Palestine Letter: Holding power to account

When I told my Arabic-language teacher back in high school that I wanted to become a journalist, he told me, “That’s not enough, you need to know what kind of journalist you want to be.” 

At the time, I didn’t know what he meant. How many ways could there be to do journalism? 

Years later, I think I understand what he meant. He was asking me whether I wanted to work for the kinds of media platforms that treat journalism like a business, the outlets that report on what sells and try to satisfy market demands, which aren’t determined by everyday readers, but by private stakeholders; or whether I wanted to be the kind of journalist who is wedded to the social mission of making information available to as many people as possible and holding power to account. 

In the past two years, journalism on a world scale has been put to the test. Mainstream “legacy” media outlets with storied reputations have forsaken their own journalistic standards. From systematically adopting passive language, to prohibiting the use of certain words to describe Israel’s genocide, to recycling Israeli atrocity propaganda that does not meet their own standards of evidence, to casting doubt on Palestinian figures tallying the number of the dead, to uncritically repeating claims of official Israeli statements as if they were objective facts.

Cowardice and opportunism in journalism exact a price, and it’s primarily paid by the people with bombs dropping over their heads.

Last September, I wrote a feature on what it takes to be a Palestinian journalist, and how, for Palestinians, journalism has always been wedded to a just cause. The first Palestinian writer to be assassinated by Israel, Ghassan Kanafani — most well-known as a literary figure — was a journalist and editor:

Kanafani, now a towering figure in Palestinian literature and political history, was also one of the earliest Palestinian proponents of what is today regarded as “committed journalism” — journalism in the service of the cause of liberation.

I wrote about how this type of journalism does not derive its journalistic integrity and professional ethics from the guidelines of AP or the New York Times, but is “grounded in their loyalty to the suffering and sacrifices of their people, and to their fallen colleagues.” 

This type of journalism doesn’t wear a suit and tie, and it doesn’t accept Pulitzers. It is covered in dust from the rubble of bombed-out hospitals in Gaza. It is saturated with the smell of teargas in the streets of the West Bank. It only continues because men and women put their lives on the line to bring Palestine’s reality, and that of its people, to you. Don’t take it for granted.

The media outlets whose work is regarded as the gold standard of professionalism in journalism in the West, while polished and pristine on the surface, often allow the integrity of their work to take a backseat to power.

Thinking back on my high school teacher’s warning, I can understand that he was giving me a responsibility. He was telling me that if I wasn’t going to do good through my work, then I should at least do no harm. Today, I understand that his warning extends to the lines we write here on this site.

It seems odd that this places Palestinian journalists in direct opposition to the media narratives propped up by outlets regarded as the “papers of record.” If you’re going to hold power to account, going against the media establishment is unavoidable. But it’s the kind of journalism we need.