Gaza's blackouts: 'You might be killed for trying to have internet access at public points'

The Journal

6 hours ago

Hana Salah
Palestinian journalist
GAZA HAS BEEN offline completely for days at a time over the past month.
Between 12 and 14 June, there was a full blackout across the the Strip.
It takes me back to October 2023 when Israel's bombardment began and I vanished from the digital world because of the targeting of the main lines providing Gaza telecommunication companies with the internet.
In the face of repeated communication blackouts in Gaza, eSIM cards have become the only lifeline for many.
On 12 June, the Palestinian Telecommunications Regulatory Authority confirmed that all internet and landline services had been cut across Gaza following Israeli strikes on telecom infrastructure — part of what it described as a 'systematic targeting' that has digitally isolated the territory.
With traditional networks down, digital SIM cards — often purchased abroad and activated by scanning a QR code — allowed some residents to connect to foreign networks, mainly Israeli or Egyptian.
These fragile connections became critical for staying in touch with relatives or reporting the war's realities to the outside world.
Back to October 2023, the network collapsed within days. I could no longer check in with my UN manager to say I was still alive — part of a daily headcount we'd become accustomed to.
I couldn't even share my GPS location as my family and I fled from one strike zone to the next, obeying shifting evacuation orders or sudden strikes. Each move cut us off from what little protection systems we had.
At one point, my manager offered me a satellite phone. But in Gaza, carrying one could get you killed. At hospitals and checkpoints, such devices are seen with suspicion especially by Hamas agents or militants — because they are often assumed to be used by spies. I refused to hold it.
Instead, I relied on an eSIM — a digital SIM card — my American friend Aideen had given me. It worked, sometimes. I'd climb rooftops or stairwells, searching for the faintest signal.
Occasionally, I could send a message, file a report, or simply say: 'We are still here, alive or just send them a funny emoji amid the hell.'
(The editor of
The Journal
was also a frequent receiver of these messages, gifs and emojis.)
But the risk never went away. During blackouts, even holding a phone in the wrong place could invite suspicion — or worse.
To access the internet in Rafah, before it was evacuated, a mobile phone equipped with an eSIM was placed on top of a wooden pole outside a tent. The phone's signal was shared via hotspot to connect the displaced family living nearby.
Aideen Byrne, 29, an international law expert based in the United States and a close friend, has been part of a volunteer initiative called Crips for eSIMs for Gaza.
The group has distributed hundreds of eSIMs to journalists and civilians across Gaza — a quiet but vital effort to keep people connected in the darkest of times.
We moved to new shelter in Deir al-Balah in November 2023, where my family sheltered in the middle of the Strip and the internet was even more unstable. The higher you went, the better the chance of catching a signal using the Israeli eSIM. But our building's rooftop was locked.
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One neighbour kindly shared access to their connection — an act of quiet generosity in a war defined by loss.
Weeks later, that rooftop was hit.
Two rockets tore through it and our neighbour who provided me with the internet line was killed with his family while my family survived.
I had just returned from searching for food. As I walked back toward the building, I heard the blast. Smoke rose from where my family had been sheltering. For a moment, I collapsed. My knees buckled under the fear that they were gone.
Seconds later, I ran inside — alongside others — to help pull out the wounded.
Somehow, my family survived.
The strike appeared to target the telecommunications and internet relay equipment on the rooftop — a setup similar to many across Gaza in the early days of the war. These makeshift signal poles were often assumed to be linked to Hamas infrastructure, and as a result, rooftop communication devices became.
In Gaza, for every story I reported, there were others I couldn't get to. Others I couldn't write. Not because they weren't happening — but because we were buried beneath silence.
Fears around Internet cafés
My colleague, the veteran journalist in Gaza Fathi Sabbah, 65, and his family were able to get eSIMs from the same project.
He said internet connectivity when the blackout is forced by Israel is not the only reason for using the eSIMs. He also uses them to access the internet in public places as other access points pose a risk.
Sabbah told me, 'Some public internet access points or cafés may themselves become targets to the Israeli drones.
You might be killed for trying to have internet access there.
'Even going to a café carries real risk to our lives,' he explains. 'Even if there's internet in public cafes, we often avoid these places because they could be targeted — either because someone wanted by Israel might be inside, or simply nearby. Many people have lost their lives just by being there, even though they were civilians.
'We have seen massacres in an internet connection point were people gather around each other to be connected online. No one knows who is with you, so better to get your own internet point in the new displacement area/Tent.'
Ashraf Amra, 38, who is currently reporting from Al-Jazeera has been able to send some voice notes over WhatsApp.
'The situation is very difficult as we are disconnected from the world, and it is very risky to go higher buildings to get better connection for the eSIM,' he said.
Drones are watching us and could doubt our use and target us.'
Other non-journalist civilians developed the use of the eSIMs too – like my friend AlMaza, 29, who was living in a tent near the Philadelphi Corridor, close to the Egyptian border in Rafah. With no stable internet access, her family improvised.
They mounted a phone containing an eSIM on a tall wooden pole outside their shelter to catch even the faintest signal. Using the phone's hotspot connected to a basic router, they were able to distribute a fragile but essential internet connection throughout the tent.
The setup gave them a few hours of connectivity at a time. When the battery drained, they'd lower the phone to recharge it — sometimes using a power bank, sometimes swapping devices.
It was a lifeline not just to the outside world, but to hope.
Salah is a Palestinian journalist and war survivor who reports on economics, conflict and development. Displaced during the Israeli assault on Gaza, she is now based in the UK. Her work has appeared in the LA Times, Al Jazeera, Al-Monitor, Channel 4 and other international outlets.
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