"so much death": Gaza journalist talks mental toll of covering the war

On the morning of October 7, 2023, Ismail Abu Hatab, a photojournalist, woke up to the deafening roar of rockets being fired from Gaza toward Israel. “It felt like the world was ending,” he recalled. Ismail instinctively grabbed his phone, searching for clarity in the chaos. The headlines were unimaginable reports of a massive attack on Israel by the Palestinian group Hamas. “Has the Resistance really killed it?” He was astonished with surprise.

The early hours were blurry for 32-year-old Ismail. “I immediately began preparations – charging my camera equipment, freeing the memory disk on my laptop and reaching out to my fellow journalists and photographers to verify the situation,” Ismail told NDTV. With adrenaline running through his veins, he picked up his camera and headed out, initially staying close to his neighborhood in Gaza City, unsure of what would happen next. He joined his colleagues at Gaza’s largest hospital, Al-Shifa Medical Complex. Together, they climb to the top of a tall building to capture the unfolding chaos.

There was devastation in Gaza after October 7. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu orders an invasion of Gaza. The besieged Palestinian enclave came under sustained attacks, leaving entire areas devastated and in ruins.

“The days that followed were relentless. We lost some of our fellow journalists, and working conditions became incredibly difficult. We were forced to sleep on the streets after threats were made to the media
office, and due to the internet blackout in Gaza we started working from Al-Shifa Medical Complex for some time. “Despite brutal attacks by the Israeli army, we continued to risk our lives to document the invasion,” Ismail told NDTV.

Covering the war in Gaza

For Ismail, work continued from al-Ghafari Tower, Gaza’s tallest building, where international and local journalists had set up a small office to document the attacks. But the conditions were brutal. “There was no electricity, so we relied on electronic SIM cards to access the internet,” Ismail recalled. Running up and down the tower’s sixteen floors to capture footage became routine. “If it was too dangerous to go home, we would sleep in our cars or even on the streets.” Every day, the death toll grew – physically and mentally – but the mission remained the same: to document the reality of Gaza under siege.

Ismail said that security measures for journalists in Gaza are virtually non-existent, leaving many local journalists in an extremely precarious situation. “Although international news agencies provide protective gear, vehicles and offices to some journalists, the resources available to local journalists are quite limited.” For freelancers like Ismail, the challenges are even greater. There is no institutional support, no safety net, no insurance. “Freelancers have been left to fend for themselves,” he says. Despite a lack of safety equipment, he continued his work and relied on the help of his colleagues for transportation and protection whenever possible. .

“During the conflict, many international agencies told their journalists to leave Gaza City and head south for their own safety. My work was often a collaborative effort with other journalists who
Access to safety equipment and transportation, but this was only temporary. “Personally, I found it difficult to obtain a press vest and safe transportation; I relied on the help of my colleagues for protection whenever possible,” Ismail told NDTV.

a faint yellow light

The risk culminated in tragedy on November 2, 2023, when Ismail was injured during an Israeli airstrike while working on the al-Ghafari Tower. “That night was very intense—the Israeli airstrikes were continuous, destroying entire residential blocks,” he recalled. The next morning, as he sat down to edit the previous day’s footage, disaster struck.

“By morning, after making a cup of coffee, I sat down to review and edit the previous day’s footage. As I worked, everything suddenly went dark. I couldn’t hear or see anything for a moment. Couldn’t. Then I realized I was buried under debris – an entire wall had fallen on me,” Ismail said.

Ismail’s colleagues rushed to pull him out and the pain hit him like a wave. “I remember seeing a faint yellow light through the dust, but I was completely disoriented. My left leg was seriously injured. I was unable to stand. They had to carry me down 16 stairs. Carried down, and every step was painful.” With Israeli missiles exploding indiscriminately in the neighborhood, the idea of ​​an ambulance arriving to rescue Ismail was unimaginable.

His body covered in blood and his leg badly damaged, he was taken to Al-Shifa Hospital by his colleagues. By the time they arrived, he had become unconscious.

He woke up to a scene of complete chaos. “The sounds of wounded people, death and screams of farewell surrounded me.”

Due to the heavy casualties, Ismail could not get a bed, leave alone surgery. A colleague took him to a tent set up for journalists, where he waited for several days. Eventually, he was transferred to the Palestine Red Crescent Hospital in Tel al-Hawa, in the southern Gaza city, but as fate would have it, the hospital itself came under siege. Ismail and others trapped inside feared for their lives, as Israeli forces advanced outside.

path to recovery

After several days of terror, there was a breakthrough – a phone call from the Israeli army, giving them half an hour to evacuate the wounded. “We were loaded onto a truck under heavy firing,” Ismail recalled. But the evacuation was also fraught with danger. At one checkpoint, Israeli forces forced the wounded, including Ismail, out of the truck, exposing them to sniper fire. Ultimately, they were evacuated to southern Gaza, and Ismail was taken to Al-Amal Hospital in Khan Yunis for further medical care. This marked the beginning of a long and painful recovery process that would last for months.

“I was taken to Al-Amal Hospital for further medical evaluation and then taken to live with my sister in Khan Yunis. Unfortunately, during this time, Israeli forces advanced, and my brother-in-law was killed. We Had to do this.” Khan fled again, heading from Yunis to Rafah, then Deir al-Balah, Ismail told NDTV.

The wounds of that day, both physical and mental, are still green for Ismail. “I couldn’t walk for ten months,” he said. “My recovery has been slow.”

Despite undergoing a second surgery, the procedure was botched, and he is still waiting for treatment abroad to fix it. “Despite everything, my recovery has been entirely personal,” Ismail lamented, adding that no organization – whether local or international – has offered financial support for his treatment. “I have to bear all the expenses myself. At the moment, I am unemployed, but I am trying to rebuild my life.”

‘So much death’

The scenes Ismail witnessed as a photojournalist still haunt him today. “One of the most disturbing things I’ve seen is the use of fire belts – indiscriminate, sudden and deadly,” he said. “Buildings and entire neighborhoods collapse. Lives are lost as if they were just numbers.” It is the human toll that weighs heaviest on him. “Children, women, elderly people – all innocent lives were taken. When I go to the field to document these events, I often see people trapped under the debris. It disturbs me.”

“I ask myself, what was their mistake? Why are they dying when they loved life? What were their dreams? What were they doing just before they were killed? How did they live? What about their children and What about their spouses? I have seen many martyrs, their food is still in front of them, they are unable to finish the food because they were killed. I think they must have realized that just before death. Why was an innocent man with simple dreams, a beautiful family and a simple life taken away so brutally?

“I have seen a lot of deaths. Mass graves and final farewells – these things affect me deeply. How can one group of people decide the fate of another and kill them like this?”

One particularly painful experience remains imprinted in his memory. After the bombing of Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital, Ismail met a mother and her young son. The airstrike caused serious injuries to the boy’s internal organs, which seriously affected his mental health. “He was a very kind and happy boy,” Ismail said. Stuck for days together in the Palestine Red Crescent hospital during the siege, Ismail recalled one particularly poignant moment. “A man ran after our truck, yelling the boy’s name. He climbed onto the truck and hugged him, saying, ‘Forgive me, I didn’t see you because I was busy saving others.’ The man was the boy’s father. Was.”

In this reunion, Ismail finds a rare moment of humanity amidst the wanton carnage.

Another horrifying memory is of the man who helped rescue Ismail from under the debris of a collapsed building near his home. “I heard a faint sound coming from under the debris,” he recalled. He along with the local youth brought the man out alive. Coincidentally, he met the survivor again while recovering in the Red Crescent Hospital. “You’re a miracle. How did you survive?” Ismail asked him. The man’s calm response: “By God’s will, because I take care of orphans.”

The mental burden of covering the war

Journalists covering war and conflict often suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). As a photojournalist who has witnessed everything from mutilated children to destruction of infrastructure on an unprecedented scale, Ismail’s mental health remains affected.

“I have suffered significant effects because of the experiences I have gone through. I suffer from sleep problems, memory problems and depression. The sounds of the explosions and the screams of the families of the martyrs echo in my mind.” Despite the emotional and physical suffering, Ismail continues to document Gaza’s suffering, driven by a sense of duty to his country. “I believe I was created in this life for a reason,” he said, “and I have filmmaking and storytelling skills that empower me to share the truth.”

Many journalists in Gaza have paid the ultimate price for telling that truth. Ismail said, “I have lost allies and friends in this war.” “But I have chosen to stay here, refusing to leave Gaza, because this country needs me. How can I leave it in its time of need?”