What the “Voice of Gaza” Chose Not to Tell the World 

*This article was originally published in French

On January 24, 2024, the day after he left Gaza, Franceinfo quoted an activist’s description of Motaz Azaiza as “the voice of Gazans.” A few months later, Time named him one of the world’s hundred most influential people. His photographs had shown the destruction, the wounded, the families left with nothing.

But being “the voice of Gaza” means answering a question: what did you choose to leave unsaid?

In an interview lasting more than three hours with the Arabic-language podcast Taqarob, published on September 3, the photographer provides some answers. He says that on October 7, 2023, he came across a vehicle belonging to the Al-Qassam Brigades carrying Israeli hostages. People approached and beat them; he followed and filmed. He did not publish that footage.

In his response on Instagram, as the controversy grew, he cited the risk of revealing the location and endangering Palestinian civilians.

Yet the choice was never simply between publishing everything and remaining silent. Faces can be blurred. What was witnessed can be described. Footage can be handed over to investigators.

The interview also sheds light on his relationship with Hamas. He speaks of friends within the movement whom he could call on to fly a drone, gain access to a filming location or resolve a problem. Worse, he says that on the morning of October 7, he got goosebumps listening to Mohammed Deif and watching the first images of the assault.

No one should be surprised by these revelations. As early as April 2024, HonestReporting flagged a since-deleted October 7 post in which he shared a video of Hamas men inside Israel, with a caption announcing their entry into Israeli communities and an avalanche of exclamation marks. The organization challenged Rashida Tlaib, who had just paid tribute to him.

In France, even before he received the Freedom Prize, Le Journal du Dimanche had published an article about his positions. Nassim Lévy, a representative of Jewish associations in Caen and Normandy, had challenged the choice of recipient. Around twenty lawmakers from the presidential majority had also protested. On June 4, 2024, the International Federation of Journalists responded by publishing a statement of support, signed by, among others, the SNJ, SNJ-CGT and CFDT Journalistes unions, describing Nassim Lévy’s accusations as “defamatory statements.”

The warnings had been heard. People simply preferred not to listen.

He received the prize in Caen, along with €25,000, in front of nearly four thousand high school students and Second World War veterans. As part of the eightieth anniversary of D-Day, he was being honored for his commitment to press freedom and the right to information. Those words also carry obligations for the people who spoke them.

In July 2026, he was among the signatories of an opinion piece supporting Rima Hassan. In the United States, Ms. Rachel, the star of videos for toddlers, introduced him as a friend; Macklemore used one of his photographs for “Hind’s Hall 2” and proudly appeared alongside him.

His account now raises a broader question: under what conditions was information coming out of Gaza?

Azaiza describes photographers lowering their cameras whenever a resident criticized Hamas; he says he kept filming. He mentions a WhatsApp group called “Smart,” administered, according to him, by a Hamas media official connected to the Rafah border crossing. Links were shared, phone numbers circulated and participants encouraged to harass dissenting voices. He says he himself was targeted.

Here, too, warnings already existed. In May 2025, the Committee to Protect Journalists published an investigation into Hamas violence against Gaza’s press. Tawfiq Abu Jarad had been ordered not to cover a demonstration. Mohammed Abu Aoun recounted being beaten after interviewing a woman who insulted the movement’s leaders. Others refused to have their accounts made public.

An official from the Palestinian Journalists’ Syndicate also explained that some journalists hesitated to reveal their difficulties for fear of diverting attention from the war. Alongside the threat of violence, there could also be a conviction that exposing repression would undermine the cause.

The first people deprived of a voice are the Palestinians themselves. Azaiza now accuses Hamas of having failed to protect a single resident with its weapons. A Gazan who blames the movement for leading him into disaster is expressing a political view. Silencing him means denying him the right to name his own oppressors. Those who say they want Palestinian voices to be heard should be the first to be concerned.

What did newsrooms do with these warnings? What did they tell the public about the pressure on their sources and the testimonies that were suppressed?

The media outlets and public figures who gave Motaz Azaiza an enormous audience should now examine their own ethical standards. They made him “the voice of Gazans.” They must now listen to what he says about his ties to Hamas, the system it established and the voices that were silenced.

Simone Rodan-Benzaquen is senior envoy for Europe at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies (FDD).