Florida has been battered by back-to-back hurricanes. First, Hurricane Helene snuck up on us just a few weeks ago. Those living on Florida’s West Coast first thought we were saved when it veered towards the less populated panhandle. But, while it avoided a direct hit upon the Tampa-Saint Petersburg area, it sent an enormous storm surge our way, which led to flooding in low-lying areas. Helene did even more damage in North Carolina, where rainfall and the local geography combined to create deadly flash floods.

With debris still stacked up on the side of the road from Helene, it looked like Hurricane Milton might be even worse for Tampa, as it was poised to be the first large direct hit on the bay area in 100 years. When it strengthened to Category 5 in the Gulf of Mexico, it was particularly menacing and everything conspired to deliver a worst-case scenario.

Tampa is on the water, and a lot of people, assets, and infrastructure are located near the shore, including the port, beach hotels and restaurants, and a number of power plants. The rest of the city is only a few feet above sea level. Evacuation maps show the extent of the problem.

Milton blessedly veered south at the last moment. If it didn’t, Milton would have been a Katrina-level disaster, likely causing long-term damage to the city’s viability. As Milton approached, people were already pretty freaked out by the surprise local flooding from the last hurricane, which was augmented by the grim disaster footage from the Carolinas. Contrary to habit, millions of Floridians evacuated as Milton churned towards landfall.

Even with the eye going closer to less-populated Sarasota, Milton was serious. Winds were significant, and thousands of trees were knocked down, which, in turn, knocked down power lines and made the roads impassable. Flooding happened in some areas due to the large volume of rain. Other than food, gas, and other necessities, commerce ground to a halt for a week.

Natural disasters really strip away a lot of the fakery of political life. Fake politics includes things like the media gaslighting about Kamala Harris’s popularity or the recent DOJ lawsuit to ensure law enforcement standards do not have a disparate impact. Real politics means dealing with dead and missing people, restoring electricity, distributing scarce supplies, providing assistance, and rebuilding what has been broken.

Florida has a lot of experience with hurricanes, and we are fortunate to have a capable, no-nonsense governor. Governor DeSantis, though an uncompelling presidential candidate, has been an effective administrator in Florida during both recent hurricanes, a skill set he first revealed during the COVID mania.

Similarly, our local governments—Tampa, Saint Petersburg, and the various counties around them—are streamlined, responsive, and very concerned with handling this issue well. I have not seen any major failures. In discussions with friends and neighbors, everyone with an ounce of maturity understands that it takes some time to deal with thousands of knocked-down trees and power lines, damaged port infrastructure, and scattered flooding, particularly after the major flooding associated with Helene just a few weeks ago.

Just as there are real and fake politics, there are real and fake jobs. If fake jobs are the ones where young women jump from getting smoothies to playing ping pong in glamorous settings while making TikTok videos about it, real jobs are visibly in abundance after a natural disaster, and they’re mostly done by men who don’t work in an office.

The local power company, TECO, got power up and running in less than 72 hours for me. This impressive pace seems typical, according to people I spoke to. All the “bucket truck” linemen, including the many thousands who have come down to help from other states, deserve a lot of credit. It is real, dangerous work and important for maintaining civilization.

Indeed, both here in Florida and for those dealing with the flash flood horror show in North Carolina, it’s plain to see that the jobs that really uphold civilization are not the “work from home” jobs of the laptop class, but traditional blue-collar jobs and their associated skills. Using heavy equipment, cutting down trees with chainsaws, and all of the dirty, dangerous, and difficult jobs are typically male jobs, where strength and physical endurance are important. No one worries about disparities and representation there, unlike the cushier and prestigious ranks of executives and politicians.

We can live without another TikTok video, but we won’t last long (or make TikTok videos for that matter) without electricity, plumbing, roads that we can drive on, trash collection, and law and order.

On the last point, I will say, contra the usual right-wing worry about civilization hanging by a thread, that most people have been very well-behaved in the midst of difficult circumstances. There are no reports of looting and only small hints of disorder.

I have heard of and seen some cases of short tempers at the gas stations, but it does not appear anything major has happened. There is a significant police presence both at gas stations and intersections where the lights do not work, and their presence seems to be working at deterrence.

But most of the policing is self-policing. Rather than civilization immediately collapsing, neighbors have done more to get to know and help one another at this time, lending a hand, clearing brush, sharing generators and chargers, and otherwise being mutually supportive.

This is not just a feature of tight-knit or affluent neighborhoods. This could be a Florida thing. The state is not as aggressively political as the West Coast (or the internet) is. And maybe a tiny hint of Southern hospitality has survived and rubbed off on the many transplants who have populated the state since the 1980s.

In thinking about the burst of community spirit and the importance of those who work on the tangible foundations of life, I am struck by how even before the storm much of this had atrophied. White-collar work used to be communal, defined by the small (if artificial) subculture of the office. Now, because of work-from-home, many people do not interact in person with coworkers, and they have even less reason to interact with neighbors.

While we are increasingly tethered to technology like email, text, Slack, and Signal, our atomized and tech-dependent life is leaving us alienated from reality, our nature, and the conditions under which we flourish. There is some optimal balance of work and leisure, community and individualism, and power and humility—including humility before the awesome and sometimes destructive forces of nature.

Whatever that mix is, it was out of kilter before these storms. With the power out, trees uprooted, and a lot to be done, it was nice to talk to and help and be helped by one’s neighbors. In other words, it let many of us realize that work is not just on a computer but also with our hands, and we should all try to get them dirty sometimes in order to help our less fortunate neighbors and, in so doing, ourselves.