I know about wildfires. They happen in Southern California every year. They are more frequent and are often as destructive as earthquakes.

The vegetation on our hillsides and canyons is designed to burn. Chaparral and pine trees do not spread their seeds until the old plants are burned away. The Tongva and Chumash understood this. They did controlled burns to get rid of dead vegetation before they could cause even more destructive wildfires. That might be the reason Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo called our region the Bay of Smokes.

When the Europeans conquered and colonized the land, they suppressed the knowledge of the indigenous people. Fire was something to be feared and prevented, not a natural part of our ecosystem. We tried to tame nature while building communities in the middle of highly flammable vegetation. But nature isn’t easily tamed.

It doesn’t take much to start a wildfire. Once droughts and Santa Ana winds dry out the vegetation, any spark can turn it into flames. Lightning, a sunbeam focused by glass, a spark from electrical equipment, an untended campfire, or an intentional blaze started by an arsonist. Once a wildfire has started, it is difficult to control. Even with trained firefighters with the most advanced equipment and the support of aerial drops, a large wildfire can take days to be contained. The worst of the wildfires, like the one in January, can destroy entire communities and cost people, including our brave firefighters, their lives.

Even after the flames have been put out, there is still the risk of mudslides from the rainy season that follows. In the meantime, the pine cones and seed pods opened by the flames begin to grow new life. In time, the hillsides and canyons become green again, and the cycle continues.

We, as a nation, are in the midst of a wildfire. Just like in our hillsides and canyons, the danger has been there for centuries. The indigenous people we slaughtered, the sin of slavery, and the crimes we left unpunished. Wealth, power, and corruption have been allowed to spread unchecked like dried-out chaparral. And the wealthiest and most powerful arsonists of all lit the spark. The difference in this analogy is that we have no firefighters to put out the flames. Our elected representatives, the Supreme Court, the news media—they’re not just sitting in the firehouse; they’re doing aerial drops of gasoline. Meanwhile, we’re outside with our garden hoses trying to water down our roofs while the water pressure drops.

Eventually, wildfires die out when they run out of fuel to burn, and rains come to put out the last of the sparks. But the recovery can take years. If we don’t learn the lessons from the last wildfire, we will suffer again from the next one.

One of those lessons is the importance of community. When there is a wildfire, we help each other evacuate. We set up evacuation centers in local high school gymnasiums and donate food, clothing, and supplies to those affected. And when the wildfire is over, we help each other rebuild.

Community is how we’re going to get through our national wildfire, especially when the arsonists want to get us to fear and hate each other. We must remember that our fates are tied together, and we will need each other’s help to survive and rebuild. This time, we need to be wiser, learn from our history, and create something better.

I know about wildfires. Our nation is in one. And the only way we can get through it is to do it together.

Related topics:

Spoons and a lesson about community Only empathy can save us now OceanGate Titan and the limits of empathy What gives me hope

Powered by YARPP.