Anes al-Sharif sold himself as a journalist, in reality, he was an extension of Hamas propaganda. His "exclusive" pictures of hostage handovers, his staged scenes and his silence on protests against the reign of terror reveal how deeply he was embedded in the regime's staging.
There are journalists who risk their lives to bring the truth to light, and there are those who dedicate their lives to perfecting a lie. Anes al-Sharif, an Al-Jazeera reporter in the Gaza Strip, undoubtedly belonged to the second category. The day before yesterday, a targeted Israeli military operation ended his career, and with it probably the closest cinematic documentation Hamas has ever had of its hostages and staging.
Al-Sharif was not an observer. He was part of the stage. He was there where no neutral reporter would have gone, not because he was particularly brave, but because he was welcomed by the hosts: the commanders and PR people of the Hamas apparatus. His selfies with Hamas leaders reveal more than any press card.
On Jan 30 of this year, he documented the moment when the Israeli observer Agam Berger was handed over to the Red Cross in Jabalia. Not from a distance, not as an observer on the sidelines, but right in the middle of the action, surrounded by the "shadow units" of Hamas. The camera was literally glued to Berger's face, as if it wanted to preserve every emotion, not for the story, but for the narrative of the terrorist organization.
Agam Berger was paraded on a stage in Gaza by the terrorists before her release and was given a bag of "souvenirs" of her captivity and a "certificate of release" from the terrorists
Similarly choreographed was a film footage from Feb 22: the release of Omer Shem Tov, who shortly afterwards, as directed by a Hamas cameraman, kissed the forehead of a terrorist. An image that went around the world and yet was nothing more than a PR piece, tailored to the needs of an organization that abuses its victims as props.
Al-Sharif had already staged footage of the release of three more hostages, Emily Damari, Romi Gonen and Doron Steinbrecher, on Jan 19.
The setting: Al-Saraya Square in the heart of Gaza, surrounded by cheering crowds paying homage to the Hamas fighters. Al-Sharif also directed the scene on Jan 25, when four more Israeli observers were released: Red Cross vehicles rolled onto the stage, followed by a ceremonial signing scene between Hamas and the ICRC, a diplomatic play in which international law was merely a backdrop.
But probably the clearest exposure of his role was provided by the so-called "hunger campaign" clip. He had a young woman from Gaza appear in front of the camera, staged her fainting spells and dramatized:
"This is what it looks like here - people are dying of hunger."
Every detail was staged, every sentence a building block for the narrative of alleged mass death, an image that had only as much to do with reality as a theater rehearsal with real combat.
When courageous people in Gaza took to the streets to protest against Hamas, Al-Sharif withdrew. Where he could not look away, he limited himself to a few pictures, neutralized, without context, without naming the demonstrators' anger for what it was: an outcry against the terror regime. In this way, he remained the reliable media actor to the end, never risking a headline that could damage the apparatus.
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Anes al-Sharif was not "just" a journalist in a war zone. He was the voice that brought Hamas into Western living rooms, without translation, without correction, without contradiction. His reports were not windows to the truth, but carefully closed doors that only let in the light that the regime authorized. Hamas' propaganda does not end with his death, but it loses one of its most talented directors.
