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Family members and U.S. Forest Service representatives enter a memorial service Aug. 30 for the three firefighters who died near Twisp, Washington, Aug. 19.
(AP Photo/Elaine Thompson)
By Robert Percin
Smithsonian Magazine published an article in June 2013 titled "Why Fire Makes Us Human." It began, "Wherever humans have gone in the world, they have carried with them two things, language and fire." Twenty-nine days later, through an ominous late-night police knock at the door, language carried the tragic news that fire had taken my brother, John J. Percin Jr. at the age of 24.
He was one of the 19 Granite Mountain Hotshots who died battling the Yarnell Hill Fire in Arizona on June 30, 2013. That fateful Sunday, as the late-afternoon winds wildly shifted, miscommunication bred further miscommunication, and supervisory negligence compounded these deadly variables, those 19 men became trapped in a virtual tinder-box -- left alone, cut off from their command, with nothing but the wildland firefighter's dreaded final option: deploying their fire shelter. But Mother Nature's ferocious flames proved too powerful to endure. And 19 brave, unique lives ended far too soon.
Given my personal loss, the effects of this summer's season of fires have reopened wounds and left me concerned about the future. With wildfires sweeping across the West on an unprecedented scale, scorching lands and destroying homes throughout the Northwest, thousands of brave men and women battle to contain Mother Nature's fury, just as the Granite Mountain Hotshots did two summers ago.
Sadly, however, this August alone, four firefighters again made the ultimate sacrifice, protecting lands, lives and property. Make no mistake, firefighters fully understand the inherent, unavoidable risks of their job. And it is for our great fortune that they proudly and courageously accept these dangers to protect us, no matter who or what needs protecting.
I witnessed this commitment first-hand in the wake of my brother's death, with every hug and show of solidarity, as I met hundreds of firefighters and attended dozens of memorials commemorating the Granite Mountain 19. As Fernanda Santos wrote in a recent New York Times piece, in "the close-knit world of wildland firefighting ... any loss feels like everybody's loss." Indeed.
It is with that sentiment that I'm left pondering one critical question: Although the nature of fire has changed, with global temperatures reaching record highs and ensuing droughts wreaking havoc in many places -- most notably California (climate change the undeniable culprit) -- and an exponential number of homes being built in fire-prone hotspots, why haven't our methods for fighting fires changed in response?
Haven't enough homes been destroyed? Haven't enough of our precious lands been ravaged? And haven't enough brave men and women paid the ultimate price?
The answer is, of course, unequivocally yes. Thus, as society collectively suffers from this rise in the number of wildfires, we must begin forging a plan forward. We owe it not just to ourselves as a whole but, most importantly, to those battling on the front lines. What shape that plan will ultimately take must derive from the input and expertise of myriad individuals from a variety of professions and industries. Perhaps that plan has already begun to take shape. But I've seen scant evidence in that regard. I remain convinced that little has changed in our battle against Mother Nature's deadly, yet life-sustaining force: fire. Wildland firefighters remain our main defense in the ongoing battle this summer's season of fires has once again illuminated. Look no further than The Oregonian's front page or the round-the-clock-cable-news coverage relaying the continual burning of our nation's lands for confirmation. Just the other day, as I went about my daily business here in Portland, I overheard countless complaints within earshot about the smoke-filled air. These folks obviously didn't know my situation, but it touched a nerve nonetheless. For those battling the searing temperatures up close and personal, the toxic, smoke-filled air is not simply a temporary inconvenience.
In the end, then, it is my sincere hope that changes in the way we fight fire are already underway. Most critically, I hope that, as in other dangerous jobs and industries, technological advances will slowly but inevitably support and, in some situations, replace the human element in the battle to contain wildfires. We owe that much to those currently fighting this battle, and to those who paid the ultimate sacrifice -- including my brother and the Granite Mountain 19.
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Robert Percin is an attorney in Portland.