Vocal enthusiasm for this presidential election can be hard to come by in housing projects in Pittsburgh’s Northview Heights neighborhood.
I’m going out with two women, Leslie Hughes and Lwaunna Adams. The girls met two years ago while making videos in western Pennsylvania, one of the most competitive battleground states in the country and always a battleground. The two are members of the Service Workers Union, which represents low-income cleaners and security guards. They are also two of the most effective and persuasive cancerists I have ever met.
As I trudge down the street knocking on doors in the crisp autumn air, I encounter apathetic voters who tell women they have no intention of voting this time. A young man named Rashad says he can’t understand why Hillary Clinton lost the election when she won the popular vote in 2016. “If ‘We the People’ choose one person and the electoral system chooses another, what does my vote mean?” he asked Adams. Ta. Another woman said she decided to ignore it because she felt it was impossible to tell “what’s good and what’s bad.”
Their disengagement is understandable, but perhaps more widespread than we realize. Polls are beginning to show that turnout may be significantly lower than it was four years ago. In the age of Donald Trump, where misinformation and toxic politics are rampant, separating fact from fiction is a daunting task for anyone. And the arcane Electoral College is certainly enough to disillusion many.
But Hughes and Adams don’t give up. They will stand with each voter for 10 minutes and explain the many failures of President Trump in his first four years and why they should not have given him another chance. They talk about how their rights as unionized cleaners are at risk. Adams candidly teaches about voting rights in his home state. “Your vote matters,” she tells Rashad. “You know what time it is.”
Ultimately, both were persuaded and decided to vote for Harris. Adams cheered. “When you start thinking for yourself, you know what is the best choice for you,” she tells Rashad. He also agrees with this. “Especially in this age of brainwashing. It’s all just brainwashing you into thinking a certain way.” He’s considering quitting social media.
It’s a moment that both reveals and reminds us just how distorted reality has become in this election. Conversations like this may be the only way to bring Pennsylvania, and perhaps the entire nation, back from the brink.
aTo emphasize this point, my next stop is City Hall, near the banks of the Ohio River, home to the richest man in the world. Elon Musk moved to Pennsylvania and spent at least $75 million through his organization America Pac to help Trump win.
It attracts a different audience than normal MAGA gatherings. There is a mix of young and old men and women. Some describe themselves as political independents. Some people claim they voted for Joe Biden last time. As Musk Field asks questions, conspiracy theories and requests for investment and personal advice collide in a strange, chaotic way. Of course, there’s also Musk’s new (and potentially illegal) stunt. The idea is to give away $1 million every day to one lucky signer of Musk’s “Free Speech” petition.
I watched from the media pen as the crowd cheered as the winner was taken off the balcony. I think about the grotesque contrast between the hard-working women knocking on doors in Northview and the free money being handed out here to help billionaires return to the White House. This feels a bit like Musk’s twisted version of The Hunger Games. In this dystopian fantasy series, a teenage girl is randomly selected to participate in a battle royale and ultimately lead a resistance against an oligarch-run Capitol Hill. (Oddly enough, Musk has expressed an affinity for the Resistance in many great science fiction epics.)
It’s worth remembering that Pittsburgh is a city built on organized labor. It is next to the site of America’s most infamous airstrike, which was later suppressed by state-sponsored violence. In 1892, workers at Andrew Carnegie’s steel company fought for fair wages and encountered armed agents from the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.
But few people care about Musk’s obvious anti-union stance. Many people tell me they don’t understand his position at all. The billionaire says he is “against the idea of unions” because they “naturally try to create negativity within the company.” He is pursuing a case in federal court that could water down the nation’s labor laws established during the New Deal of the 1930s. Of course, Mr. Musk is not a member of the Resistance, but neither is he a robber baron. In fact, he is more powerful and wealthy than Carnegie could have believed. Who needs the Pinkertons when they already own the world’s largest disinformation platform?
aAbout 32 miles from the city is the small borough of Charleroi, perched on the steep slopes of the Mont Valley region. It’s one of the towns recently singled out by President Trump for the arrival of Haitian immigrants, who he falsely claims have led to bankruptcies and increased crime. Many community leaders in Charleroi dispute President Trump’s presentation and instead point me to the real crisis here: the impending closure of a glassware factory that has been in operation for 132 years. Hundreds of jobs are at risk after manufacturing company Pyrex was effectively taken over by a private equity group.
I arrived at the end of my shift. Some people receive their notice of resignation and walk through the turnstiles into an empty parking lot to go to work. The first round of layoffs is scheduled to begin in December, and the economy is understandably bleak. I met Heather Roberts, the president of the factory union. She has worked here for 18 years and stands next to her aunt, April Sesman, who has lived here for more than 20 years. Roberts’ father works inside. Her father-in-law is about to leave work. Her late mother also worked here for decades. “Once this place collapses, the valley will be crushed,” she says. Sesman nodded in agreement.
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A core tenet of the Republican strategy is to rally support behind one of the biggest lies told in American history.
At first glance, the Pyrex factory in Charleroi fits perfectly into President Trump’s brand of “America First” economic populism. The product is manufactured in the United States, steeped in local history, and rooted in a region that broadly votes Republican. Yet the former president never mentions it, instead focusing on the myth that immigrants plague communities with crime.
It’s a common charade, and one might expect people in other Rust Belt regions where President Trump has promised much but delivered little to be wary. But Roberts and Sesman acknowledge that most of their colleagues want Trump to not talk about immigration and focus on his job, but the workforce here is split about 50/50. He also admits that he is. Perhaps, like the rest of the country, we are at an impasse. “It’s dividing people, it’s dividing families,” Sesman says of the election. “When did this happen?”
Neither of them has disclosed their plans to vote, but noted that unlike other families, they do not have President Trump signs on their lawns.
FFurther southeast, near the Pennsylvania-Ohio border, I spend the night in a car with one of President Trump’s top surrogates in the region, West Virginia Governor Jim Justice. He is a former billionaire who inherited a family fortune from the coal and service industries, but his net worth has fallen to just $500 million. He is poised to serve in the U.S. Senate, potentially tipping the balance of power in Congress in favor of Republicans. Tonight’s event is a frenetic mix of messages between slapstick comedy and exhibition of the Republican Party’s darkest internal tendencies.
The 73-year-old runs the trail with his 5-year-old English bulldog, Baby Dog, who is carried into a small event space on a camping chair. She sat there, panting, tongue hanging out of her mouth, for about two hours. Some in the crowd held large placards with her image under the slogan “Vote for Dad,” while others lined up to take selfies.
It doesn’t take long for the gathering to take its turn. Justice speaks forcefully about his plan to drastically cut benefits if sent to Washington, a move that could replicate a similar controversial move in West Virginia this year.
A woman in the crowd exclaimed, spitting venom so sharp it could pierce the room. What has been done since then? ”
Justice tells her that he “wholeheartedly agrees,” and calls what happened in 2020 “terrible,” but urges her to forget about the last election and vote again. Another party member advised her to register as a poll worker to root out “corruption”. Herein lies the core tenet of the 2024 party organizing strategy. It’s about rallying support behind one of the biggest lies ever told in American history, repeated by the rich and powerful.
After the judge speaks, I will address the judge. Baby Dog is still sitting in a nearby chair. I asked him whether he was worried that his party’s strategy would only increase division, no matter the outcome. “Do we believe in our hearts that there was some level of voter fraud in 2020? Yes, there was. But we moved forward,” he says.
In an election with everything from a landslide for Harris to a comfortable victory for Trump to lingering uncertainty, we’ll find out in just a few days whether the country has truly made progress.
Oliver Laughland is the Guardian’s Southern Bureau Chief
