The Disaster on Our Doorstep

At the end of summer in southern Oregon's Cascade foothills, when trees and brush have turned tinder dry and thunderstorms regularly roll overhead, Millie Chatterton and her neighbors start thinking about the lightning strike that could touch off disaster.

Chatterton can't forget the afternoon in 1987 when she walked out of a grocery store in her town, Cave Junction, and saw a "big atomic mushroom cloud" of smoke blossoming on the horizon. Later, she watched the lightning-caused wildfire "blowing up trees one after another" on federal property near her own five acres. That fire, which scorched 150,000 acres of land in Oregon and California, came within six miles of Chatterton's house. In 2002, the notorious Biscuit fire, also started by lightning, came even closer, roaring within a mile of her land as it torched 500,000 acres.

After each close call, Chatterton -- who is retired and gets by on a set income -- looked for help to reduce the fire threat on her property. This meant thinning Douglas firs and black oaks, and getting rid of excess brush. The work is not easy, or inexpensive: the most recent bill was $3,000. Without grants from Oregon's Department of Forestry and a local nonprofit, Chatterton says she would not have been able to afford that. Most of her neighbors, all longtime residents, face similar financial burdens.

In recent years, the federal government has set aside funding for community outreach and hazardous fuels reduction in fire-prone areas. But it may not be reaching the people it's intended to help. A new study by Eugene, Ore.-based Resource Innovations shows that low-income households and communities in wildland areas, typically at the highest risk for wildfire damage, are often overlooked when it comes to funding. Around the West, there is growing concern that poor, at-risk areas are slipping through the cracks.

Fanning the flames

In the summer of 2000, wildfires burned 8.4 million acres in the West, nearly double the 10-year annual average of 4.9 million acres. That spurred Congress to approve a 10-year, $1.8 billion National Fire Plan to protect forests through better firefighting and management, as well as community outreach. The plan brought hope that communities like Chatterton's would receive financial and technical support, and in some cases basic safety education. (In December 2003, after another round of monstrous wildfires, the controversial Healthy Forests Restoration Act was signed into law, also ostensibly to reduce high levels of hazardous fuels on public lands.)

The cost of fighting wildfires is enormous -- the Biscuit fire required $153 million in suppression costs alone -- but for people whose homes and lives are destroyed, the losses are incalculable. A 2003 study on natural disasters in the U.S. over the past 20 years found that social class plays a role in how people are affected by disaster on many levels, from preparation to emergency aid. Those who have fewer resources to prepare for or recover from disasters -- like many New Orleans residents -- will be affected for years to come.

A 2001 report by Resource Innovations -- a precursor to its more recent research -- found that wildfires have a greater impact on poor people than other community members. Rural, low-income households are often located far from help. A breadwinner working two jobs probably doesn't have time to get to volunteer fire training or clear brush, never mind apply for a brush-clearing grant. A homeowner or renter may not be able to afford insurance, or have the capital to recover from a catastrophic loss. And some people in rural areas don't want help, don't want to be disturbed, and don't want any contact with the government. As Oshana Catranides -- director of the Lomakatsi Restoration Project, the nonprofit that assisted Chatterton -- puts it, "People live out here because they like their privacy."