Photographer Barbara Davidson’s trek across the United States in August, before one of the most significant elections in U.S. history, did not begin auspiciously. Our plan was simple: I would precede her on the route across America, travelling and reporting by Greyhound bus; Ms. Davidson would follow the bus’s route in a photographer-friendly car, and meet me day by day in towns and cities in swing states along the way.
That plan, in its pure, ideal form, lasted less than a day. The drive from Los Angeles, where the Montreal-born Ms. Davidson now makes her home (she became a U.S. citizen a year ago) to Las Vegas, our first stop on the route, usually takes just over four hours. The day she set out – a 39-degree Saturday – it was transformed into an 18-hour, bumper-to-bumper nightmare.
The stunning results of her visual safari are now before you. Ms. Davidson and her work have met with steady acclaim at the highest levels, including an Emmy and a Pulitzer Prize for her gripping work on survivors of gun violence, and sharing two other Pulitzers for her photographs of the devastations caused by Hurricane Katrina and the San Bernardino, Cailf., mass shooting. She spoke to me by phone earlier this week about our trip.
An unhoused man in Los Angeles, who preferred not to give his name, told Ms. Davidson in the summer of 2023 that he stays under a sheet for protection from the sun.
Brown: You were on the road for three weeks for The Globe, taking photographs of Americans and Americana in swing states. What did you think of your fellow Americans? And of the state of their country?
Davidson: I’m more invested in this election because I became a US citizen a year ago. How do I feel about what I saw? I am disillusioned by a lot of it. By the mistrust of the media; by blatant lies and misinformation being perceived as truth.
It’s one thing to know it intellectually. It’s another thing to experience it face to face. A lot of what I heard, and what half the country seems to believe, are unfounded conspiracies. I’m concerned by how divided the country is, how hate is fueling that division, and how people are not willing to have civil debates anymore.
Brown: Does your own political inclination pose any challenge to what you photograph or how you photograph it? Do you have to work to suppress your own biases?
Davidson: I really believe in the fundamentals of journalism. That when you’re doing your job, you remain neutral. I would photograph Donald Trump the exact same way I would photograph Kamala Harris. It doesn’t make a difference to me. They get the same professionalism from me. But regardless of those facts, the media has become a target in this country. Many people hate us because they’re fed lies and dangerous rhetoric about us.
Brown: Looking through your photographs, I was struck by how stark the rural-urban divide is in the U.S. Is that a big split in the American psyche?
Davidson: I think people in this country are still dealing with a COVID hangover and learning to reintegrate with one another and trying to punch out of the loneliness and isolation brought on by it. People also love their phones and spend a lot of time on them rather than talking to one another. But as I travelled across the country, I had no problem finding people to talk to. Everybody was open and welcoming. And I love that so much about Americans. They’re always willing to engage. Always offering an opinion. Always up for that 15 minutes of fame.
Stephanie Ashley, a self-described 'urban native' in Holbrook, Ariz., spoke about her life in Navajo County, where disputes over Indigenous rights and water access loom large in local politics.
Brown: You have a great talent for infiltrating and taking pictures of subcultures that don’t usually like public exposure. How do get people to trust you, and then let you photograph them?
Davidson: I’m wildly curious and non-threatening, so people feel comfortable around me. I try to connect with the people I photograph, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment. That connection often leads to an intimate photograph. And nothing really intimidates me: I’m street smart, so I have a Spidey sense that guides me in tricky situations. But mostly people respond well to being treated with respect and kindness – and from that trust and openness reveal themselves in the photos I make, if I’m lucky.
Brown: Who are your influences? And how often do your muses come to mind as you’re shooting?
Davidson: Well, Diane Arbus, of course. Sometimes I have to stop myself and say, “You’re just parroting her. Move on.” Diane Arbus is one of my favorite influences. Margaret Bourke-White, the famous war photographer, is a hero of mine. Eugene Richards is a documentary photographer whose work had a profound impact on me. Their work inspired me to become a longform documentary photographer. I’ve spent the past 15 years covering the consequences of gun violence in this country and the health epidemic it has become.
Brown: One of the challenges of this story that I liked was that so much of it was what I would call wild reporting: You go to a strange place and have to make a story out of the first details you notice or feel. The media are often accused of setting things up too much, of cherry-picking what we choose to describe or photograph. We didn’t have a chance to do that.
Davidson: We were at the mercy of fate. We went to all of these towns blindly hoping that we could find someone or something that would represent a story of America prior to the election. There were a lot of unknowns and nearly every situation was found in the moment. But with that came the freedom of choosing whomever we wanted to talk to – a Hunter S. Thompson-like adventure. Wildly, I drove over 6,000 miles in 18 days.
Brown: You have a rare ability to create compelling photographs at a time when we’re literally drowning in photographs, thanks to the hell of the smartphone. I know hugely talented professional photographers and artists who have turned away from their cameras because – they say – images are now so ubiquitous as to be meaningless. Why do you keep doing it?
Davidson: I can’t imagine not making photographs. We are inundated with images, yes – both good and bad – and that does mean it’s harder to get people to look at our pictures. But turning away, because of that challenge, isn’t happening! I would feel I had lost my voice if I gave up making pictures.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Aug. 7's Harris-Walz rally in Eau Claire, Wis., was their second after the two became the Democratic contenders. The rally was in a vast, treeless field watched by snipers from a barn roof behind the podium, as well as on a nearby hill.
Asylum seekers come to be processed by the border patrol in Jacumba Hot Springs, near San Diego, on New Year's Eve, 2023, after they crossed through a gap in the border wall. Former president Donald Trump has said he'd deport migrants en masse if he wins November's election.
Oklahoma was one of the solidly red states on The Globe's route across the country. In Oklahoma City, 11-year-old Camryn James had come from Lexington to compete at the World Youth Quarterhorse Championship. Her mother, Carrie, disapproves of Mr. Trump's 'extracurricular activities' – a reference to his liaisons with porn star Stormy Daniels – adding that 'he’s not the best for this country, but he’s the best of the choices.'
A Canadian tourist stops for a picture with the welcome sign near the airport in Las Vegas. A short drive north, the Trump International Hotel offers a reminder of the real-estate empire that built the former president's wealth and reputation.
A Fremont Street performer in showgirl attire seems worn out from the blistering Las Vegas heat as she waits for tourists to pay for pictures with her. Nevada's struggling economy could make it a wild card in the presidential race.
Ketzu Bethea, manager of The Gun Store in Las Vegas, coached Ian Brown on how to fire an AR-15, a semi-automatic rifle model used in many mass shootings – and in July's attempt on Donald Trump's life.
At Toledo's Fifth Third Field baseball stadium, sisters Cloie and Carli Hotz, 14 and 12, stand for the Pledge of Allegiance while Scott Wilson, a veteran of Operation Desert Storm, gives a military salute.
Texas's Shamrock County Inn lies along the old Route 66, a famous highway from Los Angeles to Chicago that author John Steinbeck once called the 'Mother Road.'
Tucumcari, N.M. was once an important junction on Route 66, and tourism still makes up much of the economy here. Founded in 1901, the town had a population of 5,278 in the census four years ago.
Norman (Smitty) Smith, 92, runs one of the two barbershops in Tucumcari, where he arrived in 1956 when it was prosperous and had 11 barbers. 'I haven’t made up my mind yet' about the 2024 election,' says Mr. Smith, who voted Trump in 2016. '[Trump's] rudeness is what kind of gets me. His attitude.'
It was in Tucumcari, home of the Blue Swallow Hotel, where The Globe met its second and third Harris voters since the start of the trip.
Brooks Reidhead, 12, wore a sizeable Stetson to the Holbrook ranch owned by his grandfather, a Trump supporter who complained about the high price of diesel and a zoning dispute over his land. Mike Weirhead doesn't watch Fox – 'none of it is true' – and had more to say on local issues than national controversies.
A Yemeni family in Coldwater, Mich., enjoys an August excursion to the Branch County Fair, two days after the Harris-Walz rally in Eau Claire offered a very different kind of colourful spectacle. Battleground states like Michigan and Wisconsin will help decide the outcome of an eventful U.S. election.
After the Harris rally in Eau Claire, Savannah Sahm, who came with friend Tamara Cadieux, said 'it’s important to all be out here and utilizing our voices and our votes. Taking the ‘right to choose’ away is a fearful thing and I’m hopeful Kamala won’t let that happen.' The Christian right has been making abortions harder to get across the United States since the Supreme Court ruling that overturned Roe v. Wade.
James Murphy, 15, Carl Miller, 18, and Camden Trimble, 15, fill balloons for a water fight Eagle Lake Fort Custer Beach in Battle Creek, Mich. Mr. Miller says this is the first year he is able to vote, and will probably do so for Ms. Harris.
North Braddock and its home state of Pennsylvania could be decisive in this election. Mr. Trump's victory here in 2016 signalled a breach of the so-called Blue Wall of Democratic support, which Joe Biden pieced back together when he won the state in 2020.
The driver of Mr. Brown's bus threw Jose and Erika Negrete into the desert near Albuquerque, as they denied a passenger's claims they were smoking drugs. The thirtysomething couple, bound for Tennessee to work on a family farm, spoke about the hardship of raising a family and the demise of the middle class. 'I’m afraid to let Trump come back into power,' Mr. Negrete said.
A young boy sat at the bar of Jay’s Diner in Cashton, Wis., where Earl Laufenberg’s bill indicates how cheap it is to eat in this town.
Cornfields and dairy farms define the landscape around Cashton, as in many parts of Wisconsin. Mr. Trump lost this state in 2020, despite his efforts to win over farmers with a deal to access Canada's supply-managed market.
Cowboys Blake Andis and Tyler Boy watch the competition in Coldwater, Mich., before they try their luck in the calf hogtie event.
Nine-year-old Kyle from Indiana was at the fair in Coldwater with his older brother. 'I’ve already shot three deer – real ones,' he said as he took his turn at a cork-gun game.
‘I don’t know Kamala Harris and that’s the whole key,’ said Michael Kilian, a meat-cutter employee in Pittsburgh. ‘When you don’t know someone, do you take that chance? So I don't know yet.’ Pennsylvania turned out for Joe Biden in 2020, though neighbouring Ohio – where this American flag hung in a house window – supported Mr. Trump.
Arianna Rose Torres, 11, hugs her great-grandmother Flor Maria Rivera. The 93-year-old has dementia and is cared for by her daughter, Maryanne Torres. They were among the people The Globe met in a Rust Belt state where health-care firms – like UPMC, whose insurance company hires Ms. Torres for her caregiving – are surpassing steel makers as the major employers.
The Davis-Besse nuclear plant east of Toledo produces 908 megawatts of power for the Midwest, an area where manufacturing once dominated the economy, but has fallen on hard times.
A woman at New York's Washington Square Park, who gave her name as Batman, was equivocal on the impact of voting: 'We’re in a corrupt system and sometimes our word doesn’t mean anything,' she said, adding that local elections might make 'really make a difference in your community.' Young voters, like this other park-goer on his cellphone, are a much sought-after bloc for both parties in the 2024 election.
Influencer Autumn Rose, 21, was at Washington Square Park to promote an inflatable couch. 'I’m thinking of voting this year. We need to save our future. It’s falling apart,' she said. 'We have to vote – pick one side, do something, but we have to do something before it crumbles.'
New York, Mr. Trump's home state, is reliably blue in presidential elections, but Wylie Singleton says he's 'neutral' for now. 'I’m going to wait to see how it all plays out before I decide.'