By Nina Thompson for Next City.
Broadcast version by Suzanne Potter for California News Service reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Each time a fire breaks out in Northern California, local activist Quinn Redwoods and their collaborators spring into action. Walking through Oakland, Redwoods distributes masks to as many people as they can. They hand out masks in places where no one else is paying attention, like crowded underpasses where unhoused people have no options to escape the smoke. They’ll even stop UPS drivers to offer them a mask. Redwoods describes the activity as “organically emerging.”

It all started back in 2017 during the Tubbs Fire, when it was so smoky in the San Francisco Bay Area it wasn’t safe to be outside. As people started posting on social media desperate to find masks, Redwoods quickly realized that the most vulnerable people in the community would be the least likely to have access to that kind of protective equipment — and also the most exposed. They scanned the web and found one hardware store in Oakland with masks, and went there to buy as many as they could. Then, they turned to Twitter and Venmo, created “Mask Oakland” accounts, and started raising money to buy more. Within hours, Redwoods was passing out masks.

What started as a pop-up organization has just kept going, as Californians and the rest of the country start to understand the risk of unhealthy air from wildfire smoke, which has grown exponentially in recent years. Since 2017, Redwoods has distributed tens of thousands of masks through Mask Oakland, and their approach includes paying special attention to overlooked or marginalized communities. That was part of the intention from the beginning, according to Redwoods, who identifies as “queer, trans, disabled, plural.” As they put it: “Woven in with the history of Mask Oakland and our climate activism has been advocating for people like us.”

Redwoods grew up in Arlington, Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D.C. They remember the community as divided into thirds: people working for the government, people trying to influence the government, and everyone else. Their parents took them to protests as a kid, and they chose to keep going when they were a teen. “From a young age, I also wanted to do something that would help people.”

Redwoods explored different approaches to activism. “And then … I learned that I’m trans and plural, and didn’t really know what to do with that at first,” they say. “So I just kind of went and worked for some environmental groups because I was like, ‘At least I need a planet.’”

Redwoods moved to California in 2014, looking for a place where they could connect with a larger trans community. Three years later, Redwoods was driving home from a permaculture conference near Santa Rosa in Northern California when the Tubbs Fire broke out. “And then it was really windy, like scary windy,” they recall. “And then there was smoke. And then we were driving down the 101 [highway] at night, and it was right before the 101 got shut down. … I drove past [the fire] and I was like, ‘Should we stop and like, look at this?’ And my friend was like, ‘No, keep driving!’”

During the fire, Redwoods remembers hearing that masks were sold-out in many places. They were able to pick up an N95, but many people didn’t have access to masks, which can help protect from wildfire smoke. Seeing so many people exposed to the toxic air freaked them out. “There were people under bridges, no one had any masks and everyone was outside.”

Redwoods decided to take action. “I bought $300 of N95s. And I took a picture of the receipt, created a Twitter account, and created a Venmo.”

From there, Mask Oakland was born.

Redwoods says they drove under some of the highway underpasses where people were camped out, “and I just started giving people some masks and talking to people.” There were no other programs doing anything similar to protect unhoused residents from smoke. “It was just very jarring, like no one’s doing anything. We’re the only ones doing this.”

They were underemployed at the time, and Redwoods recalls spending their days at the Impact Hub in Oakland, a coworking space, “just trying to figure out what I was doing in my life.” Without full-time employment, they lacked financial stability, but had the time and availability to get Mask Oakland off the ground. They were also able to connect with like-minded folks at the coworking space who were keen to help out. So they kept raising money and buying up new batches of masks from the same hardware store. “I think we got about 4,000 masks that year,” Redwoods says. “And I never recovered that 300 bucks.”

The fire ended, and Redwoods went on with their life once the need went away. But just the next year, in 2018, the need arose again. Redwoods started getting messages on Facebook, “and they were like, ‘Hey, the Camp Fire, have you heard of it? Are you guys going to do anything?’ And I was like, ‘Oh God, I guess we better do something.’”

Redwoods teamed up with others and started giving out masks again. One of the volunteers, Cassandra Williams, who had helped in 2017 as well, tweeted about what they were doing. By the end of that night, Redwoods says they received enough money to make up for the costs from that day. And then — “I woke up to about $15,000 in my Venmo from that Twitter thread. And we just built and built and built to about $100,000 raised and 85,000 masks distributed.”

Donations are only one part of the equation in running Mask Oakland. Redwoods found that they were always trying to balance three things: masks, money, and people. There would be an excess of one thing, and not enough of the other. They went through the cycle again in August through October of 2020, another active fire season

“It impacted my health, probably the health of a lot of people who were involved because it’s very stressful and feeling like if I don’t [do something], I can’t rest. If I don’t push myself a little further, then that might be thousands of people who don’t get anything, any help.” Despite the clear need for masks, Redwoods says there still weren’t any other organizations addressing the issue like Mask Oakland was.

The number of Americans experiencing at least one day of unhealthy air from wildfire smoke has increased 27 fold in the last decade, including almost 25 million people in 2020 alone. Since COVID hit, there’s been another complication: the politicization of masks. But the fire risk hasn’t gone anywhere, so Redwoods says people at their organization find themselves having to explain “it’s just for the smoke.”

Redwoods says COVID has “massively complexified everything,” including respiratory health. “It’s like a scientifically proven terrible combo. You know,fire, smoke and COVID.”

Another ongoing challenge: Redwoods says donations can be unreliable if you aren’t constantly “getting attention for the thing you’re doing.” When fires are happening, and there is a lot of media coverage, Mask Oakland receives more donations. But when the fires stop, it seems that people stop caring. Immediately after the Tubbs Fire in 2017 and the Camp Fire 2018, Redwoods says “the support and momentum just collapsed.”

They’ve learned to accept it as part of being a mutual aid organizer — staying nimble and finding other sources of income when it’s slow, so they aren’t dependent on fires to pay the rent.

“It’s a lot of riding waves,” Redwoods says. “And then also it creates this desire for another wave, but you know another wave won’t come unless there’s another fire.”


Nina Thompson wrote this article for Next City.


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Each summer, more lake beaches shut down as toxic algae blooms spread across the water and while climate change is often blamed, new research revealed a deeper culprit: humans.

Researchers from Michigan State University used open data to study climate change in 24,000 U.S. lakes. Using new methods and satellite data, they found climate-driven patterns in algae levels across freshwater lakes.

Patricia Soranno, professor of ecology at Michigan State University and co-author of the study, has spent nearly 30 years researching what affects water quality. While climate change plays a role, she said human activity is the true driving force behind the growing problem.

"We know what causes lakes to be greener," Soranno pointed out. "It's agriculture runoff, urban runoff, extra nutrients that come from lawns. All of those things we've known for decades, that's what causes lakes to be green."

Soranno and her team found climate affected algae in a third of the lakes, but not as expected. Only 4% had lasting algae growth, while 71% saw short-term spikes.

The study revealed sudden algae spikes often go unnoticed, making climate effects harder to track. Researchers said their method helps fill this gap. Soranno added while human activity drives more blooms, lakes with less human impact are more vulnerable to climate change.

"It's affecting the lakes that are fairly pristine now and are in pretty good shape," Soranno noted. "This influences Michigan lakes actually, because Michigan lakes have fairly good water quality already."

Soranno stressed the need for strong policies and regulations to protect waterways. Her team has a goal to study every U.S. lake using satellite imagery. However, she is deeply concerned federal cuts could threaten their research.


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School districts and county governments across Texas are being encouraged to consider building decarbonization to combat climate change.

The process reduces or eliminates carbon emissions in buildings by making energy efficiency improvements. According to a report by the Texas Climate Jobs Project, existing structures are a large contributor to carbon emissions, adding as much as 40% to the total worldwide.

Sandra Bustillos, the organization's carbon-free and healthy-buildings coordinator, said the report focuses on three main areas of improvement.

"There's the utility savings aspect of it," she said. "The next one is job creation, so we really abdicate for the creation of high-quality, family sustaining jobs. And then lastly, we also discuss health benefits."

She said Americans spend 90% of their time inside buildings that have carbon emissions that could impact their heart and lungs. They found that retrofitting all the public schools in Texas could boost the economy by creating up to 84,000 jobs.

The report shows that making small changes like installing solar panels, upgrading windows and doors and enhancing insulation can improve building efficiency and reduce emissions. Bustillos says the impact of climate change has been evident in recent weather events across the state.

"Hurricane Beryl this past year or four years ago Winter Storm Uri. It had really deep impacts on our communities - whether that be environmentally, socially or financially. So, I think it's urgent to be thinking about the effects of climate change and it's also urgent to be thinking about how we can create resilient buildings. "

The report found that rising heat also threatens the local economy and natural resources. Experts warn that a changing climate is likely to reduce water availability in the state, which will impact farmers' ability to grow crops.


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For generations, small family farms have worked to feed Mississippi communities but small-scale operations, particularly those run by Black farmers, face growing challenges in a landscape increasingly dominated by large agribusinesses.

The struggles are not new. Systemic barriers to getting loans and resources continue to disadvantage Black farmers.

Henry Bell, co-owner of Old Country Farm in Jefferson County, said his father started farming in the 1930s. Now working alongside his daughter, they focus on sustainable livestock farming and seasonal crops, like berries and sweet potatoes. Bell pointed out challenges like delays in loan disbursements have directly affected their planting schedules.

"You know, you have growing season and all that. You miss that growing season then you've got to wait to start the next year, and of course that put us back behind the white farmers," Bell explained. "The white farmers, they always got their money on time and most times, they got more money than they need."

Bell worries corporate farms "get the best of everything," compared to smaller operations. Last year, the Biden administration provided more than $2 billion in direct payments to Black and minority farmers who faced discrimination from the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Climate change adds new threats. The Bells remember the devastating 2001 freeze, which wiped out their livestock and severely affected the farm.

Brittany Bell Surratt, co-owner of Old Country Farm, said extreme weather, from intense heat to sudden freezes, continues to disrupt their operations.

"The South shouldn't get that cold. But at the same time, we are also seeing these extreme heat temperatures, to the traditional climate change point, in which you have long periods of droughts," Surratt observed. "So, there's not rain that's coming, to be able to have the grass and to fertilize."

Many small Mississippi farms also struggle with the digital divide. Surratt noted her father remains largely disconnected from modern technology, operating mostly off the grid.

"They don't have Wi-Fi at his house," Surratt added. "There's a technology divide that is shutting out rural and older farmers where they are not being able to get the information that's needed when these types of climate disaster do happen and there may be sometime of relief."

Despite the challenges, the Bells said they are dedicated to sustainable farming and advocating for policies to support small farms, including race-based programs to address historical discrimination.

They also want to inspire younger generations to take pride in farming. In 2018, Bell's granddaughter made history as the first African American girl in the area to win the "Dairy Goat Queen" title at the local fair.


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