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AFP journalists warn their 'last reporters will die' working in current Gaza conditions

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  A group of journalists at Agence France-Presse is sounding the alarm about conditions faced by their colleagues working in Gaza, saying that without immediate intervention, the last reporters working there will die.


Gaza Journalists Grapple with Hunger While Documenting a Starving Population Amid Ongoing War


In the war-torn enclave of Gaza, where the specter of famine looms large over a population battered by months of relentless conflict, a group of journalists finds itself ensnared in the very crisis it seeks to expose. These reporters, photographers, and videographers, tasked with chronicling the human toll of the Israel-Hamas war, are now confronting their own gnawing hunger, a stark reality that mirrors the desperation of the 2.3 million Palestinians they cover. As international aid trickles in amid blockades and bureaucratic hurdles, these media professionals are skipping meals, rationing scant supplies, and scavenging for sustenance, all while dodging airstrikes and navigating the chaos of displacement. Their plight underscores the profound challenges of journalism in a conflict zone, where the lines between observer and victim blur, and the pursuit of truth comes at an immense personal cost.

Take Mahmoud Issa Qandeel, a video journalist for Agence France-Presse (AFP), who has become a poignant emblem of this dual struggle. Based in the southern city of Rafah, Qandeel describes days that begin not with breakfast but with the grim calculus of survival. "We are journalists, but we are also human beings living in Gaza," he says, his voice carrying the weight of exhaustion. For months, Qandeel and his colleagues have documented harrowing scenes: families grinding animal feed into makeshift flour, children sifting through rubble for scraps, and lines stretching for hours at aid distribution points that often run dry. Yet, behind the lens, their own lives echo these stories. Qandeel recounts skipping lunch to ensure his young children have enough to eat, relying on canned goods that have skyrocketed in price due to shortages. A simple tin of tuna, once affordable, now costs the equivalent of a day's wages—if it's available at all.

The broader context of Gaza's humanitarian crisis amplifies the journalists' ordeal. The war erupted on October 7, 2023, when Hamas militants launched a surprise attack on southern Israel, killing around 1,200 people and taking more than 250 hostages. Israel's subsequent military response, aimed at dismantling Hamas, has resulted in over 30,000 Palestinian deaths, according to health officials in Gaza, and has devastated the territory's infrastructure. Vast swaths of Gaza City and northern areas lie in ruins, with hospitals overwhelmed, schools shuttered, and agricultural lands destroyed. The United Nations has repeatedly warned of an impending famine, particularly in the north, where access to food and clean water is severely restricted. Aid convoys face delays at border crossings, exacerbated by security concerns and political tensions, leaving millions on the brink of starvation. The World Food Program estimates that more than half a million Gazans are experiencing catastrophic hunger, with reports of people resorting to eating leaves, weeds, and even scavenging from garbage dumps.

For journalists embedded in this environment, the hunger is not just a physical burden but a psychological one that threatens the integrity of their work. "How can you focus on framing a shot when your stomach is empty?" asks another AFP correspondent, who requested anonymity for safety reasons. These professionals operate in a landscape where electricity is sporadic, internet connectivity is unreliable, and movement is fraught with danger. Many have been displaced multiple times, fleeing from northern Gaza to the south, only to find overcrowded tent cities where basic necessities are scarce. Qandeel, for instance, shares a cramped shelter with extended family, pooling resources to afford meager portions of rice or lentils. The high cost of fuel means generators for charging equipment are a luxury, forcing reporters to conserve battery life for essential tasks like filing stories or uploading footage.

The irony is palpable: as they report on the global outcry over Gaza's food insecurity, these journalists are themselves part of the statistic. International media organizations, including AFP, Reuters, and the Associated Press, rely heavily on local Palestinian journalists who provide on-the-ground coverage that foreign correspondents cannot access due to entry restrictions imposed by Israel. These locals bear the brunt of the risks, with over 90 journalists killed since the war began, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. Hunger adds another layer of vulnerability, weakening their resolve and physical stamina. "We eat once a day if we're lucky," Qandeel explains. "Sometimes it's just bread and tea. But we keep going because the world needs to see what's happening here."

Beyond individual stories, the crisis highlights systemic issues in humanitarian access and the ethics of war reporting. Aid organizations like the International Committee of the Red Cross and UNRWA have decried the bottlenecks at crossings such as Kerem Shalom and Rafah, where inspections and approvals delay deliveries. Israel maintains that it allows sufficient aid and blames Hamas for diverting supplies, a claim the militant group denies. Meanwhile, airdrops and maritime corridors proposed by the U.S. and other nations offer limited relief, often landing in inaccessible areas or causing stampedes among desperate crowds. Journalists capturing these scenes—frantic scrambles for parachuted parcels—must navigate ethical dilemmas: Do they join the rush for food, or maintain their professional distance? One photographer described the internal conflict: "I see a child crying for a dropped biscuit, and I want to give him mine, but I have my own family to think of."

The toll on mental health is equally severe. Prolonged exposure to trauma, combined with malnutrition, leads to fatigue, anxiety, and a sense of isolation. Support networks for journalists in Gaza are minimal; psychological counseling is a rarity in a place where survival takes precedence. Yet, their resilience shines through in the dispatches that make it out: vivid accounts of mothers diluting baby formula with contaminated water, or elders sharing tales of past conflicts while chewing on bitter herbs. These stories have fueled global awareness, prompting protests, diplomatic pressures, and calls for cease-fires. Figures like U.S. President Joe Biden have referenced the famine risk in pushing for more aid, while the International Court of Justice has ordered Israel to ensure humanitarian access.

Still, for Gaza's journalists, the fight is personal and immediate. Qandeel dreams of a day when he can afford fresh vegetables again, or when his children don't go to bed hungry. "We're not just reporting the news; we're living it," he says. His work, like that of his peers, serves as a lifeline to the outside world, amplifying voices that might otherwise be silenced. But as the war drags on with no end in sight, the question lingers: How long can they endure? The hunger in Gaza is not confined to statistics or headlines—it's etched into the faces of those who bear witness, a testament to the unyielding human spirit amid unimaginable adversity.

This shared suffering also fosters a unique camaraderie among journalists. In makeshift press centers—often just clusters of tents or abandoned buildings—they exchange tips on where to find affordable canned goods or how to stretch a single meal across days. Some have formed informal cooperatives, pooling money to buy bulk items when trucks sporadically arrive. "It's like a family," one reporter notes. "We share everything: food, stories, even our fears." This solidarity extends to their reporting, where collaboration ensures comprehensive coverage despite individual hardships. For instance, when one journalist is too weak to trek to a remote site, another steps in, relaying footage via spotty WhatsApp connections.

The international community has begun to take notice of the journalists' plight, with organizations like Reporters Without Borders advocating for better protections and aid specifically for media workers. Calls for safe corridors to evacuate journalists have grown, though implementation remains elusive. In the meantime, these brave individuals continue their vital work, driven by a sense of duty. "If we stop, who will tell the truth?" Qandeel asks rhetorically. His question hangs heavy, a reminder that in Gaza, journalism is not just a profession—it's an act of survival and resistance.

As the conflict enters its sixth month, the hunger crisis shows no signs of abating. Reports from the ground paint a picture of escalating desperation: markets barren of produce, bakeries shuttered for lack of flour, and hospitals treating rising cases of malnutrition-related illnesses. Journalists, embedded in this reality, provide the raw, unfiltered narrative that challenges official accounts and humanizes the statistics. Their stories of personal sacrifice add depth to the global discourse, urging action from world leaders who debate resolutions in air-conditioned chambers far removed from Gaza's dust and despair.

In the end, the journalists of Gaza embody the paradox of their craft: to illuminate suffering, they must endure it. Their hunger is a microcosm of the enclave's broader tragedy, a call to the world to not only see but to act. As Qandeel powers down his camera after another grueling day, he reflects on the power of persistence. "One story at a time," he says. "That's how we fight back." In a place where food is scarce but hope persists, these words resonate as both a mantra and a plea.

Read the Full Associated Press Article at:
[ https://apnews.com/article/gaza-hunger-journalists-food-afp-32c19db56ddf9f3e6a847c76a676c7c9 ]