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As America throws stones at LA’s rubble, Angelenos embrace connection



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As fires rage on in Los Angeles — the city that I love, the city that brought me into this world, the city that has both broken me and made me — I’ve noticed two very distinct responses. 

As I write this, the fires are still burning. My wife and I left and drove an hour south to my brother’s house for a reprieve from the smoke, and as I sit in a coffee shop processing the last 72 hours, I can’t help but feel that these responses to what’s happening in our city seem to mirror what’s happening across the country. 

As people around us are losing everything — truly losing the foundation beneath them, as landmarks and community staples are being erased — one of the most unsettling responses I’ve noticed is from folks, both online and in real life, who seem desperate to politicize this. To make it another round of “us vs. them.” 

Statements like, “If the right would only…” or “This is the result of the Dems’ lack of…” have flooded social media. The rhetoric became instantly divisive. And although I’m not surprised, I am horrified that we can’t even make our way through a tragic natural disaster without throwing a few more hammers on the wedge that so deeply divides us. It feels as though it’s easier for some to blame someone than to sit with the painful reality of what this will mean for thousands of Angelenos. 

And yet, at the exact same time, the opposite is also happening. 

You know who isn’t tweeting political one-liners or playing blame like a game of hot potato? The people on the ground. The ones sitting with neighbors and friends still reeling from their losses. The ones opening their homes, volunteering to clean up, or standing in real-time watching as places they once took their grandkids for breakfast now sit in piles of ash. In the grocery stores and group chats, the conversations aren’t about division — they’re about connection. 

I’m not here to pretend there aren’t real political implications in how a nation responds to natural disasters. And yes, we are facing a climate crisis that has contributed to more than a few unprecedented disasters in my lifetime. But we need to make room for more than one truth to exist at the same time. 

Yes, we are all feeling the weight of policies made without us in mind. And yes, we are grieving. But perhaps a pile of rubble is not the best place to throw stones. 

It’s not lost on me that the closer you get, the more nuance you find. On the ground, you see more compassion, more humanity, across all lines. Neighbors fill trash cans with water to help in any way they can. Firefighters take moments to preserve photo albums and family heirlooms. On Tuesday evening, on our street, a group of neighbors worked to bring down trees threatening to blow onto homes. 

The closer you are, the closer you get. I can’t imagine watching as my neighbor ran down the street with ratchet straps to secure a tree blown over by 50+ mph winds and shouting from the safety of my doorway, “Who did you vote for so I know if I can feel bad for you or not!” 

When you’re that close, connection transcends disagreement. But when you’re far — disconnected — that connection dissipates. In the last few days online, I’ve seen debates about whether or not we should feel bad for wealthy people who lost their homes and unhelpful platitudes about how this could have all been prevented. It feels painfully detached. 

This isn’t just about what’s happening in LA. It’s part of a larger pattern in our cultural climate: a constant battle of throwing stones at a pile of rubble we’ve never actually seen, smelled or touched. A pile of rubble that doesn’t hold our childhood home or our favorite coffee shop. 

On the other side of that coin is connection — the real place, in our actual lives, where we hold the nuance of grief and gratitude, anger and resilience. 

In my experience, the only thing stronger than disagreement is connection. Connection might be our only way forward, yet we seem addicted to commenting, posting and arguing about places and issues where we have the least connection. Sometimes, it feels easier to tweet about a politician’s incompetence than to call your mom and have that long-overdue conversation. 

If this past week in LA has taught me anything, it’s that connection blows opinions out of the water. 

I don’t want to be the person who can endlessly dissect a tragedy happening across the country but can’t help my neighbor charge their phone when the power goes out. Moments like this remind me we need to get closer, stay closer, get smaller, and start from where we are connected. Political opinions don’t go nearly as far as showing up for a neighbor. 

If you’re able today, let’s choose the latter.

Brit Barron is a motivational speaker, teacher and the author of “Do You Still Talk to Grandma?” Read more at britbarron.com.





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