Southern California is burning. Again. Wildfires are tearing through neighborhoods, leaving behind nothing but ash and questions about what comes next. And while the fires are still raging, now is exactly the time to start thinking about what we’re going to do when they’re out. Because the reality is, the places that were burned—the scenic ridges, the luxury neighborhoods—aren’t coming back anytime soon. Not the way they were.
The damage is massive. Entire communities are gone. It’s going to take years for these areas to recover to the point where anyone, rich or otherwise, will want to build mansions there again. And that gives us something we haven’t had in decades: a choice. A chance to rethink how we use that land and for whom. Because while the hills will heal and the trees will grow back, this moment—this opportunity to rebuild differently—won’t come again.
Let’s not kid ourselves: Southern California’s housing crisis was already a five-alarm fire long before these wildfires broke out. Rent in Los Angeles County is so high that nearly 60% of renters are cost-burdened, spending more than 30% of their income on housing. One-third of them spend over half their income just to keep a roof over their heads. And homelessness? It’s exploded. More than 75,000 people are unhoused in LA County—75,000 people who have no place to go, no options, and no hope of catching up in a market that keeps racing ahead of them.
Meanwhile, some of the best land in Southern California—prime, scenic, close to urban centers—has long been reserved for single-family homes. One house per acre. One family taking up space that could house dozens of others. It’s not that mansions are inherently bad. It’s that they’re incredibly inefficient, especially in a city where tens of thousands of people are cramming into overcrowded apartments or sleeping under overpasses. And now, after these fires, those single-family homes are gone. The slate is clean. For the first time in decades, we have a real chance to do something different.
Imagine this: Instead of rebuilding a burned-out ridge in Malibu with another row of sprawling five-bedroom estates, we use that land to create housing for the many, not the few. Mid-rise apartments, duplexes, townhomes—places where teachers, nurses, and working families can actually afford to live. One acre could house 40 families instead of just one. That’s not just rebuilding; that’s fixing what was broken.
And here’s the key point: This isn’t about punishing the rich. We’re totally fine with people rebuilding—just maybe not right there. The land that burned is some of the most desirable, strategically located real estate in the state. It’s close to jobs, close to infrastructure, close to opportunity. And after these fires, it’s no longer locked up in single-family zoning. That’s the opportunity. It’s not about taking something away; it’s about using this moment to give something back—to the working families who’ve been priced out, pushed out, or left out entirely.
Let’s be practical for a second. Rebuilding these areas with mansions isn’t just exclusive—it’s risky. Wildfires aren’t going anywhere. Climate change is making them more frequent, more intense, and more destructive. Do we really want to pour millions of dollars into rebuilding homes on ridges and in canyons that are just going to burn again? Or do we take this opportunity to build smarter? Fire-resistant materials, defensible spaces, and denser housing that’s safer, more sustainable, and less vulnerable to the next disaster?
And the benefits go beyond fire safety. Denser housing also means shorter commutes, fewer cars on the road, and less pollution. The average Angeleno spends 119 hours a year sitting in traffic—nearly three full workweeks stuck on freeways, breathing exhaust and listening to terrible podcasts because you ran out of good ones six weeks ago. Building closer to jobs could help alleviate that. And by increasing housing supply, we could finally start bringing down rent prices. It’s not rocket science. It’s basic economics: more housing equals lower costs.
Of course, there will be objections. People will argue about “neighborhood character,” as though rows of burned-out lots and the occasional Tesla carcass are the height of charm. But let’s be honest: the “character” of these neighborhoods wasn’t about charm—it was about exclusivity. It was about saying, “This land is only for us, not for you.” Well, now that land is gone. And instead of just rebuilding what was there, we have a chance to build something better.
Then there’s the issue of eminent domain. People hear those words and immediately picture government agents snatching deeds out of homeowners’ hands. But let’s get real: eminent domain is already used for freeways, stadiums, malls—you name it. If we can use it to build a parking lot, we can use it to build homes for the people who actually make this city run. Grocery workers, firefighters, teachers—they deserve a shot at living close to where they work. And that’s not radical. That’s fair.
Look, the fires will eventually go out. The ash will settle. Recovery will begin. But it’s not going to happen overnight. These areas will take years to recover—years before they’re livable, before the hills are green again, before anyone wants to rebuild a luxury home there. And in that time, we can make a choice. Do we keep rebuilding the same way we always have, clinging to the past and perpetuating the same inequalities? Or do we seize this moment to create something better—a city that works for everyone, not just the lucky few?
The rich will be fine. They always are. They have resources, insurance payouts, second homes. They’ll figure it out. But for too many others—the working class, the middle class, the unhoused—this is their only shot. Their chance to live, not just survive. And we have the chance to give them that—not just to rebuild what was lost, but to build what’s needed.
Because at the end of the day, this isn’t about recovery. It’s about doing what’s right. And for the first time in a long time, we have the chance to do it. Let’s not waste it.
