Every few years, the national conversation circles back to the question of whether America should “bring back” certain jobs—coal mining, steel forging, offshore drilling, logging, and the like. Economists warn these industries are outdated. Safety experts note they’re among the most dangerous professions in the world. Environmentalists recoil at the ecological costs.

But here’s a contrarian truth: these dangerous, gritty, high-risk jobs may be exactly what America needs—not for economic growth, but for public morale.

The Local Crisis Principle

Communities thrive on local drama. The small-town paper that once ran columns about church picnics and Little League scores always had its best-selling issues when the mines collapsed or the mill caught fire. Nothing focuses people’s attention like an immediate, tangible threat—something with names, faces, and outcomes everyone can follow.

Contrast that with the “big issues” that dominate the national press: budget deficits measured in trillions, climate models projecting out a century, geopolitical tensions in regions half a world away. These are important, yes—but abstract. They don’t inspire potluck fundraisers or candlelight vigils. They inspire paralysis.

Dangerous local jobs, on the other hand, create a steady stream of crises that ordinary people can understand and rally around.

Distraction from the Unfixable

American politics is increasingly defined by unsolvable debates. Whether it’s healthcare reform, immigration, or the existential dread of automation, the problems are too big, too structural, and too slow-moving for most people to influence. This breeds cynicism.

But a collapsed shaft at the local mine? That’s immediate. Families can bake casseroles, churches can open their doors, mayors can hold press conferences that actually matter to their constituents. It gives people the illusion of agency—a chance to “do something” when the larger political machine has rendered them powerless.

It’s not just distraction. It’s therapy.

The Heroism Effect

America has always mythologized hardship. Cowboys, steelworkers, firefighters, and yes—coal miners—have all been elevated to the status of folk heroes precisely because they risked life and limb. A society without martyrs has no one to lionize.

When dangerous jobs return, so do the narratives of toughness, sacrifice, and endurance. Politicians seize on them to deliver stirring speeches about “the dignity of labor.” Hollywood weaves them into nostalgic films about honest men and women doing hard work in hard conditions. Even ordinary citizens, far removed from these industries, absorb the message: we may be struggling, but we are tough.

That mythology boosts morale. A dangerous job doesn’t just create a paycheck—it creates a symbol.

Political Utility

Leaders understand this dynamic. They know that a nation preoccupied with local industrial accidents is far less likely to mobilize against abstract injustices. A miner’s collapse drowns out questions about corporate tax rates. A community organizing around a dead logger has less bandwidth to organize around stagnant wages or healthcare failures.

And so, bringing back dangerous jobs serves the ruling class as much as the working class. It generates a never-ending carousel of small-scale tragedies that can be spun into stories of resilience, sacrifice, and unity. Better to debate whether safety gear was adequate at a mine than whether national policy is hollowing out the middle class.

A Hard Pill to Swallow

Of course, this is a cynical argument. Nobody should cheer for lives put at risk so that communities can have something to rally around. Ideally, we would find healthier ways to unify people and distract them from existential dread. But history suggests otherwise. Humans bond through crisis more than through comfort.

So when the conversation turns to “bringing back mining” or “reopening the old mill,” perhaps the question isn’t whether the jobs are economically efficient. Perhaps the question is whether they serve their deeper cultural purpose: giving America something immediate, local, and tragic to worry about instead of drowning in the enormity of global decline.

Dangerous jobs may not enrich our wallets, but they might just preserve our sanity.