Canada's Wildfire Management at a Crossroads: Ecology, Policy, and Industry

In sheer scale and cost, Canada's recent wildfire seasons have been historic. 2023 was the most destructive wildfire season ever recorded in Canada, shattering all previous records (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023; Government of Canada, 2023). By October 2023, over 18 million hectares (some 184,000 km²) had burned – more than 5% of Canada's forest area (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023). This is about six times the long-term average for area burned and 2.5 times the previous record (Government of Canada, 2023). At least 8 firefighters lost their lives and over 230,000 people were displaced in 2023 alone (Public Safety Canada, 2023). All 13 provinces and territories were affected, with massive blazes from British Columbia and the Northwest Territories to Quebec and Nova Scotia. The firefighting effort became an international one: over 7,300 personnel, including crews from a dozen countries, were mobilized to help Canada battle the flames (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023).

While 2023 grabbed headlines, 2024 was also an extreme wildfire year – albeit less apocalyptic than 2023's "black summer." By mid-September 2024, approximately 5.3 million hectares had burned nationwide (Reuters, 2024). This made 2024 one of the top six worst seasons in half a century (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2024; Government of Canada, 2024). It was second only to 2023 in terms of area burned, far above the long-term averages, and surpassing even notorious years like 1995 (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2024). A single blaze that devastated the town of Jasper, Alberta in 2024 caused C$880 million in insured damages (Reuters, 2024), highlighting the enormous economic costs. As of June 2025, the trend of severe fire seasons continues: already 1,746 fires have ignited across Canada, consuming about 2.6 million hectares (an area larger than the entire state of Vermont) by early June (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2025; Government of Canada, 2025). With peak summer still ahead, 2025 was on track to be yet another dangerous fire year. These escalating numbers underscore that wildfires are no longer a sporadic threat – they are an ongoing national emergency.

The financial burden is rising in step with the flames. Fire suppression costs are soaring for provincial agencies and the federal government alike. In 2021, a single season in British Columbia cost $801 million in firefighting, and yet only a fraction of that (about $32 million) was budgeted for proactive wildfire services in subsequent years (Government of Canada, 2021). Federally, disaster relief spending has ballooned – the budget for the Disaster Financial Assistance Arrangements (DFAA) (which helps provinces rebuild after disasters) jumped from a baseline of ~$100 million in 2022–23 to $1.72 billion in 2023–24, reflecting the massive payouts expected due to wildfire and flood catastrophes (Government of Canada, 2024). Since 2019, Canada's federal government has invested over $800 million in wildland fire response, prevention, and mitigation initiatives (Government of Canada, 2024). Yet, those investments are being dwarfed by the scale of destruction: 2023's fires alone likely caused tens of billions in total losses (when accounting for infrastructure, economic disruption, health impacts, and carbon emissions). In short, by every quantitative metric – area burned, number of evacuees, suppression expenditures, or carbon pollution released – Canada's wildfires are off the charts. The data paints a stark picture of a country struggling to control an increasingly ferocious threat.

Why are Canadian wildfires becoming so frequent and intense? Part of the answer lies in ecological factors: climate change is creating hotter, drier conditions, and decades of certain land-management practices have altered forest composition in ways that increase flammability. Scientists have observed that while the total number of wildfires in Canada has not spiked dramatically, the area burned has grown significantly since the 1970s, and the fire season is now about two weeks longer on average (Canadian Forest Service, 2023). Summers are hotter and punctuated by droughts that dry out vegetation. The 2023 fire season was driven by exceptional heat and dryness – average temperatures from May to October 2023 were 2.2°C above normal, and large swaths of western Canada were in severe drought (Environment and Climate Change Canada, 2023). Climate change has made the kind of extreme "fire weather" that Canada saw in 2023 far more likely. For example, attribution studies indicated that climate warming made Eastern Canada's fire-conducive weather about twice as likely and significantly more intense than it would have been otherwise (Canadian Forest Service, 2023). Longer term, climate models predict that by late century, suppression costs could exceed $1.4 billion per year as fire seasons lengthen and intensify (Canadian Forest Service, 2023; World Resources Institute, 2023). In short, the background climate signal is one of rising risk: more lightning strikes (ignitions), more dry lightning events, and more combustible forests due to heat stress.

However, climate is only part of the equation. Equally important is what is burning – the makeup and condition of Canada's forests. Here, past and present forestry practices have an enormous impact on fire behavior. Much of Canada's forested area is boreal forest dominated by coniferous trees like pine and spruce. These species are naturally highly flammable, laden with resinous sap and dry needles; indeed, firefighters grimly nickname black spruce "gas on a stick" for how readily it torches (Canadian Forest Service, 2023; The Narwhal, 2023). In a healthy boreal landscape, the inherent flammability of conifers is balanced by the presence of wetlands and pockets of deciduous trees (like aspen and birch) that retain moisture and can act as natural fire breaks. Unfortunately, decades of fire suppression and industrial forestry have upset that balance. One major issue is the widespread practice of replanting vast areas with single-species conifer plantations after logging, often to the exclusion of more fire-resistant species (The Narwhal, 2023; WWF Canada, 2023). Forestry companies have effectively "farmed" conifers, creating even-aged monoculture stands of pine, spruce, and fir across huge swathes of land. After clear-cuts, companies are typically required by law to regenerate the forest – but the focus is on fast-growing, commercially valuable trees, not on restoring a diverse ecosystem. As a result, many landscapes are now covered in what amount to tree plantations optimized for timber harvest, and unfortunately also optimized to burn.

Ecologists warn that these evenly spaced "pines in lines" plantations are far more susceptible to catastrophic fires than a biodiverse forest (Canadian Forest Service, 2023; The Narwhal, 2023). In central and western Canada, logging companies have long viewed broadleaf species like trembling aspen as "weed trees" that compete with young conifers. For decades in provinces like British Columbia, the industry has aggressively sprayed herbicides (e.g. glyphosate) to kill off aspen and other deciduous growth in cutblocks (The Narwhal, 2023). This was done to ensure conifers don't face competition and can reach the "free to grow" stage more quickly for future harvests. The ecological cost of this policy has been enormous. Aspen is a natural fire guard: in summer its lush green leaves and moist wood act like a sponge, retaining ground moisture and slowing fires (The Narwhal, 2023; WWF Canada, 2023). In contrast, conifers are dry and resin-filled; where pines spur on fire, aspens can halt it. By removing deciduous stands and creating mono-crop conifer forests, we have made the land more uniformly flammable. Scientists and Indigenous experts alike question the wisdom of killing off the very species that help calm wildfires. Suzanne Simard, a renowned forest ecologist, put it bluntly: industry sprays glyphosate to boost short-term profits, but "the costs to the ecosystems are huge…It's devastating" (The Narwhal, 2023).

The aftermath of the 2023 fires underscored these ecological lessons. Fire researchers noted that many of the areas that burned most intensely were those dominated by dense conifers or plantations. By contrast, pockets of mixed forest (or previously burned areas with young deciduous regrowth) tended to mitigate spread. One powerful illustration comes from a former tree-planter turned writer, Claire Cameron, who reflected on her 1990s job replanting Ontario's north. She realized, decades later, that the neat rows of black spruce she had planted were "thousands of blowtorches" waiting to ignite (The Narwhal, 2023). The logging companies' reforestation strategy – replanting one or two conifer species at precise intervals – created a uniform sea of fuel. With climate-driven drought turning those trees "into something closer to a blowtorch," Cameron wrote, "I don't think I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day" (The Narwhal, 2023). The tragedy is that this outcome was avoidable: had those cut areas been regenerated with a mix including aspen or left to natural regeneration, the landscape would be more patchwork and less prone to all-consuming megafires. Instead, industry-driven reforestation choices literally planted the seeds for larger fires – a classic case of short-term economic logic undermining long-term ecological resilience.

If climate change and flammable forest composition are the fuel and spark of the wildfire crisis, government policy failures have been the wind fanning the flames. For years, experts have warned that Canada's wildfire management approach is reactive and under-resourced. The federal government and provinces developed a Canadian Wildland Fire Strategy (CWFS) back in 2005, and more recently a Wildland Fire Prevention and Mitigation Strategy (2022), which recognize the need for proactive risk reduction. However, implementation has lagged far behind what is needed. Performance metrics of our current wildfire strategy tell a story of inaction and missed targets. For example, an action plan endorsed by forest ministers in 2021 called for shifting from a "forestry-centric" approach to a "whole-of-society" approach to wildfire, integrating Indigenous knowledge and improving community risk awareness (Government of Canada, 2021; Public Safety Canada, 2022). Yet on the ground, there is scant evidence that such a transformation has occurred at scale. By 2023, all of the top five worst fire seasons in recorded history had occurred in the past decade (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023) – clear proof that whatever measures have been taken are nowhere near sufficient.

One glaring issue is funding and resource allocation. Wildfire agencies have long operated under boom-bust budgets: prevention and preparedness programs are chronically underfunded, while emergency funds flow only once flames are already spreading. In multiple provinces, governments actually cut wildfire prevention and response budgets in the years leading up to record fire disasters. In Ontario, for instance, the provincial government in 2019 slashed the forest firefighting budget by 67% (a cut of $142 million) (Jacobin, 2023). Alberta's government likewise trimmed its wildfire management budget from $130 million in 2018–19 down to $100 million by 2022 (Government of Alberta, 2022). These "efficiency" cuts, driven by an austerity mindset, left fire agencies with fewer staff and resources – with predictably dire results when an extreme season hit. Even British Columbia, which experienced cataclysmic fires in 2017 and 2018, was slow to invest in permanent wildfire capacity. B.C. spent an extraordinary $801 million on emergency firefighting in 2021, yet the very next year budgeted a paltry $32 million for its year-round wildfire service (Government of British Columbia, 2022). At the federal level, austerity in past decades took its toll as well: the Canadian Forest Service, which conducts wildfire research and supports management, saw its staff shrivel from 2,200 in the 1990s to about 700 after deep budget cuts (Jacobin, 2023). According to Edward Struzik, a veteran fire policy analyst, these cuts left Canada trying to face "this new fire paradigm" with "chump change" resources (Jacobin, 2023). In short, institutional capacity was knowingly eroded even as risk grew. The fires of 2023 forced Canada to call in over 1,100 firefighters from overseas to help cope (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023) – a stark indicator that our own capacity was overwhelmed.

Another policy shortfall is the slow rollout of preventative measures and community protection projects. The federal government has acknowledged the need for prevention: for example, as part of Canada's 2022 National Adaptation Strategy, it committed $284 million over five years to enhance the FireSmart program (community wildfire preparedness) and to establish a Wildfire "Centre of Excellence" (Government of Canada, 2022; Public Safety Canada, 2022). Budget 2022 also set aside $346 million to help provinces buy firefighting equipment and train 1,000 new wildland firefighters (Government of Canada, 2022). These initiatives are promising on paper, but their impact will depend on execution. So far, results are mixed. Progress is evident in some areas – for instance, the federal government did meet its target of training over 1,000 new firefighters by 2024 (as noted by the Prime Minister's Office) (Government of Canada, 2024). And community programs to FireSmart homes (clearing brush, installing fire-resistant roofing, etc.) have expanded. Yet on other fronts, Canada is behind. Prescribed burning and Indigenous-led cultural burning – two of the most effective tools to reduce fuel hazards – are still used only sparingly outside of pilot projects. The national target for prescribed fire is unclear, but experts estimate we would need to burn or mechanically thin hundreds of thousands of hectares annually to markedly reduce fuel loads. Currently, we are nowhere near that scale. Policies remain cautious, hampered by liability concerns and a lack of firefighting personnel available to supervise controlled burns. Ironically, the devastating wildfires themselves illustrate the cost of this hesitation: much of the area that burned in 2023 was fuel that could have been strategically reduced in cooler seasons under controlled conditions, had there been the political will and funding to do so.

Emergency management policy is also reactive by design. Provinces and territories typically only declare states of emergency once fires are out of control and communities are in immediate danger. In 2023, Alberta, Nova Scotia, British Columbia, and the Northwest Territories all declared provincial emergencies due to wildfires, triggering evacuations of entire cities (e.g. Fort McMurray in 2016, Yellowknife in 2023). By September 2023, a staggering 297 separate evacuation orders had been issued across Canada for wildfires, including orders affecting over 95 First Nations communities (Public Safety Canada, 2023; Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023). This was more evacuation orders in one season than in the previous four years combined. The pattern is that governments spring into crisis mode in summer, then often ease off in the winter when public attention wanes – a cycle that leaves underlying vulnerabilities intact. There are few performance metrics that governments openly track or report to measure improvement in wildfire resilience. We don't see clear benchmarks like "number of high-risk communities with fire breaks completed" or "reduction in average area burned in treated forests" in government scorecards. Instead, success is often vaguely defined as "we got through this fire season." The absence of concrete targets and accountability means that politically, leaders can claim credit for heroic firefighting responses while avoiding scrutiny on whether they reduced the overall hazard before the fires. In sum, Canada's wildfire strategy has been heavy on rhetoric and short on results. The performance to date – measured in annual charred acreage and emergency evacuations – suggests a system that is fundamentally failing to keep pace with the threat.

Any discussion of wildfire policy failures must examine the role of the forestry industry – a powerful stakeholder in Canadian land management. The forest sector has long been a backbone of rural economies and carries significant political weight, especially in provinces like British Columbia, Ontario, and Quebec. Forestry lobbyists and industry groups have influenced reforestation policy and species selection for decades, often in ways that prioritize timber production over ecological resilience. A prime example is the promotion of conifer-heavy replanting regimes. After large fires or clear-cuts, there is a fork in the road: one option is to allow or encourage a natural mix of species to regrow (including deciduous trees that may naturally colonize burned areas), and another is to actively plant marketable conifers and suppress the rest. Industry has leaned heavily toward the latter, arguing that it "restores" the forest and provides future wood supply. Through involvement in provincial policy-making and silviculture regulations, logging companies have effectively set the standard that a successfully regenerated forest = a full crop of conifers. The Canadian forestry laws often require companies to ensure a cutblock is regenerated to certain stocking standards (tree count per hectare) by a deadline, which implicitly pushes companies to plant fast-growing conifers and eliminate competition (The Narwhal, 2023; WWF Canada, 2023). Failing to meet these standards can result in financial penalties, so the easiest path is planting pine or spruce and using herbicides to kill competing vegetation – exactly as industry lobbyists have promoted. In British Columbia, for instance, tens of thousands of hectares have been sprayed with glyphosate each year under government-approved pest management plans funded by industry (The Narwhal, 2023). It was only after immense public pressure and mounting wildfire concerns that B.C.'s government (in 2019) pledged to phase out glyphosate use in forestry – a promise still in progress as of 2024 (Government of British Columbia, 2019).

The consequence of these industry-driven policies is a landscape tailored to lumber yields but highly vulnerable to fire. Industry representatives often push back on this critique, pointing out that wildfires also rage in untouched boreal forests and that climate change is the overarching cause. It's true that not all of Canada's wildfires are burning in managed forests – in the far north, for example, vast areas of unmanaged spruce were torching in 2023's record season. However, in southern Canada where communities and logging operations overlap, the influence of past logging can dramatically shape fire outcomes. Research indicates that monoculture plantations can experience more severe crown fires (fires racing through treetops) compared to mixed forests (Canadian Forest Service, 2023). By contrast, where intentional efforts have been made to re-establish mixed species, the forests show more resistance. An illuminating case is the Secwepemcúl'ecw Restoration and Stewardship Society (SRSS) in the Secwépemc territory of B.C. This Indigenous-led initiative formed after the 2017 wildfires and explicitly rejected the typical industry reforestation model. Instead of replanting just lodgepole pine or spruce, the SRSS works to restore a balanced, complex ecosystem with a mix of coniferous and deciduous trees, shrubs, and traditional food plants (WWF Canada, 2023; The Narwhal, 2023). They note that the areas devastated in recent fires were often monocultures "managed to maximize value for commercial logging," and that reforesting with only commercially valuable trees simply sets the stage for the next big burn (WWF Canada, 2023). By planting a variety of native species and shrubs, the SRSS aims to "capture and create moister habitats" and reduce future fire intensity (WWF Canada, 2023). This approach aligns with traditional Secwépemc knowledge that healthy forests are diverse. It's telling that such practices are emerging from Indigenous leadership and environmental NGOs (with support from programs like the federal 2 Billion Trees initiative and WWF) rather than from the big forestry companies.

The forestry industry's influence also extends to political lobbying and public relations campaigns that can obscure accountability. As wildfires worsen, one might expect the industry to face pressure to change practices (e.g. leave more buffers of broadleaf trees, reduce clear-cuts in fire-prone areas, invest in fuel reduction). Instead, industry groups have often doubled down on narratives that serve their interests. A stark example is the effort to position logging as a climate solution and the sector as "sustainable" despite evidence to the contrary. Canada's largest logging lobby, the Forest Products Association of Canada (FPAC), launched campaigns touting the climate benefits of wood and managed forests, likely aiming to preempt criticism that logging practices exacerbate fires or emissions (Forest Products Association of Canada, 2023). In some cases, industry talking points after fires include advocating for more aggressive salvage logging (removing burned trees) and expedited timber harvests "to reduce future fuel." While salvage can make sense in moderation, it can also be a thinly veiled attempt to extract economic value post-fire under the guise of safety. Salvage operations can disturb soil and inhibit natural regeneration of fire-resilient species, ironically reinforcing the cycle of planting more flammable young conifers afterward (Canadian Forest Service, 2023). Another industry refrain is to blame "decades of fire exclusion" entirely – suggesting that more logging (thinning forests) would solve the problem, without acknowledging that which trees are removed matters greatly. Indeed, for many years the industry itself helped exclude fire by pushing aggressive suppression to protect timber assets, contributing to the very fuel buildup now at issue (The Narwhal, 2023; Canadian Forest Service, 2023).

In fairness, not all industry players are monolithic. Some progressive forestry companies and private woodlot owners do embrace mixed-species planting and collaborate on FireSmart community projects. But the larger pattern, reinforced by lobbying, has been resistance to regulatory changes that might reduce harvest volumes in favor of ecological goals. When B.C. considered tightening rules on post-logging reforestation to encourage biodiversity, industry groups raised concerns about costs and wood supply. This influence results in a status quo where government regulators often favor the path of least resistance – allowing business-as-usual forestry – even if it perpetuates landscape-level fire vulnerability. The triple crime noted by writer Cory Doctorow resonates here: "First, [the logging companies] stole our old-growth forests. Next, they literally planted a time-bomb across [the landscape]. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who thought they were doing good by planting trees" (The Narwhal, 2023). Those are harsh words, but they capture the frustration of many environmentalists and forest-dependent communities who feel the industry has not been held to account for its role in intensifying wildfire risks.

Wildfire management (or the lack thereof) is also shaped by political incentives and how wildfires are framed in media and public discourse. Politicians, ever attuned to public sentiment, face a complex calculus: investing in prevention yields benefits that are largely invisible (because the disaster didn't happen), whereas highly visible disaster response garners immediate praise. This creates a structural incentive for inaction or underinvestment in the quiet times. Spending money on new water bombers, prescribed burns, or community fireguards might save many times that amount in avoided losses, but those benefits are hard to point to on camera. By contrast, when a wildfire emergency hits, political leaders can tour the evacuation center, promise relief funds, and be seen "doing something." The result, as noted by commentators, is a cycle of "panic and neglect". One year's inferno produces pledges of "never again," yet a few years later, budgets are trimmed and long-term plans gather dust – until the next inferno. This short-termism is a profound governance failure, essentially kicking the can down the road even as the road is catching fire.

Media coverage plays a role in this dynamic by emphasizing certain frames. An analysis by Re.Climate of Canadian media found that the dominant frame in wildfire news stories is the immediate impact on people (e.g. evacuations, homes lost), accounting for nearly half of wildfire coverage, whereas underlying issues like climate change or Indigenous fire stewardship receive far less attention (Re.Climate, 2023). Indigenous peoples, for instance, are not well represented in coverage – their voices and knowledge systems seldom make it into the nightly news on wildfires (Re.Climate, 2023). Instead, the narrative often centers on dramatic visuals of flames and smoke, human tragedy, and reactive statements from officials. To be sure, highlighting human impact is important for galvanizing support, but it can also feed a framing of wildfires as sudden, unavoidable disasters – like a hurricane or earthquake – rather than as events we can manage through policy. This framing subtly lets politicians off the hook by treating fires as external shocks and focusing praise on their emergency response, rather than scrutinizing why so many emergencies are occurring in the first place.

Moreover, wildfire discourse has become politically polarized in some quarters, particularly around the role of climate change. Many Canadian leaders openly acknowledge climate change as a major driver – the Prime Minister and Finance Minister in 2024 repeatedly emphasized that "climate change is causing more frequent and more extreme wildfires," justifying new climate adaptation investments (Government of Canada, 2024). However, some politicians, especially on the right, have downplayed or even denied the climate connection. A notable example was Ontario's Premier in 2023, who bristled at suggestions that climate change had anything to do with that year's fires, accusing opponents of "politicizing" the tragedy (CBC News, 2023). Instead, he blamed careless campfires and arson, even as his government's deep budget cuts to firefighting were being criticized (CBC News, 2023; Jacobin, 2023). This mirrors patterns seen internationally: when faced with climate-related disasters, certain political actors deflect by pointing to proximate causes (lightning, human ignition) or propagate misinformation. Indeed, Canada has seen its share of wildfire conspiracy theories – social media posts claiming, for example, that eco-terrorists or government agents "set fires" intentionally to push climate agendas (The Narwhal, 2023; CBC News, 2023). Investigations by outlets like The Narwhal have debunked these, showing that the 2023 fires started from a mix of lightning (the majority) and accidents like downed power lines, with no evidence of any coordinated arson conspiracy (The Narwhal, 2023). Still, the fact that such narratives took hold among some groups points to an underlying political battle: if wildfires are accepted as a symptom of climate change and poor land management, then governments and industries are expected to act; but if fires can be portrayed as random or deliberately set, responsibility shifts and the impetus for systemic change diminishes.

Emergency declarations themselves have become somewhat politicized. Provinces request federal assistance and sometimes deploy the military to help in firefighting (as happened in Alberta, Quebec, and B.C. in 2023). No government wants to appear slow to respond in a crisis. Yet, ironically, this reactive posture is where politicians find safer ground. Rallying to put out fires is universally applauded; critiquing how we got into the position of having so many fires can invite uncomfortable questions about policy and funding priorities. After the smoke clears, media attention moves on, and with it public pressure. A structural critique – that our institutions incentivize neglect of preventative action – rarely sustains headlines. This is why institutional incentives need to be realigned: for example, through mandatory public reporting on fire risk reduction efforts, or by tying infrastructure funding to demonstrated fire preparedness. Unless leaders are rewarded for prevention and penalized for inaction (in votes or otherwise), the cycle may continue.

In summary, the political and media landscape around wildfires often focuses on short-term crisis management over long-term risk mitigation. The framing tends to personalize and localize fires ("families displaced by wildfire X") rather than connect the dots of a system under strain. Changing this narrative is crucial. Canadians must start seeing wildfires less as isolated emergencies and more as indicators of policy failure – a failure that spans climate policy, forestry policy, emergency management, and Indigenous relations. Only then will there be sustained political will to overhaul the system.

Any credible wildfire strategy must include those who live closest to the flame. First Nations and rural communities in Canada have been on the front lines of wildfires and have critical knowledge and perspectives that have too often been ignored. Indigenous peoples, in particular, have a deep relationship with fire dating back millennia. Many First Nations traditionally used controlled burns to manage the land – rejuvenating prairies, clearing underbrush near settlements, and maintaining habitat for game. These "good fires" or cultural burns were a form of stewardship that kept ecosystems in balance and prevented the buildup of fuel. However, for over a century, Canadian governments suppressed Indigenous fire practices, enforcing policies of fire exclusion and marginalizing Indigenous land management knowledge (WWF Canada, 2023). This history of exclusion has left a legacy: Indigenous communities now face disproportionate wildfire risks but have had less say in wildfire policy.

The statistics are sobering. Indigenous communities make up a small fraction of Canada's population (~5%) yet accounted for 42% of wildfire evacuation events in recent years (Public Safety Canada, 2023). Fully 80% of Indigenous-majority communities are located in forested regions prone to wildfires (Public Safety Canada, 2023). Many of these communities are rural or remote, with limited roads in and out, meaning when fire comes, evacuations are challenging and often last longer. In 2023, more than 95 First Nations had to evacuate at least once (Public Safety Canada, 2023), some multiple times. The toll on these communities goes beyond physical displacement; it's cultural and psychological. Elders are separated from their traditional lands, ceremonies and hunting seasons are disrupted, and there is trauma from repeatedly fleeing one's home. First Nations leaders have been blunt in their assessment: the current system is not protecting them. They point out gaps such as inadequate wildfire mitigation on reserves (which often have chronic infrastructure shortfalls), slow delivery of resources during emergencies, and a failure to incorporate Indigenous firefighting teams and traditional knowledge into mainstream wildfire efforts.

Encouragingly, some changes are underway. The federal government in Budget 2024 pledged $145 million to help First Nations communities prepare for natural disasters like wildfires, on top of $260 million devoted in late 2023 specifically to First Nations' wildfire response and recovery (Government of Canada, 2024; Public Safety Canada, 2023). This funding is meant for things like community-specific emergency plans, fire breaks, equipment, and training of local emergency responders. There's also $20 million earmarked for fire prevention on reserves (e.g. distributing fire extinguishers, alarms, and education programs) (Government of Canada, 2024). These investments are welcome, but money alone is not enough without partnership. First Nations are increasingly asserting their right to lead in managing fires on their territories. We see this in groups like the aforementioned Secwépemcúl'ecw Restoration and Stewardship Society (SRSS), where Secwépemc communities are leading reforestation in a resilient way (WWF Canada, 2023; The Narwhal, 2023). We also see it in the growing use of Indigenous guardians and fire crews who blend modern firefighting with traditional burning. For example, in the Northwest Territories, Indigenous fire crews played a key role in the intense 2023 season, and there are calls to formally support "Indigenous fire steward" programs nation-wide. Indigenous knowledge holders emphasize that fire on the land is not always destructive – if used wisely, it can prevent larger disasters. As one cultural burning practitioner in Australia put it (echoing a view shared by Indigenous peoples here in Canada), small, cool fires "break the cycle" of mega-fires by clearing underbrush without torching the sacred canopy of old trees (Reuters, 2023; WWF Canada, 2023). First Nations in Canada are striving to bring back such practices, and the broader public is starting to listen. Empowering Indigenous leadership in wildfire management is not just a reconciliation gesture; it is a pragmatic path to safer communities and healthier forests.

Rural non-Indigenous communities likewise have unique insights and challenges. Many small towns and rural municipalities are surrounded by forest or grassland, effectively on the fire frontier. These areas often rely on volunteer fire departments – locals who juggle day jobs with answering the call when wildfire strikes. Rural residents can be incredibly resourceful, using their farm equipment to create fireguards or their knowledge of local terrain to assist fire crews. But they are also painfully aware of being "on their own" in the critical first hours of a wildfire, until provincial help arrives. This has led to frustration in some quarters that urban-centric governments don't prioritize rural protection until flames threaten larger population centers. For instance, during the 2023 Alberta fires, there was criticism that initial provincial response was sluggish, leaving county firefighters and even ranchers on bulldozers to try to contain rapidly growing fires. Rural leaders have been advocating for more support for volunteer fire departments, better communication systems (some remote areas lack reliable radio or cellular coverage), and funding for local prevention projects like community fuel breaks. The federal government's move to double the Volunteer Firefighter Tax Credit (from $3,000 to $6,000) in 2024 (Government of Canada, 2024) acknowledges the burden on these volunteers, but of course a tax credit alone doesn't extinguish fires. It's worth noting that rural economic interests can cut both ways on fire policy: on one hand, resource extraction industries provide jobs but can worsen fire risk (as discussed with forestry); on the other, rural communities need those jobs and sometimes fear that stricter environmental protections (like expanded parks or logging deferrals) could hurt their economies. Thus, any solutions must seek win-wins, like employing rural folks in forest-thinning and prescribed burn crews – creating jobs that also reduce fire hazards.

Both First Nations and rural settlers share a sense of being on the front line of a changing reality. They witness earlier snowmelts, drier springs, and insect outbreaks killing trees – all ingredients for fire. They also tend to have a more intimate connection to the land, noticing subtle changes and remembering past fires. Any national wildfire plan that ignores their voices will miss practical knowledge and risk local opposition. Conversely, plans co-developed with these communities can leverage their strengths: Indigenous traditional burning techniques, ranchers' know-how in managing grasslands, and the social cohesion that can mobilize an entire town to FireSmart their neighborhood. A poignant example of cross-demographic collaboration is unfolding in places like the Chilcotin in B.C., where First Nations and ranchers have teamed up on controlled burns to protect both grazing lands and Indigenous territory. Such partnerships recognize that fire doesn't differentiate by culture or background – it threatens all – and so must our response unite all.

While Canada's wildfire challenges are enormous, they are not unique. Other fire-prone regions – notably California in the United States and Australia – offer cautionary tales and potential solutions. Comparing these cases can shed light on what Canada is doing right or wrong, and how we might chart a better path.

California has been dealing with extreme wildfires for the past two decades, with some of the worst fire disasters (in terms of property loss and fatalities) in U.S. history. In many ways, California is a few steps ahead of Canada on the wildfire curve, especially regarding the wildland-urban interface (WUI) problem – i.e., fires encroaching on developed areas. One lesson from California is the importance of building resilience into communities themselves. After the horrific 2018 Camp Fire that destroyed the town of Paradise and killed 85 people, California tightened building codes for fire-prone areas. New homes in high-risk zones must use fire-resistant materials (roofing, siding), have defensible space, and even older homes are being retrofitted. California also pioneered community warning systems and evacuation planning after seeing how fast fires can overrun towns. Canada is beginning to move in this direction – for example, in 2021 a National Guide for Wildland-Urban Interface Fires was published to help improve building and community design for fire resilience (Government of Canada, 2021). But enforcement of such standards in Canada is still lax compared to California. There is no equivalent national WUI building code here, and implementation falls to provinces and municipalities, some of which have been slow to act. California's experience shows that fireproofing communities (through better planning, zoning, and construction) can save lives, even if the surrounding forests still burn.

Another aspect is funding and capacity. California's state firefighting agency, CAL FIRE, has a budget in the billions of dollars and a year-round workforce of over 12,000 firefighters (California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection, 2023). They invest heavily in firefighting aircraft, sensors, and rapid attack crews. Even so, California struggles; its 2020 fire season burned over 1.7 million hectares (though Canada's 2023 fire season was an order of magnitude larger). The United States federal government supplements state efforts with agencies like the U.S. Forest Service and FEMA for disaster aid. One could argue that Canada, with its vast area, needs to scale up wildfire investment to a comparable per-hectare level as California. The Trudeau government's creation of a separate federal ministry of Emergency Preparedness and funding for more firefighting training is a step, but overall Canada still relies heavily on provincial fire agencies. When those agencies exhaust their budget or resources, they appeal to the federal government for ad-hoc help (military, money). The institutional fragmentation – 10 provinces and 3 territories each running their wildfire operations – can hinder a unified response. By contrast, Australia has a more integrated approach with state Rural Fire Services but also strong federal coordination during major bushfires. Perhaps Canada could benefit from a more centralized wildland fire service or a national wildfire emergency force that can be deployed anywhere quickly, rather than the current system of bilateral mutual aid between provinces and countries.

Australia offers lessons particularly in living with fire in a fire-adapted environment. Large parts of Australia's forests and bush require periodic fire to remain healthy, similar to Canada's lodgepole pine forests that historically would burn every few decades. Australia has experimented with and embraced prescribed burning and Indigenous cultural burning more than Canada has. For instance, in northern Australia's tropical savannas, Aboriginal ranger groups conduct early dry-season burns that have successfully reduced late-season wildfire extent and emissions (a program so effective it generates carbon credits) (Reuters, 2023; Australian Government, 2023). In southern Australia, after the Black Summer fires of 2019–2020 (which scorched an area the size of Turkey), there has been a revival of interest in cultural burning techniques. These involve setting cool, patchy fires in the right season to clear underbrush without destroying canopy or soil – exactly the kind of knowledge Indigenous Australians cultivated over millennia (Reuters, 2023; Australian Government, 2023). Cultural burns are more surgical than the broad-brush "hazard reduction burns" that fire agencies typically do; they require local knowledge of plant and animal cycles. The Australian government has started funding such programs (e.g., grants for Indigenous-led fire management on country) (Australian Government, 2023). Canada is beginning to see similar movements – for example, Parks Canada and some First Nations in B.C. and the Yukon have collaborated on bringing back fire on the landscape in a controlled way. But these are still pilot projects. The lesson from Australia is that scaling up preventative burning, including cultural burning, is crucial but must be done carefully and continuously. It's not without controversy; Australia still faces debates every year about whether not enough or too much controlled burning is being done, and there is always a risk of escaped burns. Yet, the consensus among Australian fire scientists is that a certain amount of land must burn under planned conditions to avoid catastrophic burns under unplanned conditions. Canada's climate (with very cold winters) makes the window for safe burning smaller than in Australia, but we have opportunities in spring and fall that could be utilized far more.

Another Australian lesson is the importance of public communication and expectations management. After the Royal Commission into the 2020 bushfires, Australian authorities made clear that with climate change, there will be more bad fire years and that communities in fire-prone areas must be prepared to either defend their homes (if well-prepared) or evacuate early and not expect firefighters to save every structure. In Canada, we have perhaps not had that blunt conversation nationally. Evacuations in 2023 from places like Yellowknife and West Kelowna showed that sometimes the only option is to get people out and let the fire run its course around a defensible zone. We need national awareness that not every fire can be put out, and not every forest can (or should) be saved from burning. The goal should be to prevent unnecessary disasters – meaning minimizing loss of life, preventing fires from destroying communities or critical infrastructure, and reducing overly intense fires that irrevocably scar ecosystems. Australia's approach of co-existing with fire, even as it ramps up prevention, is instructive. As one firefighter in Victoria said, "We have to learn to live with fire – to use it in calmer times so it won't destroy us in bad times" (Reuters, 2023). Canada, too, will have to adopt this ethos as the new climate era unfolds.

It's important to address some counterarguments and narratives that arise in the wildfire debate, and to respond with a clear-eyed, systemic view. Not everyone agrees on the causes or solutions for Canada's wildfire problem, so let's consider a few points of contention:

• "It's all due to climate change, we can't do much except reduce emissions." Climate change is indeed a major driver making fires worse, and cutting greenhouse gas emissions is essential to limit further warming. However, this argument can become a fatalistic excuse for inaction on adaptation. Rebuttal: We don't have the luxury of choosing between mitigation (emissions reduction) and adaptation (fire management) – we must do both. Even with aggressive climate action, the next few decades are locked into higher fire risk. Structural measures (better forest management, community protection, early suppression of small fires) can greatly reduce the damage even in a hotter climate. For instance, better fuel management and preparedness can make a given fire less destructive, even if climate conditions are severe (Canadian Forest Service, 2023; World Resources Institute, 2023). Blaming climate change alone, as some leaders do to dodge responsibility, ignores the fact that other places with similar climates but better practices suffer less damage. Yes, climate change "loads the dice" for more fires, but human decisions determine how those fires impact us.

• "Wildfires are natural and we should just let them burn; suppression is the problem." There is a kernel of truth here: fire is a natural process, and past policies of total suppression did create unhealthy fuel buildups. Modern fire science agrees that we need more fire on the landscape in a controlled way. However, this argument taken to an extreme is dangerous. Rebuttal: We can't simply let all fires burn, because we have communities, infrastructure, and resources that require protection. The goal must be selective letting-burn (in remote areas when conditions are safe) combined with prescribed burns in off-season. Unchecked wildfire in a +2°C world can and will destroy entire towns (as seen in Lytton, B.C., in 2021 or Paradise, CA in 2018). So while fire must be reintroduced wisely, a wholesale return to "natural fire regimes" is not feasible in inhabited and economically valuable forests. We need a hybrid approach: more fire use, but also more strategic suppression when fires threaten high-value areas.

• "If only we logged more (or grazed more cattle), we'd have fewer fires." This is a popular refrain in some rural and industry circles – the idea that environmental protections have "locked up" forests and allowed fuel to accumulate, so the solution is more logging or more livestock to eat the grass. Rebuttal: Active land management is needed, but it matters greatly how it's done. Industrial logging as traditionally practiced can actually increase fire risk, especially if it creates slash debris, young even-aged stands, or eliminates broadleaf components (The Narwhal, 2023; Canadian Forest Service, 2023). Similarly, unmanaged grazing can lead to invasive grasses that are highly flammable (a big problem in western U.S.). The solution is targeted thinning and fuel removal guided by science, not a return to frontier-era deforestation or allowing massive herds to overgraze. Some logging practices, like removing smaller underbrush and thinning overly dense stands, do reduce fire intensity and could be expanded in a climate-smart way. But that is different from broad-brush clearcutting or simply increasing timber quotas. A related counterpoint is the timber industry's push for salvage logging after fires – ostensibly to remove dead fuel. While salvage has its place, studies show it can sometimes delay ecosystem recovery and even make future fires worse if it's accompanied by planting new flammable seedlings and removing natural regenerators. The nuanced rebuttal is: Use logging as a surgical tool for fuel management (e.g., mechanical thinning around communities), not as a wholesale answer. And integrate it with prescribed burns; otherwise the slash from thinning can itself become a fire hazard.

• "We're already spending a lot on wildfires; it's just an unpredictable problem." It's true that governments are spending more – but much of it is after-the-fact disaster relief or emergency overtime pay. Rebuttal: We need to distinguish between reactive spending and proactive investment. The data shows that $1 spent on prevention can save at least $10 in disaster losses (a rule of thumb in emergency management). Yet, our budgets are skewed the opposite way – the vast majority goes into fighting fires that have already started. This is the classic pay-me-now or pay-me-later scenario. For example, the federal DFAA spending skyrocketing to $1.7 billion in a year (Government of Canada, 2024) is essentially paying later for prevention we didn't do. The systemic fix is to flip that around: spend those billions upfront to fireproof powerlines, thin forests near towns, train crews, and retrofit homes, thereby avoiding multi-billion dollar payouts each summer. Politicians might counter that it's hard to justify big spending on something that "might" happen, but after back-to-back record seasons, it's clear these aren't hypotheticals – they're annual events.

• "Fire agencies are at their limit; we can't expect them to do more." Indeed, Canada's wildfire responders performed heroically in 2023-2024, and agencies were stretched thin. But that is precisely the sign of a system under strain that needs reform. Rebuttal: We shouldn't put the entire burden on firefighters to fix a systemic issue. We need to broaden responsibility to other sectors and the public. Why not incent the private sector (e.g., forestry, insurance companies, even tech companies) to invest in wildfire mitigation? Why not mobilize the Canadian Armed Forces more systematically every fire season for logistics and initial attack support, rather than ad-hoc deployments? And importantly, empower local communities and Indigenous groups with funding and authority to carry out prevention on their lands. The firefighting agencies have been candid that they can't just hire endless firefighters to chase ever-bigger fires – that's a losing game if underlying drivers aren't addressed (Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre, 2023; Public Safety Canada, 2023). Systemic change means breaking out of silos. Utilities need to harden power grids to not spark fires (learning from California's PG&E saga). Land-use planners need to say "no" to building new subdivisions in highly fire-exposed areas unless stringent safety measures are in place. These steps take political courage, but they significantly reduce pressure on fire agencies over time.

In sum, while there are differing views on wildfires, the weight of scientific and experiential evidence in 2025 supports a multifaceted approach. No single fix – not climate action alone, nor logging, nor more water bombers – will solve this. The rebuttal to simplistic narratives is a systems perspective: climate change and mismanagement and development patterns have all combined to create this crisis, so our response must tackle all of the above. The path forward is not about choosing between environment and economy, or between suppression and prevention; it's about intelligently integrating solutions across sectors and timeframes.