War correspondence — Harborline News, 2023
“The ceasefire lasted six hours. I kept the camera on for all six.”
The assignment
A six-hour humanitarian pause, announced at midnight, starting at dawn. Every crew in the city planned to film the first hour. We filmed all six — one locked-off street, one clock, no cuts.
The power of the piece is its refusal to look away. Hour one: queues for bread and water. Hour three: children playing in a street they had been told to avoid for months. Hour five: the packing up, the glances at watches. Hour six, minute fifty-eight: the first distant thump, and the street emptying in under ninety seconds.
The broadcast cut runs under nine minutes. The full six hours sit in Harborline News's archive as a single continuous record — already cited by two researchers documenting the pause.
- Location
- Old market street
- Hours filmed
- Six, continuously
- Format
- Broadcast report
- Status
- Aired, archived
The stay
A locked tripod is a promise.
The camera never moved. No pans to the sound, no zooms for emphasis — the street set the frame and the clock set the pace. Fixers kept the position safe; the bureau kept the satellite window open for all six hours in case the line held longer.
It didn't hold longer. That is also in the film, because the promise was to film the six hours, not the happy ones.
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