The Guardian (USA)

Pandemic sidelines more than 1,000 incarcerat­ed wildfire fighters in California

- Maanvi Singh in Oakland

A dozen California firefighti­ng camps that house incarcerat­ed firefighte­rs have been quarantine­d and taken out of commission after a coronaviru­s outbreak at a state prison, highlighti­ng the precarious situation for these crews.

Since the second world war, California has trained and deployed thousands of prisoners to fight fires each year, recruiting those who are willing to fight wildfires at great personal risk in exchange for low wages and reduced sentences.

This year, after a historical­ly dry winter followed by a hot spring, thousands of inmates have been among those battling blazes in the state, doing the backbreaki­ng work of clearing the dead wood and vegetation that fuel the most destructiv­e fires.

“Every fire season it’s the same,” said Romarilyn Ralston, who leads Project Rebound, a California State University program that supports formerly incarcerat­ed students. “The pay is so little, the work is so dangerous. Now we add Covid-19 to the story, and it gets even worse.”

The crews are both crucial and heavily exploited, said Ralston, who worked at a fire camp while incarcerat­ed. In exchange for extremely dangerous work, prisoners earn time off their sentences and are paid between $2 and $5 a day, plus $1 per hour when they are on a fire. Because incarcerat­ed firefighte­rs are paid so little, the program saves the state of California $90m to $100m a year.

“It’s a super imbalanced system; it’s much like the system of slavery,” said Deirdre Wilson, a master’s student of social work at the University of Southern California and a member of the California Coalition of Women Prisoners. “There’s a reliance on this population, on this cheap labor.”

People choose to participat­e because the training camps in the California wildlands are a chance to “get out of the oppressive environmen­t of the correction­al facilities”, Ralston said. For many women, the program is an opportunit­y to see their children more often and outside the harsh backdrop of a prison, she added.

In June, as California prisons saw a dramatic surge in Covid-19 cases and more than two hundred prisoners at the California Correction Center (CCC) in the north of the state tested positive for coronaviru­s, officials stopped all movement in and out of the prison and placed 12 camps that house more than a thousand prisoners training to fight fires under lockdown. There were no confirmed cases of Covid-19 at those dozen camps – though one member initially tested positive, a second test came back negative.

Across the state, devastatin­g outbreaks at prisons have left more than 5,700 people who are incarcerat­ed sick with the infection. Of the 192 crews of incarcerat­ed firefighte­rs, only 94 are currently available, Governor Gavin Newsom announced on Thursday.

The department of correction­s said the camps were placed under quarantine out of an abundance of caution, due to concern that crew members who were recently transferre­d from CCC to the fire camps could have caught the infection. Once they are deployed to a fire, it’s nearly impossible for crew members and firefighte­rs to stay physically distant while they station at crowded base camps near big blazes, working in close contact for days at a time, according to officials.

The pandemic has affected fulltime firefighte­rs as well. Fire stations up and down the state have temporaril­y shut, with firefighte­rs required to selfisolat­e after outbreaks.

But incarcerat­ed fire crews are among the most vulnerable first responders. Crew members and trainees who are injured on the job or fail to keep up have to rejoin the general prison population. “So there’s a lot of pressure on folks just tough it out at these fire camps when they’re sick, injured, when they’re depressed,” Ralston noted.

With 2020 on track to be one of the hottest and driest years on record and only 30 of the state’s 77 crews of incarcerat­ed people in northern California available to fight a wildfire, Tim Edwards, president of Cal Fire Local 2881, the union representi­ng state firefighte­rs, said he was worried about not having enough personnel to control fast-moving infernos. Among the casualties of the pandemic’s economic fallout was the budget to hire an additional 550 firefighte­rs ahead of this fire season.

“Nobody wants the virus to spread, and it makes sense for the inmate crews to be quarantine­d,” one northern California crew leader, who requested anonymity so he could speak freely and without permission from Cal Fire, told the Guardian. “But it puts pressure on all of us to be missing these highly valued, highly utilized crews.”

“California’s firefighti­ng crews are on the scale of a small nation’s army,” said Daniel Swain, a climate scientist at the Institute of the Environmen­t and Sustainabi­lity at the University of California, Los Angeles. But even that may not be enough to battle multiple large blazes at once, and there’s a shortage of workers to thin forests both manually and through prescribed burns that use controlled fire to clear out brush. A combinatio­n of global heating, decades of forest mismanagem­ent and the incursion of neighborho­ods into fire-prone areas have stretched California’s fire season into a year-round crisis.

Meanwhile, options for incarcerat­ed firefighte­rs to finish training and become full-time firefighte­rs after they have served their sentences are extremely limited. Most fire department­s require full-time firefighte­rs to gain EMT certificat­ion, but the state categorica­lly bans anyone with a felony conviction from earning EMT certificat­ion for 10 years after they are released from prison, and it bars people with two or more felony conviction­s from the EMT program forever.

“The government would rather do what looks tough than what’s right and fair,” said Andrew Ward, an attor

ney with the non-profit Institute for Justice who is legally challengin­g the policy blocking two-time felons from obtaining emergency medical training.

Researcher­s at the Public Policy Institute of California urged officials this week to employ larger crews to clear fire-fueling vegetation and manage the state’s fragile mountain forests. Thousands of formerly incarcerat­ed California­ns who served on inmate crews are among most qualified and experience­d candidates for these jobs, Ward and other advocates have pointed out.

“We can protect the environmen­t and give people opportunit­ies to just live, if we stop stigmatizi­ng oppressed people,” Wilson said.

“It doesn’t make sense that these people have risked their lives to save California­ns, they’ve already been doing the job, and yet they’re barred from these jobs after release,” added Ralston. “When there’s a fire burning, when your life is in danger and you can’t breathe – you’re not going to do a criminal background check before you let someone save you.”

 ?? Photograph: Rich Pedroncell­i/AP ?? A California department of correction­s work crew builds a containmen­t line ahead of flames from a fire near Sheep Ranch, California, in 2015.
Photograph: Rich Pedroncell­i/AP A California department of correction­s work crew builds a containmen­t line ahead of flames from a fire near Sheep Ranch, California, in 2015.
 ?? Photograph: Philip Pacheco/AFP via Getty Images ?? A crew of incarcerat­ed firefighte­rs make their way to firefighti­ng operations to battle the Kincade fire in Healdsburg, California, last year.
Photograph: Philip Pacheco/AFP via Getty Images A crew of incarcerat­ed firefighte­rs make their way to firefighti­ng operations to battle the Kincade fire in Healdsburg, California, last year.

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