Much of the county is aware of the intensity of wild land fires that are burning in the West Coast. As the smoke settles into the valleys and our sunsets become more radiant we’ve seem to “come together” in a collective shock at its incessant expansion as a national, regional, (etc) community. With this, there is a wave of support at the efforts of all the people combating wild land fires, and collective grief and heroization in response to fatalities that occur on the job.
I want to take a moment to reflect on the romantic portrayals of wild land firefighters and to offer a more nuanced picture about what it’s like to fight fires, and about the people fighting fires, as summer jobs and as careers, on various government crews, and on private contract crews. This is only to help myself tease out the dynamics, the social and power structures that manifest on the fireline. I’ve been reflecting on this a lot lately, and this seems like an opportune time to write a few thoughts down.
Several weeks ago, and article published by Business Insider stated that nearly half of the people fighting fires in California were inmates. Being at the Stouts Fire in Southern Oregon, where inmates were our caterers and our janitors, this made me think of the demographics here in Oregon, and the demographics of wildland firefighters in the country. From my experience, I would say that at least a quarter to half of the firefighters in any large incident are immigrants (the two populations not being mutually exclusive). A large percentage of seasonal wildland firefighters are inmates and/or low-wage seasonal workers. I spent a few years on a contract crew. Most of the folks on my crew were Spanish-speaking immigrants. These breakdown in numbers (Business Insider’s more statistical breakdown, and my “ethnographic” observations) are really striking.
There’s something curious happening there. When thinking about who is a firefighter, the national imaginary doesn’t really see this large percentage of people. Those Spanish speaking immigrants, (mostly from Mexico and central America), are also seasonal agricultural workers planting and harvesting much of the crops on the west coast when there are no fires, and in off season, they are tree planters, work thinning logging units, and they work as Christmas tree harvesters. Firefighting is, for them, a job that pays better than any of these other jobs in a short amount of time.
And this is very similar for season workers for state and federal crews. I’ve worked with, and currently am, a college student paying off debt. I’ve worked with people that fell into the job, stuck with it, and had no other applicable skills after so many years doing only fire. I’ve also worked with people that chose this as a career path and got forestry degrees and they love it. The spectrum is vast. And everyone has a different reason for fighting fires. And some reasons overlap, and some aren’t very clear.
Take for example, the three people that died in an entrapment after a vehicular crash this past Wednesday. Their short biographies published by the Seattle Times “Firefighters killed near Twisp: ‘three big hero’s protecting small towns’” suggest various reasons for fighting fire.
Zbyszewski, 20, was a junior physics major who was “very involved in the Theatre Department.” Zajac, 26, received a degree in biology and a master of science degree from the University of South Dakota in 2014. Wheeler, 31, was a 10-year seasonal firefighter, a career firefighter. It seems like the younger of the three might have had multiple career aspirations, and different things that moved them. It appears that for the third, this was a dream job.
Everyone has a different reason for fighting fire. However, one reason that I’ve ever come across in my years fighting fire, is the desire to be a hero. Which is why a line published in this article really irked me. They published a quote by an acquaintance to one of the deceased:
"If he had to die, I’m sure he would have wanted it to happen while fighting a fire to save others.”
This is wild and unnerving speculation that no one has a right to make but the people on the lines. Ever since I’ve been with my employer, I’ve been a part of trainings and dialogue about safety as a central component to firefighting culture. After every fatality, I’ll hear it reiterated again by my colleagues and supervisors, that “it wasn’t worth it; nothing was worth their lives” And we’ll agree that nobody’s home, or property, or any land is worth our lives. Nothing.
Contrary to structural firefighters, we rarely interact with the public while firefighting and rely on law enforcement to follow through with evacuations so that we are able to work to halt the spread of wild land fire as soon as reasonably possible, and do so in a smart, tactical and safe way. We work mostly with land, water, and surface resources.
Everyone has a different reason for fighting fire, but it is never a selfless act. To inmates is perhaps provides purpose, a chance to interact with the outside world, and a meager (exploitative) wage. To migrant firefighters, it provides the opportunity to save up for when winter work is sparse and particularly undesirable. To me, it’s provided and opportunity for economic comfort, and for personal growth. No one is doing this to “be a hero.” We’re doing our job. Anybody that does this to “be a hero” should not be doing this at all.
The collective grief in response to fatality is healthy and justified. My coworkers and I also feel grief, not because they died hero’s “doing what they loved”, but because we have a suspicion that their deaths could have been prevented, because they almost always can. Grieving is justified. Glorifying the job is not. If I were to ask my colleagues whether they would chose to die while firefighting because it’s “what they love doing” they would all say “No” promptly, or give me blank stares because that is a stupid question. There are so many other things that my coworkers love besides fighting fire. They love their husbands and their wives, and their kids, and fishing, and beer, and sex, and skiing, and snowboarding, and surfing, and hunting, and running, and cooking, and baking bread, and cycling, and playing their guitars, and traveling, and playing soccer, and the Mariners, and refereeing high school wrestling matches, and coffee.
There are so many things going through my mind this last week. I’m not sure I did any of these points justice. To conclude: THANK YOU. THANK YOU SO MUCH for your thoughts and prayers and your messages and texts. This is a job for us, and while we love it, it’s not who we are. And this isn’t how we want to go down. We all want to come home...
