Michael J. Reitz

How do people respond when the world around them falls apart? I gained some insights during a brief trip up north last week.

The first came on a quiet evening in Petoskey, where bestselling author Leif Enger gave a talk on his latest novel, “I Cheerfully Refuse.”

Enger, who lives in Duluth, tells the story of Rainy, a day laborer who spends his days drifting across Lake Superior in a leaky old boat. The novel includes scenes set in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Though the book begins with a love story, the reader comes to suspect, correctly, that the story is unfolding in a dystopian world.

Enger wrote the book during the COVID-19 lockdowns and the subsequent political turmoil, and it’s a dark tale.

“Democracy is no more in America,” said Enger, describing the book’s setting. “Sixteen trillionaires own everything. Indentured servitude has made a magnificent comeback. There is no social safety net. The infrastructure has crumbled. The most popular medicine available is a suicide pill, and justice is dispensed not by impartial courts but by religious zealots.”

Then came the most surprising reflection of the evening.

“I’ve been trying to understand,” Enger said, “why this, of all stories, has been the most hopeful writing experience that I’ve ever had.”

How does a story about loss and terror evoke hope? I thought about that question while driving through Northern Michigan. In late March, a severe ice storm hit the state, knocking out the power for hundreds of thousands of people. The ice damage closed roads, disrupted cell phone service and closed schools and businesses. The Department of Natural Resources said the storm damaged nearly 1 million acres of state forest, creating fire hazards. State, local and federal agencies are responding with emergency declarations and financial assistance.

Several weeks after the storm, the area still looks like a battlefield. Thousands of trees are snapped, fallen or bent at odd angles. Trees are scattered along highways like toothpicks. Many roads are still blocked.

At a coffee shop, I met an emergency response worker. I asked if he was there for storm cleanup.

“Yep,” he said. “Day 22.” He was from Texas, a long way from home.

“It’s okay,” he said. “They pay pretty good.”

“They” includes many entities, ranging from insurance companies to government agencies to individuals who own homes and businesses.

What struck me was the number of people who showed up to help. Hotels are filled with utility crews and emergency workers instead of tourists. Federal, state and local agencies are engaged. Sure, some people are being paid to be there, but they showed up.

Though he was writing a fictional story, Leif Enger recognized the enigma of finding hope in a grim world — which is how people actually respond to a real-life tragedy. The ice brings trees crashing down. People don’t stand around and wait for the person in charge. Instead, they grab a chainsaw and start clearing a path.

Sometimes, the most helpful thing government can do in an emergency is step aside. Early in the COVID-19 pandemic, for example, Gov. Gretchen Whitmer realized that state regulations on medical licensing and hospital capacity were impeding the medical response. Whitmer temporarily suspended those unhelpful regulations.

We can’t prevent the next emergency, but state and local officials can plan ahead and communicate their plans. Just as important, they should make room for civil society to act. Volunteer groups, churches, out-of-state work crews, charitable donations, even strangers passing out food — these are not secondary to a relief effort. They’re the heart of it.

Michael J. Reitz is executive vice president of the Mackinac Center for Public Policy, an independent, nonprofit research and educational institute based in Midland, Michigan.