The Journalist
[Author: Shivani Chaudhry | Date Published: 23 October 2025]
I wrote a short fictionalized piece—titled The Journalist—in August 2022 as a tribute to Shireen Abu Akleh, the Palestinian-American journalist, who was brutally murdered by Israeli forces on 11 May 2022 in Jenin in the West Bank.
Today, I am posting it here to honour and mourn the over 270 Palestinian journalists and media workers killed by Israel since 7 October 2023 (according to Al Jazeera). Journalists have been viciously targeted with the intent to prevent truth-telling, to hide the horrific reality of the genocide from the world. But no amount of blackout curtains in a room can prevent the sun from shining outside. Nothing, nothing, can conceal the truth. It will shine through all the propaganda and lies, and eventually shatter every attempt to mask it.
The journalists of Gaza have sacrificed their lives, suffered the harshest, most inconceivable hardships—including starvation, grave injuries, fires, and bombs—and risked their all to bring us the truth of the cruel, barbaric, depraved, and unimaginable atrocities of the over two-year-long genocide and 77-year illegal occupation. We owe them immense gratitude. And they will always have our greatest admiration, solidarity, strength, and our love.
May we see an end to this genocide now. Permanent ceasefire (with legal consequences for every violation). Cessation of violence, arbitrary arrests, detention, torture, and discrimination of Palestinians. Just peace and freedom across all of Palestine. Retribution for all war and genocidal crimes. Restoration of justice. Restitution of stolen lands. Reconstruction and just rehabilitation. Fair compensation for all material losses. Adequate, unencumbered humanitarian aid and medical assistance.
We must simultaneously mourn and honour the many, many martyrs of Palestine—over 70,000 people (at least 20,000 of them children) who were savagely murdered, starved, denied medical aid, and annihilated in Gaza over the last two years—and the countless killed since the beginning of the occupation. May their deaths haunt us and remind us of humanity’s colossal, collective failure. And may the lives of the survivors inspire us to do better, in every way; to help prevent more deaths; to uphold the struggle for justice and peace; and, to safeguard the truth, always, regardless of the consequences.
May. We. Never. Forget.
May. We. Ensure. This. Never. Happens. Again.
Because. We. Are. One. Humanity.
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THE JOURNALIST
A loud
rumbling shatters the silence of dawn. Through the breaking light, I watch a
battalion of armoured bulldozers and military vehicles besiege the village. Ultimatums
for evacuation blare over loudspeakers. A frenzy of terror grips the residents;
the cruel incursion foreboding an imminent inversion of their lives. Cries of panic pierce
the ominous air. I sense fear engulfing each heart, acutely cognizant of the
inevitable erasure of countless dreams. Over my long life I’ve witnessed many
such horrors, but each incident wrecks me, the grief infinitely greater than
before.
A van drives up close to where I stand. She steps out, wearing a blue ‘press’ vest, silently absorbing the calamitous scene. Her media crew assembles the equipment. Behind her, the forces advance; terrorizing, vandalizing, violating every law. I feel her anguish and bubbling outrage. But like me, she can’t demonstrate it, not while reporting. Courageously, she stands in front of the camera, her voice steady, broadcasting to the world the brutality unfolding behind her. Because she knows that no matter how much the occupiers may falsify facts, the camera doesn’t lie.
And as the camera rolls, I see her fall, a bullet piercing her neck. Aghast, I yearn to reach out and lift her, but all I can do is shower some leaves to bless the heroic woman. A trickle of liquid red flows from her still body towards me. This land has absorbed too much blood of its people, now my roots are to take in hers. The ache within me swells, spreading to the tips of my branches. I wish my trunk could have been used for her coffin. But I know my olives will carry her legacy of truth-telling. Those who taste them will tell they’re different.
What an impactful piece! Such poignant imagery. You can feel every word piercing your heart. Bravo Shivani. We need many more illuminating pieces like this.
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