not easily impressed by a grand building here or an orderly street there. In our own country, we have enough to impress anyone inclined toward quick admiration. What interests me more is the architecture of thought behind these things: how they were designed, the philosophy governing them, and how differences are managed.
My time at the Hertie School deepened this kind of reflection. I was drawn not only to the quality of teaching or the international environment—though both were excellent—but to the institutional culture anchoring the discourse. Public policy here is approached with distinct gravity; governance is viewed not merely as a set of technical tools or administrative procedures, but as an intellectual and ethical responsibility concerning how the relationship between state and society is organized.
At Hertie, one realizes that public policy is not just about what governments decide. It is a methodology: how to define a problem, test assumptions, balance competing interests, and make public authority understandable, reviewable, and accountable. These questions do not just help one understand Germany; they force one to rethink one’s own country.
The German experience offers a vital lesson in this regard. Germany did not rebuild itself after the war by ignoring its past, but by forging the lessons of that past into enduring rules and institutions. Its federal system, constitutional court, robust local governments, and ingrained culture of public accountability all reflect a clear historical awareness of the dangers of concentrated power, and the necessity of making institutions stronger than individuals.
This is why Germany matters to me—not as a utopian model or a country free from problems, but as a case study that raises profound questions: How do societies rebuild trust after crises? How do institutions withstand immense pressure? And, most importantly, how can memory be transformed from an open wound into a wellspring of public responsibility?
One of the most crucial takeaways from the German experience is that reconciling with the past is not an intellectual luxury; it is a prerequisite for building a more self-assured state. Nations that flee their history often remain captive to it, while nations that confront it grant themselves the space to build a future with less fear and denial.
Through a long and arduous effort, Germany has succeeded—to varying degrees—in weaving memory into the fabric of the public sphere. Wounds are not buried in silence; they are studied, displayed, debated, and integrated into education, culture, and politics. This keeps history present, not as a hidden burden, but as a continuous source of learning and accountability.
Here emerges an important lesson for Egypt. We do not need to destroy our history, nor do we need to blindly sanctify it. We need to place it in its proper position: behind us so that we may learn from it, and before us so that we do not repeat it. Societies that fail to understand their history tend to reproduce it in new forms, even when they believe they have moved beyond it.
Germany’s significance extends beyond politics and institutions into culture. The German model demonstrates that culture is not a decorative ornament attached to the state only after the “serious files” are closed. It is a long-term strategic arena that projects influence beyond borders and shapes identity within them.
Music, philosophy, literature, museums, language institutes, and local cultural policies are not isolated details. They are pillars of a broader structure that makes culture a core element of the state’s global presence. Culture here is not managed merely as a series of seasonal events, but as a space for producing meaning, building bridges, and managing diversity.
In this specific respect, Germany offers a striking contrast to Egypt. Germany has cultivated a decentralized cultural system inextricably linked to its federalism, the diversity of its states, and a plurality of institutions. Egypt, by contrast, remains largely shaped by a highly centralized model of cultural administration—one formed in a different era and no longer sufficient to navigate modern transformations in knowledge, the content market, identity, technology, and soft power.
Studying Germany does not mean transplanting its model to Egypt. That is neither possible nor desirable. But it opens incredibly useful avenues for reflection: how to benefit from institutional plurality without weakening the state; how to give culture wider breathing room without descending into disorder; how to make the state a supporter of culture rather than its sole proprietor; and, fundamentally, how to transform culture from an occasional activity into continuous public policy.
Germany today is not free from anxiety. Issues such as migration, identity, security, social trust, integration, and demographic shifts heavily populate its public debate. Even recent discussions regarding military service or the social contract reflect a deeper, ongoing concern with the meaning of public commitment and the limits of shared responsibility.
Yet, this very anxiety is what makes Germany an essential subject for reflection. Its value lies not in being perfect, but in possessing the institutional tools required to think through its own problems. It is a state that makes mistakes, reviews, and hesitates, but rarely abandons the conviction that institutions remain the most reliable path to understanding and correcting those errors.
The Hertie School gave me a more precise language for thinking about these questions, and Berlin provided the environment that brought this language to life. Together, they helped me view governance not just as administration, but as meaning: how citizens perceive the state, how institutions acquire legitimacy, and, above all, how public trust is meticulously built over time.
For Egypt and many other nations, the lesson is not to imitate Germany. No state can successfully import the historical trajectory of another. The lesson is at once deeper and simpler: democracy, development, and reform will remain hollow slogans if they are not underpinned by a robust architecture of law, knowledge, education, culture, and public trust.
This is why I remain deeply interested in Germany, and why I continue to write about it. My interest is not touristic, nor is it rooted in nostalgia for a fleeting European sojourn. It is an attempt to understand how states become more grounded, how societies navigate their disagreements, and how institutions can turn history into awareness, culture into power, and memory into responsibility.
Berlin may not charm you effortlessly. Yet, for anyone invested in the state, reform, and the foundations of public trust, it is one of the most intellectually enriching cities in the world. Rather than easy pleasure, it offers something far more vital: a genuine opportunity to interrogate the very meaning of the state.
Perhaps this is the most profound lesson the Hertie School taught me: governance is not limited to what the state does. It is entirely dependent on whether people still believe that institutions matter.
Dr Ramy Galal is a governance and institutional reform specialist focusing on state capacity, accountability, and the design of effective public institutions. His work examines how institutional arrangements shape policy outcomes and government performance, particularly in emerging and middle-income contexts. He also engages with the concept of governance of meaning as an analytical lens for understanding how authority, narratives, and interpretation influence policy environments.
He is an Assistant Professor and a former Senator, bringing a combination of academic expertise and hands-on experience across both legislative and executive domains. He previously served as an advisor and official spokesperson for Egypt’s Ministry of Planning and Economic Development, with direct involvement in policy design, government decision-making, and implementation processes at the centre of government.
He holds a PhD from Alexandria University, a master’s degree from the University of East London, and a diploma in public administration from the University of Chile.
