On Fire

Los Angeles burns

Watching the news out of Los Angeles is like seeing a version of the apocalypse. The sheer terror as shocked residents flee entire neighborhoods engulfed in flames. The billowing toxic smoke blotting out the sun. The relentless uncertainty over where the next combustion will be.

The scale is hard to fathom, and there is no end in sight as destructive weather patterns—hurricane-force winds, non-existent humidity, scorched earth, and dancing embers—seem likely to persist for at least several days.

My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones, homes, memories, and any sense of security or safety. Even after the immediate crisis ends, lives will be scarred, along with a sun-drenched, sparkling city that has been a much-loved home to millions.

I, and undoubtedly many of you, have family and friends in harm’s way, swept up in the evacuation mandates affecting tens of thousands, and growing. I know of people who are certain they’ve lost their homes, and many more who believe they have, as new fires flare across one of the world’s great metropolises.

The idea that an entire city can burn feels like something we once relegated to history. I remember reading about the great fires of ancient Rome and 17th-century London. My parents’ hometown of Chicago burned in 1871, as did my hometown of San Francisco in 1906 after the great earthquake. But I don’t think I ever imagined seeing something like what we’re witnessing today.

Natural disasters come in many forms, but fire holds a unique place in the human psyche. While we cannot conjure hurricanes, droughts, or earthquakes, fire—and our ability to harness its power for our benefit—has been essential throughout the history of our species and across cultures. We have relied on it to cook our food, heat our homes, and power modern transportation.

It is no surprise, then, that fire features prominently in the world’s religions and oral traditions. It is a force gifted by the gods and stolen by heroes, used for creation and transformation—a giver and taker of life, essential for purification and renewal.

Yet even as we have tried to tame fire, we instinctively understand that we can never fully control it. Tragedy and destruction are always possible. Most of the fires that destroy our homes and communities are caused by human action, either accidental or deliberate: an electrical short circuit, a stove left unattended, arson, and too often the weapons of war. No matter the cause, once fires start, they are often fueled by the very materials we provide them—the structures we’ve built, which were made livable in part by the fires that now consume them.

We are used to fires in California; they are essential to our cycles of nature. From the towering redwoods to the rolling hills of grasslands, our ecosystems have evolved with fire as a driving force. Native peoples skillfully used fire to clear dangerous underbrush, promote biodiversity, spur plant growth, and return valuable nutrients to the soil. They understood fire as a tool to live in harmony with the land, while European settlers brought with them a dangerous hubris—believing in human dominion over natural forces beyond our control, suppressing the benefits of fire until it was too late, and building permanent homes on land that was always meant to burn.

Sadly, that folly continues to our present time. Human actions on a global scale have made fires more intense, destructive, and frequent. There should be no fire season in Southern California in the middle of winter. But months of drought exacerbated by climate change are making the precarious situation we find ourselves in worse.

There is a bitter irony in how our dependence on the flames of burning fossil fuels stokes the very fires we dread, making wildfires more frequent and ferocious.

Now, however, is not the time for such recriminations. Californians already know about the climate crisis, and we are global leaders in finding new ways to combat it. The immediate need is for the protection of human life and property. The heroism of the firefighters battling blazes block by block is inspiring. There will have to be a massive recovery effort, and as always, we must be aware that the most marginalized will suffer an undue burden.

Los Angeles will never be the same, but we can find some solace in the lessons of history. Human ingenuity in the aftermath of disaster has often sparked remarkable creativity. I have every expectation that we will see new ideas grow alongside a new city. In the meantime, I desperately urge the federal response to match the scale of the need. We Californians have given so much to this nation, and the mean-spirited instincts of the incoming administration must not be allowed to hinder recovery. The great promise of the United States is that we are in it together, that we help each other in times of distress.

Los Angeles faces many dire and perilous days ahead, and it will take years, likely even decades, to rebuild and reimagine this extraordinary city. But it is a place that has long defied the odds, driven by a vibrant blend of cultures, dreams, and ambitions. It can, and it must, endure.