The twilight descends upon Pasadena, a city ravaged by fire, nestled northeast of Los Angeles. The temperature plunges towards ten degrees Celsius. The sunset’s pastel hues are cold, the moon shines weakly through the haze, and the charred remnants of trees, spared from the inferno’s complete consumption, resemble sculptures crafted by the hand of Louise Bourgeois. Car carcasses line the streets, replacing what were once bustling neighborhood restaurants, leaving only the stark skeletons of stone ovens behind them. Here and there, the faint outlines of soft Art Deco architecture emerge from the ashes: a curved archway, an elegant lamppost, adrift in a sea of smoldering debris. Rows of solitary chimneys stand as grim reminders of the houses they once crowned.
The scene evokes comparisons to the devastation witnessed in Gaza, yet the destruction in Pasadena appears more abrupt, more shocking. Within mere hours, the wildfire transformed a comfortable suburban community into a desolate lunar landscape. Burned-out late-model cars and shattered windows of a once elegant law firm starkly illustrate the rapid unraveling of refined civilization. A palpable sense of apocalypse hangs heavy in the air. In the ashes of his childhood home stands Ross Ramsey, 37, consoled by his wife, Destiny. He has meticulously documented the remnants of his past, gathering evidence for the insurance claim process. He struggles to find words to comfort his mother, who lived in the now-destroyed house and was evacuated as the fire approached. Overcome with emotion, he embraces his wife, tears streaming down his face.
While the destruction is primarily material, the human cost is undeniable. As of Friday evening in Los Angeles, eleven fatalities have been reported, with authorities warning of a potential, drastic increase. This grim prediction seems tragically plausible as one drives through block after block of smoldering ruins. However, considering the sheer number of destroyed structures, estimated at 12,000 by the Los Angeles Times, the death toll may remain comparatively low. The material devastation, however, carries profound consequences for the livelihoods of countless individuals. This seemingly obvious fact becomes starkly real in Pasadena, a city of grand mansions and modest homes alike.
Hundreds of tradespeople, young families, and couples line up outside Pasadena’s convention center, hoping to receive a prepaid debit card loaded with $250 to spend on essential supplies. One card per household is offered, provided residents can prove they lived on a burned-out or evacuated street. Observing the weary African American electrician in his black overalls, or the slumped figure of a mother of three in sweatpants on the sidewalk, the magnitude of the newly created homelessness becomes painfully apparent. In a matter of days, 150,000 people have been evacuated, and thousands have no home to return to. The fire has consumed not only luxury villas but also apartment buildings and modest single-family homes.
The impact extends beyond residential areas. As darkness falls, a visit to the Pasadena Community Job Center, typically a hub for day laborers, reveals its transformation into a bustling food distribution center. Pablo Alvarado, the center’s director, points out that the opulent estates in Hollywood Hills and Pacific Palisades also provide employment for many, particularly Latino immigrants who work as cleaners and gardeners. These vital sources of income have now literally gone up in smoke. Alvarado emphasizes the universal impact of such a tragedy, stating that it affects everyone, regardless of their economic status. Many seeking assistance at the center have lost their employers – the very gardens they meticulously maintained. He poignantly asks, ”Pasadena is known as the City of Roses. Who prunes the roses? The immigrant, with their bare hands.” This segment of the workforce, the gardeners, are likely disproportionately impacted, even if they were fortunate enough to escape the fire’s direct destruction of their homes.
The environmental consequences are equally dire. The rapid burning of the earth makes recovery challenging for the land, mirroring the struggle faced by the displaced population. Alvarado expresses concern about increased gentrification in Los Angeles, as developers rush to rebuild for a wealthy clientele. He fears that low-income residents will be pushed further into the suburbs, squeezed into multi-generational housing, or forced into homelessness, a trend that contributed to the decline of San Francisco. Even as the community grapples with the immediate aftermath, the battle over who will finance the costliest disaster in Los Angeles history has already begun. Elon Musk and Donald Trump, both wielding significant influence in their respective media spheres, have circulated claims that affirmative action policies hampered the California fire department’s efforts.
Musk, addressing his 212 million followers, blamed female and lesbian firefighters, publicly naming and shaming individual personnel he accused of undermining the department. Standing in the food voucher line in Pasadena, Charles Walker, a recently graduated electrician, scoffs at this theory. Walker, clad in his black overalls, managed to salvage his tools from his now-destroyed apartment, but little else. He acknowledges the possibility that Trump might have a point regarding Governor Gavin Newsom’s water management policies, recalling the seemingly dwindling water pressure in the firefighters’ hoses as they battled in vain to save his apartment complex. However, he dismisses the notion that lesbian firefighters would sabotage the firefighting efforts due to their sexual orientation as utterly absurd. He criticizes Musk as an opportunist, shaped by the South African apartheid state and now using his platform in the US to propagate against affirmative action. The mood in the line is somber. Dave Racs, a 58-year-old dog groomer, appears hollow-eyed and struggles to eat. He reflects on the loss of almost every building that has shaped his life: the church where he was baptized, the veterinary school, his childhood home, his parents’ house, and his own.
In contrast, Melissa Lee, a 58-year-old legal clerk, demonstrates remarkable resilience. Despite losing her three-bedroom apartment and her sister’s ashes within, she remains determined. While admitting to some regrets, she vehemently rejects the idea of leaving Pasadena, calling it paradise, emphasizing the area’s pleasant January weather. When asked about the potential impact of the climate crisis on California’s coast, she expresses faith in Trump’s proposed solutions but acknowledges the exceptional nature of the recent winds. With unwavering optimism, she looks forward to rebuilding and regaining a sense of normalcy. This contrast highlights the diverse range of experiences and perspectives within the affected community, from profound loss and displacement to resilient determination and hope for the future.
