Negotiating between gender,national and professional identities: The work-experience of Israeli-Palestinian women journalists

An intersectional lens on the experiences of women journalists

While intersectionality has been a rallying call for three decades, it is only in recent years that it has been systematically applied in the study of news production. Based on the work of intersectionality’s feminist founders—Kimberle Crenshaw (1991) and Patricia Hill Collins (2000)—recent studies on newsrooms and journalism pay close attention to the social location of individuals and social inequalities, viewing them as stemming from multiple, intersecting power relations. Such studies probe specific professional experiences, such as working with hostile news sources (Mesmer, 2022). Others offer comprehensive models that consider how various spheres of oppression shape the development of news events and, in turn, the impact these events have on individuals based on their specific positionality (Peterson-Salahuddin, 2021).

Until recently, gender and news production studies tended to explore women as a unified category, ignoring differences and inequalities among them in terms of, for example, race, ethnicity, religion, geography, sexuality, and physical ability. A rich literature exists on African American journalists (e.g., Broussard, 2004; Bundy, 2006), but these studies do not take an intersectional approach. The current study which is part of a wider research project that has an intersectional perspective, shifts the spotlight from hegemonic women journalists to marginalized minority women journalists in Israel: Jewish women of Ethiopian origin (Lachover, 2022) and Russian women who resettled in Israel during the mass wave of immigrations from the Former Soviet Union in the 1990s (Lachover, 2023). The current study focuses on Israeli-Palestinian women journalists, using their own histories and social, cultural, and political contexts.

Israeli-Palestinian women: Patriarchal structures and national boundaries

Since they lived in Palestine prior to the establishment of Israel in 1948, Israeli-Palestinians might be considered an “indigenous minority”—the remaining members of a population group that continues to live in its homeland. This would make them a numerical and political minority group in a political context of continuous conflict, domination, and colonization. Moreover, in recent years, following a shift to the right among Jewish citizens of Israel, as well as changes in laws that make them even more discriminatory, Palestinian living in Israel are in a more fragile position (Jamal, 2020).

Although Palestinian society in Israel is diverse in terms of, for example, religion, socioeconomic status, and place of residence (Smooha, 2017), it is characterized overall by a patriarchal family structure. At the same time, Israel has seen a significant increase in the educational levels of Israeli-Palestinian women, which, in turn, has led to increases in the average age people get married and in divorce rates, and a dramatic decrease in fertility rates (Aburabia-Queder, 2017).

Yet, while opportunities for personal development and experiences for Palestinian women citizens in Israel have increased since the beginning of the 21st century, most of these women are still subject to mechanisms of exclusion and control of both the culture and the country (Sa’ar and Younis, 2021; Shalhoub-Kervorkian and Daher-Nashif, 2013). Marriage rates have remained high, and marrying at a young age is still considered important in the Palestinian marriage market (Sabbah-Karkaby and Stier, 2017). Additionally, educated Israeli-Palestinian women, especially Muslim women, pay an ethnic penalty: they find it difficult to integrate into the labour market and often lack job security and fair wages (Aburabia-Queder, 2017).

Landscape of arab-palestinian journalism in Israel

A study of the phenomenological experience of Israeli-Palestinian women journalists must consider the structure of power of the professional sites within which they act. For many years, Israeli-Palestinians, as a minority group in an ethno-national state, did not control their communication (Jamal and Koukvin, 2020). Additionally, being detached from Arab culture, they were largely dependent on the Israeli media, which was used as a means of controlling national identity and managing the tension between Israeli authorities and Arab civilians. Moreover, the Israeli institutional media strove to emphasize the cultural supremacy of Jewish society compared to the cultural, economic, and social backwardness of Arab societies (Jamal, 2012).

Since the 1980s, influenced by the awakening and strengthening of Palestinian identity together with the aspiration for more cultural autonomy, private newspapers and news magazines in Arabic have become more independent and less products of the Israeli establishment (Kabha and Caspi, 2011). These highly popular news organizations are driven more by profit than by journalistic values. Moreover, they are not committed to the national rights of Israeli-Palestinians (Jamal and Koukvin, 2020). In radio and television, the Israeli Public Service Broadcasting (IPSB) corporation (which succeeded the Israeli Broadcasting Authority [IBA]) includes, by law, Makan al-Akhbar, an Arabic-language news channel, and Makan, an Arabic-language radio station. Along with these public channels, some local radio stations also broadcast in Arabic (Jamal and Koukvin, 2020).

Despite the integration of more Israeli-Palestinian journalists into the Israeli Hebrew news media in the second decade of the millennium, Israeli-Palestinian journalists are still marginalized (Jamal and Koukvin, 2020). Until now, only very few studies have examined the institutional characteristics of the Palestinian media in Israel, and these offer no systematic exploration of the characteristics of women journalists, estimated at 29% of all Palestinian journalists living in Israel (Jamal and Bsoul, 2011). However, these studies, suggest that these women face different challenges than those of their male colleagues (Jamal and Awaisi, 2012; Lanski Peer, 2010).

Facing barriers entering the profession

Interviewees often pointed out two main barriers they face integrating into journalism: low wages and unstable job conditions. These are related to the ongoing crisis in Israeli journalism and the precarious nature of the profession (Davidson and Meyers, 2016; Jamal and Awaisi, 2012). The current subsection focuses on the main barriers the interviewees experienced related to their unique social and cultural position as Israeli-Palestinian women journalists.

The interviewees indicated that as Israeli-Palestinians they have several options of where to find work as journalists: mainstream journalism (commercial Israeli news media in Hebrew), Israeli public television and radio news channels (Hebrew and Arabic), commercial Arab news organizations, and foreign news organizations recruiting local journalists. This variety seems to be a result of the women’s bilingualism. Despite this, however, almost all of the interviewees argued that their professional opportunities are restricted, with many of them pointing to their intersected national and gender identities as the cause. As Yara, a veteran journalist, put it, their complex “other” positioning does not fit:

This is the problem. We—the Arabs in Israel—we have our national identity that we are Palestinian and our civic identity. In [news organizations within] Arab countries, they do not accept us because we are Israeli citizens. It is difficult for us to go there and work as high-ranking journalists and presenters. And within Israel, we are considered “Arabs,” and indeed we are [Arabs], and additionally we are also women, so it is even more difficult.

As reflected in this quote, and as I will discuss below, in choosing where to work, a journalist not only considers conditions and professional standards but also engages in personal negotiations involving political and ideological values. Indeed, some interviewees expressed frustration about their work options in the profession because of their identity:

There is no [adequate] Arab local journalism; there is no way into [mainstream] Israeli journalism. International Arab journalism is a distant dream. I’m a Palestinian? An Israeli? Who am I? They would not accept me. The doors are closed. [Yusra]

According to the interviewees, a main barrier to integrating into local journalism is the informal nature of the recruitment process, which is based on a clan system. Kinship-based groups (hamulas—clans) among Palestinian Arabs in Israel follow a patriarchic logic that reproduces men’s authority at the expense of women (Herzog and Yahia-Younis, 2007). The interviewees stated that they are marginalized in local Arab news organizations because of the hamulas regime, especially since job openings are rare and competition is high. They argued that as a result of hamulas, women are enlisted based on how pleasing their appearance is to viewers and whether they conform to decision makers’ preferences. Abeer, a young woman journalist, told me about her difficulties getting into the profession:

Relations are the most important thing, but I don't belong to the right family […]. I found out that the considerations of news organizations in Arab society, because [Arabic news organizations’] piece of the pie is smaller, are far more non-professional. [There is] far more favoritism, many more non-professional considerations, such as sexism and appearance. They also don't like a woman who causes trouble, who is strong, assertive, who has her own agenda.

Similarly, interviewees who wanted to work in mainstream Israeli journalism also saw these news organizations as “closed clubs” that demand the “right” personal contacts and networks, which, as Israeli-Palestinians, they do not share. In this context, a few mentioned that they could not participate in Galei-Tzahal (Galatz)—the national radio network operated by the Israeli Defense Forces. In the Israeli context, Galatz offers the most promising entry into the profession, giving young Jewish Israelis the opportunity to practice journalism during mandatory army service. Israeli-Palestinians, who do not enroll in military service, are excluded from Galatz:

We do not work at Galatz or at Bamachane [a Hebrew-language weekly magazine published by the IDF until 2020]—this is another thing we don’t have. Galatz benefits all these [hegemonic] populations, and we don’t have access to it, and there is no reason we would have access. But if there is a need for journalists, there should be a non-military service that will train journalists. [Maysoon]

The interviewees also noted that, paradoxically, their Arabic-Hebrew bilingualism did not work as an advantage for them. A few admitted that their level of modern written Arabic had deteriorated since they studied in Hebrew or worked for years in mainstream news organizations in Hebrew. Hadeel came up against this barrier when she was looking for a job:

For the last couple of years, I have spoken [mostly] Hebrew and have not lived in the area [of my hometown]. I don’t practice the [Arabic] language and don’t speak the Arabic [literary] language of the media. So, I have a problem . . . the language is a barrier for me.

The interviewees’ proficiency in Hebrew did allow some of them to get jobs in news organizations in Hebrew. However, their accent marked their nationality and was often considered a barrier by those hiring them, who assumed Israeli mainstream audiences would reject them. While the demands of everyday life in Israel require that Arab people be bilingual in Arabic and Hebrew, Arabic is generally considered an inferior language, a situation that reflects the power relations between the Arab minority and the Jewish majority. Arabic has been identified as “the enemy language,” which is also revealing of attitudes toward its speakers (Amara, 2021). Hadeel, who spoke excellent Hebrew, referred to the barrier her accent presented when she worked in mainstream radio, telling me that listeners complained and made racist comments about it. She mimicked listeners’ typical reaction to her broadcasting: “What is happening here? Is this the Hamas and Hizballa?” News executives also made racist comments about her accent: she shared her experience during the selection process for a television presenter at a mainstream news organization in Hebrew:

I was in an interview at […] and the CEO asked me this weird question, despite all the experience I have: “Say, can you turn off your accent?” [He asked that] in the middle of the interview, in front of all the people and editors [who were watching the pilot]. If the CEO speaks like that . . .

The hijab: A double-edged sword

Despite all the barriers interviewees faced in their efforts to enter journalism, they also shared a unique advantage based on their marginalized identity. For example, while Abeer complained she did not have the right family connections to get a job in news organizations owned by Arabs, she noted that her “otherness”—that is, her intersected gender and national identities—has been attractive to Israeli mainstream news media: “The media in Hebrew acknowledge me . . . [I represent] a different voice, a woman, they give me more attention. [But within] the media in Arabic, not at all.” A few interviewees remarked on this current interest in mainstream Israeli media organizations for the unique positioning of the “Arab woman,” especially a woman in a hijab. While in Israeli mainstream society, Moslem women wearing a hijab remain stigmatized and often experience inspection, racism, or humiliation (Mizel, 2020), studies on Palestinian society in Israel indicate a powerful return of the hijab by Moslem women, proposing an interplay of meanings in wearing it: political opposition, nationalism, religion and culture, and fashion (Mizel, 2020). The interviewees’ testimonies suggested a complicated struggle relating to wearing a hijab within their specific professional contexts.

For example, Asma, a young television journalist, described her complicated journey with the hijab in different professional settings. At the beginning of her career, when she applied for jobs at local commercial news organizations owned by Arabs, her hijab was a barrier, since it was seen to detract from her feminine appearance. For example, a recruiter for a local news organization owned by Arabs once told her, “Off the record, I apologize, we do not employ women wearing a hijab.” In another interview for a job in a similar organization, the producer told her that her hijab was a problem:

[He said,] “We can’t offer you the presenter job, you know, we need someone pretty, ‘dolled-up’ for presenting the news, you are wearing a head cover.” I denied it for a period, but eventually I understood that it is not easy to wear a hijab. I realized that I was excluded from different places only because I wear a head cover.

But Asma noted that the hijab later became an advantage when she was applying for jobs in mainstream Israeli television news with explicit diversity policies. She felt that the hijab marked her as novel and attractive—as an exotic “Arab woman” —and therefore paved her way to getting a job at IPSB.

However, Naama Lanski Peer (2010) noted a different experience in this context in her study on Israeli-Palestinian journalists working in Israeli mainstream newsrooms: Salwa Alinat, an Arab Muslim woman journalist, told Lanski Peer she was fired by her newsroom immediately after she adopted traditional attire. This contrasting experience might be explained by a change taking place in Israeli mainstream newsrooms. Indeed, Israeli mainstream news organizations, and especially the IPSB, are targeting a diverse workforce, branding themselves as committed to diversity as part of their attempt to enhance public legitimacy (Klein-Shagrir, 2019). As Asma put it, “They were enthusiastic about the Arab woman with the head covering: pretty, smart, assertive. Something they had not seen before. Something new. An academic woman . . . I arrived like an alien.” Asma thus sees her appeal to the mainstream news media as due to her “otherness.” Moreover, she suggested that the exceptional public attention her first broadcast received was due to her unique appearance and status as the “Arab woman journalist”:

This item broke on the web: “An Arab woman at [the channel].” They wrote about me on [specific popular websites]. The department vice manager thanked me, and the manager brought me chocolates in the newsroom the day after [the broadcast]. It was an accomplishment for them. Following that, I was at the pinnacle of my success.

Asma acknowledged that her symbolic appearance paved the way to her desired job, but she also recognized that her managers “manage diversity” strategically (Ahmed, 2007). She soon realized that wearing a hijab could turn against her when it came to symbolize not just an “authentic Arab woman” but a political figure: after she shared a Tweet expressing resistance against Israel’s occupation, her Arab identity became a liability: she was suspended from her regular position and transferred behind the camera. In Asma’s narrative, she linked the news organization’s reaction to her political Tweet to her wearing the hijab: “I never thought that my head covering would stand against my career. I always thought, I’m special, they will accept me with [the hijab. I thought] nothing will stop me.” Notably, a few months after the incident, Asma decided to take off the hijab. According to her, she had been considering doing this before the incident and it was an expression of her agency vis-à-vis the patriarchy and of her rejection of family rules.

Other interviewees also acknowledged and expressed cynicism about the diversity strategy in Israeli mainstream newsrooms but argued that the hijab is not necessarily the main factor. Yusra, a veteran woman journalist, told me,

Some of the interviewees emphasized that mainstream Israeli journalism is looking for “a good Arab”:

They are looking for someone who is . . . I don’t know how to put this . . . someone who has an Arab appearance and is an Arab, but who from the inside, her mentality and thinking—she’s not. They are not really looking for an authentic Arab. [Hiba]

This quote reflects an awareness of the efforts of state authorities to control the Arab-Palestinian minority through what Amal Jamal (2012) defines as “soft” means. The aim is to manufacture “quiet” Arab citizens who are considered “loyal”—detached from their historical memory and separate from the rest of their nation. Lately, “good Arabs” operating in the public sphere also include women who appear in the highly visible fields of media and culture. These women represent Israel as a liberal democracy that respects women’s individual rights, as opposed to the patriarchal Arab society (Karkabi, 2021). The interviewees’ discussion of wearing the hijab in different journalistic spheres thus shows their awareness of the performativity of the role of the Arab woman.

Confronting security challenges: Women journalists as anti-heroes

Previous studies on Israeli-Palestinian journalists indicate that they face security challenges. Israeli security forces frequently threaten Arab journalists, who, consequently, do not trust the police as a news source (Jamal and Awaisi, 2012). Analysis of my study’s interviewees reveals a wider picture of the security challenge confronting Israeli-Palestinian women journalists. Moreover, it shows that it also has a gendered aspect.

Some interviewees, especially political commentators and field reporters who covered security and municipal beats, described being significantly affected by the control policies of Israeli authorities, referring to experiences of personal threats and dangerous incidents. Three interviewees were physically injured at work in incidents involving both Israeli security forces and Israeli-Palestinians who opposed their work. A number of interviewees reported that Israeli authorities refused their request for journalist certification for “security reasons,” including one claim that the woman journalist in question supported terrorist groups. Manal, a young field reporter who was refused the certification, saw this as the main barrier to advancing in her career because it blocked her from working for satellite television channels. Working without formal journalist certification increased her feelings of insecurity in her dealings with security forces:

I think about that all the time: whether if I go there, he [the soldier] would approach me and block me . . . During times of conflict, I’m always tense . . . Am I a legitimate or a non-legitimate [journalist]? The question of legitimation is always in my head. I’m a veteran journalist in the field and they all recognize my face; but during tense times and big events, I am stressed.

Manal, like other women journalists, experienced her interaction with Israeli security authorities as a gendered barrier: “Security forces are a very masculine institution, and a very cruel one, so I don’t feel safe. Sometimes, I am working with a colleague from another channel, and he’s a man and tall, and it is different for him.” Manal’s experiences seem to have shaped her perception of her role and practices in a way that contrasts with the typical ethos of field journalists:

When I’m the first to arrive at an incident, I’m entirely stressed out. Therefore, in sensitive locations, I try to be among other journalists. As a journalist, you are supposed to chase the scoop: you want to be the first one who arrives at the event and to be the only one there. But for me, this is not the case. First thing, I want to be safe. This is the most important thing for me.

This emphasis on interviewees’ constant efforts to avoid risk was often rationalized in the context of their perceived gendered roles: that is, their need to take care of their children’s future or their parents. These experiences echo testimonies of international women war correspondents (Chambers et al., 2004). Moreover, the interviewees explicitly exposed themselves as “anti-heroic”:

My mom, she’s afraid . . . wars, military attacks, whenever there are demonstrations, my mom calls me. I am also a coward. What if something happens to me? What about my kids? Whoever tells you that I want to cover wars is wrong. Everyone knows me. I am very cautious. I’m afraid. There are much braver journalists … not me! I am honest with myself. [Yara]

As mentioned above, in the Palestinian community in Israel, personal insecurity is also experienced in the context of internal political conflicts or ideological disputes. While the interviewees did not show that they had any second thoughts about their choice of profession, performing specific missions, or expressing their views publicly, they did acknowledge the personal price they pay for these decisions. Their testimonies also indicated that personal attacks are related to their gender. For example, Maha, a veteran journalist, suggested that she was attacked because she was a successful woman journalist and noted that the attackers took advantage of her being the mother of a young boy: “To my regret, they didn’t like the fact that I’m famous and that a woman journalist could be successful. Women as well [didn’t like that]. It was a challenge.” She referred to a traumatic and formative experience she had following her coverage of certain conspiracies in local politics, when Palestinians in the local community threatened the life of her son. She immediately stopped covering the story, hid for a period, and later covered less inflammatory issues.

Another gendered strategy threatening Israeli-Palestinian women journalists is based on stereotypical perceptions of women’s sexuality in Israeli-Palestinian society, especially relating to single women. The interviewees pointed out that an efficient means for others to attack them or stop them from challenging conservative societal norms is to spread false rumors about them. Abeer stated,

This finding echoes Mernissi’s (1987) criticism that in Islamic society, practices that restrain women’s sexuality and reinforce their modesty often function to preserve the social structure. Interestingly, the interviewees shared that in recent years the attacks against them smearing their name based on gender expectations have shifted to social media. The women journalists are conscious of the gendered character of this offensive strategy:

They threatened me and had a campaign against me, attacking me personally. They know that as a woman, I am vulnerable. [They know] what hurts me, that I didn’t want my nieces to watch his [sexist] attacks [. . .] I was alone in all that, without any support, so I decided [to quit covering the subject] […] They have penetrated my soul and I was under a lot of pressure, so I had to stop for a while. [Abeer]

Abeer is aware that because she is a single woman in a traditional society, she is more vulnerable: “I have no support, no husband, no boss. Nothing. I was alone in this, and therefore I had to decide [to withdraw].”

These testimonies reflect a conflict between, on the one hand, professional codes of journalism that encourage involvement and self-expression and, on the other hand, gendered codes of patriarchal society that limit women from expressing themselves in public, especially in the context of sensitive issues. In the context of Israeli-Palestinian professional women, Aburabia-Queder (2017) has shown a similar tension between what she defines as “tribal codes” and “professional codes.”

Negotiating between the professional and the political

A meaningful aspect of the interviewees’ work experience was their continuous negotiation between professional standards and political considerations. Political considerations related mainly to the question of which news organization to work for based on its standpoint on the Israel-Palestinian conflict: mainstream news organizations (whether public or private), news organizations owned by Arabs, or television satellite channels (owned by Arabs or others). This constant negotiation reflected the interviewees’ crucial need to be personally involved in their journalistic role.

Most interviewees criticized and mourned the low professional standards of commercial new organizations owned by Arabs, including those who worked within such organizations at the time of the interview. While many of the latter emphasized that working in these places was their only option and expressed the wish to move to a different news organization, some expressed an ideological position, stressing that they saw their work in local journalism as a political act. For example, Yusra declared, “I want to be one of those people who build the Palestinian media institutes in Israel, to be part of this construction, and not to work for foreign channels.”

Many of the interviewees highlighted that some news organizations, such as Israeli mainstream news organizations or some of the foreign television channels, provide better work conditions and often better professional standards. However, they noted that choosing to work for this kind of news organization would have political implications and would not reflect their ideological stance. Interviewees emphasized that they strive to feel political identification with the political position of their news organization, which in fact means the organization’s stand on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The following quote shows how prominent the ideological aspect is for the interviewee:

I want to feel that I can express myself, as a Palestinian, from a political perspective. That I can use terms that I feel reflect me, my vision, also as part of the Palestinian people. That I can feel comfortable speaking about certain subjects without thinking ten times how it will be perceived within my channel or within my society . . . These are things I believe in, and I want to work in a workplace that also believes in them. Using terms like “occupation,” the “occupied territories,” and not . . . let’s say, “Judea and Samira.” These are terms and ideas that are approved on my channel and they resonate my own personal line. [Manal]

These words reflect that the interviewees often defined their ideological negotiation in the context of sensitive political terms they use. In the following example, Ibtisam, who works for a foreign network, described the importance of this aspect for her. She was not completely satisfied with the channel’s terminology and struggled to change it:

[The news organization] is cautious. It doesn’t interfere with Israeli politics. So, [this influences] the way they name all the areas within 67 or 48 borders. For example, I had to report from Karmiel and I wanted to describe it as a settlement and they refused . . . so instead of saying “the city of Karmiel” or “Karmiel settlement,” I said only “Karmiel.” I’m in many situations like this, and I often argue about them. I try to find a way that I will feel good with it.

Ibtisam’s words reflect her constant negotiation between her work practices and her personal politics. While the quote shows her wish to express a more radical view than that of her news organization, a journalist’s search for a news organization that will fit their ideology can also link to a more moderate point of view. Ikram, for example, described how she examined the politics before taking the job: “I asked a lot of questions and I felt that these are things I’m connected with and I won’t have any problem representing them.”

The tension between political views and professional practice is more evident when it comes to working in Israeli mainstream news. Most interviewees perceived that these organizations have high professional standards and saw them as good training ground for journalism. Interviewees with excellent Hebrew realized they have a relative advantage working within them. However, many interviewees opposed working for mainstream Israeli news organizations for political reasons—because of their ideological positioning. Ibtisam explained: “In real time, such as war time and difficult times, the [mainstream] media is recruited, and I will have to say what they want me to say. I can’t see myself in such places.” Almost all of the interviewees rejected the idea of working for Makan, the IPSB in Arabic, because of its politics. Ibtisam considered working for Makan at the beginning of her career and even participated in a professional training course the organization initiated. However, in a practical test, she was asked to read a text stating, “A terrorist group was caught in Nablus”; she refused to read these words and realized she could not take the job.

Avoidance of working in the mainstream news, and especially the public news agency, also has a practical aspect. The women are afraid that working within those organizations will mark their political ideology and block their option to work in other news organizations in the future. The few interviewees who worked for Makan at the time of the interview emphasized both the high security and the high professional standards compared with local Arab organizations. They justified working for the institutional news organization by noting that the channel had changed and now presented more diverse voices instead of a narrow institutional ideology. Other emphasized that they focused on social issues in their work, striving to promote the Palestinian people and avoiding covering stories on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

The tension between political and professional issues in the work experiences of the interviewees echoes phenomenological studies of women journalists in other countries (e.g., Sweden: Melin-Higgins, 1996; Britain: Melin-Higgins, 2004). These studies found that women journalists tend to see their job as a mission rather than just a job and they also tend to emphasize their personal involvement as the best approach (Melin-Higgins, 2004). The Israeli-Palestinian women journalists perceive their journalistic role as a mission, and their personal involvement is often conflated with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.