OPINION: It’s time to ban fireworks … for real

Drought conditions are expected to intensify this summer. So why are we still celebrating with explosives?

Morning after: Fireworks leave a trail of trash. For starters. Photo: Pacific Beach Coalition

By Aaron Gilbreath. July 3, 2024. Every Fourth of July, a family in our Portland neighborhood lights off enormous amounts of fireworks and what sound like mortar shells until as late as 11 p.m.

Another neighbor says they’ve done this for over 30 years.

It doesn’t matter if your baby is sleeping or how many terrified dogs are trembling. The family calls this their tradition, and they’re gonna do it whether you like it or not.

They consider themselves patriotic. The have an American flag on their front porch, but their fireworks are illegal in Oregon.

They likely bought their fireworks in Washington or Idaho. Lots of people do.

That makes our patriotic neighbor’s tradition both illegal and annoying.

It’s also dangerous.

According to the National Safety Council, fireworks start an average of 19,000 fires each year.

In the era of climate change, few things represent our worsening ecological situation like summer forest fires.

Few blazes started by fireworks actually become wildland fires, but is it worth risking even one?

Fires now define summer as much as school vacations and Cascades hikes. Fires dictate where we can camp and spend our vacation. Fires dictate when residents in many places can even go outside.

Smoke discolors summer air, turning scenic views as yellow as an ashtray. It swallows our region’s famous volcanoes, erasing icons like Mount Rainier and Mount Hood from the horizon.

In September 2020, forest fire smoke blocked the sun in Portland for 10 straight days. For a while, Oregonians west of the Cascades were breathing in the most toxic air on the planet.

Forest fires are a major contributor to greenhouse gas emissions, during a time where our species’ survival requires keeping forest carbon in the ground , instead of sending it into the atmosphere.

July is often the hottest summer month in our neck of the woods. July 2023 was actually the hottest month in recorded human history .

Naturally, July is the also month Americans light off the most fireworks.

As forest fires continue to be commonplace across the Pacific Northwest— last summer, fires burned enough Canadian forest to fill three Irelands—forest fire smoke increasingly affects local economies, ecology and human and wildlife health.

All of this makes it essential that officials work harder across agencies to reduce the fire risk by truly working to enforce local fireworks laws.

Fires are too critical a problem for the multitude of governmental agencies not to tackle with greater resources.

So why are we so gung ho about fireworks?

And why do so many official agencies turn a blind eye to their use?

The law

In Oregon, the law is clear: unless restricted by a local ordinance, you can buy sparklers, fountains, smoke bombs and wheels that spin on the ground from a permitted retailer.

But the un-permitted use, sale and possession of fireworks that explode, fly into the air or fly over 12 feet horizontally is illegal.

That means no Roman candles, bottle rockets or firecrackers. You need a professional permit for those.

Oregon law also prohibits fireworks in state and federal forests, state parks, campgrounds and beaches.

The penalty for violations?

“Under Oregon law, officials may seize fireworks and you may be charged with a class B misdemeanor, which could result in a fine of up to $2,500 per violation and a civil penalty of up to $500,” according to the Oregon State Fire Marshal’s website . “Those who misuse fireworks or allow fireworks to cause damage may be held liable and required to pay fire suppression costs or other damage by their children.”

Is a quick thrill worth risking an environmental calamity?

To reduce the threat of wildfire, cities like Portland have completely banned the sale and use of fireworks inside the city limits.

So locals buy their explosives outside of town.

Like Oregon, Washington briefly allows the sale of small consumer fireworks around the Fourth of July. Seattle, Spokane, Olympia, Tacoma and Vancouver each ban retail fireworks.

On Washington tribal lands, though, Tribes have sovereignty and can sell and use fireworks at their discretion, outside of state laws.

This means revelers are able to drive to tribal nations to buy fireworks and take them back to the places where they live. And celebrate.

Although it’s illegal to launch aerial fireworks in Idaho, you can purchase them legally there when you sign an affidavit promising not to light them in the state.

Around the Fourth of July, no one seems overly concerned about these regulations.

I wonder how many times in 30 years the police have talked to or ticketed my neighbors. Nothing’s slowed them down.

Fireworks bans mean little without enforcement.

The cost

According to the Oregon Fire Marshal , between 2014 and 2019, fireworks caused 1,173 fires, leading to over $4.9 million in property damage, 36 people injured and one person killed.

On September 2, 2017, a 15-year-old boy lit fireworks in the Columbia River Gorge and ended up scorching 48,831 forested acres in 26 days. Hundreds of local residents evacuated, and officials closed 20 miles of river to boats and a stretch of busy I-84 as they fought the now-infamous Eagle Creek Fire, part of which was still smoldering the following summer.

In tiny, Lyle, Wash., just across the Columbia River from Hood River, a few stands sell fireworks around the Fourth of July. On July 17, 2020, a fire burned 100 acres near Lyle and destroyed one home . It took 90 people to get the fire 60% contained. Officials ruled out natural causes. This came a week after a 150-acre fire west of Lyle.

On June 29, 2016, a 19-year-old Idaho man lit Roman candles in the Boise Foothills and caused the Table Rock Fire, which burned 2,600 acres.

The list goes on.

Yay, fireworks! Aftermath of Oregon’s Eagle Creek Fire, October 2017. Photo: USFS

Yes, lightning strikes still start many of Northwest’s forest fires. Last summer, lightning started the 22,000-acre Lookout Fire near Sisters, Ore., and the 74,000-acre Smith River Complex North Fire on the Oregon-California border.

But all told human activities cause over 70% of Oregon’s wildfires .

As humanity increases its arsenal of tools to combat the effects of global warming, we need to add greater fireworks enforcement to the mix.

According to the American Pyrotechnics Association, in 2019 consumer fireworks generated $1 billion in the United States .

It cost $530 million to fight Oregon’s fires in 2018 alone.

Whatever profit is generated by the sale of fireworks could not possibly offset the cost in damages and firefighting.

Although the precise data doesn’t exist, it seems obvious that on the whole Pacific Northwest states and tribal nations lose money by allowing the sale of fireworks.

Environmental damage

You can’t reduce greenhouse gas emissions on one hand then allow fires to negate those efforts on the other hand.

Consider California.

Reduced automobile traffic in 2020 lowered California’s carbon dioxide emissions by 35 million metric tons according to the Air Resources Board.

But the state’s historic 2020 wildfires sent 127 million metric tons of carbon dioxide back into the atmosphere, literally erasing 20 years’ worth of emission reduction efforts.

Fires also affect outdoor recreation.

Roads are closed. Burn bans take away the enjoyable campfire element of camping. When forests are scorched on a large scale, people can’t hike, fish or camp in decimated areas for years.

Do people have that much fun shooting sparkly things into the air? It’s a cheap high—an exciting couple of minutes or even seconds that leaves behind a mess of burned cardboard.

Is that worth the risk of igniting yet another environmental calamity?

New traditions

Few things represent Independence Day more than colorful sparks streaming through the sky.

Fireworks are wrapped up in modern ideas of patriotism and individuality.

But times change.

Maybe our traditions can change with them.

What if we shifted the culture?

Let’s create a new tradition that isn’t a threat to our environment.

Instead of lighting off fireworks, how about everyone takes a swim in whatever river flows closest to their town?

How about we shake up big bottles of super hoppy Northwest beer and pour it on our heads?

Maybe officials could team up with local brands like Nike and Columbia Sportswear and stage contests that encourage people to come up with the best fireworks-free Fourth of July celebrations, then help popularize them with marketing campaigns?

These might all be silly ideas, but you get the gist: we need new, more environmentally sound traditions.

Forest fires, property damage, smoke inhalation, climate change, economic impacts—nothing about fireworks fits our drought-ridden era.

I don’t want anyone to feel less patriotic about Independence Day. Pride is a wonderful feeling, and we thrive when we have something to galvanize our sense of community, purpose and identity.

But let’s rally around our beautiful, rich landscape and make land stewardship, not destruction, part of that sense of identity.

The views expressed in this article belong solely to its author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of anyone else associated with Columbia Insight.

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