Seeing the dark truth, and putting a price on ‘non-economic’ damages

A stone chimney is all that remains of a home near Cleveland, New Mexico, after a wildfire set by the U.S. Forest Service burned it down. Many people who lost everything due to the errors of one federal agency have become tangled up in the bureaucracy of another when seeking help from FEMA. (Megan Gleason/Source NM)

CONTENT WARNING: If you have suffered severe trauma, especially tied to the Hermits-Peak Calf Canyon Fire and/or subsequent floods, you may want to skip this one. At least, if you decide to read anyway, have someone with you to share space.

Non-economic damages, what a euphemism.

You know, pretty words created to make something horrific more bearable.

We’re talking about this because the Federal Emergency Management Agency has made it clear that the Hermits Peak-Calf Canyon Claims Office it runs will not use any of the nearly $4 billion to pay non-economic damages to those affected by the disaster.

Briefly, non-economic damages involve harm done through intent, neglect, or incompetence so horrific that it will likely affect another person for the rest of their lives.

The reality of non-economic damages needs to be understood by my readers,  even more importantly by the FEMA claims office decision makers. To make that happen, the only story I can share is my own.

The phone call came at 11:30 p.m. on April 21, 2022. I had retired as a firefighter, but I still had firefighter friends. I was comfortable, sleeping soundly in the guest room of my hosts in Las Vegas, NM, those who sheltered me and my animals since I had been evacuated.

I went to bed thinking that the next day I’d go home. At the time, the original Hermit’s Peak Fire was sufficiently controlled that my evacuation order had been lifted. I’d gone home for a short time earlier that day. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see my cabin, my beloved home of 18 years.

“I just texted you the link to (the) incident command’s emergency briefing. You gotta watch it,” the caller, my firefighter friend, said.

Her voice quivered with emotion, with fear. This courageous woman was afraid. We’d walked through fire together. The fear in her voice made my heart go cold.

I watched that briefing.

The presenters themselves were shaken.

Very high winds were forecast for April 22, 2022. While the Hermit’s Peak Fire — ignited April 6, by U.S. Forestry crews when lighting the Las Dispenses prescribed burn — would be inflamed by the winds, that wasn’t the most intense danger.

It was the Calf Canyon Fire, another prescribed burn lit weeks earlier and left to smolder.

Fire may have been the monster, but it was the spring winds that were the fodder to bring that monster to life. The winds had reignited the dormant smoldering burn pile into an active fire.

The briefing predicted the worst, a running crown fire, the ultimate horror of wildland firefighting. The man, obviously shaken, continued his situation update briefing.

He predicted that the fire would overrun Las Dispenses, San Ignacio, Pendaries, and my home area of Rociada. That wasn’t the end. That was simply what officials expected the next day. The massive fire would continue to gobble trees, grass, homes, and barns for months. Hearing that felt like watching a gun held to the head of someone I loved.

I had a choice to make. I could jump in my truck and head for Rociada where I would soak my cabin in water and remove potential threats near the house, just as I had done when originally evacuated. I could grab a few precious possessions — my Navy commendations, photos of loved ones, letters, journals, musical instruments — the things that mattered to my heart.

I did not make that choice. I spent the night on the phone, calling up and down the valley to friends and neighbors whom I knew had stayed or returned.

One conversation stands out in my mind. A couple asked me to talk to their 20-something son, who was determined to “sit on the roof with a garden hose and save the house.” I described the reality to him. Things like the fact that electricity would likely be the first thing to go, so that garden hose would be useless because of lost water pressure, but that’s not what convinced him.

“The flames may not even touch you,” I said. “The radiant heat may be enough to cook you alive.”

Most listened to my message of doom. Some did not.

I pleaded. I yelled. I cursed. I said anything I thought would persuade them that homes could be rebuilt, land nourished to heal, but they could not be replaced.

I didn’t know who all to call among my family of hardheaded firefighters. During my time as assistant chief, before I retired, I’d served as incident commander on some fires. I still felt a responsibility to make decisions, to provide guidance and leadership, that kept my people safe.

I failed that night, but luckily, fate did not.

The woman who called me earlier, she and her husband were the hardest headed of all. I finally asked if there was anything I could say or do, to convince them to seek safety.

“No,” she answered, and I knew there was no more to say.

It feels like the woman I was, died in that fire.

I think that’s the moment when she left, departing this world, leaving a forever changed me to deal with new life challenges..

There was only one more thing I could think of doing. In a sense I’d been doing it all along, but this was different, a step of full commitment. I prayed to whatever God in whatever form would listen.

“Hear me,” I said aloud, sobbing. “If you get my friends out safely. If you save the people I love, you can have my house.”

I can’t swear that prayer had anything to do with it, but the people I loved got out, some with horrific stories of fear and survival, but they got out, including the women who called to warn me

My house was reduced to ashes, broken pottery and twisted metal. The woman who so cherished the things within that home, the woman I was, she’s gone as well.

So, you see, that is my non-economic damages, and I’m one of thousands.

I won’t lie, it would be nice to get a chunk of money upon which to rebuild my life, but that’s not the real issue. The claims office FEMA runs for fire victims continues to treat us as though we’re dishonest people out to cheat the federal government. FEMA continues to put other priorities over those who remain homeless. The locally hired navigators for the claims office do their best, but they don’t make the decisions.

Someone who worked in the claims office headquarters in Santa Fe told me that a document circulates for employees that lists things to do in Santa Fe and Albuquerque. The many activities in Pecos, Las Vegas, Mora, and Taos are not included. I guess FEMA doesn’t see us as worthy of socializing with them.

A few years ago, I was at a refresher class to renew my license as an Emergency Medical Responder.

I remember the instructor saying that people don’t sue in court because you make a mistake. They sue because they’re angry when they are treated without caring and dignity.

Treat us like humans, will you? Treat us with respect. We were wronged, and we deserve to be treated with dignity, and honesty.

Hear clearly that there is a vein of wisdom among the people and cultures here that is precious. FEMA, you could learn from us if only you were smart enough to see your own level of ignorance.

The post Seeing the dark truth, and putting a price on ‘non-economic’ damages appeared first on Source New Mexico .