EL BOLSÓN, Argentina — A freakish red sun burst through enormous red-tinged mushroom-shaped clouds billowing smoke as we rattled down the dirt roads in the foothills of the Andes mountains, evacuating from the advancing fire. I held tight to the duffle bag containing our wide-eyed cats, shifted my weight on the few possessions packed into our friend’s small, broken-down van with no back seats, and held on for dear life as we lurched down the mountain.
My home for the last seven years was up in flames. Many people fear living off-grid for these sorts of reasons (“What happens in an emergency? You don’t even have cell signal out there!”). Even fewer would consider doing so in resource-strapped Latin America.
So, what’s it like to live through a massive fire that as of Tuesday had consumed nearly 9,000 acres, burned over 120 homes, prompted a province-wide, fire-related state of emergency and is still going? Nothing like it would be to live through a massive fire in North America, according to my 17-year-old cousin, who happened to be visiting me when the fire started.
“Here there’s a lot more community, a lot more of a support system,” he said.
I live in Mallin Ahogado, a humble rural community nestled in the foothills of the Andes mountains just outside the mountain town of El Bolsón. For short, we call it Mallin, pronounced “mah-jheen,” and its growth over the years has been disorganized and precarious. It lacks basic infrastructure, has no gas lines and no organized sewage or water. It is home to a diverse community of artists, Indigenous people, musicians, farmers, handicraft artisans and hippies interspersed with residents of various nationalities (my neighbors over the years have included Japanese, Austrian, British, Polish people), forming a unique, rural-cosmopolitan environment. Most of the people who live here built their homes bit by bit over a period of many years with their own hands, often using natural construction. Like them, I was drawn to the area by its stunning beauty, international vibe, native flora, and off-beat, eclectic community. A community now in a state of emergency.
Latin America, particularly Argentina, is distinguished by its strong social fabric. Once down the mountain, I never had to go to an evacuation site (though some were available to those in need) — offers poured in from friends eager to open their doors to us. As soon as I opened WhatsApp on my phone, hundreds of messages streamed in and I began to witness, in real time, the meaning of solidarity as groups were formed, teams created, and action taken.
On Jan. 30, the first day of the fire, groups formed to address most of the on-the-ground aspects of a disaster. People made so many homemade empanadas and other food for volunteer firefighters, embattled homeowners and the local fire brigade that there were often leftovers. There was so much clothing donated that donation centers started turning away offers. Doctors and psychologists provided free services, while many shops donated or offered generous discounts on burn medications and other necessities. Groups emerged that were dedicated to helping people find missing animals, while local veterinarians offered free services to those injured.
Driving around Mallin several days into the fire, with the hillsides still smoking and some areas in flames, we passed stand after stand of volunteers handing out water and food to everyone they could. This is part of what I saw, but it’s not the whole story.
This sort of community solidarity is essential in a warming planet where these sorts of environmental disasters are going to become more common, especially in parts of the world that lack resources or whose governments are not interested in providing them. But solidarity alone cannot put out a fire of this magnitude. Solidarity alone cannot provide the tools needed to fight it either.
People trying to put out the fires are burning their feet because they can’t afford fireproof shoes — even the volunteer fire-fighters don’t have access to that kind of essential equipment. The local firefighters are largely ill-equipped and unsalaried. The nearby town of El Bolsón does not even have its own paid fire department. The few supplies of four stroke pumps (a sort of portable, gas-powered water pump), walkie-talkies, hoses and water packs in the area quickly sold out, leaving people waiting days for the arrival of tools they needed immediately.
In the U.S., the response to a fire of this magnitude would be considerable. Tearing through Mallin, home to about 5,000 inhabitants, the fire was one of four within about 70 miles of Mallin, which burned about 42,000 acres in less than a month.
The Argentine government’s initial response was to deploy 300 people, three small air tankers and one helicopter to combat the fire. By comparison, on Jan. 8, the second day of the L.A. wildfires, the California governor’s office announced that 7,500 firefighting and emergency personnel had been deployed to affected communities — along with six air tankers, 31 helicopters, 10 rotary wing aircraft and 23 water tankers.
Argentina’s new right-of-center libertarian government, led by Javier Milei, has not distinguished itself with its response to the crisis. Milei, who upon taking office demoted the Environment Ministry into a lowly sub-secretariat under the Interior, Public Works and Housing Ministry, has made no mention of it on official documents and did not respond to a request for comment. The national fire service — which previously operated under the Environment Ministry and is now under the Ministry of Security — registered an increase of 115% in fires between January and June 2024 compared with the year prior even as the budget fell by 43.8% in 2024.
Latin America is rich in solidarity but poor in transparent institutions and resources. My cousin couldn’t believe the “insane” grassroots response he witnessed here, saying there was “so much communication, which is good, that’s what you need in a state of crisis.” In the U.S., where people have more faith in institutions in a crisis situation, he thought the focus would stay closer to home. “Here,” he said, “they focus on everyone.”
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