Gonzo Journalism - The General Election Night

Fear, excitement, surrealism. The elated interest of the general election had brought us all together. The six-hour live broadcast encompassed our minds. Preparation the previous night was definitely essential for this mammoth task and my night wasn’t without a calming hot drink and hours of sleep. As for the day itself, I was welcomed by a punch in the face from the sheer amount of notes I had to process and learn. This obviously overwhelmed me. Although like most, I couldn’t wait to tackle the election from a journalistic perspective. My role was a political editor. What exactly does that mean? I don’t know. But I needed to know a lot about politics

The newsroom felt extremely professional. There was no mucking around today. A Facebook page wasn’t in sight. It was clear everyone was particularly conscientious about this broadcast, as it needed to showcase the best of our abilities, in the studio, newsroom and outside broadcasts. The strain of the night that was to follow was evident upon the creases of everyone’s’ foreheads. The only audible sounds were the clicking of mice, tapping of keyboards and printing of paper. There was a pleasant breeze blowing through the window that provided an element of calm for the headless chickens.

The feel of immediacy in the afternoon was peculiar for a deadline that was a long way off. The ten o’clock kick off time seemed a lifetime away but the hours were dropping like flies. Before I knew it, it was seven thirty. The first scheduled rehearsal time. In spite of this, many of the team were nowhere to be found. Their hunger needs had to be satisfied. It wasn’t until eight thirty that the team had finally assembled ready for the first dress rehearsal. If this were a play, I hadn’t learned my lines!

As the team rehearsed I looked on, half concentrating on them, and half concentrating on communicating with a first year, out on an outside broadcast from the New Forest. I had sent him off on his way earlier in the afternoon after vigorously testing his equipment and it looked like he was all set to go. As it turned out, the internet connection out in the sticks was poor. Communicating with him was hard, even at the best of times.

My shift on screen was not set to be until midnight but midnight crept up on me like a cat stalking its prey. I was not prepared in any shape or form. Panic had set in. When the changeover was set to happen, I was still running between the newsroom and the studio, hopelessly trying to communicate with everyone on outside broadcasts. There was only so much that could be done in the studio since outside broadcasts were going live almost all the time. So, at the last minute I called upon the other political editor that was set to take the stage at two o’clock but had to step up two hours earlier.

At every advert break the anchor would mop his sweaty brow with a towel. That’s how intense the heat beaming from the lights was. I was to take to the sofa to showcase my ‘political expertise’ at any moment knowing full well that I was going to melt the second I got to the other side of those lights. It was time. Make or break. Or rather make or melt.

As I crossed the line of cameras and took my seat on the sofa, the camera lens looked like the eye of a gun staring down at me. I knew that when the red light on the camera appeared, it was aiming at me. This was something I did not want to muck up. I’m almost sure that the feeling of being held at gunpoint wasn’t too far from the feeling I felt at that exact moment. I’ve never really been one for nerves and I felt that my confidence in front of a camera was beginning to increase. It wasn’t. I felt awfully uneasy. The sofa I was sat on would look comfortable to anyone, but to me, it was the most uncomfortable place in the world.

The not knowing didn’t help. I had just a few seconds to prepare before going live and the anchor would throw me a question. I had no idea what I was talking about. I was just talking, and talking, and talking. The words just came out and I’m not sure if they made any sense at all. I had narrowly crossed the line between feeling anxious to feeling natural in front of the camera. There was still a huge sigh of relief when I knew the camera wasn’t on me though.

It was ironic that on election night I would use a technique that many politicians use, not answering the question, but instead talking about what they want to talk about. I would always bring in topics that I was knowledgeable of and confident to talk about. The longer I sat on the sofa the more comfortable I got. Although, I made sure I never got too far ahead of myself, knowing full well what was at stake.

As the broadcast went on, hour after hour, it still did not become a formality. The constant struggle against technology was a recurring problem that the anchor had to constantly apologise for. Repeating the same packages every hour was slowly driving everyone insane. At this stage, I don’t think anyone had quite realised just exactly what we had managed to accomplish tonight. What we had produced was unimaginable just a month previous. Journalism students at other universities could only dream of having the facilities and opportunities to experience something as comprehensive and fulfilling as this.

In the final stint I was asked to be the outside broadcast presenter. This is essentially speaking at a television screen in the hope of having a conversation with the person on that screen. The technology baffled me. So it was no surprise that when I first tried to communicate with someone it was to no avail. However, after repeating myself with increasing volume each time, I eventually solved the problem and I was almost able to engage in a full conversation.

Our historic broadcast had come to an exciting end at five thirty in the morning. Everyone was physically and mentally drained. The sun was rising. It was time to go home. The success of our broadcast had not set in at all and most people were just glad it was over.