Troy Jackson’s US Senate campaign is testing whether a deeply rooted working-class identity can carry a Democrat past Susan Collins, the five-term Republican incumbent in one of America’s most closely watched races.
The 58-year-old former logger drives around Maine in a 2016 Dodge Grand Caravan, usually wearing cargo shorts and a baseball cap, presenting himself as a political outsider despite nearly two decades in the state legislature.
Mr Jackson entered the contest in July after Graham Platner’s campaign collapsed amid a rape allegation, which he denied. Democrats had promoted Mr Platner’s blue-collar background in the hope of winning back voters who have moved towards the Republican Party in recent elections.
Mr Jackson’s working-class credentials are more established. He began logging at 19, helped lead a blockade at the Canadian border in 1998 over the use of cheaper labour, and entered the Maine legislature after an unsuccessful first campaign as a Republican.
He won election as an independent in 2002 and became a Democrat two years later. He served in the Maine Senate until 2024, apart from a two-year break after an unsuccessful bid for the US House, and was chosen as Senate president for three consecutive terms.
Troy Jackson’s working-class campaign
Mr Jackson grew up in Allagash, a one-road community of 237 people near Maine’s North Woods. His parents were teenagers who struggled financially, and his mother recalls a childhood diet of macaroni and cheese and Hamburger Helper in a campaign advert.
He has said the logging blockade was his political awakening. “Troy realised the only way to change things is to do it from within,” said Hilton Hafford, a fellow logger who took part in the protest.
As a legislator, Mr Jackson moved away from socially conservative positions common in his rural district and adopted liberal views on abortion and gay rights. He backed legislation on childcare subsidies, paid family and medical leave, and free school lunches.
His style, however, has also made him a divisive figure. Former colleagues described him as combative and said he could become personally insulting when he failed to get his way. He clashed repeatedly with Janet Mills, Maine’s Democratic governor, including during his unsuccessful campaign for governor earlier this year.
“Governor Mills just vetoed a pause on data centres in Maine. When I’m Governor, this bullshit ends,” Mr Jackson wrote in a social media post in April.
Ms Mills has not endorsed him in the Senate race, while a spokesman for the governor said Mr Jackson had not asked for her support. Joe Baldacci, a Democratic state senator who served alongside him, said Mr Jackson had defended the remark by insisting: “I’ve got to tell it like it is.”
Mr Jackson’s supporters see that bluntness as evidence of authenticity. His former colleague Mark Lawrence said he was difficult to defeat in a political fight because “when you’re in a political battle you want Troy on your side”.
But his temper has become a central issue in the campaign. During a dispute over a prescription-drug bill in 2021, he threw a water bottle across a room, according to a former senator who witnessed the incident.
A police report later resurfaced concerning a 1988 fight in which Mr Jackson was charged with misdemeanour assault and fined 50 dollars. The report said his then girlfriend claimed he had “pushed her around” after the fight.
Mr Jackson accepted responsibility for the fight but denied ever being violent towards his long-term partner, Lana Pelletier, or any other woman. Ms Pelletier said she did not remember making the statement to police and described it as inaccurate.
“It appears that he struggles to control his temper,” Ms Collins told reporters when asked about the incident.
Collins attacks Jackson’s personal life
Ms Collins, 73, has built a reputation as a centrist who uses her seniority and influence in Washington to secure federal funding and projects for Maine. Mr Jackson is seeking to portray her as too close to President Trump and his wealthy allies in a state that has never voted for him.
The Republican campaign and allied groups have also sought to undermine Mr Jackson’s image as an ordinary working man. Republican advertising spending since July has outpaced Democratic spending, according to figures cited in the campaign, and one super PAC advert called him “another phony politician”.
Ms Collins has made personal attacks of her own. In an interview, she referred to the fact that Ms Pelletier, the mother of Mr Jackson’s two children, is also his second cousin. Mr Jackson’s campaign condemned the remark but did not dispute the description of their relationship.
“She has been attacking my personal life, my children, stuff like that, because her record sucks,” Mr Jackson said.
His campaign is being driven by organised labour, with workers wearing T-shirts bearing the word “SOLIDARITY” and dozens of unions backing his candidacy. Yet some voters say he lacks the showmanship associated with Mr Platner, whose short-lived campaign attracted considerable attention.
“I wish he had a little more bling or pizazz so he could stand out, but that’s not who he is,” said Doreen Rogan, a college administrator from York.
At a former union hall in Jay, Mr Jackson called for the abolition of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, stronger Social Security and universal healthcare. Addressing supporters, he said: “I may not be good at very many things. I am very good at pushing back.”
Whether that combative approach can overcome Ms Collins’s established support remains uncertain. Mr Jackson has never fought a statewide general election, and voters have already encountered Republican attacks before many have formed a detailed view of his record.
