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AP journo narrates Israel’s destruction of a media tower

'I put on my helmet... and I ran'

Published : Sunday, 16 May, 2021 at 1:13 PM  Count : 739

'I put on my helmet... and I ran'

'I put on my helmet... and I ran'


The screams of my colleagues woke me up and the beating of my heart choked the rush of my mind. What happened? Was anyone injured in the streets of Gaza City, or worse?

It was 1:55 p.m. on Saturday. I was napping on the top floor of the two-story penthouse that served as the offices of the Associated Press in Gaza City since 2006. It wasn’t unusual the past few days; from the start of the fighting earlier this month, I had slept in our information office until early afternoon, then worked all night.

I hurried downstairs and saw my colleagues put on helmets and protective vests. They were shouting: “Evacuation! Evacuation!”

The IDF, I will learn later, had targeted our building for destruction and offered a brief warning in advance: They had taken three buildings so far this week, warning residents and occupants sometimes within minutes. in advance of going out. In a hurry, I was told: You have 10 minutes.

What do i need? I grabbed my laptop and a few other electronics. What else? I looked at the workspace that was mine for years, filled with memories of friends, family and colleagues. I chose a handful: a decorative plate with a photo of my family. A cup of coffee given to me by my daughter, who has now lived safely in Canada with her sister and my wife since 2017. A certificate marking five years of employment with AP.

I started to leave. Then I thought back to this place that had been my second home for years. I realized this was the last time I could ever see him. It was just after 2 p.m. I looked around. I was the last person there.

I put on my helmet. And I ran.

After the most disturbing days in the community where I was born and raised and now covering the news – where my mother, siblings, cousins ​​and uncles live, I am now at home. I wish I could say I’m safe here, but I can’t. In Gaza, there is no safe place.

On Friday, an airstrike destroyed my family’s farm on the northern edge of Gaza. And now my Gaza City office – the place I thought was sacrosanct and wouldn’t be targeted because the PA and al-Jazeera offices were on the upper floors – is a pile of rubble, beams and dust.

Many Gazans have done worse. At least 145 of us have been killed since Monday when Hamas started firing hundreds of rockets at Israel, which hit the Gaza Strip with strikes. In Israel, eight people were killed, including a man killed by a rocket that struck Saturday in Ramat Gan, a suburb of Tel Aviv.

In our building, the clock in my head was deafening as I ran out of the office. I went down the 11 floors of the stairs and into the basement garage. Suddenly I realized: my car was the only one there. Everyone else had evacuated. I threw my things in the back, jumped up and left.

When I felt I was far enough away, I parked the car and got out making sure I had a view of my building. I found my colleagues nearby. They watched, waiting for more.

Nearby, the owner of our building was on the phone with the Israeli military officer who told him to evacuate the place. The owner was begging for a little more time. No, he was told. It will not be possible. Instead, he was told: Go back to the building and make sure everyone is out. You have 10 minutes. You should hurry up.

I turned to our apartment building to look. I prayed that maybe, maybe that wouldn’t happen. I thought of the families who lived on the top five floors of the building, under the press offices and above the offices on the lower floors. What would they do? Where would they go?

Other journalists have gathered, just on the edge of security, ready to face the rest. My intrepid video colleagues took care of their live shoot.

Then, in quick succession over the next eight minutes: a small drone airstrike, followed by another and another. And then three powerful air strikes from the F-16s.

At first it looked like layers of something falling apart. I thought about a bowl of potato chips and what could happen if you threw a punch at it. Then smoke and dust enveloped everything. The sky roared. And the building that housed some people, an office for others and both for me disappeared in a shroud of dust.

In my pocket, I still had the key to a room that no longer existed.

Standing with my co-workers about 400 meters (yards) away, I watched for a while and tried to process everything as the rubble started to settle. The white smoke was filled with thick clouds of black smoke as the structure collapsed. Dust and bits of cement and shards of glass strewn all over the place. What we knew so well was gone.

I thought of all of my hundreds of memories that were now shattered – including the 20-year-old cassette tape recorder I used when I first became a journalist. If I had had an hour, I would have grabbed it all.

It was one of the most gruesome scenes I have ever seen. But even though I was deeply sad, there was also gratitude – as far as I know, no one had been hurt – neither any of my colleagues nor anyone else. This would be confirmed in the coming hours, as more information was released and my PA bosses condemned an attack that “shocked and horrified” them.

I wondered how long I should stay and watch. That’s when my instinct years began – the instinct to cover up so much violence and sadness in the place that is my home.

Our building was gone and would not return. Already there were other things happening that I needed to cover. You must realize: we journalists are not history. The priority for us is not ourselves. It’s about telling the stories of other people, those who live their lives in the communities we cover.

So I spent a few more moments watching the end of the place that has shaped my life so much. And then I started to wake up from this nightmare.

I said to myself: it’s done. Now let’s see what to do next. Let’s continue to cover all of this. This is history, and there are more stories to tell. And as always, as the world shivers around us, it’s up to us to figure out how.



Related Topics

Gaza   Israel   Evacuation  








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