a A few weeks ago, I stood in the white marble atrium of the Georgia State Capitol, watching a scene that encapsulated much of the presidential election. To my right is a group of election conspiracy theorists who still believe that Donald Trump won in 2020. To my left is a group of voting rights activists singing an old spiritual song popular during the civil rights era.
They were here to observe last-minute efforts by far-right officials to change how votes will be counted next month. Many say the measure is likely to sow doubt and create confusion in the key battleground state, favoring Mr. Trump.
A man wearing a Trump T-shirt mingled with voting rights groups, most of them black, smiling with satisfaction. Some began holding pro-Trump flags behind them as police intervened. Conspiracy theorists (mostly white) pointed and laughed.
“Isn’t that a little rude?” I asked the giggling Trump supporter to my right.
“I don’t think you can tell me what you think is rude,” she said disdainfully, chewing gum. “I decide what I want to do.”
From a plaque honoring Confederate Lt. William Ambrose Wright to a statue of Martin Luther King, the buildings are dotted with relics of the past, echoing history with the bluffs on which this country now stands. The prospect felt urgent. . First, by re-electing Trump. secondly, by empowering the old anti-democratic values that he came to embody. This election has the potential to end in tragedy and farce at the same time.
For the next six weeks, I’ll be traveling the United States with filmmaker Tom Silverstone for our “Anywhere But Washington” series. The purpose is not to predict who will win. American cable news is always obsessed with this question, but it’s one that won’t be answered until November 5th. Polls show that the race remains very close, not just in Georgia, but in all seven key battleground states. Instead, we focus on the communities most at risk and the policy failures and other forces leading to the destructive spiral of polarization in American politics. And regardless of the outcome, ask if there is any hope for progress.
IGeorgia was the epicenter of 2020 election denialism and where Trump’s attempts to pressure officials to “find” enough votes to overturn the results failed. , the microcosm of the presidential election extends far beyond statehouses. In the Atlanta suburbs, I followed the race for the 48th Senate District. The race there is between young Democrat Ashwin Ramaswamy and incumbent Republican Sean Still.
Ramaswamy, a slim, bespectacled computer science graduate, is vying to become the first Indian-American Gen Z state senator. He said he was inspired to run after learning that Still was indicted on multiple felonies as part of a plot to steal the 2020 presidential election. Mr. Still’s case was part of a massive election fraud scandal in Atlanta, in which he was indicted along with Mr. Trump and 17 others. (Mr. Trump and Mr. Still have maintained their innocence.)
The 25-year-old’s parents beamed with pride as they discussed their son’s candidacy, telling me that he immigrated to the United States from the same region of India as Shyamala Gopalan, Kamala Harris’ mother. “She’s going to go through the roof,” said her mother Kalyani. “And Ashwin is one of them.”
It was in this competition, in a rapidly diversifying region, that I found my first kernel of hope and clarity. While canvassing in the streets, Ramaswamy spoke to young voters who were unaware that the state senator had engaged in alleged criminal acts to subvert democracy. She listened carefully to Ramaswamy’s speech, which included a fluid discussion of gun control and abortion rights.
“We need people who think like us and are our age to make change happen,” she said. “Everything has to evolve. If we can evolve with technology, why can’t we evolve with government?”
Like many other Georgia elected Republicans, Still did not respond to our requests for an interview. So we drove to conservative-leaning Fayette County to find more voices on the other side. Here we encountered a giant bus decorated with American flags and a giant portrait of a smiling President Trump.
Trump buses, as the name suggests, have been plying around the state since 2015, when owner Danny Hamilton became embroiled in the MAGA movement. It serves as both a giant billboard and a huge retail store with Trump-themed merchandise.
He showed me the products. Most were T-shirts, hats, and flags, but also included more sinister items, such as a large Trump-branded flick knife. Most of them were imported from China. I asked if President Trump’s pledge to impose massive tariffs on imports from China is a concern.
“I’m a millionaire,” he says, revealing that this is all a personal passion project. “I don’t need anything like this.”
Trumpism is a multifaceted political movement, but it turns out some of the billionaire’s most ardent supporters may have the least to lose in a high-stakes election.
Everyone gathered around the bus was familiar with the conspiratorial lexicon of the Trump bubble. But talk of two recent assassination attempts against former presidents has moved the needle to a new level, with “radical Democrats” believed to have orchestrated the incidents.
Many of the fears expressed on both sides of the aisle, including widespread political violence, targeted killings, and a slide into dictatorship, might have seemed farcical four years ago. But as I looked down at the flick knives with Trump’s face painted on the handle, it became more apparent that they were more realistic than at any time in recent history.
Oliver Laughland is the Guardian’s Southern Bureau Chief
