“Reporters Are the Only Ones Here”

I was watching KTLA’s coverage of the devastating fires in the Palisades — a street where every home had burned down except for one, standing improbably untouched (obvious follow up needed). Reporter Eric Spillman was live on one Palisades street, describing and showing the heartbreak and devastation.

As he moved through the ravaged neighborhood, he spotted another man and asked, “Do you have a home here?”

The man’s response was quick and matter-of-fact: “I’m a reporter.”

Spillman turned back to the camera and told the audience, “Reporters are the only ones here.”

Photographers, too, of course—we know that. But his words struck me. In a place where even the air was too heavy to breathe, it was the news crews who stayed, bearing witness when no one else could.

Respecting the Crews on the Frontlines

“Hats off” feels inadequate to describe the respect owed to these teams.

When disaster strikes, the first instinct for most people is to leave, to find safety. But not these crews. Reporters, photographers, and producers run toward the destruction, often putting themselves in harm’s way to ensure the story gets told.

Even when the flames are out, their work doesn’t get easier. The air is still thick with smoke, the devastation is all-encompassing, and the fear lingers like an unwelcome guest. These aren’t just dangerous assignments; they’re emotional ones. There’s a weight to standing in the middle of someone’s worst day and asking them to share their story.

California Burning: The Stories Behind the Flames

California’s wildfires are as much about systemic failure as they are about nature. Years of drought, poor water management, and political gridlock have created the perfect conditions for disaster. But while the state might fall short in fire prevention and resource allocation, it’s unmatched in its news coverage of these crises.

Local crews are often the first—and sometimes the only—ones on the scene. They document the destruction but also go deeper, asking the questions no one else is around to ask. Why did this one house survive? Why aren’t resources keeping up with the scale of these disasters? And what happens to these communities in the aftermath?

Their work isn’t just about covering a fire; it’s about holding people accountable and giving the public a clear picture of what’s at stake.

The Quiet Heroes: News Crews Behind the Lens

For every reporter on camera, there’s a photographer, producer, or crew member working just as hard behind the scenes.

They’re the ones lugging heavy equipment through hazardous conditions, finding the perfect shot amid chaos, and making sure the story makes it to air. They rarely get the recognition they deserve, but their work is every bit as critical.

Whether it’s climbing into a canyon for a better angle or braving embers to capture the scope of a blaze, their contributions define the quality of local news coverage.

The Humanity in the Horror

Spillman’s comment—“Reporters are the only ones here”—is more than just an observation. It’s a testament to the role local news plays in times of crisis.

When everyone else has left, when streets are empty and hope feels distant, news crews are there. They’re the bridge between disaster and understanding, making sure these moments aren’t forgotten and these stories are told.

So here’s to them: the reporters, photographers, and everyone who stays when others can’t. They remind us why local news matters—and why it always will.

P.S. This piece is laser-focused on news crews because that’s what Broken News does. But let me be clear: there’s no shortage of respect for the fire crews who truly risk their lives on the frontlines of these disasters. Their bravery is unmatched. This is just a space to shine a light on those who tell their stories.