At a quiet corner of an apartment in Cairo, Palestinian journalists now sit staring at a blank screen. Just months ago, they were reporting from the heart of Gaza – documenting airstrikes, interviewing survivors, filing stories that made global headlines.
Today, they’re unemployed, unheard, and in exile.
More than 250 journalists from Gaza are now living in Egypt after fleeing the Israeli military campaign that began in October 2023, according to figures from the Palestinian Journalists Syndicate, which now has a presence in Cairo. Others have evacuated the Strip for countries including Oman, Qatar, Turkey and Canada since the start of what we call a genocide.
Once at the frontlines of war reporting, these journalists are now caught in a different kind of crisis – one marked by silencing, legal limbo, and professional erasure.
Most of these journalists were freelancers, with no long-term contracts, no medical insurance, no institutional protection, and no guarantee of employment after evacuation. Their cameras are packed away. Their microphones sit unused. Without work permits, they can’t be legally employed in Egypt, and with little to no support, many are struggling to survive.
“I was a journalist until the day I crossed the border.” “Now, I am just a refugee with a press card that no longer holds any weight.” This is how Palestinian journalists describe their current situation.
A minority of journalists who worked with international news outlets – those with permanent staff contracts – have been more fortunate. Some were able to join the bureaus of their agencies abroad, while others continue to receive their salaries, even while displaced. But for the vast majority, the collapse of Gaza’s media infrastructure has left them jobless, voiceless, and adrift.
And the barriers are not only bureaucratic – they are political. Egypt has denied work permits to Palestinians evacuating the war in Gaza, including professionals, journalists, and academics.
This policy effectively bars Gaza’s journalists from continuing their work. No matter their skills, credentials, or experience, they are not allowed to contribute to the media landscape in the country where they have sought refuge.
Worse still, for those of us who worked for Al Jazeera, a separate wall exists.
The Qatari-based network has been banned in Egypt since 2011, following the uprising that overthrew the former president Hosni Mubarak. Its bureau was shut down, and journalists affiliated with the network were subjected to persecution and arrests. Today, more than a decade later, that ban remains in place. This means that Al Jazeera journalists from Gaza, now exiled in Egypt, are prohibited from working, even remotely, fearing the risk of being persecuted.
Having worked as an Al Jazeera correspondent in Gaza, I now find myself among those silenced – not because I’ve stopped caring, not because I’ve lost the will to report, but because the system has made it impossible for me to continue. The war didn’t just displace us from our homes; it severed us from our profession, from our identities, and from the world we once informed.
Our voices were once loud enough to echo around the world. Now we whisper into the void. The silence is devastating – not just professionally, but emotionally and psychologically.
For journalists, reporting is not just a job. It is a calling and a mission. We bear witness, we document truth, we speak for the voiceless. Being denied the right to report is like being denied the right to breathe.
Many journalists now live in small apartments, surviving on the goodwill of friends, NGOs, or savings that are quickly running out. Some are supporting children and elderly family members, with no income and no clarity on what the future holds. The stress is enormous. The uncertainty is constant.
And yet, the genocide in Gaza continues. Our colleagues who remain inside – those who survived airstrikes, lost family members, or saw their homes flattened – continue to risk everything to report. But even they are running out of tools, electricity, and time. Many of them rely on us in exile to amplify their voices. And we are desperate to do so, but unable.
The consequences of this silencing reach far beyond individual careers. They represent a systemic erasure of the Palestinian narrative. At a time when truth-telling is critical, Gaza’s journalists – those who carry the first-hand accounts, the context, the memory – are being sidelined.
This is not just a loss for us. It’s a loss for journalism, for history, for the world.
The international community, especially global media outlets and press freedom organisations, must act. Gaza’s exiled journalists need legal recognition, support, and pathways to work – whether through temporary relocation programmes, freelance partnerships, or legal aid to navigate the permit systems.
We need allies; we need solidarity; we need our roles as truth-tellers to be restored.
We didn’t choose to leave. We fled for survival. But we still carry the burden of our people’s stories. We still carry the fire and drive to tell them. What we need now is the space and permission to speak.
Let our silence not be the final chapter.
