The catastrophic fires that ravaged Los Angeles in January didn’t just destroy buildings; they exposed a deeper issue that the city can no longer ignore: the fragility of its urban sprawl and its unsustainable model of development. As neighborhoods smoldered, so did the idea that L.A. could just rebuild the way it was. But this moment of devastation could also be the spark for something new—a way of rebuilding that’s already quietly taking shape across the city, led not by top-down mandates but by residents who’ve long been carving out their own urban spaces in ways that might actually work. 

Take neighborhoods like East L.A., where streets lined with aging, detached homes now feature houses and yards doubling as everything from garden orchards to car-part lots to home-based businesses. These are the spaces where the future of L.A. is already being written, not by planning agencies or bank-backed developments but by the people who are, frankly, fed up with waiting for permission to innovate. It’s a raw, messy, and instinctively creative response to the housing crisis and environmental vulnerability the city faces. For decades now, the people of L.A. have been rebuilding on their own terms: multigenerational, tolerant of differences, and resourceful, often in ways that go unnoticed by city planners and developers who should be paying attention. The residents of these neighborhoods are making use of what’s available, embracing flexibility over bureaucratic rigidity, and showing us a model for a newer, less-scripted urbanism that might offer far more than any politician or urban planner ever has.

For those who lost their homes in the fires, especially those who are underinsured or simply can’t afford to rebuild in the conventional sense, these same grassroots, community-driven solutions could be adapted to help them stay in their neighborhoods—and do so in ways that don’t just rebuild houses but preserve, and even strengthen, a larger sense of community. Additional examples are found in neighborhoods like San Fernando, where accessory dwelling units (ADUs) are popping up in backyards, yet another type of rebuilding combined with L.A.’s informal multiuse spaces that can be incorporated into the recovery process, offering lower-cost alternatives to traditional reconstruction. Both examples are flexible, pragmatic approaches to reconstruction that offer displaced families a foothold to rebuild their lives, even as they rebuild their homes. 

Across Southern California, there are other areas where housing solutions are coming from the people, not developers.

In Orange County’s Westminster, zoning laws have been tweaked to allow postwar, cookie-cutter homes to expand and evolve, accommodating larger, often multigenerational families. For fire survivors with some land left or a modicum of equity, even small changes in zoning policies could be a lifeline, helping people rebuild gradually on their own terms, mitigating both crippling construction costs and the nightmare of inadequate insurance. 

Similarly, in places like Riverside County, small home-based restaurants have quietly transformed neighborhoods. This is a reminder that rebuilding doesn’t have to mean creating sterile, new developments that look like something out of a prefab catalogue. Sometimes, it’s about recognizing the innovative, resilient ways people are already making do. These small, homegrown hubs of activity are thriving in communities that have limited resources but abundant creativity. By expanding these opportunities to include fire survivors, L.A. could help them rebuild not just a house, but a life—one that supports their business, family, and personal dreams while strengthening local communities. 

Throughout L.A.’s Latino neighborhoods, where front yards have become versatile spaces for both business and community life, this informal yet vibrant model offers a stark alternative to the hollow, corporate-driven approach that so often defines city planning. For people struggling with insurance gaps or steep rebuilding costs, this approach could be a way to return to their neighborhoods, repurpose what remains, and rebuild in ways that make sense both economically and socially. 

This isn’t just quaint or picturesque. These are real, vibrant, and resilient responses to a city that’s no longer working for most of its residents. These examples are the city’s untold success stories, offering a powerful counterpoint to the tired idea of suburban sprawl. They’re small scale, but they’re powerful, multigenerational, multiuse, and deeply personal in a way that the shiny high-rises and copy-paste developments of the past could never claim to be. 

What L.A. needs is not to restore what was lost in the fires; it needs to build upon what’s already been found. These community-driven, self-organized models are the future. If L.A. can open its eyes to them—and expand them—it can take a big step toward tackling its housing crisis, create more-sustainable communities, and help people recover from the losses they’ve suffered. It doesn’t take a citywide overhaul or a series of grand plans. It just takes acknowledging the power of what’s already happening on the ground, where people are already figuring out how to live in ways that align with a more inclusive, resilient vision of urban life.

Los Angeles finds itself at a crossroads. Rather than retreating into a past that was already unraveling, the city has a rare chance to embrace a future that reflects the complexity and dynamism of its population. A future where neighborhoods aren’t just collections of houses, but living, breathing spaces actively shaped by the people who call them home. For fire survivors, this isn’t about returning to the status quo—it’s an opportunity to rebuild in a way that might actually serve their needs, and those of the city at large. This moment of crisis could very well be the catalyst that propels L.A. toward a new, more humane, more sustainable urban landscape— one that is as flexible, diverse, and resilient as the people who inhabit it. 

Featured image: Barra de Pan, kitchen restaurant, Corona, CA. Photo by and courtesy of Clay Larsen.