Dear Sagebrush Sally,
After the recent fire, I’ve been thinking a lot about how best to support the people in our community who lost their homes and belongings. I keep hearing the names of those affected, but I don’t personally know them, and I want to make sure I’m helping in ways that are actually useful—not just symbolic.
What’s been bothering me, though, is how much of the public conversation seems to have shifted toward people taking credit for fighting the fire or being “the heroes.” Don’t get me wrong—it was incredible to see everyone step up, and I’m proud of how this community came together. But it feels like somewhere along the way, the focus moved from compassion to validation.
How can we truly support our neighbors who lost everything—without turning their tragedy into someone else’s moment of recognition?
— Trying to Help, Not Hype
Dear Trying to Help, Not Hype,
Bless you for asking this with such heart. In a town as small and close as ours, tragedy doesn’t happen to “someone else”—it happens to us. Even if you don’t personally know the people who lost their homes, your instinct to help quietly and meaningfully already shows you understand what community really means.
The fire shook all of us. The smoke may have cleared, but the aftershocks linger—in the exhaustion, the grief, the shock of those who now have to rebuild their lives from ashes. What they need most right now isn’t applause for the helpers, but steady hands, listening ears, and practical support. That can mean a meal, a donation, a ride, a place to stay—or just asking, simply, “What do you need?” instead of assuming you already know.
It’s natural for people to seek validation after something so intense. Fire brings out both the best and the most complicated parts of human nature. Everyone who fought it, comforted someone, or stayed up watching the flames felt the same adrenaline, fear, and relief. But when that energy doesn’t have somewhere to go, it can turn into self-congratulation instead of service. The truth is, there’s no single hero in a crisis like this—just a web of people doing what they can, some visibly, some quietly, all necessary.
If you want to help shift the focus back to where it belongs, lead by example. Keep your words centered on the people who suffered the loss, not the ones who showed up for the spotlight. Volunteer or donate discreetly. Share verified information about what survivors need rather than speculation or praise. Remind others, gently, that true community isn’t measured in public credit but in private kindness.
In Tecopa, we’ve all learned that life out here requires mutual care. Fires, floods, power outages—they all test the same thing: our ability to show up for each other without making it about ourselves. When the ashes settle, what endures isn’t the stories told about the helpers, but the quiet, ongoing compassion of those who stayed long after the cameras and chatter faded.
So keep that instinct alive. You may not know their names yet—but offering help without needing thanks is the best kind of neighbor this desert could ask for.
— Sagebrush Sally
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