Letter from the editor: Journalism Edition
Palestinian journalists deserve to be protected and respected
My friend and colleague Mohammed Mhawish was trapped in Gaza. I still reflect on his harrowing words texted on Feb. 13 to members of the Arab and Middle Eastern Journalists Association (AMEJA):
“Apologies for my absence. I am not alright. It’s been an extremely difficult time for me and my family in northern Gaza. We’re living through the worst days since the war began. We have no food or clean water, and I have resorted to asking people for bread—if they have any—so that I can feed Rafik while we shelter in a parking garage of a destroyed building. I just hope this nightmare ends soon.”
When he texted I felt relieved that he is still alive but immense sadness at what our tax dollars have subjected him to. His message emphasizes what we’re seeing: No one is safe in Gaza, even and especially journalists who are supposed to enjoy the full scope of protection granted to civilians under international humanitarian law.
The last 300-plus days of the accelerated ethnic cleansing and genocide of Palestinians by Israel have been the deadliest for media workers since the Committee to Protect Journalists, a nonprofit promoting global press freedom, started gathering data in 1992.
As of publication, more than 125 have been killed and many others injured. In some instances, Israel has targeted journalists’ families. According to reporter Fadi Abu Shammalah, the Israeli Occupation Force (IOF) has, at times, waited until the journalist returned to their home to bomb them and their loved ones.
“The biggest problem for journalists is being targeted, and it's not easy targeting,” Abu Shammalah said during an AMEJA press briefing on Feb. 28. “Many stories I know personally, Israel was waiting until journalists finished their work, went back to their apartment with their wives or husbands and their kids and then they bombed them. You are not alone. You will pay the price for that. You want to be brave? You want to keep speaking up? Your kids, your family will be killed too.”
Yasser Qudih, a freelance news photographer, survived an Israeli airstrike on Nov. 13, but eight of his family members did not. Earlier that same month, Palestine TV accused the occupation of a “deliberate assassination” carried out against journalist Mohammed Abu Hattab and 10 of his family members.
On Jan. 7, Israel targeted Al Jazeera Gaza Bureau Chief Wael Al Dahdouh’s son Hamza with a missile strike, killing him and three other Palestinian journalists in southern Gaza, according to the Washington Post.
That wasn’t the first time Israel targeted Dahdouh or a member of his family. Last October, an IOF airstrike killed his wife, 7-year-old daughter and 15-year-old son. Then, on Dec. 15, Israel targeted Dahdouh himself while he was reporting in Khan Younis. Dahdouh has since evacuated Gaza to receive medical treatment in Doha, Qatar.
This edition of Palestine in America will focus on journalists who lost their lives during the last eleven months, those who were forced to flee, and those who are still on the ground reporting on the devastating conditions.
Since Oct. 7, 2023, much of the world has come to know journalists Bisan Owda, and Motaz Azaiza. They’ve shared with us—in between reporting on the atrocities in Gaza—that being journalists on the ground covering the destruction of their land wasn't their life goal. Azaiza, a photographer, wanted to capture the beauty of this world, and Owda, a filmmaker—in between the bombing—told us she used to play basketball, too.
While Azaiza evacuated Gaza, Owda is still on the ground reporting. These are just two Palestinians who had their dreams and aspirations put on hold, if not completely ruined, by the occupation.
At 16 years old, I thought I made a bold decision. When I told my mother I wanted to study to become a journalist, she hoped I would become a correspondent for Al Jazeera, like the late Shireen Abu Akleh, a Palestinian American killed in 2022 by an Israeli soldier while covering a military raid on Jenin, Palestine.
But as much as I love Palestine, I did not consider reporting on it until my senior year of college. I felt I would be too passionate about the subject. However, once I was censored for writing about my homeland, there was no turning back.
As I’ve shared before, I wanted to be a sports journalist. During my senior year at Columbia College Chicago, I earned my own sports column for the student paper, The Columbia Chronicle. One week, some administrators wanted to block my column from running because the content was Palestine-related and was unflattering to Israel.
After a week filled with arguments, compromises and stress, I was finally able to publish the column I had written, but under one condition: I had to disclose my Palestinian descent, as if that's the only possible reason to be critical of Israel.
I quickly learned my experience wasn’t unique to me in the Western world, which is why I founded a publication that would never censor a Palestinian voice, with a dedication to Palestinian interests, a news outlet that dedicates itself to holding the U.S. accountable for its role in the brutal occupation of Palestine, and a publication that highlights the beautiful Palestinian American culture.
This edition is dedicated to all the journalists in Gaza, and I hope this proves that every time Zionists try to crush us, we come back tenfold.
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