By: Mandi Matz, Senior Consultant
Mandi Matz
Like many people, I usually approach a new year with cautious optimism. It’s a clean slate. A blank page in the calendar. Nothing but possibility. So, I felt pretty good during the first few days of 2025. Then Los Angeles caught on fire…and, like so many people, I watched in utter disbelief as parts of my adopted hometown of nearly 20 years burned and smoldered into rubble. By the time January ended, its 31 days felt like 15 years.
I’m lucky. Although I live near one of the big fires, I didn’t have to evacuate. There were a few scary days, with a lot of smoke and ash in my area, but compared to so many people, it was nothing. Nevertheless, I’m grateful to all of my friends, family, coworkers and colleagues near and far who checked on me. I’m thankful for my mom. I don’t have kids, but I’m now a firm believer in mother’s intuition. My mom gave me a flashlight for Christmas and insisted that I put batteries in it and test it before I left. A week later, that little flashlight turned out to be the best thing I owned when I was without power for a few days.
Since I was in an area that was safe and only minorly affected, I watched what happened next as both an insider and as somewhat of an outsider. For the first few weeks, with fires still burning, the news was 24/7 and the pictures were awful. What I saw looked more like a war zone then what used to be neighborhoods in the second largest metro area in the United States. World Central Kitchen, an organization whose work I admire and that I associate with conflict-ridden and far-off places, set up operation a stone’s throw from where I live. As the days went on, I learned of more and more people I knew personally, or through friends or coworkers, who had lost their homes. And all of this was happening where I live.
But I noticed that in addition to all the stories of destruction and devastation, there were more and more stories of people helping and giving. Makeshift donation drives sprung up all around LA, almost anywhere there was a large parking lot. Stores reported they were out of pantry staples, toiletries and basic clothing and bedding as people bought it, wanting to help those who were displaced or evacuated. Local businesses, colleges and universities and hospitals, including some where I used to work, established funds to help their employees, students, staff and customers who had been affected by the fires.
Like everyone else, I wanted to help. Doing something certainly felt better than watching the news and doing nothing during those first fiery days of the year. When my local YMCA asked for basic supplies, I dropped off a few bags of groceries and noticed the donations were spilling out the door, clearly overwhelming the young volunteers who were trying to organize them as quickly as they were coming in. I rounded up my purchases at the grocery store, the gas station and restaurants for fire relief. My local indie bookstore had food and book drives, so I happily cleaned out my kitchen cupboards and bedroom bookshelf. My favorite retro movie theater had free programming for kids and families, especially those who had lost everything, to give people a break from the bad news and sadness for a few hours. When they were collecting cozy pajamas and stuffed animals for their youngest moviegoers, I enthusiastically pitched in. Eventually, when organizations pleaded that while they appreciated all the donations, the best way to help was to give money, I did that too.
It seemed like everyone was doing something – big and small – for fire victims, firefighters, displaced animals. It was a wonderful, if sometimes overwhelming and fatiguing, show of support. But it was also a nice reminder that, at least in my mind, people are basically good.
But there is always the reality that time, life and social media move on. The news eventually went from destruction to recovery and rebuilding. Then, other natural disasters happened. When floods ravaged Kentucky in mid-February, I remember hearing the governor on NPR talking about how much help the state would need, and for a long time. I thought: “Six weeks ago, that was us here in LA.” And then, I started thinking some more.
Money and donations had been pouring in, some on a huge scale. The Fire Aid concert at the end of January reportedly raised $100 million. Many celebrities, including former Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, pledged millions to fire-related organizations. Initially, LA’s 12 professional sports teams pledged a combined $8 million, with the promise of more to come. But given who the givers were, that didn’t seem like a lot to me. Then I began to question my own giving. Was I giving enough? I gave $100 here, $150 there. Nice contributions to be sure, but honestly, I could have stretched a bit. Other questions arose for me: Where was it all going? Was it all really helping? Could these organizations handle all this generosity? And when so many people would need help for months – and even years – what did it mean down the road?
I had interesting discussions with friends – some of whom work in philanthropy and some of whom don’t – about where, why and how much they were giving and which organizations they trusted. A former coworker/friend and I had a long talk about why we were so willing to give to people who had recently lost their homes in the fires, yet we didn’t feel quite the same compassion for the thousands of chronically homeless people in LA County, many of whom I encounter everyday.
Then there were the questions about the countless GoFundMe campaigns that resulted from the fires. I gave to two of them – for former coworkers and the cousin of a close friend who lost their homes. But I asked myself: Why did I give to some campaigns and not others, including one for a former boss? Like most of us, I looked at what others gave to gauge my own giving. I realize that’s part of the point of crowdfunding, but I also could’ve chosen to give anonymously. I suppose part of the reason I didn’t was because I wanted it to be known to others that I was a good person who was giving, and part of me wanted the recipients to know that I was helping them. But really, if I were a purely altruistic person, wouldn’t I be giving because it’s the right thing to do and because I’m fortunate enough to be able to, and not because I wanted some kind of credit, acknowledged or otherwise?
Almost three months after the fires began, I don’t have the answer to any of these questions. I didn’t then, and I certainly don’t now. But I’m glad I’ve been thinking about them – and likely will continue to do so – especially given my chosen profession. Still, there are a few things I’ve taken away from the experience.
Giving is a personal decision – when, why, to whom and how much can only be answered by the giver, and I would never want to squelch or negate anyone’s impulse or desire to give. Further, the fact that people give, regardless of their motivation, has helped build so many of the institutions that I’ve benefited from and enjoyed throughout my life, not to mention led me to a long and mostly happy career.
Many years ago, I had a passing conversation with someone who said something that I’ve never forgotten: “No one can help everyone, but everyone can help someone.” I suppose that in the end, that’s what it comes down to for me. I think everyone should give as much as they can as often as they can…including me.
One last takeaway? I’m definitely keeping my flashlight handy.
