The BBC’s Gary O’Donoghue: ‘I knew those were gunshots, and then realised Trump had stopped talking’ | US politics

Born in Norfolk in 1968, and becoming blind by the age of eight, Gary O’Donoghue studied philosophy and modern languages at Oxford University. After graduating he joined the BBC as a junior reporter on the Today programme, later becoming Radio 4’s chief political correspondent. Now the BBC’s senior North America correspondent, O’Donoghue was in attendance at the rally in Butler, Pennsylvania where Donald Trump was hit by a bullet; his interview with eyewitness Greg Smith subsequently revealed astonishing security lapses. With election day on Tuesday and Americans worried there could be more violence to come, O’Donoghue spoke to us from the corporation’s Washington DC bureau. He divides his time between Washington DC, London and Yorkshire with his partner and their daughter.

Where will you be when America goes to the polls?
I’ll be covering election day and night, and the fallout afterwards, from Mar-a-Lago, Trump HQ.

You’re just back from swing state Michigan. Any sense of which way things will go?
We always laugh when people ask us this. I have no idea. It’s a cliche but it really is decided in these swing states. In Michigan, the phrase “the lesser of two evils” was said dozens of times – and by the way, when people say that, they’re usually voting Trump.

A recent poll found that a quarter of Americans fear civil war following the election. Does that seem a credible threat to you?
The idea of America is under enormous strain. The divides are everywhere – between the coasts and the centre, the north and the south, the urban and the rural, the religious and the unreligious. They are so entrenched that there is very little crossover communication, very little empathy. I find that incredibly sad. Do I think there could be civil war? I don’t but you’d be a fool to rule out violence. I mean, we’ve already had violence, haven’t we?

Right. What went through your mind as you dived for cover at Butler?
I knew immediately that those were gunshots, and then suddenly realised Trump had stopped talking. That’s the “Oh shit!” moment. Your mind is working at a million miles an hour – you have no idea whether it’s over or not, and then you hear the screaming start and you think, we’re in a pretty exposed position.

You ended up getting a vital interview – with a man wearing a Trump visor topped with fake hair and holding a beer can.
I don’t know what prejudices I’d have brought to it if I could see. One of the advantages of being blind and in journalism is that you can focus on the words. I’m a listener. If we’d put someone on air live who was lying or got it wrong, it could have really inflamed the situation, but Greg Smith was consistent.

Advances in technology must have made your professional life simultaneously easier and still more challenging.
Keeping up with information and the world as it is now, I feel like I’m paddling furiously under the surface the whole time. You’re listening to things mainly on audio, so it’s all linear, you can’t skim in the way you can when you can see. I rely on the wonderful Iona [Hampson, O’Donoghue’s senior producer] to let me know what’s trending and what I’m missing, but I must spend 70% more time than my colleagues just trying to keep up.

Does it ever get you down?
Sometimes it takes its toll because you’re obviously dealing with the same kind of life stuff that everyone has. I was in Chicago to report on Kamala Harris’s acceptance speech at the DNC when my mother died. I had a bit of a wobble recently because I realised I hadn’t thought about her once in four or five days. The guilt was just awful.

How has broadcast journalism changed over the course of your career?
When I started out, there were no anti-discrimination laws. People could say: “You can’t be a reporter, you’re blind.” Now they can’t say that, which makes it harder to spot, but there are still dinosaurs around who believe it. Fortunately the key people at the BBC get it and they’re kind of chuffed – I mean, I am the first ever disabled foreign correspondent. We’re publicly funded, we need to walk, talk, look, sound, smell like the country who pays our salaries, right?

Where does your resilience come from?
I lost my sight when I was eight and was sent away to boarding school, because that’s where blind children were educated in those days. It was actually the best thing that ever happened to me because I ended up with a Rolls-Royce education. But the other thing that happens is you’re forced to build some resilience because a thousand times a day there are micro-aggressions, as they call them nowadays.

You’ve spoken about how your mother once confided that things were so hard in your childhood, she’d thought of killing you both. Presumably she betrayed none of that at the time?
None at all. It was really tough and my parents weren’t educated people, but they were incredibly foresightful: they knew that getting me an education would give me some independence in life. It must have broken their hearts sending me away but they did the right thing.

What’s the most distressing news story you’ve ever had to report on?
The Pittsburgh synagogue shooting. I’d done other mass shootings but there was so much horrible detail about what happened, every sinew in me was screaming. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to losing it on air.

Is there a story you’re especially proud of?
The Trump conviction. I basically did the whole 10 o’clock news with Clive Myrie. The drama was magnificent but the thing I was particularly pleased with is that the years of working hard to understand America meant I could sustain something as high profile as that, for all that time.

What do you do to decompress?
I’m continually rereading the multi-volume Oxford History of the United States, but fiction is the thing that calms me down. I love Colson Whitehead, Claire Keegan, Henry James.

Is there anything you miss about the UK?
London, mince pies and proper chocolate. American chocolate sucks, as they say.