Empathy as a Tool for Healing Generational Trauma in the Wake of Wildfire Devastation

In Los Angeles, the current wildfires have brought unprecedented devastation, razing communities, displacing families, and claiming lives. For many, the destruction represents more than a natural disaster—it inflames the embers of generational trauma. This is especially true for Indigenous communities, whose ancestors were forcibly removed from these lands long before flames swept through. Witnessing the land scorched once more evokes profound grief and rage, particularly as the wealthier residents—some descendants of those who benefited from land theft—grieve losses that, while tragic, come with an outpouring of support that Native communities were historically denied.

For those of us sitting with the complex emotions of this moment, empathy may seem like a complex or even impossible request. How do we extend compassion to those who have benefited from systemic harm while honoring the depth of our own pain? And yet, empathy might be the very tool that can help us process the weight of generational trauma and create paths toward healing and connection.

Trauma has a way of being passed down, especially when it’s tied to historical injustices. The displacement of Indigenous peoples and the subsequent erasure of their histories remain an open wound. The collective memory of what was stolen—land, identity, culture—fuels resentment and grief.

And yet, we now see the land itself resisting its exploitation. The wildfires, fueled by climate change and human negligence, show us how deeply intertwined our fates are with the environment. Everyone, regardless of ancestry or privilege, is vulnerable to these forces. For some, this moment may awaken the long-overdue recognition of their role in the land’s exploitation. For others, it triggers unresolved grief for what their ancestors endured.

It’s natural to feel resentment in moments like this. The national and international support pouring in for displaced communities is a stark contrast to the neglect experienced by Native peoples during their times of suffering. The inequity is glaring and the anger is valid. But holding onto resentment alone does little to ease the pain or build bridges.

What we can instead choose to see is the tragic loss as a point of connection. While the circumstances of our suffering are different, the experience of loss unites us. The shared grief of losing homes, communities, and lives reminds us that we are all deeply connected.

Empathy doesn’t mean excusing historical wrongs or silencing justified anger. It means recognizing humanity in others while honoring our own pain. For those who have historically benefited from the land’s exploitation, empathy might look like acknowledging privilege and expressing genuine remorse. Mourning alongside Indigenous communities—not just for what’s happening now, but for what was stolen—is a critical step.

For those who carry generational trauma, empathy can mean allowing space for the vulnerability of others, even when it feels undeserved. It’s a way of reclaiming our humanity, refusing to let historical pain harden our hearts entirely.

The wildfires, devastating as they are, present an opportunity for collective healing. Rebuilding is not just about physical structures; it’s about repairing relationships—with each other and with the land. Togetherness can emerge from our shared grief if we allow it. Indigenous communities, whose knowledge of the land is invaluable, can lead the way in restoration efforts, if given the resources and respect they deserve. Non-Native communities, in turn, can practice listening, learning, and contributing in ways that honor this knowledge.

The road to healing generational trauma isn’t linear or easy. It requires sitting with discomfort, confronting historical truths, and choosing connection over division. As we witness the ashes settle over Los Angeles, let us remember that compassion—though difficult—can be revolutionary. It can heal not only the land, but also the wounds we carry in our hearts.

Let this moment remind us that the land does not belong to us; we belong to it. And perhaps, through shared empathy, we can begin to honor it—and each other—with the reverence both deserve.