Oscar McKevitt Flack
At around 12:30 am, somewhere between my third coffee, second sandwich, and the first unmistakable signs of exhaustion, it dawned on me that I was witnessing a side of broadcast journalism that audiences seldom see.
The May local election results had begun to emerge from counting centres up and down the country – I clocked the first result at around 12:29. Those still awake at this hour – the dedicated political junkies watching from home – saw reporters deliver live updates, presenters dissect the numbers, and graphics constantly update seamlessly as the political map began to shift. Yet, unlike those watching from home, I was spending the night inside the BBC’s hub, the heart of the organisation’s election coverage.
It was hectic, highly-caffeinated and, for a young person hoping to work in the industry, genuinely fascinating.
For nine hours, I sat behind the scenes of the world’s most recognisable broadcasting organisation and watched election-night journalism unfold in real time. It was hectic, highly caffeinated and, for a young person hoping to work in the industry, genuinely fascinating.
The ‘hub’ resembled less a traditional newsroom than a military command centre. Rows of desks faced a vast wall of screens that displayed live feeds from teams on the ground across the country, constantly refreshing election data, and rolling footage from other broadcasters. The room hummed with a kind of controlled urgency that is hard to describe but immediately felt – punctuated by ringing phones, murmured conversations, and the persistent audio of guests debating one another on the live feed.
For most people, election coverage starts when the broadcast starts; however, for those inside the hub, what viewers see is but the visible tip of an enormous operational iceberg that had already been running for hours – and would continue for many more well after most of the country had gone to bed.
He essentially spent the night acting as a conductor of sorts, ensuring that dozens of moving parts all stayed in sync.
The editor who guided me through the night and into the early hours of the morning was Tim Burke, and watching him work was, without question, one of the most compelling parts of the experience. He essentially spent the night acting as a conductor of sorts, ensuring that dozens of moving parts all stayed in sync. One moment saw him checking results; the next he was on the phone to a reporter on the ground, warning them that they would be live in two minutes. What struck me most was the sheer precision involved. Election coverage is easily associated with dramatic declarations and breaking-news moments. In reality, the bulk of the work consisted of countless small decisions made in rapid succession, each one under pressure, each one with consequences. Which reporter should go on air next? Is that result confirmed? Can the correspondent make it to the correct position before the camera cuts to them?
Every answer mattered, and Tim’s role brought this into sharp focus. Whilst those at home saw polished correspondents deliver confident updates from counting centres, he was busy managing the operation from behind the screen, keeping track of myriad reporters and ensuring that the coverage was coordinated as new results arrived. It was a vivid illustration of something that I had not fully grasped before: that live broadcasting depends as much – perhaps more – on the people behind the camera as those in front of it.
there was a particular kind of focused energy – concentration threaded through with good humour, people getting on with an exceptionally demanding job and, by all appearances, enjoying it.
The atmosphere throughout the night was intense, but not dramatic in the way that outsiders might imagine. (Though I cannot help but imagine what it’s like during a general election!) During the time that I was there – late Thursday night through to early Friday morning – there were no theatrical declarations of “breaking news”, nor any scenes worthy of a political thriller. Instead, there was a particular kind of focused energy – concentration threaded through with good humour, people getting on with an exceptionally demanding job and, by all appearances, enjoying it. Election nights, after all, are marathons rather than sprints, and by the small hours, the evidence of that was everywhere.
Caffeine, unsurprisingly, was the fuel of choice. Cups of coffee and tea occupied many surfaces; some staff had wrapped themselves in blankets to fend off the night’s chill. A few had that particular look – as anyone who has pulled an all-nighter can attest to – of someone running on adrenaline and institutional pride. The pressure was as real as the sense of purpose.
Despite the long night, morale never faltered, which perhaps is not that surprising. The stakes of the work are clear on a night like this. The people in the hub are responsible for delivering information to millions of people across the country – people who are relying on organisations like the BBC to make sense of a complex world. That fact never escaped me, even as an observer.
In our fast-paced world, audiences consume news at such speed that rarely do viewers stop to consider the logistical effort required to make those moments happen.
For a young person hoping to enter journalism, this was undoubtedly the most fascinating aspect of the experience.
Journalism can appear to be an individual pursuit: a reporter chases a story, a presenter delivers the news, a headline is written. Election night showed me that the opposite was true. Broadcasting and collaboration go hand-in-hand. Spending a night inside the BBC’s election operation showed how the visible figures of the media depend on an army of people working behind the scenes.
To those on the outside, this army is invisible. In our fast-paced world, audiences consume news at such speed that rarely do viewers stop to consider the logistical effort required to make those moments happen. However, that invisibility is, in some respects, a sign of success. It shows that the coverage went smoothly, the technology worked, the reporters appeared on cue, and the information was accurate. Ultimately, the machinery disappears behind the finished product.
By the time I left just after 5 am, stepping out into the early morning quiet with a mild caffeine headache and a head full of impressions, I had a new and lasting appreciation for the complexity of live news. The election coverage that appeared on screen, looking as effortless as it did, was anything but. The smoothness was earned – the product of preparation, expertise, coordination, and a room full of people who cared about getting it right.
Behind every live reporter was a producer making a phone call. Behind every result was a team of fact-checkers. Behind every broadcast was a room full of people fuelled by caffeine, commitment, and, most importantly, a passion for politics.
Most people will probably never see this side of journalism. But for one long, absorbing, amazing night, I did.
Oscar McKevitt Flack
Featured image courtesy of Annie Spratt via Unsplash. Image license found here. No changes were made to this image.
