Rosie O’Donnell has always been known as a truth-teller, someone who speaks her mind without sugarcoating or pretense, and in her most recent round of interviews, she’s doing exactly that. The comedian, now sixty-three, has reflected on one of the most unforgettable and fiery moments in daytime television history—her on-air battle with Elisabeth Hasselbeck on The View—and she’s tying that same outspokenness to her new life across the Atlantic. What began as an ordinary episode in 2007 turned into one of the most dramatic exchanges ever aired on the show, and O’Donnell now says she believes it was never as spontaneous as it looked. According to her, it was a setup, a calculated production move that left her feeling ambushed in front of millions of viewers.
Speaking on the Australian radio program Ricki-Lee, Tim & Joel, O’Donnell said the tension-filled moment wasn’t just two co-hosts disagreeing. It was, in her words, orchestrated television. “That was prepared, so the whole thing I think was a setup,” she explained, sounding both matter-of-fact and slightly incredulous even after all these years. “Our producer is not an on-the-fly kind of guy. He wasn’t, like, Mr. Let’s-go-to-a-split-screen.” She was referring to the now-famous split-screen shot that captured her and Hasselbeck shouting at each other across the table in real-time. For O’Donnell, the moment symbolized how quickly political discussion could be manipulated into spectacle—and how she herself became the target of that spectacle.
The argument took place on May 23, 2007, during a live broadcast of The View. What began as a discussion about the Iraq War, American troops, and patriotism escalated into something personal and bitter. O’Donnell had been critical of U.S. military actions, a stance that led some conservative commentators to accuse her of being “un-American.” She expected her co-host and friend Elisabeth Hasselbeck to defend her. Instead, O’Donnell felt betrayed when Hasselbeck questioned her comments on-air. The tension boiled over, and what followed was nearly ten minutes of raised voices, interruptions, and accusations of cowardice. For viewers, it was riveting television. For O’Donnell, it was humiliation.
“Like, I bent over backwards for this woman,” she said, still sounding hurt all these years later. “And here she was comin’ at me on national TV about whether or not I was patriotic. It felt to me like I was on a basketball team of five women, and one of them kept tripping me on my way to the hoop.” That metaphor summed up how deeply personal the argument had become. Once friends who laughed together off-camera, O’Donnell and Hasselbeck suddenly found themselves pitted against each other in front of the nation, reduced to political archetypes—the liberal and the conservative—locked in ideological combat.
The aftermath was swift. Just two days later, ABC announced that O’Donnell had requested an early release from her contract. Her time on The View was over, and though she later returned briefly for another stint in 2014, the magic—and the trust—were gone. In retrospect, O’Donnell now believes that producers anticipated, even encouraged, the clash. “People think it was all live chaos,” she said. “But a lot of that stuff is planned. That split screen? You don’t just do that unless you’re expecting fireworks.” She laughed when she said it, but it was the kind of laugh that carried frustration beneath it.
O’Donnell’s exit from The View marked a turning point in her career. Though she continued to act, do stand-up, and advocate for various social causes, her relationship with the American media machine changed forever. She became more selective about public appearances, more aware of how television can shape narratives. And perhaps most notably, she became even more politically vocal. In the years that followed, especially during Donald Trump’s rise to political power, O’Donnell’s outspokenness intensified, often landing her in the crosshairs of conservative outrage.
That long-standing feud with Trump—one of the most public and personal rivalries between a celebrity and a politician—has followed her for nearly two decades. It began in 2006 when O’Donnell mocked Trump’s handling of a Miss USA scandal on The View, calling him a “snake-oil salesman.” Trump, in turn, fired back with personal insults, calling her “a real loser” and “a disgusting pig.” What could have been a one-time spat became a recurring headline. Trump seemed to relish attacking her, and O’Donnell, for her part, never shied away from responding.
Years later, when Trump won the presidency, O’Donnell became one of his most persistent critics. She attended protests, used her comedy platform to ridicule his administration, and posted countless anti-Trump messages online. But after his 2024 reelection, she says something inside her broke. The idea of staying in the United States felt unbearable. For O’Donnell, Trump’s return to power represented not just a political setback but a personal disillusionment with the country she had spent her life entertaining.
Earlier this year, she announced she had moved to Ireland, a decision she described as both spiritual and practical. “I am applying and about to be approved for my Irish citizenship as my grandparents were from there, and that’s all you need,” she told the Daily Telegraph. “It will be good to have my Irish citizenship, especially since Trump keeps threatening to take mine away.” Her words were half a joke, half a warning. Trump had indeed targeted her again in September, posting on Truth Social that his administration was “considering” revoking her citizenship. He called her “not a Great American” and claimed she was “incapable of being so.” It was bluster, of course—O’Donnell, a New York native, is a citizen by birth under the 14th Amendment—but the message stung nonetheless.
The White House even joined in on the mockery. Press secretary Abigail Jackson told USA TODAY with thinly veiled sarcasm, “What great news for America!” when asked about O’Donnell’s plans to emigrate. O’Donnell didn’t take the bait. Instead, she doubled down on her decision to stay in Ireland and start fresh. “It’s unbearable,” she said about the American political atmosphere. “I’ve spent my life trying to use comedy to make sense of the chaos, but now it feels like the chaos has won. I needed to go somewhere that felt like home—and for me, that’s Ireland.”
Her connection to Ireland is not new. Her grandparents emigrated from there to the U.S., and she’s often spoken with pride about her Irish roots. To her, it’s not just an escape but a return. “It’s like going back to where my family story began,” she explained. “I can breathe again there.” In Ireland, O’Donnell says she’s rediscovering peace, something she struggled to find amid the political noise of America. “There’s no Fox News shouting at you, no Twitter mobs, no one trying to bait you into a fight every five minutes,” she said. “People talk to each other. They disagree, sure, but it’s human.”
Still, O’Donnell hasn’t gone silent. Even from her new home, she remains active on social media, commenting on American politics, LGBTQ+ issues, and social justice. Her posts carry the same mixture of humor and sincerity that defined her career. “I didn’t leave because I stopped caring,” she tweeted recently. “I left because I care too much to watch it all happen again.” That sense of heartbreak mixed with stubborn hope is pure Rosie—defiant, emotional, and deeply human.
Her fans have followed her journey with fascination. For many, O’Donnell represents a kind of cultural bridge between old-school entertainment and modern political activism. She was once the face of daytime joy—hosting The Rosie O’Donnell Show in the late 1990s, tossing Koosh balls to her audience, and gushing about Broadway musicals. That cheerful image evolved over the years into that of a political commentator and fierce advocate. Her willingness to call out hypocrisy, particularly in powerful men, has made her both admired and vilified.
The 2007 incident with Hasselbeck, seen now in hindsight, seems like the first major public rupture that revealed how divided America was becoming. “That day wasn’t just about me and Elisabeth,” O’Donnell said. “It was about what was happening in the country. Two women arguing about patriotism on TV—it was like watching the early version of what’s now happening everywhere.” In that sense, her departure from The View was symbolic of something much larger: the collapse of civil discourse in American media.
Her critics say she’s too combative, too political, too self-righteous. Her supporters see her as fearless, unwilling to be silenced by corporate television or presidential bullying. Whatever one’s opinion, there’s no denying that O’Donnell has lived her life authentically, without compromise. She has spoken openly about mental health, motherhood, and loss. She has raised five children, navigated public breakups, and endured the glare of fame for decades. And through it all, she’s kept her humor. “Hey, I’m still paying my taxes in America,” she joked in one interview. “I’m just not living there while they burn the place down.”
Her humor remains her greatest weapon, even as she uses it to process real pain. In Ireland, she says she’s finding a slower rhythm—time to write, to walk along the coast, to spend time with her children. But even in her calm, the fire hasn’t gone out. She continues to speak about how the media treats women differently, particularly outspoken women. “When a man yells on TV, he’s passionate,” she said. “When a woman does it, she’s hysterical. That’s been the story my whole career.”
The irony of her infamous fight on The View is that, for all the chaos it caused, it remains one of the most replayed and discussed moments in television history. It’s a reminder of how one conversation can capture the mood of a nation. Back in 2007, America was at war, and political divisions were widening. Today, the fault lines are even deeper, but O’Donnell’s reflection gives the moment new context. “It wasn’t just a fight,” she said. “It was America arguing with itself. And we still are.”
Her move to Ireland, then, isn’t so much a retreat as it is a kind of exile for sanity. It’s the choice of someone who has seen too much ugliness in the place she loves and needs distance to heal from it. Yet, even from across the ocean, Rosie O’Donnell remains an unmistakably American figure—bold, flawed, funny, and endlessly outspoken. Her voice still carries the same rhythm it always has: part Brooklyn grit, part showbiz timing, part motherly sincerity.
She’s the kind of celebrity who refuses to fade quietly, not because she craves attention, but because she feels responsibility. Whether she’s unpacking old television memories or taking shots at a sitting president, she speaks from a place of conviction. Her latest reflections reveal a woman who has learned to survive in the storm by walking straight into it, cracking jokes along the way.
Looking back, Rosie O’Donnell’s journey reads like a story about resilience and reinvention. From her groundbreaking success in the 1990s to her public clashes in the 2000s, from her feud with Trump to her fresh start in Ireland, she’s never stopped evolving. The television industry may have moved on to newer controversies, but O’Donnell remains a cultural touchstone—a reminder of when daytime TV could still shock the nation and when one comedian’s voice could cut through the noise with brutal honesty.
In her own way, she’s found peace by stepping out of the spotlight while still keeping her light burning. And maybe that’s the ultimate Rosie O’Donnell story: a woman who fought for her place, lost it, and found herself again somewhere far from the cameras, standing by the Irish sea, still unafraid to say exactly what she thinks.
