News

In some war zones, being a journalist means putting yourself on the line. Not by chance, but by choice.

Dima Khatib, CEO of AJ+, shared a firsthand account at the World Meeting on Human Fraternity. Her network has been one of the leading sources of news in the Arab world for years and has often operated in extremely high-risk environments.

During the Meeting, she read the final words of Anas Sharif, a journalist killed in Gaza. This gesture shifted the discussion from analysis to responsibility. It was one of the most moving and heartfelt moments of the entire event.

The point is simple: killing a journalist is not a collateral effect, but a way to eliminate witnesses.

The condemnation also addressed the international silence that still surrounds these incidents. When the death of a reporter elicits no reaction, it creates a space where violence can run rampant.

In this sense, the issue of journalism is once again deeply linked to that of brotherhood. Because recognizing the other as a brother also means recognizing their right to their voice, their story, and their truth.

Excerpt from the remarks by Dima Khatib – CEO of AJ+

I am a Palestinian journalist, and today I am a very angry journalist.

Because our solidarity has been shattered. For nearly two years, the Palestinian people have been facing genocide at the hands of Israel. Their stories, their lives, are being erased and often distorted by much of the mainstream media. Palestinian journalists are being hunted down. Two hundred forty-nine have already been killed—an all-time record in the history of journalism. Ten of them were Al Jazeera journalists, killed to silence the truth they were reporting.

These are their faces, and those who are still alive are surviving amid hunger, destruction, and fear.

What is happening in the State of Palestine is not an accident of war: it is a deliberate act, taking place before the eyes of the entire world, broadcast live on our phones. During our roundtable discussion, two words resonated repeatedly: truth and dignity. We also spoke about verification and fact-checking. Yet many choose when to uphold these values and when to ignore them. When Israel labels Palestinian journalists “terrorists,” many fail to verify, fail to check the facts, and fail to defend the dignity of those journalists. Thus, they end up repeating the propaganda that justifies genocide, using the language of neutrality and supposed objectivity. But silence, complicity, and dehumanization are the links in the chain of killing. And yet, humanity has not disappeared. History teaches us that coexistence is possible, as was the case in Al-Andalus, where a single culture embraced three religions: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. That coexistence was based on three pillars: peace, knowledge, and love.

And yes, love is essential. Because hatred is what leads to dehumanization; hatred is the root of racism, division, and misinformation. On social media, we see Palestinian journalists telling their own stories. They face dehumanization with dignity. And people amplify their voices, mobilize, and take action. This is brotherhood, solidarity, and hope.

Practicing journalism with a human face means protecting humanity, not destroying it. It means serving the public, not those in power. It means standing with the truth, not with propaganda.

St. Augustine said, “Let us live well, and the times will be good.”

Because we are the times. We shape how humanity will be remembered. We are part of the moral horizon of our era. And yet, today it’s Gaza… who will be next? If we allow this massacre to go unpunished, there will be another Gaza.

This week alone, 26 journalists were massacred. Did you hear the news? I doubt it.

Because we’ve normalized the killing of journalists, and when twenty-six of them die in one fell swoop, it’s no longer news. But humanity needs journalists. And journalists need solidarity—from their colleagues, from institutions, from each and every one of us—to stay alive and continue reporting, regardless of ethnicity, skin color, name, religion, or origin. They must be protected as human beings with dignity, not merely remembered in letters written after their deaths.

Because humanity has failed. Time is up—not just for me, but for all of us. Time is up for humanity.

I am an angry mother. An angry Palestinian. An angry journalist.

When I see fellow journalists, mothers, Palestinians—killed alongside their children—I cannot remain silent. I want to read you a few lines written by Maryam Abu Dagga, an Al Jazeera journalist killed in a targeted bombing in Gaza. She wrote them to her son Reet, whose name means “rain”:

“I want you to pray for me.

I don’t want you to cry for me—that will make me happy.

I want you to make me proud, to study hard,

to be strong, and to become a well-rounded man.

I want you to never forget me, my son.

I did everything so that you could be happy and safe.

When you grow up, get married, and have a daughter,

name her after me—Maryam.

You are my love and my heart, my support and my soul.

You fill me with pride,

and knowing that you are a good man fills me with joy.

I ask you to pray,

pray and never stop praying, my son.”