These Journalists Saw Israel Kill Their Colleagues. But They Refuse to Be Silenced.

For 45 minutes, Al-Hessi filmed the consequences: the wounded took place, the enveloped martyrs, the cries of parents who arrived at the overcrowded doors of Al-Shifa. “At one point, I broke down. I sat in a corner, sobbed and crying intensely. But then I went back to my camera because there is no choice for me unless I document the Israeli crimes against my people in Gaza, “he said.

His decision reflects the impossible dilemma with which Gaza journalists face. “We do not like danger or seeking death,” explains Al-Hessi. “We are human beings with families and dreams. But we cannot abandon our people. If we do not show the truth, no one will do it. ”

“The night truth has been burned”

Mohammed Qita, 30, independent journalist, was in a neighboring tent when the missile struck. Looking for a better internet connection, he had just released when the explosion torn the air.

“Suddenly, everything collapsed in the fire and the cries. I heard my colleague Mohammed al-Khaldi shout on it to escape from the rear door. A few minutes later, he died because of his injuries,” said Mohammed. “My instinct told me to run, but my heart brought me back. I realized that Anas was inside. ”

The powerful video of Qita records her cries of “Anas! Anas!” As he backs up in the flamboyant fire. The first body he saw was that of Mohammed Qreiqa, burning: “I tried to turn off the flames with bare hands. I knew he was gone, but I could not let him die twice.”

Then came the unbearable view of Al-Sharif, whose body was thrown outside the tent by the impact of the explosion: “I collapsed. I couldn’t treat it. Then I saw Moamin, killed on his chair, and Mohammed Nofal, his headless body. ”

In her attempts to save colleagues, Qita has suffered burns to the hands and injuries by bursts of shells behind her back, an almost paralyzing. But his deepest scars are not physical. “The real wound,” he says, “is the helplessness of seeing your friends burn while you are helpless. It turns off your soul. “

Even so, Qita insists on going back to work: “The camera is no longer a tool. It is a will by my friends. We cannot let their voice die. ”

“An attack on the witness”

Mohammad al-Sharif, 29, correspondent for Al Jazeera Mubasher and a cousin of Anas Al-Sharif, was on the site a few minutes after the fall of the missile. “The scene was unspeakable, colleagues lying on the ground, killed. I felt deeper than the words could not express. But I also felt the weight of responsibility: if we stop, Gaza will lose her voice,” he said.

Anas and Mohammed were born the same year in Jabalia in northern Gaza, grew up together and entered journalism side by side. “Anas was not only my cousin; He was my brother, ”he said. “He was courageous, even after surviving several assassination attempts and after his father was killed in a strike on their house in Jabalia on December 11, 2023. He continued to report, even under daily threats of the Israeli army. His latest stories about famine in Gaza moved the world; They forced the trucks. It was his victory. “

Mohammed described his cousin as “the voice of Gaza”. His cover of a hungry woman collapsed in the street, tears flowing on her face by telling, was a moment of raw humanity which pushed world indignation. “He has shown that journalism does not only concern recording, but it’s about feeling people’s pain,” said Mohammed.

These marty journalists had dreams, families and dear beings who now live with the pain of their absence. Anas left her children, Sham and Salah, his wife, Bayan, and his mother. Qreiqa followed his mother, who was executed by the occupation forces during a raid at the Al-Shifa hospital in March 2024, leaving behind Hala and their children, Zein, Zeina and Sanad. Mohammed Nofal left six sisters, his brother Ibrahim – a cameraman for Al Jazeera English – and his father, Riyad Nofal. He now finds his brother Omar, who was killed at the start of this genocidal war, and his mother, who was martyred in June 2025.

Likewise, Khalidi, Aliwa and Ibrahim Zaher have left parents whose heart now carries the weight of loss and desire, entrusting their sons the memory of the fathers who once said the truth with their cameras and their words.

The stories of Ayman al-Hessi, Mohammed Qita and Mohammad al-Sharif reflect the heart and resilience of Gaza journalists who are still alive.

Whenever they raise their cameras, they not only capture moments but honoring voices that have been silenced too early. They continue, because if they don’t do it, who will speak for Gaza?

Or, as Anas Al-Sharif so often said: “Coverage continues.”