The Petrinja Earthquake
Then, just as we were going live, an aftershock started, interrupting me as I lost focus on what I was saying, as the desperate parents called their daughter’s name. “Everything is ok, it’s ok,” I said, just to calm myself. The video went viral; it was posted on news sites and social networks. I guess everybody loves to see videos where the unexpected happens. During another live report, I was unable to hold back my tears as I described how people from the island of Brač had offered accommodation to families from Petrinja whose homes had been destroyed. By the end of the day, seven people were dead. A couple of weeks later, I met N1 correspondent, Ranko Stojanac. He told me: “Good job. Everybody thinks television is a lot of information, statistics, charismatic reporters owning the space. But it’s not. Television is all about expression. You’re there, you’re witnessing something people rarely see. You observe, and you try to pass it on. You don’t hide how it struck you.” Almost five months later, Petrinja was still suffering. But my cameraman Nino and I had other news to cover. The second round of local elections was underway, and we went to the coastal town of Zadar. Just as we were about to get a statement from a mayoral candidate, a young man said: “Hey, you’re the guy that covered the Petrinja earthquake!”
“Yes that’s me. And Nino was my cameraman,” I replied. “I watch Al Jazeera,” the young man told me. “You are the only TV reporting on events how they really are. And about the quake - you were the only ones who were simply human covering that story.” I looked at Nino, who smiled back at me, and I thought to myself that there really is no better place to be who I really am. At the end of every package I say my name, my surname, and the name of a TV network that is human: Marin Veršić, Al Jazeera.
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