Remembering Gaza’s Fallen Journalists, Photographers & Media Workers
They went to work with cameras, not weapons. Notepads, not shields. Press vests hastily duct-taped with the word “MEDIA” in bold capital letters — hoping that visibility might mean safety. In Gaza, it did not.
Since the outbreak of the most recent war, an unprecedented number of journalists, photographers, fixers, and media workers have been killed in Israeli airstrikes. Many died with their families while sheltering in what were thought to be civilian buildings. Others were hit while reporting, filming the aftermath of bombings, interviewing survivors, or simply walking through their neighborhoods with a camera slung around their neck.
According to press freedom organizations, the number of media workers killed in Gaza is now the highest in any single conflict this century. The dead include seasoned correspondents, young freelance photographers, photojournalists filing wire images on smartphones, and local radio hosts who chronicled daily life in a place where life itself has become almost impossible. Their names are not well known internationally, but they were the eyes and voices of Gaza — for their people, and for the world.
The Silencing of Gaza’s Storytellers
On the morning of April 16, 2025, the war in Gaza claimed yet another voice — not just any voice, but one that had echoed defiance, resilience, and artistic vision. Fatima Hassona, a freelance photojournalist and member of the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate, was killed when an Israeli airstrike struck her home in Gaza City.
The day before she died, Fatima had been poised on the threshold of international recognition. A documentary in which she is the central figure — Put your soul on your hand and walk — had just been selected for the Cannes Film Festival.
Her story, her vision, her very life was on the verge of reaching the global stage. Instead, she became a line in a press release. A number on a growing list.
“As for the inevitable death, if I die, I want a loud death, I don’t want me in a breaking news story, nor in a number with a group, I want a death that is heard by the world, a trace that lasts forever, and immortal images that neither time nor place can bury,” Fatma wrote.
As of that day, 157 Palestinian journalists and media workers had been confirmed killed during Israel’s war in Gaza, according to the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ). This figure — the highest ever recorded in a single conflict in modern times — has become a damning indictment of a war that has not only targeted buildings, schools, and hospitals, but the very people who document such destruction.
A War on Witnesses
From the earliest days of the onslaught, journalists in Gaza have found themselves in the crosshairs — both figuratively and literally. Some were killed in clearly marked press vehicles. Others while broadcasting live. Some while sheltering with their families. The pattern is impossible to ignore.
This is not chaos. It is precision.
At what point does the scale of loss cease to be seen as “collateral damage” and instead be recognised for what it is — a campaign to eliminate the witnesses?
In the days and weeks following Hamas’ October 7, 2023 attack on southern Israel, which left over 1,200 Israelis dead and triggered the formal declaration of war by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel has launched an overwhelming and sustained military assault on Gaza. That assault has killed over 35,000 Palestinians — the majority civilians, and many of them children — and displaced more than 1.5 million.
But amidst the rubble and ash, the press — local, under-resourced, mostly freelance — kept reporting. They were the last line between Gaza and the world. And they began to fall, one by one.
Fatima Hassona’s death came not in isolation, but in context — the same context in which Israeli leaders now face mounting accusations of war crimes. Benjamin Netanyahu himself is the subject of a request before the International Criminal Court, with calls from human rights organisations and multiple governments urging that the Court issue an arrest warrant for the prime minister and other top officials.
Among the charges: the targeting of journalists.
“This Is Not a War. This Is an Erasure.”
Journalism is the first draft of history — but in Gaza, it may also be the last. The infrastructure of truth has been flattened alongside residential towers and refugee camps. Entire newsrooms have been wiped off the map. The offices of Al-Ayyam, Shehab News, and Ma’an were reduced to dust. At least five entire crews have been killed while reporting or sheltering in designated press zones.
“This is not a war,” one Palestinian editor wrote anonymously. “This is an erasure. And journalists are being erased first.”
Veteran Al Jazeera correspondent Wael Dahdouh lost his wife, son, daughter, and grandson in a single airstrike — but continued broadcasting. “They are taking revenge on the families of journalists,” he said on air, his voice trembling. “But we will keep telling the story.”
That story now includes the deaths of dozens of his colleagues. Cameramen like Samer Abu Daqqa, killed by a drone while covering the aftermath of a school attack. Broadcasters like Eman El-Shanti, killed with her husband and children. Fixers like Roshdi Sarraj, who had helped foreign media navigate Gaza for years — until an airstrike hit his apartment.
And it includes Fatima Hassona.
The Photographer Who Refused to Disappear
Fatima was not just a journalist. She was an artist. A documentarian. A woman who understood the power of the still image in an age of infinite scroll.
Her Instagram feed — still online, still gathering silent likes and broken-hearted comments — captured more than just war. She photographed weddings and protests. Children playing amid ruins. Women cooking amid rubble. Faces dusted with ash and determination. Her eye was not cold. It was furious. Tender. Political. Human.
In recent months, her work had caught the attention of Iranian exile filmmaker Sepideh Farsi, who cast Fatima as the central subject of her new documentary Put your soul on your hand and walk. The film, which follows Hassona’s life and practice under siege, had just been announced as an official selection at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival.
It could have been her international debut.
It should have been her passport out.
Instead, she became another headline. Another name. Another number.
But not to us.
We remember her words:
“I want a loud death… a trace that lasts forever, and immortal images that neither time nor place can bury.”
She got that death — not the one she deserved, but the one she foresaw. It is now our burden, and our obligation, to make sure her trace endures.
The Case for Accountability
Human rights organisations — including Reporters Without Borders, Amnesty International, and the Committee to Protect Journalists — have all called for urgent investigations into the systematic targeting of journalists. The IFJ has submitted dossiers to the International Criminal Court, and legal experts argue that these are not isolated incidents, but part of a pattern that could constitute a violation of Article 8 of the Rome Statute — the clause that defines war crimes.
“Media workers in areas of armed conflict must be treated and protected as civilians and allowed to perform their work without interference,” said IFJ Secretary-General Anthony Bellanger.
“People will only be able to understand what is really going on if journalists are allowed to do their work.”
But in Gaza, it seems, telling the truth is a death sentence.
What Remains
The images remain. The footage. The unfinished projects. The unsent emails. The press vests still hanging on shattered walls. The children growing up without parents. The spouses left behind. The editors refreshing inboxes that will never again light up with copy.
And yet, the world saw.
Not through government briefings. Not through AI-generated blurbs. But through the words and lenses of people like Fatima Hassona.
If there is to be justice, it must begin with them. If there is to be memory, it must begin with their names. If there is to be accountability, it must begin with the recognition that the truth was hunted, and those who spoke it were killed.
They were not collateral damage.
They were the point.
The Toll Grows: 157 Palestinian Journalists and Media Workers Killed in Gaza
As of April 16, 2025, the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) has confirmed that at least 157 Palestinian journalists and media workers have been killed during the war in Gaza. These individuals were not combatants. They were writers, camera operators, editors, and presenters — citizens dedicated to telling the truth in a place where truth itself has become a casualty.
The IFJ and the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate (PJS) have condemned these killings and called for immediate independent investigations. “No story is worth the life of a journalist,” the IFJ declared, even as the names on their list grow by the day.
Among the most recent victims:
- Fatima Hassona, a freelance photojournalist and member of PJS, was killed on 16 April in an Israeli airstrike that struck her home in Gaza City.
- Ahmed Mansour, journalist for Palestine Today, succumbed to his injuries from an airstrike on a media tent in Khan Yunis on 8 April.
- Hilmi Al Faqawi, journalist for Palestine TV, died in the same airstrike on 7 April.
- Hossam Shabat, a contributor to Al Jazeera Mubasher, was killed on 24 March when an airstrike hit his car in Jabalia.
- Mohammed Mansour, also of Palestine Today, died when his Khan Yunis apartment was bombed that same day.
The carnage continued through January, as hopes for a ceasefire gave way to more violence:
- Aql Hussein Saleh (Al-Shati Camp), Ahmed Hesham Abu Al-Rous (Nuseirat), and Ahmed Al-Shayyah (Khan Yunis) all died on 15 January in separate attacks.
- Saed Abu Nabhan, a photographer for Anadolu Agency and Alghad TV, was killed by a sniper on 10 January in Nuseirat.
- Omar Al-Derawi, journalist, was killed at home on 3 January in Al-Zawaida.
The 26 December strike on Al-Quds Today’s press vehicle outside Al-Awda Hospital was one of the deadliest single events, claiming the lives of five journalists:
Fadi Hassouna, Ibrahim Al-Sheikh Ali, Mohammed Al-Ladda, Faisal Abu Al-Qumsan, and Ayman Al-Jadi.
On 15 December, Al Jazeera cameraman Ahmed al-Louh was killed in Nuseirat. Just a day earlier, journalist Mohammed Jaber Al-Qerinawi died in a strike on his Al-Bureij home. That same day, Mohammed Baalousha of Al Mashhad TV was also killed.
The loss of Eman El-Shanti — a voice on Voice of Al-Aqsa Radio — on 11 December devastated the media community. She was killed along with her husband and three children.
The list continues. Each entry is a name, a profession, a place — and a date of death. Together, they form a terrible chronology of a war on journalism:
- Maysara Salah, Mamdouh Quneita, Ahmed Abu Shariya, Mohammed Saleh Al-Sharif, Bilal Muhammad Rajab, Saed Radwan, Hamza Abu Salmiya, Haneen Mahmoud Baroud, Mohammad Al Tanani, Hassan Hamad, Wafa Aludaini, and dozens more.
By including the names of those fallen — and the dates they died — we are not simply cataloguing casualties. We are preserving memory. Each name was a journalist, a storyteller, a human being committed to sharing their people’s experience with the world. Some were covering the destruction until the final moment. Others were killed while resting at home, alongside their families.
Many were killed while clearly marked as press or working in known media facilities. Newsrooms and press vehicles were targeted or caught in airstrikes, despite international laws protecting journalists in conflict zones.
The toll of 157 dead includes:
- Broadcast engineers like Huthaifa Lulu
- Producers like Samih Al-Nadi
- Camerapeople like Khalil Abu Athra and Marwan Al-Sawaf
- Fixers like Roshdi Sarraj
- Journalists’ children, spouses, colleagues — the silent casualties of shared homes and neighborhoods.
The IFJ continues to document each death meticulously. They welcome additional evidence, context, and names, seeking to ensure every journalist and media worker lost in Gaza is recognized and remembered.
As IFJ General Secretary Anthony Bellanger stated: “Media workers in areas of armed conflict must be treated and protected as civilians and allowed to perform their work without interference.”
What we are witnessing is not only the obliteration of Gaza’s press corps, but the attempt to silence a population. These journalists were Gaza’s voice to the world. It is our collective responsibility now to ensure their stories — and the story of their deaths — are not buried under rubble and forgotten.
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