Young Photojournalist: “The Mere Act of Seeing is Convoluted for a Palestinian in Jerusalem”

“I’d rather not share my real name; you can use one of my other names. I don’t really trust people in this city.” Those were the words of Shams,1 whose real name is not Shams. Her request was to remain anonymous, a request that is not uncommon for Palestinian Jerusalemites these days.

Shams is neither political nor religious; she does not belong to any faction, and she is not even active on social media. She is a simple young woman who should have nothing to fear. “But I’m a photojournalist,” she explained. “I studied journalism at a Palestinian university, and I capture things through my lens. In Jerusalem, that is enough to get one in trouble.”

Shams repeatedly gestured toward her throat while speaking, suggesting that something there was tightly clenched. “I cannot speak without filtering my words. Anything could get falsely twisted in a way that would get one in trouble. The repercussions are too high in Jerusalem. It is too easy to get arrested, and worse still, to end up in administrative detention for God knows how long . . . that could happen even when one has done nothing wrong.”

She spoke of her friend, a young fellow photojournalist, who recently got arrested. “She was terribly beaten,” Shams shuddered as she said this. “Her arms got purpled, swollen, and dry to the point of splitting. She was jailed for four days and then put under house arrest. She doesn’t even know why or how she ended up there. She must have been accused of things under no pretext whatsoever.”

“But how come?” I asked. “On what grounds was she arrested?”

“The claim was that she had communicated with individuals labeled as opposing the [Israeli] state.” Shams looked like she was guessing. “She might have communicated with someone from some ‘questionable’ media agency. The entire thing must have gotten twisted.”

Shams paused, then her tone turned to certainty: “But really, she has no business with politics whatsoever. Her posts on social media are all about nail polish and cats.” She then added: “My friend is a good photographer. There’s a chance she may have captured images of a Palestinian guy getting beaten by the police, and perhaps she communicated with ‘an unfavorable’ media agency for copyright issues . . . I believe the [Israeli] authorities wanted to intimidate her, along with the rest of us, so that we hold back from reporting on the ground.”

Shams is 24, yet the stillness of her gaze and the quiet eloquence of her voice make her seem older than her age. “I was having a conversation with another journalist friend, a writer . . .” she began to share: “He told me he’s embarrassed of his own self-censorship and wondered if his fear to write or express will make him a coward or a traitor.” Shams had a sip of tea and then steadily stated: “I told him not to overthink things. We are anyway not meant to succeed in this city.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, when you really think about it, what’s the ultimate point of success as a Palestinian Jerusalemite journalist in such a city? It means death.”

Shams then named the key influence on her as a journalist. It so happens that her professional role model was shot dead while on assignment.

“She’s the reason I am here today,” Shams said of Shireen Abu Akleh, the venerated Palestinian journalist who reported from the field for quarter of a century until she was fatally shot by an Israeli soldier while reporting from Jenin in the West Bank on May 11, 2022.

On Friday May 13, 2022, Shireen’s funeral procession was attended by thousands of Palestinians in Jerusalem, with bells of 13 churches ringing simultaneously before she was buried in the Mount Zion Cemetery. “That was the day I decided to become a journalist,” shared Shams, four years after the event:

“Indeed, some absence brings forth a greater presence,” Shams quoted the poignant statement that was shared by the late Shireen and often associated with her legacy. According to Shams, young up-and-coming Palestinian journalists, herself included, could well be considered as “the grandchildren of Shireen Abu Akleh.”

Shams went on to explain that what happened to Shireen could happen to any local Palestinian journalist: “We could easily get shot and killed, with no legal consequences for the perpetrators.”

Israel was responsible for two-thirds of all journalists killed worldwide in 2024 and 2025. The vast majority of the journalists killed by Israel in 2025 were in Gaza. The CPJ’s annual report for 2025 found “a persistent culture of impunity for attacks on the press” by Israel’s military. The report also stated, “Israel’s disregard for the lives of journalists—and the international laws intended to protect them—is, however, unparalleled.”2

Earlier this year, the Palestinian Journalists’ Syndicate also issued a report on Israel’s attacks on Palestinian journalists in the occupied West Bank (including East Jerusalem) in 2025, which highlighted several concerning trends, as reported by WAFA:

Shams shared that there were times when Israeli journalists working alongside her carried weapons while on duty. Palestinians, of course, would never have such an option under Israeli rule. “It’s a stark disparity between Palestinians and Israelis in workplace safety. Our panic stretches beyond conventional sources of threat, reaching even other members of the press. We carry vests, and they carry guns,” she explained.

Yet the most challenging part of photojournalism, Shams explained, has been having to return to the same locations and to follow up on the unfair and unjust realities of Jerusalemites whose living conditions have only further deteriorated:

Shams went on to share that it has been aggravating to ask family members (parents and children alike), time and time again, across different periods, questions such as: What does your home mean to you?

“How many times do I have to ask them such difficult questions?” Shams reflected. “Homes are not mere stones; they encompass nostalgic memories, mixed feelings of joy, sadness, and everything in between; they bring up so much sentiment, often contradictory,” she said. Shams then admitted that a photo (such as a demolished house or a somber look on an old man’s face) can potentially capture more than words ever could.

“Still,” Shams insisted, “I keep on visiting those families and documenting their realities. I was not meant to study journalism only to stop. As long as we’re alive, we must persist. And if death has not yet come, then it is our duty to continue doing the work.”

As someone fascinated by photography and who had the opportunity to train abroad, Shams eventually realized that “the mere act of seeing is convoluted for a Palestinian in Jerusalem.”

The study of photography, as she sees it, entails developing, cultivating, and even feeding the eye. The trained eye, she explained, is an essential tool that guides one in the streets to capture the best shots, while bearing in mind the composition, light, and key details.

“But here in Jerusalem,” she described, “reality is portrayed in a deformed way. The ordinary is never quite ordinary. Almost every corner and angle of the city carries a heavy emotional weight”:

“Seeing itself is political here,” Shams continued, “and thus probably risky”:

Shams named those examples quickly, took another sip of tea, and calmly added: “I think it suits me to be a photojournalist. Yes, there are endless horrid stories, but the people I consistently photograph never mind my presence. They look after me.” She smiled and said: “There were times when they even hid me inside their homes to protect me.”

Shams then shared a “horror situation”; a time when she hid inside a house in Beit Hanina while Israeli forces were about to bomb the house across the way. She was most keen on getting a good shot of the event. Meanwhile, the people in whose house she found shelter were bringing her tea with pastries. “I still cannot get over that sight,” she sighed as she recalled seeing the house completely collapse. “It’s beyond incomprehensible to me . . . to see how an entire house with all its precious memories and life events got destroyed in seconds.”

She reflected further:

“Still, I find that it really suits me to be a photojournalist!” She changed the subject. “I now have homes in different areas and neighborhoods, such as Silwan. That’s what I love the most about my field,” she added with a smile. “The people I revisit, many of whom might lose their homes, have become like family to me. They treat me like I’m their own daughter, and they always make sure to offer me sweet cups of tea, with fresh sage and mint.”