Motaz Azaiza turned 25 today. He is no longer a “24-year-old photojournalist from Gaza”, a sentence nested in his Instagram bio and imprinted in our minds forever. Or is it just my mind? Not sure why that particular sentence gets me. Every time I see it on his profile, it’s like a headline in neon staring me down, an alarming collection of letters that haunt me.
Is it because my nephew was born in the same year? Am I tormented by imagining my nephew, a baby I held in my arms when he was smaller than a loaf of bread, having to document a slaughter of his people, friends, neighbors, and family—instead of chugging bears by the seaside?
Another line from Motaz’s Instagram torments me. “My photos traveled the world but my feet couldn’t touch my Homeland. Gaza Strip - Occupied Palestine”. Where do you even begin with that one? Another magnitude of the Israeli government’s human rights violations and unfiltered disdain towards people that they occupy. His photographs are now all over the free…
