The Los Angeles Fires and the Fragility of Empathy

Wildfires have become an unfortunate seasonal ritual for Californians, but the 2025 Los Angeles fires have cut deeper than ever. As the hillsides of Malibu to the Pacific Palisades to Hollywood and Encino burn, media coverage predictably turns its lens to the sprawling estates of the rich and famous. This framing, though captivating, threatens to overshadow the real story: the untold suffering of ordinary people who lack the resources to rebuild, relocate, or even endure.

I spent my entire twenties living in the Palisades nestled in a tiny rent-controlled studio by the beach on the Pacific Coast Highway. Today, I can't bear to look at the images coming out of those neighborhoods. To see the landscapes of my formative, identity-searching years reduced to ash is more than heartbreaking; it’s a visceral reminder of the fragility of safety and permanence. But the destruction isn't just physical—it’s emotional, and it’s collective. And yet, as we grieve, we must also confront how we, as a society, respond to disasters like these—and where our empathy falters.

The Celebrity Obsession

It’s impossible to talk about media coverage of Los Angeles fires without addressing its fixation on celebrity. Aerial shots of burnt-out mansions and stories of narrowly evacuated movie stars dominate headlines. Meanwhile, thousands of ordinary Angelenos—teachers, nurses, retirees—lose everything, their suffering relegated to the background. At the same time, to show little regard for the wealthy is a sad human state, too. We don’t know their story. We don’t know where they have come from to become the person they are; to have built a life of admiration and wonder. There is no rulebook on the limitations of human empathy. Having a certain degree of notoriety doesn’t make you immune from pain and loss.

Still, this imbalance in coverage erodes our empathy. By focusing disproportionately on those with the means to pull their lives and homes together again, we risk trivializing the plight of those who cannot. A young family in Sylmar or a retired couple in Woodland Hills may not have star power, but their losses are no less devastating.

The Insurance Dilemma

For most of the wealthy, insurance offers a financial safety net, albeit an imperfect one. But for the working class, it’s a different story. California’s escalating wildfire risk has led to skyrocketing premiums and policy cancellations. In some high-risk zones, insurance is either prohibitively expensive or outright unavailable. State regulations aimed at mitigating this crisis, such as the California FAIR Plan, often provide only minimal coverage. For struggling homeowners, rebuilding is either financially ruinous or entirely impossible.

Consider a single mother who loses her modest home in a fire. Without adequate insurance, she’s left to navigate a labyrinth of state aid programs that are slow-moving and insufficient. Her precarious financial situation is compounded by the loss of belongings, irreplaceable family heirlooms, and the very stability her children rely on.

The Psychological Toll of Fire

Fire is a uniquely traumatic force of nature. Fires often strike with little notice, leaving victims mere minutes to evacuate. The psychological aftermath is profound. For survivors, fire is a visceral reminder of an unsafe, unpredictable world. The sight of ash-covered landscapes, the acrid smell of smoke, and the sound of sirens create lasting sensory imprints, often triggering anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress.

From a psychological perspective, fire strips away the illusion of control. Homes, which represent safety and identity, are reduced to rubble in moments. For children, this destruction disrupts their sense of normalcy and security, often leaving scars that last into adulthood. For adults, the loss is compounded by financial strain, guilt over what couldn’t be saved, and the daunting task of rebuilding—if rebuilding is even an option.

When I see videos of suspected arsonists, I’m struck by how much we unknowingly rely on the sanity and restraint of others to navigate daily life. Every moment of our existence is entwined with the actions of strangers—people driving responsibly, following rules, or simply coexisting without malice. The idea that one person’s reckless or destructive impulse can so profoundly disrupt lives is a sobering reminder of the fragile trust we place in the collective sanity of the world around us. It’s a trust that, when broken, shakes the very foundation of our sense of safety.

Empathy in Crisis

Tragedy, it seems, has a way of narrowing our focus. We mourn what we know, what we can see, and what feels relatable. But the challenge of true empathy lies in extending our compassion to those whose suffering is invisible or unfamiliar. The Los Angeles fires offer a painful but necessary reminder: it takes so little to be kind.

Empathy doesn’t require grand gestures. A simple acknowledgment of someone’s loss, a donation to a local relief fund, or even sharing the stories of ordinary survivors can make a profound difference. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by such devastation, but small acts of kindness ripple outward, reinforcing the social fabric that disasters threaten to unravel.

My heart aches for the people of Los Angeles. I think of my old neighbors in the Palisades, but I also think of the countless unnamed families whose lives have been upended. Disasters like these remind us of our shared vulnerability and humanity. In a world where tragedy can strike with terrifying speed, let us remember how little it takes to offer kindness and how much it can mean to those who receive it.

We can have everything one moment and nothing the next. Any of us stand to lose anything at any moment. Show some kindness when you can. It might be you tomorrow who needs it.

Photo by Steven Weeks on Unsplash

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