Rethinking wildfire, data, and land relationships

THE FIRE IS US

by Natasha Horak | Spring of 2026

What wildfire data reveals

................................................................................................................................................................. and what it leaves out

For thousands of years, fire has played an ecological role in many landscapes, helping forests regenerate, clearing underbrush, reducing fuel buildup, and maintaining ecosystem health. Yet across North America, wildfires are growing larger, hotter, and more difficult to control, becoming one of the defining environmental challenges of the twenty-first century. Fire itself is not new. What has changed is not its presence, but its scale and intensity, shaped by systems of governance, land management decisions, and the ways fire is measured within national data systems. As a result, fire is often viewed primarily through a managerial lens, one that overlooks it's relational, historical, and land stewardship roles.

The Scale of Fire Today

Wildfires in both Canada and the United States reveal growing ecological and economic instability, as well as the limits of relying primarily on suppression as a fire management strategy. In the United States, federal agencies spent $3.5 billion on wildfire suppression in 2022 [17]. In contrast, while Canada has experienced significant wildfire-related losses, including $7.7 billion in insured losses from four major events in 2024 [20], comparable national suppression cost data is not consistently made publicly accessible.

This difference highlights an important distinction: while wildfire activity is recorded in both countries, not all aspects of wildfire management are equally visible. What is measured and made accessible shapes how wildfire is understood, often emphasizing response where data is available while obscuring other dimensions where it is not.

These figures highlight the growing financial burden of wildfire suppression across North America. Yet as spending continues to rise, the underlying conditions that fuel these fires remain largely unchanged. Climate change intensifies fire behavior, while long-standing land management patterns continue to shape how fire moves across the landscape.

Is the current system in North America addressing the underlying causes of wildfire, or simply responding to repeated consequences?

We keep paying more to fight the same fires

Across regions, the pattern repeats. Fire counts rise and fall, but suppression costs trend upward. The data makes one thing highly visible: how much we spend to respond, while leaving other dimensions, like prevention and cultural burning, largely unseen. What is measured shapes what we prioritize.

The chart below brings these patterns into view across North America, tracking how often wildfires occur alongside how much is spent to suppress them. While fire activity fluctuates, the cost of response continues to climb, pointing to a widening gap between the presence of fire and the systems built to manage it.

Wildfires and suppression spending across North America, 1993 to 2025

How did we come to this moment?

In many ways, today’s megafires reflect the state of the world itself—shaped by centuries of colonialism, land-use decisions, and an increasing distance from reciprocal relationships with nature. As Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in Braiding Sweetgrass, “to love a place is not enough, we must find ways to heal it.” In this sense, fire is not separate from us. The fires we see today are not new—they are the result of choices.

The fire is us

We need to reevaluate how we understand fire, history, and our relationship with the natural world.

This means confronting the disconnection created by colonial systems—and recognizing the possibility of reconnecting with the land in more reciprocal ways. As Yvon Chouinard writes, “The solution to a lot of the world’s problems may be to turn around and take a forward step. You can’t just keep trying to make a flawed system work.” Attention must shift toward wildfire prevention, particularly Indigenous cultural burning practices and their deep connection to land stewardship.

Data on Indigenous fire practices could help illustrate their benefits for both communities and ecosystems. Yet finding this data reveals a deeper issue: Indigenous-led land stewardship is largely absent from dominant government datasets. Indigenous fire knowledge is not only a cultural practice—it is also a form of data. Indigenous Peoples have the right to control how that data is collected, interpreted, and shared. When this knowledge is presented without Indigenous leadership, it can appear inclusive while erasing its cultural meaning and authority.

To compare fire patterns in the United States and Canada, this study draws on national fire datasets from both countries, focusing on fire causes and prevention.

However, directly comparable data is difficult to find due to differences in reporting systems and accessibility. In the U.S., fire occurrence data comes from the U.S. Forest Service and the National Interagency Fire Occurrence Database, covering the period from 1993 to 2007. Prescribed fire data comes from the U.S. Geological Survey ScienceBase Catalog, which reports biannually. Wildfire suppression costs are drawn from the National Interagency Fire Center’s records from 1985 to 2023.

In Canada, available data comes from the National Forestry Database, which compiles statistics from provincial and territorial agencies and focuses on fire causes and occurrences, covering the years 2008 to 2022. While suppression cost data may exist within agencies, reliance on publicly available sources ultimately shapes what can be understood about wildfire activity and costs.

Gaps in reporting are common, limiting visibility into the true cost of wildfire across regions. Together, these datasets offer insight into wildfire patterns across North America—while also revealing how fire is recorded, categorized, and ultimately made visible.

These gaps shaped the approach to this project.

Nature is us. Our actions mirror the fire.

What the data shows—and what it doesn’t

What is missing is just as important as what is measured.

Data holds truth, but only part of the story.

The Data Does Not
Begin The Story.

It reflects it.

Fire is not just a natural force. Dr. Henry T Lewis, an anthropologist at the University of Alberta in Edmonton, explains that people used fire as a tool, understanding how timing, landscape, and ecosystems work together. What many call “natural” fire was often shaped by human actions. Fire has always played a role beyond being unpredictable; it has been used for land management based on knowledge of seasonal cycles, geography, and cultural responsibilities. For Indigenous communities across Canada and the United States, fire was used purposefully to shape forests and ecosystems. Instead of just being destructive, fire helped increase biodiversity and maintain ecological balance.

These communities used fire to clear brush, reduce carbon fuel, support water systems, and encourage ecological growth. Fire provided resources like food, medicinal plants, and habitats for both wildlife and people. At the Interior Fire Keepers Workshop, fire symbolizes more than just a tool; it represents a sacred relationship based on responsibility, a deep relational bond, and mutual care.

Fire and living landscape are undeniably integral to the ecosystem

Instead of being controlled, fire is seen as a gift that deserves respect and nurturing. This perspective fosters a strong connection, allowing fire to serve many roles in the environment rather than being feared. [8] Indigenous fire practices, known as cultural burning, played a key role in shaping the landscape. These practices created clear paths for elk migration, making hunting easier and enabling other species to move freely. The careful use of fire helped acorn trees flourish, supported muskrat populations, and increased fish habitats, demonstrating an understanding of how ecosystems are interconnected.

Managing meadows and water through controlled burning allows future generations to gather, hunt, and live harmoniously with nature, thereby reinforcing a legacy of sustainability. Elizabeth Azzuz, Director of Traditional Fire at the Cultural Fire Management Council (CFMC), highlights that fire is closely linked to community identity and well-being; it symbolizes family, stewardship, and a commitment to caring for the land. [5]

Fire was not only suppressed but also criminalized

Colonial authorities in North America created rules to control how Indigenous peoples used the land and how they moved. In California, the 1850 Act for the Governance and Protection of Indigenous Peoples allowed forced labor, violence, and the removal of Indigenous communities from their lands. These regulations controlled not only the land but also the people living on it. By 1874, similar oversight was applied to fire management. The Bush Fire Act in British Columbia banned lighting fires on land, including traditional burning practices used for forest care. [11 ] [10 ] [8 ]

What was once a caring practice became illegal. Historical records and Indigenous stories describe the harsh penalties people faced: many paid fines, went to jail, and were banned from practicing their traditions. Some accounts even mention Indigenous people being executed for lighting fires on their own land. [10 ] [11 ].

This change was not just about new laws; it disrupted knowledge, practices, and connections to the land. The fire did not go out naturally; it was forcibly extinguished. When fire was removed, significant changes began to occur. Low-intensity burns, which used to occur regularly in forests, stopped. As a result, seedlings were not cleared, leading to denser forest growth over time. Open landscapes became more continuous with fewer natural breaks to slow the spread of fire. [10 ]

The shift took time and developed gradually. Tree-ring evidence shows that fires were Common in the past; in some areas, they occurred roughly every 5 to 10 years. They helped maintain the forest's structure and prevent the buildup of fuel. [10 ] However, without these natural fire cycles, fuel started to gather across the landscape. What was once a resilient ecosystem with regular, low-intensity fires has become vulnerable to large wildfires, significantly changing its ecological balance. Governments spend substantial funds on helicopters, tankers, and emergency response efforts, while much less money is allocated to Indigenous fire practitioners, who are actively caring for the land. [ 4 ]

Dr. Amy Cardinal Christianson, a fire scientist and policy advisor, serves as the Senior Fire Advisor with the Indigenous Leadership Initiative and is an Indigenous fire specialist with Parks Canada. She notes that colonization changed how people viewed fire, branding it as dangerous and destructive. Starting around 1610 in Newfoundland, settlers adopted suppression policies that later spread throughout Canada. Indigenous burning practices were criminalized, and forests were regarded as untouched wilderness, ignoring the fact that Indigenous peoples had managed these lands for generations. This shift altered the relationship with the land, creating a view of fire as an enemy to be eradicated.

Indigenous fire knowledge, integral for both cultural and ecological practices, was not entirely lost but was significantly disrupted by land dispossession, residential schools, and fire suppression policies. [3 ] By the 1970s, it is estimated that 90% to 95% of these knowledge practices had been affected. However, this knowledge persisted within families through shared practices, small burns, and collective memories. Karuk fire practitioners in the Klamath-Siskiyou Mountains in the mid-Klamath River region of Northern California, assert that cultural burning continued even when it was illegal. This knowledge also endured through basket weaving, food systems, and intergenerational teachings. The true disruption stemmed from the loss of freedom to practice this knowledge, which impacted who could burn, how it was done, and who had the authority to control it.

Prescribed burns were allowed. Cultural (control burns) were not.
That distinction still shapes how fire is governed today.

Knowledge was not lost; it was disrupted

Indigenous fire knowledge, foundational to cultural and ecological practices, was not lost but was interrupted by land dispossession, residential schools, and fire suppression policies [1] [4]. By the 1970s, it is estimated that 90% to 95% of knowledge practices had been affected [8]. However, it persisted within families through collective practices, small burns, and shared memories. Karuk fire practitioners assert that cultural burning continued even amid criminalization [6]. This knowledge also stayed alive in basket weaving, food systems, and intergenerational duties. Lisa Shepherd emphasizes that this understanding goes deeper than memory, noting, “We could talk about it, but it’s not the same as being there” [4]. The real disruption was in losing the freedom to practice this knowledge, affecting who can burn, how it’s done, and who controls the authority to do so.

The land changed alongside these policies

In many ecosystems, regular low-intensity burns historically cleared out understory vegetation and maintained open, diverse forests. When these burns were absent, shrubs, saplings, and smaller trees flourished, making forests denser, more uniform, and more interconnected [3]. At the same time, logging removed many large, fire-resistant trees. Consequently, instead of fewer fires, the nature of the fires changed. They became hotter, faster, and more destructive.

Amy Christianson provides a clear explanation of this issue. Instead of eliminating fire, fire suppression has created conditions that lead to more intense fire behavior, as discussed in the Good Fire Podcast. Today, this is evident, as a single human-caused ignition can burn tens of thousands of acres. For example, the 2014 King Fire in California scorched approximately 97,000 acres. What once was a lower-intensity fire event has now escalated into a large-scale catastrophe.

Similarly, the 2016 Fort McMurray wildfire, known as the Horse River fire, spread rapidly, within hours, not days. This rapid spread was due to a combination of extreme heat, dry fuels, strong winds, and dense forests producing a high-intensity crown fire that generated its own weather and quickly spread across a continuous landpscape. The fire burned about 1.47 million acres, making it one of the largest and most destructive wildfires in Canadian history. Suppression efforts for this fire cost approximately $1 billion CAD, resulting in total economic losses of $9 to $10 billion CAD, making it one of the most expensive disasters in Canadian history. This issue is not just about fuel accumulation; it is also about the loss of relational dynamics. As described by the CFMC, cultural burning goes beyond simply mitigating hazards. It hopes to restore balance, rehabilitate landscapes, and reintroduce the conditions that fire once helped sustain [4]. The land, adapted to human stewardship, is now responding negatively to its absence.

Through consistent, intentional burning, Indigenous stewardship shaped landscapes that looked like mosaics, with both burned and unburned areas at different stages of growth [10]. These varied patterns reduced fuel continuity, slowed fire spread, and supported a range of ecosystems [10]. When fire suppression policies were adopted, these trends shifted. Areas that had historically thrived due to deliberate burning became thicker and more uniform. Analyses reveal that regions left unburned for long periods experienced more severe, destructive fires, while previously burned landscapes recovered quickly and provided habitat for wildlife [18]. With the implementation of fire suppression, this variety of structures decreased. Forests became denser and more uniform. Without natural barriers in the landscape, fires now spread farther, faster, and with greater intensity [10]. The idea commonly known today as "mosaic theory" is not new; it represents a historically rooted connection among humans, fire, and the earth, grounded in care, accountability, and stewardship rather than dominance [4].

Fire did not uniformly shape the land; it established distinct patterns.

Today's megafires reveal centuries-old geopolitical systems.

The current wildfire trend represents a significant shift into a new era, characterized by changes in behavior and intensity. Unlike in the past, where wildfires were often viewed as isolated incidents or freak events, the modern context underscores a changing baseline that cannot be ignored. [14] In June 2023, Canada experienced an alarming number of wildfires, with 414 active incidents, 239 of which were out of control. This situation was exacerbated by smoke spreading into neighboring regions, resulting in some of the worst air quality in cities like Toronto and New York. [3].Today's wildfires are influenced by a combination of factors, including accumulated fuel, disrupted ecosystems, and governance structures focused on fire suppression rather than proactive management. Additionally, increased human habitation in fire-prone areas has contributed to the challenge. While some landscapes still experience fewer fires than before colonization, the nature of these fires has changed: lower-intensity burns have largely been replaced by high-severity events that pose greater threats to ecosystems and communities. [14]. We need to recognize that fire is not inherently destructive. However, under the current conditions, it can lead to catastrophic outcomes. This issue extends beyond climate concerns; it encompasses governance, land use, and the relationships between communities and their environments. Therefore, planning based solely on historical extremes is no longer adequate. [14]

What the data shows and what it leaves out.

Wildfire data is extensive. However, it is not impartial. It records the extent of land burned, costs for suppression, evacuations, and causes. It can indicate how many fires ignited, their sizes, and the expenses incurred. Yet, it seldom reveals what fire can revitalize. Cultural burning is frequently overlooked in datasets or categorized broadly as “prescribed burns”[2]. This diminishes the distinction between fire managed by agencies and that stewarded by Indigenous peoples. As Elizabeth Azzuz states, cultural burning brings back gathering areas, hunting zones, and relationships. These are metrics that are difficult to capture in data systems. Meanwhile, funding and research continue to flow through non-Indigenous channels, even when they center on Indigenous fire knowledge [4]. The lack of Indigenous fire representation in data is not a coincidence. It mirrors a longer history of exclusion. The system can quantify fire, but it cannot quantify care.

Fire did not uniformly shape the landscape; it formed distinct patterns. Through consistent, purposeful burning, Indigenous land management created landscapes resembling mosaics, with a mix of burned and unburned regions, each at various stages of growth. These patterns helped reduce fuel continuity, slow the spread of fire, and foster diverse ecosystems. [4] When fire suppression occurred, this structure was lost, leading to denser and more uniform forests. Without natural breaks in the landscape, fires now spread more quickly and intensely. [4]. The idea, often referred to as “mosaic theory,” is not a recent concept; it reflects a deep-rooted relationship among people, fire, and the land that has been disrupted rather than eliminated. As Lewis points out, the land itself reflects human historical influence. By excluding Indigenous fire management from data systems, what is left out is not merely information, but the acknowledgment that fire, people, and landscape have always been interconnected.

What goes uncounted encompasses

Restoration of elk and wildlife corridors
Restoration of food and medicinal plants
Indigenous governance and decision-making
Regeneration of materials for basket weaving
Engagement of youth in intergenerational teaching
Protection of elders through cultural burning practices [5]

What is missing isn't just data, but the relationship.

Cultural burning should not be merely incorporated into existing frameworks; it represents a distinct relationship that relies on timing, accountability, and a profound understanding of the land. This practice connects fire with water, salmon, plants, animals, and people [4]. It rejuvenates not only ecosystems but also governance, cultural memory, and community. Proper authority is essential for its successful implementation.

As many fire practitioners indicate, the real concern isn't whether cultural burning is effective; rather, it is whether Indigenous communities are allowed to engage in this practice on their own terms [4]. Even today, cultural burns often require navigating permits, agencies, and systems for external approval. While participation is allowed, authority remains unequal [4].

However, this situation is evolving. Cultural fire initiatives are growing, with communities setting up training centers, rehabilitating land, and educating the youth. What is called "revival" is not entirely new; it represents a return to traditional practices. “Fire is one of the means to reconnect us to the surrounding land, our ancestors, and our cultural practices” [4]. The challenge lies not in a lack of knowledge but in the conditions required to implement this knowledge effectively.

What is missing is not
knowledge;

it's a inalienable human right

What becomes visible is that, across Canadian and U.S. wildfire datasets, fires are categorized by cause: lightning, human, natural, unspecified, unknown, and prescribed burning. However, cultural burning is not recognized in either dataset. This omission results from a historical context of fire suppression and governance.

In the U.S., policies like the Act for the Government and Protection of Indians restricted Indigenous burning practices. Similarly, in Canada, legislation such as the Bush Fire Act limited the use of fire on the land. These policies, including the Act for the Government and Protection of Indians (1850) in California and the Bush Fire Act (1874) in British Columbia, were part of broader systems that restricted the use

of fire, thereby suppressing Indigenous practices.

Although some systems now start to recognize this exclusion, the legacy of these restrictions still influences how fire is understood, managed, and documented today. Prescribed burning is accepted and incorporated in current fire management practices, but Indigenous cultural burning, which is deeply connected to historical relationships with the land, remains absent in these data structures.

In Canada, certain government agencies are beginning to acknowledge the historical effects of fire suppression policies on Indigenous land management. While still developing, this recognition shows a growing openness about how governance has influenced fire practices. Federal frameworks now highlight commitments to self-determination, recognition of rights, and Indigenous participation in decision-making, framing reconciliation as a move toward partnership and shared governance.[8] However, within these frameworks, policy responses often focus more on administration and service delivery than on fully addressing land rights, jurisdiction, or Indigenous authority over fire management. What appears to be reform frequently reflects a restructuring of governance rather than a genuine redistribution of authority.[9]

In contrast, similar recognitions are much less consistently present in the United States and its wildfire data systems, where fire is mainly viewed through operational categories such as suppression, acres burned, and response costs. When governance influences how fire is understood, it also affects what is recorded, measured, and made visible in data.

What the datasets do not capture is......

Understanding Wildfire and Land Stewardship

Wildfire datasets often categorize fire by measurable causes, yet these classifications reveal a gap in how fire is actually experienced on the land. Fire is not just an event to be measured; it exists within a living system of relationships, timing, and care.

The Symbiotic Relationship with Nature

Humans and the natural world are deeply interconnected. As Don Stevens, Chief of the Nulhegan Band of the Coosuk-Abenaki Nation, explains, "There is always a place for multiple understandings and ways of looking at the world. We are all dependent on each other, whether we see it or not. The Oxygen that is provided to us to live is the byproduct of plants. The CO2 that we expel as a byproduct of our breathing is the very food that plants need. It is a symbiotic relationship, isn't it? Plants and animals do not have pencils, writing tablets, or paper.” Nature embodies systems of understanding that have guided land stewardship for generations. Don Stevens continues, “The plants have their own datasets if we are willing to look beyond how humans determine 'data’. “ We must have the ability to open our eyes, ears, and listen to what nature is telling us. We must learn when to burn the grass and forests to remove underbrush that is clogging the forests from growth. We need to know when to leave the fallen trees alone that create habitat for certain birds, rabbits, and life forms needing those things. It is all there; we just need to become part of the circle of life and become part of it instead of trying to dominate it.”

We are not on the landscape, we are the landscape.

With gratitude to Don Stevens, Chief of the Nulhegan Band of the Coosuk Abenaki Nation, for sharing his knowledge, perspective, and relationship to the land.

Thank you

Sources & Acknowledgments

[ 1 ] Norgaard, Kari Marie. “Colonization, Fire Suppression, and Indigenous Resurgence in the Face of Climate Change.” YES! Magazine, October 22, 2019.

[ 2 ] Kwong, Emily, and Lauren Sommer. “Managing Wildfire Through Cultural Burns.” NPR Shortwave, July 28, 2021.

[ 3 ] Ward, Alie, host. “Indigenous Fire Ecology (Good Fire).” Ologies Podcast, August 17, 2021.

[ 4 ] “Good Fire Podcast Series.” YourForest Podcast.

[ 5 ] Aldridge, Jessica, host. “Fire as Medicine: The Indigenous Way of Cultural Burning with Elizabeth Azzuz.” EcoJustice Radio, November 27, 2020.

[ 6 ] June, Lila, host. “The Karuk Nation and the Original Prescribed Burns of Turtle Island.” Nihizhí, Our Voices: An Indigenous Solutions Podcast, December 20, 2023.

[ 7 ] Gonzales, Kate. “Good Fire: The Case for Cultural and Prescribed Burns.” National Wildlife Federation, September 24, 2025.

[ 8 ] Government of Canada. “Principles Respecting the Government of Canada's Relationship with Indigenous Peoples.” Department of Justice Canada, 2025.

[ 9 ] King, Hayden, and Shiri Pasternak. Canada’s Emerging Indigenous Rights Framework: A Critical Analysis. Yellowhead Institute, 2018.

[ 10 ] Jones, Nicola. “On Controlling Fire, New Lessons from a Deep Indigenous Past.” Yale Environment 360, July 24, 2025.

[ 11 ] “Act for the Government and Protection of Indians.” PBS: American Experience.

[ 12 ] Government of British Columbia. “Cultural and Prescribed Fire Resources; Bush Fire Act (1874) context.” Gov.bc.ca.

[ 13 ] Tai, Jessica. “Changing the Course of Wildfire Management in California: Highlights from the Harold Biswell Papers.” UC Berkeley Library Update, May 3, 2023.

[ 14 ] “21st Century Fire: What Recent Wildfires Tell Us About Our Future.” Interview with John Vaillant, hosted by Doug Lewin. Energy Capital Podcast, July 24, 2025.

[ 15 ] Canadian Council of Forest Ministers. “National Forestry Database – Fire Data.” 2026.

[ 16 ] Canadian Council of Forest Ministers. “National Forestry Database – Forest Fires.”

[ 17 ] National Interagency Fire Center. “Wildland Fire Suppression Costs.” U.S. Department of the Interior & U.S. Forest Service, 2026.

[ 18 ] Lewis, Henry T. “In Retrospect.” In Before the Wilderness: Environmental Management by Native Californians, edited by Thomas C. Blackburn and Kat Anderson, Ballena Press, 1993. Reposted by Western Institute for Study of the Environment, February 25, 2008.

[ 19 ] Stevens, Don, Chief, Nulhegan Band of the Coosuk-Abenaki Nation. Personal communication (email), March 2026.

[ 20 ] Canadian Association of Fire Chiefs. “Press Release: Census 2024.” 2024.

Spring of 2026