The final shot
By Rodney Palmer Posted Oct 1 2003
The bullet that killed Mazen Dana in Iraq might have been the 30th one that hit him in the last 10 years. It might even have been the 40th or 50th.
“I stopped counting how many times they shot me,” Mazen once told me over a feast of lamb on his rooftop terrace. He was a quietly proud man, father, and the owner of a recently completed dream home overlooking the ancient olive groves in the fertile West Bank hills of Hebron. It's hard to imagine someone being shot more than 24 times, but Mazen had been. Indeed, the evidence displayed in bullet-hole scars across his legs, body and face told a story of danger and courage.
Mazen trained many of the news camera operators in Hebron. Together they filmed events that appeared on newscasts in almost every country in the world. With Mazen as their unofficial leader, these camera operators were behind the pictures the world sees.
But while the world saw their polished stories, they were taking beatings and bullets. The Jewish settlers in Hebron often attack news photographers. If the photographers defend themselves, Israeli soldiers are duty-bound to protect the settlers.
Mazen and all the cameramen of Hebron were routinely beaten or shot in the line of duty. It was a brutal workplace hazard that he endured as routine but never accepted as normal. He said the shootings were not crossfire accidents but a constant harassment against him and other journalists.
Mazen pushed for official investigation into the treatment of journalists in Hebron but never got it. Even after he and his colleagues collected a video library depicting one of the most consistent brutalizations of journalists ever captured on tape.
They and their massive cache of tapes were the subject of a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation television documentary, which has aired in more than twenty countries, and they were profiled by PBS Frontline/World this year in a story called “In The Line of Fire.” Mazen was the main character.
Somehow being shot rarely fazed Mazen. Instead, it was the beatings that left cracks in his soul. Mazen was more than six feet tall, strong and handsome. It was when he was kicked and punched by mobs of teenagers, or Israeli soldiers, that one could see the pain of powerlessness in the eyes of this powerful man.
In the spring of 2002 Mazen was recognized by the Committee to Protect Journalists with the prestigious International Press Freedom Award. After not being allowed out of the provincial confines of Hebron for years, Mazen was flown to New York, where the opulent Waldorf Astoria was decorated for him and three others being honored. It was a glamorous spectacle with American journalism's royalty, including Tom Brokaw and Ted Koppel, congratulating Mazen Dana for his courageous pursuit of truth.
Shortly after he returned to Hebron, a bullet ripped through his camera while he was filming at a demolition site. There was no battle at the time. Perhaps as punishment for bringing his story onto the world stage, Mazen said he believed the bullet was aimed at his head.
His boss at Reuters had the bullet analyzed and discovered the caliber was the same used by Israeli army snipers. The army did not investigate the shooting, and Mazen's boss took him off the streets of Hebron to save his life.
During the last year, Mazen worked, somewhat unhappily, as writer, editor and bureau chief in Hebron. His heart was always in the field where he thrived on his ability to stay calm through situations that would rightfully terrify the average person.
Getting sent to Baghdad was Mazen's chance to return to the field. On the final day of his assignment, Mazen was shot one last time — this time by an American soldier who aimed directly at Mazen's chest with the intent to kill.
Reuters, along with international journalist organizations and the Dana family, are calling on the U.S. government to investigate the killing. They're trying to ensure that the man who fought for protection of journalists during his life receives the respect of a full and transparent investigation into his death.
