How Altadena is battling to rebuild without being displaced

The story first appeared on The LA Local.
Editor’s note: This is part of our “My LA” series — a look at how changing demographics are shifting culture in LA’s historic neighborhoods and communities — told by the people from those communities.

It’s Jan. 11, 2025, and I’m sitting in a restaurant in downtown Los Angeles fighting the overwhelming urge to cry.

I just learned my house survived the Eaton Fire, but I can’t shake the tremor in my friends’ voices who lost theirs. The fire is 15% contained — four days into what would become the second-most destructive fire in California history.

Across from me sits Francisco Sánchez, associate administrator of the U.S. Small Business Administration under President Joe Biden, who oversees the Office of Disaster Recovery and Resilience. Sánchez flew in from Washington, D.C. to see the devastation caused by the Eaton and Palisades fires.

In disaster-response circles, he’s something of a legend. He helped coordinate the rapid conversion of the Houston Astrodome to house families displaced by Hurricane Katrina. But he’s also about to lose his job. The Trump administration is set to take over the federal government in nine days.

I run through the facts about Altadena. One in five residents is Black. One in four is Latino. The median age is 45.

We talk about resiliency and rebuilding. We talk about neighbors banding together to collectively bargain with contractors. We talk about the Army Corps of Engineers choosing not to conduct soil testing in Altadena — the first time it has declined to do so after a major fire in two decades.

But it’s the last thing Sánchez tells me that stays with me a year later.

“You have to fight like hell to make sure what happened in Hawaii doesn’t happen to you,” he said. “They will turn Altadena into condos, if you let them.”

Firefighters battling a blaze in Altadena

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Brian Feinzimer

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LAist

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Breathing was difficult

In the spring, the calls began.

Neighbors scattered across Los Angeles County started receiving offers from real estate agents and private equity firms that had quietly moved into the region.

Before the fire, private acquisitions accounted for about 5% of home sales in Altadena. Four months later, they accounted for nearly 50%.

What Sánchez warned about was already happening. Breathing was still difficult on my block.

The Eaton Fire began as a wildfire but quickly became an urban fire. The Los Angeles Times compared the toxicity levels in our area to New York City after the Sept. 11 attacks.

I worried about neighbors — mostly people of color — whose homes survived but who had little choice but to return quickly because they lacked sufficient insurance coverage.

I worried about the air we were breathing. But no one seemed able to tell me who was responsible for monitoring it.

At the disaster center on Woodbury Road, sympathetic county officials told me the state of California oversaw air quality. I called my state senator, Sen. Sasha Renée Pérez.

Pérez, a newly elected Democrat and former mayor, took my calls — and those of my neighbors — seriously. She contacted the governor’s office and spoke with the team responsible for air quality in Altadena.

The response she received was: “It’s complicated.” That might have been the understatement of the year.

The My LA series looks at how changing demographics are shifting culture in LA’s historic neighborhoods and communities — told by the people from those communities.

Moments of grace

Months passed.

It became heartbreaking to watch Altadena residents leave LA altogether because they couldn’t afford to live anywhere else in the city. It was even harder to watch my neighbor across the street sell his home after placing an “Altadena Is Not for Sale” sign on his lawn.

Still, amid the devastation, there were moments of grace.

Volunteers from across Los Angeles flooded the greater Pasadena area to help after the fire. Residents leaned on the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), mutual aid networks, family members, local churches and the Los Angeles Fire Department Foundation. 

I volunteered at — and relied on — community donation centers myself. One of the most meaningful was the Pasadena Community Job Center, which served the region’s undocumented population.

Even though my home didn’t burn, I had to evacuate after high levels of lead were detected inside.

From wherever I was staying, I drove an hour to attend town halls, join community meetings, ask questions at disaster centers and speak with elected officials.

Nearly half of Altadena — an unincorporated foothill community long known for its diversity and working-class stability — had burned.

Firefighters battle to save a home

Only one firetruck

Months later, Sánchez called again.

He was no longer a federal employee, but he still checked in on me and my neighbors. He suggested I attend a Crisis Management Academy at Hayes Boone in downtown LA, where he sat on the board.

I pulled my suit from a vacuum-sealed remediation bag and went.

By chance, I sat next to Rick Crawford, the emergency and crisis management coordinator for the U.S. Capitol and Supreme Court and a former battalion chief with the Los Angeles Fire Department.

I told him I lived west of Lake Avenue — historically the predominantly Black, Latino and working-class side of Altadena.

Nineteen of the 20 deaths from the Eaton Fire occurred there and only one firetruck was initially sent to that side of town.

Evacuation notices arrived hours later than they did in wealthier neighborhoods east of Lake Avenue — if they arrived at all. My family never received one.

I asked Crawford if he believed racism explained the disparity. He told me something worse might have happened.

The night before the fires, he said, officials knew a severe wind event was coming. Yet staffing levels were not increased.

“Business as usual,” he called it.

When the Palisades Fire ignited, city resources were quickly stretched. The city turned to the county for help. When the Eaton Fire exploded, the county deployed the firefighters it had left to protect Altadena.

By the time flames reached west of Lake Avenue, resources were gone.

A failure of preparation turned into a failure of response — one that hit my side of Altadena hardest.

The Fair Oaks Burger restaurant became a community rallying point

The sounds of construction

One year later, Altadena is still waiting.

Friends who lost their homes are waiting for settlements from Southern California Edison Co., which investigators believe caused the Eaton Fire, to determine whether they can rebuild at all.

Trial is scheduled for January 2027. A judge recently ordered Edison to produce witnesses when called, criticizing attempts to prolong the discovery process for attorneys representing fire victims. A grand jury is also considering whether to indict the utility company in connection with the 19 deaths in Altadena.

Those of us who have returned do what we can to support one another — and the small businesses trying to survive.

In those days, my business meetings happened at Miya, Unincorporated Coffee or Fair Oaks Burger.

Community advocates — including Altadena for Accountability and Altadena Rising, along with Pérez — pushed the California Department of Justice to open a civil rights investigation into the evacuation response in West Altadena.

Walking along Altadena Drive, I thought about the homes and gardens that had once lined the street.

Reconstruction has begun, slowly. The sound of construction — loud, constant — is an inconvenience. But it’s better than the eerie silence that followed the fire.

On Mariposa Street, I passed the empty space where Amara Kitchen and Altadena Hardware had once stood.

Next door, something new appeared. Betsy, the restaurant from chef Tyler Wells — who also lost his home in the fire — was drawing diners from across LA for its live-fire cooking.

It lifted my spirits to see people coming to Altadena again. But as a local resident, I still struggled to get a reservation.

Maybe that was the first glimpse of what rebuilding might look like: those with money and privilege dining easily, while the rest of us remain on the waiting list.

The rebuild is slow. The pain is enormous. But the resilience of Altadena is fierce.

We fight for accountability, truth and justice. We fight for the right to rebuild our town as it once was. Most of all, we fight for one another.

Because, as labor leader Mary Harris “Mother” Jones once said: “Pray for the dead, and fight like hell for the living.”

Is your neighborhood changing? We want to hear your story. Whether you’ve lived on your block for forty years or four, we want to know: What does “home” mean to you right now?Share a brief memory or a thought on how your neighborhood is changing with us at pitches@thelalocal.org. We’ll feature some of our favorite responses in our newsletter, and if your story sparks something deeper, we may reach out to commission a full-length piece (yes, we pay our writers!)

The post ‘Pray for the dead, fight for the living’ — How Altadena is battling to rebuild without being displaced appeared first on LA Local.