The devastating Eaton Canyon fire has left the Altadena community grappling with profound loss—not only of homes, businesses, and neighborhoods but also of cherished lives. The numbers of tragically deceased are likely to grow larger over the coming days and weeks. Among them will likely be older African Americans who either could not or chose not to evacuate their homes. Their stories invite us to reflect on the complexities of how grief, history, race, and culture intertwine in what we are witnessing.
Altadena: A Pillar of African American Heritage
Altadena holds a special place in the history of African American resilience and community building. During The Great Migration, many African Americans journeyed westward, fleeing the entrenched racism of the South. Unlike many areas restricted by redlining, Altadena offered an opportunity for African Americans to purchase land and establish roots. By the 1980s, the community was 43 percent African American, a vibrant enclave that thrived despite the subsequent challenges of gentrification and rising property taxes. Altadena became a haven for cultural and intellectual icons, such as Octavia Butler, whose legacy as a brilliant science fiction writer leaves us her great works and her inspiration. Even as demographic shifts continue, the area remains as a testament to the perseverance and determination of its Black residents.
Understanding Complex and Disenfranchised Grief
In the wake of the fire, we face a challenge: to honor the lives lost without succumbing to stigmatizing narratives. The concept of disenfranchised grief, introduced by author and leading expert on grief counseling Kenneth Doka, refers to feelings of grief and loss that are not fully recognized or validated by society. When those who stayed behind are framed as reckless or stubborn, their grief is overshadowed by judgment. For older African Americans, the decision to remain often reflects a deep, historical connection to their homes as symbols of safety, refuge, and hard-won stability—values shaped by the legacy of slavery, Jim Crow, and systemic inequities. These homes, for many, represent more than property; they embody generational sacrifices and the hope of a lasting inheritance for future generations.
For these elders, staying may have been a decision rooted in defiance against a history of displacement and dispossession, as well as a determination to protect what they built. The history of systemic neglect, such as the San Francisco fire’s prioritization of white neighborhoods over Chinese-owned homes, only underscores the collective mistrust in external systems to protect their interests. Additionally, past experiences of impermanence and vulnerability—loss of loved ones, livelihoods, health, and independence—can resurface during moments of crisis, influencing decisions to stay and fight and to remain steadfast in the face of overwhelming threats. It was these same homes that served as a safe refuge in the face of the Covid-19 pandemic and shutdown that was marked by glaring disparities in morbidity and mortality for older African Americans.
