There are a great many things I’m thankful for in life. One has been to assist the International Fire Relief Mission’s efforts to aid fledgling fire services around the world.
I’ve been to communities where fire suppression barely exists and building safety codes are laughable. And as for smoke alarms or extinguishers in private residences — not a chance.
I’ve listened to foreign firefighters lament about being underequipped and undertrained to protect their communities. I’ve stayed in places where I knew if it went up, I was likely a goner.
In one island community, we heard of a group like ours who brought an American fire engine years earlier. We later found it parked on an out of the way patch of grass stripped and surrendered to the ravages of salt air. It was their only rig, but they had no parts, no water supply and no one who could operate the rig — so they parked it and hoped for the best.
Those who travel with us, to a person, have said how much these experiences make them appreciate the level of fire and EMS protection we have in the United States.
The recent story of nine people dying in a house fire, three of which were children, where a skeleton fire crew that had one engine and no water — and where no smoke alarms or building codes exist — reminded me of my travels.
Yet this tragedy didn’t happen on some remote island or rural area in a second-world nation. It happened in Canada, arguably among the most developed of the developed countries.
It would be one thing if this were an aberration or a one-off. But it’s not. It’s the latest incident in an epidemic of the country’s indigenous population dying in fires. Frankly, it is inexcusable.
Broken down into its simplest form, fire safety is a three-legged stool. Protecting the population means having and enforcing good building codes, educating the public on fire safety and having adequate suppression resources.
Take one of those legs away and the whole structure topples. In the case of the First Nation and many like them around the world, none of those legs are in place.
The temptation here on U.S. soil is to say, “Well, that could never happen here.” And to the extent that the First Nation is struggling to establish fire safety, that’s probably true.
But ask yourself how many more budget cuts a place like Detroit is from sliding into fire safety epidemic status? They may be close now, and they are not alone.
I’m hoping this tragedy is finally a wake-up call for Canadian politicians to devise and fund a plan to improve fire safety in First Nation communities. Here, I’m hoping it’s a harsh reminder that we cannot let up in pushing our own officials for resources.
Be it sprinkler legislation, grant funding, adequate staffing or fire codes with real teeth, we cannot afford to be complacent and give ground to those motivated by greed. Fire safety is morally and financially less costly to maintain than it is to rebuild after generations of neglect and erosion.
Being grateful for what we have also means not taking it for granted and owning the responsibility to improve upon it.
