On October 13, 2023, a group of well-marked journalists transmitting a live feed of an Israeli military outpost from Lebanon came under fire. An Israeli tank shell struck their location, severely injuring AFP photojournalist Christina Assi. In this same attack, Al Jazeera correspondent Carmen Jokhader was severely injured and Reuters journalist Issam Abdallah was killed. Issam Abdallah’s death marked the first of a series of Lebanese journalists killed by Israel. TRNN reports from Lebanon, speaking with journalists who continue to report on Israel’s war crimes even after they have been targeted and injured and their colleagues have been killed.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Kamal Kanso
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt
Fixer: Bachir Abou Zeid

Transcript

Narrator: On October 13, 2023, a group of well marked journalists transmitting a live feed of an Israeli military outpost from Lebanon came under fire. An Israeli tank shell struck their location, severely injuring AFP photojournalist Christina Assi. 

Her AFP colleague, Dylan Collins, was also present alongside teams from Reuters and Al Jazeera. 

Christina Assi: 

We didn’t understand at first what happened, it’s when I looked at my legs that I knew that they were gone. I started screaming for Dylan. Because I couldn’t find him because of the smoke and the chaos, you don’t understand anything at first. Suddenly you can’t stand, even though you were just standing just now. And you’re thinking about your team too: “Where are they?” So, Dylan runs up to me, and says: “OK, OK, I want to tie a tourniquet.” I’m just screaming, after seeing my legs. So he’s trying to help me and Ilia from Al Jazeera comes too. He says “now you have the tourniquet, stay near the wall.” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence before they hit us the second time. And it hit the Al Jazeera car directly, and here Elie gets injured too, and Dylan disappears and the car next to us starts burning. And I don’t understand that I’m going to burn. It’s all right next to me. I say to myself: “OK, just move away from the fire.” I couldn’t stand so I started shuffling with my body. My vest was a size too big and it was very heavy, the camera was strangling me, and the helmet. I couldn’t get anything off, I just needed to get away. The last thing I remember, we got to the hospital, they opened the door and asked “What’s your name?” I told them my name, and that’s it, nothing after that. Blank. 

Narrator: In this same attack, Al Jazeera correspondent Carmen Jokhader was severely injured and Reuters journalist Issam Abdallah was killed. Issam Abdallah’s death marked the first of a series of Lebanese journalists killed by Israel. 

Christina Assi: 

Issam was one of the first people to support me after I decided I want to be a photojournalist because in Lebanon it’s mostly men in this domain. Issam was one of the first people to support me in this. He used to love to joke, and he loved life. He loved to go out and to eat. He loved to go out and about on his moped and wander and do stuff. 

Narrator: Nour Kilzi is a Legal Researcher from the Lebanese non-profit Legal Agenda. She has been documenting attacks on civilians and journalists in Lebanon since the start of this latest war. 

Nour Kilzi: 

The Israeli aggression on Lebanon was targeting in a clear way, a huge number of civilians, among them journalists who were doing their jobs documenting the crimes that are taking place. The worst attacks, we can say, was the attack that resulted in the martyrdom of Issam Abdallah, the attack on the Al Mayadeen team where Farah Omar and Rabih Me’mari were martyred and the attack in Aalma El Chaeb on a centre of journalists in Hasbaya.

Mohamed Farhat: 

Sadly, there are martyrs among our colleagues who have fallen as a result of this targeting. It’s clear the Israeli enemy is terrified of the word. It is terrified of the voice of the Lebanese people that is exposing its crimes. This is a new view of its crimes. We were sleeping in the journalists house, as you can see. This is the bedroom that I was in when it was targeted. 

Narrator: Mohamed Farhat, is a senior reporter at the independent Lebanese TV channel Al Jadeed. 

Mohamed Farhat: 

You look up and you don’t see the roof, you see the sky. Around you everything is black, dust and everything is smashed. Outside we found the car smashed, the SNG truck was completely overturned, closing off the road. We understood there was an attack. The first thing we thought to do was to shout out to the guys to check who was alive. We didn’t get response from three people. As I told you, we were staying in 8 buildings. We looked and found that one of the buildings had completely disappeared. We know that three guys were staying in this building, the three that were killed. We looked for them and found them dead. The strength of the explosion meant they were thrown far from the house, so it took a long time to find them. That’s how it happened: Israel hit us while we slept. Frankly. Everyone present in that residential area was a journalist. From local channels, Arab channels and international channels too. 

Christina Assi: 

It wasn’t a mistake. It’s possible for one missile to hit you by mistake, but not two missiles. And bullets: a machine gun opening fire, on top. So… it was an intentional targeting and they didn’t stop there. We have seen this is being repeated with many journalist colleagues, here or in Gaza. Yesterday they killed five in Gaza, they targeted them. And the colleagues who they killed in Hasbaya who were asleep: they were asleep! They weren’t even “on the ground”: they were asleep. There’s something unnatural happening, we can expect anything to happen—the crimes—and no one cares. It’s become that if you wear a press vest that’s it, you’ve become a target. Because you have worn this thing that’s supposed to protect you, it’s become the thing that actually puts you in danger. 

Either they [Israel] say yes it was a mistake, because of the fog of war. Or they accuse the journalist of belonging to a political party. They just bring any old reason to excuse their crimes. They can say what they want, but nothing excuses what’s happening. For them this kind of thing is allowed—so: why not? 

Nour Kilzi: 

The number of journalists that have been killed in Gaza is more than the number of journalists killed in any conflict on the planet in the last 30 years. So of course, it’s not by mistake that they’re killing journalists. There is a targeted killing. Of course the goal is the silencing of journalists, the narrative is shifting, disallowing the transmission of pictures of the

crimes that are happening. Especially because the narrative is shifting and people are becoming more aware of what Israel really is, its crimes and its brutality. 

Narrator: 

Ali Shouaib has been covering news in South Lebanon for 32 years. For many people here, he has become a familiar face. His news channel, Al Manar, is widely seen as sympathetic to Hezbollah. 

Ali Shouaib: 

The cameraman with me was sleeping in a different room with journalists from Al Mayadeen. I was sleeping in a room next door. The rocket hit the room they were sleeping in directly. All three of them were killed. The whole compound was damaged. A large number of journalists were injured. The Cairo channel was also present with the cameramen, they also suffered serious injuries. MTV was present, Al Jadeed was present, Al Jazeera was present. Many different journalists were present. 

Narrator: 

Working at Al Manar, makes Ali Shouaib even more of a target, and not only for the Israeli military. 

Ali Shouaib: 

I have covered every war that south Lebanon witnessed. Every single war. Direct threats have been constant via the spokesperson of the Israeli Army and also there were multiple statements quoted in Yedioth Ahronoth and Haaretz. It got to the point that they were saying “the eyes and tongue of Al Manar,” and they mean by that, Hezbollah. As you can see, I don’t own anything other than a camera, a phone and a mic. These are the weapons that I use. I am a citizen, a civilian and even if I was speaking in the name of the resistance, no one can say that I own any weapons apart from the weapon of the word. The weapon of principle. 

Nour Kilzi: 

There were direct threats from the spokesperson of the Israeli Occupation Army towards media and political personalities, close to or affiliated with Hezbollah. In an attempt to create a narrative in people’s minds that these people, because of their political beliefs or because they have opinions or positions that intersect with Hezbollah, that they are legitimate targets. This is completely contradicted by international law. Civilians—and journalists—do not lose the protection afforded them by international law because they have a political opinion or even if they support one side of the warring parties. 

Ali Shouaib:

Israel is afraid of the truth. It’s afraid of reality. It’s true it’s a channel that opposes [Israel], we speak in the name of the nation. We are an occupied nation, it’s our right to defend ourselves with the word, against what we are being subjected to. 

Narrator: 

Fatima Ftouni, is a journalist working for Al Mayadeen, a Lebanese based pan-Arab news channel. 

Fatima Ftouni: 

I feel I have a responsibility towards my family and my people to document the aggression and crimes of Israel because wherever you step in the South there are crimes and the effects of the aggression. You can hear the sounds of explosions that the Israeli occupation is doing, that you can hear. We hear the sounds of the attacks, without any reaction—this is the natural reaction—we finish. As long as there’s no response to the Israelis, and as long as they are not held to account for these crimes, as long as the international community keeps looking away, it will not only continue its crimes, it will go further and further, in its intentional, purposeful, clear and open criminality. We’re talking about clear aggression—even medical crews, even nurses, even paramedics haven’t escaped these crimes. They killed everything. It’s got to the stage that they are bombing hospitals… Is there something worse that this? 

Mohamed Farhat: 

I’ve become convinced that Israel will never be held to account. For anything. From the first days of conflict between the various Arab countries and Israel, until today. Shireen Abu Akleh—does anyone doubt that Israel killed her? Israel has not been held to account. What’s happened in Gaza, what’s happened in Lebanon. The Israelis announced that it was them that targeted us in Hasbaya. They announced it! OK, so where is the accountability? Today: Israel is always above the law, and it always has excuses. Israel is protected internationally, and the powers that protect Israel are stronger than the law, stronger than the courts, stronger than everything. 

With regards to me, if—God forbid—there was a return to war, of course, I will go and cover. I won’t back down. I won’t stop. 

Christina Assi: 

Before I knew all this I didn’t really want to live, I wanted to die. The pain was enormous, more than you can imagine. And the morphine wasn’t helping. Yeh, I didn’t want to, I didn’t want—I didn’t want to stay living like this—with all the injuries. The moment I discovered that we lost Issam, this changed everything. It gave me a push: He took the whole hit. If it wasn’t for him, both of us would be dead. The difference of a millimetre or centimetre would have killed us both. So I have to go back and speak and say what happened. Although there’s no point, we’ve been talking since a year now for Issam, for Elie, for all of us.

On Jan. 19, 2025, a ceasefire deal between Hamas and Israel went into effect—and, for an all-too-brief moment, the slaughter in Gaza halted. TRNN was on the ground in Gaza speaking with displaced Palestinians about their reactions to the ceasefire, the incalculable losses and horrors they had experienced during the previous 15 months, and their hopes for the future once they returned to the ruins of their homes. “I haven’t seen my family for 430 days,” journalist Mustafa Zarzour says. “I’ve been literally waiting for the moment to see my family—since the beginning of the war.”

Since the filming of this report, Israel broke the ceasefire agreement and re-launched its assault on Gaza, with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu stating that Israel had “resumed combat in full force.” Netanyahu further stated Israel’s intent this week to conquer and control the Gaza Strip, adding that Gaza’s remaining Palestinian population “will be moved.” According to the UN, 90% of Gaza’s remaining population have been forced from their homes, and no aid has been allowed into the Gaza Strip since March 2, 2025—the longest period of aid blockage since the Hamas-led attack on Oct. 7, 2023.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Khalil Khater:

Honestly, I felt happy but not so much. You feel like your heart is split. I mean, it’s true people are returning to their homes, but I don’t have a home. And still, it’s bittersweet. I lost my brother and his children. It felt like he died again when they announced the ceasefire.

Mother of the Martyr Mohammed Wadi:

A huge joy that can’t be described—I was overjoyed. The first thing I thought was: I will find my son and bury him. I want to go to Gaza City, find my house and bury my son and look for reminders of him—pictures, or some mementos of him. Anything really, that has his scent. God is greater. God is greater. God is greater. There is no God but Allah.

Mustafa Zarzour – journalist:

Frankly, there are mixed feelings. Between joy and the fact that we have forgotten the meaning of joy. Because we’ve spent 470 days witnessing bloodshed, air strikes, explosions, displacement. But today, something has returned to us—something like joy. Despite all the blood and all the loss—we have all lost—I lost my brother. This joy is because despite all that happened we are still steadfast.

Mohammed Rayan – Head of Admissions, Shuhada Al Aqsa Hospital:

Frankly, our pain is vast and our wounds are big, there’s not really a lot of room for joy, honestly. What we will do is visit the graves of our martyrs and pay our respects to them. Our feelings swing between happiness and despair, pain and loss, hope, and the immense suffering that our people will continue to endure in the coming days. The loss—because there is no home in the Gaza Strip that has not suffered loss.

Khalil Khater:

I love your uncle and your cousins, sweetheart. OK, I’ll stop crying—for you. We’ll go to Gaza, God willing, and see your grandpa. You can play with your cousins, because you miss them a lot, right?

Chantings:

God is greater. God is greater.

Mother of the Martyr Mohammed Wadi:

I lost my brother, my son, and my brother’s children. I lost two brothers who were taken prisoner. My family had already lost 18 martyrs. My mother, the embrace of my loving mother. My siblings in the North, I’ve missed them so much.

Khalil Khater:

What did the war take? First it took my health. I’m really exhausted. It took the most important people from me. It took them. That’s what it took from me. I lost my work—I was a kindergarten teacher. I lost my home, where I used to feel safe, where I raised my children. Life in a tent is really, really hard. And I lost my brother, of course I can’t get him back, only memories remain. God rest his soul. God rest his soul. Praise be to God in every circumstance.

Rayef Mustafa Al Adadla:

I shall search for my second martyred son, who hasn’t been buried. Then we will return to our homes and fill them. We will rebuild them to say: we rebuild our nation, no matter what the occupation destroys.

Khalil Khater:

I don’t want to return to our old neighborhood because that’s it—we were kicked out of our home. There’s no place for us there. Our neighborhood was near the border, there are a lot of houses that were destroyed, and the building we were in was bombed many times. The tower block next to us was also bombed repeatedly.

Rayef Mustafa Al Adadla:

My house is destroyed, but I will return to it. Despite all the circumstances, I will set up a tent on its ruins or beside it. I will stay on my land, beside my house. We won’t go far. We won’t abandon Gaza, and we won’t emigrate, because we are steadfast—like the mountains. We will stay beside it in the same area, God willing.

Mustafa Zarzour – journalist:

Our house was struck six times. It’s just rubble now, but we will organize this rubble and build again, God willing. What will I find? I’ll find rubble. Blood mixed with rubble. I’ll find ashes. I’ll find… body parts. I won’t find any people, but I’ll return, rebuild it, and live there. We will thank God and continue with our lives. We will move forward, get married, have children—all of us will do this, God willing.

Mother of the Martyr Mohammed Wadi:

My house was destroyed early in the war, on day four. I think I’ll find it bulldozed. I hope I will find some photos of my son. Some of his belongings, to remind us of him. All will be well, God willing. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Khalil Khater:

We’ve been waiting for a ceasefire for a long time. I didn’t sleep all night. I waited until 08:30 to hear them announce a ceasefire.

Mother of the Martyr Mohammed Wadi:

One and a half years. From the beginning of the war, I kept saying: “Tomorrow it will be over, tomorrow it will be over.” Hopefully—thank God—today, it’s over. God willing.

Mustafa Zarzour – journalist:

I haven’t seen my family for 430 days. I’ve been literally waiting for the moment to see my family—since the beginning of the war. From day one, I’ve been praying for it to end. We go, we come back again. We’ve been waiting to return for 470 days. Today, the feelings… I literally don’t know how to describe them. Beyond description. Peace means the oppressor and occupier leave all of Palestine—not just Gaza, and not just a ceasefire. Because this is a war of extermination. A war of extermination—where they committed every kind of war crime. It’s not two states. There is only one Palestine. They are the brutal occupier. So our peace is when the occupation leaves.

Mother of the Martyr Mohammed Wadi:

Peace and safety mean no massacres, no bodies, no mass extermination. No martyrs, no jets, no drones, no tanks.

Mustafa Zarzour – journalist:

God rest his soul—my older brother, who was my father’s successor, died. I want to see his kids. His kids are now my responsibility. So the first thing I want to do is see my brother’s children.

Khalil Khater:

When I truly believe that the war is over, I will go and throw myself into my mother’s arms. I don’t know… I’m sure that Gaza City will have changed. All its landmarks will have changed.

As a fragile ceasefire falters in Gaza, millions of displaced Palestinians are still without adequate shelter. Exposure and hypothermia now present grave threats to people’s survival. The Real News reports from the Gaza Strip.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

RANIA HAMD AL-HISI 

The cold. What can I say? The situation is dire. 

It’s very cold. Look, we’re living on the street. We’re living on a street. This entire campsite is suffering from the cold. Me? I am not a child, and I’m suffering from the cold. I’m not a child. God help the children. 

In the morning I try to wash, clean, or do something, and I can’t because of the severity of the cold. We’re literally living on a street. What is protecting us? A sheet. 

The children are exhausted, and we’re also exhausted. There is no immunity. We have no immune defenses at all. No nutrition, no heating, nothing. We’re exhausted. 

The whole camp is suffering; they have no electricity. No blankets, no sheets. Nothing to keep the children warm. This little girl is always wheezing from the intense cold. We’ve taken her to the doctor a hundred times since we moved to the tents. They don’t know what’s wrong. Her stomach hurts. Every time she eats, her stomach hurts her. From what? The cold. 

We’re not handling the cold, so how can the children? I witnessed something with our neighbor that I still can’t process. The sight of him holding his daughter and she’s dead. The whole camp now fears for the children. 

She’s a child. Our neighbors have a small child who’s seven months old. My niece is a child, my granddaughter is a child. We’re scared for them. My granddaughter developed a respiratory illness. This one is wheezing. Our neighbor, Um Wissam, had an attack. I have developed chest pains. I swear to you, I’ve been suffering for two months with chest and back pains. 

And our neighbor’s daughter, Sila… She died from the cold. We heard her mother. I carried her when she was dead. The girl, she was like ice. Ice. When I found her father carrying her, and her mother was on the floor… I carried the girl, I was the first to get to them, I found blood coming from her mouth. It was as if she had come out of a freezer. Frozen solid. I told them, “This girl has died from the cold.” 

MAHMOOD AL-FASIHI 

The night that Sila died was extremely cold. We’re living on the coast. At night it’s unnaturally cold. We adults couldn’t tolerate the cold that night when Sila died. Sila was perfectly normal. She didn’t suffer from any health problems. She breastfed three times that night. The final feeding was at 3:00 a.m. When we tried to wake her at 7:00 a.m. to feed her, we found her blue from the severity of the cold, and her heart had stopped. 

AFFAF HUSAIN ABU-AWILI 

Most of the cases we’re getting right now are called ‘cold injury.’ They are the result of severe cold and the change of season. These cases are usually less than a month old, a week, or two days old. The child arrives already frozen. We call it ‘cold injury’—it means a

deceased child. Of course, all of this is a result of the weather and the cold. Some can’t tolerate the cold. This environment causes respiratory problems. 

The scene is very difficult, the father carrying the body, people screaming. A terrible situation, it’s indescribable. A small child, loved by his family, and the mum awakes and finds him like that, dead. I mean, a terrible situation that defies description. 

Honestly, the situation is getting worse. Especially when it comes to respiratory inflammation in children and these sudden deaths, it’s increased a lot. Of course, it’s a result of the way people are living. Living in tents, lack of medicine, lack of warm clothing. 

MAHMOOD AL-FASIHI 

I have to collect plastic from the street to make a fire for my children. I don’t have gas, I don’t have anything. No basics of life, no heating. At night when it’s cold, my children have to huddle together from the cold. As much as I wrap my children, they’re still cold because of the severity of the cold. And nothing is available, the necessities of life are zero here. 

The severe cold and lack of nutrition have created a lot of problems for the children. They’ve developed skin problems, they’ve developed a lot of things. My children wake up in the middle of the night scared of bombs. Of the terror we are living in. We’re living in terror. We adults have developed mental health issues from the extreme pressure we’re experiencing. We have developed… what can I say? We’re exhausted. Seriously. We’re exhausted from the war. 

RANIA HAMD AL-HISI 

When it rains, the whole place swims. When it rained last time, everyone had to leave. Look, you can see. There are no covers, or anything, and no one has given us anything. I have a sister, Um Ahmed, who recently gave birth. Where does the baby sleep? She’s made a bed for him from cardboard. On cardboard! Fearing that he falls into the water. The boy is two months old. 

I swear to God, the thing that scares me the most. When it’s nighttime, I start praying: “Oh God, Oh God.” “Oh God please let us get through this night. God, don’t let it rain, please God.” God, please don’t let the people drown from the rain. 

All night and the morning too, we can’t sleep because of the bombs. And the rain. The night that it rained, I swear to God I suffered. When the rain comes, it’s not about me—I can tolerate it. It’s the children. I can tolerate it. But the children? 

Where’s the world? Where are the Arab people to see us? Would they like their kids to go through this? Now our children wake up from sleep, they’re thinking about water, they collect pieces of paper to help their moms make a fire, they’re thinking about the soup kitchen. That’s it. That’s our children. 

I swear to God, what is happening to us—I hope happens to everyone who isn’t seeing or hearing us. I swear to God, I’m talking to you and my fingers are frayed from the cold. So

what about the children? What about the kids, what should they do? I swear to God all they think about is the soup kitchen: “The soup kitchen is here! The soup kitchen is gone!” 

This girl, I’m telling you, she’s wheezing the whole night. I wake up and even to make her a herbal tea, we struggle. We don’t have gas or anything. I swear to God, you suffer so much just to make a fire.

Despite their coastal location, Palestinians in the Gaza Strip can only count on the sea for part of their diet. Israeli warships blockade Gaza as part of its overall siege of the strip, and in doing so prevent Palestinian fishermen from venturing into deeper waters. Risking injury and death, which are routine, Gaza’s fishermen persevere nonetheless—fighting to not only preserve their livelihoods, but their heritage and identity as well. The Real News reports from the Deir Al-Balah in the Gaza Strip.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Ismail Mohamed – Deir Al Balah, 35 years old: 

The sea means everything. You never grow tired of it. 

For us, it flows in our blood, the sea. We’re like fish; if we leave the sea, then we die. We have t close to the sea. When we go east, we always return to the sea. Our lives are completely tied to the sea. 

The sea is memories and stories. 

Subhi Mayek Abu Riyaleh – Muasker Al Shati’, 24 years old: 

I love the sea. I love the sea because I eat fish and do something good for people 

● Did you inherit it? 

● Yes, yes. From my dad. My grandfather, too. My grandfather was a fisherman, my father was a fisherman, and I became a fisher 

Ismail Mohamed – Deir Al Balah, 35 years old: 

We inherited this work from our fathers and forefathers. We’re close to the sea, we’re close to the coast. So our whole lives are at sea. Since long ago, since our forefathers, we’ve been fishermen 

We come to the sea every day; it’s our place of work. We’re here from sunrise to sunset. Subhi Mayek Abu Riyaleh – Muasker Al Shati’, 24 years old: 

At 5 o’clock in the morning, with the call to prayer, I come, sit here, and I make a cup of coffee. I sit until the day arrives. I look to see if the cruiser is here or not. If it’s here, I don’t go in; if it’s not, I go. 

Ismail Mohamed – Deir Al Balah, 35 years old: 

Our biggest obstacle is Israel. The Israeli cruisers—as you can see—are in the sea. 24 hours, you’re under fire and shelling: there’s no merc 

Every day, we have the dead. We have the injured. Every day, every day. We have the dead, we have the injured. You go in a little, and the cruiser will fire at you with no prior warning 

Subhi Mayek Abu Riyaleh – Muasker Al Shati’, 24 years old: 

From the first month of war, they targeted all our boats across the whole of the Gaza Strip. In Deir  Balah, Rafah, Gaza City, and Khan Yunis, they completely burned all of the boats. Completely destroyed everything straight away. 

We fish along the coast, and then we run away. The cruiser comes and shoots at us, and we run away from it. A cruiser, yes, and the destroyer. The destroyer comes every day. 

Ismail Mohamed – Deir Al Balah, 35 years old:

What is it doing? These people are fishermen. They’re earning a living, they’re just getting their dai bread. The sea is forbidden. Fishing isn’t restricted; it’s completely blocked. 

It’s forbidden for anyone to go in, forbidden to fish. You can see, the boats are near the coast, around 500 meters away. Go further than this and you will die. You expose yourself to danger; you expose yourself to death. 

Subhi Mayek Abu Riyaleh – Muasker Al Shati’, 24 years old: 

But why is it forbidden? We’re just civilians. We go in, we fish, and we leave. We have nothing to  with anything, we fish and we leave 

A big, big, big, big danger! Only yesterday, my cousin was killed. In Gaza City, in Gaza City. He was killed at sea. 

Because he wanted to feed his kids, and there’s no food in Gaza City. There’s no food, so he was fishing and he was killed—him and the person with him. By the destroyer 

I was exposed to danger twice, in Rafah, my big brother and I. I was lying on the back of the boat, the shooting was at the sides: here and here, and in front of the boat. The Israelis were seeing where they were shooting and what they were doing. They wanted to kill us, that’s it. 

Ismail Mohamed – Deir Al Balah, 35 years old: 

The fisherman will tell you: “Dying at sea while getting food to feed my children and my family is better than sitting at home waiting for my fate, waiting for a missile or something.” 

As you know, our lives are in danger on top of danger. Danger of death. Maybe a missile will get you, maybe a drone would hit you. Rest in peace! 

Diesel is cut, electricity is cut, water is cut, and fishing nets are cut. The fiberglass that we nee repair the boats is not allowed in. 

We used to go far and catch large fish. Today, because we can’t go far into the sea and we don’t have the fishing nets, and we don’t have proper boats either, all our boats are broken, made of woo some are 20 years old. 

So we fish along the beach, we fish these small fish and crabs, that’ 

Subhi Mayek Abu Riyaleh – Muasker Al Shati’, 24 years old: 

Our obstacle in this war is that there is fish in the sea, but it’s deeper, where the cruiser is, where death is. 

We don’t go to death, we stay here along the beach. These days, small fish. We sell 1kg for 10 sheke ($2.75): we let people eat. We make 20 ($5.50) or 30 ($8.20) shekels to be able to survive today. Tomorrow, God will provide. 

Ismail Mohamed – Deir Al Balah, 35 years old:

There’s no space. All of Gaza is full of refugees. There’s no free land, so people come to the sea—you can see. The sea washes their tents away every day. They moved into the fishing shack 

These shacks used to be where we left our boats and things, so we emptied them. Of course, half of them are burnt, half of them are bombed out. The refugees are living there. 

There’s not a single meter in Gaza—or in the south—that you can step on. It’s all refugees and tents. People run away from the east, from death, they come to the sea. The fisherman moves them along then they get killed by an airstrike. 

We run away from death only to find death. We run away from the airstrikes, only to get swallowed by the sea. Inland, there is nothing, only death and airstrikes. 

A person is unsafe in his own home, so we come and pour our problems into the sea, we complain to the sea. 

I’m telling you, the people of Gaza, in general, are like fish—if they leave the sea, they die. We ha lived at sea, we were raised by the sea, we learned at sea, and we will stay at sea. 

The sea runs in our blood. It runs in our veins, the sea. If we lived to the east, we would die. 

All of Gaza’s people are like this. Geographically, the Gaza Strip is along the coast. We don’t have rivers, or fancy hotels, or attractions like other people. We have only the sea. 

● It’s the only respite? 

● It’s the only respite, the first and the las 

The war has destroyed us. We no longer know if we will see each other tomorrow or not. 

Today, every step is a blessing, as they say. And in this sea, we witness death in it with our own eyes every day. 

Will we return to our homes or not? Will we see our young ones or not? 

The best thing about fishing? It’s that you don’t see anyone. You pour all your worries into the se and you get a break from people. 

That’s the best thing about fishing 

Subhi Mayek Abu Riyaleh – Muasker Al Shati’, 24 years old: 

The best thing? We get a lot of patience being at the sea. 

That’s it.

Many migrants at the US-Mexico border are taking their chances at an undocumented crossing before the Trump administration comes into office on Jan. 20. The Real News reports from Tijuana, where thousands of migrants living in tents face daily humiliations and threats while waiting months for an opportunity to cross legally. The current crisis is the result of the prior Trump and Biden administration’s attacks on the asylum system, which has left thousands of refugees stranded along the border waiting on a system advocates say has been intentionally throttled.

Producer: Souleyman Messalti
Videographer: Carlo Echegoyen
Video Editor: Souleyman Messalti

Transcript

Katerine, displaced person from Honduras: There was no way to stay in Honduras. My whole family had to flee. But it’s really tough here too, because migrants are often kidnapped, so we can’t even stay safely. Trump doesn’t want migrants because he thinks we’re all bad people who will steal and cause trouble.

Souleyman Messalti (Narrator): On November 6, 2024, Donald Trump was declared president-elect, securing a return to the White House for a second term. With his inauguration set on January 20, millions of migrants remain stranded at the US-Mexico border, caught in limbo within an already broken system. 

Nicole Ramos, Lawyer and Director of ‘Al Otro Lado’: My name is Nicole Ramos. I’m an attorney and director of this project. Welcome. 

I have been in Tijuana since President Obama was the president, and it has been a steady progression of policies, beginning with him, that have attempted to restrict access to the asylum process, the port of entry, and to criminalize asylum seekers for trying to access that legal system. 

It has gotten progressively worse with each administration. We have noticed the anxiety levels for asylum seekers increase progressively throughout the election, and they’ve definitely increased after the election of Trump because, you know, he’s espousing a lot of really dramatic plans—mass deportation, closing the border, canceling the platform CBP One. 

CBP One is a smartphone platform that folks can use to schedule or attempt to schedule their asylum processing appointment at the port of entry, which will be the beginning of the legal process for them. Many people are very concerned in this moment about what Trump will do when he gets into office, whether he will cancel CBP One, and people who have been waiting for so many months to get this appointment will ultimately not have that opportunity.

Hemir, Displaced person from Mexico: Right now, we’re just waiting, praying to God that when we open the app, we’ll find information. My husband and I are both registered in the app. We’ve requested another appointment, and with God’s help, we’ll have better luck tomorrow. 

Every day, we open the app. Everyone here uses it—some for a month, others for ten months, and I’ve been at it for seven. If the app stops working, we’ll have no choice but to cross illegally. We just want to do things the right way, and it’s unfair they want to shut the border on us. People in shelters are here not by choice, but out of necessity.

Nicole Ramos, Lawyer and Director of ‘Al Otro Lado’: This appointment can take up to a year to obtain, leaving asylum seekers in a precarious situation at the border. There are limited services, not enough shelters, and they cannot work legally. Many arrive only to face life-threatening conditions, including a lack of medical care, threats from organized crime, and dangers from those they initially fled.

Katerine, displaced person from Honduras: I arrived on April 17 after the last of my brothers, the only man left, was killed. My four other brothers had already been murdered. Those of us still alive had no choice but to flee.

Souleyman Messalti (Narrator): On their journey to the southern border, Katerine’s family was kidnapped and abused. Once in Mexico, they were tricked into believing that registering on the CBP One app required a payment when, in reality, it’s completely free.

Katerine, displaced person from Honduras: We heard about the CBP One app and scheduling appointments, and a man told us he could help us create an account since we had no idea how to do it. But then he made us work because we had run out of money and couldn’t pay him. We had to work in exchange for his help. My sister and I ended up working in a bar. 

Thank God nothing happened to the kids, because these people exploit women, forcing them into prostitution to pay for their services. Now we don’t know what to do. It’s been three or four months since we started trying to get an appointment, but we’re just not getting it. We are lost. Every day is a struggle, because as foreigners, we’re easy targets.

Nicole Ramos, Lawyer and Director of ‘Al Otro Lado’:  They don’t have a lot of political power. And so forcing people to wait, puts them in these really dangerous situations where they’re being exploited and potentially can lose their lives.

Souleyman Messalti (Narrator): While the CBP One app is the main legal way into the U.S., many face delays, technical issues, and misinformation. Other options, like humanitarian parole and family reunification, are rare and hard to access.

Nicole Ramos, Lawyer and Director of ‘Al Otro Lado’: They want to enter the country with permission. They want their day in court. They don’t want to enter through the desert and maybe lose their lives in the attempt. But with the anxiety over the election result and what Trump will do, some asylum seekers may choose to enter through the desert, because like any human being, they are trying to save their lives and the lives of their children. What they are doing is what any one of us would do if we were in their position.

Hemir, Displaced person from Mexico: When President Trump won, many of us cried because we felt like the doors to legally entering the United States were being closed on us. What Mr. Trump is forcing us to do is enter illegally. Why? Because he’s shutting us out.

Souleyman Messalti (Narrator): With Trump’s imminent return to power, millions of migrants face a critical decision: risk violence, dangerous journeys, and the threat of detention and deportation by crossing illegally, or wait under an administration promising even harsher immigration policies.

Hemir, Displaced person from Mexico: Mothers with small children hold onto them tightly so they don’t hurt themselves with the tables. 

Politicians have no idea what we endure. We migrants wish they could experience, even for a day, what we go through. Let’s see what they’d say then, because they only see things from above. If they walked in our shoes, they’d understand better.

Katerine, displaced person from Honduras: Migrants are judged unfairly, labeled as criminals when we’re not. We’re not here to steal or cause trouble. All we ask for is a chance.

Israel’s deliberate campaign of starvation in Gaza is exacting a punishing toll on its people. Just 30 aid trucks entered the Gaza Strip a day in November, according to Al Jazeera—a far cry what is needed to feed the area’s 2 million people. In North Gaza Governate, where a vicious campaign of ethnic cleansing is underway, just 12 of 34 permitted aid trucks have arrived since Oct. 6, according to Oxfam. The Real News reports from Deir al Balah in Gaza’s south, where overburdened and under-provisioned bakeries struggle to feed thousands.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

There’s people who camp overnight at the bakery. I swear—the last time I went, I found they’d laid out beds at the door. There are people who get there at 5am. I swear someone told me they arrived at 3am and left at night. For 19 packs of bread. Some get it and some don’t. 

Interviewer: 

How many meals are you eating a day? 

Um Yusuf Dalloul, Gaza City: 

There aren’t any meals! It doesn’t make up a meal, there aren’t any meals at all. There’s nothing. Right now, currently, there are no meals. There’s no food. People started hitting each other. The last time I was here, I got trapped in the middle of a fight. 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

Yes, they’re slaughtering each other. I swear to God, with sticks. They’re beating people with sticks. They hit people, last time they knocked over an old man and he dropped to the floor. 

Interviewer: 

All this for bread? 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

For bread. And the kid refused to pick him up. We told him: “Be respectful he’s old, help him up,” he said: “No, you help him.” Hitting people with sticks as if they were cattle. Not humans. 

Interviewer: 

Are there many conflicts? 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

Every day, every day, there are problems at the bakery. Every day. Not a day goes by without problems. A person before the war used to come and go, used to be strong. I swear I used to carry a sack of cement to the fourth floor, and go up and down two or three times. Now, nothing. Even water—from carrying the water so much—we don’t have any strength left. 

Um Yusuf Dalloul, Gaza City: 

I mean can they find us a solution? So we can just leave. We want to leave. Enough. We are exhausted. Illnesses. I have chronic illnesses and can’t find medications. Can’t find medications and can’t even find bread to eat with my medications. Since morning I’ve been wandering around trying to find bread. We’re suffering. 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

Everyone’s being diagnosed, everyone’s fatigued. If you go to the Jaa hospital, you can’t walk for people suffering from fatigue. 

Interviewer: 

From what?

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

From lack of food. 

Um Yusuf Dalloul, Gaza City: 

Yes, many have died of hunger. As someone with a chronic illness, if this continues, I could die. Maybe a week and I’ll die. It’s normal. Because I suffer from a lot of chronic illnesses. I’m suffering even from talking, because I have high blood pressure. 

Sa’ada Barakat Rashid Khel: 

I went to the clinic to get checked, I told them I get dizzy and my eyes glaze. They said you need blood tests, I told them my blood is definitely bad because I’m not eating. I’ve lost more than half my weight. My son gets bad headaches, and he went to the clinic and they gave him vitamins. And my youngest daughter, they’re always telling me: “Her face is yellow, her face is yellow.” They lack nutrition, vitamins, food, and drink. Even at the clinic, they have no medications. 

Interviewer: 

Are you hungry now? 

Ahmed Hassan Usman Ali Al Arshi: 

Yes, honestly, a lot. I mean, before the war I was—I’ve lost a lot of weight. Before the war, my weight was almost 41 kilograms. Now, 38 kilograms—around that. Before the war I used to eat fruits and chicken and vegetables and we had everything. We used to eat, we weren’t hungry. Now there’s nothing. We’ve started to crave chicken. We crave everything, we haven’t found stuff to eat. The soup kitchens, we force ourselves to eat that. There’s nothing to eat. And lentils. Honestly, we used to hate lentils. Now though, we’ve started to love them. 

Interviewer: 

From lack of food? 

Ahmed Hassan Usman Ali Al Arshi: 

Yeah. 

Sa’ada Barakat Rashid Khel: 

Most of the time my kids sleep hungry. Most of the time they sleep hungry. If—if—they manage to get food from the soup kitchen, they eat it. If not, then there is nothing. That’s it, there’s no bread, no flour. My daughter is always saying: “Mum, I want to eat.” What can I do about it? What can I say? If we have lentil soup, I say: “Go drink the soup,” she says: “It doesn’t fill me up!” I say: “Well, what can we do?” Just go to sleep. 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

I fear for my kids, not for myself. That’s what made me leave Gaza City, I’m not scared for myself; I’m scared for those with me. I mean, when it comes to food and drink in general, we can’t afford it. Even when we go to the bakery, we can’t afford a packet of bread. People buy it from the bakery for 3 shekels (0.85 USD), and sell it for 20 ($5), 25 ($7), or 30 shekels ($8). We can’t afford it.

Um Yusuf Dalloul, Gaza City: 

That’s it. Greed and selfishness has consumed everyone. There are traders who buy and sell: they buy it for 3 shekels ($0.85) and sell it for 15 ($3.5). A cucumber for 10 shekels ($2.75)?! Prices are sky high. We’re living in Hell. Life is unbearable. 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

A bag of flour has reached 400 ($112) or 500 ($140) shekels. And we can’t get it. I swear there was a day when I sold a bag of flour for 5 shekels ($1.40). In the summer, it wouldn’t keep, it would go bad. Now it’s 500 shekels ($140), we can’t afford it. 500 ($140), 600 ($168), and 700 ($196). Today it reached 800 shekels ($224). Today I asked the price of a bag of flour they told me 800 shekels ($224). Where are we going to get that from? We can’t even get a packet of bread. 

Um Yusuf Dalloul, Gaza City: 

Enough! If they don’t want us then just kill us. Because we are fed up. Seriously. We’re fed up. We’re here dying, I swear we’re dying. Our health has gone, our wealth has gone. 

When will this be solved? The whole world has wars and then they solve them, apart from us? We’re the forgotten. I swear we’re forgotten. Until when? 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh:
To the world? I say: wake up from your sleep. Come out of your coma. Look at the Palestinian people. Feel compassion for them. That’s what I say. People have run out of patience. People have run out of space. People have forgotten what meat is. When you ask about meat, they’ll say: “What’s that?” 

Interviewer: 

How long has it been since you ate meat? 

Mahmud Zuhair Hussain Abu Zaideh: 

From the day they closed the crossing. People are suffocated. 

With over 10 million displaced people, Sudan’s civil war has turned the country into the source of the largest refugee population on earth. Yet the conflict in Sudan is not merely a contest for power between two military factions—it’s also a counter-revolution seeking to undo the gains of the democratic movement’s victories from 2018-2022. The Real News speaks with Sudanese author and political analyst Kholood Khair on the situation in her country.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Khalid Mohamed
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Narrator: 

For over 18 months, Sudan has been consumed by a brutal civil war, claiming up to 150,000 lives. In April 2023, a rivalry between two generals escalated into open conflict, sparking intense street battles in the capital Khartoum and triggering a massive wave of migration. 

Kholood Khair, Political Analyst: 

This conflict in Sudan is the only one globally, where it is the capital that is the epicenter of the fighting. And it is the capital where the fighting began and was the most fierce and in many ways, at least for several months. And what that has meant is that there is a potential for the complete collapse of the Sudanese state 

Narrator: 

Kholood Khair is a Sudanese political analyst. She evacuated the country at the outset of the conflict and has been a vocal advocate ever since. 

We asked Kholood why Sudan receives such little media attention and if it is being overshadowed by other conflicts, like Ukraine or Gaza. 

Kholood Khair, Political Analyst: 

Sudan has been overlooked since well before Gaza. 

What we have seen was that since the war in Ukraine broke out, there was sort of less attention to goings on in Sudan than even before the war. But certainly, you know, the world, I think, can pay attention to more than one crisis at the same time: The world has to be able to show that it can walk and chew gum, simultaneously. 

Narrator: 

The conflict centers on two factions, the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF), led by General Abdel Fattah Al Burhan and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) commanded by General Hemedti. The SAF faces allegations of war crimes including attacks on civilians and blocking aid. While the RSF is born from the Janjaweed militia, behind the 2003 Darfur Genocide. They are accused of ethnic violence, looting and widespread sexual assaults. 

The RSF have even posted videos online appearing to document their own war crimes.

Badria Mohamed – refugee from Khartoum: 

Honestly, the war—it’s the first time we’ve ever seen anything like this. I am 60 years old. But something like this, we haven’t seen before. This is the first time we’ve experienced or heard about a war like this, that we used to see in other countries. But here, we never expected to see things like this. That’s why it’s made us depressed, and we’re emotionally not okay. In every way, we’re not okay. We left our homes and our belongings, and they killed our children. And I mean, a lot of things.

Narrator: 

Sudan now faces the world’s largest displacement crisis, with 11 million people displaced internally—more than half of them children—and 3 million fleeing the country entirely. In places like Atbara, refugees from Khartoum have sought shelter in schools, as mass starvation looms. 

Badria Mohamed – refugee from Khartoum: 

I have one brother who, since the war started, I don’t know where he is. My brothers are scattered, and my sisters are scattered. I mean, the war has hurt civilians. We’ve been crushed, and we thank God. Since we came here, we’ve been eating beans and lentils. We eat what we have and what they 

bring, but now suddenly the food is not available anymore. Now we don’t have anything to eat. If you have your own food, you eat. If not, you don’t. 

Tahani Ali – refugee from Omdurman: 

The thing that hurt us the most was the artillery shelling of the RSF. The weapons killed people from our neighborhood—how many, I mean, children and young people. Women inside their homes were being hit. We were sleeping under the bed because of the shelling. Because the shelling was random, they could hit anywhere. People lost a lot. We stopped asking how people are. Because now when you ask, they tell you: “So and so has died. So and so has passed away. 

Narrator: 

Before the power struggle between Burhan and Hemedti engulfed the country, another struggle was taking place. 

A popular, pro-democracy street movement had succeeded in ousting Sudan’s long-time dictator, Omar al-Bashir, and was poised to bring down the rest of the establishment. 

Kholood Khair, Political Analyst: 

Essentially, the two generals at the heart of this general Burhan of the Sudanese armed forces, or SAF and General Hemedti of the Rapid Support Forces or RSF were in cahoots with each other when they brought down Ahmed al Bashir, who had been leading Sudan in an autocracy for about 30 years. He was unseated through consistent and sustained and sort of anti-regime pro-democracy protests in 2018, 2019. And when he was finally deposed through a lot of pressure on the military, the resulting military institution, the Transitional Military Council, saw an opportunity to capitalize. 

Narrator: 

Remarkably, the pro-democracy movement continues its work despite the war. So-called ‘Neighborhood Resistance Committees’ are local centres set up by the movement which have been providing humanitarian aid and coordinating evacuations, saving thousands of lives, despite constant danger.

Kholood Khair, Political Analyst: 

We’ve seen the abductions, disappearances and human rights abuses, as well as the assassinations of Neighborhood Resistance Committee organizers and members who have been the backbone of the pro-democracy movement for about 13 years now. And we have seen that sort of citizens who’ve had hopes for a new Sudan, as Sudan is moving away from the legacy of the Bashir era. We have seen them sort of targeted as well, to the extent where even saying no to war has become a sort of controversial statement and attracts a lot of just sort of hate and abuse from sort of pro-army or pro-military actors. 

Sami Musa – Refugee from Khartoum: 

War is like fire. If it sparks somewhere, it could spread to anywhere. It will burn up both the green and the dry. So we say, god willing it will not come to this. But it’s a hope, we don’t know. This is war. In the end, this war, at its core, is absurd. A war that has no goals. Generations are dying over these wars. Dying over disagreements. As much as possible, people should live together. We’re all Sudanese, we should live together. This is our country. 

Narrator: 

Although the victims of this war are Sudanese, it is not solely a Sudanese conflict. International players have taken sides, funneling large amounts of resources, weapons, and even soldiers. The UAE is the main backer of the RSF. A recent Amnesty international investigation recently revealed the emirate is providing the RSF with French military technology. 

The SAF’s biggest backer is neighboring Egypt. Russia, Ukraine and Iran reportedly have links to dierent sides. 

Some countries, like Saudi Arabia and Israel, have close ties with both The SAF and RSF. International players may not want to talk publicly about what’s happening in Sudan, but they continue to fuel the conflict. 

Kholood Khair, Political Analyst: 

Sudan is a very resource rich country, has petroleum, it has minerals, it has gold, it has sort of a very large proportion of the world’s arable land, which is farmable land. And because of that, it has become sort of a target for international predatory actors. 

And what we are seeing increasingly more of are these sort of proxy characteristics. There are enough conflict dynamics to keep this war going sort of internally. But certainly, the regional elements that cause some of these proxy factors, I think now are more apparent than before. Recently, both CNN and The New York Times had some reporting about how the United Arab Emirates was funneling weapons to the rebels, support forces through the Sahel. 

Narrator: 

Despite threats, Sudan’s revolutionary grassroots movement persists. Protecting civilians and demanding a role in shaping the nation’s future.

Kholood Khair, Political Analyst: 

There’s a sort of political science understanding that says that empires, if they don’t democratize, they disintegrate. And so I think there is an understanding, even within Sudan, that once this war is over, that the democratization project must go on. 

And that’s the thing that gives me hope. And I’m sure it’s the same for many people in the region as no matter where I go, whether it’s within Africa or the Middle East, Europe or elsewhere, I often, you know, have people come up to me and say, we’re really impressed with what the people of Sudan have done, what they’ve been doing. And because of that sort of indefatigable spirit that continues even in the worst circumstances, to push for democratic change, I think that’s something that’s very dicult to extinguish once it has been lit.

Nearly all of Gaza’s population of 2 million people have been displaced by the last 14 months of Israeli genocide. At the same time, Israeli bombing has destroyed over two thirds of the Strip’s buildings, leaving the majority of people without adequate shelter. While many live in tents, some are eking out an existence in the remaining hospitals, many of which are now doubling as refugee camps. The Real News reports from the European Hospital in Al-Fukhari near Khan Younis, where families have taken up residence after being displaced on multiple occasions.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Narrator: 

The European Hospital is one of the last functioning medical facilities in Gaza. But as well as working as a hospital, it’s also become a place where many are taking refuge, in a gaza where in the face of bombing, evacuation orders and military sieges, places for people to be are steadily disappearing. 

Sabreen Al Masri: 

When you see injured people, it aects your mental state. When they bomb, you also get scared; you think, “The Israelis are here.” You’re aected. You’re scared. I’m mentally exhausted. I left my beautiful house and came to live in the European Hospital, in a tent. The tent is terrible—when it rained, we drowned. Then the summer came with its heat. We suered. I mean, we’re living through something very dicult. Please, God, let there be a ceasefire so we can go home. We’ll go, even if it’s to a tent—we just want to go home. We’re from Gaza City, not from here. 

Narrator: 

Majdi is a taxi driver who has been continuously displaced multiple times by Israel over the last year

Majdi Majid Razeq Lahan: 

I was going to the Jabalia market at the Aleppo crossing when the airstrikes hit. I didn’t understand how. I was walking, and then suddenly, I was on the floor. I looked and saw blood gushing. I found a rope on the ground, cut like this. So I tied my leg here and here. I was bleeding, and no one could rescue me. No ambulance could reach me. I was surrounded by corpses. Many. Around 50. It was a market; do you understand what that means? A market full of people, and bombs fall on it. The only survivors were me and two others, one from the Najjar family. We were the only ones from around 30 or 40 people. There were no doctors; the pharmacy was hit. The central clinic at the Indonesian Hospital was hit. There were multiple incidents. Then they said the tanks had come; some of the doctors ran away. Some stayed. My leg wasn’t supposed to be amputated. I was injured in one leg—it was just flesh. The other leg had a cut artery. They searched for a doctor for two hours. The doctor couldn’t get to the hospital; he was on his way but couldn’t get through because of the tanks and the siege. So they decided, after consulting my brother, who’s a nurse, to amputate my leg. 

There are no antibiotics. I’m surviving on painkillers like Tramadol. I stayed three days in the Indonesian Hospital: Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. On Monday at midnight, we were told to move to the European Hospital. Due to extreme pressure, they couldn’t bring us in an ambulance. A bus with 50 passengers came instead. One guy was wounded and bleeding. Every 2–3 hours, he would get a blood transfusion. People were sitting on seats or thrown on the floor, lying there. 

My child was killed. He was 24. My hopes were like any father’s hopes—to be proud of his son, to see him get married, to watch him grow. Every time I go to eat, I think of my son. In the month of Ramadan, my son was working in a shop to contribute to the household. But during the sweep of Jabalia Al Balad, while he was in the school, they hit him in a strike. What was the crime of a

24-year-old boy? I raised my son for 24 years; I fed him and provided for him. Suddenly, he’s taken from me. They took our lives, took everything. Where are the people who feel for us? Bring us someone who feels for us—not just me. I’m one of a million. I’m one of 1.5 million refugees. I’ve become hopeless and helpless. What was my crime? My crime was trying to find food for my children. I left on two feet, walking and whole. My son was working in a shop, and a strike hits him while he’s working? What was his crime? 

Who will I leave all these people to? I was the only breadwinner in the entire house, more or less. There are around 15 people I am responsible for. Now, as you can see, I am helpless. 

Narrator: 

Isad is Majid’s mother, who alongside Majid has been displaced multiple times.

Isad Mohamed Slimane Rayhana – Majdi Majid’s mother: 

No medicine, no therapies, no doctors. Today, whoever gets sick, dies. What’s the crime of children like this? What’s the crime of this child? What’s their crime? They can’t find a place to play. If the Israelis had just killed us, it would have been better than this. I swear. Maybe we would have rested. They asked us to move to the south. We didn’t leave willingly. We left with our children, whose legs and arms were chopped o. I miss the land, the trees, and the olives. I have land, I have trees, and I have a house. Every day, I die for my home. Every day, I die for my house. Literally, I burn inside because of my home. I grieve for my home every day. We left with our youth, our children. First, my son-in-law was killed. Then my son was killed, my brother-in-law was killed, and my grandson was killed. My son lost his leg. We used to be a happy family. Now we are an unhappy family. We are sad. This one kills us; this one humiliates us. The prices and the inflation we are experiencing—we can’t survive with them. 

Look. This is our bread, our food. This is how we’re living—with the sewage, the bedding, and the dogs. What has happened to us? We can barely get a drop of water. The bathroom is far away. It’s used by around 700 people. We have to wait our turn. We fight over it. Every day, there are problems. Soon, people are going to start killing each other—over the bathroom, over water, over food and drink. We’re not living a dignified life.

Dogs. Hunger. Humiliation. Beatings. Rape. The testimony of survivors from Sde Teiman, Israel’s torture camp for Palestinians based in the Negev Desert, paint a consistent portrait of inhumanity and savagery with few parallels in modern history. The Real News reports from the Gaza Strip, where Sde Teiman survivor Rafik Hamdi Darwish Yasin shares his experience at the hands of his Israeli captors.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Narrator: 

In November 2023 Rafik Hamdi Darwish Yassin was detained by the Israeli Army in Gaza. Later he was transferred to the Israeli military-base-turned-detention-camp Sde Teiman and it was here where he says he was further subjected to multiple forms of physical and psychological torture for a further 25 days. 

Rafik Hamdi Darwish Yasin: 

I would have preferred they shoot me in Gaza than leave Gaza. We wanted to leave, two of our neighbors left the building; we were surprised by snipers and these two neighbors were killed. So we were besieged for five days until they came in their tanks. They smashed the front of the building, destroyed the stairs, then they entered and took us out. There were people that they didn’t detain; they just killed them in their homes. They entered and told us – I was wearing a jacket – they told me to take the jacket off and to lower my trousers a little. We got dressed, then they blindfolded us and tied our wrists with electric wire from the back. 

Narrator: 

Leaked CCTV footage from Sde Teiman appears to show Israeli soldiers sexually assaulting an inmate with the help of dogs, and the camp is awash with accusations of both psychological and physical torture. 

Rafik Hamdi Darwish Yasin: 

Most of the hits were to the head, I lost four teeth. Four teeth from my mouth. They hit the sides, the joints, anywhere it would not be easy to recover from, they would hit. Apart from that, the dogs. The dogs were muzzled, but if the dog stood on you it was like being stabbed five times. The cold, we were sleeping on one blanket and a mat that was less than one centimeter thick. On concrete, and the whole prison where we were was raised around one to one and a half meters in height. It was winter. We were there from November 23 to December 23. 

A month? One month, correct. A month that for the prisoner feels like 30 years. 30 days blindfolded, then we were tied, cuffed from behind for five days. Then they cuffed us from the front – even worse. Two plastic ties around each wrist with a metal chain in between. So that your hand – here, look: this is from December, it went all the way to the bone. They killed people in front of us. They used to take people to the top of buildings, tie them with rope to make it look like they were special forces in front of your eyes. What kind of torture is this? Who can tolerate this torture? They would hit you in the head with the rifle, there was a man who was killed as he got off the bus. They whacked him in the head, and he died right there while getting off the bus. 

They use their boots. They use dogs. Some would use music. They would lock you in a room and play loud music for three, five hours. 10 hours, 12 hours. I mean… the worst possible. They would force you to sit on your knees. Four hours. Standing, four hours. You would stay standing. Even the medic who would come to treat you, one of their medics – I had these ties here cutting to the bone – on both sides. A medic would come and bandage

your hand today. The day after the next medic would come and tie your wrists so tight that your hand would start bleeding again and would tie it with such pressure so that your wrists become deformed. Even their medics are Nazis. 

You can tolerate the physical torture… But the psychological torture and the humiliation. If you understand Hebrew, it becomes much more difficult. Many didn’t understand the humiliating things they were saying. A horde of criminals, and there are levels with them: from those who hate the Palestinian people, to those who want to kill every single Palestinian, to those who would shoot at Palestinians directly. Three levels, and all three are criminals. Every one would show their hatred at a specific level. 

The Israeli army, the Israeli intelligence, says that whoever didn’t celebrate on October 7 ate sweets, and whoever didn’t eat sweets gave shelter to Hamas. What has October 7 got to do with me? What did I do on the 6th or 7th of October!? What did I do? I did not take part in this whole story. 

Narrator: 

Though it’s been almost a year since Rafik was released, the long term effects of that single month of detention remain. 

Rafik Hamdi Darwish Yasin: 

When I was in prison, I lost 43 kilos. Forty-three kilos in 30 days. 43 kilos, look. You can see how my body is wrinkled. I didn’t go to the toilet for around 6 days from lack of food. I started to bleed in my gut, and I was hospitalized. Now I can’t lift my arm. More than this I can’t lift my arm. To this moment I am on anxiety meds. These are the medications I take for the effects of the detention. These are strong psychological drugs. This one is half a pill at night, you couldn’t take this in the day. 

Every day I walk around 15 kilometers, so I can sleep on top of the anxiety meds. I mean, you can say that I have lost my life. We are alive but dead at the same time. 

They released us in Karma Abu Salem; of course, they didn’t tell us. They want to steal any joy from you until the last moment; they didn’t tell us we were being released. In Karma Abu Salem we were barefoot, none of us were wearing shoes. We walked for three and a half or four kilometers, walking on asphalt, covered in debris. The feeling of freedom… There wasn’t a lot of happiness. Why? Because we were far from family, and there’s a war that continues, and the blood is still flowing. There’s no reason to celebrate until now. There’s no reason for joy. 

You know the time that I used to be able to relax? When I would think of my family. That’s it. I would be able to leave the world I was in. I would remember my son who… I have one son who suffers from autism. I worry about him a lot. Even the buildings, the trees, the buildings, what was their crime? We evacuated the area; why are you bulldozing the buildings? Why are you bulldozing the trees? I mean they want to destroy everything that the Palestinians have built in 50 years. 

That’s the sound of strikes. 

– That’s the sound of strikes, yes. It’s far away, east of Deir. 

– God help us. 

– God help us.

As of Oct. 7, 2023, Israel has attacked 162 healthcare facilities in Gaza and rendered 114 hospitals and clinics inoperable. In the midst of starvation by siege, daily bombardment, and threats to their lives, Gaza’s remaining healthcare workers continue to care for the sick and wounded. The Real News reports from Al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Hospital and Al-Ahli Arab Hospital in the Gaza Strip.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Rula Khaled Khalil Awadh – Nurse, Shuhada al-Aqsa Hospital: 

My brother was killed while I was at work. They called me and said, “Admit your brother, he has been killed.” 

Narrator: 

Rula Khaled Khalil Awadh is a nurse at the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Southern Gaza. She was on shift when her brother’s body was brought into the hospital after he was killed in an Israeli strike. 

Rula Khaled Khalil Awadh – Nurse, Shuhada al-Aqsa Hospital: 

This is Mohamed, my brother, the martyr, who died when I was on shift. He was martyred and left this world. The occupation took him, against our wishes. He has two sons and a girl: Firas, Khaled, and Ruweida. Ruweida is named after our mother, God rest her soul. He grew up an orphan from an early age. Now he’s left behind three children—orphans. 

I won’t lie to you, from day one, we were witnessing how many doctors, nurses, and medical staff had lost their family members while they were at work. So we put the scenario in our minds: How would I face this situation? Then we’d say, “No, God forbid!” But then it happened. He has no connection to anything. He went to chop wood because there isn’t any gas. While he was cutting wood, he was hit by a drone. This is during his funeral. This is during my meeting with him. The experience of loss. We’re experiencing loss every day. 

Narrator: 

Dr. Ahmed Radi is a doctor volunteering at the Al-Ahli hospital in besieged Northern Gaza. It was here, on the 17th of October 2023, that a missile struck the courtyard of the Al-Ahli hospital killing 471 people and wounding 342 others. 

Since then, Israeli air strikes have pummelled Gaza’s medical infrastructure, making life incredibly difficult for doctors like Ahmed 

Dr. Ahmed Radi – Volunteer Doctor, Al Ahli Hospital: 

The experience of loss, I mean: Mothers losing their sons. Children losing their mothers. People losing children, losing the elderly. These experiences have been difficult, not just as a doctor but as a human being. We haven’t found the time for grief or sadness, for expressing our feelings, because events are continuing, the genocide is continuing, the misery is continuing in Gaza. The war has eliminated all aspects of life for us, especially this war, the likes of which we have never seen. This has been a war of annihilation from every angle. It’s affected us psychologically, it’s affected us physically. 

With regards to displacement, of course, there’s no one, especially in northern Gaza, who hasn’t been displaced multiple times in light of the continuing military operations by the occupation forces. We’ve suffered from displacement; we’ve been forced into uninhabitable areas, unfit for life.

Narrator: 

The North of Gaza has been under complete siege since October 1st 2024, with tens of thousands of people trapped without access to food and water. Israeli forces have been using military vehicles, drones and sand barriers to stop any movement of people, goods and aid. It’s under these conditions the staff at the AL-Ahli hospital are forced to function. 

Dr. Ahmed Radi – Volunteer Doctor, Al Ahli Hospital: 

This is a small hospital; it can’t accommodate these large numbers. The rooms are filled with patients; the corridors are filled with patients. This is the biggest, most difficult challenge for keeping on top of the patients. 

Rula Khaled Khalil Awadh – Nurse, Shuhada al-Aqsa Hospital: 

– Hello. How are you? How is Heba? Is she doing OK? When did Heba arrive? – Two days ago. 

– What happened to Heba? 

– Our school was bombed, ‘The Martyrs School’ in Nuseirat. The classroom that was next to us, she was standing at the door when it was bombed. 

– She was in the middle of the strike? 

– Yes, in the middle of it. 

– OK. What happened to her exactly, with her head, what’s the situation? – It’s all open from here to here; they did a CT scan. There’s a piercing to the cranium, internal bleeding, and we are keeping track, with God’s will. 

– Did they change the bandage? She’s taken her medication? 

– She’s taken her medication. 

– OK, is she always crying like this? 

– She’s quiet, then cries, quiet, then cries. 

– This is from the fear, the effects of the hit, she’s scared. 

– Yes, at night she freezes. 

– It’s not like at the beginning, though. She’s scared, but it’s less. Thanks be to God. – OK, but try as much as you can to feed her, so her immune system strengthens, so that also the stitches will close up faster. 

The problem, of course, is that there is no food available. Nothing is available. OK, try, for example, milk: things like this. There are vitamins, the doctor—you will be prescribed it. We received a child; she was one and a half years old, identity unknown. She was completely burnt. Two hours later, while they were treating her, the situation deteriorated from complications brought on by the war, from inhalation of the chemicals released by the missiles. The child suffered from complications, and we transferred her to intensive care. Two hours later, the child died, and she was unidentified. 

Some of the injured, it’s as if you have opened a diagram that shows, separately: the skin, the muscles, the flesh, the bone. Shown in a clear picture, in the wounds of the patients and the injured.

Painkillers, the absolute basic medication required for the injured, is not available in the hospital. Paracetamol is not available—or only in tiny amounts. 

Dr. Ahmed Radi – Volunteer Doctor, Al Ahli Hospital: 

The killer in this war is the silence. In light of the genocide, in light of the mass killings, and the mass burnings, we haven’t found a single person that’s stood and said: “Stop the war on Gaza!” Where is the world? 

[Explosions] I would describe myself as a normal Palestinian citizen who’s suffering from this war and its woes, whose house was destroyed, who was displaced. But we have no choice but to stay in our homes in northern Gaza. The cutting off of the evacuation routes, the destruction of every possible evacuation route to evacuate the Palestinian people. The medical staff have been exhausted, and pressure has been applied on them; some were arrested, some were killed. But the decision has been to remain in the Gaza Strip, to remain specifically in the north of the Gaza Strip. 

We will follow through with what we were born to do, and we pray that God ends this war and ends this genocide and returns peace to this beautiful city. 

Rula Khaled Khalil Awadh – Nurse, Shuhada al-Aqsa Hospital: 

– Hi Bashoura. How are you? How’s things? Good? Where’s your needle? You’re playing with the ball? How? You’re squeezing it? Good. Does it hurt? No? OK, great. In a little while, we are going to change it for you. Can I see your head wound? What’s its status? Are you getting headaches, Bashayir? No pain? Nothing. Good. OK, let me just grab this and see to your injection. Is there any pain? 

– [Silently] A little. 

– Good. 

A flood. I describe this war as literally a flood. The name matches. They called it a flood, and it is, in fact, a flood. We used to be in a state of independence, stability, and safety. Now we’re in a state of fear, anxiety, displacement, and loss. This is the war, summed up—a flood. We will grow in resilience and strength and more giving, God willing. We are a mighty people; we will remain a mighty people. God willing.

On October 29, the Spanish town of Paiporta, Valencia, was swept by more rain in four hours than it had received in the past three years. The resulting torrent gutted the entire community, killing over 200 residents. While Valencians have banded together to survive and rebuild, their solidarity of necessity is accompanied by a simmering fury at the government’s failures. The Real News reports from Valencia, Spain.

Producers: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videography: Mario Capetillo Torres
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

David – Paiporta resident: 

When the water rose all the way up there, that’s when the cell phone warnings came through. By then, my dog had already drowned here on the ground floor, that’s when the alarms went off, the warnings started coming in: “Peep peep! Watch out, the ravines are overflowing.” What happened here is unacceptable. It’s unacceptable. 

Narrator: 

On October 29th, 2024, the small Spanish town of Paiporta became a flashpoint in an unprecedented natural disaster. A rare weather event caused by the meeting of warm and cold fronts unleashed huge amounts of rainfall on the Spanish region of Valencia. More rain in 4 hours than the previous 3 years combined. The storm – referred to by the abbreviation DANA – claimed the lives of 220 people, with tens of people still missing. Today, the town’s residents are angry, they accuse the regional and central government of a slow and negligent response. But where the authorities have failed, volunteers have stepped in. 

Goyo – Volunteer: 

Well, it looks like some heads might roll. Watching the news, you get the impression they didn’t issue a very effective warning for people to take the necessary precautions, knowing that such a massive flood was on its way. 

But groups like ours are really essential because, right now, we don’t see any military presence distributing food. It’s only the volunteer organizations and NGOs providing support to those in need. 

Volunteer: 

– Would you like some slices of melon? 

– Yeah, we’ve got a Tupperware. 

– Of course. 

David – Paiporta resident: 

They left us abandoned for the first 24 hours. We were alone for the first 48 hours. We were entering supermarkets, grabbing food trying to survive as if there were no government. It wasn’t until the third or fourth day that we finally started seeing some presence from the army and others. We felt completely alone and forsaken. In a country where we pay taxes, this should not be happening. And then, just last night, they pulled six more bodies out from under the mud along the tracks. Does it make sense that after ten days, they still haven’t sent enough personnel to find all the missing, or at least most of them? It’s unacceptable, completely unacceptable.

Paiporta resident: 

But as I’m saying, this could happen to any Spaniard. The flood has impacted Valencia. But all of Spain, our leaders have abandoned us. Tomorrow, this could happen somewhere else in Spain. We’ll help, but bear in mind, our leaders won’t. What do we even need those leaders for? I don’t want them; I’ll govern myself, damn it. 

Narrator: 

It was here in Paiporta, that the King and Queen of Spain, the Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez and the regional leader of Valencia, Carlos Mazon came to visit after DANA. And it was here where they were all greeted with mud and dirt thrown at them by angry locals. Whilst the King and Queen stayed to talk to locals, Prime Minister Sanchez and regional head Mazon, both made a hasty retreat. 

David – Paiporta resident: 

It’s a huge outrage, and the anger running through the town is impressive. There are a lot of inconsistencies; the numbers they’re giving about the missing don’t add up. They’re still finding people. There are garages they haven’t even been able to check because the walls have collapsed. So they can’t tell the truth. Three homeless people who lived there are nowhere to be found. They’re not listed as missing. In Picaña, there were three or four homeless people in a park who are also unaccounted for. They could write this off as other causes of death. We’re furious, indignant, and feeling a deep-seated rage that’s indescribable. 

Chantings: 

Where’s your mud? Where’s your mud? 

Murderers! Murderers! Murderers! 

You’re defending a murderer! 

Narrator: 

Over 130,000 protesters took to the streets to not only demand the resignation of regional leader Carlos Mazón, but to demand answers. Answers to questions like, why did Valencian residents only receive warning text messages 14 hours after the regional government had received a series of red weather alerts? For many the text messages came all too late. 

Chantings: 

Resign! Resign! 

Where were you when you were needed? Where? You’re all dogs! You, you, and you are worthless! 

Protester:

Mazón was completely absent. Here, the people are saving the people. That’s what’s happening here today in the Town Hall square, in this November 9 protest, demanding Mazón’s resignation. 

Protester: 

We’ve had to coordinate ourselves. We’re doing everything by ourselves. And now they try to paint us as heroes, we don’t have to take care of this, they have to take care of everything. And next week, now that the people are more or less safe, what has to happen is that instead of asking for forgiveness, they resign! Out of pure shame of what they’ve done. 

Paul – Valencia resident: 

My view is that the management by the Valencian government bordered on criminal negligence, by not warning people, downplaying the tragedy beforehand, and trying to hide their incompetence. The Spanish central government, too, treats us like a colony, more worried about getting the AVE train to Valencia and making sure tourists can still come to the beach. And companies prioritize their interests over the safety of their workers, both on the day of the disaster and in the days afterward. 

Lucia – Valencia resident: 

I believe it’s our duty as citizens to present our complaints against the entire political mismanagement of this DANA, which led to the loss of countless lives that could have been saved. And the chaos that followed the DANA has been even worse than the DANA itself. 

Chantings: 

Long live Valencia! 

Volunteer: 

Sandwiches! Go forward if you want one. 

I’m making it with whatever little we have so they can enjoy a little taste of home. We need all of this to go into storage. 

Carlota – Volunteer: 

We’re all in this together. Nobody is anyone’s enemy. It would be easy for us to have a little disagreement and say you’re on one side, and I’m on the other. But right now, we all need to be together and find a solution. I have my opinions, but I’ll keep them to myself because, right now, the priority is for us all to be here, helping however we can with the resources we have. 

Maria del Pilar – Volunteer & victim: 

I’m personally very grateful to the youth, to the people of Valencia who came to the towns to help us, to help us clear everything out and clean our homes. I’m so grateful that, if I could, I’d thank every one of these people personally.

Jesus – Paiporta resident: 

So many different people have come here — people from all over, from outside, from Valencia. Even people from abroad. It’s been remarkable. We can be proud of everyone who’s come to lend a hand. The people will save the people.

On Aug. 9, the body of a 31-year-old trainee doctor was discovered on the grounds of R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital in Kolkota, West Bengal. Evidence of sexual assault on the victim’s body was quickly reported, setting off a national firestorm across India. For months, women and medical professionals around the country have protested to demand justice for the victim and workplace safety. The Real News reports from Kolkota, West Bengal.

Production: Belal Awad and Leo Erhardt
Videography: Mithun Pramanik and Reek Baruli 
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Chants: 

From Kolkata to Bengaluru, how many more Khudirams will you kill? 

Narrator: 

In the regional Indian capital of Kolkata, West Bengal, a brutal case of rape and murder. Unclear details around the killing of a trainee doctor, known to her friends and colleagues as Dr. Abhaya, has ignited a mass protest movement – that has spread across the entire nation. 

Chants: 

Your voice, our voices are the justice for RG KAR Hospital. 

Narrator: 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar is from Kolkata, and is a member of the West Bengal Junior Doctors’ Front, who are leading protests in the city. 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

Right now we, the civilians of Kolkata, are on streets protesting against a heinous crime that has happened in our city. On 9th of August, 2024, a lady doctor who was on her duty in our check, our medical college and hospital, which is also in Kolkata, got raped and murdered in her workplace during her work hours. 

Chants: 

Police, what are you afraid of? What’s your relationship with the culprits?

Narrator: 

Dr. Abhaya was found dead the following morning and her family was initially told by police that it was a suicide. It later became clear that she was, in fact, violently raped and murdered. Other details of what happened, where, and who was involved, remain murky. Dr. Tauhid Momen is also a member of the West Bengal Junior Doctors’ Front. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

We as a whole, as a city, medical fraternity are shook by it. Everything possible was done to cover it up and pass it off as something very trivial. Initially, it was also tried to pass off as a suicide. And the parents of the victim were made to wait for a long time before they could see their daughter. After that, there were alleged accusations of money being offered to them. So basically, what we could see is that this murder and this rape was tried to be covered up by the machinery of the state and the officials of the medical college involved. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen:

So this is why our protest has shook the nation, and that’s why we are protesting. Because we want justice. We don’t want this issue to be swept under the rug. We want this to be brought up, and we want justice for what happened. And we want the real culprits to be, so that they come out because, till now, so initially one arrest was made, one arrest was made. 

Narrator: 

That one initial arrest that was made, was of Sanjay Roy, a volunteer who worked with the police, who was caught on CCTV in the area on the night of the murder. Since then, though, questions have been raised by activists who believe that this was a crime not only premeditated but with more than one person involved — and on an institutional level. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

He was a civic volunteer. He was set to perpetrate this crime and done it. But, apart from that, the principal, the principal of the medical college and hospital was very, very, very deeply involved in this. That’s why now he, along with the officer in charge of the police station where this incident happened, both of them have finally been arrested on, accusations of alleged rape and murder of the beloved sister. 

Narrator: 

As well as the principal, a number of other arrests of hospital administration staff have now taken place, lending credibility to activists’ claims of an institutional conspiracy. 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

Because the heinous crime that has happened has, like a backstory. We believe that it has a backstory because, it is not possible that a doctor is getting raped and murdered on her workplace, like, just overnight. It’s not possible. This is a planned murder… It was done, like, with more than 3 to 4 people. We are guessing about it. 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

We are saying that they are literally hiding the criminals. And to save them, what they are doing, they’re tampering with the evidence, they are giving false statements to the media, and they are lying about us. That’s why we are just fighting, like, together. 

Interviewer: 

Who do you think is responsible for this crime? 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

See, we can’t tell one particular name because we don’t believe this is the work of one person.

Chants: 

RG Kar Hospital Demands Justice! 

The office hub has called, let the Tilottoma receive justice. 

Narrator: 

Since the murder, women and doctors have been leading protests demanding transparency and justice in the death of their colleague. 

Chants: 

The people have risen, the administration is afraid. 

Narrator: 

The mega-city of Kolkata is home to an estimated 15 million people, and the R G Kar hospital was one of the city’s busiest. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

Kolkata throughout its history has been actively involved and has been at the forefront of movements like this movement for justice, movements which have had national significance, movements which have shaped our country. 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

If you read the history, you will see that Kolkata had the biggest number of freedom fighters while fighting with the British, the East India Company. So yeah, we have a big history of fighting against injustice. And we are still fighting against injustice. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

It has no comparison in history. The kind of support we’ve had from the masses. So it’s unprecedented. So this is a one-of-a-kind moment. 

Narrator: 

Unprecedented perhaps, but this isn’t the first time, that a sexual assault has stirred huge controversy in India. Back in 2012, nationwide protests broke out after a 23-year-old student was gang-raped on a moving bus in the capital, Delhi, and though reports of sexual assault have significantly increased in recent years, conviction rates remain very low. 

Today, protests have once again spread across the entire nation, with rights activists demanding not only better facilities and protections for medical workers but accountability for rape crimes in a country where, according to the latest figures, an average of one woman is raped every 17 minutes.

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

The protest started with Kolkata, but eventually all our fraternity joined us across India to be with us. For this protest. They are supporting us. We are really getting support all over from all over India because not exactly like this, but similar kinds of things have happened in almost everywhere in every state in India. And we do not want this to repeat. We do not want one more Abhaya or one more victim to happen. Never, ever. 

Narrator: 

At the time of production, activists from the Junior Doctors’ Front were still protesting nearly 90 days after the murder, whilst simultaneously coordinating partial and full working strikes and a “fast until death” hunger strike which has resulted in at least 6 hospitalizations. 

As well as the removal of senior officials of the State Health Department and increased security for workers, they demand an end to the so-called “threat culture,” which they say is a culture of coordinated and systematic intimidation present in medical and state institutions. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

Third is we want to end the threat culture which has been going on in medical college and hospital throughout the years. We are demanding the resignation of people involved in tampering with evidence and who have obstructed justice. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

Sexual assault or this rape culture has been prevalent, it’s been increasing in numbers, and so many cases we don’t get to know because it’s happening in the periphery, in small villages or maybe people have been threatened not to come up and talk about it. And they’ve been silent. They’ve been literally threatened and blackmailed not to come up with this. 

Dr. Tauhid Momen: 

It’s not only about Kolkata or West Bengal, but it’s all over the country. It’s not just a rape and murder anymore. The main problem is justice is being denied. 

Dr. Dipanwita Sarkar: 

Also, we have to shout for justice and we have to demand justice because they are denying us. They are denying our sister from getting her justice. That’s why we are on the streets right now, and the protests are going on. It has started since 9th of August and it’s still going on, and we are still fighting, and we will not stop until we get justice.

One of the clearest signs of Israel’s genocidal intent in Gaza has been its unrelenting, targeted attacks on children and families. Israel has slaughtered more than 11,000 Palestinian children over the past year, and there are also over 17,000 children who have lost their parents and caretakers. These orphans have been largely embraced by their communities, but must still find a way to survive the war without their closest loved ones. The Real News reports from Khan Younis, speaking to Alma, age 12, and Mahmoud, age 13, who have both survived Israeli massacres that killed the majority of their relatives.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

NARRATOR: For those children who escape death, surviving has its own challenges. According to UNICEF, At least 17,000 children were estimated to be unaccompanied or separated from their parents in the Gaza Strip in February 2024, four months into the war. Today, that number is likely significantly higher. 

ALMA MOHAMED GHANEM JAROUR: Come and sit. Look how nice the camp looks. There’s the first medical point, and there is the second. There’s the administration point. 

NARRATOR: Alma Jarour was the sole survivor of an Israeli air strike that flattened the entire building where she was taking refuge, killing a reported 140 people in total, and almost every single member of her extended family. 

She is only one of the orphans staying at the “Dar Al Baraka” orphanage, a single tent in a sea of refugee tents, designated exclusively for orphans West of the city of Khan Yunis. 

ALMA: Where do you like to go? 

GIRL 1: I like the amusement park! 

ALMA: And you, Samaa? 

GIRL 2: I like to go to restaurants! 

ALMA: —And I like to go to the sea! 

ALMA: The place I used to love to go to the most before the war was the sea. When the war began, the Yarmuk mosque was targeted and it was next to our house. I felt strangled, my chest was constricted. I was so scared, I would hide in my mum’s arms. We would sleep in my mum and dad’s arms. We would not move from our places. We were in my uncle’s building. The entire building was bombed. It was full of children and women only. 

INTERVIEWER: Where were you?

ALMA: I was with them! I was not expecting that. I got out from under the rubble and thought my family had also gotten out. I didn’t expect that. I got out, and then strangers took me to their home. I ran away and went back to the building. The people took me away a second time but I went back to the building again. I got the biggest shock, I found all the people from the building in pieces. In pieces. I don’t know what to tell you. 

I came out from the rubble, out of 140 people. I mean, there were 140 people in the building. We’re innocent children, we’re not involved in anything. We’re children. 

INTERVIEWER: All your family died? 

ALMA: Yes, all of them. What can we say? 

NARRATOR: Sami Jihad Haddad is Alma’s aunt’s husband, and one of her only surviving relatives.

SAMI JIHAD HADDAD: The house was hit, and the only survivor was Alma. She came out of the rubble after three hours. No one else survived with her, they all died. No one remained for Alma except her aunt, because her aunt was displaced to Al Wasta. 

God sent the war and wiped out their entire line. He wiped the near and the far. From the grandfather to the grandson: they’re all gone. This girl survived. No uncle, no father, no grandfather—all of them: may god have mercy on their souls. In the center of this building. They stayed under the rubble for four months, until the neighbors and loved ones pulled them out when the area was cleared after the bombings. 

ALMA: I was in the building on the same day, at the time of that same air strike. On that same day I went to the south. What did I find? I found tanks and weapons… 

INTERVIEWER: Who did you go with? 

ALMA: With my mother’s relatives, but they are not my relatives. We found the Israelis, and tanks and weapons. I mean, we found a sniper who was shooting at us, and tanks were pointing at us! I mean, an unbearable scene. 

We found blood. I found blood. But my aunt, she found a corpse. Thrown in the street. I saw a lot of blood. I was walking in the street and I saw a lot of blood. The Israelis were moving in the area, they were in front of us, they were in front of us, it was normal. They had a store of weapons there. They raided a house and took it over and made it their place. They went in and took out a lot of weapons. I mean, these were unbearable scenes at this time. The whole way I was screaming, screaming, screaming. I was screaming for four, five days, I didn’t speak to anyone. I didn’t want to eat.

NARRATOR: Like Alma, 12-year-old Mahmoud has also been recently orphaned. 

MAHMOUD TAYSIR ABU SHAHMEH: We were sleeping at 3 o’clock at night. We heard a strike and I ran out of the house outside. I was injured from the strike, and that’s it. After I was in the hospital for 14 [days], then we went to sheikh Nasser, then we left to Mashrou’, then to Rafah. Then after Rafah we came here, to Khan Yunis. 

INTERVIEWER: How did your parents die? 

MAHMOUD: The house was struck, and we lost my mum, my sister, my brother, his wife, his son, my aunt. Then they struck my house at a different time, and we lost my dad, my uncle, my other uncle, my other uncle, my little cousin, my other cousin, my aunt, her son, and my dad’s wife. 

INTERVIEWER: And you were left alone? 

MAHMOUD: Yeah, I’m left alone, I have three married sisters, they’re all with their husbands. 

NARRATOR: Daoud Abu Shahmeh is Mahmoud’s uncle and one of his only surviving relatives. He tells us about Mahdmoud’s anxiety attacks and dark memories that mostly surface at night. 

DAOUD ABU SHAHMEH: His mental state is difficult; honestly, it’s bad. What do you expect? A child loses his mother, his father? The air strikes. Every minute, something bombed. What’s his mental state? It’s destroyed! I’m telling you, not the mental state of children, us adults, our mental state is destroyed. 

We try to ease his pain. He’s not a baby, he’s 12 years old and he’s aware that his parents have died and gone to heaven. Sometimes he dreams at night and shouts out, ‘Mummy! Daddy! Where are you?’ 

Everything I can do for him, I do it. He asks and I tell him, may Allah have mercy on your mum. May Allah have mercy on your dad. They were good people. They live in Heaven, God Willing. And may God allow us to join them. Because I swear this is no life. I swear it’s no life. We’re not living. We’re martyrs-in-waiting. Everyone is waiting for their day. 

NARRATOR: But during the daylight hours, both Mahmoud and Alma show remarkable resilience. 

MAHMOUD: We play football in the evening with the boys here outside. We play for an hour and then we come and sit here. 

DAOUD ABU SHAHMEH: I sit with him and we play together. We play football. We throw the ball to each other. I tell them stories about ghouls, old fairy tales. We laugh together. When they get tired, we all go to sleep together. 

ALMA: I have coloring pencils and we play together and have fun. Instead of remembering. When I’m alone I start to remember what happened and remember how life before used to be so nice. 

I dream that I will go to my grandmother. My grandmother in Germany, my dad’s mother. I want to go to her a lot. I miss her. I want to embrace her and she wants to embrace me. 

INTERVIEWER: What do you miss about your mum and dad? 

ALMA: Their embrace, honestly. I used to love being in their embrace. I feel their embrace was warm. In winter the best thing is to go and cuddle your mum and dad. Those were sweet days.

When this war is over, I will have nothing left. My childhood home is gone. The house we lived the best days of our lives in, is gone. Nothing is left for me when this war is over. That’s all.

Israel’s war on Lebanon has triggered a massive wave of refugees converging on Beirut. While the task of supporting the 1.2 million internally displaced people would normally fall to the government, Lebanon has been without a president since 2022. Organizations like the Beit Aam Community Space and the One Roof Initiative have risen to fill the vacuum, coordinating Lebanese civil society to provide shelter and meals to those who desperately need them. The Real News reports from Beirut on the state of the war and the mutual aid helping keep Lebanon’s refugees alive.

Videography: Kamal Kanso, Hadi Hoteit (Lebanese journalist)
Fixer: Bachir Abou Zeid (Filmmaker)
Producers: Leo Erhardt, Belal Awad
Video editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Soha Mneimneh – Urban Planner and Member of ‘One Roof’ Initiative: This is central Beirut, which has not rested a single day; not just in recent years, but historically. At the time of the October 17 protests, tear gas was thrown at us on this square. At the time of the explosion of the port, it was this square that was affected. Today, this square is sheltering refugees who should be being sheltered by the government in appropriate shelters. In the first few days people were sleeping on the streets, they didn’t know where to go. There was an atmosphere of hysteria. There were women who gave birth on the street.

Narrator: Since October 2023, in response to Israel’s actions in Gaza, the Lebanese resistance group Hezbollah has been attacking Israel from south Lebanon. They have repeatedly said that they will continue to fight until a ceasefire is implemented in Gaza.
In September 2024, Almost 1 year into what’s been described as one of the bloodiest wars of the 21st century, Israel set its sights on Lebanon. Starting with a mass terror attack that indiscriminately caused thousands of pagers and walkie talkies to explode. Followed by a huge bombing campaign that stretched from north Lebanon all the way to the capital, Beirut.

In one strike, Israel dropped over 80 tons of explosives over the densely populated, residential suburb of al Dahiyeh, penetrating more than 60 ft below ground and killing Hezbollah leader Sayed Hasssan Nasrallah, alongside at least 33 others.
Since then, strikes have become a daily reality in Beirut.

Though the Israeli army and some media outlets regularly label the areas targeted by Israel as “Hezbollah strongholds” they are in fact targeting densely populated, residential and civilian areas terrorizing huge sections of Lebanese society and causing unprecedented levels of displacement.

Since September, an estimated 1.2 million people – around one Fifth of the entire population of Lebanon – have been displaced. Many have come to Beirut.

Soha Mneimneh is a Lebanese urban planner and member of “Sakf Wahed”, or ‘One Roof’.

Soha Mneimneh – Urban Planner and Member of ‘One Roof’ Initiative: Now, I’m not just living in Beirut; my whole life I’ve never lived anywhere but Beirut. I’m a daughter of Beirut, born and raised here, and I decided that I would spend all my life here. But this is the first time I understood what it means to be displaced. I come every day to Beirut to help as much as I can. Because I’m a daughter of this city, and lived all my life here. But to be honest, unfortunately, I have also been displaced. With the Israeli aggression, and the Gaza scenario we are anticipating what could happen to us. [Gaza] is a real-life example that we see. There’s no place that’s truly safe.

Beirut has been bombed for the first time since 1982 — central Beirut. We expected to go through a crisis with the war, a refugee crisis. So we decided to organize a solidarity initiative – people to people – for people to offer their homes for free to people whose homes are in dangerous areas or under shelling. And there are so many initiatives, there are people providing blankets, people providing groceries, there are people who are cooking and serving food to those who need it.

Haidar Darwish – Coordinator, ‘BEIT AAM’ community space: Our communal kitchen is being used by “Al Balad” kitchen, they’re cooking and distributing meals for those in need. Beit Aam is originally a community center, people come to chill, they finish their work. When the war started, we were thinking: how can we help? Here there used to be a stage, if you want to take a look? Every Tuesday evening at 6pm we used to do a movie screening with the Cinema Club. Now of course, unfortunately, we’ve stopped. So the day that the pager attack took place, we thought OK we have now entered a new phase, we have to be ready.

Many people in the neighborhood have come to help us. Or there are people who are hosting refugees, who come and say “we have a family or two, we need some bedding”. They’re helping as much as they can.

Soha Mneimneh – Urban Planner and Member of ‘One Roof’ Initiative: There’s something really strange that is happening that the people volunteering to help, are themselves refugees. Because of this we continue to be in solidarity with each other because we have an understanding that everyone is suffering to different degrees.

Narrator: Fatima Ni’ma, is one of those displaced from the South, who is volunteering to help others like her. She is working in a kitchen run by community initiative Farah Al Ataa, or the “Joy of Giving” which is providing meals and emergency shelter to thousands.

Fatima Ni’ma – Kitchen volunteer at ‘Offre Joie’: In the south, we’re living close to the border areas, we would hear strikes and explosions. That’s why, you know, we southerners, don’t leave our lands easily. So we said we’ll wait, we’ll be patient but when the strikes started getting close to us and they started targeting homes, killing civilians, so we were forced to leave. We were forced to go to family in Dahieh because we didn’t have a chance to find a place. There wasn’t any time. That same day, we had to leave again from Dahieh because they threatened Dahieh and as soon as we left the strikes started. We were forced to come here to the organization in Ashrafieh.

We stayed the first night, then we saw that they are making food for the schools and for refugees. So we said why not help? I have two kids and I know at school there are many kids who need food. It’s humanitarian help and we’re also relieving stress from ourselves, sowe started to make food with them and frankly, we are so happy, because we are making food to help refugees.

Narrator: Ali Ismail had to shut down his two restaurants in South Lebanon to flee Israeli air strikes , when he arrived in Beirut he immediately volunteered to cook for others like himself.

Ali Ismail – Chef volunteer at ‘Offre Joie’: Frankly when the strikes first started, savage strikes, from everywhere I don’t know how we were able to get our things, get in the car and escape. The strikes were everywhere, on people, on civilians, even when we were driving, on the roads the strikes were next to us. There were even civilian cars that were hit while moving. We were on the road for about 18 -19 hours, before we got to safe areas. Frankly people have welcomed us with love, there is warmth with us.

Narrator: Ahmed Awali is another displaced person, he has been living in “Sky Bar” a Beirut nightclub that has opened its doors to refugees since the crisis.

Ahmad Awali – Retired military and taxi driver: I mean, they were moments of terror. We were drinking tea, when suddenly there were these heavy strikes. I mean, there was no chance. We could barely get up and get in the car and get out of the area. That’s what happened. The first day we went to the Zaituna Bay area. We slept two nights in Zaituna Bay – on the streets I mean. We’ve lived displacement before, but this is different to those situations. Maybe they think that they can break our will but with the grace of God we are a mighty people who will endure. We have no choice. The sweet and the bitter we will endure.

Vox Pop Woman 1: When they exploded the pagers, we were expecting to be at war in a day or two. Certainly, we Lebanese are united but who’s suffering? It’s the poor. We the poor are suffering. Everyone’s been displaced from their homes.

Vox Pop Woman 2: It’s no different for us than in Gaza. They are hitting homes, children are being killed. You know the situation is hard, people don’t have money, how do you eat? How do you drink?People slept on the streets, for example.

Vox Pop Woman 1: I mean, the day before yesterday I went to see my friend who’s displaced in the school. The suffering is beyond description. How she was living at home, and how she is living now – it’s so sad. She can’t afford to rent, she can’t afford to rent anything at all.

Vox Pop Woman 2: [Israel] is oppressing innocent people, and is targeting people who are not involved.

Soha Mneimneh – Urban Planner and Member of ‘One Roof’ Initiative: Today it’s no longer a question of “who is responsible for the war”. It’s a question of: there is a war criminal, who is carrying out war crimes, in multiple countries, who has to be stopped. It’s not a question of specific organizations: It’s very clear that Israel has carried out multiple war crimes. This is the basis that we have to speak about today. There has to be international accountability for all who are carrying out these crimes.

Haidar Darwish – Coordinator, ‘BEIT AAM’ community space: Our position is clear: there are people bombing us, there are people killing us, we’re going to oppose them. There are people killing innocents in Palestine, and across the Middle East, of course we will oppose them. We are standing with our people, with our families. We hope that the work we do explains our position clearly.

We hope for the future just two things, we hope to live in peace, that there’s a ceasefire in Palestine, in Lebanon—across the Middle East—and that the occupation ends, because we deserve to live in peace.

As support from Western governments continues to prop up Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza, people of conscience continue to mobilize at the grassroots to pressure their political leaders to change course. On Friday, Sept. 27, students, NGO staff, and workers from over 200 unions across Spain waged a 24-hour general strike to demand the Spanish government cut ties with Israel and end all forms of military aid. The Real News reports from the streets of Madrid.

Producer, Videographer, Editor: María Artigas
Assistant Producer: Sato Díaz
Translation, Narrator: Pedro Rubio

Transcript

Protesters: Resistance! Resistance! Long live the Palestinian people’s fight!

Reporter: Tens of thousands of people across Spain took to the streets to protest the ongoing genocide in Palestine. The CGT and Solidaridad Obrera unions called a general strike, backed by hundreds of associations and organizations. The MATS union (Health Workers Assembly Movement) joined the protests with a gathering at the 12 de Octubre Hospital in Madrid, demanding an end to the genocide and the military, commercial, and diplomatic relations between the Spanish government and Israel.

Edurne Prado: From the union we have called for this rally because we are seeing a live genocide of the Palestinian people. Now also to the Lebanese people. And we, as health workers, cannot forget not only the thousands of families and children who have died, but also that we have colleagues there risking their lives day by day, without any resources and working out of pure vocation and saving people’s lives. And for us it is also important today to call names, to denounce the complicity of all European governments, of our own government, which claims to be progressive but then does not break commercial or diplomatic relations with the state of Israel. And for us today is also a day to denounce.

Reporter: Pickets, marches, and various protests were held throughout the morning. Around 150 towns and cities across the country organized actions in support of the general strike, with notable mobilizations in cities like Barcelona, Granada, Valencia, Zaragoza, and Seville.

In Madrid, hundreds of participants gathered at the doors of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to demand action from the Spanish government.

Protesters:  Boycott, boycott, boycott Israel! Military budgets for schools and hospitals! Break, break, break with Israel!

José Luis Carretero: We called for a general strike and a day of protest because we understand that, in the first place, public services must be defended. In the face of the fact that public money is being used to sustain wars, to sustain a situation of growing warlike confrontation in Europe and the Mediterranean as a whole. And we also raise it in defense of human rights, of children’s rights in Palestine, in Gaza, in Lebanon, especially in Palestine. We raise it because, at the end of the day, we workers have the right to state that our interests are not only limited to wage increases or working conditions, vacations, and leaves, but also in the defense of fundamental rights and what was traditionally known as workers’ internationalism. And in that sense we also defend the right of workers to express their solidarity with all subjugated peoples. We ask the Spanish government  to do everything possible to stop this genocide. We understand the severance of relations with the state of Israel, the severance of diplomatic relations with the state of Israel and also the denunciation of the international trade treaty that it has with the European Union, with the state  of Israel, we understand that it is absolutely necessary, and also to do everything possible to comply with international arrest warrants that are already on the table by the International Criminal Court and the International Court of Justice against those responsible for this genocide.

Protesters: It is not a war, it is genocide! No more complicity! Israel murders, Europe sponsors!

Carmen Arnaiz: We are here mainly because Palestinian workers sent a call many months ago to all European workers asking us what we were going to do about the genocide that was taking place in their land. So, based on that call, from our organization we initially decided that the biggest response we could give as a union is to call a general strike. But obviously it had to be with other comrades, because otherwise it would not have made sense for us to call a strike. In the end, 218 organizations have adhered to the call. And what we intended with this day of general strike and struggle, because they are organizing rallies, marches, as well as picket lines and other things, is to denounce that the Spanish government is spending enormous amounts of money on arms, much more than on social services, much more than on education, health, aid for dependency, fair pensions, regularization of so many comrades who are in an irregular situation, migrants, and yet it is redirecting all that money to the arms business, to the sale of arms — and, on top of that, with a genocidal state that, according to all international legislation, we should have broken off all diplomatic relations of all kinds with it. The embassy is still open here, arms are still being sold, despite the fact that they say it is not true and they have recognized the state of Palestine. But it has been an act of posturing, because at the moment of truth they continue negotiating with Israel, they continue supporting all that barbarity that is there with our taxes. They are making us accomplices of a genocide. So, as civil society, as many people around the world outraged by this, we have organized ourselves to try to raise our voices and demand, of course, that the genocide ends and for all and that, in the meantime, as a means of pressure, immediately cut off all relations with any government that is committing genocide against a people.

Protesters: From the river to the sea, Palestine shall overcome!

Reporter: Universities also responded to the strike call. After the sit-ins in May, students and professors organized again for this day of action. Under the slogan “We will no longer study to the sound of bombs,” the Complutense Professors’ Network and the students from the Madrid sit-in took to the streets to condemn the genocide in Gaza. The day featured roundtable discussions, campus walkouts, rallies, and protests.

Rub: We have come out to argue against the responsibility of the Spanish government for continuing to send economic and military support to the genocidal state of Israel, and also to denounce the complicity of our university, which continues to maintain relations with Israeli universities. It continues to keep companies that finance Israel’s genocide on the social councils and university boards of directors. Following the internationalist wake that the encampments were having and also picking up the fighting spirit of the students who were already going out to fight directly against governments as in the case of Sri Lanka, we decided to have an encampment also in Madrid, which denounced the complicity of our universities and, again, Spanish imperialism and how our government participates in it. And I think it is important to reemphasize all the struggle against the repression that took place in our encampment, but above all in the United States and in France and in Germany, where the repression was terrible, people were arrested, they tried to charge them as terrorists. And I think it is very important that we recover that spirit of struggle in the student movement and in the Spanish workers’ movement.

Eva Aladro: The University cannot stand still in the face of a genocide of the size we are witnessing, which we are also seeing spreading to other countries and which continues with the same line of massacring civilian populations under the excuse of wanting to put an end to terrorism, as more terrorist acts are carried out by Israel. We professors started mobilizations together with the students, and our idea is to continue in the same line, because we believe that both the academics and the students, as well as the whole youth community in our country, which is mobilized, are the social conscience. And they are the ones who really have to make an effort in some way to awaken society, so that they refuse to accept a situation such as we are living, of hundreds of dead human beings, children, women, etc. every week. Unfortunately, the only way to stop the war is to make the war unprofitable. So there are three things to achieve this that are the key. The first is to disinvest in the companies, businesses, and universities that are contributing to a massacre like the one in Gaza. There is another option, which is also to block all the activities that have to do with and whose interest is based on that massacre. And another very important thing is to mobilize society and public sensibility not to accept products, etc. from communities or countries that are carrying out genocide. There is a very important legislative initiative that we, the professors of all the public universities of Madrid, are carrying out, which is a letter that we have sent to the high commissioners of both the European Parliament and the Committee on Research and Innovation, asking them to respect their own Euro-Mediterranean Cooperation Agreement, which states that no treaties or agreements or principles of cooperation can be established with countries that are violating democratic rights and democratic principles.

Therefore, the European Union has very specific legislation that must prevent any treaty of friendship and cooperation, with a country that is committing genocide. So we, the professors, have received a response letter in which they tell us that they are going to try to convene a meeting with Israel, but we want to force that, really, if the Euro-Mediterranean agreement itself is not complied with, we are going to take it to the European courts. And from there we will continue, because we believe that this is one of the initiatives that we believe must be developed, because it is at the legislative and court level where perhaps we will achieve the respect for international legality that we do not achieve at the political level or at the level of institutions.

Protesters: Gaza, hang on, Madrid rises up!

Reporter: Thousands attended the afternoon mass march through the heart of the capital, from Atocha Station to Callao Square. The organizing unions put the number of participants in the afternoon marches nationwide at more than 150,000 people. And more than 200 trade union and social organizations supported the strike call.

Deva Mar Escobedo: I came here today with my colleagues from trans in fight quite excited about the strike. I was following the picket lines and the marches in other cities. I think they can be the most powerful things of today and of this new political course, that we can do more pressure, get a real change of positions in the government and stop this genocide. Because I think it is very important as citizens that we come to all protests, all mobilizations that we can, because, after all, we are witnessing a genocide live. I believe we have a duty as individuals to stand in solidarity with the Palestinian people.

While the genocidal assault on Gaza continues, Israel has stepped up a campaign of terror in the Occupied West Bank. Fearing for his life, Waleed Samer, a linguistics student who has helped The Real News film an original documentary in the West Bank over the past year, documents the day-by-day reality of living under Israel’s occupation and tells the story of his family’s harrowing escape from their Nur Shams refugee camp in the West Bank city of Tulkarm. This is his story.

Help Waleed from the West Bank to embark on his postgraduate journey!

Filmed by Waleed Samer
Production, voice-over, and editing by Ross Domoney

Transcript

Waleed Samer: 

Hi everyone. How are you? My name is Waleed Samer, 20 years old. 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

Life in Waleed’s refugee camp has become unbearable.

Waleed Samer:

Ok there is a lot of snipers around me. If I open my door they will kill me. Why I will try [to go outside]? I will not try. I will stay in my house. 

They [the Israeli army] took my grandfather’s land in 1948. So maybe this is the second chance to take my land [here] in the camp. 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

With only a handful of armed Palestinian fighters left, Waleed fears his camp is about to be overtaken by the army.

Waleed Samer: 

Are you worried about your cat?

Waleed’s little sister: 

Yeah.

Waleed Samer:

Because of the army?

[Waleed’s little sister nods.]

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

Over a period of ten days, Waleed sent us footage from his phone. The Israeli army is raiding his camp on a near daily basis. Small windows of time allow for him to go outside.

Waleed Samer:

It’s like a battle here. Look what they are doing. 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

Nur Shams refugee camp was established by Palestinians who fled their native lands in the 1948 Nakba, where Zionist militias displaced and killed thousands to create what is today known as the state of Israel.

This is Ross Domoney reporting for The Real News. In April this year, myself and my colleague Antonis Vradis met Waleed in his camp whilst filming a documentary. He helps connect journalists like us to stories in his community so that he can fund his education. Now, months later, his ability to study or even to eat has been severely restricted as the army cuts off food and water to his camp.

Waleed Samer:

This is my brother. He wears a black t-shirt. He’s going to get some hummus and falafel. 

It’s my [first] breakfast [in] two days. We must have bread to eat [with] that. But we are really hungry. 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

Another day, another raid. Waleed Films from his balcony.

Waleed Samer:

Many people in the camp now if you can listen… Many people are in a stress[ful] situation and they are just trying to get out [of] the camp but they can’t. So the situation now is very dangerous. 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

A brief lull in the Israeli assault allows for a funeral. The leader of the camp’s battalion is buried. A farewell gun salute… A chance to go out again and signs that the army is still facing resistance.

Back at home, his parents grow increasingly worried for the safety of their children and discuss the possibility of leaving Palestine. Waleed, like any other 20-year-old, would like to relax and enjoy life.

Waleed Samer:

I don’t have any dreams here. My future here [is not] clear. I don’t know what will happen [to] me in the next one hour maybe. No one knows what will happen [to] him. So I [imagine] I have a good future in my life: I can go out and continue my study in good universities, see the people [outside] of Palestine, [outside] of the West Bank. I can move freely. No one can attack me. No one can arrest me.

Hello?

Antonis Vradis – Lecturer at St Andrew’s University:

Waleed!

Waleed Samer:

Hi habibi how are you? 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

Waleed gets a call from Antonis about a program that might be able to help him study.

Antonis Vradis – Lecturer at St Andrew’s University:

My university here in Scotland has a scholarship that is specifically for Palestinian students. 

Waleed Samer:

That’s nice. 

Antonis Vradis – Lecturer at St Andrew’s University:

Yeah. 

Waleed Samer:

Just imagine I finish my bachelor’s and go to Scotland university and take the masters. Oh that would be great. Every woman in life would come and marry me. The life in the last maybe three-four months has become worse here. [There is] no work or money. I don’t have the costs to pay my university, this is the hardest thing [for] me. Many things have happened. I have just started thinking I have a big future ahead of me. 

Someone [came] into my house and was asking about my dad and [I told] him my dad is not home. He told me take these two cartons of water because the IDF at the last [raid] cut off the water. 

Sitting in my house, opening my phone [to] see what is going on [outside] my house. I need some bread or something to eat. Maybe I was having some bread [or] something to eat yesterday but today I don’t have anything. 

I’m just now trying to go out from my house. When I open the door, I listen if there are any planes [drones] or something like that. I swear there is a plane [drone] above my head just filming me and quickly I close my door and come back to home. I cannot do anything. Really, the situation here is really, really bad. 

Ross Domoney [Narrator]:

Waleed sends me a picture of a charred body. It’s the last remaining fighter from his camp. After that, his messages fall silent. Despite the hardship of life in the West Bank, he would rather stay than leave. But the occupation’s violence left him no choice. Waleed leaves his homeland like his grandfather did in 1948.

In March, Reuters reported that Israel had completely destroyed 223 mosques in Gaza, and partially destroyed 289 others, including the Great Mosque of Gaza, first built in the 7th century. The Real News reports from the north of Gaza, where the faithful continue to worship amid the rubble and Israel’s ongoing slaughter.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Narrator:

On the 10th of August, 2024, 10 months and 3 days into Israel’s war on Gaza, Palestinians sheltering in a Al-Tabin school in the North of Gaza rose before sunrise to pray. As they prayed, an Israeli air strike targeted the school killing between 90 and 100 people according to Gaza’s civil defence agency, making the strike among the deadliest documented attacks since October 7th.

[Background]

“The targeting of Al-Tabin school… There is no God, but Allah! Are they breathing? Are they breathing?”

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

“Say God is great, say God is great!”

“Allah is sufficient for us, and he is the best on whom we depend.”

Narrator:

The expression this bereaved woman repeats, is one deeply rooted in Islamic faith. It is heard and repeated in hundreds of videos and interviews that have come out of Gaza in the last 10 months.

[Background]

“It’s a shame! It’s a shame! Allah is sufficient for us, and he is the best on whom we depend!”

“Allah is sufficient for us, and he is the best on whom we depend! Allah is sufficient for us, and he is the best on whom we depend! Strengthen your Faith. Fill your hearts with Faith. I swear God will save us..”

Narrator:

We met with congregation leader Imam Fehmi Khalil Al Masri, who still leads prayers from amidst the ruins of the Islam Mosque in Northern Gaza, which was targeted by Israeli air strikes earlier this year in the holy Muslim month of Ramadan.

IMAM FAHMI KHALIL AL MASRI:

Allah is sufficient for us, and he is the best on whom we depend. The enemy has attacked all the mosques in the city of Khan Yunis, and beyond it all the mosques of the entire Gaza Strip. Mosques that were frequented by all people, from all corners, in order to fulfill their obedience to God.

Narrator:

Mahmoud Ibrahim is 72 years old, he remembers the first day of arriving in Khan Yunis in the beginning of Ramadan after being displaced.

MAHMOUD IBRAHIM SADEH

In Ramadan… we were bombed in Ramadan. The first day of Ramadan, the mosque was bombed above us. Even our neighbors, around us, never got the opportunity to say hi. We were here two days before the mosque got bombed. We didn’t get to see any mosques or anything. First day of Ramadan — the second day, to be specific — it was bombed. [Do you miss praying in the mosque?] I can’t! I miss it, but I can’t go to pray anymore, when you’re injured and there are planes and bombs and drones and missiles and I don’t know what. We just want to survive these days and go home. My dream is to go and see my destroyed house and die there on the rubble of my house. I want nothing in this world.

Narrator:

According to a Gaza’s Ministry of Religious Affairs as of January 2024, 1000 of Gaza’s 1,200 mosques have been destroyed. Included in this list, is the destruction of the Great Mosque of Gaza, one of the oldest mosques in the world, dating back to the 7th Century when Islam first arrived in the region.

IMAM FAHMI KHALIL AL MASRI:

Since the start of this war, what took place on the 7th of October, the day of judgment began then and has continued. We are all scattered, displaced from place to place. In place of our beloved mosque, we now have a room that doesn’t protect us, neither from the heat of summer nor the cold of winter. The war and displacement has had a huge impact on my life — it has been full of torture, suffering, and misery. But, regardless of this, we do not run or weaken. We remain steadfast. We will pray on time and give the call to prayer, and whether we are few or many we will congregate, we will pray, even if it’s out in the open.

Narrator:

Despite the targeting of mosques, and worshippers within them, prayers continue. After Israel’s massacre of people praying at al-Tabin school, Israel claimed that 19 of the people killed were terrorists, a claim called into question by the Palestinian chairman of the Geneva-based Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor who says that the people killed were not involved in politics.

MAHMOUD IBRAHIM SADEH

We [went] to the mosque together with our friends, and my children went with me. Me and my children used to go every day, to pray and read the Quran and talk about everything. Apart from all that political stuff, we don’t get involved in that. I don’t feel right now like I’m alive. Me personally, after what’s happened to us, I feel nothing. I’ve lost hope. There’s not much life left for me. Here, my chest is broken, and here, my leg is too. Regardless of whether a bomb fell on me or not, I am not important in this world. Our whole life is just torture upon torture. Beginning with torture and ending with torture, wars — we haven’t seen anything good in our lives. We are not with this group or that group, we are not connected to anyone. We pray to Allah and that’s it.

Narrator:

Just like so many of Gazas homes, schools, hospitals and mosques, the great mosque of Gaza, has a long history of being destroyed – then rebuilt. Its minaret toppled in an earthquake in the 11th Century, destroyed by the crusaders in the 12th, by the mongols in the 13th and damaged by British bombs in WW1. Though it has once again been destroyed, it may yet see Gaza’s faithful gather to pray under its roof once more.

It’s been one year since Israel launched its genocidal war on Gaza, following the Hamas-led attacks on Oct. 7, 2023, and following 75 years of Israel’s Occupation of Palestine. More than half of the Gaza Strip’s buildings, businesses, roads, farms, hospitals, and schools have been completely destroyed. Over 41,000 people have been reported killed, with this number growing daily. To commemorate a year of what has been called “the most documented genocide in history,” TRNN asked some residents of Gaza to describe their year. This is what they told us.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Narrator:
It’s been one year since Israel launched its war on Gaza. More than half of the strip’s
buildings, businesses, roads, farms, hospitals, and schools have been completely destroyed.
Over 41 thousand people have been reported killed, with this number growing daily. The
Real News network asked some residents of Gaza to describe their year. This is what they
told us…

Sami Isa Ramadan:
No matter how much I try to explain, I couldn’t describe even 1% of what’s happened to us.
In general, this war will be recorded in history. It should have its own title page in history. For the whole world, eh? Not only in the Gaza Strip, or Palestine. This war of Oct. 7, of the
Israeli army on Gaza, needs to be studied in history, because schools, hospitals, buildings,
homes, fishermen, farmers, workers, there was nothing that was not targeted straightaway.

Narrator:
Sami Isa Ramadan has been displaced four times since Oct. 7th and now lives amidst the
rubble in a bombed-out building, in Deir Al Balah.

Sami Isa Ramadan:
I lost a brother — I don’t know if he’s in prison or dead. My siblings have been scattered.
Three of them were injured. A missile struck our neighbor’s house and three of them were
injured, and my father was killed. God rest his soul. I mean, it’s a catastrophe. Maybe the
camera — you are filming a tiny clip, out of millions of hours. To tell you the truth, I’m tired. Truly tired, you know what I mean? And this is my suffering. Out of 2 million people, I’m just one person.

Narrator:
While it’s true that Sami is indeed only one of around 2.2 million residents of the strip, his
experience does reflect the experiences of many of his fellow Gazans since October 7th.

Sabreen Badwan:
The first week of the war, the Israelis contacted us and said: “Your area is not safe, you must
evacuate. This is a combat area.” They threw leaflets. At first, we didn’t want to move, but
then when we saw most people leaving — it was like a sign of the day of judgment — If you
were to see it, it was like the Nakba of 1948. I mean, I felt it was like the scenes of the 1948
displacement that our ancestors lived through. We used to hear about it like an abstract
dream and couldn’t believe it. Then we lived and experienced it, except harsher and more
difficult.

Narrator:
A staggering 90% of Palestinians in Gaza have been displaced since October 7th, making it
an almost universal experience. Sabreen Badwan is from Tel Al Hawa, and like everyone we
spoke to, has moved multiple times attempting to find safety.

Sabreen Badwan:
I went to a house in Al Nuseirat, in the center of the Gaza strip. We spent a single night
there. That same night we awoke in the middle of a massacre. The entire block was
completely destroyed. From this day I was convinced the enemy was lying—there is no safe
place. I decided to move to a UNWRA school because before this war, as we used to know,
the UNWRA schools were safe.

Narrator:
According to UNRWA, Israeli forces have targeted a total of 190 UN-run facilities in the
course of the war. That’s despite the agency sharing the coordinates for each of its locations
well in advance. Two hundred and twenty UNRWA employees have been killed in Gaza over
the last year, making this the deadliest war for UN employees in United Nations history.

Sabreen Badwan:
During this war, everything changed. We went to live in a school for around three months,
then we were again warned to leave the area of the school because the Israelis told us it’s
not safe, it’s deadly and dangerous. So we left the school terrified, not knowing where to go,
as bombs were exploding. We were terrified. We didn’t know where to go. There was
nowhere for us to go. We went to a house: we were bombed. We went to a school: we were
bombed. Where should we go then? What do we do?

Ni’ma Ramlawi:
What should we do? Our entire house was flattened and we were displaced to Al Nuseirat,
and from there we came here. They took us to the schools. We were in Al Razi and then
they [the Israelis] took us.

Narrator:
Death has touched each and every person in Gaza since Oct. 7.

Ni’ma Ramlawi:
They hit our home, so we left — it collapsed on us. Our neighbors were killed. The entire
block behind us was destroyed. Our house collapsed.

Sabreen Badwan:
My father was killed at the beginning of the war. This saddened and preoccupied me a lot.
Especially because I couldn’t say goodbye to him. He was north of the Gaza river and I was
here south of the Gaza river. So I couldn’t say farewell, and this impacted me and my mental state.

Sami Isa Ramadan:
The war has affected everyone. There isn’t a family in the Gaza Strip that hasn’t been
injured by the occupation forces. The one who lost his dad, the one who lost his siblings,
there’s no family — me, my family is small, and approximately 20 people have gone. This
was my boys’ birthday party, in our modest and simple home.

Narrator:
The UN children’s agency has described Gaza as “a graveyard for children.” Children have
died from bombs, bullets, disease, and malnutrition at an alarming rate. And mental health
issues such as speech impediments and PTSD affect almost every child.

Ni’ma Ramlawi:
The war has affected children and young people badly.

Sami Isa Ramadan:
The children, my children, for example. For the basics, mosquitoes — we haven’t got a
solution. Aside from the skin diseases that have spread, the epidemics that have affected
the old and the young. As you can see, I’m sure you have seen the suffering of the children,
especially the children.

Ni’ma Ramlawi:
What? After a year of war? What more do they want to happen to us? Hunger! Everyone is
hungry. And they died of hunger. And with this war, they killed us and killed our children.
They’re martyrs. They bombed our homes. There’s no house left for us to live in — neither
us nor our children. Are we going to stay like this in tents? And the winter is coming, too.
Look at how we are. Exhaustion and sickness— we are grown adults and we can’t manage
our mental state. There’s children — my grandson has malnutrition grade 2 from the
situation we are in.

Narrator:
Ruined infrastructure, open sewage, a lack of hospitals and medication, and communicable
disease have now become a threat for the people of Gaza.

Shohda Abu Ajweh:
God has afflicted us, aside from the war, with another war: the war of diseases and no
medications. I mean, my grandchildren are suffering from chicken pox, we haven’t found any medications. Not to mention the contaminated water and the open sewage. The Israelis
targeted infrastructure on purpose to provoke the spread of disease. Right now the borders
are closed. People are not receiving any aid, so people are suffering. They’re suffering from
everything, from a lack of everything. We ask Allah to remove this affliction and to help all
our people.

Riadh al Drimli:
Even if things were available, there’s no money to buy it. It’s really expensive! And there’s no income on top, I’m telling you. For example, I make 20 shekels ($5.30). What am I going to do with that 20 shekels ($5.30)? I can buy some drinking water or bring something for the house? It’s not enough!

Narrator:
Riad al Drimli used to work as an electrician, since October 7th, he was displaced alongside
his family and is now selling falafel to try to make ends meet.

Riad al Drimli:
I mean, what can I say? A lot of suffering. From tent to tent and ants and worms. Maybe for
someone living in the rubble of their destroyed house would probably be nicer than the tents, the sewage, the water, and all the problems. Feel for us! You Arabs: rise up against these oppressors. Look at our suffering! Forget about us: what about our children! Our daughters! People are being slaughtered – and they are okay watching us bleed?

Marwan Ibrahim Salem:
My message to the whole world — the Arab world, to Europe, to East to West — to all — is
to stand with the oppressed people. Because this nation is oppressed. And oppression never
lasts. I ask for an end to the war, and the return of people to their homes, and the rebuilding
of our homes. That’s what I ask from the world.

I hope to return to my home! Me and my wife. People want to return to their land! To return to Gaza city, to our neighborhood. To our families. To see who’s good, and who’s dead.

Sami Isa Ramadan:
To this day, the bodies of my relatives are still buried under the rubble, from
the early days of the war. All the buildings you see here, they were bombed with people in them, they collapsed on people’s backs. On people’s heads. There’s no phone call, warning you: ‘Hello, you need to leave the house’ —- no —- the house is flattened with people still inside. This is a cowardly and savage army. It has no humanity.

I have experienced the most bitter experience here. For me, the worst experience I have
ever had is living in a tent. We are the living dead, here in this tent. A death sentence. We
have been sentenced to death — they just haven’t carried out the execution. And our faith is
in God. It’s in God’s hands.

Since Oct. 7, the world has looked on in horror at Israel’s brutal annihilation of Gaza. But Israel’s collective punishment of Palestinians also includes thousands of laborers from this coastal strip who were working in Israeli territories. Stranded away from their families and homes, these workers were left destitute and unemployed, and many sought refuge in the occupied West Bank of Palestine, where they’ve become trapped after occupation forces closed all the checkpoints going in and out of this territory.

TRNN is on the ground in Tulkarem City, in the occupied West Bank, where a local guest house has been turned into a refuge for around 40 unemployed men from the Gaza Strip who were forced out of Israel on Oct. 7.

Produced by Ross Domoney, Antonis Vradis, Abdalrahman Abdrabboh, Nadia Péridot Filmed and edited by Ross Domoney
Voiceover by Nadia Pérido

Transcript

Nadia Péridot, the narrator:

Earlier this year, TRNN spoke to Palestinians who had been shut out of Gaza whilst working in Israel. 

Khalil Muhammad Elhawy, worker from Gaza:

I used to work in the inside [Israel], doing renovations.

Abd Barakat Jem’a, worker from Gaza:

I work as a worker of Israel’s labour force.

Nadia Péridot, the narrator:

Living in besieged Gaza, these men had no choice but to take work beyond the borders and earn a living working for their occupier. After the events of the 7th October the Israeli occupation sealed all frontiers. Leaving these men stranded beyond the wall and their families trapped within.

Abd Barakat Jem’a, worker from Gaza:

We worked in Israel until the 7th of October events occurred. 

Nadia Péridot, the narrator:

Israel’s tactic of continued displacement and division leaves Palestinian families and communities fractured and broken. 

Khalil Muhammad Elhawy, worker from Gaza:

We are only here outwardly, but our minds are always [in Gaza]. This is how I live. Do you see how it is? You might begin talking to someone, but they end up zoning out and day dreaming.

Nadia Péridot, the narrator:

Unable to return to Gaza, many have been given shelter in the West Bank. Living in a kind of purgatory, they fear for their families as the Israeli occupation’s relentless destruction of Gaza mounts a devastating civilian death toll. 

Khalil Muhammad Elhawy, worker from Gaza:

Because, in all honesty, people are suffering and no one knows about it. Many events reach the world but are nothing [in comparison to reality]. There are incidents that happen between me and my family. If they had been filmed and published, the world would have cried. Do you understand me? There are events that remain unseen. I hope everyone stands by our side and that this war ends.

Abd Barakat Jem’a, worker from Gaza:

We were surprised by the [IDF]  informing us to go to the West Bank. Whoever is inside (Israel) must go to the West Bank. When we went to the West Bank. They told us that the ones who would pass through the crossings, They should take off their… off their belongings whether they had money, ID cards or mobile phones. They take away those at the crossings. So, we had to cross through the (illegal) holes and going through the holes is a huge risk. We passed through and we came here. Thankfully, Tulkarem has sheltered us, thank God. Everyone’s dreams were destroyed, do you see?

Nadia Péridot, the narrator:

Despite increasing evidence of the atrocities committed against the people in Gaza, the international community has failed to take meaningful action. Images and videos bring new horrors to our screens each day, and no person in the region remains unaffected by the war. 

Khalil Muhammad Elhawy, worker from Gaza:

Everyone’s dreams were destroyed, do you see? In saying this, I’m also referring to myself. I had a dream… I, my wife and my children. But we never get to reach it. In the span of one day and night,  everything vanished. So, I called my mother… You know that communication is difficult and the signal is weak. I told her: “How are you doing, Hajja?” and she replied… She asked me:”Did your sister call you?” I answered why are you asking if my sister called? She was afraid someone else would tell me this news. I had her take an oath and swear by the pilgrimage to tell me.

Then, she told me… She said:”My son, there is no flour. Your sister’s husband went to buy flour… but couldn’t find any, so he bought barley meant for animals.” She said “I ate it, my son, and my stomach hurts, so I don’t know what to say.” “Should I tell you and add to your worries? Or your sister’s husband?”

I cried, thinking how much worse could it get? I mean, my brother died… Honestly, sleep is filled with fear and anxiety. I think you know that the army enters our areas. For those of us living downtown we are always visible. You constantly wonder if they will enter or not. Thus, morale drops. Also, you can’t even go out to defend, as you are the pillar of the house. Do you get me? I can’t because my brother died.

There is no one left but me now. If something happens to me, my mother could die. So I try to protect myself,  and the only protector is God.

Nadia Péridot, the narrator:

The West Bank is not immune to Israeli aggression; violent settler attacks and military raids are regular occurrences here. Nowhere is safe for Palestinians. Unable to return to their homes in Gaza and unable to live in the West Bank, they remain in no man’s land, waiting for the news they fear the most. 

Polio. Chickenpox. Hepatitis. The threat of epidemics is looming large in Gaza, thanks to Israel’s deliberate destruction of the Strip’s healthcare and sanitation infrastructure. Left without clean water, sewage, waste disposal, and adequate shelter, the health of Palestinians in Gaza is rapidly declining. Children and the elderly are among the most vulnerable, and time is running out. The Real News reports from the ground in Gaza, speaking directly with sanitation experts and local mothers about the conditions Israel has created through its total war on the Palestinian people.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer, Mahmoud Al Mashharawi
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Najwa Saleh:
This is my granddaughter. She is one and a half years old. She was displaced
when she was six months old. It’s a shame this is happening to her. Look at her back. Look!
She’s suffering from chickenpox and rashes.
Look, Look! This is shameful to happen to a child. She’s sleeping in a tent. She’s suffering
from the heat, the contaminated water.

Narrator:
Soaring temperatures, a decimated water and sewage system, extremely limited access to
water and cycles of displacement have all combined to create a public health catastrophe in
Gaza. Najwa Saleh and her family were displaced multiple times before setting up most
recently in Deir Al Balah. Here, as well as bombs, they face a more subtle creeping danger.

Najwa Saleh:
Displacement has been honestly very difficult,
very very difficult. We’re tired, our psychological state is bad. I have eight people in a small
tent. The sun has destroyed us, the heat is killing us. I mean, we’re being moved from place
to place and we’re tired. It’s really hard. Water is a problem, we buy
a gallon of water for 4 shekels (1.2 USD). We get water here at the college and it’s salty! It’s
sea water, and sea water burns the body. I have children and grandchildren, their skin is
completely covered in spots. We took them to the doctor and they don’t get better. I swear to god my granddaughter, we put something on her body but it’s not going away. Her body is scary. If you saw her body, it’s scary. I mean, we’re really really tired. We beg God to finish with this story. We’re very tired. Our lives have become hell. All the other countries are watching, while we’re being tortured.

Narrator:
It’s here in Deir El Balah, where Najwa is currently living, where samples taken from the
sewage water in July revealed the presence of the Polio virus. A highly infectious disease,
brought on by poor sanitation. Polio can cause myriad health problems for infected people,
and can lead to paralysis and in some cases even death. Rawiya Sultan Ayyad, is another
refugee recently displaced to Deir Al Balah.

Rawiya Sultan Said Ayyad:
The itching, we all got scabies here. Adults and children we all have scabies. From when we
came to Deir (al Balah). More than the other places, we were in Khan Yunis, then Rafah and
then we came here and here it was the worst. All my children have skin infections. All of
them, from my 5 year old and up, theyre all children. We also have someone with kidney
problems with us here and the contaminated water affects him. With regards to
contaminated water, it’s something difficult for us. We have all contracted Dermatitis. There’s also Hepatitis here from lack of sanitation and lack of cleaning products available. We’re going through a very hard situation. Harder than hard. There’s no work. My husband is imprisoned. My children don’t work. It’s an extremely difficult time. Treatment is difficult. Just the anti-histamines, but actually even that is not available. For around 3 months now there’snnothing available in any clinic or pharmacy or government dispensary.

Narrator:
Noor Al Huda is an Environmental specialist working for local authorities in Gaza. She
describes the current situation.

Noor Al Huda Abu Muaylik:
Here displaced people are relying on salty sea water and on drinking water that is literally
mixed with sewage water. As you can see here there are lakes of sewage, that authorities
can’t clean due to lack of fuel and lack of electricity and due to the security situation which
makes it hard to be taken care of.
Where we are currently the area of Al Bassa, which is low lying and therefore encourages
sewage to collect here this area is not connected to the sewage system in Gaza, even
before the war, it relied on septic pits. Since the war, everyone here without exception relies
on septic pits inside the tents. There are cess pits that are present within the camps where
people sleep, eat and drink due to a lack of sewage systems and lack of homes that people
lost in light of this war.

Narrator:
For Najwa and her family, the situation in Deir Al Balah has become unbearable.

Najwa Saleh:
We ran away because of our children, now we are living with contaminated water
and the hardships of living in tents. Our lives have become unbearable.
My grandson, Look at his back. Look. Look, look. Here, look.
There’s no soaps, no cleaning products at all. We’re washing with dish soap. We’re cleaning
with dish soap. Were wiping with dish soap. Washing our hands.
All these microbes and bacteria are not good. It’s all just salt and it doesn’t clean,
don’t tell me it’s good and it works. Their bodies are covered in spots. Us adults, we also
contracted it. From the contaminated water and the sewage. We adults contracted it.

Nowhere is safe in Gaza, and this is particularly true for sites of key civilian infrastructure like hospitals and schools. Since October, Israel has damaged or destroyed 80 percent of Gaza’s schools and all its universities, decimating a core pillar of Palestinian society. In spite of this scholasticide, Palestinian educators and students remain committed to ensuring class remains in session. The Real News reports from Rafah, speaking directly with children and their teachers resisting genocide through education.

Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Videographer: Ruwaida Amer
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Hind Khoudary:
I’m currently in a school that was targeted by Israeli forces with at least
3 air strikes. At one thirty AM in the morning people were sleeping when
the Israeli forces targeted them. All of the floor is still their blood.
Children, women are terrified but unfortunately, they don’t have anywhere
to go. They’re still sheltering in the school.

Narrator:
With more than 80 per cent of schools in Gaza damaged or destroyed, it may
be reasonable to ask if there is an intentional effort to comprehensively
destroy the Palestinian education system.
This is a direct quote from a UN panel of experts, in reference to Israel’s
alleged targeting of educational infrastructure in Gaza.

Upsound:
Look how they ripped it open. They completely destroyed the school.

Iman Ismail, Arabic Teacher:
We have around 70 children in each class. Their psychological state was
ruined. I’ve noticed that the kids really missed school, they were really
eager to start learning again. The difficulties: firstly, the uptake has
been slow, because of the interruption to their schooling. Secondly, the
weather—it’s very hot in the tents in general. The sound of explosions from
the air strikes, during class. We hear explosions a lot during class.

Narrator:
The term Scholasticide, coined in 2009 by Oxford Professor Karma Nabulsi,
specifically references the “systematic destruction of Palestinian
education by Israel”.

Since October 7th, the term has regularly been put to use.

All 12 of Gaza’s universities have been destroyed. 625,000 students are
without a place to study in the crowded camps of Rafah. However, teachers
and community organisers have defiantly set up tent-classrooms. Reflecting
the palestinian belief, in what Nabulsi describes as the enormous “role and
power of education, in an occupied society”.

Salma Abu Awdeh:
We came here despite the difficult circumstances, to learn, to play and to
distract ourselves. We’ve made new friends here and we’re learning the core
subjects: Arabic, English and Math.

Narrator:
Gaza’s children try to focus on their lessons and teachers try to maintain
a semblance of normalcy, all the while the buzz of drones in the background
remains a constant reminder.

Salma Abu Awdeh:
The displacement was really hard. We were displaced from one place to the
next, we haven’t settled. From Beit Hanoun we were displaced to Gaza City,
and from Gaza City we were displaced to Deir Al Balah. Here we’re staying
in a school, and life is really hard. My dream is for the war to end and
that all I hoped for in my life comes true and that I will succeed and
become a doctor.

Malek Hamoudeh:
I missed school a lot. When we go we learn, we benefit. Before the war I
used to go with my friends to school. We would play and learn too, with our
teachers who would distract us. We would write and learn.

Narrator:
Malek Hamoudeh is 10 years old, his father was killed in the last months by
an Israeli air strike.

Malek Hamoudeh:
I lost my dad suddenly, he was martyred like that. He was lost suddenly, we
were sitting like this, my cousin came and told me: “Your dad was killed”.
My heart was, I couldn’t. I felt like I was going to die from how upset I
was about my dad. He was out, yeah. He was looking for something to eat
when the house was hit.

Ghadir Hamoudeh, Malek’s Mom:
Even if there is war, and fear and air strikes, it doesn’t mean that we
stop living our lives.

We need to do things that matter. OK? We need to memorize the Quran, revise
our lessons, we have to keep going to the center where we registered.

Ghadir:
OK, 6 times 9?

Malek:
54

Ghadir:
54 good, 9 times 9?

Malek:
9 times 9, errr, 9 times 9… 81?

Ghadir:
81, right.

Ghadir:
After my husband was killed, I had to be mother and father. I try to give
them a type of safety. It’s hard to deal with children who have lost their
father, in an atmosphere of war and fear. To the point that my children,
whenever I go out or have chores, they say: “we’re scared
you could be killed and we’ll lose you.

Don’t go, stay with us.” But the war doesn’t let me stay, I have to go to
the market, to provide them with food, with drink, with water.
This has all fallen to me. Especially since we’ve been living in a tent.
There’s no water, no electricity, no basic necessities of life. Even the
temperature in the tent is too hot. As much as possible we adapt, but the
situation is really hard for us.

Malek Hamoudeh:
I’ve lived the worst days of my life during this war.

Interviewer:
Why?

Malek Hamoudeh:
Because of displacement and being away from my dad and from my land. It’s
extremely exhausting, no water and no electricity and lots of things. The
heat in the tent: we’re living in extreme heat. It’s hot and there’s no
electricity and there are no lights and there aren’t any of the basic
things that we need.

Memory, too, is part of Palestinian resistance. Memories of stolen land, of the horrors they have survived, and of martyrs who once lived are an intimate part of Palestinians’ lives. Ross Domoney—who’s produced a series of films on the West Bank for TRNN—has teamed up with Urban geographer Antonis Vradis. The duo, who produce films for Shadowgraph media are now embarking on a new project to document memory in the Palestinian resistance. Domoney and Vradis speak about their new project and what led them to it.

Additional links/info: 

• Help make Palestine Remembers a reality by donating to the crowdfunding campaign
• ‘Like a mini Gaza’: IDF raid on Nur Shams causes worst West Bank destruction in decades
• On the ground in Jenin with the West Bank’s resistance fighters
• Shadowgraph YouTube page

Produced by Ross Domoney, Nadia Péridot, and Antonis Vradis
Filmed and edited by Ross Domoney

Transcript

The following is a rushed transcript and may contain errors. A proofread version will be made available as soon as possible.

Ross Domoney:

Hello. I’m Ross Domoney. I’m a freelance video journalist and documentary maker.

Antonis Vradis:

I am Antonis Vradis. I’m an academic geographer.

Ross Domoney:

As a filmmaker, I freelance for The Real News Network, making reports from the UK and Palestine. Over the last year, the reports made by my small team have gained millions of views on YouTube.

Aside from my freelance work with The Real News, Antonis and I have collaborated on independent projects for over a decade. Yeah, we’ve worked together a fair few times on projects as academic filmmaker duo.

Antonis Vradis:

We really have.

Ross Domoney:

Recently, we were in the West Bank of Palestine, and we got caught up in the most destructive Israeli army raid since the second intifada. Let’s show you a clip.

[VIDEO CLIP PLAYS] Narrator: Moments later, the resistance fighters set off the air raid alarm. The much anticipated raid on Nur Shams has begun. Those who can flee for their lives.

Ross Domoney: 

So why are we making this video here today? Because as the Israeli war machine’s destruction continues, we have embarked on an independent film project to capture Palestinian memory as a form of resistance. We need your help to tell this story. Check out our trailer.

[VIDEO TRAILER PLAYS]

Ross Domoney:

We made some lifelong friends in Palestine and shared some tough nights together. Now, we need to raise money to cover the post-production costs of our independent film so that we can start the editing.

Antonis Vradis:

Maybe it would be nice to give some background to this wider project because the trip that we just made to Palestine, which we’ll get to in a moment, the way we envisioned it, is part of something much bigger.

Ross Domoney:

Yeah, we come back and forward with it, but Antonis and I were always very interested in filming political struggles all over the world. We started off when we were a bit younger, of course, being super into riots and uprisings.

But then, in a way, I think we found that that that film language was a little bit restricting. We were doing video journalism work related to these political struggles, but we wanted to find the language that was more otherworldly so you would understand the politics of cities in conflicts and political turmoil, but we wanted to find a new filmmaking language.

[VIDEO CLIP PLAYS]

Antonis Vradis:

We were inspired by dreams. I think I remember telling you I had read an article. Someone had tried something similar many years ago, and we realized, I think, that a lot of the messages that we wanted to convey, or that more conventional documentary would convey, or even a political film, it is possible to get this sense, this feeling, and also this political message much more through the language of dreams.

[VIDEO CLIP PLAYS]

Antonis Vradis:

It can reveal so much about your individual state of being, of course, but much more so than, I think, the collective one. Right?

Ross Domoney:

Totally. And then we hit it also with a geographer’s approach, didn’t we? We said, how can we confine this to one space? We decided we’d stick to subway trains, underground trains, metro systems, and then we just asked commuters again and again and again: What did you dream about in your sleep?

Antonis Vradis:

This brings us to the last few years, where it feels like the world is going more and more into an intense direction socially, politically, psychologically, and there’s more and more events. We started with Trump’s inauguration, as you said, and then we realized that they keep happening. The next one on was Ukraine, where we decided to go pretty much as soon as the war broke out, really.

Ross Domoney:

The full-scale invasion. Yeah.

Antonis Vradis:

The full-scale invasion.

[VIDEO CLIP PLAYS] Narrator: The lights have been turned off so this station cannot be seen by Russian bombers. Police are on the hunt for saboteurs. Ukrainians travel above and underground by train as Russia tries to occupy their country.

Antonis Vradis:

Yeah, it’s very difficult to untangle it, but, exactly, fast forward to Oct. 7, and I think probably the moment happened — And I do remember reading about it as it was developing as a story. I think probably a lot of us were in a similar situation.

It became apparent quite early on that this was very big, that this was going to be a huge, like the backlash that was going to take place would be enormous. I remember getting messages from friends and family saying, hope you’re not planning on going, but I think, deep inside, we were already. I was already thinking that there has to be a way to go out there.

With Palestine and with everything that’s been happening since with this terrible, unfathomable genocide, it felt like the stakes were so much higher for me at least, and I think we share that sentiment that it was so important to try and go there and do justice to the people, to the struggle, to what’s happening, to what they’re going through. In a way, maybe at least I felt that for a while, and I had cold feet about it not because I didn’t want to go, but because I wanted to so much.

Ross Domoney:

Yeah, I felt that huge pressure as well and sensitivity and acceptance as well that, of course, me and Antonis were outsiders and were not Palestinian, and we totally accept that position, but we still wanted to go in and use our skills in the best way possible to tell a film that would hopefully be different and related to what we’ve focused on in the past with these subconscious worlds, and then it changed. Subconscious merged into things about memory as well with Palestine.

Antonis Vradis:

Well, there was a very practical problem that we haven’t really discussed much. There’s no trains in Palestine, so it would have been difficult to continue on that same thread. I don’t think it ever came up in the conversations, but it’s true. The one vehicle that you’ve got literally and metaphorically to tell the story, you don’t have it. There were other elements that we needed to think as means of connecting these threads. Through the discussions, through the readings that we did, of course, memory is something that came up again and again.

Ross Domoney:

I guess this came from experience that we decided to still try as much as possible and focus on space and territory. We accepted that we didn’t have this train system as a go-to film method with dreams, so then we decided that we’d stay in an area. There was loads of coverage on Jenin refugee camp in the West Bank which has a really strong armed Palestinian resistance, but then there was also stuff going on in Tulkarm refugee camp and Nur Shams, which is right next to Tulkarm refugee camp, which we felt was a little bit more under-reported. We decided that we’d go stay in a hotel that was in between the two camps. We had Tulkarm camp. Was it 200 meters to our left?

Antonis Vradis:

Yeah.

Ross Domoney:

A little bit further.

Antonis Vradis:

Yeah, a little bit further. Yeah.

Ross Domoney:

And then Nur Shams was really close, 50, 100 meters to our right of the hotel. We wanted to go with this memory concept, right?

Antonis Vradis:

One of the original ideas was that we would try to find either survivors of the Nakba, the Palestinian catastrophe of 1948, direct survivors, people who were there, obviously, children. They could only have been children back then if they’re still alive today, or their descendants, family who have grandparents and parents who would’ve had, so either direct or indirect experience and memories of the Nakba. We wanted to record them to capture these memories and to try and somehow integrate them into a documentary, also filming what these places look like today because, geographically, they’re still there, as in they are spots on the map. The places that they talk about physically would still be the same location that you can trace. In terms of the landscape, we imagined, we expected, and we’re not wrong, that in most cases it would be completely different. It would have turned into a part of a Israeli state, so yeah.

Ross Domoney:

Yeah, and it’s quite, to use those words that you’re not really allowed to use in Pakistan, you say complicated, but I guess we have to explain the bigger context as well. These camps like Jenin, Tulkarm, Nur Shams where we were filming, they were camps set up by Palestinian refugees who were refugees from the Nakba in 1948, so the native Palestinians who were forced to flee their lands when the Zionist militias created what is today known as the state of Israel. They’re refugees in their own land, and then they built up their own structures, didn’t they?

Antonis Vradis:

They really are part of the urban fabric. It’s quite interesting in that they’re still called refugee camps and people will call them the 1948 camps. Even in the name, the memory of the event is there in the everyday life of these camps. Even though they’re called camps, they’re not informal or temporary in terms of structures. As you’re saying, they are bricks and mortar. They’re built in the same way as the rest of the city. They’re denser, absolutely. They’re some of the most densely populated places on earth really, incredibly dense, super narrow streets and alleyways.

Ross Domoney:

Amongst these dense camps, there’s a huge amount of solidarity between Palestinian residents, and there’s also armed Palestinian groups that have had quite a new presence. I think it was Ahmad, the guy that helped us out a lot in Palestine, who was saying that it’s a new phenomenon that’s happened since 2021, was it? There has been different moments, of course, throughout the Palestinian struggle where there’s been armed resistance movement, but now it’s turned into this thing that’s a lot more wild with different battalions and groups, normally quite brave, young men that don’t necessarily cover their faces. They have battalions with groups of their friends, and then the Israeli army makes incursions into the camps, kills the fighters, kills civilians, collectively punishes the camps for having the fighters inside the camps, tears up the roads, and then there’s funerals afterwards. More people join up to join the brigades because of their own memories and traumas and friends that are lost. It’s just a never ending cycle of resistance.

Antonis Vradis:

Yeah, the people that have actually taken up arms, it’s not that big a number, we’re talking four to 15 in a population of thousands, but what’s really striking is how well and how much supported and respected they are from the camp residents as a whole really. There’s an incredibly wide network of support and admiration.

Again, it’s a question of how do you do justice to the footage that you’ve got, but also to the story that you’re trying to tell? I think, beyond any militaristic or narrative of braveness, which, of course, there’s massive braveness involved there, there’s something about the memory of the fighters that’s absolutely crucial. It’s a crucial part of the thread of daily life and of how this community organizes and essentially defends itself. It defends itself through memory.

Memory, in a way, I keep thinking that memory is a weapon for the Palestinians. It’s something that they’re really holding on to, and it acts as a shield against these attacks. There’s memory in at least two levels I can think of. One of them is the memory of the fighters themselves. So many of them who we spoke to told us that they joined because of another fighter, a friend or a relative who died, was killed, and then that was the defining moment, the moment when they decided they needed to take up the fight. It acts almost like a chain of the memory of loss that then feeds into the continuation of a struggle, if that makes sense. That’s how this memory chain is built, but also, for the wider community also, they’re held as heroes when they’re alive, but even more so in a way after they’re killed. They become martyrs. They become symbols really and then you see them. Didn’t we see them? Within the day, I think, all of these posters had been put up in the camp with the photos of the most recent martyrs.

Ross Domoney:

Yeah. Yeah, it all happened so quickly. It was almost an expected process. Someone would die, including people that we filmed. A person that we filmed, hours afterwards, he was killed, and then, hours after that or a day or a day and a half after that, he was already immortalized on a poster, a very well-designed poster of him as a martyr, and his family were wearing him as a picture inside a necklace. It was this whole process and cycle, and it was all related to memory and then, of course, there is the memory of the Nakba and the memory of where all of these camp residents have initially and originally fled from. I think that was also a narrative that the Palestinian resistance fighters were fighting for. It was to fight for their right to return back to their ancestral lands.

Antonis Vradis:

In a way, there’s at least two cycles of memory. There’s one very short in the grand scheme of things, very short, where there’s like the life of a fighter. They decide to join. They joined. They’re killed. They’re martyred, and then someone else will take their place. That happens relatively fast in historical terms because then there’s this wider, much bigger cycle of memory which is the Nakba, their original loss in a way, and it all goes back to that or people aspire for it to go. They want to return. It’s literally a cycle where they’re trying to get back to where they started from.

In a way, I think, this documentary is about these different cycles of memory and how they intersect really in everyday life. That’s one of the most striking, I think, things about everyday life in Palestine, in occupied Palestine, in the West Bank. It is that memory plays such a crucial role in ways that it doesn’t really in other places. It’s something I keep thinking about. It’s not as prominent here or in other European countries or in the States.

Ross Domoney:

It’s like memory is a tool of resistance, right? Even though Israel has the balance in their check with military funding and it’s so unjust the way that things work over there, they can never kill the Palestinian spirit. To be alive or to rebuild your home that’s been destroyed, to just do that act is to keep memory alive. I think that was what the resistance was. I find it’s very hard to put it into words because what’s happening in Gaza or in the West Bank is so awful. It’s not too strong a word to use things like extermination and these words that are very heavily, historically loaded, but we hope our film can keep Palestinian memory alive. That’s what we’re trying to do.

The student intifada has reached the UK. At the School of Oriental and African Studies, students set up an encampment in solidarity with Gaza, taking particular aim at the university’s investments in companies that produce white phosphorus. The Real News reports from London, speaking directly with student organizers calling out their school’s complicity in genocide.

Producers: Ross Domoney and Nadia Péridot
Presenter: Nadia Péridot
Videography and Editing:Ross Domoney

Transcript

Nadia – presenter: 

Inspired by the direct action on US campuses, students across the UK are taking a stand against their university’s links to Israel.

Nadia – presenter:

We’re talking to students here at SOAS in the liberated zone about what they’re hoping to achieve.

Protestor:

It’s been ten days of learning. It’s been ten days of solidarity.It’s been 10 days of community showing up for us. 

Protestor: 

We’ve taken the situation on this campus from one where students were suspended from expressing solidarity for the Palestinain cause to one where they’re students camping out here day and night, shouting at the top of our lungs that Palestine will be free.

Protestor:

I think that students have historically always been on the right side of history. I think the especially institutions like SOAS we are taught all the theory of things like the Nakba, we are taught all the theories of things like apartheid. And I think that it is insulting to teach us these things and not expect us to apply them.

Protestors: 

SOAS, SOAS, Shame, Shame! 

Protestor:

Attention, everybody in five minutes, we will be having a teach out from Unies against Borders control.

Protestor:

This is a liberated zone. That means that it’s a zone for political education. It’s a zone for community building. It’s a zone for breaking bread together.

Protestor:

To be in these spaces means to dream of a better world and to look around us and find ways, small and large, that we can bring about that better world.

Presentor:

Can you tell us about what your demands are and what you hope to achieve with this?

Protestor:

The first is to disclose and, create more transparency around its financial investments. The second is to divest from any companies that are, complicit in the ongoing genocide.

Protestor: 

before this started, I didn’t realize quite how complicit this entire institution was in the Israeli genocide of the Palestinian people.

Protestor:

But the more we find out and the more we look and the more questions we ask like the was it just gets.

Presentor:

We learn that SOAS a university renowned for producing radical thinkers and which centers its studies on the Middle East, has direct involvement with companies that produce white phosphorus, the deadly incendiary weapon that Human Rights Watch has found Israel to have used against civilians in Gaza in recent months.

Protestor:

This university has been complicit in the settler colonial project in Palestine for decades. And, that means that it has a moral responsibility to, swiftly begin redirecting those resources towards rebuilding, efforts. You know, there’s there’s not a single university left intact in Gaza, at this point.

Protestor:

And for us to be sitting here at this institution in London, and our tuition money going towards destroying those universities, it’s it’s not right.

Presenter: 

in Gaza, all places of learning, including U.N. schools, sheltering civilians, have been systematically destroyed by Israel.

Presenter:

Thousands of students and teachers have been killed, injured or arrested as part of what the United Nations has warned is ‘Schoolasticide’ in the enclave. 

Protestor:

We live here in the Imperial core.

Protestor: 

We live just blocks away from arms manufacturers and the offices of the companies that bankroll the ongoing genocide. And also atrocities all over the world. We need to understand the imperial system as a, as a, as a broad structure that is interlinking. And here in London and in the UK in general, we find ourselves at a unique position.

Protestor:

So, across society. We need to look around us, see what effective targets we might be able to to identify, and then come over whatever, petty differences we might have with the people at our sides to organize effectively, to attack those targets.

Presenter:

At least 25 Palestine solidarity encampments have taken hold at universities across the UK from London to Edinburgh. In national protest.

Protestor:

As we’ve seen with, you know, protests during the Iraq war, during the Vietnam War, it was a student protest. It was a student revolution that actually ended up making the biggest difference.

Protestor:

And we are just borrowing and learning,

Protestor:

carrying on their legacy and history.

Protestor:

And I think when you root your politics and when you root your individual actions and activism in this idea of collective liberation and this idea of intersectionality, there isn’t another choice.

Protestor:

Like there was never any question, of course, I was going to be here, of course I was going to resist in any way I can. I think the increasing numbers of young people, especially coming through spaces like SOAS, that although the institution itself is deeply complicit, I think the culture here wants to resist.

Protestor:

I think I come from a background of people that resist genocide. I come from a background of people that resists colonialism. Like, this is who I am,

Presentor:

With continued national protests and localized direct action at institutions like this, the people are putting pressure on the UK government to end its support for Israel. Public opinion has shifted and this next generation of voters are part of the movement against another parliament propping up the Zionist agenda.

Presentor:

I think the slogan no ceasefire, no vote reflects the current environment in the UK and the current attitude of the people in the UK. The government is absolutely not representative of our movement here. They have refused to implement an arms embargo on the Zionist entity, and they’ve refused to call for an unconditional and permanent ceasefire, which is absolutely deplorable considering it’s a genocide.

Protestor:

We’ve seen how an arms embargo affected how in in South Africa with the apartheid regime.

Presentor:

These student protests represent a wave of significant change. With knowledge at their fingertips and immersed in a collective hope.

Presentor:

They intend to stay until they see the change they want to be in the world.

Protestor:

To students in Gaza and to their families and their communities. Just from the bottom of my heart and I know I speak for all of my comrades here at this camp. A deep, deep, deep message of solidarity and love. And a deep and warm embrace to all of you. We can only begin to imagine the pain and the difficulty that you’re living through right now.

Protestor:

But we we are all collectively and we know that you are, too, we find we find our strength in seeing what you all do.

Protestor:

God willing, sometime soon,

Protestor:

We we will be able to to see you, to hold you in person. To build direct community with you together. And, and someday all borders will fall.

Israel’s genocide in Gaza is a genocide of children. Prior to last October, nearly half the population of Gaza were children. The official death toll, now regarded by many to be a severe undercount, accounts for more than 15,000 children killed by Israeli forces in the past eight months. For the majority of children who have survived, life will never be the same. Displacement, martyrdom of family members, and the exigencies of daily survival have placed a tremendous burden on these children’s shoulders. The Real News reports from Gaza.

Videographer: Ruwaida Amer
Producer: Belal Awad, Leo Erhardt
Video Editor: Leo Erhardt

Transcript

Narrator:

“Gaza has become a graveyard for thousands of children. It’s a living hell for everyone else.” These words stated by UNICEF spokesperson James Elder on October 31st, 2023.
Since then around 15,000 children have lost their lives, more than the number of children killed in conflicts in the entire world in the past four years put together. Now, mass starvation is set to replace bombs as the deadliest threat to Gaza’s children.

For those who have survived, it’s hard to imagine how they will remain children.

Child:

They killed my mum and dad in front of me. My only friend who used to play with me died.

Narrator:

In the makeshift refugee camps in the South of Gaza, 10 year old Shams evacuated her home under shelling and is now living in a tent with her family.

Shams:

We kids are not living in safety, we could die and also, haven’t lived a nice life. When I walk down the street they bomb and I get scared.

The bathroom is far, so if I need to go I wake mum or dad to take me because the sounds of planes and drones are really loud, and there’s the sound of bombing from afar.

Narrator:

Shams’ dad Hossemmedin has had to watch his children go from worrying about school to worrying about drones.

Hossemmedin:

I evacuated with my children we left beneath air-strikes and destruction. We left and the situation was very very very dangerous. Honestly, I risked it because of my children, I wanted to protect my children.

I live in a residential tower, and the Israelis contacted us and said we need to evacuate. They didn’t even give us a chance for us to leave in peace.

On the contrary, we evacuated under destruction and bombs, and the dead and martyred were scattered on the street. I was holding my kids and hugging them and protecting them so they couldn’t see these scenes. Because they were scenes that as much as I say are beyond description.

Shams:

There’s no safety, when we’re walking it’s normal for them to bomb at any moment, and I get scared.

Narrator:

Shams isn’t only scared for her own safety, but the safety of her parents too.

Shams:

Because the Israelis are like this, they bomb in any place, to them it’s normal, and mom and dad sometimes they go out and I get scared for them. When they bomb somewhere, I get scared.

Narrator:

And becoming an orphan with no surviving parents is not an abstract fear—but a commonplace reality in Gaza today, that realistically could happen to any child.

Child:

What is your name?

Mohammad.

Mohammad, tell us, how has Ramadan been so far?

Ramadan has been. Ramadan has not been good to me. Because I’m alone. With no mother or father.

Why, where are your parents?

Martyred.

When?

On October 29.

How were they martyred?

My father sent me to get some Maggi from the store and they (Israel) bombed the whole neighborhood. The neighborhood was unrecognizable. So I went to the Indonesian hospital and found my parents in shrouds.

Hossemmedin:

The war stole everything from the children. Everything related to childhood. Everything related to humanity. I mean, children, what do they want? A child is innocent. What does a child want?

She’s always asking me about Leo. Leo is her cat. She says I miss him, I wanna go and see him. I miss my grandad, I miss playing with my friends. I miss school, studying and the teachers.

Shams:

The war took from me my friends. I used to play with them.

[Where are they?]

In Rafah

[They died?]

No. But I miss them so much.

Narrator:

Gaza’s children have been forced to grow up fast… videos show children talking, moving and expressing themselves in adult ways, on themes that not even grown adults should ever have to face.

Woman:

How do you see the war?

Girl:

It’s Ugly. From the start of the war, I became ugly too. I was beautiful, my face was bigger. I was beautiful. But we became ugly because of the corpses.

Anas:

They have humiliated us with the aid parachutes that they dropped into the Sea! We live in Tel Al Zaatar, they threw the aid into the sea so we came here like dogs! I came to get food for my younger siblings who are screaminging with hunger. I swear I didn’t get anything. I swear to God I didn’t get anything.

Hossemmedin:

Behavior has had to change. It’s out of their hands. And out of our hands. They were removed from their environment and forced into a new one. So in the end they have to adjust to this new place they were forced into—in tents and so on—so in the end the behavior changed, their mannerisms changed.

Reem:

Their mentality changed, their talking changed. A lot of things have changed. They are not like they used to be. They used to be normal , but with the fear they changed a lot.

Narrator:

Reem is another parent who, alongside millions of others, was forced to flee her home with her family and now lives in a tent in Rafah. Her son is 14 year old Abdallah.

Abdullah “Aboud”:

We’re scared, we’re scared to walk on the streets because there isn’t anywhere safe, in any place in the whole of the Gaza strip, there isn’t safety.

The bombing was really strong, they were bombing belts of fire on people and they were running, and dead people scattered on the ground, the situation was really hard.

When we hear the sound of bombs, we start shaking, our hearts stop. That’s it, we’re scared.

[What did the war take from you?]

What did it take from me?

My childhood. They stole my childhood from me. My life was lost. No learning, no studies, nothing: no opportunity.

I fear for my mum and dad in the war. Because suddenly missiles could fall and they’ll be killed. My aunt, my cousins, neighbors, the neighbors’ children, relatives, friends… so many…

[What happened to them?]

They were killed.

Narrator:

Despite it all, kids will be kids, and moments of joy, laughter and along with it hope, remain.

Abdullah “Aboud”:

In the morning we wake up, we wash our faces, brush our teeth… We get up and get food from the store, and come back.

Laughs

[Background: No Aboud, don’t laugh.]

Abdullah “Aboud”:

It ‘s her!

Reem:

No, he doesn’t brush his teeth!

Abdullah “Aboud”:

Laughs

Reem:

He makes me laugh! Stop making me laugh, enough. Stop it! [What are your dreams?]

Abdullah “Aboud”:

That suddenly the war ends. They have a ceasefire. Go to Gaza. That’s all I want. I don’t want anything else.

Shams:

God willing we will live in peace and God will protect us all. Allah grant patience to those whose families were killed or martyred and take revenge on the Israelis.

Shams [singing]:

We return, oh love,
We return,
Oh you, the flower of the poor, We return, oh love,
To love’s abode,
filled with the fire of love,
We return… 

In the town of Idhna in the West Bank, Palestinian youth labor in unregulated “e-waste” factories in the shadow of Israel’s Apartheid Wall. Driven from their land, and denied opportunity and employment in Israeli society, these workers come to these jobs because they often have few other options. Many of the workers are highly educated, but unable to pursue their preferred careers due to the reality of living in an apartheid state. Most of the electronic waste comes from Israel, and Israeli businesses benefit immensely from being able to ship such waste to the West Bank to avoid paying taxes, exploit cheap labor, and then profit from the recycled precious metals extracted from the garbage. The Real News reports from Idhna, speaking directly to the workers in the town’s e-waste recycling facilities.

Videography: Ahmad Al-Bazz
Interviewer: Sarah Abu Alrob
Producer and Video Editor: Ross Domoney
Narrator: Nadia Peridot

Transcript

Nadia Peridot:

In the town of Idnha, in the southern West Bank, the towering Separation Wall cuts people off from their land and the outside world – diminishing prospects of employment or societal development, and leaving citizens in a state of perpetual stagnation.

Worker:

This is Iron. 

Nadia Peridot:

The Real News spoke to labourers here about their work in Electronic, or ‘e-waste’, Recycling, where electrical goods are broken apart to extract the precious metals within. 

Khaled Abu Juheisha:

Palestinians do not want to work in waste.

They just want an income to afford this expensive life.

We don’t like waste, It is an opportunity for the Israelis.

They send us that waste and avoid taxes.

The youth here are forced to work with it due to unemployment.

Abdulrahman Tumaizi:

Electronic waste and scrap mostly come from Israeli sources. 

It arrives at these workshops here and it gets separated. 

 There are many metals: iron, copper, aluminum.

Transporting these materials to the West Bank, near Hebron, is a great benefit for Israel.

They get rid of this waste completely and it comes back to them clean.

Here we suffer from the remains

and our environment suffers the damage. 

Nadia Peridot:

It is well documented that Israel exploits Palestinians for cheap labour. The Occupation has a chokehold on the Palestinian economy, and workers here have little choice but to toil for meagre wages, often in back-breaking jobs. While Israel has its own waste management system, much of the difficult and dangerous e-waste is dumped in the southern West Bank to be sorted and returned for Israel to collect the profits.

Ameer Sulaymiya:

Our wages are less than theirs [Israeli workers]. 

Taking into account the fees we pay for transportation [to work].

However, it poses less of a burden on us, compared to them.

For them, difficult tasks take time and effort. For us these jobs are not so challenging.

Ahmad Al-’Eswed:

Israelis don’t make an effort like us because they have job opportunities.

The state provides them with job opportunities. We don’t have that.

The occupation is the reason for the lack of job opportunities here.

There is no horizon for us. If we want to expand they will come and stop us.

You cannot develop like them. There is a limit.

You cannot develop like them. There is a limit.

Nadia Peridot:

Unemployment in the Occupied territories reached  24% in 2022, significantly higher than Israel’s 3%. 

Tareq Batran:

I do not have money. It’s all about money, god damn it.

If I had the money would I work here?

Nadia Peridot:

Workers here explained that many people – from school leavers to the highly educated – find themselves in this line of work due to the limitations imposed on them by the Occupation.

And, though difficult, this dangerous work is readily available to Palestinians who may otherwise struggle to find work due to Israeli restrictions.

Bassam Al-’Eswed:

Because it is difficult work it requires working hands capable of recycling these materials.

We buy these materials from [the Israelis] because workers are available and because there is unemployment.

Graduates suffer from unemployment.  

Engineers, teachers, nurses, and medical professionals.

Today even doctors are suffering from unemployment.

There are no opportunities. There is no room for creativity here at all.

People are forced to work here to provide for their families.

Nadia Peridot:

e-Waste recycling poses a serious health risk to workers, as well as to the land and neighbouring communities – and these primitive/rudimentary, unregulated factories pose the greatest danger. 

Ahmad Al-’Eswed:

This job has pollution like any other job.

There are [spaces] in Area C, close to the wall.

There were workshops, but they were demolished.

People dug water wells for agriculture. They [the Israelis] demolished them.

If you build a house in Area C, it is prohibited.

It’s getting crowded. 

Nadia Peridot:

The Occupation makes it so difficult for Palestinians to earn a living, under an oppressive regime, and restriction of movement, that these workers are grateful for the comparative ease of this labour. Whereas many endure hours-long checkpoint [inspections] to reach work outside the West Bank, these men are able to freely access the Palestinian-run recycling workshops.

Ahmad Al-’Eswed:

Here, no one has to wake up at five in the morning to work in Israeli workplaces.

We wake up at eight o’clock, and at five o’clock in the afternoon we are home.

Nadia Peridot:

For generations, agriculture has been the backbone of the Palestinian economy, and the connection to the land a part of the peoples’ identity. Through domination and annexation, Israel has largely dismantled this key element of society. With most of the fertile land designated ‘off-limits’, water resources cut off, and very few permit applications granted to allow Palestinians access to their own agricultural land, farming is no longer a viable profession for most.

Khaled Abu Juheisha:

Most people in Idhna, which is a rural agricultural town, worked in [agriculture]. After the areas enclosed by the wall for agriculture and grazing shrank, now you have to buy fodder for the sheep, instead of grazing them around for free. The process becomes a massive financial loss due to the cost of feed.

Nadia Peridot:

Decades of Israeli occupation has systematically disconnected Palestinians from the land, and from their aspirations for a life of education and prosperity.

People here have been reduced to working simply to survive. 

And while Israel prospers, Palestinians pay the price: with their land, their health, and the freedom to follow their dreams.