Moments after Afghan journalist Samim Faramarz wrapped up his live report on the latest suicide attack in Kabul, a car bomb exploded just metres away, killing him and his cameraman Ramiz Ahmadi.

Their colleagues at Tolo News choked back tears as they reported the deaths live on air -- cracking open a divisive debate on how Afghan journalists should operate in such a dangerous environment.&nbsp;

The deaths of Faramarz and Ahmadi on September 5 took the number of journalists and media workers killed in Afghanistan this year to 14, making the country the deadliest in the world for the media.&nbsp;

Among the dead were 13 journalists -- the highest number killed in Afghanistan in a single year since the start of the war.

The losses have devastated the tight-knit community that faces the real prospect of tragedy every time they go to work.&nbsp;

"When we leave our homes we don't know whether we will go back alive," said 1TV reporter Hamid Haidary, who keeps a photo shrine of fallen journalists on a shelf above his desk. &nbsp;

Haidary had gone to the scene of the explosion that killed Faramarz and Ahmadi, but returned to his office minutes before the second bomb detonated.

"It is already too much for us," agreed Lotfullah Najafizada, director of Tolo, which is Afghanistan's largest private broadcaster.&nbsp;

As security in Afghanistan continues to deteriorate, the fear and anxiety is ever-present, he added.

"It is not just about the blast site, it is going to a province, it is coming to the office or being in the office -- they all are attached to risks and it is difficult sometimes to minimise all of them to zero."

Sixty journalists and media workers have been killed in Afghanistan since the US-led invasion in 2001 that toppled the Taliban regime and enabled independent media to blossom in its wake -- an average of around three a year, according to Reporters Without Borders (RSF).

Afghan media support group NAI gave an even higher toll of 95.&nbsp;

But the departure of NATO combat troops at the end of 2014 marked a turning point, RSF figures show: 39 journalists and media workers -- over half of the total -- have been killed since then as a resurgent Taliban and the newly-emerged Islamic State group terrorise the country.

Media outlets have already scaled back coverage on the battlefield. But until this year, suicide attacks in urban centres remained a staple for newsrooms.&nbsp;

A double bomb attack in the Afghan capital on April 30 changed that. &nbsp;

Nine journalists, including Agence France-Presse chief photographer Shah Marai, were killed in the twin blasts -- the most lethal attack on the media since the fall of the Taliban.&nbsp;

Less than three months later AFP driver Mohammad Akhtar was killed in another suicide attack on his way to work, followed in September by Faramarz and Ahmadi.

The deaths are forcing outlets to ask themselves hard questions about how they work, especially as the country braces for more violence ahead of parliamentary elections in October.

Much of the blame for the journalist deaths has been heaped on the Afghan government and its beleaguered security forces for failing to protect them.&nbsp;

But media outlets also have been criticised for repeatedly putting their staff in danger.&nbsp;&nbsp;

"Losing journalists in similar events one after another and not learning from the mistakes is bad management both on the part of the media organisations and the government," said Sayed Ikram Afzali, executive director of Afghan advocacy group Integrity Watch.

Militants make headlines for killing civilians, security forces and first responders, including journalists.

But a total ban on covering suicide attacks "would be disrespecting the fallen", said BBC bureau chief Shoaib Sharifi.

The British broadcaster goes to great lengths to minimise the risks. "We literally evaluate and monitor every step outside the office," he said.

For now Afghan broadcaster 1TV, which has had several people killed or wounded in this year's bombings, will continue to go to the scene of suicide attacks, said head of news and current affairs Abdullah Khenjani.

"I think people deserve to know what is happening in their country," he added.

But they no longer rush to be the first at the scene, and wearing flak jackets and helmets is mandatory.&nbsp;

The New York Times' "default position is 'don't go' unless ... we agree there is some exceptional reason why you should," bureau chief Rod Nordland said.

"In most cases we're saying there is no exceptional reason."

The newspaper instead goes to hospitals or the homes of victims' families to show the human suffering caused by such attacks, as it continues to seek ways of telling the story even without going to the scene.

Agence France-Presse has adopted a similar policy.&nbsp;

"The risk now of going to a bomb site, of getting hit by a second bomb... outweighs the journalistic value in doing that," Nordland said.&nbsp;

Moments after Afghan journalist Samim Faramarz wrapped up his live report on the latest suicide attack in Kabul, a car bomb exploded just metres away, killing him and his cameraman Ramiz Ahmadi.

Moments after Afghan journalist Samim Faramarz wrapped up his live report on the latest suicide attack in Kabul, a car bomb exploded just metres away, killing him and his cameraman Ramiz Ahmadi. Their colleagues at Tolo News choked back tears as they reported the deaths live on air -- cracking open a divisive debate on how Afghan journalists should operate in such a dangerous environment. The deaths of Faramarz and Ahmadi on September 5 took the number of journalists and media workers killed in Afghanistan this year to 14, making the country the deadliest in the world for the media. Among the dead were 13 journalists -- the highest number killed in Afghanistan in a single year since the start of the war. The losses have devastated the tight-knit community that faces the real prospect of tragedy every time they go to work. "When we leave our homes we don't know whether we will go back alive," said 1TV reporter Hamid Haidary, who keeps a photo shrine of fallen journalists on a shelf above his desk. Haidary had gone to the scene of the explosion that killed Faramarz and Ahmadi, but returned to his office minutes before the second bomb detonated. "It is already too much for us," agreed Lotfullah Najafizada, director of Tolo, which is Afghanistan's largest private broadcaster. As security in Afghanistan continues to deteriorate, the fear and anxiety is ever-present, he added. "It is not just about the blast site, it is going to a province, it is coming to the office or being in the office -- they all are attached to risks and it is difficult sometimes to minimise all of them to zero." Sixty journalists and media workers have been killed in Afghanistan since the US-led invasion in 2001 that toppled the Taliban regime and enabled independent media to blossom in its wake -- an average of around three a year, according to Reporters Without Borders (RSF). Afghan media support group NAI gave an even higher toll of 95. But the departure of NATO combat troops at the end of 2014 marked a turning point, RSF figures show: 39 journalists and media workers -- over half of the total -- have been killed since then as a resurgent Taliban and the newly-emerged Islamic State group terrorise the country. Media outlets have already scaled back coverage on the battlefield. But until this year, suicide attacks in urban centres remained a staple for newsrooms. A double bomb attack in the Afghan capital on April 30 changed that. Nine journalists, including Agence France-Presse chief photographer Shah Marai, were killed in the twin blasts -- the most lethal attack on the media since the fall of the Taliban. Less than three months later AFP driver Mohammad Akhtar was killed in another suicide attack on his way to work, followed in September by Faramarz and Ahmadi. The deaths are forcing outlets to ask themselves hard questions about how they work, especially as the country braces for more violence ahead of parliamentary elections in October. Much of the blame for the journalist deaths has been heaped on the Afghan government and its beleaguered security forces for failing to protect them. But media outlets also have been criticised for repeatedly putting their staff in danger. "Losing journalists in similar events one after another and not learning from the mistakes is bad management both on the part of the media organisations and the government," said Sayed Ikram Afzali, executive director of Afghan advocacy group Integrity Watch. Militants make headlines for killing civilians, security forces and first responders, including journalists. But a total ban on covering suicide attacks "would be disrespecting the fallen", said BBC bureau chief Shoaib Sharifi. The British broadcaster goes to great lengths to minimise the risks. "We literally evaluate and monitor every step outside the office," he said. For now Afghan broadcaster 1TV, which has had several people killed or wounded in this year's bombings, will continue to go to the scene of suicide attacks, said head of news and current affairs Abdullah Khenjani. "I think people deserve to know what is happening in their country," he added. But they no longer rush to be the first at the scene, and wearing flak jackets and helmets is mandatory. The New York Times' "default position is 'don't go' unless ... we agree there is some exceptional reason why you should," bureau chief Rod Nordland said. "In most cases we're saying there is no exceptional reason." The newspaper instead goes to hospitals or the homes of victims' families to show the human suffering caused by such attacks, as it continues to seek ways of telling the story even without going to the scene. Agence France-Presse has adopted a similar policy. "The risk now of going to a bomb site, of getting hit by a second bomb... outweighs the journalistic value in doing that," Nordland said.

Afghan journalists dying in record numbers to report the war

Samira Mouaki was covering the Iraqi frontline. Daniele Pagani wishes he was writing about her in any other circumstance but this one

Algerian war reporter Samira Mouaki was grievously hurt while covering the fight against the Islamic State in the Iraqi city of Tal Afar, west of Mosul. An Islamic State (IS) sniper shot her in the head. Samira was shot in the head by an Islamic State sniper. She was rushed to hospital in Baghdad. The doctors there say she is stable but it is still not certain how much of a recovery she will make × Samira was rushed to a hospital in Baghdad, from where the latest reports say she is out of danger but that it is still not certain how much of a recovery she will make. Tal Afar is en route to Syria and the Shiite paramilitary umbrella organisation the Al-Hashd Al-Shabi is fighting the IS there. Taking back the city from the IS means cutting off the last chance they have to flee Mosul. I had met Samira, on a sunny but chilly November dawn, while I was in Iraq. I was with two colleagues outside the Iraqi Army's 9th armoured division base, not far from Mosul. We were waiting for somebody to wake up and give us permission to visit the recently liberated ancient Assyrian city of Nimrud, a major archaeological site that the IS had laid waste to a few months earlier. We were looking at this funny-looking digging machine that the IS had used to dig underground tunnels in Nimrud, when suddenly Samira popped up and greeted us. I did not immediately realise that this small, energetic Algerian woman, wearing an olive green hijab and a Go-Pro camera holder on her jacket, was a journalist. We got chatting. I saw no civilian car and so asked her how she had got there. She told us she had been sleeping on the base for a few days, to be able to follow operations more closely. I have to say I was surprised. Probably because of my "western biases" -- which I always think I have erased but which seem ready to bounce back into action whenever I am not paying attention -- meeting an Algerian woman, alone, on a military base, covering the most advanced frontline in Iraq, had an effect on me. I remember thinking: "How the hell does a woman manage to sleep alone on a base full of Iraqi soldiers, all of them men?" Well, she did and I immediately regretted my thought. If I was able to roam around Iraq alone, how on earth did I dare think a woman, just because she is a woman, could not do it? When they say destroying gender biases is a process which starts primarily with ourselves, they are absolutely correct. When they further say that the major problem lies on the men's side, they are again correct. I looked at Samira and immediately felt an enormous respect for her courage. She was on the field, no SUV, no expensive camera. She was just there, doing her job without making a fuss. I remember we spoke about her interest in Al-Hashd Al-Shabi and how, according to her, presenting the conflict through a sectarian lens was counterproductive and wrong. I did not entirely agree with her and we debated the point or at least tried to, in broken French from our side while she of course spoke the language perfectly. After some ten minutes, an Iraqi officer came, his fatigues a little messy because of his sudden and early awakening. He lit a cigarette and invited us to have tea and dates while waiting for the formalities. We said goodbye to Samira and followed the officer. Samira's condition reminds us once again how dangerous it is to be a war reporter, and that safety must always come first. Journalists who report on conflicts are highly exposed to risk. Covering the Mosul offensive is especially dangerous because it is made up mostly of unconventional guerrilla warfare fought inside cities, with the enemy using ambushes and suicide attacks. Samira obviously does know what transpired in my mind after I met her, nor perhaps does she imagine how many times I have spoken about her with many colleagues and friends. I had often thought of getting in touch with her again, maybe even writing something about her experience, something which could have helped dismantle the damaging, superficial and unfortunately common cliché of the Arab woman. Too many people too many times consider Arab women a single category of oppressed individuals subjected alternatively to men and religion whereas, exactly as it is for men, theirs is a composite and diverse universe with countless experiences of freedom and suffering, satisfaction and frustration. I wish I was writing about her under any other circumstance but this one. I hope she gets well soon.

That Algerian woman war reporter in Iraq

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Afghan journalists dying in record numbers to report the war

That Algerian woman war reporter in Iraq