Dispatches from the danger zone with Abed Qusini

When Abed Qusini’s best friend and fellow photo-journalist Nazeh Darwazi was shot right next to him in April 2003, by an Israeli bullet according to eyewitnesses, killing him instantly, Abed kept taking pictures.

The Reuters photo-journalist says it was the hardest day of his life and made him seriously rethink his future, but he discovered that his professionalism was innate on that fateful day.

“Nazeh had five kids just like me and I spent more time with him than I did my own family. He fell down right besides me and I kept taking pictures even though I was crying and it was painful for me. It’s what he would have expected. It’s what I do,” Abed remembers.

That Abed is an utter professional is indisputable, that he is neutral is a prerequisite of his job, but as a Palestinian living in Nablus with five children and a wife, he still goes out and faces the music every day.

Shot by a bullet in the leg by a Palestinian sniper, and injured by an Israeli stun grenade so that his hearing is permanently impaired, Abed has the scars to prove it. But the 47-year-old is still determined to show the world what is happening inside his own country.

“Photography can freeze a moment to show my homeland to the wider world,” he says. “The lives of my people, their happiness, tears, pain and daily life are translated by my camera into colours the world can see. I feel that I am writing history in pictures. The seen does not wait. Either you catch it with your camera or it escapes.”

“Pictures say something that words can’t; they produce emotions and freeze a moment in history. But more than that, they are like files in my head. When I look at them I remember everything that happened on that day.”

Working under the safety of a full-time Reuters job means Abed has the credibility and kudos of an international organisation behind him, yet is aware that he is working and living in a conflict zone. “During the 2002 invasion I couldn’t go home for two weeks because it was too dangerous. It was worse for my family, not knowing if I was safe.

“But you are never safe, so the photojournalists work in packs despite being competitive, because there is safety in numbers. Working alone is too dangerous. We tell each other when we hear something or are sent somewhere by the news agency. We are always on standby.”

So where does he draw the line? “You are challenged every day to be on the spot, but no picture is worth being injured for or killed, and there is no safe place in a conflict zone. So you have to decide. But sometimes you forget yourself and that’s when it gets dangerous, because the people fighting in that conflict don’t care who you are, why you are there or where you are standing. To them it’s about survival and winning so you have to careful. A fellow journalist got hit in the eye with a rubber bullet just a month ago.”

Abed also takes pictures of daily life, to show another side to the conflict. His photo of a bride crossing a checkpoint to get to her wedding were seen on front pages all over the world.

Palestinian bride Samar Abu Maryam, 21, passes an Israeli tank on a barricade erected by Israeli forces on her way to her wedding ceremony

How hard is it though to stay impartial as a Palestinian? “I am neutral,” he says. “That is my job. People can take what they want from my photographs, but I send them to Reuters with a byline for both points of view. There is an Israeli photographer on the other side doing exactly the same thing.”

And when he sees something he can’t shy away from? “I cry. I often take pictures and cry at the same time. When Nazeh was killed, my mother told me I had to stop taking pictures and come home, that she didn’t want me to be the next story, the next casualty, and that was a challenge for me.

“My wife and I have talked about moving to The West and providing a better, safer life for our children. Lots of our friends have sought asylum in the UK, but we are still here,” he shrugs.

On Tuesday he visits Oxford as part of the Palestine Unlocked Festival.

“When I see people talking about my work and asking questions it makes it worth the effort,” he says. “And yes I do feel that there is hope. It might be like sugar at the bottom of the glass that needs moving around, but there is more colour in our lives these days. We don’t know what is going to happen, though, so you just work, stay safe and feed your family. You cannot predict the future.”

* Abed Quisini’s exhibition is on show at the Friends Meeting House, St Giles, Oxford. It opens with a a panel discussion on Tuesday. The Palestine Unlocked Festival runs until June 21. palestineunlocked.com