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California Recallareas and their historical and politicalsignificance.Not all the pieces were defined byinteresting demographics or politicalpatterns. Some places were simply chosenas backdrops for specific subjects.For instance, we wanted to talk withprison guards—one of Davis’s controversialconstituencies, as he upped theirpay during his leadership (then latertried to renege). For this we traveled toCrescent City near the Oregon border,home of the notorious Pelican Bay StatePrison, where the maximum-securityprison has not always enjoyed an easymarriage with the small coastal town.Meanwhile, women’s rights activists,supportive of Davis, struggled tobe heard over the clang-clang of voters’fiscal alarm. For this perspective, wewent to Fresno County in the CentralValley, where teen birth rates are thehighest in the state—and actually costtaxpayers the most money. We usedSan Diego as the backdrop for a talkradiostory, focusing on conservativetalk-show host and former mayor, RogerHedgecock, an early recall supporterwho whipped up local voters with“drive-by” petition signings. And justfor fun, we hit San Diego’s popularTourmaline Surfing Park, where agingsurfers defied the loopy, checked-outdude image and plunged into articulate,reasoned discussions about therecall.Moving Beyond AssumptionsThe surfers went against stereotype—one of the biggest traps I believe journalistscan fall into on these kinds ofassignments. With limited time in unknownplaces, there is a tendency toover-generalize—to make sweepingconclusions about a whole region orgroup of people, based on a day or twoof interviewing.As a 2001 Ethics Fellow at ThePoynter Institute in St. Petersburg,Florida, I wrote a paper about what Icall “geographic bias,” an affliction sufferedmost commonly by national reporters.The journalists, who parachuteinto strange places at a moment’s notice,routinely try to help readers andviewers get oriented with scene-settingor contextual stories—a worthygoal, except when the work ends upbeing one-dimensional or even twisted.Rural areas are the most susceptible,probably because they are themost foreign to urban journalists—and seem so quaint and simple to theuntrained eye. As a native Nebraskan, Icringe every four years during the presidentialcaucuses in Iowa and the predictableromps around farm country.Dara Morehouse, dressed like Marilyn Monroe and pulling a wagon, takes flyers toGrauman’s Chinese Theatre. Photo by José Luis Villegas/The Sacramento Bee.Jewell Charles blamed California GovernorGray Davis and the U.S. Governmentfor the state of the economy. Photo by JoséLuis Villegas/The Sacramento Bee.Never mind that Iowa’s political decisionsare driven by its urban areas.Never mind that Des Moines is one ofthe world’s busiest insurance centers.Do we ever see Iowa people in suitsand ties? Instead, we are constantlytreated to footage of folksy farmers andrippling ripe cornfields, despite thefact that a cornfield in Iowa in Januaryis nothing more than frozen stubble.Where there is “geographic bias” byjournalists, stereotypes abound. In ruralareas, for instance, the regulars atthe local steakhouse suddenly becomethe voice for the whole community oreven state. The images from the barbershopor bingo parlor are portrayedas the sum of life here.On our travels, José and I vowed toavoid that trap and developed a mantrato keep us grounded: “It is what it is,”we said over and over. At first, it was aresponse to weariness as we crawledinside the car after another long day ofstalking and stopping strangers or gettingchased by farm dogs. But I thinkover time it reminded us not to overreach—notto even try to write the“definitive” piece about an area afterNieman Reports / Winter 2003 55