The role of journalists in Gaza in wartime has always been to document the suffering of civilians and share it with the world. But since the current war began in October 2023, journalists have become targets themselves, not only of Israeli air strikes and incitement, but also of fear from the very people they aim to serve.
“People became worried about journalists from the first months of the war,” Abdallah Miqdad, 41, a correspondent for Al Arabi TV, told The National.
“Especially after targeting journalists, and even more so after the family of [Al Jazeera correspondent] Wael Al Dahdouh was killed. People began to believe that a journalist could be targeted at any time,” he said.
With foreign media barred from entering Gaza, local journalists are the main source of information on the deaths, destruction and displacement suffered by civilians in Israel's relentless targeting of homes, hospitals and schools to destroy the militant group Hamas. But with more than 230 killed so far – making this conflict one of the most lethal for journalists in modern history – ordinary Gazans now fear being in their presence.
In the most recent attack, five journalists were killed in an air strike on the Nasser Hospital in southern Gaza on August 25. The attack, which claimed 17 other lives, came two weeks after an Israeli air strike killed Al Jazeera reporter Anas Al Sharif and five other journalists in a tent near Al Shifa Hospital in Gaza city.
Miqdad said his flak jacket with the word "Press", once a symbol of credibility, has turned into a warning sign. “When people see me wearing it, they become afraid and uncomfortable dealing with me. Some are positive, but most are worried.”
That fear has had devastating personal consequences. After losing his home in the first days of the war, Miqdad tried to visit his displaced family members. But his family's hosts repeatedly refused him entry, fearing his presence might endanger them.
“Even when I tried to rent an office in Deir Al Balah, the owner stopped the deal when he found out we were journalists,” he recalled.
Abu Ahmad Mustafa, who lives in Gaza city and owns several apartments, said he refused to let them out to journalists because it worried the other tenants.
“I understand the role of journalists and how they put themselves at risk to show the world what is happening in Gaza. But the other residents in the building are afraid. They told me they would not stay if I rented to a journalist or others who have political affiliations,” Mr Mustafa told The National.
“Actually, because of our situation in Gaza, you have to be very careful about who you rent to in your neighbourhood. Before this war, people only worried about whether new tenants were connected to any political factions, since the Israeli army targeted apartments without regard for who was inside. Recently, however, people have also started to worry about journalists, because of the many incidents we’ve heard about where they were targeted.”
Anas Fateha, 31, a freelance photographer with Turkey’s Anadolu Agency, said that in his case, people's fear was compounded by defamatory allegations about his work.
“There is a clear fear among people towards journalists in Gaza,” he told The National. “This became worse after incitement campaigns. A major German newspaper, Bild, accused me of lying and distorting the truth. That changed how some people looked at me − they became hesitant to deal with me, even to speak to me.”
Fateha, however, refuses to abandon his duty. “Despite the looks, the pressure, the words of people, I have continued my work documenting events. My mission is to preserve the truth.”
He believes the only way forward is to rebuild trust through transparency, professionalism, and patience with communities who now fear the camera as much as air strikes.
Ahmad Al Areni, a freelance photojournalist, said the hostility can be brutal.
“People have started driving us away, telling us: ‘Go away so we don’t get killed because of you,’” he said. “During displacement, people told us: ‘Leave this place so they don’t bomb us and bomb you.’”
Al Areni said the absence of international protection for journalists is the central dilemma. “We consider ourselves martyrs. The fear around us is the result of journalism being neglected in this war. Any journalist could be targeted, any journalist could become a victim.”
What connects all these testimonies is a shared conclusion: that Israel has succeeded in reshaping the public perception of journalists.
“Journalists used to be appreciated for their work,” Miqdad said. “But after repeated targeting, people now see us as dangerous to be around. The journalist has become ostracised, not as someone who conveys suffering, but as someone who brings risk with him.”
This hostility has been echoed, and even legitimised, by Israeli media figures. Tsvi Yehezkeli, senior commentator on Israel’s i24 channel, openly justified the killing of five journalists at Nasser Hospital.
“If Israel has indeed decided to eliminate journalists, then better late than never,” Mr Yehezkeli said on air. “They are the spearhead of Hamas’s military wing, these so-called journalists. Israel did well to eliminate them. In my opinion, it was far too late, and there are still many of them causing damage.”
For Palestinian journalists, such statements are not just rhetoric. They become fuel for public suspicion, leaving them caught between the dangers of air strikes, political incitement, and the mistrust of their own communities.
“There is no safe place, and no respect for journalistic protections,” said Fateha. “But we continue. Because if we don’t tell the truth, it will be lost.”
