“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
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World
/
A Day for Gaza
/ February 3, 2026
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Journalists in Gaza have bartered their lives to tell a truth that much of the world still doesn’t want to hear.
Ola Al Asi
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Relatives and colleagues bid farewell to Palestinian journalists Abdel Raouf Shaath, Mohammed Qashta, and Anas Ghoneim, who were killed in an Israeli airstrike.
(Abed Rahim Khatib / Picture Alliance via Getty Images)
This piece is part of A Day for Gaza, an initiative in which The Nation has turned over its website exclusively to voices from the Gaza Strip. You can find all of the work in the series here.
Can you fathom what it means to be a journalist in Gaza? To go months without holding your children simply because their proximity to you may get them killed?
Before the war began, I worked as an English-language correspondent in Gaza. I sought out mostly stories of success: The ambition that glittered in the eyes of our children, the enduring cultural traditions of the Strip and its landmarks. We were a people worn down by the scarcity of choice. But we were intent on survival, willed toward a better future, souls nourished by hope and by love.
Then, overnight, in October 2023, I was pushed to become a war correspondent. Some of my first reports came from the inside of the emergency room at Al-Shifa Hospital, where I encountered an endless procession of victims. I shuddered through the sound of bombardment and fire belts, shook at the sight of a charred child, a wounded woman, a mutilated boy.
A Day for Gaza
A Ceasefire in Name Only
Mohammed R. Mhawish
The Gaza Street That Refuses to Die
Ali Skaik
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Deema Hattab
My Sister’s Death Still Echoes Inside Me
Asmaa Dwaima
What Gaza’s Photographers Have Seen
Huda Skaik
How to Survive in a House Without Walls
Rasha Abou Jalal
What Edward Said Teaches Us About Gaza
Alaa Alqaisi
What Happens to the Educators When the Schools Have Been Destroyed?
Ismail Nofal
At the Doorstep of Tomorrow
Engy Abdelal
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Ola Al Asi
Not long after, the military declared that the north of Gaza had been made into a military zone—and I was forced to make a decision. A car was prepared to take me south where I could continue to report more formally, protected by the purported safety of my press vest and my profession. This would mean leaving behind my home and family indefinitely, their fate wholly unpredictable. But there was another option. I could stay, stand before a camera without any protection, and explain to the world what was happening to us. I told them I wouldn’t leave.
Let me …
Ask why this angle was chosen.
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Magazine
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Current Issue
World
/
A Day for Gaza
/ February 3, 2026
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Journalists in Gaza have bartered their lives to tell a truth that much of the world still doesn’t want to hear.
Ola Al Asi
Share
Copy Link
X (Twitter)
Bluesky Pocket
Ad Policy
Relatives and colleagues bid farewell to Palestinian journalists Abdel Raouf Shaath, Mohammed Qashta, and Anas Ghoneim, who were killed in an Israeli airstrike.
(Abed Rahim Khatib / Picture Alliance via Getty Images)
This piece is part of A Day for Gaza, an initiative in which The Nation has turned over its website exclusively to voices from the Gaza Strip. You can find all of the work in the series here.
Can you fathom what it means to be a journalist in Gaza? To go months without holding your children simply because their proximity to you may get them killed?
Before the war began, I worked as an English-language correspondent in Gaza. I sought out mostly stories of success: The ambition that glittered in the eyes of our children, the enduring cultural traditions of the Strip and its landmarks. We were a people worn down by the scarcity of choice. But we were intent on survival, willed toward a better future, souls nourished by hope and by love.
Then, overnight, in October 2023, I was pushed to become a war correspondent. Some of my first reports came from the inside of the emergency room at Al-Shifa Hospital, where I encountered an endless procession of victims. I shuddered through the sound of bombardment and fire belts, shook at the sight of a charred child, a wounded woman, a mutilated boy.
A Day for Gaza
A Ceasefire in Name Only
Mohammed R. Mhawish
The Gaza Street That Refuses to Die
Ali Skaik
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Deema Hattab
My Sister’s Death Still Echoes Inside Me
Asmaa Dwaima
What Gaza’s Photographers Have Seen
Huda Skaik
How to Survive in a House Without Walls
Rasha Abou Jalal
What Edward Said Teaches Us About Gaza
Alaa Alqaisi
What Happens to the Educators When the Schools Have Been Destroyed?
Ismail Nofal
At the Doorstep of Tomorrow
Engy Abdelal
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Ola Al Asi
Not long after, the military declared that the north of Gaza had been made into a military zone—and I was forced to make a decision. A car was prepared to take me south where I could continue to report more formally, protected by the purported safety of my press vest and my profession. This would mean leaving behind my home and family indefinitely, their fate wholly unpredictable. But there was another option. I could stay, stand before a camera without any protection, and explain to the world what was happening to us. I told them I wouldn’t leave.
Let me …
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Ask why this angle was chosen.
Log In
Email *
Password *
Remember Me
Forgot Your Password?
Log In
New to The Nation? Subscribe
Print subscriber? Activate your online access
Skip to content Skip to footer
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Magazine
Newsletters
Subscribe
Log In
Search
Subscribe
Donate
Magazine
Latest
Archive
Podcasts
Newsletters
Sections
Politics
World
Economy
Culture
Books & the Arts
The Nation
About
Events
Contact Us
Advertise
Current Issue
World
/
A Day for Gaza
/ February 3, 2026
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Journalists in Gaza have bartered their lives to tell a truth that much of the world still doesn’t want to hear.
Ola Al Asi
Share
Copy Link
Facebook
X (Twitter)
Bluesky Pocket
Email
Ad Policy
Relatives and colleagues bid farewell to Palestinian journalists Abdel Raouf Shaath, Mohammed Qashta, and Anas Ghoneim, who were killed in an Israeli airstrike.
(Abed Rahim Khatib / Picture Alliance via Getty Images)
This piece is part of A Day for Gaza, an initiative in which The Nation has turned over its website exclusively to voices from the Gaza Strip. You can find all of the work in the series here.
Can you fathom what it means to be a journalist in Gaza? To go months without holding your children simply because their proximity to you may get them killed?
Before the war began, I worked as an English-language correspondent in Gaza. I sought out mostly stories of success: The ambition that glittered in the eyes of our children, the enduring cultural traditions of the Strip and its landmarks. We were a people worn down by the scarcity of choice. But we were intent on survival, willed toward a better future, souls nourished by hope and by love.
Then, overnight, in October 2023, I was pushed to become a war correspondent. Some of my first reports came from the inside of the emergency room at Al-Shifa Hospital, where I encountered an endless procession of victims. I shuddered through the sound of bombardment and fire belts, shook at the sight of a charred child, a wounded woman, a mutilated boy.
A Day for Gaza
A Ceasefire in Name Only
Mohammed R. Mhawish
The Gaza Street That Refuses to Die
Ali Skaik
A Catalog of Gaza’s Loss
Deema Hattab
My Sister’s Death Still Echoes Inside Me
Asmaa Dwaima
What Gaza’s Photographers Have Seen
Huda Skaik
How to Survive in a House Without Walls
Rasha Abou Jalal
What Edward Said Teaches Us About Gaza
Alaa Alqaisi
What Happens to the Educators When the Schools Have Been Destroyed?
Ismail Nofal
At the Doorstep of Tomorrow
Engy Abdelal
“We Have Covered Events No Human Can Bear”
Ola Al Asi
Not long after, the military declared that the north of Gaza had been made into a military zone—and I was forced to make a decision. A car was prepared to take me south where I could continue to report more formally, protected by the purported safety of my press vest and my profession. This would mean leaving behind my home and family indefinitely, their fate wholly unpredictable. But there was another option. I could stay, stand before a camera without any protection, and explain to the world what was happening to us. I told them I wouldn’t leave.
Let me …
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