In the aftermath of the devastating Eaton fire that ravaged Altadena, California, a tight-knit community is fighting to reclaim their homes and preserve their legacy. A year after the blaze that claimed 19 lives and destroyed around 9,500 buildings, survivors like the Williams sisters are navigating the complex challenges of rebuilding.
Born and raised in Altadena, an unincorporated area of Los Angeles County, Ellen Williams and her sister Ethele have seen their neighbourhood transformed. Empty lots with gaping holes where foundations once stood now dot the landscape, as construction crews work to erect new homes. Yet, amidst the rebuilding, a troubling trend has emerged – real estate investors aggressively pursuing the land of wildfire survivors.
“Immediately people saw dollar signs,” Ellen recounts, as she drives past the lot where her home of 22 years once stood. Just two days after the fire, she received the first of many calls from real estate representatives inquiring about purchasing her property. “How dare you? Within days of people losing their homes you want to give them an offer. We’re still processing, yet you want to put a value on land.”
This phenomenon, known as “climate gentrification,” has put immense pressure on long-time Altadena residents, many of whom are struggling to rebuild due to insurance issues and the high costs involved. A UCLA report found that Black households were disproportionately impacted by the Eaton fire, with 61% located within the fire’s perimeter compared to 50% of non-Black households. Additionally, 48% of Black homes were destroyed or severely damaged, compared to 37% for non-Black homes.
The roots of this disparity can be traced back to the historical practice of redlining, which restricted Black families from purchasing homes in certain areas. This pushed the Williams family, like many others, closer to the fire-prone San Gabriel mountains. As climate change increases the risk of such disasters, these communities find themselves on the frontlines of a new battle – fighting displacement.
“There’s an inherent risk living in this wildland-urban interface zone on the edge of mountains,” explains UCLA professor and urban cultural historian, Eric Avila. “The tragedy is that Altadena reflected an opportunity for a group of people that have experienced high rates of discrimination.”
Despite the challenges, the Williams sisters and their neighbours are determined to rebuild and preserve their community’s identity. With the support of organizations like Neighborhood Housing Services of Los Angeles County, some families are finding ways to return, even as others are forced to sell their land due to financial pressures.
“The neighbors are coming back,” says Ellen, as she surveys the progress on her mother’s lot, where a prefabricated home will soon be placed. “Other than that, everyone’s coming home, so that’s very exciting. I didn’t want new neighbors.”
The road to recovery is long and arduous, but the resilience of Altadena’s residents shines through. As they navigate the complexities of insurance claims, federal assistance, and the looming threat of climate gentrification, the community remains steadfast in its commitment to reclaiming their homes and safeguarding their legacy.