A Reflection on Australia’s Black Summer as Los Angeles Burns
Some thoughts on how to navigate a world increasingly shaped by fire.
Apologies for no voiceover this time! I had to redo the whole article at 2:00am because of current events and that meant I couldn’t narrate without waking up my six-month-old who had the courtesy to wake me up at 1:52am and rethink this whole newsletter while I also questioned whoever came up with the phrase “slept like a baby.” P.S. I was torn on what to publish today because the article could have taken one of two directions: exploring what these fires can teach us, or the original angle, which examines the impact of the fire season on Australian animals and the current state of the landscape. After flipping a coin, fate decided that the original will be a separate article for paid subscribers that will go out tomorrow (14 January) - my very first paywalled article, eek! What a doozy.
Even before the calendar turned to January 2025, I knew I wanted to discuss this topic with my Substack audience. It’s been five years since the devastating fires of Australia’s Black Summer, yet the images and stories from that time remain ever-present in my life. I can still recall the acrid smell of smoke filling my nose and coating my tongue as I visited my then-boyfriend in Sydney—memories etched deeply into my mind. What I didn’t anticipate was writing about such devastation while another massive fire rages on in Los Angeles. Once again, the images on my phone seem to conjure that same acrid taste of smoke.
These fires are some of the most devastating in recent history, burning millions of acres of land, destroying homes, and wreaking havoc on wildlife populations. While they are on opposite sides of the world, both fires share one painful truth: we are facing a new, more intense reality of fire behavior, driven by climate change.
It’s no longer a question of if climate change will impact fire seasons, but how much worse they will get. In both California and Australia, record-breaking heatwaves, prolonged droughts, and extreme weather conditions are providing the perfect storm for these fires to explode. These conditions aren’t anomalies anymore — they’re increasingly the norm. The fires underscore an inextricable link between climate change and the growing intensity of wildfires. The sooner we acknowledge this, the sooner we can push for climate action that can help curb the damage.
Speaking of damage, the scale of destruction from these fires shows how vulnerable both human communities and natural ecosystems are. Entire towns in California are currently being levelled (and not for the first time!), and in Australia, vast stretches of habitat were lost, taking species with nowhere else to go. These fires taught us that we need to build fire-adapted communities that can withstand the increasing risks of wildfires. This means redesigning infrastructure, updating emergency response plans, and making sure that local communities are prepared and informed. It also means taking proactive steps to restore ecosystems that have been devastated, ensuring that wildlife has a fighting chance to recover.
As devastating as the physical destruction from these fires was/is, the emotional and psychological toll on survivors was/is equally profound. Communities are being forced to rebuild from not only physical loss but also trauma. Families have been displaced, livelihoods were lost, and the stress and anxiety that come with living through such devastation can linger long after the fires have burned out. If we want to truly support those impacted, we can’t overlook the mental health crisis that follows. Mental health support must be integrated into emergency response efforts (Australia sort of has their shit together on this front), and long-term recovery must consider the emotional and psychological impacts of wildfires on affected communities!
Traditional firefighting strategies are being stretched to their limits lately. California, for example, is facing a dire shortage of firefighting resources as fires burn through vast landscapes. But it isn’t just a lack of resources — it was a lack of proactive fire management. And I’m not talking about raking the damn leaves from the ground! Controlled burns, which are proven to reduce fuel loads and mitigate fire risk, were underused because of regulatory hurdles and lack of funding. Similarly, in Australia, firefighting efforts were often overwhelmed by the scale and intensity of the fires. What does that tell us? We can’t just rely on reactive firefighting strategies — we need to rethink our approach. That means investing in better land management practices, embracing prescribed burns, and ensuring that firefighting resources are prepared for increasingly extreme conditions. One thing that has stood out to me during both the Australian fires and both past and current California fire(s) was the growing recognition of Indigenous fire management practices. Indigenous communities have lived with fire for thousands of years, using controlled burns to manage the landscape and reduce fire risk. These practices aren’t just myth — they’re effective and sustainable ways of coexisting with fire. In Australia, traditional fire knowledge is being increasingly incorporated into modern fire management strategies, particularly in the Northern Territory. Similarly, in California, there’s growing interest in working with Indigenous fire practitioners to bring back these techniques. The fact is, we have a lot to learn from those who have lived with fire in a way that is symbiotic rather than destructive.
While the fires are geographically separated (as well as being years apart), they were deeply interconnected by one common factor: climate change. And the reality is that no single region can tackle this crisis alone. Every time I see nations send their firefighters to help—whether it’s Mexico, Canada, Australia, or beyond—I can’t help but tear up. It’s both heartwarming and heartbreaking to witness such tragedy spark global cooperation. But I’m not part of this field, so I can’t speak to what happens after the flames are out. Once the soot settles, the smoke clears, and the destruction remains, what comes next? Shouldn’t we be doing more than just sharing resources during a crisis? Shouldn’t we build a global network of knowledge and solutions that can help prevent future catastrophes? Whether through shared firefighting resources, research into fire behavior, or coordinated climate action, we need to recognize that fire is a problem we all face—and we must tackle it together. No country, no matter how well-equipped, can face this alone.
I honestly don’t know what happens when the last firefighter packs up and goes home. From the outside, it often feels like that’s the end of it— we’ve defeated the big, bad fire, and we wave goodbye until the next one. But at what point do we step back and ask, “Wait, can we do more to change this pattern?” Aren’t we tired of watching the apocalypse play out on our screens?
There’s a quote I saw on Instagram that has not left my head since I read it. I can’t find who first said it, with multiple people laying claim:
“Climate change will manifest as a series of disasters viewed through phones with footage that gets closer and closer to where you live until you're the one filming it.”
I have found myself thinking about this quote as I follow the news on the latest wildfire numbers. I find myself thinking about it as I doomscroll celebrities and “regular Joe’s” alike showing the devastation the fires have left behind, their homes often blackened scraps of the safe havens they once were. I find myself thinking about it as I reach out to my family and friends in the crosshairs of these raging infernos. I find myself thinking about it as I listen to politicians deny deny deny climate change in the same breath they take checks from those responsible of exacerbating it. Thinking about it as I think about the natural disasters my own countries have faced, the people and memories I have lost.
Climate change doesn’t discriminate—it impacts everyone, regardless of age, gender, socioeconomic status, or where you live. In fact, it’s likely already affecting you. So, we need to ensure that we build resilience — both in our communities and in ourselves — as we navigate a world increasingly shaped by fire. We may not have control over the fires themselves, but we do have the power to change how we prepare, respond, and rebuild. And that’s where we must focus our energy.