In Scorched Altadena, Volunteers Did a Lot of the Real Work

It’s been two weeks now, but for most people in LA it has felt like years. My hometown of Pasadena, which lies to the northeast of Los Angeles and borders Altadena, was a tranquil place to live. Now it’s a place of mourning and tragic loss that is finding hope in community kindness and mutual aid.

Since the Eaton fire started, I have left my house every day to help with whatever needs to get done, which has included everything from wellness checks to street cleanup. It began with people who had left town with their families during evacuation but wanted to know if their homes or apartments were still there. As I collected these addresses and headed into the neighborhood, which was still ablaze and full of smoke, I quickly realized that there was a tremendous amount of help needed on every block. I parked my car, got out, and started helping seniors move debris, clearing streets so vehicles could get through, and even just being there for strangers who needed to cry through their shock. Soon, friends of mine and other volunteers assembled, and we moved along the border of Pasadena and Altadena, pulling over to offer labor and tools wherever we could. Outside of the gas workers and the celebrated Los Angeles Fire Department, we didn’t come across any official teams from the city.

As things downgraded from emergency status, there was a lot of confusion and uncertainty. What toxins were in the air? Was the water poisonous? When could we return to our homes? If we couldn’t, where would we live? Where was the government assistance? Even the most specific questions were overwhelming. For example, where were we supposed to dispose of the flammable debris when we cleared someone’s yard? Asking the city about when debris would be picked up or where you could dump inevitably led down a rabbit hole with no answers.

According to statistics published by the state of California, California is one of the largest economies in the world, and Los Angeles County is one of the largest contributors to the state’s GDP. LA County is also the most populated county in the United States. So wouldn’t you think local governments would have the funding and foresight to better prepare for looming threats of earthquakes, wildfires, and mudslides?

In the weeks since the Eaton fire, major news outlets have begun the process of reconstructing the many failures, inadequacies, and glitches of the emergency notification systems, resources, planning, and communication. This was deeply felt on the ground of the Eaton fire zone in the days following the fire. Citizens relied on social media, the nonprofit app Watch Duty, and bits of information embedded in often sensationalized media coverage. LA County’s emergency notification system issued false alarms and failed to send some evacuation notices that were actually needed. A fire victim named Sunny Mills told me, “We never received an evacuation alert. If it wasn’t for my friends calling, we might not be here today.” Altadena resident Anthony Obi (known as “Fat Tony”) said, “I didn’t anticipate a wildfire in my area until the neighbor told me Eaton Canyon was on fire. I could leave safely and feel really lucky that the neighbor stopped me. I wouldn’t have rushed out of the house that quickly without her urging.” (In a statement, LA County acknowledged the erroneous emergency alerts and said it was switching to the CalOES system to prevent further errors. The LA County Office of Emergency Management told the LA Times that “wireless…alerts are only one of several means of notifying residents to evacuate…during a fire emergency.”)

My own neighborhood was a mandatory evacuation zone for the Eaton fire. When ordered to leave I relocated to Hollywood, then relocated again due to the Sunset fire. When I returned to my home in Pasadena, I went a few blocks north and witnessed a dystopian landscape of destroyed homes already being scoped out by real estate speculators. I saw an influencer trespassing onto a charred property while an elderly man wearing a soiled KN95 mask attempted to cut a fallen tree branch with a knife as ash rained down on him. At another home, a man stood knee-deep in rubble while attempting to put out a flurry of embers with a garden hose. His parents, who had arrived to help, were in the driveway trying to convince him to leave. I offered my assistance, but the father just looked down to the ground and sadly uttered, “He…won’t…leave.”

A friend asked me to check in on a senior citizen, who had become unreachable. He had been home earlier that morning putting out fires with a hose. As the fires burned down some of the homes behind him, the smoke and debris injured his eyes. When he got into his car to escape, his side view mirror was broken by a downed tree. The man managed to get out but came back later to check on his place. I asked him what he needed and helped him assess the damage to his garage. Luckily, his home survived. At least 25 homes within a few hundred feet of his did not.

The next day, there was still no government (local or federal) help in Altadena as far as I could tell—and no way for people who couldn’t get online to find information. Local communities began to organize makeshift groups of disaster workers and cleanup crews. One volunteer, Justine Suzanne Jones, said, “Don’t assume there’s someone else to be called upon when an entire community such as ours has been through successive public health and natural disasters. Our government has abandoned us. Help is not on its way. Don’t wait for some external authority to give you permission to ask another person what they need.” (VF has reached out to the LA County supervisor who manages Altadena for comment.)

Everybody in the neighborhood was concerned about the forecast for more dangerous winds, as well as the still-active fires that could ignite debris from the hundreds of felled trees from the windstorm. I met a man who drove up from Downey to offer labor and was raking debris with a palm leaf. We pulled over to help and offered him tools. He mentioned that the armed and phone-scrolling National Guard and Law Enforcement told him to go home when he arrived and asked where he could help.

One cleanup volunteer, Ariana Raygoza, said, “Many people we speak with are so moved or shocked that we’re offering help, and it’s clear they have not been asked before. Law enforcement officials are posted on every corner, just sitting in their cars. At best, they just stand back and stare while we’re helping. At worst, they’re treating residents in distress like criminals.” Volunteer Ashli Buts added, “I’ve also observed frustration with the lack of official updates. People want answers and don’t know where to find them.”

Social media has made information and networking instantly available to a massive population, but it’s also brought out the worst in people. I met a woman who was distressed because someone had filmed a video of her nephew helping family members move their belongings out of their home, which had burned down. The video was shared on social media with a caption declaring that Black children were looting. The woman told us she didn’t know what to do now that her nephew had been publicly labeled a criminal.

Profiteers descended on community members almost immediately. People, all of whom told me they wanted to remain anonymous, said they were getting calls from real estate speculators before they even knew the status of their homes. One displaced family, the Figueroas, were staying in a chain hotel full of displaced families when the hotel began jacking up its rates. Missi Figueroa elaborated: “First week, it was $116 per night. We wanted to renew and it grew to $186 per night, then four hours later $242 per night. I was so mad because the hotel was full of people who lost everything, like myself.”

Another fire victim I spoke to snuck back into the neighborhood to find their home burned to the ground. She posted a photo on Instagram—which a firm then used without permission for an advertisement. “People started sending it to me and friends started calling them out,” she told me. “[The owner] told us he outsources his social media to a company and was mortified. He fired them and then suspended all advertising for the time being and turned off his Instagram. He was quick to make it right.”