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Sunday, 19 May. 2024
 
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SEATTLE (PC) - There is journalism, and there is heroism. Ali Samudi, excels in both.

His name is always associated with Jenin. He was born and raised there. His home, at the entrance of the refugee camp, a humble house, partly unfinished is a center of communication. He can track the atrocities of his camp by dates, names and numbers, without resorting to a search engine or piles of archived articles. He was there too during a massacre, a massacre of which he was a witness.

Ali is a cameraman, whose work is often used by Reuters. In Jenin he is simply known as “Ali the Journalist”. And no one can convey the news in Jenin like “Ali the journalist”.




















"Ali the journalist" in Jenin

I happened to know him at a time in his life where his dedication to “get the word out” has reached a point of obsession. Obsessed myself, me and Ali cooperated on some important projects dealing with Jenin, the April massacre, the daily atrocities and the faces behind the numbers.

But I also missed much of what Ali has encountered. On Sep. 11, 2001 Ali sustained serious wounds when an Israeli army tank, apparently agitated by this short dark Palestinian journalist, documenting every move the Israeli army makes, decided to bring an end to it all. A tank shell was fired at Ali that kept him in the hospital, dancing between life and death for three months.

But Ali returned as he always does, carrying his camera in the dusty streets of Jenin, filming funerals, documenting massacres and conveying realities that if it wasn’t for his likes, would have been buried for ever.

In recent months, it was Ali was who carried Imad Abu Zahra, 36 as the man was grasping his last breath. Imad and Ali were filming together last July when Imad was shot. Ali’s pleas to the soldiers to grant a Red Crescent ambulance access to his friend went unanswered. Imad died as Ali held tight on him and his camera.

Ali is young, in his early 30s, but it seems that his journey with his camera extends beyond years. When the Israeli army invaded Jenin, last April, an invasion that led untold atrocities, to a massacre, he had no form of transportation, no money, not even a jacket. He ran to the center of the camp all alone, late at night, carrying a camera and an extra battery. He stayed in the camp for six days, enough to film almost every image we watched on television in the first week of the invasion, enough to witnesses the horror and to convey it.

He was in the midst of the battles, hearing the last whisper of freedom fighters as they fell while defending the camp, recording the cries for help, watching the children crying over a sip of water. Some thought that he wouldn’t live to tell it all. He bitterly jokes about a rumor that the Israelis killed him during the shelling, a rumor that was circulated by the media, and sparked a march by human rights activists and fellow journalists in Nazareth. He learned from the news that he was dead, but by then he was cut off from the outside world. Nearly a week later, he returned to his home.

“I reached my home between the camp and the town. My family was in miserable condition. My wife, who has diabetes was wearing black. There I was, a dead man walking,” he wrote me shortly after the massacre.

But he survived and his footage is sometimes the only reminder that there is a refugee camp called Jenin in which people continue to resist, and die.

He recalls the twelfth day of the Israeli invasion of Jenin, when the camp’s population was expelled and ordered never to return.

“Then my cell phone rang, a friend shouted in a panic stricken voice, “Ali, get your camera right away and get out of the house!” I did not ask him for more details, nor did he want to elaborate. I took my camera, turned it on and ran.

“I was barefoot as I opened the door and took to the street, trying to find what my friend wanted me to see. And there they were... hundreds of people, an ocean of women, children and old men, all carrying white flags, with dusty faces and teary eyes. They passed by me, and with them passed a cloud of dust. The weeping voices continue to invade my memory until this day. They were not defeated nor did they lose the battle. They were simply seeking freedom.”

And while the people of Jenin, continue to seek the freedom of which they are deprived, Ali continues to close up on their faces, their tears and their stories.

A few weeks ago, Ali’s car exploded when a helicopter missile turned it into a ball of fire. He had to buy the car, he said, because carrying his heavy equipments throughout the refugee camp was time consuming. He invested much of his savings in that beat up Fiat. Now he lost it. The same way he lost most of his office equipment during Israeli shelling of the camp.

But nothing can stand between “Ali the Journalist” and his determination to convey the story of his tiny refugee camp. He goes out of his way to help. If you would wake him up after midnight to ask about what happened in his camp on any particular day, he’d answer you with thoughtfulness and thank you that you cared.

Ali is not interested in a Pulitzer Prize in Journalism, nor does he care to learn what that is. His only hope is that the story of his people’s plight and just struggle can reach the world. He walks through the streets of Jenin for hours everyday to convey that story. He weeps in his colleagues funerals, he helps carry the dead, he is often chased by military jeeps and tanks, but rarely does he put his camera down.

I don’t trust Ali’s assurances that he “will be okay”, so I decided to write this tribute to him while he is still alive.

Thank you Ali, and thanks to you, the standards of honorable journalism are as high as they can possibly reach.

-Ramzy Baroud is a Palestinian journalist, editor-in-chief of Palestine Chronicle

Source: Palestine Chronicle

 
 
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