Matt Hufman
On the way home from a visit to see family in Northern California this past winter, I took the my wife and kids over the snowy Donner Pass and then headed south.
There are easier ways to get back to Las Vegas than to go over the Sierra Nevada mountains in winter, but my seven-year-old daughter had lobbied for months for a visit to Carson City. A native Nevadan, she wanted to see the capital.
The roads were clear, and I figured she and her little brother could learn something about the history of their state with a quick tour. So on a crisp, bright Saturday, we pulled into Carson City, parked across the street from the Capitol building and my ever inquisitive daughter started asking questions: Who’s the governor? (Brian Sandoval). What does he do? (Runs the state). Does he know you? (We’ve met). Does he like you? (I doubt he remembers me). Is he a good governor? (It’s too soon to tell). What type of tree is that? (Uh, oak? Pine? Ask your mother). And so it went.
I tried to answer questions and explain state government, but as we walked the Capitol grounds, I found it increasingly difficult and a bit depressing.
I remembered my introduction to politics in Nevada nearly two decades ago. At the time, I was a young reporter working for a newspaper near Sacramento when the editor announced she was leaving to return to Carson City. She was relishing the chance to once again cover politics.
“You won’t get this,” the editor told me with a chuckle. Politics in Nevada makes no sense, but I understand it.”
She was right: I didn’t get it.
As she went back to Nevada, I went on to bounce around the West, covering politics and the rest of the human carnival. Within a decade, I was in Las Vegas, and politics in Nevada was unlike anything I had seen. It’s not that there weren’t partisan games and sniping, but that that type of thing was most often over minor things. On the large issues there would often be an odd consensus between the parties. There was little to fight over. The budget in Nevada is fairly tight thanks to a vitriolic anti-tax sentiment. What does get spent is parceled out on the basics—roads, education and key social services.
Both Republicans and Democrats knew to take care of the state’s main industries—gaming and mining—and they also knew to avoid much talk of regulation or taxation.
When it comes to many major problems, state leaders typically push them off into the future. The mantra is simple: The state will fix the problems when things are better. But despite years of boom times and runaway growth, things have never been good enough to fix the schools or truly improve social services.
There’s always a bogeymen to blame—big government, high taxes, too much regulation, reckless spending. Never mind that by any reasonable comparison, Nevada’s government and spending are small and regulation and taxes are minimal. The mythology fits nicely with the libertarian political ethos that dominates the state and has kept Nevada locked in mediocrity. The result is a state that ranks poorly against the rest of the nation. As has been said many times, Nevada is on the top of the bad lists and the bottom of the good lists.
It’s not hard to find who to blame. Too many adults—from home buyers to politicians—bought into a fantasy: The economy would always boom, people could make a quick profit in real estate and taxes are for suckers.
But I couldn’t explain that to my daughter. So off we went to tour the quiet Capitol building.
We climbed the steep stairs and wandered into the little room where the Nevada Supreme Court used to meet. On the walls were black-and-white pictures of serious men in formal suits who once presided from the dais where my children were now mugging for the camera.
The men on those walls left their mark on Nevada for future generations, and I wondered what my generation would leave behind for my children’s.
I wasn’t optimistic. I understand politics in Nevada. I just don’t get it.