The live webcam in war...Baghdad 2003
This morning's NPR show, This American Life, considered several cases of people 'spying' on other people and places. I was reminded of the early days of the war in Iraq. As the conflict seemed imminent, I was checking various news sources regularly online. I discovered that the BBC had a link to live webcams in Baghdad which continued to transmit faithfully well after the hostilities began. To my recollection, there were three views. One looked out to the minarets of what I assumed was a mosque across a broad boulevard with shops or offices visible on the far side. Palm trees were visible. Another view looked at what appeared to be a multilevel parking structure with a street running below. I can't recall what the third view was. Perhaps all of them were simply different settings from the same camera position. Regardless, I found myself fascinated.
Because of the time difference, I would log into the webcam link and get the streets of the nighttime city. Before hostilities commenced, the images were of headlights on the road, stopping at the crossings, the glow of streetlights. Some lights within windows. And the sound of the passing traffic. It was eerily normal. If I logged on late in the evening here, I would get images of early traffic there. Cars, many trucks, a few busses. The busses would stop and people would get off. People walked down the sidewalks and in and out of the stores. I never saw it look terribly busy, but it didn't look like a city on the edge of being attacked either- not at least from the narrow lens I had to look through. The refresh interval on the images seemed to be pretty fast- the people walking down the street were a little jerky but not terribly so. And the sound seemed to be consistent- an approaching car would get louder and louder and then fade past. Occasionally horns honked.
I found myself fascinated by the surreal character of watching the capital city of our 'enemy' from within even as the other media reported on the sabre rattling and steady buildup toward war.
One night there was apparently a wind storm because, even in the dim light of the streets, the palm trees' fronds were outstretched and whipping in the breeze. There was, as well, a steady sussurus of wind over the camera mike.
Finally, hostilities began. Cruise missiles and air attacks on Baghdad. Astonishingly, the webcam continued to send its images. In the dark you could hear the sirens wail in the city. The amount of lights on the streets dropped appreciably- apparently for security as well as perhaps because of power outages. Traffic declined to simply periodic small convoys of trucks or jeeps. Occasionally bright flashes lit the night sky and there were accompanying growls of the explosions. However, most of whatever fighting was going on did not fall within the view of the webcam.
Sometimes, the webcam image would simply freeze or pixellate, and the feed would be lost. I would go back to the BBC website and try to pick up the link again. Sometimes, I got a message that it was unavailable. Amazingly to me, it continued to come back to life. I was addicted to logging into the webcam- it gave me a feeling of connectedness to the reality of what was happening that I did not experience listening to the news. The news coverage was repetitive, uninformative, and lousy. The webcam had no commentary, but I felt it was a true-though narrow- window.
I loaded the webcam even when I was at work. Keeping it open in a separate window on my computer while I worked didn't seem all that odd. I'd go and refresh the image every few minutes to see if something was happening. One afternoon, I went out of the office and left the computer on. When I came back, my executive assistant recounted that she'd been sitting at her desk working when she was suddenly startled by what sounded like gibberish voices from my cubicle. She was very taken aback because she knew I wasn't there. Looking around the corner at my computer screen, she said she saw a 'face' looking very distorted out of the window on my screen. It was very disconcerting. Almost immediately it disappeared.
I apologized and explained to her about the webcam link. I was very sorry I hadn't been there. My best surmise was that some Iraqi citizen had walked up to the camera and expressed himself- saying what I don't know- and then walked away. It never happened again while I watched.
There finally came a point when our armed forces were on the verge of entering Bagdad and the camera came on no more. Perhaps it was because of the destruction of the power grid that took place. Whatever the reason, I felt a genuine pang of loss. The experience of the Bagdad webcam had given me a feeling I've not experienced before- of being able to see a little corner of a place that everyone was talking about and to know something of what the reality was like. I've been occasionally tempted to see if I could find out more about the BBC webcam from the network. Life moves on, though, and I haven't gotten around to it. Whatever I found out would not change the experience I had- seeing live in Bagdad.
Because of the time difference, I would log into the webcam link and get the streets of the nighttime city. Before hostilities commenced, the images were of headlights on the road, stopping at the crossings, the glow of streetlights. Some lights within windows. And the sound of the passing traffic. It was eerily normal. If I logged on late in the evening here, I would get images of early traffic there. Cars, many trucks, a few busses. The busses would stop and people would get off. People walked down the sidewalks and in and out of the stores. I never saw it look terribly busy, but it didn't look like a city on the edge of being attacked either- not at least from the narrow lens I had to look through. The refresh interval on the images seemed to be pretty fast- the people walking down the street were a little jerky but not terribly so. And the sound seemed to be consistent- an approaching car would get louder and louder and then fade past. Occasionally horns honked.
I found myself fascinated by the surreal character of watching the capital city of our 'enemy' from within even as the other media reported on the sabre rattling and steady buildup toward war.
One night there was apparently a wind storm because, even in the dim light of the streets, the palm trees' fronds were outstretched and whipping in the breeze. There was, as well, a steady sussurus of wind over the camera mike.
Finally, hostilities began. Cruise missiles and air attacks on Baghdad. Astonishingly, the webcam continued to send its images. In the dark you could hear the sirens wail in the city. The amount of lights on the streets dropped appreciably- apparently for security as well as perhaps because of power outages. Traffic declined to simply periodic small convoys of trucks or jeeps. Occasionally bright flashes lit the night sky and there were accompanying growls of the explosions. However, most of whatever fighting was going on did not fall within the view of the webcam.
Sometimes, the webcam image would simply freeze or pixellate, and the feed would be lost. I would go back to the BBC website and try to pick up the link again. Sometimes, I got a message that it was unavailable. Amazingly to me, it continued to come back to life. I was addicted to logging into the webcam- it gave me a feeling of connectedness to the reality of what was happening that I did not experience listening to the news. The news coverage was repetitive, uninformative, and lousy. The webcam had no commentary, but I felt it was a true-though narrow- window.
I loaded the webcam even when I was at work. Keeping it open in a separate window on my computer while I worked didn't seem all that odd. I'd go and refresh the image every few minutes to see if something was happening. One afternoon, I went out of the office and left the computer on. When I came back, my executive assistant recounted that she'd been sitting at her desk working when she was suddenly startled by what sounded like gibberish voices from my cubicle. She was very taken aback because she knew I wasn't there. Looking around the corner at my computer screen, she said she saw a 'face' looking very distorted out of the window on my screen. It was very disconcerting. Almost immediately it disappeared.
I apologized and explained to her about the webcam link. I was very sorry I hadn't been there. My best surmise was that some Iraqi citizen had walked up to the camera and expressed himself- saying what I don't know- and then walked away. It never happened again while I watched.
There finally came a point when our armed forces were on the verge of entering Bagdad and the camera came on no more. Perhaps it was because of the destruction of the power grid that took place. Whatever the reason, I felt a genuine pang of loss. The experience of the Bagdad webcam had given me a feeling I've not experienced before- of being able to see a little corner of a place that everyone was talking about and to know something of what the reality was like. I've been occasionally tempted to see if I could find out more about the BBC webcam from the network. Life moves on, though, and I haven't gotten around to it. Whatever I found out would not change the experience I had- seeing live in Bagdad.
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