Theres no glory in illegal fireworks on the 4th and a lot of fear

Fireworks bursting over a city that banned them is a sight that stirs the soul, at first glance.On July Fourth, in notoriously red-tape LA, what could be more American? That was the sentiment on X and elsewhere, where revelers applauded the display.

Given the occasion and political cues, the reaction makes sense — and come on, who doesn’t love fireworks? In a region famous for crushing taxes and inflated home prices, far-left grandstanding and tolerance for brazen crime, it’s hard not to see the red, white and blue clusters as symbolic pushback. On the ground, however, Angelenos tell a different story.In neighborhoods where illegally stashed, professional grade fireworks whistle skyward and set off car alarms for days or weeks before, the reality is frightening — more like “The Purge” than “Mr.

Smith Goes to Washington.”For those wary of dangerous, airborne fireworks going off at close range and with no warning, the Fourth turns block after block into no-go zones.Narrow streets turned launch sites become impassable.

Rapid takeoffs chop the air like gunfire.Windows rattle, dogs shiver, toddlers howl.

Blown tubes and flash powder coat yards and roofs.Calls to the LA County Sheriff go answered, but nobody comes — they are swamped with calls and stretched thin as it is.

And year after year, fireworks-related deaths and structure fires make the news. Some shrug it off.But for others, it’s fireworks hell.

Another symptom of what’s already become LA’s defining feature through the 2020’s — Wild West lawlessness. To that end, SoCal’s mayhem is no community protest, even if framing that way gets clicks.Beyond the shared knowledge that there’s safety in numbers, the fireworks shows are not coordinated.

Secretive until they act, participants don’t warn nearby residents in advance.Where they are simply house guests at a party, they don’t know the neighbors and certainly don’t care.

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