A beloved inspector, broadcaster and community pillar whose fairness and humility touched every corner of the island. Share Anguilla is mourning a man whose presence was so steady, so familiar, and so quietly influential that his passing feels like a break in the island’s rhythm. Leroy “Brother Lee” Richardson was more than a public health pioneer, more than a cultural contributor, more than a voice on Kool FM — he was one of those rare Anguillians who managed to touch every corner of community life with a spirit that was pleasant, professional, fair, and unfailingly reasonable. His loss has swept across the island like a firestorm because he was woven into the everyday fabric of Anguilla in ways people often didn’t realise until now. “An older photograph of Brother Lee captures the quiet strength he carried throughout his life — a man whose pleasant nature, professionalism and unwavering fairness shaped Anguilla far beyond the roles he held.” For...
On 25 August 2025, Gaza's Nasser Hospital—arguably the only functioning public hospital in the south—was devastated by a double Israeli airstrike. The first strike decimated the tops of its corridors, and the second — dubbed the “double tap” — struck with merciless timing as rescue workers and journalists rushed in, hoping to capture and ease scenes of human suffering. In that second horrific moment, at least five journalists were killed: Mariam Abu Dagga (a 33-year-old freelance visual journalist for the Associated Press), Mohammed Salama of Al Jazeera, Hussam al-Masri, a Reuters contractor, Moaz Abu Taha, a freelance contributor for Reuters, and Ahmed Abu Aziz of Middle East Eye. Another Reuters photographer, Hatem Khaled, was seriously injured as he stood at the frontline of truth.
One can scarcely find words to match the visceral grief felt by their families, colleagues and readers. Mariam Abu Dagga, remembered as resilient, ethical, and determined, was among the few female visual journalists chronicling Gaza’s reality—especially the plight of its children. Her lens and compassion painted a world of devastating truth, made all the more painful by the knowledge that she knew the danger.
Global denunciation erupted immediately. The Foreign Press Association described the killings as among the deadliest attacks on journalists working for international outlets in Gaza in nearly two years, demanding answers from the Israeli military. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) decried the carnage and warned that such attacks make Gaza the most lethal place in the world for media workers. UK Foreign Secretary David Lammy called for an immediate ceasefire, while global voices—from France to Turkey to human rights coalitions—labeled the strike intolerable and unlawful.
These fallen journalists were not combatants; they were bearers of human experience, amplifying voices from a land suffocated by war. This is not mere collateral damage—this is the deliberate erasure of narrators, evidence that truth is, in itself, under siege.
International law enshrines the protection of journalists in conflict. The use of “double tap” strikes on hospitals—a symbol of hope and sanctuary—suggests either monstrous negligence or the most chilling form of calculated silencing.
Gaza has tragically become the deadliest theatre for media workers in modern history. Some sources estimate the number of journalists killed since October 2023 is nearing two hundred or more, a staggering toll that overshadows previous global conflicts combined.
The world cannot bear witness when the witnesses themselves are killed. Without journalists on the ground, the stories of civilians—of bombardment, famine, displacement—will be buried along with the truth they risked their lives to tell.
We owe it to journalists like Mariam, Mohammed, Hussam, Moaz, and Ahmed not just to mourn—but to demand justice. These were people with names, families, and fierce devotion to truth. Their deaths should ignite more than sorrow—they must spark global insistence on accountability, protection, and an unwavering focus on journalistic freedom in Gaza and everywhere.
Let their voices linger in our minds, even now that they are gone. Let outrage fuel change, and let remembrance defend the right to report—even in the face of death.
