As cancer rates climb, firefighters are raising alarms
Families stood shoulder to shoulder, holding hand-painted signs that told stories in bold strokes of grief and defiance. Some carried framed photographs of firefighters in their prime, faces once defined by strength and service, now memorials to lives stolen by cancers that came too fast, too young. A heavy stillness hung in the air, as if every person bore not only their own sorrow but the shared burden of communities poisoned, ignored, and forced to wage a fight for survival that never should have been theirs.
They had come from across the nation: advocates, military families, cancer survivors, and the bereaved. Each bore a story of toxic contamination, water turned undrinkable, neighborhoods made sick by invisible plumes, or gear designed to protect instead laced with poison. Their destination was not random. Washington, D.C., represented the very agencies that had failed them: the Environmental Protection Agency, the Department of Defense, state health departments, all meant to safeguard the public but too often bending under the weight of industry influence.
The plaza filled with voices. People spoke of children who lost their hair before kindergarten, of rashes that spread without explanation, of funerals that came far too early. They had grown tired of being told their suffering was anecdotal, tired of corporations' self-reporting “accidents” that left rivers slick with chemicals, tired of regulators who seemed more like partners to polluters than protectors of the people. “It’s the fox guarding the henhouse,” one advocate said, and heads around her nodded.
This time, however, the focus was on the firefighters. They were supposed to be the strong ones, the ones who ran toward danger so others could escape. But here, in the capital, it was their vulnerability that took center stage.
The Gear That Betrays
Edward Kelly, president of the International Association of Fire Fighters, stood before the crowd, his voice carrying both authority and sorrow. “For many years, we thought our cancers were caused by smoke, off-gassing from burning combustibles, building debris,” he said. “Now we know our own gear is part of that problem. The very thing that is supposed to be keeping us safe is costing us our lives.”
The words landed heavily. For generations, firefighters assumed their greatest risks came inside burning buildings, the collapsing beams, the searing flames, the inhaled smoke. What they didn’t see was the chemical warfare stitched into their own protective clothing. PFAS, the so-called “forever chemicals,” had been woven into turnout gear for water resistance and fire protection. For years, no one questioned it. Now, evidence shows these chemicals did not break down, instead leaching into bloodstreams, accumulating in organs, disrupting immune systems, and spiking cancer rates.
PFAS had been around since the 1940s, a marvel of chemical engineering turned menace. It was used in everything from firefighting foam to nonstick pans, but its persistence in soil, water, and human bodies meant its dangers lingered for generations. By the late 1990s, the EPA had known enough to sound the alarm but failed to act. Two decades later, millions of Americans were exposed, firefighters among the hardest hit.
A Reluctant Truth-Teller
For Diane Cotter, the revelations were deeply personal. Her husband, Paul, a firefighter from Worcester, Massachusetts, had been diagnosed with cancer in 2014. Diane suspected his turnout gear might be to blame, but when she raised questions, the pushback was swift and punishing. The union leadership dismissed her concerns. Rumors were spread. She was branded a troublemaker.
Still, she refused to stop digging. She connected with Graham Peaslee, a nuclear physicist at Notre Dame, whose research confirmed her suspicions: firefighting gear contained dangerous carcinogens. What should have been a moment of validation turned instead into years of harassment. Diane became a target of smear campaigns, intimidation, and attempts to silence her voice.
But in Freedom Plaza, the tide shifted. Standing beside her husband, she finally received public recognition from IAFF President Kelly. Tears welled in her eyes as she described the moment. “It removed a hole in my heart that I’ve been carrying,” she said. “It was an emotional moment I did not know was coming and didn’t realize how badly I needed it.”
Her story, once treated as inconvenient, had become undeniable.
Cancer in the Firehouse
Firefighters are far more likely to develop cancer than the average American. Their daily battles with flames are only part of the reason. Each blaze releases a toxic cocktail, synthetic plastics, industrial chemicals, carcinogenic soot, that clings to skin, coats lungs, and seeps into their gear. But the gear itself, now known to contain PFAS, has become an insidious enemy.
Jason Burns, a Massachusetts firefighter, spoke with raw urgency. He had buried friends in their 30s, young men taken by aggressive cancers. “We have a problem in the fire service, and it’s not just my local; it’s happening all over the country,” he said. “I have seen too many widows and too many fatherless children now. I will no longer tolerate having these chemicals in my gear.”
Kevin Ferrara, a U.S. Air Force veteran and former firefighter, shared his own reckoning. As a serviceman, he had been responsible for discharging firefighting foam almost daily. Only later did he learn that the foam carried PFAS. A blood test revealed his exposure levels at nearly 22,000 parts per trillion, staggeringly high, a toxic signature of years spent unknowingly handling poison. Today, Ferrara channels his anger into advocacy, hosting a podcast and pushing for reforms so future generations of firefighters won’t face the same fate.
The Ghosts of 9/11
The crisis has a longer shadow still. On September 11, 2001, thousands of first responders rushed into chaos, smoke, and fire. They didn’t know that the ash and dust swirling around them contained asbestos, pulverized glass, heavy metals, and other toxins.
Rob Serra was just 21, fresh out of the FDNY academy. On the morning of September 11, he climbed onto a bus bound for Ground Zero, his gear so new he was still pulling off tags. He worked through the wreckage, returning again and again in the following days. Not long after, he developed persistent nosebleeds. Years later, neurological issues emerged, followed by autoimmune and neuropathy disorders. Some of his conditions aren’t even covered by the World Trade Center Health Program, leaving him and others to rely on the Ray Pfeifer Foundation, formed in memory of a fellow firefighter who died of a 9/11-related cancer.
Joe McKay, another FDNY responder, recalled the searing headaches that began months after the towers fell. They were later diagnosed as cluster headaches, a condition afflicting nearly a quarter of those exposed to 9/11 toxins. McKay has since become a tireless advocate for first responders, even lobbying alongside Jon Stewart to secure federal funding for their care.
The 9/11 responders’ plight is a reminder that toxic exposures are not abstract hazards but lived experiences etched into bodies and lives.
A Fight That Won’t End
As speeches gave way to embraces, Freedom Plaza felt less like a protest and more like a reckoning. Parents held onto children who would grow up carrying these stories. Firefighters clasped hands, their faces lined not only with fatigue but with resolve.
They knew the odds were stacked against them. Industry interests were powerful. Government inertia was entrenched. And yet, here they stood, unwilling to yield.
The message was clear: firefighters will no longer accept being poisoned in silence. Communities will no longer tolerate toxic water and soil dismissed as rare accidents. And families will no longer bury loved ones without demanding accountability.
What began as scattered voices of suspicion and grief has grown into a chorus echoing through the nation’s capital. They came to say, with one voice, that the lives of those who run toward danger must no longer be sacrificed to the poisons hidden in their gear, their water, and their very environment.
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| International Association of Fire Fighters President Edward Kelly speaking at Freedom Plaza. Image by John Nelson |
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| Diane Cotter (Worcester, MA), Stel Bailey (Brevard County, Florida), Elizabeth Baker (Titusville, Florida), Representative Jim McGovern), Paul Cotter (Worcester, MA), Kevin Ferrara (Pennsylvania) |
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| Firefighter Jason Burns speaking at Freedom Plaza. Image by John Nelson |
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| SAFE Dinner in Washington DC with advocates from Florida, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Hawaii, Alabama, Louisana, Massachusets, and other states throughout the country. |