Meeting the Californian mother who lost her home to climate change

Leading up to the CZU fires, Isaacson’s family had to cut down eight trees because of incidents of crushed cars and damaged roofs due to falling foliage.

The red and tanoaks are not the only ones dying out, either. A recent report revealed that last summer alone, 10% of the world’s sequoia trees were wiped out by wildfire.

But this has been building up for decades.

Isaacson was a kid of the 70s when climate change first appeared on our radar. ‘But it wasn’t framed as climate; it was framed as pollution.’

Recycling was strongly encouraged, which she believes is when corporations began to individualise global problems. ‘They all convinced us that if we picked up trash along the highway, we’d be fine,’ she says. ‘But we can’t recycle our way out of anything.’

The human race has progressed 50 years since then. But Isaacson believes those ideals are still pervasive now, especially in the US. ‘They have deemed corporations as citizens and now they have more power than citizens,’ she says.

The director adds that denial is also present in much of American society. While she acknowledges the changes made since Biden came into power, the word ‘climate’ is still seen as toxic in states like Texas, where she will be travelling for work.

‘It’s a bummer,’ she says. ‘Those who deny it are very loud and vocal, while those who are concerned are often silenced.’

Isaacson now speaks to me from the home she rents in the city of Santa Cruz. She’s just returned from filming something about the Colorado fires. Before directing, she worked as an artist for decades, and though she rarely has time for anything these days, her passion for yoga and hiking paint her as someone naturally drawn to nature.

A hand appears on the Zoom screen, holding a steaming mug of coffee. Isaacson’s face lights up, she smiles and says: ‘This is why grown kids are amazing.’ While the family has been renting a place in Santa Cruz for months, she recognises just how privileged they have been this year, being able to afford insurance.

An impact she believes people don’t think about is the wider effects the fires had on the community itself.

The film director and her family originally moved to the area of the San Lorenzo Valley, a string of small towns in Santa Cruz connected by Highway 9, because it’s known for its affordable housing.

Many of the inhabitants were renters, commuters, and those who worked in the service industry — serving the backbone of San Francisco, the tourism sector.

‘The fires created a mass exodus of people who didn’t have that privilege,’ she explains. ‘To them, losing their home meant losing everything.’

At first, there were hotels, centres, and FEMA assistance provided for everyone affected. But long-term, this has all gone. ‘Service workers in the US have to work two, three, even four jobs to make ends meet,’ she says.

When the pandemic hit, a lot of people in this sector were being paid more on furlough than they had been before. ‘This pandemic and the fires have exposed that we’re expecting these people to take on everything,’ she continues. ‘But these people have been through a devastating year, there’s no equity here.’

And going forward, what can be done? Isaacson shakes her head. ‘So much.’

At home, she does everything she can to mitigate the issue, but she says it’s frustrating to know that those who really have an impact continue to escape responsibility.

Nestlé’s bottled water is a prime example. In California, water rights are ‘tricky’, according to Isaacson. This means corporations such as Nestlé have been able to access water from underneath the land — causing detrimental impacts on the environment and triggering droughts.

‘It’s the Wild West out here,’ she says. ‘We’ve got to stop letting corporations dictate policies that affect our climate.’