Kyiv Dispatch #1: Bat Out of Hellery

Too dangerous to witness. Too important to ignore.

Right Now in Kyiv

When I settled on calling this newsletter In the Moment..a nod to our video series In the Shadows…I didn’t realize just how on-the-nose it would feel.

I’m publishing this first edition from Kyiv. And it is a moment, alright.

As I type, my phone won’t stop buzzing. Rumors are flying: a fleet of Russian Iskander ballistic missiles is being prepped. A major wallop from Putin…expected tonight. Speculation. Oligarchs are reportedly fleeing the capital. More speculation.

But this much is certain: Putin wants revenge for Operation Spiderweb…Ukraine’s audacious drone strike that left dozens of Russian warplanes in smoking ruin. I was just learning the scale of it as Kyiv’s skyline came into view on Sunday.

Coming in Hot

My bat-out-of-hell Ukrainian driver.

But let’s start earlier that day…before I realized I was being chauffeured into Kyiv by a certified lunatic. Hard to notice red flags when you’ve chemically ghosted yourself.

Pickup was at 4 a.m. in Warsaw. I’d already downed my go-to travel sedatives… the kind that render your nervous system politely unavailable for 14 hours. I’ve done this trip enough times to have perfected the backseat rig: memory foam mattress, fine linens “liberated” from United Airlines, and just enough pride to snap a photo and text it to a friend…who, as it happened, was seeing United’s CEO that day.

“He loved it,” came a later text. No Global Services invite. But also no ban for petty theft.

I woke up nine hours later to find we were just two hours outside Kyiv. That math didn’t add up… unless you accounted for the fact that the man behind the wheel had been driving like the devil owed him money. Swerving, weaving, tearing through the borderlands like a bat with a death wish.

I blinked. Sat up. Realized I’d entrusted my life to a man who treats lane markings as polite suggestions.

And that’s when it hit me:

I have to book this guy for the return trip.

Brace yourself… there’s no elegant segue from madman chauffeurs to the madness of modern war.

The Un-Coverable War

Chitchatted the other day with a buddy…a senior risk and security exec at one of the U.S. networks. I wanted to test a premise that’s been circling my brain for weeks: this war, at least on the frontline, has become un-coverable.

He didn’t argue.

I used to feel a flicker of envy walking past the ABC, NBC, and CNN armored SUVs lined up outside the Kyiv Intercontinental. Those rigs aren’t cheap. The fuel bill alone would test the limits of any corporate credit card. But that era? Gone.

You can’t just throw money at the safety problem anymore.

These days, no vehicle… armored or not… gets within 7 to 10 miles of the front. A shiny SUV? That’s drone bait. Ukrainian public affairs officers aren’t exactly leaping to escort you to the zero line. Can’t blame them.

So we piece stories together from helmet cams and drone feeds… jump cuts of chaos. Mud, muzzle flashes, the occasional scream. After a while, it all blurs… just different hues of war-gray.

And here’s the twist of the knife: journalism is supposed to humanize. To put eyes on the ground. To bear witness. To find the story with a heartbeat.

But how do you humanize what your human eyes can’t see?

We’re still figuring that out.

GPT-Zarathustra

Even the abyss now prefers B-roll.

The GoPro sees everything. But it understands nothing.

The reporter once followed the soldier. Now he follows the footage.

Haiti’s Precarious Moment

Our newest installment of the Scripps News doc series, In the Shadows — with Jason Bellini, airs tonight at 7 ET on Scripps News. You can also see it on YouTube.
Here’s a clip from it…

I was in Haiti recently, reporting for our latest In the Shadows episode… watch it Thursday at 7P ET on Scripps News or on YouTube.

What we captured is just a fraction of what’s unfolding. This, below, is the rest of it.

With the airport closed, I haven’t been able to get into Port-au-Prince since last summer. Back then, it was fraying—but you could still thread your way through it. A handshake here, a side street there. The danger was present, but it hadn’t yet become the city’s defining feature.

That’s changed.

Now, Port-au-Prince is a carcass being picked apart by gangs who call themselves “Living Together.” The irony burns hotter than the buildings they torch. They control the airport, the seaport, the courts. You don’t arrive there anymore… you escape.

So I flew into Cap-Haïtien with the intrepid producer, Ingrid Arnesen. She knows EVERYONE there. She and my boss, Linda Pattillo, won a DuPont award for their reporting there

Anyway. On the waterfront, I watched men load aid onto fishing boats, one sack at a time. That’s how food gets to the capital now… by sea, dodging bullets and barricades.

We found the displaced—families who fled massacres with nothing but the clothes on their backs. One woman told me, “If they had found us, they would have killed us too.” Her voice didn’t tremble. In Haiti, terror has no time for drama.

And then… music.

A nun named Didi had evacuated 33 orphans from the capital, salvaging their lives and their instruments. In the mountains, they now play violin and trumpet. Notes rising where institutions have collapsed.

“Music is healing,” she said.

GPT Zarathustra

In a land without government, the violin becomes a form of resistance.

Capslockia

NFI — No F*ing Idea

Gifted to me by a young cop in Australia—delivered with a shrug and a smirk.

NMFP — Not My F*ing Problem

A Jason original—or so he assumes. Still waiting on the copyright lawyers.

CBF — Can’t Be F*ed

Another gem from Down Under. Universal in application.

Dear readers: Should this be a regular feature? Is it sustainable? Or am I just trying to alphabetize the chaos?

Tradecraftery: Testing the DJI RS Intelligent Tracking Module

A peek at the gear—and the instincts—behind getting the moment to stick.

These days, I never shoot handheld. I’m a gimbal guy. But keeping your subject in frame with the heavy beast eats up precious cognitive bandwidth.

So, three days before leaving for Ukraine… with this new piece of wizardry still on backorder from B&H—I begged DJI to lend me one.

They did. (And yes, they want it back.)

First impressions? I’m smitten.

If you want one, find the link yourself… and get in line. Referral fees = me getting fired.

Postscriptery

So here’s the plan: I’ll be sending out this free newsletter every Thursday.

Why Thursday? No particular reason. It just felt… available.

If you don’t find my jottings, ponderings, and randomaginings glisteningly interesting… well, at least the price was right.

Thanks to my bosses at Scripps News for letting me run with this—as long as I don’t push the envelope off a cliff. Or mix too many metaphors into a flaming stew of regret.

Expect behind-the-scenery dispatches from my assignments…quixotic quests to find fresh, meaningful stories for television. The best ones tend to happen… in the moment.

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