Grief broke out as the fire continued to burn. Many people have lost everything; we all suffer with them because of lives dictated by the processes of apartment and rent checks, chores and yard work, food and pets. Even now, the smoke, flames and barricades have prevented us from seeing the extent of the disaster. That bad reckoning is coming.
Homes will rise again. The strong cores of urban and rural infrastructure will be transformed. But we must do more than simply duplicate what was there. We must not stand on buildings and power lines. Many other threads in the complex web that connects us, which give meaning and foundation to our daily lives, have been lost. Rebuilding our soft infrastructure, the network of social relationships that hold communities together, must be as high a priority as wire, wood and steel.
Escape commands produce response patterns during heightened panic. Hold the dog. Pack instructions and a laptop. Get titles and titles, passports and credit cards. If there is time and space, take photo albums. When they leave, history burns. We’ve already seen pictures of family photos that are driven far away and have meaning for people. But there are always a few: All others fall into the fire.
Fires took homes, took what unites us outside of our homes. I live in Pasadena. To the north of my home, our neighbors in Altadena lost their church, mosque and temple. Firestorms work with agnostic efficiency.
The context died in the flames, our social obligations a shared past. We hear it in the order that corresponds to their loss: a hardware store in business for 80 years, first as a World War I-era food store. Community district operating since before World War II. A popular restaurant, famous locally for its “Noah’s Ark” combination of two eggs, two pancakes and two slices of bacon, dating back to the mid-1950s. A strange 25-year-old museum dedicated entirely to rabbits. Beyond the ashes of the Palisades fire, a Bungalow “auto court” that goes back a hundred years, along with a 1920s farmhouse and stables built by Will Rogers.
Repair and replace roads and water lines, yes. Fill the reservoirs. Adjust power and communication networks. Help people build a permanent home. But we have also repaired our vibrant public fabric, the places of everyday life that make a big city meaningful and manageable: businesses, public parks, houses of worship, schools, libraries. Part of the work of reconstruction must include marking and remembering, trying to connect the threads that connect us to history and place.
When they are ready, this will come from people in communities that have been hit and burned, but those of us outside the airspace and flames can help. Marking where this or that beloved local institution once existed. Finding meaningful ways to remind people of what once was, to remember and to honor that memory. Finally, when the pain subsides a little, we tell stories of what happened, interview friends and neighbors who went through it all and create archives to protect those memories. Local governments or charities can help those at the grassroots level. Shared history is powerful; it can be a return. Those of us who have been saved have a special responsibility to serve.
We have examples to turn to right here in Southern California. Of 1871 Chinese Massacrea mob of 500 Angelenos killed 18 Chinese men and boys in a massacre of horrific racial violence. Long forgotten, save in the form of a mandatory roadside plaque, it is currently the focus of a concerted memorial effort, which will mark the sites of the violence with vivid imagery and didactic explanation. This collaborative effort will ensure that, even when unknown, the victims will not be forgotten. The hope is that the perspective gained through historical heartache will give way to social reform.
I Civic Memory Working Group what has recently developed this effort has left the city with a list of other historical obligations that have not yet been met, challenging problems in the past of the region that have not been resolved.
And now the list is one long task.
The past is behind us. History is not like that. What Lincoln called “the mystical chords of memory” will help connect affected communities and neighborhoods and over time will help connect beyond roads and pipelines and power grids.
This should be a priority before the fires come back again, because they will. Responsibility for society, environment and history should not have geographical boundaries or disaster.
William Deverell is a historian at USC and director of the Huntington-USC Institute for California and the West.
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