Trying to make sense of tragedy in Oakland

There were propane tanks stashed in corners, space heaters, hot plates, candles, exposed electrical wires dangling from the ceiling. Gas-powered generators hummed a few feet from handmade light fixtures hooked to extension cords.

But there was no sprinkler system and only two ways out of the dilapidated Oakland warehouse where 36 people died Friday night in a blaze that erupted during an illegal dance rave. It’s one of the deadliest fires in California’s history.

Alameda County Sheriff’s spokesman Ray Kelly said Wednesday “we’re not going to find anymore victims in the fire.” For that, we are thankful. Already, it is the highest number of fire-related fatalities in 13 years. Saddest of all, the so-called Ghost Ship was a disaster waiting to happen – and everyone who entered the place appeared to know it. The warehouse’s 10,000 square feet was crammed with old furniture, rugs, makeshift bedrooms, studios, instruments, old doors and half-finished sculptures.

Recreational vehicles were parked on the ground floor, and a shoddy “staircase” of stacked pallets led to the second level, which became a bottleneck for fleeing ravers. The San Francisco Chronicle quoted one artist saying the stairs were “literally made out of kindling.”

The immediate impulse is to blame the city of Oakland for not having padlocked this mass of safety violations. The artist colony had been on the city’s radar for awhile. It wasn’t zoned for residential use, or licensed as a nightclub; that it was doing both was not really a secret.

Neighbors had complained about noise and blight for years. In early 2015, police responded to reports of an illegal rave. Less than a month ago, city inspectors opened an investigation into the habitability of the warehouse, but were never able to get inside to take a look. Residents said they were told to hide all evidence of living there if authorities showed up.

So, yes, Oakland’s lack of aggressive code enforcement should be one place to point fingers. But there’s more than enough blame to go around.

There are the rave promoters and underground musicians who decided to have the show in the first place. One Oakland musician, Jon Hrabko, pushed the event on Facebook for months, enticing hundreds to attend.

There’s also the property owner, Chor Ng, whose relatives insist they had no idea people were living in the Ghost Ship. And there’s property manager Derick Ion Almena, who was living in the warehouse with his wife and children, and who designed much of the space without getting any city permits.

According to news accounts, Almena was repeatedly warend that the warehouse was a lethal tinderbox, but he laughed them off. Almena told KGO-TV Monday that those who died Friday night “are my children. They are my friends. They are family. They are my loves.” Criminal charges should be considered.

At least some blame lies with an invisible culprit – the sky-high cost of housing that made a fire trap like this warehouse acceptable to so many young people. Residents paid from $500 to $1,500 a month for space, a bargain in the Bay Area. The result was a cool, freewheeling, communal space for artists to live, work and play – even if it was simultaneously a firetrap.

Such warehouses are magnets for upstart electronic musical artists who want to perform but need to do it on the cheap. So enclaves that host underground raves dot Oakland, the San Jose and many other California cities. Even in the Valley, empty warehouses have been commandeered for parties; one such party turned violent in Modesto two years ago. No rave, no break in rent, is worth a life.

This story was originally published December 7, 2016 at 3:32 PM with the headline "Trying to make sense of tragedy in Oakland."