I went undercover at Donald Trump rallies to seek out out what makes his followers love him a lot

I’ve spent the last week travelling around the US, meeting some of America’s friendliest – and also most unhinged – people.

Across four states I’ve attended rallies by both candidates for the Presidency – but by far the most fascinating characters I’ve spoken to have worn red hats.

With the possible exception of the young man dressed as Colonel Sanders, whose girlfriend was in a fluffy white chicken costume, and said he liked Trump because he was “funny”, all of them had some pretty wild beliefs – whether it was denying there was violence on January 6th, denying the pandemic was a thing or claiming the 20204 election had already been rigged.

Now, here’s the thing the Donald won’t tell you about his rallies. Despite the venom he directs towards the “fake news” media at the back of his rallies – they’re pretty selective about who they dish out press passes to.

If you’re not a major US outlet (and sometimes even if you are), or a website or content creator friendly to Mr Trump, it can be a struggle to get credentials to be part of the former President’s human shield.

So I did what anyone else would do in my position. I got an American burner phone and signed up to go as a punter. I waited in line for several hours in the baking desert heat in Las Vegas, and in the midwest chill of Wisconsin, to meet as many Trump fans as I could – and try to find out what makes them tick.

Of course, I spent most of those hours with my mouth shut, lest my light Sheffield accent give away my intentions.

But my ears were open.

Among my favourite overheard snatches of conversation during the four hours or so I’ve spent in queues to get into Trump rallies this week have been:

• “Who on Earth would want a woman President? She’d be all hormonal!” – A lady well into her 60s, attending a rally with her 20-something daughter
• “I know so many people who got sick [after being vaccinated for Covid-19, you know? Me, at 43 years old, with no family history, I got stage 4 colon cancer. I wish I could turn back the clock.” – A man in his 40s, attending a rally alone
• “I call it the [air quotes] “shutdown”, not the pandemic, because I don’t think it was really real.” – A man in his late 20s, attending with family members, a Trump flag tied round his neck like a cape

Reporting the news in the UK, you get used to asking people to talk to you – and maybe one in 10 agreeing to do so. Once inside a Trump rally, it’s a whole different ballgame. Of the dozens of people I spoke to, just two politely declined. And one of those was at a Harris rally.

Speaking of ballgames, we don’t talk enough about how Donald Trump has managed to turn politics into team sports fandom.

The people who attend his rallies wear their team’s colours (red hats, novelty t-shirts, occasionally refuse collector hi-vis vests). They will spend hundreds of dollars to have the latest merch to wear. Most, I suspect, don’t go to the rallies for the detail of the policy, or because they feel strongly about particular issues – but because of the communal experience.

And another thing they have in common with sports fans, is that they will take a win at almost any cost.

“What I love about Donald Trump,” Matthew from Las Vegas told me, “is that he’s like a grenade.

“He’s rolling into the political system, blowing it up and almost starting from scratch.”

Matthew attended the rally in Henderson, Nevada – a half hour drive from Sin City – wearing a blue suit, long red tie, American flag pin and a MAGA hat. When I first asked his name, he joked “D. J. Trump”, and joked that he wanted to recreate an “iconic” picture of his guy exiting Air Force One.

“A little bit of chaos is what we need,” he added. “I think we need to rebuild from the ground up, and Donald Trump is the guy. He’s kind of almost built for this moment in history.”

Also in Henderson I met local man Dallan Affleck, and as we spoke I brought u the fact that there was some violence after the 2020 election.

“Violence?” He said, apparently baffled at the suggestion. “I don’t remember any violence.”

When I explained I was referring to the January 6th insurrection at the US Capital Building in Washington, he repeated: “I don’t remember any violence. People were just, like, ‘oh, we’ve lost.'”

The next day in Wisconsin I spoke to Greg, from Illinois, who shared his big “conspiracy theory” – his words – on why Joe Biden dropped out of the race.

“Joe Biden was polling so low that it would be too big of a cheat to make up,” he said. “So now we’ve got Kamala and it’s super close – easier to cheat.”

He looked so happy with his bit of logical wizardry, I didn’t have the heart to point out the more obvious advantage of it being “super close” is that your candidate is more likely to actually win.

There’s been lots of pictures of half-empty Trump rallies in the final days before the election – which has been seen as evidence enthusiasm for him has waned.

I can only speak for the events I attended – they had two things in common: They were more or less full when he went on stage – which in Milwaukee’s cavernous Fiserv Forum means 15,000 people or more.

But they were half empty by the time he came off stage.

Now whether that can be put down to Mr Trump’s speeches frequently breaking the 90 minute mark, his rambling, meandering mumblings becoming increasingly gruff and grizzly as the campaign goes on, I don’t know.

Perhaps people just like to avoid traffic.

But I can tell you this – the same thing didn’t happen at the Kamala Harris rallies I attended.