Germany cannot imagine the suffering in Gaza

It's easy to praise your country's policies when things are going well. What's harder is to criticise them when they are wrong. That's what I thought as I read Jannis Hagmann's 28 July article, "Hunger in Gaza—Made in Germany". In a calm tone, Hagmann criticised the German government and media for supporting the Israeli position. He discussed how the discourse shifted as the famine in Gaza reached its peak.

Suddenly, German newspapers were showing pictures of emaciated children. I could engage in a discussion around the professional ethics of these photos, but I want to ask something else: is it true, as Hagmann argues, that these images signal a shift in German politics and media? My honest answer is no.

The publication of these images means nothing. What we are witnessing is only a brief stirring of public conscience that will quickly fade. As soon as these images appeared and began to reach, as Hagmann writes, a broad section of the German public, newspapers were quick to react with scepticism, questioning their authenticity.

On 3 August, the Süddeutsche Zeitung published an article with the title "War and Media: how real are the pictures from Gaza?" Already, the flicker of conscience was disappearing, and more headlines began to cast doubt on the images of the starving.

Bild, Germany's most-read daily, claimed shortly after that the photographs, published internationally, were staged. The article, published on 5 August, failed to provide any evidence, relying solely on the assertions of the three authors. Among other claims, they reached this remarkably contradictory conclusion: "The hunger is (almost always) real—but the pictures often are not entirely so." Hardly an expression of journalistic conscientiousness; it instead illustrates the weakness of their argument.

This is the turning point that Hagmann so optimistically highlights in his article. I will return to his analysis later, but first, back to Bild, which also accused Palestinian photojournalist Anas Fatiha of selectively photographing women and children waiting for food while ignoring scenes of people receiving and eating it.

Here, it is clear that the newspaper lacks local contacts. Otherwise, they would know that whenever food is distributed, hundreds of people are left with empty plates. There simply is not enough to feed everyone. In any case, under normal circumstances, these people would be able to prepare something for themselves at home or in their tents instead of standing in line and waiting for their plates to be filled.

I know firsthand that the people of Gaza do not need to fake images of starvation. In a recent photo sent by my family, I barely recognised my own father. Visibly emaciated, he had lost half his weight, and the sun had darkened his skin even further. I couldn't believe my eyes, but in my heart, I knew it was my father. I recognise him no matter what he looks like, just as I recognise my people, regardless of their condition.

A moral compass requires imagination

There are certainly journalists who crave the "perfect" picture of tragedy, as if real suffering were not harrowing enough. This is often the approach of Hamas's media, which has specialised in manufacturing tragedies to pull at heartstrings.

But this is simply not the case with this famine and these images. For Bild, it seems easier to discredit the photos than to address Israel's responsibility for hunger in Gaza. This "research", devoid of evidence, cannot absolve Israel of responsibility.

At the end of the Bild article, the authors emphasise: "Hardly anyone is more skilled at propaganda than Hamas and other Palestinian terrorist organisations," followed by a picture of the late Yasser Arafat in his headquarters, besieged by the Israeli army between 2002 and his death in November 2004. The photo shows him writing by candlelight in his official residence in Ramallah. The authors claim that Palestinian journalists cannot be trusted—why else would they photograph Arafat by candlelight instead of using the spotlights on their cameras? I have never read such a poor and superficial interpretation of Palestinian history as in these naive lines.

I was once told that having a moral compass depends largely on imagination: the ability to put oneself in the shoes of the oppressed. This imagination fuels rebellion against oppressors and creates the desire for change. It seems the German right wing, and all who represent it in the press, politics and religion, are just as unimaginative as other extremists worldwide.

Back to Jannis Hagmann's article. He cites several signs of positive change, like statements by Federal Foreign Minister Wadephul, who described the humanitarian situation in Gaza as "unacceptable", or the protest by some 130 diplomats at the Foreign Office calling for a change in policy.

What Hagmann fails to mention, however, is the repression of demonstrators and the knee-jerk accusations of antisemitism that follow any expression of solidarity with the people of Gaza. Added to this is the fear of many refugees from Gaza living in Germany: anyone who publicly supports their compatriots risks being labelled a supporter of Hamas or terrorism.

The German government's behaviour since the start of this war of annihilation in Gaza is a disgrace. The repression and intimidation of demonstrators, and the prejudgment of all Gaza residents—as if the word "Hamas" were written across their foreheads at birth—is also a disgrace. I left Gaza in 2016. During my time there, I witnessed growing hatred toward Hamas. This hatred, albeit mixed with fear, is today at an all-time high. 

Incitement has turned journalists into targets

So what can we, as writers and journalists, do? One option is to voice our opposition so loudly that our texts keep German politicians awake at night. That would mean refusing to quietly applaud small concessions.

If, on the other hand, we accept that Israel continues to bomb Gaza while criticising only the starvation, then perhaps we should stop writing altogether. One day we will have to face our own moral conscience, when our children and grandchildren ask: "What did you do while Gaza was starved and its people annihilated?"

Calling for an end to the war is not enough. Publishing pictures of the starving is not enough, nor is praising a few tentative changes. What about all the months before the famine began, which left such deep scars on the bodies of the people of Gaza? What about when newspapers and governments were silent while thousands of families were killed in the safety of their own homes?

What we are currently witnessing are short-lived reactions—to images and videos of mothers crying over their starving children. Has this ever been effective? Why does one death count more than another? Why does a child who has lost limbs to American, Norwegian, French and German bombs elicit less compassion than a child whose breastbone protrudes and whose eyes lie in their sockets? Are weapons legitimate in this context, while hunger is not?

I am writing this article as news of the murder of members of the Al Jazeera team in Gaza flashes across my screen. Those killed include reporters Anas al-Sharif, Mohammed Qureiqeh, and three others, on 10 August in Gaza City. The killing of journalists by the occupying power is made possible by inciting hatred, as Bild did when it defamed Anas Fatiha for posting "Free Palestine" on Instagram. Did they expect him to write "Free Israel"? A little common sense should tell you that not everything Palestinian must be condemned, however great one's sense of historical guilt.

The slain Al Jazeera correspondent Anas al-Sharif was also described as a "terrorist" in Bild and other German media before and after his death, based on Israeli army statements. The fact that he repeatedly called on Hamas, through his X account, to sign a peace agreement, and criticised Hamas's disregard for civilian suffering, is ignored.

Meanwhile, reports from foreign and Israeli journalists are readily reproduced in German media, often based on press trips organised by the Israeli army. This includes reports from Rafah, where I was born and spent my childhood. Today, it is completely destroyed and off-limits. Frequently, Israeli journalists have close military connections—many served in the army before beginning their careers. Can we expect objectivity from them? How rose-tinted Jannis Hagmann's perspective seems in the face of such overwhelming bias.