Climate, Criminal Justice, and Covid-19: What the West Coast Wildfires Have Revealed
For many Americans, 2020 has been an avalanche of unrelenting crises. But for people living on the west coast, three of these crises–wildfires, racial injustice in the form of mass incarceration, and the COVID-19 pandemic–are inextricably related.
In an era of unprecedented skepticism of science, when conspiracy theories about wildfire spread almost as fast as wildfire itself, it’s important to set the record straight: climate scientists are virtually unanimous in saying that West Coast wildfires–many of which are currently still burning in California, Oregon, and Washington–are getting significantly worse as a result of climate change, and human activity is to blame.[1] I have lived in California my whole life, and alongside millions of others living in high-risk “urban-forest interface” communities, have watched this transformation unfold with my own eyes. Yes, smoke and fires have always been a part of California’s ecosystem–in fact, at age 9, I even called the fire department to report two fires over the course of one summer. But what we’ve seen since 2017, with skies across the state becoming thick with smoke and often barely breathable every fall, is new even in my lifetime, and is perfectly in keeping with a trend towards longer, hotter, and dryer summers associated with climate change.
Is forest management a contributing factor? Well sure, Donald, but don’t forget that forest management policies have not significantly changed in recent years and most forest fires take place on federal land. And what about PG&E, the electric utilities company whose unmaintained power lines have sparked a number of recent deadly blazes? It should be held accountable, of course, for its criminal negligence that resulted in the loss of over 100 lives and the displacement of thousands. But the fact remains that 9 of the 10 largest wildfires in California’s history took place in the last ten years. Three of these wildfires are still burning as of October. That isn’t because of PG&E, nor is it because we forgot how to rake our forests; it’s because of climate change.
The 2020 fire season has been exceptionally horrific for a number of reasons. Fuels were tinder dry and dense, and a freakishly intense lightning event in August was exactly the hair trigger needed to spark a firestorm. But one factor in this year’s fire season has gotten sadly little attention: the COVID-19 pandemic caused by the novel coronavirus.
Like much of the country, California has been hit hard by the coronavirus, with over 800,000 confirmed cases as of October 9th.[2] And, like much of the country, the burden of COVID-19 has fallen largely on marginalized communities with more essential workers living in denser housing. But there’s one group that is especially vulnerable to outbreaks of COVID-19, and it’s one that many states rely heavily upon to fight fires: incarcerated people.
Many of the earliest COVID outbreaks in this country took place in jails and prisons. In April, Cook County jail in Chicago became one of the country’s largest outbreaks[3], and in May, a group of inmates who were transferred to San Quentin Prison in the Bay Area without getting tested sparked an outbreak that has since infected thousands.[4] In Oregon, the picture is only slightly less dire. These outbreaks are important not only from a public health standpoint–the San Quentin outbreak alone has killed dozens–but also in that they have significantly impaired resource-strapped states’ fire fighting abilities.
Many prisoners have been released early due to direct COVID exposure or risk of contracting the virus. In August, during what was likely the peak of the 2020 fire season, California had only 1306 inmates deployed on fire lines despite having the capacity to train and house 3400.[5] Those inmates made up over 10% of California’s firefighters fighting blazes in August, and in a state strapped for all the personnel they could get, the lack of available inmate firefighters was felt very strongly.[6]
However, as many have pointed out, relying on convict labor is not only an imperfect system for fighting fires, but is deeply unjust toward prisoners. Incarcerated firefighters often work for significantly less than minimum wage, putting their lives on the line for $2 a day plus an additional $1 an hour. This is made legal through a loophole in the thirteenth amendment to our constitution, which outlaws slavery and forced labor “except as punishment for a crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted.”[7] What does this rarely discussed constitutional loophole mean? It means that as long as you’re a convicted criminal, slavery is still legal. Not only is slavery legal, but west coast states rely on slave labor to fight increasingly prolonged and deadly blazes. And considering that black, latino, and indigenous populations remain significantly overrepresented in the American prison population, prison labor remains a form of legally codified racial slavery.
Activists have long suggested that in the fight to abolish private prisons–a widely held progressive goal–a first step must be for prisoners to make decent wages on their labor, which could rein in the profiteering of the prison-industrial complex and decrease its political power. Yet despite the injustice of the system, many incarcerated people speak fondly of their experiences as inmate firefighters, saying it gives them a sense of purpose, a chance to leave the confines of the prison walls to do meaningful work, and a set of skills that can be put to use upon their release–if they can find work as a firefighter at all. Most municipal fire departments require EMT certification, and California state law prohibits many convicted felons - including anybody convicted of a felony within the last 10 years or currently on probation–from getting that certification.[8] For inmates who have served their time and done heroic, life-saving work of fighting fires, it is beyond cruel to deny them of the opportunity to have meaningful work once they return to civilian life. In fact, it’s not only cruel but terribly counterproductive, especially in a state desperately trying to defend itself from longer, hotter, and deadlier fire seasons.
It is devastating that it takes a pandemic to show people the injustice and the absurdity of a system that fails to take meaningful action on climate change, then forces its virus-prone population of slave labor to bear the burden of increasingly devastating fire seasons. But hopefully, COVID-19 and the West Coast fire season of 2020 will shake people out of complacency, and force a reckoning on racial justice, mass incarceration, and climate change.
Goss, M., Swain, D. L., Abatzoglou, J. T., Sarhadi, A., Kolden, C. A., Williams, A. P., & Diffenbaugh, N. S. (2020). Climate change is increasing the likelihood of extreme autumn wildfire conditions across California. Environmental Research Letters, 15(9), 094016. doi:10.1088/1748-9326/ab83a7
Johns Hopkins Coronavirus Research Center (2020). COVID-19 United States Cases by County. Johns Hopkins University and Medicine.
Heffernan, S. (2020, April 30). Inside the Jail With One of the Country's Largest Coronavirus Outbreaks. ProPublica.
Arango, T., & Bogel-burroughs, N. (2020, September 14). For Prisoners in the West, the Virus and the Wildfires Are Colliding Threats. New York Times
Fuller, T. (2020, August 22). Coronavirus Limits California's Efforts to Fight Fires With Prison Labor. The New York Times.
Woolfolk, J. (2020, August 22). California wildfires: How short is the state on firefighters as fires burn out of control? The Mercury News.
Lopez, G. (2018, August 09). California is using prison labor to fight its record wildfires. Vox.
LA Times Editorial Board. (2019, November 01). Editorial: Inmates risking their lives to fight California's wildfires deserve a chance at full-time jobs. The Los Angeles Times.