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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A group of Florida middle schoolers is tackling water pollution in an unconventional way - by collecting scientific samples while surfing and skateboarding. The SurfSkate Science program in South Florida, featured in the upcoming CBS series "The Visioneers," trains students to monitor water quality along coastal areas, with their data contributing to a national NOAA database. The Sunshine State's struggle with water quality and climate impacts has made it a laboratory for grassroots solutions, so intrepid host Zay Harding dives into a mission of discovery highlighting those working to protect the planet.

"There has got to be a way to make this exciting for them; how do we tie in skating or surfing with this? And so they are letting their kids do this and bring their friends and then educating them to being aware of it, and that's really what the whole series is about," he explained.

While this series circles the globe showcasing climate solutions - from Norway to Arizona - it keeps coming back to Florida, featuring three innovations, and that's no accident. With rising seas and record storms, Florida has become a lab for climate survival tactics. "The Visioneers" premieres Saturday at 9 a.m. EDT.

The series also features Miami-based Kind Designs, a startup fighting flooding with 3D-printed "living seawalls" that mimic mangrove roots. Harding said the founder, Ukrainian immigrant Anya Freeman, was inspired after years of wading through Miami's flooded streets.

"She said I've got to get my head around this and try to come up with a solution, and she's come up with these seawalls that are now protecting Florida. Yeah, it's these people who are getting mad, then making change," Harding continued.

The series showcases how everyone can contribute to climate solutions - from former lawyers to schoolchildren.

Thais Lopez Vogel, cofounder and trustee of VoLo Foundation, said the inclusive approach is key.

"Through emotions, through actions, through doing things. So I think this is a different way to tackle the climate crisis. We are trying to do it in every angle, and this one is going to be very, very effective," Vogel said.

The series comes as the state has seen a 5% increase in high-tide flooding since 2000, according to NOAA's 2024 Sea Level Rise Report, while a Florida Climate Institute study estimates coastal erosion costs $1.4 billion annually.

The U.S. Supreme Court this month declined to hear a case brought by youth activists, who argued the federal government has failed to protect them from climate change.

Minnesota teens are also elevating their voices on this topic. The court case was seen as a potential game-changer in highlighting the influence the fossil fuel industry has on federal policy.

Separately, a coalition of Minnesota high school students is pushing the Legislature to approve a bill that would bring climate justice education to classrooms in the state.

Wayzata High School Sophomore Ansh Shah said if his generation will have to help with solutions, they'll need the facts.

"We haven't had stuff taught to us on our own," said Shah. "We have to go out and we have to find all these information sources ourselves. And if we had, like, actual curriculum in schools, it'll make it a lot easier for people to be informed on this and actually want to make an effort."

The bill calls for a model program - consistent with state standards - with some focus on how marginalized communities often face the worst effects of climate change.

Similar to the national court case, the Minnesota effort has run into setbacks. Earlier proposals didn't gain traction in recent legislative sessions - and so far, this one hasn't received much attention.

But like their peers elsewhere in the country, these Minnesota students feel their effort will turn some heads, even if they're not always successful.

Fellow Wayzata Sophomore Vedanth Srinivasf said despite the urgent tone associated with climate change, it's important to think longer-term.

"Climate change isn't something that's going to be solved in the next 10 years," said Srinivasf. "It'll have to be solved in the next 50 years. So, starting right now, through small incremental steps, is a solution."

These students will be well into their professional careers by the time Minnesota is required to meet its goal of generating 100% carbon-free electricity in the state.

A landmark law signed by Gov. Tim Walz two years ago says that mandate has to be met by 2040.




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The Pacific Northwest Water Year Impacts Assessment, an important resource for managing drought and other climate extremes, was published today. The assessment tracks impacts of weather conditions on different sectors across Washington, Oregon and Idaho. The 2024 water year, which starts and ends in the fall, was Washington's fourth warmest in more than 100 years. Higher temperatures and low snowpack contributed to drought in much of the state, according to the new data.

Karin Bumbaco, climatologist and lead author of the assessment, says the research is helpful to understand cumulative impacts of drought on the region.

"Even though our snowpack is doing better now compared with last year, that really has to be seen through the lens of deficits from the previous year and even before," she explained.

Bumbaco added that in the last decade, droughts have been more frequent than usual in Washington. The assessment focuses on impacts of either too much or too little water on seven sectors, including agriculture, drinking water, fisheries and forestry.

Bumbaco said the agricultural sector in Washington reported the highest number of impacts from dry conditions last year.

"That can range from limited water availability, reduced crop yields. There was also quite a few reports about negative consequences for livestock and grazing," she continued.

Bumbaco said heat, fire and smoke forced recreation areas to close, and the drought brought increased insect activity and tree mortality. This is the fifth Water Year Assessment, and Bumbaco added that along with the challenges she has noticed more people working to mitigate impacts of a changing climate.

"There seems to be more climate resilience being built across our region. And people are taking actions to kind of avoid the worst impacts from either really wet conditions or really dry conditions," she said.

For example, she said farmers are changing crops, as well as the timing of irrigation, and monitoring water use and availability more closely. While some areas of the state saw reduced stream flow, increasing salmon mortality, the assessment was not all bad news. Bumbaco said a well-timed August rain supported a record salmon run in North Central Washington.





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