Hard questions follow California fires

When words fail, images tell the story.

In Los Angeles, descriptions of apocalypse lack the power of a tracking shot across a devastated neighborhood, or a close-up of a homeowner whose community — whose every aspect of that community, from homes to schools to churches to businesses — is now gone.

We have seen over and over how someone's slice of heaven is now a swath of hell.

We can feel their pain from 3,000 miles away. We can empathize. We can donate. We can pray. But if there is anything we must do, we must learn. Because what's happening in Southern California is a tragedy that will reverberate long after the flames are out. It's epic devastation with an epic tail.

As a nation, what can we do to avoid endless repetitions of this catastrophe there and elsewhere?

Fate was cruel, yes. Who could have foreseen that one, then two, then six major fires would burn simultaneously and out of control? But choices and mistakes also were made. Some kind of fire was a certainty, history shows and forecasters said, but we humans played roulette.

Los Angeles has always seen swings between very wet and very dry weather. A warming climate makes those swings more extreme. Last winter was really wet, and the fast-growing grasses and brush of L.A.'s chapparal ecosystem flourished. The ongoing drought dried them out, turning them to prime kindling. Then came the Santa Ana winds, blowing hot and hard from the mountains straight to the ocean, ready to fan any spark. And the sparks came, for reasons still not clear but common in places where humans live; experts say 90% of wildfires are caused by humans.

The L.A. region has always been at risk for wildfires, which was less of a problem when the area was wildland. But now we've built deeply into those wildlands, and up into their canyons whose steep topography heightens the risks.

The people in Pacific Palisades living in those gorgeous canyons with their spectacular views knew they were at risk, and pleaded for years for an evacuation plan, but never got one. In a grotesque twist, such an item was on the agenda of a community meeting originally scheduled for Thursday, two days after the immolation began.

In what will be an urgent rush to rebuild, we must question the wisdom of doing it just as we did all over again. It's the same question people in other fire-ravaged, hurricane-prone, and low-lying coastal areas should be asking. Should we build back? If we do, can we do it differently?

Certainly, we can use fire-retardant materials, keep shrubs away from structures, and put more space between houses. We can improve water delivery systems so hydrants don't go dry, understanding they might require greater capacity than what's needed for a single house fire. We can make better decisions; a large reservoir in the heart of Pacific Palisades that would have improved water pressure for firefighters was empty because its cover was being repaired.

If we try to rebuild the thousands of homes and businesses lost, can we keep the supply chains from snarling?

And how will this rebuilding be financed? Estimates of damages and economic losses reached an incomprehensible $150 billion Friday with the fires still burning, setting up an insurance disaster.

Increased risk and the state's refusal to allow premium increases already has been driving home insurers out of California. State Farm, California's largest home insurer, canceled more than two-thirds of its policies in Pacific Palisades last March, and the California state insurance plan of last resort is not expected to have enough money to pay off all the fire-related claims it will receive. And California had only the fourth-highest nonrenewal rate in 2023, trailing Florida, Louisiana and North Carolina.

These are difficult questions but they must be answered. The next catastrophe shouldn't be followed by a nightmare.

Columnist Michael Dobie's opinions are his own.

By Michael Dobie

michael.dobie@newsday.commwdobie

Michael Dobie is a member of the Newsday editorial board.