Freedom of Expression in Gaza: Between Bombardment and Silence

By Sana Abu Madin

In Gaza, freedom of expression does not need academic definitions or legal texts. A single glance at the faces of journalists bidding farewell to their colleagues at overcrowded hospitals full of corpses suffices. Here, the voice is heavier than bullets, and words are more precious than life itself.

When a journalist raises their camera to capture a child lying beneath the rubble, they are not merely performing their job—they are risking their life against a military machine that knows nothing of freedom of expression. Yet the Gazan voice does not cease. It emerges from the ruins of homes, from schools turned into shelters, and from the throats of mothers bidding farewell to their children amidst relentless shelling.

Freedom of expression here is not a right guaranteed by law but a daily act of resistance. Words are written in blood, recorded in trembling voices under bombardment, and shared on social media to reach a world that may choose to look away.

Nevertheless, Gazans insist their voices be heard: “We are here… we have not yet been erased.”

The Unbreakable Voice

Since the outbreak of the latest war, dozens of journalists in Gaza have been martyred—some beneath the ruins of their homes, others while holding their cameras. Yet, despite each loss, the voice remains unbroken. On the contrary, social media platforms have become alternative podiums, where citizens, sometimes even before journalists, tell their stories to the world.

Mobile phones have become documentary cameras, and every post on Facebook or X becomes a testament added to a collective memory that Gazans fiercely protect. Freedom of expression in Gaza is no longer an elite privilege—it is a shared responsibility embraced by everyone who survives.

Between Right and Constraint

Freedom of expression is a right guaranteed by international law, yet in Gaza, it constantly collides with harsh realities. On one side, the occupation seeks to silence any voice exposing its crimes, using bombardment, assassination, and arrest. On the other, journalists face additional obstacles: lack of resources, electricity and internet cuts, and restricted access to conflict zones.

The gravest challenge, however, remains the erasure of the Palestinian narrative, whether through social media censorship or deliberate media distortion campaigns. Despite this, the Palestinian voice continues to pierce the global silence—even if through a single photograph or short clip.

An Indelible Collective Memory

Freedom of expression in Gaza is closely tied to collective memory. Every word spoken, every photo taken, becomes a document preserving for future generations what the occupation seeks to erase. Here, journalism is not just a profession—it is a national and human duty.

Children who have lost their schools write on crumbling walls: “We will return to learn.” Bereaved mothers hold up photos of their children in large funerals. Young people risk going to bombed areas to document the truth. Each of them exercises freedom of expression in their own way, adding a new brick to the wall of Palestinian memory.

Beyond International Silence

Meanwhile, Gazans face shameful international silence. Journalists are killed, aid is blocked, while major capitals release only tepid statements of “concern.” This silence only strengthens Gazans’ determination to make their voices heard, as if to say to the world: If you won’t listen, we will force you to see.

Here, freedom of expression transcends legal and political dimensions—it becomes a matter of existence. The Palestinian voice is not a luxury; it is the last line of defense for the identity of a people threatened with erasure.

Words as Acts of Resistance

Freedom of expression in Gaza is resistance in itself—resistance against bombardment, against oblivion, against falsification. Every article written, every report published, every video broadcast is a bold declaration that the voice will not die.

Homes may be destroyed and streets erased, but as long as someone writes, narrates, and shouts, Gaza will remain present in global consciousness. The Gazan voice is not merely a right—it is a life, a life that tells the world: We are not numbers… we are human beings who dream, love, and want to live.

Sana Abu Madin is a Palestinian journalist from Gaza, producing humanitarian reports and digital news aimed at amplifying Gaza’s voice to the world.

The opinions expressed in this article are solely the author’s and do not represent the views of Nisaba Media.