Reporting on the war in Ukraine

A couple of weeks ago a colleague called me in the middle of the night to ask a serious question.

"I'm thinking of going to Europe to cover the refugee crisis," she said. "Do you want to come?

You’ll probably have to quit your job."

I didn't even have to think about it.

"Yes. Hell yes. When do we leave?"

I’ve worked with Linda Tirado for years. In 2017 we lived with activists in St. Louis for several months while covering the Stockley verdict. The following year we covered the March For Our Lives in Washington D.C., the election of Illinois Governor J.B. Pritzker, and the conviction of former Chicago police officer Jason Van Dyke for the murder of 17-year-old Laquan McDonald.

In 2019, we were there when Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot won her run-off against Cook County Board Pres. Tony Preckwinkle and Lightfoot's supporters were so drunk that a campaign staffer pleaded with them to stop harassing reporters, photographers and broadcasters. We were there when Sen. Bernie Sanders announced he was running for president again, and during Sen. Elizabeth Warren's whistle-stop tours.

That doesn't include how invaluable we were to each other's solo coverage for stories like former Pres. Trump's July 4th "Salute to America," the Chicago teachers' strike, or the logistical collapse of the Iowa Caucuses.

She's the one who took the photo of me attached to this page. We were covering the Polk County Iowa Democrats' annual Steak Fry. Over 20 Democratic presidential candidates paraded into a park, gave speeches, and grilled some leathery steaks (and something my old notebook says was "an unappealing vegan alternative").

In 2020 Linda lost her eye in Minneapolis after she was shot by police while taking a photo. She wanted me to come on that trip, but I couldn't. A few months later, when she was given the National Press Freedom Award, she called me up to ask if she had to wear make-up for the ceremony.

"Probably," I told her. "It's a pretty big deal."

"Goddamn it," she said. "I need to learn how to duck."

In the field, we always watch out for one another. Sometimes she sees things I don't because I'm too busy rolling around in a goddamn gutter taking photos. Sometimes she grabs my pack while I push through a crowd to find a better vantage point. It's what we do.

If you're reading this, you're familiar with us and our work. It’s raw, it’s real, and we're honest. You already know Linda won’t suffer bullshit in her reportage, and that I’ll climb the tallest damn thing I can find for a good shot. We take risks, and we get the job done.

But that’s why I need your help.

We’re going to Europe to cover the refugee crisis, and I need some extra help on this one.

I want to show you the aid groups delivering food and supplies; people reuniting with loved ones; lost pets waiting for their friends to rescue them, and the senseless horrors of war.

Media outlets only have a handful of people in conflict zones because it requires special skills, and the things you see can seriously fuck you up mentally and physically. But those of us that can do the job keep doing the job because we know these stories need to be told.

That kind of reportage costs a lot of money. Even on a tight budget, it costs money. And I still have student loan payments.

I’ve set this at $5,000 to start to cover some of the costs of travel and housing and some equipment that I’ll need. If I can reach that goal, I’ll extend the fundraiser as well as the length of my time on location; Linda has to be back in the States after a month, but I’d like to stay on and earnestly work a few stories that need more than a few weeks to report.

The bottom line is this: the more money I can raise, the more photos and videos I can produce, and the more stories I can tell.

I’ll be posting my work on my free Substack, The Smoke Eater, my Patreon and on social media. If you’d rather just send me a few bucks, I also have Paypal , Venmo, Cash App, and Ko-Fi.

Corporate news required that I shut my mouth and stop my publications, but I don’t work for them anymore. I've laced up my boots, and I'm going to pound some pavement.