As the world marks International Women’s Day, media broadcasts around the world are filled with symbolic gestures and pompous rhetoric about women’s rights. Statistics are touted, efforts are celebrated, and hashtags are promoted.
Meanwhile, the real oppressors of women are whitewashed, their crimes covered up, and those who resist them vilified.
But here in Gaza, we know who our oppressors are and who our heroes are. The Israeli occupation has killed tens of thousands of Palestinian women and girls in the past two and a half years. It destroyed the lives of one million of them.
Gaza’s women have stood up and resisted Israel’s onslaught of genocide in their own ways. Female journalists in particular have shown true heroism. They undertook the dangerous mission of reporting on genocidal wars, testifying and documenting atrocities.
Their cameras, notebooks, and cell phones became tools not only for storytelling but also for survival and memory.
Women journalists in Gaza paid a heavy price for daring to challenge the occupation. More than 20 of the 270 journalists and media workers killed by Israel were women.
Among them is Mariam Abu Dhaka, who was targeted by Israeli forces along with other journalists at the Nasser medical complex in Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip in August. She worked as a field correspondent for years, documenting the suffering of Palestinians under siege and reporting on the realities of a genocidal war.
Mariam was not only a brave journalist but also a loving daughter and mother. When she was young, she donated one of her kidneys to her father, who was battling kidney disease.
She devoted all her energy to her son Gais. During the war, she made the difficult decision to send him overseas to keep him safe.
Before she died, she wrote a heartbreaking message to her son: “Gais, heart and soul of your mother, I ask you to pray for me. Please do not cry over my death.”
Four months before Mariam was killed, Israeli occupation forces assassinated another talented photojournalist, Fatima Hassouna.
“If I die, I want a death that resonates. I don’t want to be just a breaking news story or a number among many. I want a death that the world hears, a timeless impact, an image that time and place will not bury,” Fatima wrote on social media before her death.
As a talented young photojournalist, she had a bright future ahead of her. There were only a few months left until her wedding.
Just one day after it was announced that a documentary film about her would be screened at the Cannes Independent Film Festival, Israeli forces bombed her home in northern Gaza, killing her and six members of her family.
Fatima left us suddenly and too soon. However, her departure was not quiet. It was loud, just as she had hoped. A screening of a documentary about her received a standing ovation at the festival, with chants of “Free, Free Palestine!”
The mass targeting and killing of Palestinian journalists has had a devastating impact on those who survived. It left deep psychological scars.
Female journalists quietly talk about fear, pain and fatigue. They know that death can strike from the sky at any moment, yet they endure. They continue to cover the inevitable war. They continue to report on the genocide they are experiencing.
They detail starvation while searching for food for their families. They record the evacuation while running away from home with their children. They write about the bombing right after they survived the bombing. They interview mourners while they themselves are grieving the loss of a loved one.
They work under conditions that might make journalism impossible elsewhere. They operate in areas with little electricity or internet connectivity, and no safe passage for those wearing PRESS vests.
But despite these obstacles, women journalists in Gaza continue to write, record, document and broadcast to millions of people around the world. Their reporting has shaped the world’s understanding of what life was like during genocide.
As a young journalist in Gaza, I consider these women my heroes. They are a constant source of inspiration for me. Their strength and dedication to reporting in the face of danger, displacement, and personal loss showed me what it truly means to be a journalist.
I myself switched to journalism in June 2024. For months after the war started, I watched the world fall apart around me, not knowing how to react. I reached a point where the genocide took so much from me that I could no longer bear it.
Writing gave me a sense of purpose. It became an outlet for my emotions and a way to process the fear, sadness, and disorientation of a life of genocide.
It felt like documenting what was happening in Gaza was one of the few things that was still within my power. I now feel a simple but pressing responsibility. If I don’t tell these stories, who will?
Archiving our reality has become a form of resistance. Every image and every testimony is proof that Palestinians exist, that this is our land, that our community matters, and that the world cannot claim not to know.
For me, journalism is not just about informing an audience. It’s about preserving the memory of a place whose history those in power are actively trying to erase.
I understand the risks.
We also know that the world won’t always listen.
However, I am determined to continue anyway.
In this way, I pay tribute to the women journalists in Gaza who gave their lives reporting the truth and refusing to turn away from the world.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial stance of Al Jazeera.
