On the morning of January 7, Alicia Kalvin received an alarming message from a friend: “There’s a fire on your street.” Startled, she rushed outside her Pacific Palisades home in Los Angeles, greeted by the ominous sight of a red sky and planes flying low, dumping water over the neighborhood.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she thought, immediately recognizing the urgency of the situation. After a quick trip back inside to gather essentials, including her dog, some dog food, her purse, and her mother’s ashes, she fled without receiving any evacuation warnings. As she drove away, flames were already beginning to consume the hills, leaving her with nightmares she can’t shake off.
Returning three days later, accompanied by the police, Kalvin was not prepared for the devastation she witnessed. “I promised myself I wouldn’t look, but I did. The neighborhood looked like it had been hit by ten nuclear bombs—everything leveled, markets, churches, schools. It was a war zone.”
While Kalvin’s house still stands, it’s not without damage. The roof and exterior bear scorch marks, the landscaping and artificial lawn are ruined, and the house reeks of smoke with ash blanketing the halls. Now, she’s left trying to untangle what her home insurance, through California’s last-resort insurer the FAIR Plan, would actually cover, worried about the financial burden of repairs.
Her concerns extend beyond the fire damage. For Kalvin, work in Hollywood as an educator on sets has dried up, leaving her to rely on unemployment benefits and savings meant for retirement. “I face a lot of uncertainty right now,” she says, grappling with the unsettling lack of stability about her future.
The recent wildfires in Greater Los Angeles have been devastating, fueled by hurricane-force winds and dry conditions intensified by climate change. These fires are set to be among the most costly in U.S. history, with AccuWeather estimating over $250 billion in total damages and economic losses. Insured losses could reach $40 billion, surpassing the expenses of California’s infamous Camp Fire in 2018. It’s a financial strain that could force many into debt, as noted by Andrew Rumbach, a senior fellow focusing on risks related to natural hazards.
Though the fires were mostly contained by Thursday, they’d already ravaged over 50,000 acres, destroying more than 16,000 structures, predominantly homes. This disaster thrust many into one of the nation’s priciest housing markets, deepening their financial woes amidst emotional trauma.
L.A. resident Sam Bakhshandehpour, who’s faced similar ordeals, highlighted the myriad new considerations they all face: insurance, mortgages, rebuilding costs, and temporary housing. He emphasizes, “There are lots of near- and long-term variables and frankly, no answers right now.”
Though Bakhshandehpour has managed to secure an apartment, the financial drain is immense. Some relief could come from FEMA assistance, offering upfront funds for immediate needs. California law also mandates insurers to provide certain cash advances during emergencies. Still, there are discrepancies in how insurance companies are adhering to these consumer protections.
Meanwhile, Julia Pollak faces her own version of this crisis. Considered a “partial” loss, her insurer offered less extensive advance payments compared to those with “total loss” properties. Her family, including a newborn, finds themselves in a difficult position, unsure whether they’ll have a home in the near future due to ongoing reconstruction needs.
For many, the question looms: to stay or to go? Pollak and others know their homes’ post-wildfire livability might push them into an extended stay in an uninhabitable zone. Selling or renting out homes at pre-fire values seems impossible now.
Pollak, who purchased her home for $2.75 million in 2019, saw its value soar to about $3.8 million. But after the fires, such values are a distant memory.
Kalvin, too, wonders about her future in the Palisades. Having been dropped by her prior insurer, she now navigates recovery with diminished coverage. Living with a friend temporarily, Kalvin finds her basic bills manageable, albeit stretched by limited work opportunities.
“I would like to stay because of my love for the Palisades—it’s home,” she says, reflecting uncertainty in the aftermath of change. “But it has changed so much, and I’m not sure how I’ll feel about it in the future.”
