Before, Maui seemed an idealized paradise. After, it seems vulnerable, insecure. The Lahaina fire dramatically and tragically uncovered some truths about risks. They are sometimes obvious, as in, so obvious we assume someone has already decided how to mitigate them. Lahaina's dry undergrowth was obvious, but who would have thought extraordinary winds would combine with an ignition source and prevent effective firefighting. It remains to be seen how the legal aftermath will sort itself out, given conflicting claims about what started the fire, whether it was fought as effectively as possible, whether evacuation should have been more expedited, whether the fuel should have been removed or suppressed, and so on. The social aftermath is problematic, as some burned-out residents face the challenge of rebuilding (and deciding whether to rebuild) and some survivors have to come to terms with the deaths of friends and family members. Pre-existing divides about who owns Maui and whom Maui is for are now more obvious.

What now seems obvious with the perfect vision of hindsight is "more" should have been done.  But that is almost always the case in the aftermath of natural and man-made disasters. And who would have thought upcountry Kula fires would begin, let alone that loss of electrical power would make it much harder to fight those fires?

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Before, the banyan tree and the courthouse were stately and reassuring symbols of historic stability. From 2013, a few images:

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As recently as mid-May 2023, Maui provided the usual wealth of scenic images that Maui produces - provokes - effortlessly. They convey no sense of impending death and loss; they at most depict some dark clouds that are stormy but benign, potentially offering rain -  not fire - to a dry landscape.

Upcountry scenes: 

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The beaches put on their usual displays of power and beauty:

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