What to do when the world is on fire.

Taking action for LA and caring for ourselves and others.

Author

Nicole Cardoza
January 10, 2025

January 10, 2024

What to do when the world is on fire.

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“There’s a fire…again. This time it’s big. It’s burning a lot of houses. People are running for their lives.” – Octavia Butler

Good morning and welcome back to Reimagined. This is a tactical newsletter about the fires engulfing southern California, which is likely affecting a significant part of this community. My heart is with you and all those affected.

In Parable of the Sower, the dystopian novel written by Octavia Butler in 1993, the main character journals on February 1, 2025 about a series of wildfires engulfing the fictional city of Robledo, California. Butler, who was born and raised in Pasadena, CA, wrote about the future she envisioned, one that eerily mirrors our present.

Whenever the world feels especially on fire – literally or figuratively – I find myself reading this book again. Not because of its ability to foresee the future, but for how it encourages us to move forward. The protagonist, Lauren, faces insurmountable challenges, and is left to navigate this disorienting reality on her own. And yet she does it rooted in the faith that change as a constant is a divine act, and only through change can we find sustainability and safety when exposed to the elements.

In Parable, fires aren’t just a form of environmental catastrophe, but a man-made weapon wielded by people against one another. Fires propel the plot, and spark the journey Lauren embarks on. Yet in her journal entries, she acknowledges both its destruction and its capacity for rebirth. At the close of the novel, the community literally plants seeds in the ashes of a burnt space; fertile soil for a new beginning.

I know it’s far too soon to be romanticizing what’s next. But as we grieve, worry and reel from this destruction, and find an uneasy familiarity with environmental disasters, let’s also remember that our response can shape what grows from these ashes. Like Lauren, we can honor the power of change, the urgency of community, and build infrastructure to care for each other – even when social systems fail.

In this newsletter, you’ll see a link of ways to support those most impacted by the fires, and resources for you to prepare for when an environmental disaster might affect your community.

This newsletter is made possible because of the support from our readers. Here's how you can help us stay sustainable:

In solidarity,
Nicole

ps – looking for the audio version of this newsletter? Click to read the web version, and you’ll find the audio recording at the top of the page. This is a service provided by Beehiiv, our email publishing platform, and AI-generated.

Here are links to dozens of ways you can support the immediate and long-term impact of the wildfires.

Volunteer

In Los Angeles and have the capacity to volunteer on-the-ground? Mutual Aid LA Network (MALAN) is mobilizing – explore opportunities on their list of organizations and use the tips in this Instagram post to get started.

Direct Aid

Donate directly to support the victims of the fire. GoFundMe has a page of hundreds of verified fundraisers that could use your help. 

Financial Aid & Basic Needs

Medical & Emergency Response

  • Direct Relief: Delivers critical medical supplies and funding to LA County healthcare providers serving affected areas

  • LAFD Foundation: Supplies firefighters with essential gear, thermal cameras, and emergency response equipment

Animal Welfare

  • Pasadena Humane: Operates rescue teams and provides temporary shelter for pets evacuated from fire zones

  • Canine Rescue Club: Runs emergency shelter services and care for pets displaced by disasters

  • LA Pet Food Pantry: Maintains emergency pet food supplies for families struggling to feed their animals

Long-term Recovery & Rebuilding

There are also dozens of restaurants providing care, many of which may have their own GoFundMes to help that work thrive. You can explore the list here and send to friends in the area.

For individuals: Review your safety plans with you and your community. Make sure you’re resourced if you’re ever facing an environmental disaster.

For leaders at organizations: Review your organization’s action plan if it or a number of its employees are facing an environmental disaster.

Spread inaccurate information. As in every disaster, mis- and disinformation tends to go viral (and our President-elect is leading the charge). Be careful of sharing stories that are casting blame or stoking political discourse that you can’t verify; not only does it help inaccurate information spread, it clutters the newsfeeds, making it more difficult for people in need to find care. What we know is true: people need help. Let’s focus our efforts there.

Ignore the disproportionate impact. The fires are affecting communities regardless of race, ethnicity, citizenship and household income. But it doesn’t mean all communities are impacted to the same extent. In your advocacy and direct action efforts, focus on supporting the unhoused, lower-income, elderly and disabled.

Where are you with disaster planning? What’s helped you ease your anxiety? Head to the comments section of the web version of this post to discuss – and kindly review our community guidelines to help keep this a safe and welcoming space for all.

In parting, I’m sharing the poem, Good Fire by Kinsale Drake, on what’s to come after the fires stop burning.

good fire 

write what you know: I know cicadas

swallowed by smoke. horizon choked by car

exhaust, bitter raincloud. butterfly 

wings, halved by the heat

 

and highways. lullaby in grasses straining

to hush the uproar from the waterside. I know from

Yurok, Karuk, Hupa, Miwok, Chumash 

relatives: fire licks the carcass 

 

clean. moss and acorns soothe a blaze’s hungry

belly, whet her all-consuming eyeteeth,

welcome slumber when she is satisfied. beneath the milkweed

root, cactus rot: alkaline kaleidoscope,

 

world of new bones. each layer of life-giving

a heavy clot ready for bloom. I thumb parched bark

from the pine in my backyard. shed the years

she has thirsted in this drought.

 

upstate, the Klamath boils away beneath

a muddy sun. suffocated by the lake’s severed

body, suckerfish skim the surface. their stiff enamel

eyes dried up on arroyo

 

bank. all that remains: deboned 

ecosystem, corpse-black wash

of trees divvied in 1906 to quench greedy

soil, avocado trees, greenery too lush  

 

for desert-scape. oh, let her burn softly.

let the lake regain her scattered limbs. there is sweetness

in the scorching. gentle unshelling. let those who have known 

this place reach the clear water 

and drink

That’s all for this week! Did you learn something new? Appreciate a new insight? Consider helping make this newsletter sustainable:

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