Doomsday Preppers

On January 2, I made one of my goals to increase my disaster preparedness this year. I started by making some lists, getting a couple backpacks to use as Go Bags, trashing expired over-the-counter meds and restocking them, and buying batteries, a few cans of canned meals, rice, beans, and water. A week later, the Los Angeles wildfires started. The last time I was so quickly rewarded for my prepping efforts, it was March 11, 2020, and I had just grabbed a discounted Easter ham when the NBA announced it was shutting down due to COVID. I still think about this ham. It was $4, and it fed us for days.

After Hurricane Sandy, I became a pretty decent prepper. Before that, I handled every blizzard or tropical storm by buying a bunch of groceries and panic cooking. That worked well for years. The storm would pass, maybe our power would blink, and then we’d eat the homemade loaf of bread I stress-kneaded into existence. Then, when Sandy hit New Jersey, Jason and I lost power for nine days and turned feral. I’d purchased live lobsters (?!?!) with a grand plan to make lobster mac and cheese (?!?!). As the winds raged outside — and a lobster flung itself off my counter to seek freedom — I frantically cooked everything my refrigerator before it spoiled. I wonder what our downstairs neighbor must’ve thought when we delivered him a bowl of hot, cheesy lobster mac in total, absolute darkness.

As the days went on—and we were expected to commute into New York for work despite not having showered and having no heat—we turned into those people who warn about the shit hitting the fan and stash Cup o’ Noodles under their beds. When the lights finally came back on, we got our shit together. Flashlights were purchased. Crank radios were cranked. In February 2020, Jason had already sourced the kind of uncomfortable N95 masks that made us look like Bane. But something about the pandemic never actually ending wore me down. When we moved to LA and everyone told us to listen to The Big One podcast, we simply did not. (It’s part of my goal for this year!) When I feel an earthquake, I look at the tiny kitchen table I’m supposed to climb under and then… don’t.

But watching my family survive Hurricane Helene in Western North Carolina flipped the switch back on. What people are going through in Appalachia is so devastating. The area still needs help and attention. This hurricane was catastrophic. Even people whose homes were spared suffered weeks without power and water and basic necessities. My family was able to stay in their home, but they’ve been systematically working through repairs and taking care of each other. There were and are a lot of heroes. I tuned into my hometown’s briefing every day to see how hard officials and community were working to restore water and power. They set up health facilities in churches. People—who were just trying to survive themselves—donated so much to others than charity centers ran out of capacity.

At the same time, it was depressing to see the misinformation fly. Everything from—“FEMA’s not here” (they were) to “FEMA will steal your property” (they won’t) to “The Democrats sent this weather here to steal our lithium” (baby, what?). Almost immediately, the President Elect turned people’s suffering into political game, spreading the lies, and authorizing a GoFundMe that has, as of today, collected $8 Million in donations despite there being no legitimate record of that money actually going to victims. At the time, I thought: There is never going to be another disaster that isn’t weaponized with misinformation that ultimately makes them less safe. There are people in NC who are so afraid of FEMA, they won’t even apply for aid.

As I write this, Jason and I are safe. When our power went out on Tuesday, we pulled out our flashlights and packed our Go Bags. Then, like everyone in LA, we started refreshing the Watch Duty app like we were trying to get tickets to the Eras Tour. But we’ve been lucky. We’re surrounded by people who have had to evacuate, people who lost their homes, people whose homes didn’t burn but aren’t yet livable, people who are terrified, people who are heartbroken. The winds that fanned the flames last week are expected to start again tomorrow and the fires are only partially contained, so who knows how the rest of the week looks? But… we’re as prepared as we can be?

What I wasn’t prepared for was the level of misinformation and hate California has received in this disaster. The Right is blaming everything but climate change for the fires—DEI (no), Gavin Newsom (no, and why do you think about this man more than people who live here), and lack of water (there is no water system in the world that could’ve taken out multiple fires in 100 mph winds), God wants to punish the Dems (do you also believe God was punishing Republicans in Helene?).

It’s all just gross. And manufactured. And it’s sad to see people I know get caught up in it. Because one thing I know for sure is—most of us are just one personal or natural disaster away from being homeless. People can rant and rave about the state of California being offered 100% federal aid during the first 6 months (the same Biden offered to North Carolina), but the truth is that no amount of government aid is going to be enough to make people who’ve lost everything whole. In the years it will take North Carolina and California to rebuild, there will be more climate disasters, more people left hopeless. We don’t live in a country with an actual social safety net. We live in a country where people have begun to hate the family next door because they assume they’re “rich” for going on a yearly vacation, instead of the tech billionaires who actually run the show. The only thing we can rely on to survive is community, and if we don’t have that… we’re screwed.

I don’t want to end this on a bummer note. I guess I just want to put out a tiny, hopeful wish. The next time you consume something that makes you angry at people you don’t actually know, take a second and ask: “Who really benefits from my anger right now?” And maybe, instead of believing that shitty thing or sharing it or letting it fester, just stop. And go do something to help. (Anyone, anywhere).

Donate to:

Beloved Asheville

Direct Relief for California Wildfires

World Central Kitchen