Mohammad Al-Salhi

Their life

Mohammad Al-Salhi, a 31-year-old photojournalist from Gaza's Al-Bureij refugee camp, spent his career documenting life under blockade until Israeli forces cut short his mission on October 7, 2023—the first day of Israel's devastating offensive. Born and raised in the cramped concrete alleys of Al-Bureij, Al-Salhi developed an early eye for framing resilience, his images of children playing in bombed-out buildings earning him local acclaim during the 2014 war. By 2018, he became a frontline chronicler of the Great March of Return protests, his haunting shots of sniper victims published in The New York Times and Le Monde. On that final morning, Al-Salhi raced toward gunfire near the separation fence—as he'd done countless times—only to become the subject of his own grim tableau when an Israeli sniper's bullet pierced his press vest. His last transmitted photo, blurred with motion, shows a tank column advancing through olive groves, its timestamp just 47 seconds before colleagues found him face-down in the soil, camera still strapped around his neck.

Mohammad Al-Salhi, a 31-year-old photojournalist from Gaza's Al-Bureij refugee camp, spent his career documenting life under blockade until Israeli forces cut short his mission on October 7, 2023—the first day of Israel's devastating offensive. Born and raised in the cramped concrete alleys of Al-Bureij, Al-Salhi developed an early eye for framing resilience, his images of children playing in bombed-out buildings earning him local acclaim during the 2014 war. By 2018, he became a frontline chronicler of the Great March of Return protests, his haunting shots of sniper victims published in The New York Times and Le Monde. On that final morning, Al-Salhi raced toward gunfire near the separation fence—as he'd done countless times—only to become the subject of his own grim tableau when an Israeli sniper's bullet pierced his press vest. His last transmitted photo, blurred with motion, shows a tank column advancing through olive groves, its timestamp just 47 seconds before colleagues found him face-down in the soil, camera still strapped around his neck. Posthumously, his unpublished work on displacement in Al-Bureij became evidence in ICC war crimes filings, while his family's demand for his confiscated equipment sparked a wider campaign by the Palestinian Journalists' Syndicate to recover slain reporters' gear. Today, his framed portrait hangs in Al-Bureij's sole surviving press club, where trainees now use his recovered memory cards to study what colleagues call "the art of witnessing." His legacy persists in the chilling statistic he inaugurated: the first of over 150 journalists killed in Gaza's deadliest war for the press.

How they died

Circumstances: Shot by Israeli forces

Circumstances: Shot by Israeli forces while documenting military operations near the separation fence.

A plea from the family

The surviving relatives of martyred photojournalist Mohammad Al-Salhi have waged a relentless campaign for justice, transforming their personal grief into a global symbol of Israel's systemic targeting of Gaza's press corps. His widow, Abeer Al-Salhi, preserves his bloodstained press card in a pendant she wears during speeches at UN side events, where she demands: "Where is the protective power of these press insignia when snipers treat them as bullseyes?" His father, Jamal Al-Salhi, a former fisherman, now navigates the labyrinth of international law—submitting his son's last geotagged photos to the ICC as forensic evidence, each image timestamped and mapped to corresponding Israeli military positions.

Why we remember them

This record exists so that Mohammad Al-Salhi, and all who are named in this archive, are never reduced to a number.

References & sources