A Misconception More Dangerous Than a Rattlesnake in a Rocking Chair

Reporting with a quill in one hand and a snort of sagebrush tea in the other

Now, I don’t rightly know how the good folks east of the Mississippi come to believe that Nevada is a singular neon bulb named Las Vegas, flickering out promises of blackjack fortunes and buffet regrets. But I aim to correct the notion with the same fervor as a barber shaves a man running late to church.

Nevada, dear reader, is a land stitched together by the silver veins of history, the murmur of the Humboldt, and the hardscrabble grit of towns like Ely, Tonopah, and Elko–whose names ain’t appeared in a headline since Roosevelt wore knickerbockers. And yet these places live and breathe still, and their people work the land, herd the stock, mine the hills, and–yes–occasionally lose a dollar or two in Winnemucca’s more adventurous establishments.

It is true, as some fretting professors and gloomy senators now say, that tariffs are getting slapped onto this or that foreign good like patches on a miner’s trousers. And it is equally honest that the Strip–with all its glass and glitter, does see a pinch when tourists–foreign and domestic–decide to stay home and watch poker on television instead of losing their rent money in person.

But let me declare here, as boldly as a rooster in a henhouse, that tariffs–for all their confusion among news folk–are working. Just as a mule might not understand why you switched trails on the mountain pass, the average person does not always grasp that sometimes you must suffer a higher price on your shrimp cocktail to preserve the dignity of your nation’s economy.

The media–bless their overworked typewriters and underused thinking caps–have made sport of saying tariffs are the end of civilization, just as they once foretold doom when buttons replaced suspenders. But I ask you, are we a country of industry, invention, and independence, or are we a glorified gift shop for foreign imports?

Professor Stephen Miller at UNLV–a man burdened with more degrees than common sense–says that “uncertainty” is the greatest danger. But when has any Nevadan ever had certainty?

It is a state built on blue mud, gold dust poker chips, boomtowns, and busted dreams. If uncertainty were poison, Nevada would’ve perished in the 1860s, yet here she is.

And though Ms. Sulhee Woo of Southern Nevada frets for her family — and rightly so — she ought to remember that a price shift is not the end of the world. It’s the beginning of a new one — where American industries, long strangled by cheap labor and foreign manipulations, can rise again like a bald eagle from the sagebrush.

As for our dear Senator Cortez Masto and State Treasurer Conine, their alarm bells are ringing louder than a saloon piano in a lightning storm. But rather than curse the tariffs, they might do better to teach folks what a tariff is–not some mystical hex cast by a Washington warlock, but a simple lever of commerce used since ancient days, back when the Greeks were still inventing democracy and regrettable pottery.

So yes, visitor numbers may be down 12 percent, and Canadian tourists — polite as they may be — are thinking twice before heading south. But mark my words–the Strip will survive.

The gamblers will return. And Nevada, in all her splendor, from Caliente to Incline Village shall carry on.

There’s more to this state than slot machines and showgirls. There’s the soul of a frontier, the pride of independence, and yes–the stubborn grit to weather any tariff the world dares toss her way.

And if you still don’t understand tariffs, ask a Paiute elder or a cowboy near Battle Mountain. They’ll explain it better than any Ivy League economist ever could and won’t charge admission.