A year ago, my dear friend and relative, journalist Amna Homaid, was brutally killed, along with her eldest child, Mahdi, 11. She was targeted following incitement against her by Israeli media.

I still remember the flood of grief and condolences that poured in, keeping the family occupied for the first days following her murder. International media reached out to Amna’s husband with condolences. Articles about her murder and the incitement that preceded it circulated widely. Social media was overflowing with posts about Amna and her achievements, all with the same grieving tone.

Meanwhile, people mourning her were staggering between grief, pride, and blame. Blame directed not at Israel that killed her, nor at the world that allowed the killing, but at Amna’s decision to choose the deadly path of journalism in a country excluded from international law.

The grief eventually faded. Amna was gradually forgotten, and no institution, no government ever sought an investigation into her murder. But what happened with her is not an exception; it is the rule.

This is what will likely happen with journalists Hussam al-Masri, Mohammad Salama, Mariam Abu Daqqa, Ahmed Abu Aziz, and Moaz Abu Taha, who were killed today in Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis. The massacre is briefly making the headlines now, but will soon be forgotten the way Amna’s murder was.

Although these journalists were protected civilians, although they were sheltering inside a medical facility that enjoys special protection under humanitarian law, no one will hold Israel accountable for what it claims was a “mistake”, and no one will investigate it.

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This is what happened with the assassination of Anas al-Sharif, Mohammed Qreiqeh, Ibrahim Zaher, Mohammed Noufal, Moamen Aliwa, and Mohammed al-Khaldi two weeks ago, too. It was also gradually forgotten. Social media eulogies faded. Their killing, which was described as “unacceptable” and a “grave breach of international law”, is yet to be investigated, while Israel’s claims about Anas remain unchallenged.

Israel’s burying alive of journalist Marwa Musallam, along with her two brothers, in June, its killing of Hussam Shabat in March, its murder of Ismail al-Ghoul and Rami al-Rifi in July 2024 and — most painfully for me — its assassination of my dear professor Refaat Alareer in December 2023 show how this recurring pattern endures.

The silence that follows each Israeli atrocity paves the way for the next one and for another failure by the world to hold Israel to account.

After seeing this deadly cycle repeat over and over again, Palestinians have come to believe that a reporting career is a death sentence for the journalists themselves and for their families.

My family, which has long encouraged its young people to pursue media studies, now dissuades anyone who decides to follow in Amna’s footsteps after her murder. “It’s a lonely road where the world turns its back on you,” they say.

Those who are currently working as journalists in the family are warned to tone down their work and stay out of the spotlight.

My uncle Hamed, Amna’s father-in-law, told me he would never allow any of his other six children to pursue a career that is even remotely related to journalism. “No acting, no journalism. I’d never let them appear before the media.”

“I used to encourage anyone to enter the field of journalism. It’s the field of truth, I would say. After Amna, I hated everything related to the field,” he added.

Even Amna’s husband, Saed Hassouna, who is also a journalist and used to advise youth interested in this field, gradually reduced his work after Amna’s killing.

The silence and withdrawal leave journalists’ families with nothing but unhealing traumas. In Amna’s case, a year after her death, her child, Mohammed, 10, who saw his mother and brother die before his eyes and personally reported to journalist Ismail al-Ghoul that his family was under the rubble, still suffers trauma attacks. Whenever he’s sad, he yells at people to let him go to the Israelis who killed his mother, so they kill him, too.

Amna’s young daughter, Ghina, five, is still waiting for her to come back, and often cries, “Where did you take my mom?”

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Almost 23 months into this brutal war, and the whole world still only goes as far as offering condolences for dead Palestinians. It does everything it can to avert even the slightest feeling of responsibility for what is happening in Gaza.

As of now, 244 Palestinian journalists have been killed in Gaza. All of them have received the same treatment – even those documented in detail have not been prosecuted as war crimes. The case of Shireen Abu Akleh, who was killed in 2022 in Jenin by an Israeli sniper, was a harbinger for what is to come. Even her United States citizenship and investigations by American media could not get her justice.

If mourning Palestinian journalists allows you to feel less guilt, if it makes you feel as though you have fulfilled your duty towards them, then don’t mourn them. We do not need more eulogies; we need justice. It is the least the world can do for the orphaned children of Mariam, Amna, Anas, and the rest of the 244 slain journalists in Gaza.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.