"Our very existence is seen as a provocation"

On social media, you often criticise Western journalists for their silence about Gaza and their claims of neutrality. Do you think that journalism can or should be neutral?

Too often, journalists avoid certain words as if using them would compromise neutrality—but in reality, this compromises their integrity. A journalist's job is to tell the truth, and everyone in the profession knows how powerful language is. When journalists, or anyone else, avoid the right language under the guise of neutrality, it has real consequences: it's costing Palestinians their lives. What excuse do journalists have for refusing to call what is happening in Gaza by its name? This is why I believe that neutrality only serves the oppressor. 

At a symposium in Switzerland last May, you had a heated exchange with former Bild editor-in-chief Kai Diekmann. He argued that slogans such as "From the River to the Sea" call for Israel’s extinction, while you insisted that what was happening in Gaza should not be described as a war but as a genocide. How do you view the broader debate around language, slogans and symbols in the media?

A few weeks ago, I wrote an article titled "The UN Called It Genocide in Gaza. Will Western Journalists Dare To?" Two years after the bombing of Gaza began, some Western journalists were still debating whether to call it a conflict, a war, or a genocide.

Meanwhile, babies in Gaza were being killed and starved. What breaks my heart even more is that we, me included, keep talking about the children because they are the most innocent. But the killing of men, women and the elderly, and the forced displacement of Palestinians, should never be acceptable either. 

Sadly, we often feel the need to highlight children just to appeal to the world's emotions, when in truth, none of what was happening in Gaza should ever be acceptable. It's absurd that some people focus on words instead of actions. They obsess over slogans like "From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free", calling them antisemitic—yet the killing, displacement and deliberate starvation of Palestinians are not treated as unacceptable.

In your book The Eyes of Gaza (2025), you describe how you had to choose your words carefully while reporting from Gaza before you fled to Australia, fearing that something you said could put you or your family at risk from Israel. Did you also face restrictions or pressure from Hamas?

The restrictions I faced in Gaza came from Israel's occupation. Fear is constant since every word or post could make you a target. At one point, a simple necklace with the map of Palestine I was wearing led to online accusations that it symbolised Israel's annihilation. This was surreal, especially as we were being bombed at the same time, showing how our very existence is seen as a provocation.

On X, I was even accused of being a member of Hamas rather than a journalist—the same accusation that has endangered and killed many Palestinian journalists over the past two years and justified attacks on schools, hospitals and universities. When more than 240 journalists and media workers are killed, how can that be called self-defence?

I used to think leaving Gaza would mean I could speak without fear. But I realised that even outside, our voices remain restricted and our existence continues to be denied.

What do you mean when you say your existence is being denied?

When I attended the St. Gallen Symposium in Switzerland that you mentioned at the beginning, a media outlet approached me for an interview. I looked up their work and realised they weren't exactly sympathetic to Palestinians, but I agreed, because I thought it could be a chance to share my perspective.

During the interview, they never once mentioned Palestine or Palestinians. All their questions focused on were Israeli hostages and rockets over Israel. I responded by speaking about Gaza, how children there grow up afraid of the sky, because of rockets and drones. That the children of Gaza can't differentiate sometimes between clouds and smoke from an airstrike.

After about ten minutes, the interviewer stopped and said the interview wouldn't be published because I wasn't answering his questions about Israel. It was very clear where his sympathy lay. Encounters like this are very common for us when we speak to international media.

Two years after the events you describe in your book, do you see any shift in how Palestinians are portrayed in international media?

Yes, and that's largely due to journalists who remain on the ground in Gaza, reporting what they see. Without their work, people outside Gaza wouldn't have access to any news or footage from the territory.

You’ve previously mentioned feeling survivor's guilt. How do you cope with the loss of so many colleagues and friends in Gaza?

Survivor's guilt is something every person I know from Gaza is suffering from, whether they're inside or outside. There's really no way to cope while the suffering continues. I wake up every morning unsure if I'll lose a loved one still in Gaza who didn't have a chance to escape the violence. I always hoped it would be over after a few days or months. Now, two years have passed. How can anyone begin to heal from something that hasn't even ended?

How do you view the recent ceasefire agreement? Are you hopeful that the suffering will finally end—especially since you wrote on Instagram the day it was signed that "the genocide is over"?

We've seen ceasefire agreements collapse before. But after two years of blood and rubble, I wanted to express hope. Still, no one will truly believe the genocide is over until Palestinians can wake up without the sound of bombs or news of more deaths. A ceasefire doesn't mean life in Gaza will return to "normal". Because of the extreme violence now, people start to miss life before October 2023 and even romanticise it. But that life wasn't normal and it should never have been seen as such.

Now, many remain missing without a trace; we don't know whether they're alive or what the coming days will bring. Ending the bombings is essential, but the problem runs deeper. What will happen to Palestinians in Gaza, to their destroyed homes, hospitals and their futures? It's hard to stay hopeful, yet just as hard to lose hope completely. It's a constant rollercoaster of emotions.