Physical Address
Indirizzo: Via Mario Greco 60, Buttigliera Alta, 10090, Torino, Italy
Gaza is no longer just on our screens; it’s etched into our minds. Images of famine, bodies torn apart by bombs, death and grief unfold before our eyes, moment by moment. These harrowing scenes have entered our homes, followed us into our bedrooms and become part of our dreams.
As the world bears witness to the devastation in Gaza, far too little attention is given to those who risk everything to document this reality, the journalists of Gaza, especially the photojournalists.
Since October 2023, around 250 journalists have been killed in Gaza. A significant number of them were photojournalists, capturing the war frame by frame, often until their final moments.
I vividly remember meeting journalists from Gaza for the first time in October 2018, during the Palestinian International Media Forum “Tawasul 3” held in Istanbul. It was there that I had the chance to speak directly with several Gazan journalists, and I came to a powerful realization: these are the true journalists, individuals who risk their lives every day to bring the truth to the world.
Among all these courageous journalists, the one who left the strongest impression on me was the Palestinian photojournalist Momen Faiz. His life story was both deeply heartbreaking and profoundly inspiring. Although we didn’t share a common language, I still managed to conduct a video interview with him.
When I returned to India, I spent the next three or four days in my university’s Arabic department, trying to understand what Momen had actually said. Perhaps, through that effort, Hindi-speaking readers were introduced to the life and message of Faiz.
In December 2008, during the Israeli siege of Gaza, Faiz made a courageous decision to show the world the reality on the ground through his photography. He crossed the Karni border with a friend to document the conflict, but tragedy struck when a grenade thrown by the Israeli army exploded near them. He lost both of his legs in the blast and his friend was killed.
Despite this devastating loss, his determination never wavered. His work continues to this day. Even now, Faiz documents the ongoing genocide in Gaza, its pain, destruction and unwavering resistance through the lens of his camera.
I have been closely following Faiz and his work for years, but my focus on him deepened after Oct. 7, when a new and brutal wave of violence began in Gaza. His presence became so constant and vital that if I didn’t see him online for two or three days, unsettling thoughts would cross my mind. But thankfully, Faiz continues to stand strong, documenting the truth from the front lines.
Living one day as a Gazan
During our last conversation, I had many questions, but at first, I hesitated to ask them. Given the tough situation in Gaza, and knowing that he himself must be deeply worried, I didn’t want to add to his burden. But as journalists, we are guided by instinct, our minds always searching for stories, even in the darkest moments. So despite my reluctance, I asked Momen how he copes emotionally with witnessing death, destruction and the loss of colleagues daily.
He replied that a “normal day” for them means living alongside their colleagues on the streets, in tents or cars, far from their wives, children and families. Wherever they rest, exhaustion overtakes them so quickly they fall asleep without warning, only to be jolted awake by the sounds of explosions, ambulances and the screams of women and children.
The scenes of devastation, martyrs and the wounded are beyond words. Momen said the experience is so overwhelming that it cannot truly be conveyed, because hearing about the news is never the same as witnessing it firsthand.
One of my many questions was about the most difficult scene he had to witness and how he managed to report on it. His description deeply moved me, and I felt that pressing him further might reopen painful wounds, which wouldn’t be right. He shared that the most heartbreaking moment was the attack on Al-Ahli Hospital, where his family, along with many others, had sought refuge. “Eight members of my family lost their lives. And I was wandering among more than 300 mutilated bodies and thousands of wounded, trying to take pictures and news. Our tears and blood became one when we found our beloved martyrs. It was an indescribably painful moment.” he said.
Momen’s wife, Deema Aydieh, is also a journalist. She is skilled in photography and videography. When I met her in 2018, she was working full time as a journalist for the magazine Women in Palestine.
In conversation, Momen shares that they often turn off their cameras and remove their bulletproof jackets and helmets because they cannot continue working. “We are human too,” he says. “Many of our colleagues have been killed and entire families have been devastated. These scenes are unbearable. How much longer can we endure this? Has humanity disappeared from the world?”
These questions haunt me constantly. I keep reflecting on what we learned in journalism school: journalists are not just conveyors of news, they are guardians of truth, shining a light in darkness, healing the wounds of humanity, holding rulers accountable and protecting democracy. Journalists in Gaza are doing exactly that. But the question remains: why are journalists around the world silent about the killings of their colleagues? Should we just keep counting the bodies of journalists killed and consider our duty fulfilled by writing about their deaths? Why can’t we call a murderer a murderer? Why can’t we call a tyrant a tyrant?
Valerie Zink, in her resignation from Reuters, said it clearly: “Every major outlet, from the New York Times to Reuters, has acted as a conveyor belt for Israeli propaganda, sanitizing war crimes and dehumanizing victims.”
So, for whom should we journalists pray? For Gaza? Or for ourselves?
