This article is an edited version from the newspaper The Guardian, of a column written by Spanish journalist and writer Carlos Hernández de Miguel, published after his death, originally in elDiario.esHernández, who was 56 when he died on February 3, 2026, covered conflicts in Kosovo, Palestine, Afghanistan and Iraq. Most recently, he spent several years researching aspects of the Franco dictatorship and contributing to elDiario.es.

By: Carlos Hernández de Miguel / The Guardian
Translation: Agron Shala / Telegrafi.com

Dear reader, for the first time since I became a journalist, I have to tell you that I wish you weren't reading what I've written. Because if you're reading this, it means I'm no longer in this world - or any other. I'm dead. Damn, it's hard to write this, but that's the way it is. I'm dead, and I don't want to go without saying goodbye and giving him a few final thoughts.

I was a lucky person. I had the good fortune to be born in a European country that, although still under the yoke of the Franco regime, very soon afterwards began to progress economically, socially and politically. Fate, and fate alone, made my fate infinitely easier than that of the hundreds of millions of children born in regions of the world that are devastated by hunger, poverty and war.

Even in this difficult moment that I am going through, I do not think I have the right to complain or lament my situation. How can I play the role of victim, knowing these historical inequalities and injustices? How can I complain about my fate when we see what is happening even now, in Africa, Afghanistan, Ukraine, Yemen, Iran or Palestine? I cannot say for sure, but I imagine that my last thought - the last image that will pass through my mind before I pass out - will be that of the massacred children in Gaza and the surviving Palestinians facing a terrible future. What I do know for sure is that I will leave this world without understanding why the international community chose to remain insensitive while Israel committed genocide before its eyes, broadcast live, minute by minute, massacre by massacre.

I decided to become a journalist because I sincerely believed that, by reporting with rigor and honesty, we could improve this world. I still believe this. I know that during my professional career I have made mistakes, I have endured things (I hope only a few) that I should have rejected, and I have by no means been a perfect journalist. Despite this, I can look back and what I see does not bother me. I can say that I have never, ever lied, manipulated or concealed information. In all my reporting, whether from Madrid, Bilbao, Seville, Kabul, Jerusalem or Baghdad, I have tried to hold those in power accountable, I have tried to show what was happening and give a voice to those who had no voice. A voice for the victims; criticism for the perpetrators. Without neutrality. Without ambiguity. And, for that reason, I am particularly proud that I have not reached as high as I could have. I've even been fired from my job because I tried to stay true to my principles.

From experienced colleagues I learned what I consider to be the two principles of journalism. The first is that objectivity is not the same as neutrality. If there is an aggressor and a victim, a liar and an honest person, a corrupt person and an honest person, then your job is to portray this clearly and forcefully. I am tired of those who believe that being a journalist means reporting both sides of the story, without filters, without questioning their veracity, especially - and this is the worst and most common - when you know that one side is not telling the truth.

The second principle is that, to be a good journalist, it is vital to be a good person.

I always add a third. Journalism is not just another profession. Society's right to be well-informed rests on our work. Freedom, equality and democracy depend on our work - although not only on it. Therefore, there is no excuse for lying or withholding information. If we do so, we must bear professional, even criminal, responsibility.

I have been fortunate to experience politics both from the inside and the outside. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that no, not all politicians are the same. There are men and women who truly believe that their mission is to improve the quality of life of all citizens, regardless of whether those citizens voted for them or not.

Of course, there are other politicians - far more than there should be - driven by corruption and an insatiable thirst for power. We must fight against them, change countless things and improve the entire system, but we must do this from within politics itself. We must do this because everything in life is politics or is influenced by politics. Therefore, let us be wary of those who attack politics, political parties, unions and democracy. The alternative to democracy is dictatorship, no matter what attractive euphemism some use. The alternative to political parties and unions is a one-party system and a state-controlled union. There is much - far too much - room for improvement, but the path is not the one that the global far right shows us.

I have had the fortune to dedicate the last phase of my professional life to researching and disseminating the recent history of Spain. Meeting the survivors of the Nazi and Francoist concentration camps, as well as their families, has been one of the greatest gifts that life has given me. The victims of Nazism and other dictatorships never stopped repeating themselves, because fascism was not dead, because it was still hidden, waiting for the moment to reappear. That is why it has been, is and will be so important to be aware of history. Looking back is the best way to face the present, to avoid repeating mistakes and to prepare for future threats. Looking back shows us that freedom, life and democracy are never guaranteed and that we must fight every day to preserve them.

Now I will close. A young and very dear woman, who was aware that her end could come at any moment, said to me: “Life is a privilege.” At the time, I did not appreciate her words. But, dear reader: enjoy life, be happy, appreciate what really matters, move away from toxicity and show empathy ... a lot of empathy.

I would like to close this article by saying that I will be reunited with all the friends and relatives I have lost over the years. I would like to say so, but I do not believe in any gods. As I write these last lines, I am aware that all that lies ahead is a fade to black. A fade to black that, paradoxically, is what gives meaning to our existence.

I wish you all the best and I hope you enjoy it, because, yes, life is a great privilege. /Telegraph/

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