Mahmoud Mushtaha is a Gaza-based freelance journalist and human-rights activist. He wrote this at the shelter where he is staying in the Shujaiya neighbourhood in Gaza City.
The emotions and the suffering I’ve felt from living through Israel’s attacks on the Gaza Strip for more than four months are beyond any words I have to describe. It’s been 106 days since I last slept in my own bed; 106 days since I last ate a normal meal; 106 days of fear and stress; 106 days since I have had a real life.
In the heart of the world’s largest prison, Gaza, I’ve spent 17 years confined, subject to Israel’s strict blockade. Cut off from the outside world, our existence has been defined by these besieged borders. Now, we find ourselves amidst a harrowing war marked by death, injuries, displacement, hunger and division.
This war has taken a devastating toll on my life, claiming the lives of seven friends and 24 family members. Shockingly, my relatives remain unburied, concealed beneath the rubble. On Dec. 5, Israeli forces overran the Shujaiya neighbourhood in Gaza City. We had left our home in Gaza City’s Tal al-hawa neighbourhood to stay at a shelter there, as Israeli forces asked us. Israeli tank shells rained down upon us, forcing us to flee with only the clothes on our backs. Since that traumatic moment, there has been no trace of my brother’s family. Two months have elapsed, and we remain in the dark about the fate of my brother’s children.
Each morning is spent searching shelters and hospitals, clinging to the hope of discovering their survival. The weight of this uncertainty, coupled with the anguish of loss and psychological trauma, leaves us wondering how we will endure the aftermath of this war if we manage to survive.
As a journalist and human-rights activist, my unwavering dedication has always been to amplify the voices of victims and the marginalized. However, during the continuing war, Israel seeks to silence us, attempting to extinguish our voices through communication and internet shutdowns. The perilous nature of my work is evident as I navigate the challenges of spending three hours seeking a high vantage point just to access the internet, risking my safety to write and complete my crucial tasks.
As one of the few journalists in northern Gaza, facing the challenges of restricted movement, phone-charging difficulties and limited internet access, I persevere in my attempts to cover the continuing situation. The initial impetus to continue was rooted in my journalistic commitment, and now it has evolved into a fundamental motivation to convey the suffering Gazans are experiencing. I am compelled to share the harsh reality of our existence as we grapple with death, suffering and starvation.
What lies ahead for those of us in Gaza? Over the years, I’ve been wounded and directly shot twice. With at least 122 journalists having been killed in Gaza, I’ve reached the decision to embrace my final moments with family and loved ones, recognizing that each one might be my last.
In Gaza, we live as full-time refugees. Every aspect of life has undergone a profound change, and survival has become our sole focus. There is a dire shortage of essential resources – no water in Gaza City, scarce food, a lack of bathrooms, no access to gas, and a pervasive sense of insecurity. My existence now revolves around securing basic necessities: hunting for food, searching for wood and filling tanks with water.
Displacement has thrust us into a harsh reality, confined to overcrowded shelters devoid of life. Schools, universities and hospitals are teeming with people, and there is no place to call home. Within these shelters, we are stripped of everything – our humanity and dignity are sacrificed. Access to health care, nutritious food and the bare essentials for life are painfully absent. We have had to evacuate nine times. It’s a stark struggle for survival.
The suffering persists as we remain trapped in a closed circle of hardship, enduring starvation amidst the continuing bombardment that began on Oct. 7. Israeli aircraft relentlessly continue their assaults, forcing us to desperately seek a safe haven. We know that safety is elusive in Gaza, yet we keep searching for refuge.
Living through this unending turmoil is heart-wrenching, and I grapple with the realization that there seems to be no resolution in sight. It is particularly challenging to accept my role as a mere witness to the carnage, unable to alter the course of events alongside everyone else in the Gaza Strip. Never did I imagine that I would become the story, writing about myself and describing my own suffering. But having covered numerous stories of people’s hardships worldwide, I find with sorrow that, like all Gazans, I have my own story to tell.