Rageh Omaar

Rageh Omaar has reported from some of the most dangerous, war-torn places in the world. Yet, as he tells Elinor Malcolm, he’s just a careful, cautious West London boy at heart

Above: Rageh Omaar

I’m lucky to catch Rageh Omaar at home. Though he may no longer be on our screens nightly, reporting for the BBC from the tragic chaos in Iraq against a backdrop of artillery fire, his feet still don’t touch the ground much between assignments – the Middle East, Iran, Pakistan, Africa... He grins: ‘Yes, I like to get the dust on my boots!’ That sums up the attitude of a man who, after university, rejected journalism school and instead headed for Ethiopia ‘with £800 in my pocket’, a letter of introduction from the BBC and a determination to make it as a foreign news reporter.

16 years, two books and a host of broadcasting accolades later, he’s definitely achieved it. But, though happily married and settled in Chiswick, with three young children to keep him on the toes of those dusty boots, his curiosity and wanderlust show little sign of abating. And his post-BBC freelance career – comprising a regular documentary slot for Al Jazeera’s English language channel – offers ample scope to satisfy them. ‘My family being from Somalia, I think the nomadic spirit is deep in my genes,’ he admits. ‘Also I come from a culture where we are news junkies – it does create a wanderlust, but not just for the sake of travel. A wanderlust with a purpose: to see historic events.’

Those historic events have most often been played out in the theatre of war: Kabul, Kosovo and of course, most famously, Baghdad. As well as steely professionalism, that must take a steady nerve (I presume shared by his wife), not to mention a spirit of adventure? ‘Actually, I’ve always been a very cautious person; methodical and deliberate, not at all gung ho.’ I express a degree of incredulity. Rageh concedes: ‘Yes, OK, you have to take calculated risks, no doubt about it.’ But he is adamant: ‘I’ve never described myself as a war correspondent – I only found myself in Baghdad because I’d been reporting there for six years prior to the war. There were lots of other people in the BBC much better known for their war reporting, but I could speak Arabic, had better contacts and just happened to be there.’

But he nonetheless produced some of the most memorable broadcasts of the war. And he came close to death when American missiles struck the hotel housing foreign journalists. He’s diced with it quite a few times more, but that caution comes in handy: ‘When you’re in a dangerous place with armed militia or commandos, the quiet journalist just doing his job has a much better chance of getting the story that those men have to tell than someone swaggering about as a macho war correspondent. Ultimately, though, you can never take a significant amount of risk out of what we do. I think it’s the most difficult kind of journalism and it’s certainly, unfortunately, still perceived as the most glamorous. But I’ve never been afraid of trusting my gut instincts. That is where life or death decisions in journalism are made.’

They’re tough decisions, when the pressure on correspondents is so intense, the immediacy of broadcasting technology and the explosion of media demanding 24-hour news reporting. To fulfil the need, journalists are often ‘parachuted in’, landing in hotspots of which they have little personal knowledge. It’s something Rageh deplores.

‘The biggest problem is the slow erosion of the idea of the foreign correspondent, who lives in the area – it’s extremely expensive, but that’s the best form of journalism, what viewers and readers want. How can you make a judgement call in a place you haven’t really spent time in? I’ve reported from far fewer places than a lot of my colleagues – but they’re places I know. I’ve been to Pakistan four times this year alone, to Iran about four times as well, to Israel and the Palestinian territories a lot too.’ Only a blend of judgement and luck saved him when reporting from Islamabad’s Red Mosque, when government militia stormed the madrasa. Amongst the fatalities was a photographer whose luck – or instincts – ran out that day.

Probing my cautious subject a bit more, I provoke an admission: ‘I do enjoy being thrown in at the deep end – that’s when I’m at my best. That’s always what’s happened, right from the beginning. A lot of journalists thrive under pressure. My wife says if I have five days to do something, it’s always done right at the end. My life is one long essay crisis!’

Challenge and variety are obviously Rageh’s lifeblood, which completely explains his decision to turn down a safe anchor job at the BBC and go freelance. Impressive work has resulted, in particular a groundbreaking documentary: ‘a portrait of Iranian society through the eyes of young people in Teheran, rich and poor, religious and non-religious’. It’s an eye-opener for Western viewers fed on a visual diet of turbaned mullahs and chanting, flag-burning crowds and, like all Rageh’s work, notable for its insight and empathy. As he’s said, ‘journalism isn’t always about getting the big interview. It’s about integrity and telling the story of the man on the street.’

In Iran, as in many other of his assignments, Rageh’s cultural blend stood him in good stead. Somali by birth, English public school and Oxford-educated he, as he puts its, ‘straddles both cultures’. ‘It’s given me something of an advantage because I am very aware of different identities. I’ve felt very at ease in the places I’ve gone to, and people have been very welcoming – they’ve just assumed I’m from there, even in Iran, though I don’t look remotely Persian!’

It’s a subject he’s tackled in his autobiography, Only Half of Me – Being a Muslim in Britain, which Penguin published after his seminal Revolution Day, on the downfall of Saddam Hussein. And it’s one that is again reflected in his current work for Al Jazeera. He’s proud to be associated with the network, which he rates as ‘a truly international news channel, with a real public service ethos about it’. Much like the BBC? ‘It’s sad and ironic that there’s Al Jazeera building a reputation and a huge audience on the basis of unbiased news and factual programmes and current affairs at a time when massive BBC cuts are happening. If you go anywhere in the world, people would say that’s what the BBC stood for, not soap operas or reality TV. People in their tens of millions, not just the Arab world, are watching al-Jazeera to get a different perspective.’

Rageh has a different perspective too, since fatherhood became ‘more important than anything else I do’. To a certain degree, he allows his family’s caution to operate on his behalf, when the urge for adventure tempts him into too much danger – and he certainly enjoys spending time on his ‘home patch’. ‘I’ve always been a West Londoner; I grew up around here, lived in Shepherd’s Bush when I started out, had friends in Hammersmith and Chiswick. It’s bizarre, the cities I’ve reported on and ended up really liking – Baghdad, Teheran, Peshawar, New York – I’ve realised all have a common theme with London. They’re a patchwork of villages; they’ve all got very distinct neighbourhoods and people feel a great loyalty to where they’re from. Yes, I’m a West London boy. There’s no way I’d live anywhere else. I’ve lived in North London and there are plenty of foreign assignments I’ve felt more at home in – I feel less of a need for a visa to go to Iran than North London!’

His wife might wish for the occasional peaceful assignment to Muswell Hill but, for the rest of us who enjoy vivid, informed foreign news reporting, long may Rageh Omaar continue to fulfil his absolute love: ‘travelling to the ragged ends of the earth, hearing people’s stories and witnessing events’.