On October 9th, Fadi Al-Wahidi, a cameraman for Al Jazeera, was shot in the neck by the Israeli Occupation Forces while reporting on the Zionist invasion of Jabalia Refugee Camp in northern Gaza. Fadi was injured half a kilometer from Jabalia’s Al-Awda Hospital but, due to the Israeli siege on the facility, his colleagues were forced to transport him to the more distant Al-Ahli Arab Hospital and then to Gaza’s Public Aid Hospital. Fadi arrived at the hospital with shrapnel lodged in his skull, his brain bleeding. The doctors said they did not have the expertise or equipment necessary to treat him and were only able to stop the bleeding. He is still at the Public Aid Hospital almost two months later, paralyzed and awaiting medical evacuation.
In protest of the Israeli’s repeated refusal to grant Fadi an urgently needed medical travel permit — a decision that amounts to a death sentence — his family announced in mid-November that they would begin a hunger strike. His mother has also suspended her cancer treatment until Fadi’s release.
In an interview done for The New York War Crimes, Islam Badr, a journalist present during Fadi’s attack, spoke to Fadi’s colleague and friend, Anas Al-Sharif, and his mother, Hiba Al-Wahidi. Their conversations have been edited for length and clarity.
THE ATTACK: AS TOLD BY AL JAZEERA CORRESPONDENT ANAS AL-SHARIF
On October 9th, with the escalation of military incursions in parts of northern Gaza, Fadi Al-Wahidi, myself, and other colleagues were going from place to place to document what was happening. At around 3:30 in the afternoon we were near the Jalaa intersection, far away from any combat or occupation presence. Suddenly, a quadcopter appeared and started firing at us. It was clear we were being targeted.
Fadi was hit in the neck. He was only a few meters away, but we struggled to reach him because of the constant gunfire. We thought he had been martyred. There were no ambulances available, so we had no choice but to transport him to Al-Ahli Arab Hospital in our broadcast vehicle. When we arrived, the medical staff could not handle his condition because there were no specialized doctors available. With great difficulty, we were able to get him a CT scan to understand the size and the extent of his injury. Since that moment, Fadi has been confined to his deathbed. And it is a deathbed.
Fadi and I have been covering this war together for Al Jazeera since it began. We have documented the occupation’s crimes under active bombardment. We faced death together. Despite the danger, Fadi never stopped reporting. He had ambitions to travel and see the world. He wanted to become an international photographer and to capture images as they were, truthfully. He dreamed of getting married, settling down, and finding some sense of security. But in Gaza, Fadi’s primary concern during this war was procuring treatment for his mother, who is suffering from cancer.
Fadi Al-Wahidi is a Palestinian journalist who tried to convey the image and deliver the message from Gaza. He is one of a kind — a cheerful spirit, who loves to joke, bring joy, and entertain those around him despite our immense suffering. I really miss having him by my side while reporting. From the moment of his injury, I haven’t been able to bear the situation. It's incredibly difficult to see my colleague and companion in this work lying in front of me, paralyzed.
It is Fadi's right to travel to seek treatment. Where are the international organizations and press institutions concerned with the affairs of journalists? Is Fadi being punished simply for documenting the crimes of the Israeli occupation? We appeal to the whole world to stand with our colleague and exert pressure on the occupation army to allow him to leave Gaza so he may receive life-saving treatment. Look at what is happening to us, to the people of our nation. This message must reach the world.
THE AFTERMATH: AS TOLD BY HIBA AL-WAHIDI, FADI’S MOTHER, WHILE ON HUNGER STRIKE
Fadi's pain grows worse every day. New issues keep arising. For example, shocks have started in his hands and he hasn’t been able to sleep because of them. He can’t move and he needs painkillers that are often unavailable. He suffers from constant headaches. He feels pain in every part of his body that receives sensation.
Many of the treatments that Fadi has been prescribed are not available in Gaza. An injection might be available today, for instance, but in two days it’s either unavailable or can only be secured with great difficulty. The medications that could reduce the risk of blood clots forming are not available. Braces for his legs to reduce the swelling are not available. Even the simplest medicine, cream for the sores on his back from laying in bed for so long, is not available.
Fadi often begs us to take him outside, saying, “I just want to go out in the sun,” but we can’t carry him. Even if we held him up for two minutes, he might lose consciousness and slip into a coma. We have been pleading for a wheelchair for Fadi, just so we can sit him down and take him out to see the sun. It is all he asks: to see the sun, to see the street, but even those most basic rights are not afforded to him.
Though we received approval about twenty days ago for Fadi to be evacuated on his own — meaning without a companion — we are still waiting. Two days ago, his colleague Ali Al-Attar, to whom, of course, I wish recovery and a safe return, was evacuated from the Gaza Strip. Fadi’s mental state and mine, as a mother, have been destroyed. I was hoping that we’d be able to help both Fadi and Ali, though Fadi still remains, waiting day after day to receive treatment.
Everyone has shown immense solidarity with Fadi, which is why, as a mother, I wanted to do something for him, to stand by him. Fadi has always been my strength. He supported me so much during my illness. So two days ago I decided, as a cancer patient and as Fadi’s mother, that I would go on a hunger strike and stop my treatment until his evacuation. I’ve suffered health setbacks, of course. I’ve gotten dizzy and fainted, but I want to see Fadi out of Gaza and receiving treatment. He needs many surgeries, not just one or two. He needs many things. He needs a physical therapist, for example, who can come here and work with him even just on his hands — the simplest things.
We made appeals for Fadi as a journalist. We appealed to basically every human rights organization affiliated with journalism. We appealed to Queen Rania. We appealed to Tayyip Erdoğan, we appealed to so many people and organizations. I feel that there’s no use anymore; we’re just living by the day and all this delay isn’t in Fadi’s favor. I once had in my heart a deep hope that when this war ended, Fadi would begin to make a home, that I could celebrate him, like any of the other boys, but I’ve lost all hope for the future I was trying to help build for him, the future I wanted to see him in.
I want to send a message to the Western world that we, the people of Gaza, have endured the most hardships and witnessed the most wars. I wish my voice, and the voice of all the mothers of Gaza could be heard — the ones who lose their children every day, the ones whose children are here one day and gone tomorrow. I am sending a message to the entire Western world to stand in solidarity with Fadi, with the Palestinian people, with all the sick and the wounded. I hope my voice reaches all over the world: I wish you would stand with Fadi and with all journalists. They risk their lives to deliver the truth to the Arab and Western worlds, but, in the end, we can’t even secure Fadi his most basic rights.
He really loved the field of journalism. I opposed it, but he insisted, telling me “tomorrow you’ll see what I’ll become.” But in the end, this was his fate, God’s will. And our faith in God is great. By His will, Fadi will return and will stand on his feet again. Fadi will go back into the field and deliver his message, God willing, and Palestine will be free.