Applause is nice. But protecting first responders takes policy, investment and respect.
I grew up in a fire station. While most kids played ball in the park, I played hide-and-seek in the apparatus bay, darting through fire engines while my dad worked and trained.
When I turned 18, I gave the fire service everything I had, and it gave back. It gave me purpose. It gave me a path to attend university. It gave me lifelong friends, the telltale dark humor that helps us stay sane, and firehouse memories I wouldn’t trade for anything.
It’s been good to me. But it hasn’t always been easy. The personal costs have been high.
I’ve wrestled with PTSD more than once in my career, and those invisible wounds follow you long after the flames are out. I’m also a cancer survivor. Those threats still loom, reminders that the greatest dangers in this job aren’t the dramatic ones you see in movies. Firefighters don’t usually die charging into burning buildings with axes raised. They die younger than the general public, most often from heart disease, cancer, or PTSD.
Firehouse culture is one of resilience. It’s where you find laughter in the middle of trauma, healing around the kitchen table and quiet rituals that bind people together. When I cooked salmon head stew for the crew (as I mentioned in a previous column), it wasn’t just a meal. It was a reminder: the table matters, the tradition matters and the people sitting around it matter most of all.
Which is why it’s not enough to just clap when firefighters drive by. If we’re serious about protecting the people who protect us, then we need to move past applause and dig into what protection really looks like.
Health
Washington has made progress with cancer presumptive laws, which recognize that when a firefighter develops certain cancers, it’s not just bad luck, it’s job-related. That’s a major step forward. But recognition alone isn’t enough. Protections must also extend to volunteer firefighters. We lost a good friend and lifelong firefighter this past year with the passing of Bucoda Mayor and Assistant Fire Chief Rob Gordon, who died young of cancer. He had no protections, no early screening programs and his family was left holding the cards.
That’s not uncommon. Most firefighters, whether they’re volunteers or paid staff, work around diesel exhaust, flame retardants and building materials that release carcinogens when burned. These exposures accumulate over time. And it’s not always visible. You can work a quiet month and still be breathing in poisons. That’s why prevention and early detection must be part of the job, not something we hope for after the fact.
We also need robust mental health infrastructure. PTSD among first responders is comparable to rates seen in Vietnam-era veterans, and suicide rates remain far above the national average. Firefighters are expected to be the calm in chaos, but too often there’s no space to process what we carry. We need clinicians who understand the job, peer support programs that work and a culture that encourages reaching out before it’s too late.
Safety
Safety means modern protective equipment, updated apparatus, proper staffing and clean, up-to-date fire stations that don’t further expose us to carcinogens. Across the country, so-called “Mando shifts,” short for mandatory holdovers, have become the new normal. These shifts keep exhausted firefighters on duty for 24, 48 even 72 hours until relief arrives, preventing them from going home to their families. It’s unsafe for responders and for the communities relying on them.
We wouldn’t allow commercial pilots to fly cross country on zero sleep. We shouldn’t allow firefighters to enter burning buildings or respond to medical calls without rest, either. Understaffing makes everyone more vulnerable. And as departments stretch thinner, rural and suburban agencies in particular face impossible decisions: Do we invest in gear or payroll? Do we upgrade aging stations or increase mental health services?
Safety also means better interagency coordination. No department should be left on its own during a crisis. We need to encourage small, underfunded jurisdictions to have real conversations with their neighbors, break down barriers, and find ways to merge, share resources, and pool funding. We’re stronger when we act as a network, not a patchwork.
Dignity
Dignity is about fairness. Washington’s LEOFF (Law Enforcement Officers’ and Firefighters’) retirement system is one of the best in the nation. But it only stays that way if we defend it from constant attempts to weaken it. We need retirement protections and benefits that reflect the shortened life expectancy of this profession. Early retirement isn’t a luxury in this line of work. It’s a necessity, because we die earlier. Dignity means ensuring firefighters can retire with health and stability after decades of service.
We also need to recognize the value of service across departments and across time. Firefighters who move between cities, counties, or between volunteer and career positions shouldn’t lose hard-earned protections or face gaps in retirement coverage. A life of service should be honored consistently, not punished for its mobility.
The cost of neglect
If we don’t invest, we pay in other ways. Communities risk losing their most experienced responders, and recruitment dries up when young people see high risk paired with low support. You can’t staff a firehouse on goodwill alone. There’s an old saying: If you think protecting first responders is expensive, try going without them.
What we spend on prevention, protection, and dignity now will save lives and money down the road. Investing in fire and EMS is like investing in infrastructure. You may not think about it every day, but the second you need it, it becomes the most important thing in the world.
From applause to action
I recently introduced the Emergency Responder Protection and Enforcement Coordination Act in Thurston County. The idea came from an incident at the Bear Gulch Fire in Mason County, when federal agents entered an active fire zone, detained trained, active firefighters, and disrupted operations without coordination or justification.
The ordinance would designate active emergency operations as non-interference zones. It would require external agencies to coordinate with the incident commander before taking any enforcement action. It would also guarantee due process and ID protections for all responders, regardless of background or employment status.
This isn’t about politics. It’s about safety. It’s about professionalism. It’s about protecting the integrity of our emergency response system so that when firefighters show up, they can do their job without interference or intimidation.
Final thought
I keep coming back to the firehouse table, a place where we process tragedy, share meals and hold each other up. I learned recently from tribal friends that respect for the salmon means using the whole fish, not wasting what sustains you. Similarly, respect for first responders means protecting the whole person, not just praising the uniform.
That means respecting their time, their health, their families, their long nights and early mornings. It means understanding that beneath the badge and turnout gear is a person who has probably seen more than most of us can imagine, and still shows up to do it again tomorrow.
So let’s do it. Let’s invest. Let’s advocate. Let’s support. Call your legislator. Show up at budget hearings. Push for policies that actually keep first responders safe.
Applause fades. But real respect, written into law, backed by resources, and put into action, is what will carry us forward. For Rob, for my brothers and sisters serving, and for every community that depends on them.
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Wayne Fournier is a Thurston County commissioner, former Tenino mayor, firefighter and lifelong community advocate.
