QUEST FOR FIRE: The Burning Man Tribe Searches for a New Home | August 27, 1997
by Fiona Essa
“And the Lord’s anger was kindled against Israel, and he made them wander in the wilderness forty years, until all the generation that had done evil in the sight of the Lord was consumed. ”
This is the story of my people, the Burning Man tribe, and our search to find a home. While we've only been wandering a few years, we have endured the wrath of angry gods and demons, and faced seemingly insurmountable challenges to build our temporary home, Black Rock City.
Photo: Maggie Hallahan
My people have long been misunderstood, ridiculed and taunted. The only physical characteristic they share is eyes which glow with a light that comes from within instead of the television. They are the people you teased in the hallway at school. You know, the ones who always seemed a little "different." Like many of my people, I gravitated to San Francisco to find my tribe. San Francisco has long been a magnet for eccentrics and weirdoes of all stripes. It is the polar opposite of Nevada, where I grew up, which is what I needed. Suddenly, people no longer stared at me. I could blend in easily; indeed, I was tame compared to many. Yet even in Baghdad by the Bay, I found that individuality was often obscured by a veneer of hipness which was not easy to penetrate. Once again, I found myself an outsider. Three years ago, somebody told me about an event in my home state called Burning Man. It sounded interesting, so after much debate, we commandeered a vehicle and drove out to the desert.
Aha! I thought to myself, so this is where my people have been hiding (oddly, the very place I'd fled). Finally, I had found a group of individuals who were not afraid to be themselves, whatever that might be. Some were outrageous, some extremely normal. People hauled generators out to the desert not so they could catch the playoff game, but rather to produce frozen tropical drinks. In this harshest of environments, people strolled about in tuxedos and formal evening gowns. One group labored all day in the hot sun to build a tower, only to burn it down that evening. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I belonged.
Larry Harvey, the leader of the Burning Man tribe, first called my people together on San Francisco's Baker Beach in 1986. In an effort to purge his soul of love lost, he built an eight-foot-tall wooden effigy and torched it. This lasted for four years until 800 people gathered on the beach to watch the Man burn. Unfortunately, Harvey had promised the authorities he wouldn't burn it. When the crowd demanded that Harvey light the match, and he refused, a riot nearly ensued. The tribe began looking for a new home.
The tribe next congregated on the Black Rock Desert in Northern Nevada. The 400 square miles of nothingness seemed perfect for the gathering: an empty stage, a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with the performance and art which a 40-foot tall man with neon bones inspires. What started as a gathering of 60 people doubled and doubled and doubled until 1996, when 10,000 people showed up to be themselves. The organizers, always concerned with safety, knew their tenure on the Black Rock was coming to an end. Once again the tribe looked for another place to gather.
Harvey and company chose Fly Ranch on the west side of the Black Rock Desert. Fly borders Hualapai Playa (a baby Black Rock) and features hot springs with spectacular geysers. Moreover, the recreational rights to the property were leased by Annie Westerbeke, a sculptor and supporter of the project. The organizers envisioned the community on the scrub grass along the shore, with the fire art on the playa proper. In April of this year, the organizers formed Burning Man '97 Limited Liability Corporation and applied to Washoe County for a festival permit on June 1. And here the troubles began.
A RED TAPE RUNS THROUGH IT
“Moreover you shall make the tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen and blue and purple and scarlet stuff; with cherubim skillfully worked shall you make them. The length of each curtain shall be twenty-eight cubits, and the breadth of each curtain four cubits; all the curtains shall have one measure.”
While Washoe County's code for festivals was written in 1991, no one had ever applied for a permit. Moreover, past Burning Man events had been held on federal land in Pershing County, and not Washoe. When the LLC submitted their application, the Health, Fire and Sheriff's Departments responded with 10 pages of conditions to be met, ranging from numbered camping spaces to gray-water disposal facilities. Costs for the organizers totaled close to $500,000. At their July 8 meeting, the Washoe County Commissioners reviewed and approved the event application--providing the conditions were met by August 15. "The County never saw the event. They didn't know what to expect," said Skip Canfield of CFA Associates, the consultant Burning Man hired to facilitate the permit approval process. "When we gave them more information, the agencies reduced their requirements based on the facts."
“The County has come after us with a vengeance. They couldn’t deny the permit on moral or religious grounds, so they [tried to] deny us on monetary grounds. ”
Organizers felt the Commission had discriminated against them. "The County has come after us with a vengeance," Will Roger, Burning Man's comptroller, said "They couldn't deny the permit on moral or religious grounds, so they [tried to] deny us on monetary grounds. It has been almost impossible." Morality was still an issue: County Commissioner Mike Mouliot (a former police officer and bail bondsman) asked Harvey if he had ever been arrested, and demanded that police background checks be run on all the festival organizers.
The biggest expense to the festival was fire protection. The new site is surrounded by sagebrush at the peak of its flammability, and fire is an integral part of the Burning Man experience. The Truckee Meadows Fire Protection District's initial request called for 10 fire engines to be present, and 55 personnel to be housed and fed onsite. The cost: $360,000. Organizers later moved all camping off the grassy shore and onto the playa, reducing the cost to $260,000 for seven trucks and 40 personnel. But Rick Kajans of the TMFPD is still concerned.
"The Man is the easy part," he said. "Fireworks are illegal in Washoe County, but people do it anyhow. Every year on the Fourth of July we have to send out trucks because people are shooting fireworks into the hills." Kajans anticipates that despite all precautions, fires will break out over the course of the six-day event, either from vehicle fires, accidents on the highway, a cigarette or the stray spark.
Organizers are also required to cover the cost of $37,000 for 15 sheriffs on overtime to police the event. Comparisons to another recent gathering of freaks in Washoe County, Hot August Nights, have abounded. "Last year we had two arrests for disorderly conduct," Roger said. "There were 115 arrests on Friday night alone at Hot August Nights. We agree with [the Sheriff Department's] safety concerns [about our event], but we don't need 15 sheriffs. We have our own security." In addition to hiring Event Security, Burning Man is policed by the Danger Rangers, an internal volunteer organization of over 200 people designed to educate participants and build community ties.The Sheriff's Department will remain stationed at the gate, and patrol the actual event once an hour.
But the condition which nearly killed Burning Man this year was the demand by the County Commissioners that the organizers provide a letter of credit instead of a bond for Fire and Sheriff's fees. Bonds are routinely issued to organizers and promoters and generally require a 10% deposit. To obtain a letter of credit, the money must be in the bank in its entirety. In essence, the County Commission asked for $500,000 up front. Canfield, who worked for the Washoe County Planning Department for five years prior to working in the private sector, said he has never seen the Commissioners ask for a letter of credit. Hot August Nights required neither a bond nor a letter of credit for the $112,000 in police overtime the event generated.
"Burning Man, the company, was created this year," Washoe County Risk Manager Ray Sibley explained. "Everybody is being cautious; nobody wants to get burned. [The Commissioners] are protecting the taxpayers."
The original recommendation was for a bond; the Commissioners decided on a letter of credit at 1 a.m. during the July 8 meeting. They claimed they made the request because the BLM and Pershing County didn't receive payment for their services until several months after the event last year. (Burning Man finished up $60,000 in the red for 1996, but Roger said all debts have been paid off.) Roger felt the Commissioners were being unusually harsh.
"They say we have no history, but we've been doing this for 11 years," he said. "We have no intention of not paying. It's just that we don't have the cash right now." While advance ticket sales were 5,000 (approximately $300,000) at press time, Roger said that the organization has spent over $100,000 just to prepare the site to the County's specifications.
When the County Commissioners met again on August 12, they found themselves in a difficult position. Burning Man was not going to meet all the conditions by August 15, but the Commission knew if they denied the permit, the event would go forward in some form and taxpayers would be left holding the bag. The main condition which would not be met was the letter of credit: because many ticket sales are last-minute, organizers did not have the $300,000. Commissioner Mouliot suggested that the Sheriff's department confiscate the cash at the gate. Washoe County Sheriff Richard Kirkland claimed that the site was far from ready, and that organizers were "lackadaisical, haphazard and unprofessional." "How are we going to manage this juggernaut they've unleashed?" he asked. Roger, who is also serving as the site manager, was not amused. For the past seven years, the organizers have built a city with an infrastructure, and this year was no exception. "I have four college degrees, I was a college professor for 20 years, I was a budget officer for four years, I've managed businesses," he said. "I'm not some hippie with a bone in his nose. I know what I'm talking about." If the County denied the permit, Kirkland said the only option was to close the highway and turn people back.
"Some rules are better than none," he said. If the event went forward without permission, the Sheriff's Department would have to "do our best to keep people from getting hurt and burning down the countryside."
On August 19, the Commissioners met again. While the Sheriff and Fire Departments said the site was properly prepared, there were still a few details to be worked out. The County agreed that in lieu of the letter of credit, the organizers would pay $10,000 up front, with 1/2 of the daily ticket sales during the festival going directly to the County. Final approval was scheduled to be given on Tuesday, August 26, the day before the event began.
CONTROLLED BURN
“Nothing in the world lasts save eternal change. ”
So what will Burning Man 1997 be like? There are rules this year, rules which were put into place to ensure the collective survival and safety of the community. This is a change from previous events in which the only rule was "never do anything which will interfere with another person's experience." The biggest change is the role of the car. In 1996, dust from thousands of vehicles choked Black Rock City and reduced visibility to zero. One person was killed in a head-on collision before the event, and three people were seriously injured when a car ran over their tent. Harvey said the safety threat the automobile posed was the primary reason the organizers moved.
"People weren't misbehaving, the cars were misbehaving," he said. "They were whirling and colliding like molecules. We had brought the ills of civilization with us. Black Rock City began to resemble Los Angeles."
While participants will drive their cars to their campsites, they must park them for the duration of the event, making feet and bicycles the primary mode of transportation. The Temporary Autonomous Bike Shop will fabricate bicycles for community use, much like Amsterdam's Blue Bikes which are available for the taking to anyone who needs transportation. Public buses will take people to Fly Geyser. Telephone service will be available onsite, and participants can buy supplies from a community store, reducing the need for people to leave the event.
Even though there was a gate at the main access point to Black Rock Desert, organizers estimate that nearly a third of last year's participants entered the event without paying. In addition to costs from the county, there was an increase in costs for services (porta-potties alone cost $60,000, and Roger estimates that the total cost for the event will be over $800,000). To offset these expenses, organizers raised the prices from $35 to $65 ($75 at the gate), and there is only one entrance. A day-use permit for $20 will be available on Sunday, but participants must park at the entrance and walk 3/4 of a mile to the site. Organizers hope the prospect of carrying a case of beer almost a mile will reduce the presence of the "show-us-your-tits" crowd.
"[Day-use participants] are not part of our community," Roger said. "They're usually gawkers, and our theme is 'no spectators.'"
Traditionally, attendees have been roughly 25% local, 50% Bay Area and 25% from elsewhere. This year, however, there will be participants from all 50 states and 12 countries, including Japan, France, Australia, Iceland, Great Britain and Turkey. This is due in large part to the Man's 15 minutes of fame. His alter-ego, the Black Rock Arts Festival, is the largest outdoor arts festival in North America, and people have begun to take notice.
Last year, Wired Magazine sent science fiction writer Bruce Sterling, wife and kids in tow, to cover the event. The November 1996 issue in which the article appeared proclaimed Burning Man "the New American Holiday."
"There ought to be Burning Man festivals held downtown once a year in every major city in America," Sterling concluded. "It would be good for us. We need it. In fact, until we can just relax every once in a while and learn how to do this properly, we're probably never gonna get well."
Wired's book division, Hardwired, also produced a coffee-table book on the event. US News & World Report, Life Magazine, and the New York Times have all featured pieces on Burning Man over the summer. There are hundreds of web pages dedicated to the event on the Internet. Burning Man's official web site alone has been hit by representatives from over 70 countries. This year, organizations from the Boston Globe and the Washington Post to Australian TV and Turner Broadcasting will be on hand to cover the burn, and Burning Man will be the topic of Nightline's Labor Day broadcast.
"[The media] realize that we're creating a community and an opportunity for self-expression that exists nowhere else in the world," Marian Goodell, Burning Man's Communications Director, said. "They totally understand. They're not interested in talking to the party people; they want the people who have been coming out for years."
Not all the media has been positive. Last year's event had a theme of Hell (this year's is Fertility, undoubtedly part of the reason the Washoe County Health Department insisted organizers distribute free condoms). In their March issue, Christian magazine Charisma ran a piece entitled "Invasion from the Dark Side," in which George Otis and Doug Trenton reported on what they believe to be "a troubling societal phenomenon." The Man was also spotted making the scene at Pat Robertson's 700 Club.
Nobody is certain how many people will attend Burning Man 1997. Estimates range anywhere from 10,000 to 20,000. Ironically, Harvey says that a higher number of participants will be necessary to offset the County's costs. "Once you prepare the site, the difference between 15 and 20,000 is not that great," Roger said. "We can handle it. If there are more people, we just have to get more services." Service providers are aware of this possibility, and an army of additional porta-potties are standing by.
Like any rapidly expanding community, Black Rock City is experiencing growing pains. While crime is not non-existent, domestic violence and thievery are eerily low. Harvey said that because the event is based on participation and not consumerism, people tend to behave better.
"If people are being activists, they feel a sense of moral solidarity," he said. "When people are creatively involved, a sense of community is created. [The authorities] see people gather in large groups and yet they're free." Mouliot, however, predicts disaster.
"We're talking about bringing in 15-20,000 people who don't know what Black Rock Desert is," he said. "If people are uncontrolled and unguided, they will turn into locusts. I think we're destined for problems. Out there it's a long way away. It's hard to control 20,000 people 90 miles from town." But Harvey is convinced that quality, not quantity, is key.
"Our numbers historically double," he said. "This year we have nearly 200 theme camps, four times the number of last year. That exceeds the amount of growth.. When people involve themselves, they belong to Black Rock City. They then organize the people around them, which sets a tone and creates an atmosphere. If they're welded together by something beyond them, that's a peaceable kingdom."
BRAVE NEW WORLD
“When people leave a rock concert, they don’t go home and set up a stage in their backyard and start a band. But when people leave Burning Man, they try to recreate the experience. Sometimes they even talk to their neighbors. -”
August 27, 1997
It is still too early to know where my people will build our city next year, but build it we will. You see, we have no choice. When we leave Black Rock City next Monday, we will take with us a tiny flame in our hearts to remind us of how life could be. We will return to the land of the sleepwalkers and try to explain what we experienced. Many of them will think us crazy, but we've always been called crazy. As the year wears on, we will wonder if we just dreamed it all. We will huddle in small groups and nourish each other's flames when they begin to sputter.
Toward the end of the summer, the flames will flare again. We will tug at the hands of those we love, urging them to come and feel what it's like to be free, to be part of a community. Some people will return their attention to their remote controls. Others will follow us, pulled along by the sheer force of our enthusiasm. And when they come to our ephemeral city, they too will understand what it's like to finally have a place to call home.
Endnotes:
This article, Quest for Fire, was the cover story on August 27, 1997 in the Reno News & Review. If you, or anyone else, has any questions, I can be reached by e-mail at fiona@unr.edu.
The News & Review will probably have more stories in the future (it is my understanding that the organization is now bankrupt and will be suing Washoe County, an act which is well-warranted and much deserved), and I will send them as they become available. Later, Fiona