Israel killed six journalists in a single day, leaving behind deep sorrow and growing fear for those who remain to cover the Israeli war on the Gaza Strip. It seems their fate is also death, just like their colleagues who are being killed daily.

Behind every journalist killed, there is a story, a family, and dreams they hoped to realize—but Israeli shells were quicker, turning their bodies into scattered remains.

Maryam Abu Daqqa, the Palestinian journalist who was killed while holding her camera and phone to document an Israeli airstrike inside the Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Younis, southern Gaza, was a mother to a child named Ghaith, and a daughter in a large family that she cared for with everything she had.

Maryam was displaced during the war from her family home in the town of Abasan east of Khan Younis—where she lived with her parents and son—to the Al-Mawasi area west of the city. This was her first displacement since the beginning of Israel’s assault on Gaza in October 2023.

The brave journalist, as her colleagues described her, took covering the war as her mission. She turned every event into an image or story to reach the world, until her name became widely known and respected.

Maryam had a big heart and was overflowing with love for her family. She donated a kidney to her ailing father and cared for her mother, who had cancer, throughout the war—searching for medication and proper food for her—until her mother was killed about four months ago.

Maryam managed to smuggle her only son, Ghaith, to the UAE. She had the chance to leave and survive alongside him—but she chose to stay in Gaza and continue reporting. While in the journalists’ camp near the Nasser Medical Complex, she would seize moments to video call or speak with her son, assuring him she was safe and far from danger—, nly to rush off the moment a new strike occurred.

She owned a Jeep gifted to her by her father, which she used to reach bombing sites and often gave rides to fellow journalists without hesitation. She transported many of us to strike sites or even to our displacement tents when transportation was unavailable.

Alongside Maryam, Israel also killed Hussam Al-Masri, a Reuters photographer and father trying desperately to provide for his family amidst war and rising famine.

Hussam tasted the bitterness of loss from the war’s early days—his home was completely destroyed, leaving him homeless and moving from one tent to another without rest or stability. We knew him as someone always smiling, generous with advice, and cooperative with everyone. During the war, he was keen on ensuring his children’s education. He even brought his daughter to the tent to access the internet, study, and take her exams.

Mohammad Salama, known as “Al-Asmar,” a photographer for Al Jazeera, carried a love story amidst death. He got engaged to fellow journalist Hala Asfour during the war. He was a bold journalist, committed to safety protocols and passionate about excellence. Their engagement was a glimmer of hope amid devastation, a stolen moment of joy in the jaws of death. But Israeli bombing ended the tale and separated him from his fiancée.

Moaz Abu Taha, a journalist working for NBC News, was killed in a horrific way when a shell struck the Nasser Medical Complex, decapitating him. Known as “the humanitarian journalist,” Moath shared stories of sick children with the world and helped facilitate their treatment abroad. He had developed his work during the war, with his stories reaching global audiences. His dream—like ours—was to survive and later document the media’s role during this war.

Investigative journalist and academic Hassan Douhan was also killed that same day, leaving behind a body of work that testified to his excellence. He studied media at Gaza universities, participated in training workshops, and mentored young journalists—only to end up targeted by the Israeli military.

Ahmad Abu Aziz, the sixth victim, was a journalist and a PhD researcher at the Institute of Journalism and News Sciences in Tunisia.

A Void of Rights

Following this massacre, many international media outlets employing these journalists rushed to deny any formal ties to them, merely describing them as “contributors”—despite their daily submission of reports and footage from the heart of the genocide.

This reveals the extent of exploitation we, Gaza-based journalists, face—our labor fueling the war machine without any protection or guarantee of our rights.

Many global media institutions withdrew their core staff from Gaza, and those who remain are not asked to take on dangerous assignments. The burden instead falls on local journalists, desperate for any job opportunity, without insurance or protection.

These institutions are legally obligated to pay substantial compensation if their employees are injured in conflict zones, but they sidestep this responsibility when it comes to “local contributors,” absolving themselves from any financial or legal obligation.

What happened to Gaza’s journalists should serve as a wake-up call to those still in the field. Anyone working with these institutions must demand a clear contract that protects their rights and holds the employer accountable. Without that, working for them is nothing but suicide.