I don't know what caused the L.A. wildfires, but I'm sure it wasn't Satan

This First Person article is the experience of Collin Friesen, a Los Angeles-based writer and director who is originally from Winnipeg. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see this FAQ.

Wildfires have been on my mind a lot lately. When the sky is orange and the air smells like a burning lumberyard built on a chemical landfill, it quickly becomes the only thing you think about. 

And while my wife and friends have had discussions about the root causes of all this, it never occurred to me that Satan was behind it.

But there it was, clear as a non-disaster day in Los Angeles, posted on my social media feed, just dropped into a conversation I was having with a friend. (We were talking about how the industry might react creatively to the wildfires.)  

Someone from Winnipeg informed me that "Hollowood sold her soul to the devil, as have many of the actors."

As a Canadian and former Manitoban (married to an actor) who's been living and working down here for many, many, so many years, it was a connection I had not considered. And it clearly called for a deeper dive.

First, by "Hollowood," I assume they meant that as a play on "Hollywood." And if so, a solid — if ill-timed —burn. I tend to favor "Hollyweird" or "Hollyweed," but my adopted city has been called worse by better people.

For the record, I did not know this person. But a quick scan of their page revealed a dislike for vaccines and fluoride, though no actual expertise in matters of possession, or perhaps more accurately, Faustian career-related legalities. 

"You can't change someone who does not see an issue with their actions. You can only change how you react to them." That was another post. And to my mind, a far more accurate one. One that I naturally decided to ignore. 

The first draft of my reaction — I'm a writer, after all — was to reply that, "Yes, in fact, everyone in Hollywood has sold their soul," and good for her for bringing it to the world's attention.

Their revelation would be especially appalling to our Dark Lord, of course. (He wouldn't want anyone to find out about the deal we made). But I would bring it up at the next meeting. With luck, there'd be time between the human sacrifice and the breakout session with conspiracy theorists on how to turn more frogs gay.

But after beating my sarcastic gag reflex into submission, I decided to simply tell the poster the ugly truth: How friends of ours had lost their homes, 24 people — so far — were dead, and that her words of compassion meant the world to me.

(OK, so my sarcastic gag reflex was not totally in abeyance.)

My reply left out a few things. 

'Why the cruelty?'

I didn't talk of seeing images of old people in wheelchairs, shivering in the cold outside their evacuated care homes. Newly homeless residents piling into a convention centre to breathe in clean air and access basic needs. The 66-year-old man tragically dying with a garden hose in his hand, while attempting to save his family home of 55 years in Altadena. 

Stories of countless friends whose homes have been looted, the stinging eyes, the rotten smell, the downed trees, power lines and road signs, and the sleepless nights waiting to see which way the wind will blow, to determine if it's your turn to evacuate.

I also didn't talk about the overwhelming kindness of Angelinos coming together to try and help. People opened their homes to fire refugees — like we did. Restaurants giving away food to those affected. Gyms (OK, just one, Planet Fitness, but still) opening their doors to everyone to have showers, clean air, hydro-massages, and phone charging. Countless small retailers becoming places where displaced people can get clothing and other essentials. 

But the question that stuck with me is why? Not "why the fires?" — we shall figure that out in time. But why the cruelty? 

I know it's easy to be mean on social media. I've fallen prey to that one a few times myself. But to imply that Los Angeles somehow deserved this? Would you say the same about any other natural disaster? An earthquake in the middle east? A flood in Africa? A blizzard in Canada?

I guess it makes sense if you think of everyone down here as overly Botoxed, Ozempic-shooting liberals, giving each other awards while the world burns. And I can promise that's only fractionally accurate.

But jokes aside, where did this come from? Folks are hurting, and it seems like to "pile on" them right now is the least Canadian thing to do. 

Or maybe my image of who Canadians are no longer fits with reality. And yes, perhaps I'm over-extrapolating. Maybe this was a one off. But there was no one else stepping up to condemn or even criticize the comment online.  

And while I generally have a rule about not arguing with people on the internet, and believe you have every right to say whatever stupid things you want, I also believe the rest of us have a duty to stand up and say, "shut up!"

Yes, you have a right to post what you want. And I have a right to call you a moron. I just didn't think I'd be the only one. 

It feels like when bad things happen in any region whose politics we don't agree with, those bad things are now considered good. 

And if, in these political times, our reaction to natural disasters is to literally victim blame, what exactly do we have left? 

So while I grieve for my adopted hometown, I'm sparing a thought for my homeland, and hoping we can all do better. 

And just for the record, if I had sold my soul, I expect I'd be driving a much nicer car.