By During the ongoing Israeli offensive in Gaza, journalism has become more critical than ever. Palestinian journalists have covered the ongoing war in different formats and mediums, especially social media. Muslim Girl got the opportunity to interview Dena Takruri, a Palestinian-American journalist and producer who has won many awards for her work with AJ+. She is the host of the award-winning AJ+ docuseries “Direct From with Dena Takruri,” which focuses on domestic and international news and current events. Takruri also co-authored Palestinian youth activist Ahed Tamimi’s memoir, “They Called Me A Lioness” (2022). It was a privilege speaking to Takruri and benefiting from her expertise and knowledge on Palestinian life under occupation and the state of Palestinian journalism today.
Throughout our conversation, Takruri tapped into critical conversations that need to be brought forth as we alter the mainstream gaze.
From the struggles of Palestinians in Hebron to the childhood that shaped Tamimi’s character and her award-winning series, we have had the pleasure of sitting with this groundbreaking presenter and journalist to share her original insights.
FATIMAH [FROM MUSLIM GIRL]: You recently won a Peabody Award for your work with AJ+ documenting the lives of Palestinians in Hebron. Especially since this was a deeply personal story for you, how did it feel to visit Hebron and see the conditions there?
DENA TAKRURI: It was an extremely emotional journey for me. I’m not used to centering myself in the stories that I do, but both my parents were born in Hebron, and I visited the city growing up. I knew from prior visits as an adult that the old city of Hebron was really ground zero of Israeli apartheid, so the idea was to retell that story by retracing my family roots.
I did not realize that where my father grew up was exactly in the old city, and the segregated streets today were where he once went to school, went grocery shopping, and where his family home was. So it’s extremely devastating on a human level but also on a personal level. I think that’s what makes the video so compelling because you can see me being confronted in real-time with the conditions in Hebron. We were only filming for one day, but over the course of that day, my crew and I were harassed by Israeli soldiers, harassed by Israeli settlers who live there in violation of international law and arbitrarily held up by security forces.
I even met an American settler living in Hebron who told me to my face that there was no such thing as Palestinians.
I even met an American settler living in Hebron who told me to my face that there was no such thing as Palestinians. It was a very rude and harsh awakening to the indignities felt all over Palestine that I experienced in this specific area of the old city of Hebron. There’s one scene in the video where I’m on Shuhada Street, which used to be one of the busiest streets in Hebron until the Israeli government banned Palestinians from walking on it. Now, it’s totally quiet, empty, and almost eerie. I Facetimed my dad and he was able to point out specific places where he would go as a child, like the vegetable market, shops he would go to, and even the cemetery where his parents and ancestors are buried.
I think it also hits on the very real generational trauma that we as Palestinians carry because of this history of dispossession, apartheid, and injustice. It was very heavy.
I think that was the first time I ever cried on camera when the cameraman asked me how I felt about it at that moment. I think it also hits on the very real generational trauma that we as Palestinians carry because of this history of dispossession, apartheid, and injustice. It was very heavy. I came back and I wasn’t even able to look at the footage for a while. It took a lot out of me.
I can really see how that must be difficult to experience. I remember during the video, there was a story of a woman who said she hadn’t been allowed on Shuhada Street for 25 years. I think that’s a real testament to the generational trauma felt by Palestinians, where they can trace exactly how they lost freedom of movement in their homes and how they deal with the before and after.
Yes, and there are so many stories that didn’t even make it into the documentary she told me during her first pregnancy she miscarried because she was giving birth on the roof of the house and Israeli soldiers blocked an ambulance and blocked her husband from coming so she bled out and lost her baby.
Everywhere I went, everyone I spoke to — even the ones who weren’t on camera — had a story about how they were harassed, or how Israeli settlers falsely accused them of something so Israeli soldiers would detain them or arrest them. It’s such a common story. We’re seeing this to the fullest extent with what’s happening in Gaza right now, just the sheer impunity with how Israeli soldiers operate on indigenous Palestinian land; it’s so unjust.
Ahed’s evolution as a young activist: How has her understanding over time of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict been shaped by her experience growing up in the West Bank?
Ahed Tamimi was forced into this reality, and she was made to have a very sophisticated understanding of the surroundings because she grew up in a very violent and oppressive context. She was 8 years old when her village’s weekly peaceful resistance marches began where the members of her village and other solidarity activists would try to march down the spring that was by the village that was illegally confiscated by Israeli settlers. In doing that, just by holding this march every Friday, they were targeted. The Israeli soldiers would open fire on them with rubber bullets, tear gas, skunk water, and even live bullets.
She grew up literally witnessing her parents shot, and her favorite uncle Rushdie shot and killed before her eyes.
She grew up literally witnessing her parents shot, and her favorite uncle Rushdie shot and killed before her eyes. Her cousin Mustafa was shot by a tear gas canister which took out his eye and killed him. And this was all before she was ten years old. She grew up knowing that she lives under occupation that there’s no justice and that it is her duty to defend her land.
She wasn’t afforded the opportunity to have a normal childhood. Her dream was to become a soccer player, but after her father was arrested so many times and her uncle was killed in front of her she decided she had to put those dreams aside and fight for her country. Also, the conversations around her; she would sit with her uncles and cousins and they would tell stories about their time in prison and how they were arrested by the Israeli military. All of these things raised her consciousness.
She always knew it wasn’t a matter of if she would be arrested, it was a matter of when.
She always knew it wasn’t a matter of if she would be arrested, it was a matter of when. When you grow up seeing all that stuff as she did, the violence and bloodshed and unrest around her, they just became so commonplace and made her break her fear barrier. She was a very scared girl in the beginning. When these marches first happened, she would hide in the corner of her house, where she felt the safest, and she would beg her parents to not go out. It was terrifying for her. Eventually, she realized, this is just something you have to do for your homeland. She also realized she was no safer indoors than outdoors.
One time she was inside and Israeli soldiers fired a tear gas canister into the house which filled the home with tear gas, causing the family to choke, and flee their house, where a soldier fired a rubber bullet at her and broke her hand.
She also experienced several night raids on her house, which would be without warning. Those traumatic experiences showed her she wasn’t safe outside or inside. They erased all her fear and pushed her to face these elements. Ahed likes to say she isn’t the only one who’s had to face such extreme trauma, and it’s true, Ahed is just one of millions of Palestinian children who suffer from this every day.
The impact of Ahed’s story: How has her experience resonated with Palestinians and the international community?
There was a lot of pride in her. She became the face of a movement. I want to make it clear, she did not choose to be in this situation. Ahed does not like to be the center of public attention and she’s incredibly humble. To the extent she feels it’s necessary to speak up for her country and people, she does.
I think that a lot of people learned about Palestine and the occupation and what it means to be a child growing up under this occupation from Ahed and her story.
So when she was arrested at 16, she was catapulted into the international spotlight and she became the symbol of Palestinian resistance around the world. I think that a lot of people learned about Palestine and the occupation and what it means to be a child growing up under this occupation from Ahed and her story.
I think it really resonated with people; I constantly see people posting on social media about Ahed’s book (They Called Me A Lioness: A Palestinian Girl’s Fight for Freedom) saying how much it opened their eyes to the conditions in Palestine. I think her story has been a really good entry point into the Palestinian lived experience, especially for young people.
The role of young people in Palestinian activism: What are the opportunities and challenges faced by young Palestinians in the pursuit of social and political change?
There’s absolutely no freedom of movement. There are checkpoints everywhere, they can arbitrarily close the gate of a village or road to prevent people from coming and leaving. Even the basic movement for everyday life, like going from has been made so much harder. That’s not to mention that many people are being stopped and being made to show their phones to check for any content deemed subversive by the Israeli military. There is always the risk of arbitrary detainment, imprisonment, and more. It is a very dangerous climate. There’s no freedom whatsoever.
There is more suppression of free speech now than ever before, especially after October 7, as well as a huge increase in settler violence. The settlements in the West Bank have expanded greatly, and we’ve seen many instances of settlers attacking Palestinians in their own land where they operate with the complete backing of Israeli soldiers. Even Israeli officials have referred to them as pogroms. It’s sad and it’s no life that anyone could or should accept. You can see how settler violence works in the documentary “One Day In Hebron” when I’m interviewing the little girl Salwa in her house, and she keeps looking up because she’s scared of the settlers that live in the building above her.
I asked her in the video if she was looking up because she thought [Israeli settlers] were going to throw something down on her, and she said yes, they throw rocks, garbage, and all sorts of things down at her and her family.
She told me how they’re always throwing stuff down at her and her siblings when they are trying to play. I asked her in the video if she was looking up because she thought they were going to throw something down on her, and she said yes, they throw rocks, garbage, and all sorts of things down at her and her family. That is just an everyday fact of life for so many Palestinians. Her big wish right now, aside from being a doctor, is to leave the home her family has lived in for generations because she feels no semblance of safety at all.
The ongoing conflict in Gaza has really introduced new forms of journalism by young Gazans as foreign journalists cannot enter Gaza, not only for safety reasons but also because the Israeli government has placed strict restrictions on access. For our reader’s context, when you visited the West Bank in 2022 to film in Hebron, what was the process like to obtain authorization and permits to enter and film? What was the experience of you and your team members, even though you are an American citizen?
So, we didn’t need permission to film per se, because I was only filming in the occupied West Bank which is Palestinian land. Another thing to note is that I am a Palestinian citizen as well, and I have a West Bank Palestinian ID that was passed on to me by my mother. Palestinians in Gaza are given a separate ID from those in the West Bank, and free movement between the West Bank, Jerusalem, Israel proper, and Gaza is heavily restricted if not outright banned.
What I have observed in my years reporting there, is that the Israeli army has become much more hostile to journalists in recent years. It has become increasingly scary and risky to work as a journalist there.
I was filming the Hebron documentary, just weeks after the death of my friend and colleague Shireen Abu-Akhleh, who was clearly wearing a press vest and had identified herself to be a journalist as she reported on the Jenin refugee camp. And yet, she was killed by a shot to the head by an Israeli sniper. It’s been proven that it was Israelis who killed her, and they did so with impunity.
She was one of the most beloved and well-known Palestinian journalists, like the heart and soul of Palestine. We still continue to demand justice for her today. And that’s just one of many examples of the attack on Palestinian journalists, which we see so clearly with the unprecedented targeting of journalists in Gaza currently as well. Even when we were filming in Hebron, the minute we crossed the checkpoint we were harassed and crowded by IDF soldiers as we tried to film.
A soldier told my cameraman that he filmed a military outpost so we needed to surrender the film, but we hadn’t filmed anything of the sort.
For me it was such a rude awakening; you know, I was returning to my father’s hometown, I was retracing my family’s footsteps, and I was immediately getting harassed, detained, and yelled at, it was just a small example of the absolute arbitrariness with which they operate sometimes. A soldier told my cameraman that he filmed a military outpost so we needed to surrender the film, but we hadn’t filmed anything of the sort. So I, with the understanding that Shireen had just been killed and that another Palestinian American journalist named Haya Yasmeen and her mother had just been filming in that spot a few weeks prior to me and were detained and forced to strip; I was frightened going in. It’s never been more dangerous to be a Palestinian journalist.
Especially now, when we see the attacks and outright targeting of journalists and their families in Gaza, the lack of outrage from the West is flabbergasting and it’s so shameful. I feel like if it was in any other context, we would hear about it in a much different way.
It’s just another example of how Palestinian lives are so devalued in the West, and it’s a source of real anger for me that we haven’t seen more genuine solidarity and outrage
How have you seen the narrative around Palestinian issues changing over the years? What role do you think social media plays in that? How has the ability of Palestinians to spread their perspectives and experiences via TikTok, Instagram, or X changed the nature of coverage of Palestine? What are some key features of Palestinian journalism?
I think it’s really democratized the media coverage we see around Palestine and pushed back against the traditional media that so often dehumanizes Palestinians and silences them. I think social media has been an incredibly powerful tool to educate people, especially young people, about the reality there. I credit the coverage of AJ+, where I work, for playing a role in this education because we’ve been at it for ten years now. I think social media has really opened people’s eyes, and allowed them to hear from Palestinians directly and witness firsthand the daily life of Palestinians.
I think that’s why we see so much of a generational divide now, where young people overwhelmingly support justice in Palestine because they have access to these very unfiltered testimonies and footage of what’s happening there.
I can see how the Palestinian cause is more widely understood and supported now than ever before by the people. I’ve covered a lot of the direct actions in the San Francisco Bay Area, and I have never seen such a diverse, multi-ethnic, multi-religious, multi-generational movement as I have now called for a ceasefire and an end to the occupation. It has been really pleasantly surprising to see how people are showing up for the Palestinian cause now as opposed to even just a few years ago.
What is something that you’ve seen while reporting around the world that has really resonated with you?
I was recently in Doha for a talk, but I also went to be as close as I could to Gaza. A lot of people from Gaza have been evacuated and are getting treated in Doha. I met three kids whose houses were bombed, including an eleven-year-old called Dareen.
In late October, an airstrike hit her family’s house and killed dozens-maybe over 70- family members, and only she and her five-year-old brother survived. She was still in a wheelchair when I saw her and. in a lot of pain.
A few days later I visited a 16-year-old boy Baraa who was there with his mother and his little brother in the hospital. Baraa was sleeping in his home with his family in Gaza City when a missile landed right on top of him and immediately severed his leg.
They represent a generation of Palestinian children from Gaza who will never be the same. This is our doing as Americans, and I think that’s something everyone should have to reckon with and grapple with. What do you say to Dareen, who will never see her parents again? She watches home videos on YouTube that her father made of her family just to hear his voice.
Baraa is an amputee now. His two little sisters and his father are still in extreme danger in Gaza. His family has been torn apart. It’s so heartbreaking.
The knowledge that it’s the U.S. money that did this; this is a US-backed Israeli war, a US-backed genocide, and we’re responsible for the fact that Dareen and her brother Kinan are orphans, we’re responsible for the fact that Baraa lost his leg. It weighs on my conscience and it should weigh on everyone’s conscience. We already know that more than 33,000 people have died, thousands of children have been killed or orphaned, and there are now more amputees than ever. This is defining a generation. This is a stain on our collective humanity, and nobody should look away. I think that’s what I want to leave you with.
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