Remember, Re-Story, Re-Build: Listening to the California Wildfire Story Collection
By StoryCenter Executive Director Joe Lambert
"When you look at the fire map, it was so huge. It wasn't just my house, but it was my community that I might lose. The people of my life. Whether or not I knew them well. Whether they were dear friends or not. If they lost their home, they might move. And you know many of my friends’ houses survived, but also have many friends whose houses didn't survive. For some of them, [the houses] are just down to ashes. Some of them are doing okay. Some of them are having a hard time. And our community has changed. In this case, I think it's brought us together."
— Mika Chin, Shasta County resident
The world watched California over the last years as we faced wave after wave of massively destructive wildfires. In November, the Camp Fire swept through Butte County, decimating the town, leaving nearly 90 dead, some 20,000 relocated, and $16.5 billion worth of destruction, making it the most catastrophic wildfire in our history. Those of us downwind were made aware that one did not have to be near the disaster to feel its impact. Air quality became the worst ever in U.S. history, here in the Bay Area.
The entire state must plan for situations like these to be the new normal. We now have a vastly different expectation for how we prepare for our summer, fall and even winter months, where fires and resultant slides and other damage, make global warming real and present, and where evacuation plans, air quality indices, and fire response and recovery terminology, become a standard part of our daily conversations.
From May to September 2018, StoryCenter traveled to eight counties around California to listen to the stories of those affected by the series of wildfires around the state. We expanded our efforts from an original focus on Napa County and a collaboration with the Napa County Library, to these other hard-hit counties, because we believed local libraries are vital gathering places for people to unpack their experiences. You can see those stories here, at our California Listens website or as part of the permanent collection of California Listens with the California State Library.
Three years ago I certainly appreciated the role libraries play in our local communities, but after this extended campaign with California Listens, and especially after listening to the some 50 stories coming out of the California Wildfires Story Project, I see that along with religious, educational, and psychological support environments, libraries provide a critical sanctuary in times like these. People can picture themselves in a place of neutrality and support, where stories really, really matter.
Each of the snippets we excerpted from 15-minute to hour-long interviews don't do justice to the vast array of concerns, issues, ideas, and accumulated wisdom that exists when citizens speak to their experience of community tragedy. Much more remains to be done, and we look forward to returning to these counties and expanding our work to hear additional stories of loss, hope, and reconstruction in other areas such as Butte and Los Angeles counties, which have so recently been impacted.
Working in these communities inspired me to make my own story as I reflected on the day of the 1991 Oakland Hills fire. I wanted to consider creating a virtual reality-based story project that would have people walking their properties in interviews, and sharing those thoughts in digital story format, possibly making use of 360° immersion. We will be following up in our 2019 California Listens campaign with projects bringing 360° digital storytelling to local libraries, as part of the greater preparation and fire prevention efforts in the state.
Please help support StoryCenter as we move forward with this project. We remain dedicated to serving those impacted by the wildfires, and to finding ways to make story an important part of the recovery effort.
People are still struggling because part of the trauma is that you know people died—and I just lost my stuff. How do they equate? Or do they not equate? I don't even know. It's just loss. Just so much loss.
— Alexandra Dorsaneo, Napa County Resident