Gaza today is a graveyard. A dystopian landscape where thousands of people and millions of dreams lie buried under a once vibrant city, laid to waste by Israel’s genocidal war. Two years into the war that has killed more than 67,000 people, most of them women and children, TRT World tells the story of Gaza through four Palestinians – stories of struggle and survival, of death and destruction and, above all, resistance and resilience. 

In the second part of this four-part series, TRT World steps into the life of a Gaza journalist for a single day — a day shaped by the wounds of loss and the unyielding effort to keep going amid the chaos. 

With his camera as his only weapon, Khaled Shaat bears witness to the suffering around him and carries these stories to the world, refusing to let them be silenced or erased.

“There are hardly any journalists left in Gaza; Israel has killed so many,” Khaled Shaat tells TRT World.  For the record, Israel has killed over 250 journalists since October 2023, a staggering number of casualties among professionals protected under international laws.

A graduate of the Faculty of Media and Technology at Palestine University in Gaza, Khaled, 30, has been documenting stories that others cannot tell, especially those of children.

Since the start of the genocide, his camera has captured thousands of images of Gaza’s daily human suffering, making sure the world wakes up to the realities on the ground.

“I want my work to influence the outside world, to pressure governments to stand with the oppressed Palestinian people,” he says.

Khaled knows loss intimately. He lost his brother in the 2014 war. In this conflict, he has lost many relatives, including his uncle and his seven children, as well as friends, neighbours and colleagues. Some of these included five journalists he once worked alongside: Maryam Abu Daqa, Muath Abu Taha, Mohammed Salama, Ahmad Abu Aziz, and Hussam Al Masri.

“[We] had always worked side by side, [they] became the news themselves after being targeted and killed by Israel. We once reported their names in the news, never imagining they would one day become the story.”

Their deaths marked a turning point for Khaled. Since October 7, 2023, he had shared more than 700 days with them, almost around the clock, eating together, drinking together, filming together, reporting together.

“When they were killed,” he says, “the pain was unbearable because of the bond we built through all those days.”

Beyond these professional losses, Khaled has also suffered deeply personal tragedies. Five of his cousins were killed by Israel, and his home in Mouraj, located in the Al-Manara neighbourhood of southern Khan Younis, was destroyed.

Yet he endures, carrying on for those whose voices have been silenced. 

Morning brief

“Life in the tents is like life in a grave,” he says. “We wake up in the tents, make breakfast together, then head to the morgue at Nasser Medical Complex at around 8 or 8:30 a.m. to document the farewells and funerals of those who died overnight.

“After that, we rush to the sites of new attacks, covering the destruction, the injuries, the civilian victims — recording the same tragedies over and over again.”

After their four-storey home in Mouraj was reduced to rubble, Khaled and his extended family – his parents, four brothers, and cousins – lived in a cramped 4×6-metre tent. “This small tent became our home, our only refuge after everything was destroyed,” he recalls.

Eventually, he gave the tent to his family. He now stays with colleagues in the journalists’ camp at the Nasser Medical Complex — at the very centre of the suffering.

Each day begins the same way. As the sun rises, he sweeps the sand and dust from his tent, glances at the cracked mirror, runs a hand through his hair, brews tea in a small pot, and steps into the chaos of the day.

The tent serves as his bedroom, editing room, and kitchen. It offers no protection from the blistering summer heat or the biting winter cold, with insects and rodents as constant companions.

“We don’t live like this because we’re better than anyone else,” Khaled says. “Everyone here suffers the same way.”

A makeshift falafel stand built from scraps becomes his breakfast stop before he heads to the hospital, camera in hand, ready to face the day’s dangers.

Reaching sites of attacks is fraught: fuel, transport, electricity, and internet are scarce. “Everything is a struggle.” But still, the stories of the day have to be told.

Noon dispatch

By midday, Khaled is at the hospital morgue, photographing babies who died of hunger before they could grow. It’s “heartbreaking,” he says.

“You feel a deep sense of helplessness. You document children who desperately need food or medical care, but you can’t provide anything for them. It feels as if famine itself is a partner in our work. We feel powerless and frustrated.”

Even moving through Gaza is difficult. Soaring prices, lack of diesel, destroyed roads. On occasion, journalists have climbed tall buildings to find a signal to upload images. Now, many towers have been destroyed.

While the Israeli occupation tries to silence Khaled and his colleagues, he says: “We overcome these challenges, finding new ways to make sure the story reaches the world.”

Evening: A press vest soaked in blood

Later, Khaled and a fellow journalist attended the funeral of an infant whose body they had documented earlier at the morgue. The child’s mother, draped in black, sobs uncontrollably as the tiny coffin is carried away.

He captures the grief through his lens, then returns to his tent to edit images of shattered homes, destroyed schools, and the buried lives of Gaza. 

One of the greatest challenges, Khaled says, he faces in his line of work is reaching the areas bombed by the Israeli occupation.

A day earlier, he was on a field tour in the Al-Amal neighbourhood, an area declared a ‘safe zone’ by Israel. 

“Yet the Israeli occupation forces opened fire directly at us and at civilians. We were clearly wearing press vests and helmets, fully identifiable as journalists carrying the voices and lives of our people to the world.”

Night: Haunted by burned press tents

Night offers no rest. Khaled prepares a light meal for dinner by pounding a tin of fava beans in a clay mortar to make ful medames — a simple yet sustaining dish. Then he straps on his press vest and heads back out for another night of filming under fire.

Memories of friends whose press tents were set ablaze haunt him, as he ventures into the darkness to continue his work.

Khaled explains, his job has been to convey the realities on the ground to the Western, Islamic, and Arab worlds: killing, starvation, displacement, destruction, and the continuous bloodshed of Palestinians for more than 700 days. “We have documented all these crimes, yet the world remains silent, complicit in the face of the crimes committed by the Israeli occupation army.”

His voice tightens. “The main fear is that this war will continue — against our people, against us as Palestinians. The greatest fear is losing more loved ones, relatives, or friends. We have already felt this pain so deeply, and we don’t want to feel it again. We ask God to protect us, our families, and our remaining loved ones because we have already lost so many — far too many.”

Khaled’s wish is painfully simple: to live in peace and safety, to see this land liberated from the Israeli occupation, and for God to bless our families with health and well-being.

“We ask God Almighty to free us soon from this destructive war and from the occupation that has killed our loved ones, relatives, and friends,” he says. “This is our greatest ambition, our deepest wish.”

As a young Palestinian, Khaled longs for nothing more than what others take for granted: safety, stability, and a life free of fear. 

“We want to live like anyone else,” he says quietly, a hope that drives him every day. “Hope that the photo or video I document might help end this war.”