While the frightening fires that ravaged Los Angeles may have been wild, there is, unfortnately, every indication that public and private efforts to rebuild the devastated communities will be equally intractable. As the burned-out victims await the daunting cleanup of the toxic waste of their former homes (an estimated 10,000 and still counting), the foremost questions raised in private conversations with them are whether to rebuild, and if there’s any hope of restoring their neighborhoods. 

Most were interviewed informally—shopping in markets, walking their dogs, on local social media—and professed they would rebuild, if they could (and, not incidentally, did I happen to know a good insurance adjuster or architect?). 

More problematic was the restoration of the elusive sense of community. Most said replanning would be welcomed, if it were modest and green and, critically important, locally initiated. And they added, most emphatically, that any effort must include the preservation of their neighborhood’s valued private residential character, with maybe the exception of an accessory dwelling unit—for the family, not a rental company. They were wary of declarations among some politicians to build better, larger, and innately more costly. 

Most skeptical was their reaction to the statements of the varying recovery initiatives echoing in press conferences and town hall meetings, which they felt exposed the region’s parochial politics. “Same old bullshit from the bullshitters,” said one community activist, minus a few adverbs. 

Beyond the skepticism, they noted that the fire exposed the region’s arbitrary political jurisdictions: that while the devastated Pacific Palisades lies within the City of Los Angeles, the neighboring Malibu is a separate city, with adjoining unincorporated communities governed by the County of Los Angeles, as is the community of Altadena, which most residents identify as a distinct neighborhood of City of Pasadena. 

So, there was Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass naming a task force of prominent citizens headed by a chief recovery officer, developer Steve Soboroff. This was followed by the announcement of similar initiatives by California Governor Gavin Newsome; local billionaire Rick Caruso, a perpetual political aspirant; the owner of the Los Angeles Times, Patrick Soon Shiong; and a distant President Trump, never one to miss a possible headline. 

While the various efforts by this muddled conglomeration are yet to be detailed, if ever, already at work is the more suspect segment of the private sector. These are the rapacious realtors and rogue developers, looking to bottom feed off the victims who do not have the personal resources, the confidence of an insurance fund, or the patience to rebuild, and will sell at a discount. Some admitted they are just too old to undertake the protracted process, especially in the more restrictive coastal areas (as, frankly, I would be in my 90th year.) 

But, to be sure, most residents can be expected to be alert and wary to the entreaties of the perfidious private real estate interests and the promises of the well-intentioned public commissions and consortiums. This awareness is heightened by a vigilant social media and, for communities such as Malibu, the frustrated rebuilding experiences in the wake of previous disasters.

Still, given the sense of history and pride of place coming to the fore in the wake of the fires, such as in Altadena, the Pacific Palisades, Sunset Mesa, and Malibu’s La Costa and Big Rock, expected can be an effort to somehow recreate the ambience that made them special—specifically, the singular public places where residents mingle and socialize. 

Certainly, as the rebuilding effort stumbles forward, as it has in the wake of previous disasters, there will be scattered vacant parcels awaiting plan approval, construction, or sale, years from now, as there are still a few such parcels from the wake of the 2018 Woolsey Fire.

So instead of a rebuilt house on a select street, there could be a vest pocket park, a tot lot, or a small playground, where parents and grandparents could sit and schmooze while watching their charges scamper and socialize. Or they could tend the family plot in a thriving community garden, or just take in the passing scene on a bench, lending streets watchful eyes and a sense of security.

It could be a dog park, an art park, a garden with showy plantings to attract and nurture endangered butterflies, such as the Monarch, or birds, such as the threatened Western Bluebird, or with scented plantings to appeal to the visually impaired.

This can be a local choice and a responsibility, lending a particular block an identity, further binding the community. And now that the once cheek-to-jowl, mostly modest, and frankly ugly dingbat housing that had previously blocked the public view and access of Malibu’s La Costa beach from the PCH has become ash and toxic waste, perhaps a few select parcels could remain vacant, to be fashioned as public beaches, with the remaining parcels rebuilt with proper sewage to stop fouling the water.

Think, then, of the beach as a pristine, sand-covered piazza, great for strolling at the water’s edge, or just sitting on a blanket watching the waves the waves roll in and out, the thought of the fires forgotten, while waiting for the sun to set, in all its radiant glory, on the distant horizon. How L.A.

Sadly, the fires might have taken away a sense of safety for its persevering residents even as they altered the cityscape. But if looked upon with imagination and initiative, there is the possibility some slivers of derelict housing sites could be landscaped into interstitial civic spaces to serve resident—people places. If so, then there is a hope for what makes Los Angeles special.

Featured image via Urban Land.