Commuting to Drug War’s Stalingrad

Northern Mexico’s Mayhem Has Stayed on That Side of Border

Being a war correspondent has its downsides. I’ve seen a headless body left hanging from an overpass at dawn, and covered several mass murders. At a drug rehab center I stood outside the tiny building where 17 people had been massacred on a sidewalk that was drenched in blood. I’ve talked to too many grieving victims of senseless violence, including parents of slaughtered children, and children of slaughtered parents. It all remains horrifying, trust me.

I realize there are plenty of journalists in places like Afghanistan or famine-struck Somalia who must …