Samar Abu Elouf: “I avoided visiting my children for fear that they would be bombed if they were with me.”

BarcelonaThe Centre for Contemporary Culture of Barcelona (CCCB) is hosting the World Press Photo 2025 exhibition from this Friday until December 14. This year's winner is Palestinian photojournalist Samar Abu Elouf, who captured the effects of war on the fragile body of young Mahmouds, who was disabled. The award recognizes a professional who defied her circumstances to become a photographer and who has already amassed a considerable collection of international awards.

Where were you when you received the news that you had won the World Press Photo?

— Well, I was in Egypt during Ramadan, and my first thought was that New York Times They contacted me to coordinate my trip for one of the regional awards, which had already been given out. But when I entered the virtual meeting and saw that there were many more media outlets present, I started laughing because I didn't understand the confusion, until I realized that they were telling me I had won the award and that it was something important.

What feelings did they awaken at that moment?

— I was happy, of course, but at the same time I felt sad. How could a photograph like mine win an award? How could I tell Mahmoud that his mutilated image had won an award? It was contradictory.

How did he do it?

— He asked himself the same question. "It's such a sad picture!" he'd say. But when he began sharing his story with various media outlets, he realized he had a role to play: to tell his story on behalf of thousands of children suffering the same situation.

What would I want to achieve with that image?

— He has already achieved something. He has participated in the exhibition in 60 countries, highlighting the story of many mutilated Palestinian children. Through this photograph, many people learned about the story of Mahmoud and his companions. But this also presents me with a challenge: what is the next step? It won't be easy.

She's a unique photographer. She started at 26, already a mother of three, and decided to break with the path that seemed set for her: being a mother and housewife. How did people react?

— At first it was difficult because I didn't get anyone's approval. On the contrary, I encountered a lot of resistance to me doing this work. Often, I had to lie and say I was at university when I was actually taking photographs. But I persevered, and here I am. The challenge was to prove my worth and that my work would win awards and be exhibited. So far, I've won about thirty awards, both nationally and internationally, over the years.

Are there any added difficulties because you are a female photographer?

— They were there, but I think I've overcome all the obstacles now. At first, I did notice a strange look from society when they saw a female photojournalist, but once they saw the results and realized I offered things that men couldn't, they understood why I insisted on continuing to do this work.

Are there any advantages, in fact?

— Yes, there are some areas in Gaza and some situations where it's easier for a female journalist to work. When I work with the WHO, or when I photograph women in operating rooms giving birth, it's easier to gain access. It's also easier to enter homes, talk to women, and learn their stories.

Her house was destroyed in an Israeli airstrike. I'd like to know, what does "home" mean to you today?

— For us, the house is a hug; it means memories, it means moments of family gatherings. It is everything; it is home.

Where do you plan to settle?

— It's a mystery, for now. I don't know at all. I don't know if they'll let me go back or if I'll stay there. I know absolutely nothing.

Where would you like to do it?

— In Gaza, without a doubt.

Do you believe that we have entered a stage of relative peace, as it is being portrayed?

— Absolutely not.

What would it take for that to happen?

— Everything. The bombings continue, the siege, there's still no way to make a living. And the geographical area of the Gaza Strip has shrunk even further. The situation in Gaza is much more complicated than before. To make matters worse, news from the Strip has stopped coming, and many people on the other side think everything is normal back home, when it's anything but. And it shows in everything. Take eggs, for example: there aren't any. You haven't been able to find eggs in Gaza since March.

What is the emotional burden of taking a photograph like the award-winning one?

— It's hard. But what's even harder is everything beyond the photograph: how will that boy, who's the same age as my son, ever rebuild his life? How will he ever have a normal life? Impossible.

Is there anything harder than photographing dead children in the absurdity of war?

— It's incredibly hard, yes. Extremely hard. But so is photographing the injured, because you can't help but wonder how they're going to rebuild their lives. As they grow older, everything will become more complicated for them.

The Gaza war is the deadliest conflict for journalists, with at least 246 professionals killed. Have you suffered any threats to your physical safety?

— I have certainly suffered. And that is why I left Gaza: there was danger to me, my family, and my children. Sometimes Israel targeted the journalist, sometimes his family, and sometimes all of them together.

How did he manage that enormous risk?

— I avoided visiting my parents or my children, for fear they would be bombed if they were with me. I slept in the hospital, in the car, on the street, to avoid making my family a target in a bombing raid.

Where does this courage come from?

— Of my love for the Strip.

Does being a mother of four influence your photographic eye?

— Yes, definitely. It's something that helps me when I'm taking photos, especially of children the same age as my own. Or when I photograph mothers and I completely understand their situation, their feelings... everything. I think the work of a photographer who has been a mother is different from that of one who hasn't.

In journalism 101 they teach you to keep your distance. But is it possible to do that when what you see provokes horror and outrage?

— However, it is possible. My goal is to tell the general public, so I think yes, it's possible to maintain a certain distance. I'm a calm person who does my job professionally. I pay attention, but I try to be as neutral as possible. I understand the pressure you're referring to, but I'm interested in the final product.

But are there moments of emotion?

— Without a doubt, without a doubt.