Kayed Hammad: "During the bombings, the whole family would gather together: if a bomb fell, we wanted it to kill us all at once."

BarcelonaKayed Hammad is a Palestinian actor, filmmaker, and activist. After years of helping to explain the reality of Gaza under Israeli attacks, in 2025 he and his family fled and settled in Spain, from where he continues to fight to raise awareness about the desperate situation in his homeland. On January 29, Hammad will be one of the featured artists at the Act x Palestine concert, which will take place at the Palau Sant Jordi and during which he will speak with actor Eduard Fernández.

In his latest report, Reporters Without Borders noted that Gaza is the most dangerous place in the world to work as a journalistWhat's it like reporting from there?

— I've been working with journalists for almost twenty years, most of them Spanish or from Latin America. There were always difficulties getting permits to enter Gaza from the Israeli side, but we always managed to get them eventually. It was a strategy by Israel to intimidate the journalists. But in war, it's different. From the very beginning, they haven't allowed any foreign journalists into the Gaza Strip, and the journalists who had been persecuted were targeted because they didn't want people to know exactly what was happening. The risk is there for everyone, but even more so for journalists because a journalist is more dangerous than an armed militiaman. More than 250 journalists have been killed, but it's important to note that this number only includes journalists who are registered as such. Then there are other people who have taken the initiative, such as journalism students or activists.

You have worked as fixer...which is a figure the general public isn't very familiar with. What job does a... fixer?

— Since 2003 I have worked as fixerI'm the one the media calls when they want to enter Gaza or other conflict zones. I handle obtaining the entry permit and then find the people they can interview, taking into account the topic the journalist wants to cover. I also did the translation and was in charge of their security.

Do you think that after many months of talking about Gaza, people are now starting to forget what's happening?

— Exactly. Trump's plan, which people call a ceasefire, I call a "stop and fire," or Trump's trap. It's not a ceasefire plan or a truce. It's becoming very clear with the Peace Council he's forming: it's a plan to govern not only Gaza but the entire world. He wants imperialism to return to the world stage. All of this is happening while the Palestinians are not represented. Now there's talk of humanitarian aid entering Gaza, but some of the goods coming in are for trade, sold to the population. People have been without work or assistance for two years. The situation, from my point of view and from what the people I'm in contact with tell me, is worse than before. Before, there was less food, but everyone knew what was happening in Gaza.

In the summer of 2025, you and your family decided to flee. When did you make this decision, and what motivated you?

— I, personally, never considered leaving because it seemed practically impossible. Because of my personality and my work, I wanted to stay among my people. But at the end of May 2025, a friend of mine, the journalist Mikel Ayestaran, and other journalists from the La Sexta team launched an initiative and wrote a letter to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to see if they could evacuate me. Mikel told me he wasn't very optimistic, but that at least they would make some noise. I also thought it would be impossible, but the consul called me and told me I was going to leave on June 18th. I told my children, and they were happy, despite my initial opinion. I lost a 24-year-old son, who was murdered, and I feel responsible for the lives of my other three children, and they wanted me to leave. Our departure was delayed a week because of the attack on Iran, and it was the worst week for my children because we had very little food and clothing. We had divided everything up. We have gone hungry many times, so it was just one more time. On June 25th we finally managed to leave after a terrible journey: the two-hour trip to the Jordanian border took eleven hours. On June 28th we arrived in Málaga.

How are you experiencing this exile?

— Here's the problem: we've left Gaza, but Gaza hasn't left us. It lives inside us. When you think about how good things are here, you feel guilty. I've left my sister, my brother, my nephews, my cousins. But you feel powerless to do anything for those people.

Death has become a constant for Palestinian families.

— There isn't a single Palestinian family that hasn't suffered the death of a son, a father... I've lost a son, but other families have been erased from the Civil Registry because they've all died, because families there usually live together in the same building. When so many people die, you're consumed by grief all the time. That's why, after losing my son, during the bombings, the whole family huddled together: if a bomb fell, we wanted it to kill us all at once. It's a miracle we're alive, and it's a miracle we managed to escape.

Do you see a future where Palestine can exist in peace?

— This is the hope we've held since 1948, the year my parents were expelled from their village. They came from two very wealthy families and lost so much. My father always told me, "If I don't live to see a free Palestine, you will; if not me, your son or your grandson will." This is what sustains us. To give up is to die a thousand times. If we cannot live with dignity, we will die with dignity.