*Watched, Tracked, and Targeted*
/Life in Gaza under Israel’s all-encompassing surveillance regime./
By Mohammed R. Mhawish, a Palestinian writer and journalist from Gaza
Dec. 3, 2025
n the days before we reached the Netzarim checkpoint in Gaza in early
April 2024, my wife and I rehearsed a stripped-down version of
ourselves. We had already lived through six months of war, but this
would be the first time we stood before Israeli soldiers. After seeing
journalists killed, hospitals bombed, and bullets ripping through
children, we believed that how we told our story could mean everything —
for our lives and our chances of getting out.
We would tell the truth. But we would keep it to the parts least likely
to invite suspicion: that we were a displaced family obeying Israel’s
orders, which often came via air-dropped flyers and anonymous, automated
phone calls, to evacuate south after our neighborhood in Gaza City was
left devastated by months of bombardment; that Asmaa was pregnant; and
that our 2-year-old son, Rafik, was weak from malnutrition. We planned
to avoid identifying ourselves as journalists. And we would say nothing
to betray that we intended for this journey to be the start of our
escape from Gaza, that we planned to exit into Egypt through the Rafah
crossing. I practiced my answers until the words felt cold. I was
prepared to speak only as a father and husband trying to survive.
We walked through a shell-scarred stretch of road by the Mediterranean.
The stroller wheels scraped against broken concrete; drones hummed
above. My /hawiya/ — the green Israeli-authorized ID Gazans carry — was
in my pocket. After about two hours of walking, we arrived at Netzarim.
A coastal stretch where families once walked the beach, it was now a
militarized corridor of tanks, berms, and scanners. Two tanks sat ahead
of us, snipers stood above the mounds of debris, and a line of soldiers
grew clearer with every step.
At the checkpoint, soldiers herded the crowd into groups of five. I kept
my eyes on Rafik. A soldier motioned us forward toward a camera: a dark
orb behind glass on a tripod, a red light blinking beneath its lens.
While Asmaa gripped our son’s hand, soldiers watched a screen behind the
camera. Asmaa and Rafik went first. We stared into it and held our
breath, waiting for their thumbs-up — the signal soldiers had used for
people to move on. Others were pulled aside.
[...]
continua qui:
https://nymag.com/intelligencer/article/watched-tracked-targeted-israel-surveillance-gaza.html
