Commentary
Hossam Shabat: ‘If you’re reading this, it means I have been killed’
Just as we were celebrating a happy ending in the Ballal case, we had to witness the murder of a young man who had become well-known and respected among those who are following these events.
During the slaughter that Israel has been carrying out in Gaza for the past eighteen months, beyond the monstrous numbers, there has been no shortage of stories of men and women whose faces remain mostly unknown in our West, otherwise so prone to “heroizing” the individual.
Who, for example, can recount the story of Hind Rajab, the six-year-old girl who called for help from the car where she was trapped among dead family members and, as the ambulance arrived, was killed by a hail of bullets together with the rescuing paramedics? Even though the photograph that circulated of the little girl shows a heartbreaking smile that all by itself could move anyone, even if they didn’t know her story.
And who knows the story of Dr. Hussam Abu Safiya, pediatrician, director of the Kamal Adwan Hospital, who remained there to treat his patients until the last possible moment, and ended up arrested, tortured and detained for three months? There is a photograph of him in his white coat, from behind, among the rubble of the hospital, alone and proud, as if still trying all he could to restore some meaning to his profession. It is an iconic image, on the same level as the famous one from Tiananmen Square, and it would have ended up on the front page of every newspaper – if it did not come from Gaza, that is.
These are just two examples among many. The West, our world, so capable of making exemplary sense out of individual stories, also knows when it needs to cover such stories up under a veil of oblivion. It is not difficult to understand why. It is we, all of us, by our silence, who are making a vile massacre possible, after which nothing will ever be the same, no matter how and when it ends.
These days, however, two decisive events are threatening to undermine the system of oblivion to which we have consigned ourselves. First, the attempted lynching and arrest (abducting him from an ambulance) of Hamdan Ballal, co-director of No Other Land, the acclaimed Oscar-winning Israeli-Palestinian film, shed light on how things work. Hamdan Ballal ended up immediately released, and we know that this would never have happened if his name and face had not hit all the headlines.
Sometimes enough is enough. Shame, disgrace, public scorn are dangers to be guarded against. Otherwise, he would have been put into detention without charge, the so-called “administrative detention” of which Israel makes indiscriminate use, which would have lasted who knows how long, as in countless cases of which we are aware and many others of which we are not.
It was a confirmation of how much of a difference the individual and what they represent can make at a time like this, and of how important it is for the aggressors to consign to oblivion the lives (and in many cases, sadly, also the deaths) of the people whose stories would vividly recount, without needing any further explanation, the horror of the endless slaughter.
However, just as we were celebrating a happy ending in the Ballal case, we had to witness the murder of a young man who had become well-known and respected among those who are following these events. His name was Hossam Shabat. He had lived for 23 years. But it was in the last eighteen months that he had become who he truly was, realizing his humanity. A journalist for Al Jazeera from northern Gaza, with a smile full of life he could bring to every circumstance, not avoiding the tragedy but looking forward to the future, Hossam Shabat was deliberately killed. The assassination was confirmed by the Israeli army, who believed he was linked to Hamas.
What was he guilty of? Doing to the fullest, and uncompromisingly, the job that is sometimes the most beautiful, but certainly the most difficult one in the world, at least in circumstances like Shabat had to face. His name is added to the list of 208 journalists killed in Gaza, a shocking and unprecedented number.
And Shabat was also able to turn his ultimate fate into an example to follow. Beloved for his willingness to help others, and especially for staying in northern Gaza even under the most unbearable conditions, he left behind a true spiritual testament: a few lines that were published soon after his death, and that anyone, not just those who are journalists, would do well to learn by heart:
“If you’re reading this, it means I have been killed—most likely targeted—by the Israeli occupation forces. When this all began, I was only 21 years old—a college student with dreams like anyone else. For [the] past 18 months, I have dedicated every moment of my life to my people. I documented the horrors in northern Gaza minute by minute, determined to show the world the truth they tried to bury. I slept on pavements, in schools, in tents—anywhere I could. Each day was a battle for survival. I endured hunger for months, yet I never left my people’s side. By God, I fulfilled my duty as a journalist. I risked everything to report the truth, and now, I am finally at rest—something I haven’t known in the past 18 months. I did all this because I believe in the Palestinian cause. I believe this land is ours, and it has been the highest honor of my life to die defending it and serving its people. I ask you now: do not stop speaking about Gaza. Do not let the world look away. Keep fighting, keep telling our stories—until Palestine is free.”
These words are so simple and true, so proud and clear, that nothing can stop them any longer. They are crossing the airwaves. They are bouncing across the global web. They have grown wings, moving people and having an impact everywhere they reach.
And perhaps the time has come, for those of us who have always sincerely believed in the great achievements of our West, to rescue them from the oblivion that is engulfing everything. Even just by saying the simplest things, which still must be defended tooth and nail against any “enemy.”
Because one does not bomb hospitals, one does not kill doctors and nurses, one does not attack civilians, much less children. In Gaza, almost a thousand have died who were not even one year old. There will never be an individual story about any of them.
Originally published at https://ilmanifesto.it/nel-mondo-che-ama-gli-eroi-hossam-e-invisibile on 2025-03-27