There recently has been a wild fire near me in Boiling Spring Lakes, about 30 miles by road and less “as the crow flies” to my southeast. In a recent news story, they reported that the fire was contained 10% but said ““The fire is in an area which has a lot of organic soil, which means there is vegetation in the soil that can burn. A lot of times in this particular area around Boiling Spring Lakes, that vegetation has a tendency to hold fire in the root system and underneath the ground. So the coming days will really show whether or not the fire is working underground; it has a tendency to pop up in other areas.” WECT
And I became fascinated with this idea of underground fire!
What I learned is that if you stand in certain parts of the Appalachian mountains or places like Centralia, Pennsylvania, you might not notice anything unusual at first glance. But beneath your feet, fires smolder. Underground coal seam fires—ignited decades ago—have burned relentlessly, unseen but potent. These fires consume slowly, undeterred by rain, snow, or the passing of time. Sometimes, they flicker quietly for years or even centuries. But when conditions shift, when the right spark or a collapse of earth occurs, they erupt into the open with devastating force.
And I realized the United States of America has its own underground fire: racism.
For much of our history, this fire has burned beneath the surface—sometimes visible in the smoke of protests or the tremors of civil unrest—but often ignored by those who did not feel the heat directly. Generations have passed, policies have shifted, leaders have promised change, but the underlying blaze has continued to consume. Quiet. Persistent. Dangerous.
The Slow Burn of Racism
Just as an underground fire starts with a spark—a lightning strike, an accident, or sometimes deliberate ignition—racism in America began with a spark of exploitation and dehumanization. The colonization of Indigenous lands, the transatlantic slave trade, the codification of Black bodies as property, and the systemic stripping of rights from people of color laid the groundwork. And like coal seams rich with fuel, these injustices created layers upon layers of combustible material.
Even when overt flames—like the era of slavery or Jim Crow laws—were seemingly extinguished by the Civil War, the Civil Rights Movement, and landmark legislation, the fire didn’t go out. It smoldered beneath the surface in redlining, mass incarceration, voter suppression, education inequities, and disparities in healthcare and housing.
For many Americans—especially those insulated by privilege—the absence of visible flames created an illusion of safety. “We’ve made progress,” they said. “Things are better now.” But for Black Americans, Indigenous communities, Latinos, Asian Americans, and others, the ground was always warm beneath their feet. The smoke of microaggressions, systemic barriers, and outright violence lingered in the air.
I believe part of the problem is we made it an “off limits’ topic, but racist were engaged in their own whisper campaign. The racist comments were just underground, whispered to those they believed held similar beliefs. The jokes in all white spaces, or the prevailing belief in ‘welfare babies’ or those working the system.
The Pressure Builds
In geology, when underground fires persist, they hollow out the ground above them. Eventually, the weight of what’s above becomes too much, and the surface collapses, sometimes dramatically. These sinkholes reveal the magnitude of what had been hidden.
Socially, the same principle applies. As the fire of racism continued beneath America’s surface, the weight of unacknowledged trauma, deferred justice, and superficial reconciliation built up pressure. For those in power or those choosing ignorance, it was easier to pave over the problem—offering surface-level solutions without addressing the burning core.
But deferred reckoning doesn’t mean the problem goes away. It means the eruption, when it comes, will be more forceful.
A Fault Line Gives Way
When Donald Trump was elected president in 2016, many Americans experienced what felt like an unexpected eruption. Racist rhetoric was no longer confined to the dark corners of the internet or whispered among fringe groups. It was spoken aloud at rallies, tweeted from the highest office in the land, and echoed by elected officials. Hate crimes spiked. Neo-Nazis marched openly in Charlottesville. Policies targeting immigrants, Muslims, transgender individuals, and people of color were crafted not behind closed doors but in the national spotlight.
But for those who had long felt the heat beneath their feet, this eruption wasn’t unexpected. The Trump era didn’t create racism. It revealed it. It was the sinkhole after decades—centuries—of smoldering.
Some described the Trump years as a “backlash.” But in truth, it was not a new wave of racism but the exhaling of pressure that had been building all along. The election and the years that followed served as a vent, a visible manifestation of what many had long warned was still alive and dangerous in American society.
The Dangerous Comfort of Surface Stability
Today, some are eager to move on—to rebuild the surface quickly, to return to the status quo before the eruption. After the 2020 election, the calls for unity were swift and loud. “Let’s heal.” “Let’s not dwell on the past.” “Let’s find common ground.”
But those familiar with underground fires know this is a dangerous approach.
If you seal up a vent without addressing the source of the fire, you risk an even more catastrophic eruption down the line. The only real solution is excavation—digging down, confronting the burn, removing the fuel, and extinguishing the blaze at its root. It’s difficult, costly, and uncomfortable work. It forces us to confront what we’d rather avoid.
Similarly, addressing racism in America requires more than symbolic gestures or shallow reconciliation. It demands a collective willingness to examine and dismantle the structures and beliefs that keep the fire alive. It means listening to those who have lived closest to the heat and trusting their guidance on what repair requires.
Signs of Hope—and the Work Ahead
There are signs that some are willing to do this hard work. The resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020 brought millions into the streets, calling not just for individual accountability but for systemic change. Indigenous water protectors, immigration activists, Asian American advocates, and others have continued to challenge the status quo, demanding a society where the flames of hate and oppression can no longer find fuel.
But the resistance is fierce. As with firefighters confronting a deep-seated blaze, every step forward can feel like an endless battle. And there are those who, rather than extinguish the fire, seek to feed it—for power, for profit, or out of fear.
Here we are in a brand new world in 2025, which is more than 2016 the redux, it is fully involved eruption! And those feeding the fire now hold power, seemingly unbridled power, and seemingly full steam ahead to unleash the fire that has been simmering for generations.
Fire as Purifier or Destroyer
In many religious traditions, fire holds a dual meaning. It can be destructive, consuming everything in its path. But it can also purify, refining precious metals and clearing the way for new growth.
The question before the United States is this: What will we allow this underground fire to be?
Will it continue as a force of destruction, hollowing out the promises of liberty and justice for all? Or will we confront it honestly, allow it to burn away the rot of racism, and clear the ground for a more just and equitable society?
Theologian James Baldwin once wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.” We are at a moment where facing the fire—acknowledging it, understanding it, and working to extinguish its destructive power—is not optional. It is crucial.
Don’t Mistake the Silence for Peace
If the past has taught us anything, it’s that quiet does not mean calm. Just because we stop the active flames on the surface doesn’t mean the trouble is gone. Just because the ground seems stable today doesn’t mean the fire is gone. As people of conscience, we must resist the temptation to look away or declare the work finished.
Because beneath the surface, the fire remembers.
And it waits.
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