Recently, Darby Allen, the RMWB Fire Chief who stewarded the emergency response during the wildfire in 2016, was the subject of an article that depicted this regional "hero" in a new light - and not a flattering one.
While a court case is outstanding, some of the facts are known, including that Chief Allen was fired from the City of Calgary prior to his arrival here, and the circumstances surrounding his dismissal appear to be directly related to the complaint of sexual harassment from a female employee. There are still plenty of questions that remain unanswered, such as if our municipal leadership knew of this past when he was hired, if they did know prior to his being hired why this was not factored into that decision and of course if any similar complaints occurred during his time here. Perhaps those answers will one day be revealed, but in the interim what we are left to ponder is the concept of heroism.
I must admit that even in 2016, I struggled with the concept of Darby Allen as a hero. That's not because I had any knowledge of his past or any particular disagreement with his actions during that time, but rather because I didn't quite understand how his individual actions led to the badge of hero. He did his job, as many did during those days, and while he became the "face" of the fire, his calm and measured voice in videos reassuring panicky residents, I felt that tagging him as a hero was a bit dismissive of all the others who showed equal, if not greater, heroism: the firefighters on the front lines, the RCMP officers who dealt with residents as we evacuated in a panicked state, the folks who provided evacuees with food and water and gas and places to stay, the people who rescued pets, the people who opened their cars to other fleeing and frightened residents, and every single one of us who pulled together during what was likely the most difficult experience of our lives. Those, I thought, were everyday and real heroes, but they were nameless and faceless and not in daily videos, and so their acts of heroism, while noted, did not lead to the kind of public accolades Darby received. If we reflect deeply we also may realize that the label of hero is one we affixed to him, not one he chose; so if someone we have decided is a hero then disappoints us, is the blame on them - or us?
And the evaluation of the job he did during the fire depends on who you talk to, of course. Some think he was a hero; some do not, and much depends on what they experienced and their individual perspective. But the real challenge is that there is great risk in identifying any one individual as a hero, as when we discover that our "heroes" are imperfect our bitter disappointment is often magnified.
Over the last few years (and through some difficult times) I have learned some disappointing but fundamental truths. People can have brilliant minds, but house dark hearts. People can be talented and accomplished professionals but be deeply destructive leaders. And people we deem to be "heroes" may well be deeply, deeply flawed.
And it is because at the end of the day we are human. We are all subject to the same traits: and some of them lead us to heroic acts of courage while others take us down dark paths.
When our heroes take a fall, we should perhaps not look more closely at them but at ourselves. In our rush to proclaim them as heroes we often fail ourselves, as we are set up for that deep disappointment when we discover that our heroes are, in truth, simply humans after all.