Editor's Note: A tale of two cities

A frequently heard lament among old-timers in the newspaper business is that reporters and editors have become "professionals" with journalism degrees, good salaries and suburban homes. On its face, this might seem odd. After all, surely people in the news business are pleased by the strides that have been made to improve the lot of the industry's most essential workers.

The lament, however, is prompted by a more specific and perhaps idealistic observation about the state of journalism today. When reporters and editors join the middle class, these critics contend, they often lose touch with important parts of the community they are charged with reporting about. Their personal interests change, and this subconsciously, and perhaps even consciously, dictates how the news is covered. Rather than reporting on the plight of the homeless huddled in the urban core, journalists focus on suburban school zoning controversies. Rather than exposing police misconduct in low-income neighborhoods or exploitation of immigrant labor, they write about freeway congestion or homeowners association squabbles.

This lament, in my experience, is fairly accurate. It is awfully easy for a journalist enjoying the good life in suburbia to forget that another world, very unlike the one he knows firsthand, exists just a few miles away. And even if we know it exists, we find few reasons to enter that world or think much about it. Our first thought might be that we've earned the right to ignore it. We work hard and it's our money that we're spending to insulate ourselves from life's harsher realities. Plus, we have important things to worry about, such as those home improvement projects that occupy our weekends when we're not eating in a restaurant, taking in a movie or shopping for that new big-screen TV.

Journalists suffer from this suburban insulation, but they probably are among the least susceptible to it, as their jobs often require them to venture into dangerous and poverty-ridden areas. In the case of journalists employed by the Stephens Media Group, just coming to work on Bonanza Road is a daily reminder that another world exists outside our monochromatic cul-de-sac enclaves. Other suburban dwellers, however, have the ability to completely seal themselves off, which is troubling on several levels. At its worst, this class division is a breeding ground for racism, bigotry and conservative politics of a decidely uncompassionate strain. The growing balkanization of Las Vegas is not a sign of progress.

For years as a reporter and editor, I think I successfully kept a foot in both worlds. In other words, I didn't allow a comfortable suburban lifestyle to narrow my view of the community. But just last week I was surprised to discover that, almost without noticing it, I had lost my footing in that other world. In my case, this narrowing viewpoint did not breed bigotry or divisive conservativism, but I found I was developing something akin to a chamber of commerce mindset. I was starting to buy into the hype and dismiss the nasty realities that contradicted it. Surely, I came to believe, poverty and crime in Las Vegas were decreasing and most everybody was benefiting from the community's surging economy.

The trigger for regaining proper perspective was Mercury staff writer Newt Briggs describing his experiences while gathering material for last week's cover story on rough bars. Newt came into the office each morning with what I considered amazing stories after checking out some of the valley's most notorious watering holes. Newt, an otherwise fearless reporter, said he was genuinely frightened at times as he walked among the pimps and prostitutes on East Fremont Street or faced a menacing crowd in a bar on Las Vegas Boulevard North. He watched a gang fight erupt in front of a bar on Boulder Highway, ducking behind a parked car to avoid becoming one of the victims. Newt's stories startled me, sounding more like a correspondent amid the chaos in Haiti than a local scribe driving a few miles down the street. It reminded me of recent conversations with a Metro officer who casually related shocking stories of the crime, desperation and poverty he sees on his daily beat. I guess I had been lulled into thinking this darker side of Las Vegas somehow did not exist or simply wasn't as scary or prevalent as some suggested.

If I didn't make a good living and live sequestered in the suburbs, I probably would not have been amazed by Newt's stories. I probably would have known firsthand that East Fremont is dangerous territory at night, or that I would not be welcome in certain establishments. These are the kinds of things journalists knew and wrote about in the good old/bad old days before they started getting degrees and bringing home middle-class wages. Newsmen of old lived in the rough-and-tumble of the city. As a result, they were more likely to write about issues of poverty and injustice at the lowest rungs of society. This was not an obligation, but simply a matter of documenting what was happening around them.

Believe me, I am not suggesting a return to the days when journalists earned low wages and bunked in musty flats over the police station. Those days are gone and good riddance. But I do believe it is vital for journalists to fight the tendency to see the community through country-club lenses. If journalists lose perspective regarding the street-level issues in the community, who is going to point them out? Most suburbanites, ensconced in their bubbles of desire and affluence, aren't going to rally behind the causes that really matter. I don't begrudge them their material comforts--I relish my own--but I am annoyed by their blissful ignorance.

That's not to say suburban problems should be ignored. But, frankly, the issues confronting residents of, say, Summerlin or Green Valley seem trivial compared with the hardships, injustices and tragedies that constitute daily existence in the other Las Vegas.

--GEOFF SCHUMACHER