Earlier this week, headlines were dominated by two devastating events: the California wildfires ravaging wealthy neighborhoods in Los Angeles and the ongoing bombardment of Gaza. Somehow, some people have decided to draw parallels between the two. Let’s be clear: these events couldn’t be more different.

One is a natural disaster that—while devastating—comes with a safety net for many of its victims. The other is a deliberate humanitarian crisis, leaving its victims with nothing but grief and nowhere to run. The fact that these two are being compared at all says a lot about our collective priorities and how we define tragedy.

With that said, feeling sadness for one tragedy doesn’t mean you can’t feel it for another. The California wildfires are heartbreaking. Families have lost everything, and firefighters are putting their lives on the line. But comparing the destruction of multimillion-dollar mansions with the deliberate erasure of entire communities in Gaza is not just inaccurate—it’s a distraction from the real issue.

Two tragedies, both devastating, but incomparable. The California wildfires have left a path of destruction—tens of thousands of acres burned, homes reduced to ash, and lives disrupted. Meanwhile, in Gaza, relentless airstrikes have turned neighborhoods into rubble, families into statistics, and hope into a distant memory.

The problem lies in the narrative. Western media’s tendency to show more sympathy for the wealthy losing their homes than for the people of Gaza, or even their own homeless population in California, is glaring. Empathy shouldn’t be reserved for those with privilege.

The Reality in California: Fires and Fortunes

California’s wildfires have been catastrophic. Over 38,000 acres have been burned, with mandatory evacuations displacing more than 150,000 residents. At least 16 lives have been lost, and the financial damage is estimated at $150 billion, potentially making this the costliest wildfire disaster in U.S. history.

Mansions Burn; Gaza Crumbles

Jamie Lee Curtis recently likened the Pacific Palisades—one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Los Angeles—to Gaza, describing the scene as “war-torn.”

While she lamented the destruction of mansions and announced a $1 million donation for wildfire relief, her words sparked outrage online. Why? Because equating the temporary destruction of luxury homes with the complete erasure of a population is tone-deaf at best, and deeply offensive at worst.

Then there’s James Woods. The actor lost his mansion in the fires and broke down on CNN, describing the devastation: “One day you’re in the swimming pool, and the next day it’s gone.” While his grief might be understandable, it’s hard to ignore the irony.

This is the same man who has spent months cheering on Israel’s bombardment of Gaza, using hashtags like #KillThemAll and dismissing Palestinian suffering as deserved.

Palestinian poet Mosab Abu Toha, who lost his own home in an Israeli airstrike, wrote a powerful response to Woods, pointing out the hypocrisy. “How dare you get on the air and cry?” he asked, recounting how he hasn’t even been able to return to the ruins of his house because his city is still under siege. “Does this mean anything to you?” he asked. Woods, in a shocking display of cruelty, responded on X with insults, refusing to acknowledge the humanity in Abu Toha’s pain.

Meanwhile, Israel’s official government account tweeted “solidarity” with California wildfire victims, even as its bombs set Gaza’s hospitals on fire. The hypocrisy isn’t just ironic—it’s cruel.

The Reality in Gaza: A Fire With No Escape, No Aid

While Californians had the chance to evacuate and rely on insurance to rebuild their homes, the people of Gaza have no such options.

Now, let’s look at Gaza. For over two months, airstrikes have relentlessly targeted one of the most densely populated areas in the world.

Over 46,000 people have been killed, including thousands of children. Entire families have been erased, homes reduced to rubble, and hospitals bombed out of existence. Gaza’s residents are trapped, with no way to evacuate due to Israel’s blockade. This isn’t a natural disaster—it’s a manmade catastrophe.

There’s no insurance to rebuild homes, no helicopters to airlift the injured, no neighboring towns to offer refuge. And yet, international outrage remains muted, while media coverage often tiptoes around the word “genocide,” calling it a “conflict” instead.

In Gaza, there are no firefighters rushing to the rescue. No international aid in the form of million-dollar donations. And certainly no sympathetic headlines about those who have lost everything. Instead, the media reduces Gaza’s tragedy to numbers: death tolls, tons of rubble, and occasional soundbites about “both sides.”

The Media’s Role: Who Deserves Empathy?

It’s clear: the Western media cares more about whose loss can sell headlines. Burned mansions get front-page sympathy; burned families are reduced to footnotes.

The starkest difference between these two tragedies lies in how they’re portrayed. Coverage of the California wildfires focuses on celebrity losses—mansions, awards, and the occasional heartbreaking shot of charred family photos.

But what about the stories that don’t make the headlines?

The firefighters risking their lives, working 24-hour shifts to battle flames driven by relentless Santa Ana winds. The animals caught in the inferno with no way to escape. And most tragically overlooked, the homeless population, who already had no safe place to call home before the fires.

In Los Angeles, where the wildfires are raging, the homeless crisis is among the worst in the country. Over 70,000 people are unhoused in Los Angeles County, many of them living in areas directly impacted by the fires.

While wealthy residents evacuated to safety, those living on the streets had no cars to flee, no shelters to turn to, and no safety net to fall back on. Their suffering has only deepened, yet their stories are barely mentioned in mainstream coverage.

This isn’t just a failure of storytelling—it’s a reflection of global priorities. The media seems to care more about whose suffering sells than whose suffering matters. In California, burned mansions dominate the narrative, while in Gaza, the death of thousands is reduced to cold, impersonal statistics.

In Gaza, the focus—when it exists at all—is on dehumanizing statistics: numbers of dead, tons of rubble, or the logistics of humanitarian aid. Where are the human stories? The grieving parents? The survivors with nowhere to go?

A Wake-Up Call

Here’s the harsh truth: The world’s empathy seems to have a price tag. It’s reserved for the rich, the famous, and those deemed worthy of attention. While the wildfires in California are undoubtedly tragic, let’s not lose sight of the bigger picture. The people of Gaza aren’t just facing destruction—they’re fighting for survival in a world that refuses to see them.

The next time you hear a celebrity lament their lost mansion or see headlines about the California fires, take a moment to think about who isn’t being talked about. Whose stories aren’t being told? Because until we learn to see beyond the mansions and the headlines, we’ll continue to let real human suffering go unnoticed.