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Here’s a grim fact: The most destructive fires in recent American history swept over a state with the country’s strictest wildfire-specific building code, including in some of the neighborhoods that are now largely smoldering rubble.
California’s wildfire building code, Chapter 7A, went into effect in 2008, and it mandates fire-resistant siding, tempered glass, vegetation management, and vents for attics and crawlspaces designed to resist embers and flames. The code is the “most robust” in the nation, Lisa Dale, a lecturer at the Columbia Climate School and a former environmental policy advisor for the State of Colorado, told me. It applies to nearly any newly built structure in one of the zones mapped out by state and local officials as especially prone to fire hazard.
The adoption of 7A followed years of code development and mapping of hazardous areas, largely in response to devastating urban wildfires such as the Tunnel Fire, which claimed more than 3,000 structures and 25 lives in Oakland and Berkeley in 1991, and kicked off renewed efforts to harden Californian homes.
The Federal Emergency Management Agency’s report on the 1991 fire makes for familiar reading as the Palisades and Eaton fires still smolder. The wildland-urban interface, it says, was put at extreme risk by a combination of dry air, little rainfall, hot winds blowing east to west, built-up vegetation that was too close to homes, steep hills, and limited access to municipal water. The report also castigates the “unregulated use of wood shingles as roof and siding material.”
This was not the first time a destructive fire on the wildland-urban interface had been partially attributed to ignitable building materials. The 1961 Bel-Air fire, for instance, which claimed almost 200 homes, including that of Burt Lancaster, and the 1959 Laurel Canyon fire were both, FEMA said, evidence of “the wood roof and separation from natural fuels problems,” as were fires in 1970 and 1980 near where the Tunnel Fire eventually struck in 1970 and 1980.
But it was the sheer scale of the Tunnel Fire that prompted action by California lawmakers.
Throughout the 1990s, fire-resilient roofing requirements were ramped up, designating which materials were allowed in fire hazard areas and throughout the state. By all accounts, the building code works — but only when and where it’s in force. Dale told me that compliant homes were five times as likely to survive a wildfire. Research by economists Judson Boomhower and Patrick Baylis found that the code “reduced average structure loss risk during a wildfire by 16 percentage points, or about a 40% reduction.”
“The challenge from the perspective of wildfire vulnerability is that those codes are relatively recent, and the housing stock turns over really slowly, so we have this enormous stock of already built homes in dangerous places that are going to be out there for decades,” Boomhower told me.
The 7A building code applies only to new buildings, however. In long-settled areas of California like Pacific Palisades, which has little new housing construction or even existing home turnover due to high costs and permitting complications, especially in areas under the jurisdiction of the California Coastal Commission, many houses are not just failing to comply with Chapter 7A, but also with any housing code at all.
Looking at which homes had survived past fires, Steve Quarles, who helped advise the California State Fire Marshal on developing 7A, told me, “What really mattered was if it was built under any building code.” Many homes destroyed by the fires in Los Angeles likely were not. In Pacific Palisades, fire management is a frequent topic of concern and discussion. But as late as 2018, local media in Pacific Palisades noted that the area still had some homes with wood shingle roofs.
While a complete inventory of homes lost in the Palisades and Eaton fires has yet to be taken, the neighborhoods were full of older homes. According to CalFire incident reports, of the almost 47,000 structures in the zone of the Palisades Fire, more than 8,000 were built before 1939, and 44,560 were built before 2009. For the Eaton Fire area, of the around 41,000 structures, almost 14,000 were built before 1939, and only around 1,000 were built since 2010.
A Pacific Palisades home designed by architect Greg Chasen and built in 2024, however, survived the fire and went viral on X after he posted a photo of it still standing after the flames had moved through. The home embodied some of the best practices for fire-safe building, according to Bloomberg, including keeping vegetation away from the building, a metal roof, tempered glass, and fire-resistant siding.
When Michael Wara, the director of Stanford University’s Climate and Energy Policy Program, spoke with firefighters and insurance industry officials in the process of drafting a 2021 report for the Stanford Woods Institute for the Environment on strategies for mitigating wildfire risk, they told him that, from their perspective, wildfires are often a matter of “home ignition,” meaning that while building near forested areas puts any home at risk, the risk of a home itself igniting varies based on how it’s built and the vegetation clearance around it. “Existing homes in high fire threat areas” built before the implementation of California’s wildfire building codes, Wara wrote, “are a massive problem.” At the time he published the paper, there were somewhere between 700,000 and 1.3 million pre-building code homes still standing in “high or very high threat areas.”
The flipside of focusing on “home ignition” and the building code is that the building code works better over time, as more and more homes comply with it thanks to normal turnover, people extensively renovating, or even tearing down old homes — or rebuilding after fires. Homes that are close to homes that don’t ignite in a fire are more likely to survive.
One study that looked at the 2018 Camp Fire, which destroyed more than 18,000 structures and claimed more than 80 lives in the Northern California town of Paradise, sampled homes built before 1997, between 1997 and 2018, and from 2018 onwards, and found that only 11.5% of pre-1997 homes survived, compared to 38.5% from 1997 and after. The researchers also found that building survivability had a kind of magnifying effect, with distance from the nearest destroyed structure and the number structures destroyed in the immediate area among “the strongest predictors of survival.”
“The more homes that comply, the less chance you get those structural ignitions and the less chance you get those huge disasters like this,” Doug Green, who manages Headwaters Economics’ Community Assistance for Wildfire Program, told me. “It takes people doing the right thing to their own home — dealing with vegetation, making sure roofs are clean, having right roofing. It’s really a community-wide strategy to stop fires that happen like this.”
But just as any home hardening — or just building to code — is more effective the more the homes around you do it as well, it’s just as true in reverse. “If your next door neighbors don’t do that work, the effectiveness of your efforts will be less,” Dale said. “Building codes ultimately work best when we get an entire landscape or neighborhood to adopt them.”
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There is a heat wave in Europe, the world’s fastest warming continent. And so, as you may have heard, a perennial topic of online climate discourse has returned: Why don’t more Europeans have air conditioning?
I’m partially convinced this is psy op, or at least a figment of how social media organizes attention. I have a hypothesis that various “For You” page algorithms, especially that of the social network X, began to reward content that performed unusually well across national borders a few years ago. Since then, the amount of America vs. Europe content has surged. (Of course, writers have been comparing American and European lifestyles for much longer than that.)
Suffice it to say, though: It’s a fraught topic. I’ve assumed that as extreme heat gets worse as the climate changes, Europeans will simply get on with it and install AC, much as Americans in the Pacific Northwest have done. Yet there are cultural and regulatory obstacles to AC’s growth in Europe.
I’m sure I’ll write about it in the future, but for now I want to get a grip on the facts themselves. And so as a Friday special, I present to you — the facts about European AC, as I understand it:
Thanks so much for reading, and talk soon.
The movement against data centers is raising up a raison d'etre of the anti-renewables movement: protecting would-be farmland.
Farm owners and operators across the U.S. are winning national headlines almost every week for rejecting big dollar offers from data center developers. In Hanover County, Virginia, protestors are chanting “Grow Tomatoes, Not Data Centers.” In Pennsylvania and elsewhere, Republican legislators are mulling proposals to block the sale of so-called “prime farmland” for data center development. In Texas, the fight over data center development has engulfed the race for the state’s ag commissioner seat. In the Midwest, where agriculture reigns supreme, statewide races and congressional campaigns are slowly but surely being defined by the issue. Like in Nebraska where Austin Ahlman, an independent candidate running for Congress in Nebraska’s first district, told me he believes the data center backlash is reflective of a populist politics that broadly criticize elites and top-down control of the economy: “I think sometimes people misunderstand the anxieties of rural Americans when it comes to these data centers because a lot of their fears are about control long term.”
Unlike the farmland backlash around renewable energy development, the loudest critics are on the anti-monopolist left. On Wednesday, the prominent opposition group Food and Water Watch signaled farmland could soon be a watchword in the national data center debate – in a fashion analogous to what we’ve seen with renewable energy. The organization’s blog post entitled “The AI Data Center Boom Is Coming for Farmers” declared data centers verboten because of the threat they posed to “small and midsized family farmers.” Mitch Jones, deputy director of the campaign outfit, said he believes the threat to farmland is “a compelling reason to oppose data center development” but that his organization’s fight is primarily focused on protecting small business owners and an anti-monopoly sentiment.
“If data centers are coming into their areas, this puts even more pressure on them. It drives up the cost of their electricity, just as it does anyone else. It competes with them for water for crops, and it affects the value of their land in a perverse way,” Jones told me.
None of this should be surprising. An agricultural workforce has always been a good barometer for figuring out if a community will accept new infrastructure of any kind. We’ve seen as much time and time again with renewable energy, carbon capture, fossil energy and mining, just to name a few industries.
This same rule is true with data centers. In April, county commissioners in Kosciusko County, Indiana, unanimously rejected a Prologis data center; nearly 90% of acreage in Kosciusko County is being actively farmed, according to the Heatmap Pro database. Linn County, Iowa, in February enacted a rule severely restricting data center development in unincorporated areas; almost three-fourths of the land is used by the ag sector. A potential Amazon facility is causing heartburn in Clinton County, Ohio; nearly all land in the county is used for farming and utility-scale solar development has a recent history of conflict with landowners.
To be candid, I’m struck by the similarity in the backlash over siting data centers on farmland – a resemblance so close that some counties are starting to restrict renewable energy and data center development on farmland at the same time. This week, Eau Claire County, Wisconsin created a new “farmland preservation plan” discouraging utility-scale solar energy and data centers on any potential farmland. (More than 40% of land in this county is currently being used for farmland, according to Heatmap Pro.)
Jones at Food and Water Watch said his organization taking on the “protect farmland” mantle had nothing to do with the success this argument has had against renewable energy. “That thought never entered my head,” he told me, adding that if communities respond to the data center backlash by taking steps that short-circuit solar and wind too, that’s “a coincidence.”
I kept pressing. What if the pivot to farmland protection leads to more communities restricting renewable energy along with the data centers? “If you’re looking for a reason to oppose solar and wind, you can come up with that without having to attach data centers to it,” Jones said. “We’ve seen rural communities oppose solar and wind before data centers blew up across the country. It’s nothing new.”
And more of the week’s top news around project fights.
1. Virginia Beach, Virginia – The right-wing interest group lawsuit against Dominion Energy’s Coastal Virginia offshore wind is now dead, concluding one of the wackier tales of the Trump 2.0 energy era.
2. Box Elder County, Utah – Call it the Box Elder County massacre.
3. Davidson County, Tennessee – We have the latest updates in the Nashville Zoo data center drama and they’re a doozy and a half.
4. Clark County, Ohio – Yet another utility-scale solar farm is in the Ohio state permitting graveyard.