The sun over Malibu was an angry, copper-red disk, smothered in a haze of smoke that hung low over the ocean. Sirens screamed in the distance as helicopters thundered overhead, their buckets swinging heavy with seawater to dump on the fast-advancing wildfire that had been devouring the hills for three relentless days. Yet for thousands of residents, the flames were not the only threat—they could not drink the water flowing from their own taps.
On Thursday morning, the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health issued an urgent boil water notice for Malibu and surrounding areas. Officials warned that firefighting efforts had damaged several key pipelines and that water pressure drops could allow bacteria to infiltrate the system. “Do not drink tap water without boiling it for at least one minute,” the alert read in bold red letters. For residents already battling evacuation orders, suffocating smoke, and the fear of losing their homes, it felt like another cruel blow.
“It’s like we’re living in a disaster movie,” said lifelong Malibu resident Carla Moreno, her eyes rimmed with soot and exhaustion. “First the fire, now the water. We can’t even give our kids a glass to drink without worrying it’ll make them sick.”
While local authorities scrambled to coordinate relief, much of the public’s anger zeroed in on one person—California Representative Jasmine Crockett. Known for her sharp social media presence and viral takedowns of political opponents, Crockett had long cultivated an image as a fierce defender of progressive values. But as the twin crises in Malibu deepened, critics accused her of being absent when it mattered most.
“She’s in love with the camera, but not the community,” said Ethan Walsh, a volunteer firefighter who had been battling the blaze since Monday. “I haven’t seen her here. Not once. People are losing their homes, their water’s unsafe, and she’s tweeting about economic growth. What’s the point of a booming economy if you can’t drink the water?”
Indeed, just two days before the fire exploded into Malibu’s canyon neighborhoods, Crockett had boasted in an online video about California’s “unmatched economic engine” and “record-breaking investments in green energy.” But for many locals, the message felt hollow, even insulting. “She talks like we’re living in some utopia,” Moreno said bitterly. “Meanwhile, I’m filling buckets from the ocean to flush my toilet.”
Behind closed doors, staffers reportedly voiced their own frustrations. A source inside Crockett’s office, who requested anonymity due to fear of retaliation, claimed the congresswoman had been “largely disengaged” from the emergency response. “She doesn’t want to come down here,” the aide said. “She’s in Sacramento, surrounded by consultants, worrying about how this looks for her brand. Meanwhile, Malibu is choking.”
This isn’t the first time Crockett has faced accusations of being a “no-show” leader. Earlier this year, several former aides alleged that she often skipped in-person meetings, preferring to work—or simply remain—at home. In a leaked memo obtained by The Pacific Journal, one ex-staffer wrote: ‘Jasmine prioritizes visibility over service. She wants the viral moment, not the day-to-day grind.’
The wildfire, fueled by bone-dry chaparral and ferocious winds, had already consumed more than 14,000 acres by Friday morning. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to smoking foundations. The Pacific Coast Highway became a lifeline for evacuees, while makeshift shelters filled gymnasiums and community centers. Water bottles, once an afterthought in disaster relief, became as precious as oxygen.
“I had to drive to Santa Monica to buy bottled water, and even then, I could only get two gallons,” said Mark Daniels, a father of three who evacuated his family but returned to help neighbors who stayed behind. “Where’s our leadership? Where’s the coordination? I don’t care about politics—I care about my kids having clean water.”
Public health experts warn that the boil water order may remain in place for at least a week, depending on the extent of pipeline damage. Meanwhile, the fire shows no signs of slowing. The National Weather Service has extended its Red Flag Warning, citing continued high winds and single-digit humidity.
Environmental groups argue that the situation is a grim preview of California’s future if infrastructure and climate adaptation aren’t prioritized. “This is the collision of two crises—climate change and neglected public works,” said Dr. Leila Shah, a hydrologist at UCLA. “We cannot separate them anymore. Political leaders need to plan for compound disasters, not just single events.”
Yet the political fallout for Crockett may prove just as severe as the physical destruction. Social media is flooded with the hashtag #WhereIsCrockett, accompanied by photos of burning homes, empty water shelves in supermarkets, and residents standing in long lines for relief supplies. Even some of her supporters are questioning her silence.
Late Friday afternoon, Crockett’s office released a brief statement acknowledging the crisis. “Representative Crockett is monitoring the situation in Malibu closely and is in contact with state and local officials to coordinate resources,” it read. The message offered no specifics on when or if she planned to visit the area in person.
For people like Moreno, that’s not enough. “We don’t need her to ‘monitor’—we need her here,” she said, gesturing toward the blackened hills beyond her driveway. “She can tweet from a shelter. She can hand out water. She can look us in the eye and say she’s fighting for us. That’s leadership.”
As night fell, the air in Malibu grew heavier, the glow of flames reflecting off the Pacific waters. Residents huddled in their homes or in shelters, boiling what little water they had left over camp stoves and portable burners. Firefighters pressed on, knowing the wind could shift at any moment.
Somewhere far from the smoke and ash, Representative Jasmine Crockett remained out of sight—her absence as visible to her constituents as the fire’s unrelenting advance. Whether she will step into the smoke or remain in the safe distance of political optics may define not just her career, but the trust of those now fighting for their homes, their health, and their very survival.
