Donald J. Trump won 30 percent of the votes cast in New York City this month. It was a seven-point jump from his performance in 2020, and a higher share of the vote than any Republican nominee has won in the city since George H.W. Bush in 1988.

But his improved vote share was driven more by the votes Democrats lost than by the votes he gained.

In every neighborhood in New York City, from Red Hook in Brooklyn to Riverdale in the Bronx, Vice President Kamala Harris received markedly fewer votes than Joseph R. Biden, Jr. did in 2020, while in most neighborhoods, Mr. Trump notched modest increases compared with his last run.

The votes cast in New York City have not yet been certified, but more than 97 percent of them have been counted. That includes all ballots that were cast in person, both on Election Day and before, and a majority of absentee ballots, according to Vincent M. Ignizio, the deputy executive director of the city’s election board.

As it stands, the downturn in votes for the Democratic candidate was six times the size of Mr. Trump’s gains when compared with 2020. In some boroughs, the ratio was even larger.

Many New Yorkers moved out of the city during the pandemic, and by the 2022 midterms, the total number of registered voters here had already started to drop. As of this month, there were about 230,000 fewer active registered Democrats in the city than there were in 2020, and about 12,000 more registered Republicans.

It is not clear how much that contributed to the outcome of the election, but the pattern of Democratic losses and Republican gains was clear across all income levels and ethnic groups in the city. The drop-off was most pronounced among working-class immigrant groups who live outside Manhattan, many of them in the neighborhoods that were hit the hardest by the pandemic and the economic disruption that followed.

The neighborhood where Democratic turnout dropped the most in terms of percentage change was Borough Park, an Orthodox Jewish enclave in Brooklyn that voted overwhelmingly for Mr. Trump. While support for Mr. Trump increased only slightly, from about 22,200 votes in 2020 to 22,700 in 2024, turnout for the Democratic candidate dropped 46 percent, from about 7,600 votes in 2020 to about 4,100 in 2024.

Among income groups in the city, the precincts with the lowest median incomes saw a the largest drop in support for the Democratic candidate, and the largest increase in support for Mr. Trump.

Ms. Harris lost substantial support in precincts with larger populations of Latino and Asian voters. Asian voters have been shifting rightward in recent years because of a mix of concerns about crime, city education policies and the economy.

Mr. Trump made significant gains in precincts where a majority of residents were Latino or Black.

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Northvolt’s chief executive has resigned a day after Europe’s big battery hope filed for bankruptcy in the US.

Peter Carlsson took responsibility for the dramatic collapse during a town-hall meeting with employees on Friday morning, the Stockholm-based company said.

Northvolt was Europe’s best-funded start-up, having raised more than $15bn from investors and governments, but was left with just $30mn in cash — enough to operate for a week — before its bankruptcy filing under US Chapter 11 rules that gives it protection from creditors.

“The Chapter 11 filing allows a period during which the company can be reorganised, ramp up operations while honouring customer and supplier commitments, and ultimately position itself for the long term. That makes it a good time for me to hand over to the next generation of leaders,” Carlsson said.

He later told reporters that Northvolt needed about $1bn-$1.2bn to be able to continue as a going concern after Chapter 11.

The former Tesla executive founded Northvolt in 2016 and positioned it as Europe’s answer to the growing dominance of Asian players in battery manufacturing such as China’s CATL and BYD, Japan’s Panasonic and South Korea’s LG and Samsung.

Northvolt gathered more than $50bn in orders from automotive groups such as Volkswagen, BMW, Scania and Porsche as well as billions more in capital from the same groups and from financial investors including Goldman Sachs and BlackRock.

But it said late on Thursday that it was filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in the US with $5.8bn in debts, so that it could access $145mn in cash and $100mn in fresh financing from truckmaker Scania. It is now looking for one or more investors to provide it with future financing to exit Chapter 11.

Current and former employees have told the Financial Times that the fall of Northvolt was due to a litany of issues, from mismanagement and overspending to poor safety standards and over-reliance on Chinese machinery.

Several investors had privately urged Carlsson to resign to take responsibility for Northvolt’s dramatic fall from grace.

Speaking to reporters on Friday about what went wrong, Carlsson said: “I should have pulled the brakes earlier on the expansion path to make sure the core engine was moving according to plan.” He also said there had been “gravel in the machinery”.

VW, Northvolt’s biggest current shareholder with a 21 per cent stake, had told the start-up that “they’re not able to continue capitalising us”, Carlsson continued. But he also said that the company had received strong support from Scania, Porsche and Audi, which are all part of the VW group.

Northvolt has struggled to ramp up production at its sole factory in Skellefteå, just below the Arctic Circle in northern Sweden.

Its plans for factories in Germany and Canada remain unaffected by Chapter 11 as they have received significant subsidies from the respective governments.

“We are incredibly thankful to Peter for his vision and dedication to building Northvolt from an unprecedented idea to becoming Europe’s battery manufacturing champion,” said Tom Johnstone, Northvolt’s interim chair.

The company will begin searching for a new chief executive immediately.

Its present leadership consists of Pia Aaltonen-Forsell, chief financial officer; Matthias Arleth, a former VW executive who is now head of cells and who will also take the role of chief operations officer; and Scott Millar, an executive at Teneo who has become chief restructuring officer.

Carlsson, currently one of Northvolt’s largest shareholders, will remain on the company’s board and as a senior adviser.

Over the last few years and through this year’s contentious campaign season, which was rooted in America’s deep divisions, there has been a coarsening in the way people talk to each other. We wanted to explore how some are trying to bridge divides. We asked our reporters across the NPR Network to look for examples of people working through their differences. We’re sharing those stories in our series Seeking Common Ground.

CREIGHTON, Pa. — With their faces hidden behind hard black masks, two fighters stand a few feet apart and raise their swords.

They step forward and clank the broad, dull metal blades against each other repeatedly. One fighter strikes the other in the chest. The fight is over, and a small crowd applauds.

Inside this former Catholic church northeast of Pittsburgh, under a 25-foot ceiling flanked by Gothic, pointed-arch windows, members of the Pittsburgh Sword Fighters club and school gather.

The audience cheers on two sword fighters as they take part in a long-sword tournament hosted by Pittsburgh Sword Fighters.

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It’s a tournament — as well as a party — billed as Friday Night Fights.

There are plenty of rules in a sword fight. But there’s one rule that applies after the fighters have put down their weapons: no talk of politics.

The evolution of the rule started around 2016, when club owner Josh Parise says he was getting fed up with the rancor of political discourse in the U.S. — personal attacks were on the rise, even within families, as was cancel culture.

“I couldn’t tolerate the lack of decency between human beings,” says Parise, whose club focuses on historical European martial arts.

“None of it made sense anymore,” he says.

Josh Parise, 48, of Oakmont, Pa., is the owner of Pittsburgh Sword Fighters.

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And then there were a few would-be sword fighters who came to the club and didn’t treat others well. Parise had to tell them to get on their horses and leave.

“It’s infuriating to me, so with this place, we just don’t allow that to happen,” Parise says.

Leaving their politics at the door

As club volunteer Kat Licause watches the matches, she says the directive to avoid politics has led to closer relationships in the club.

“I don’t think we avoid it in the sense that we’re running scared of big questions and topics,” says Licause, who works as a tech writer. “I think we just have this mutual understanding here that if any of us was ever in trouble, we would pick each other up, like immediately.”

The club space is outfitted with medieval and Gothic touches, like coats of arms, a three-eyed raven sculpture and faux stonework that Parise made himself.

Chuck Gross, one of the head long-sword instructors at Pittsburgh Sword Fighters, stands in the doorway of the former Catholic church where a long-sword tournament will take place.

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Against the far wall, a custom Dumbledore throne sits on a fake altar. Off to the sides, there’s a table for potluck dishes and an open bar. The crowd and the vibe are noticeably chill, considering the main activity.

“You walk up, you acknowledge one another, and then you hit each other with big metal sticks,” Parise says with a wry smile.

But divisive political rhetoric, which can be sharper than the swords here, must be left at the club’s big wooden door. The politics ban doesn’t rise to the level of, say, a 15th-century heresy law, but it’s there.

Parise says his students and club members run the gamut politically, from religious conservatives to progressives. He loves to see them find common ground.

“I just don’t want people to feel uncomfortable, but I also don’t want them to bring their baggage with them,” he says. “Leave it outside and just do the thing.”

Teaching and learning from fellow fighters

As the tournament gets underway, a judge briefs the fighters and urges them to play by the rules and stay under control, lest he “red-card” them.

Todd Rooney, a high school English teacher, is photographed on Oct. 4. Rooney is a competitor in the long-sword tournament.

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“These are teachable moments,” the judge says. “We fight at Friday Night Fights to learn and help each other.”

More fighters line up. Among them is high school English teacher and long-sword instructor Todd Rooney.

He’s holding his headgear, waiting for his name to be called to fight. Rooney has been a member of the sword fighters’ club for almost 10 years and appreciates the politics-free zone.

“Because that rule exists here, I get to work with, spar with, teach, learn from people from all different walks of life, all different political affiliations, religious groups,” Rooney says.

And the controlled conflict of a sword fight, he says, brings about a kind of clarity.

“We have to encounter each other as fully human — we have to respect each other,” he says. “And it’s especially important here, when we’re coming at each other with weapons.”

Members gather on the steps of the former Catholic church where Pittsburgh Sword Fighters hosts a Friday Night Fights long-sword tournament.

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