Dear potential donor,

Thank you for visiting our page. My name is Olivia Charmaine Morris, and I am an artist, activist and Los Angeles based film and television producer. I am campaigning on behalf of my Uncle, Ronnie Morris, and his immediate family, who lost their home of 28 years last week in the Altadena Fire. I am seeking support to cover unexpected costs and help them get back on their feet. Your contributions will help us through this challenging time, and will assist with needs that might not be fully covered by other sources of aid. Your help will allow us to address the many aspects of recovery and support our family through this crisis. 

Every dollar will go toward giving him and his family a foundation to stand on during this impossible time. ❤️‍

My work as a film and television executive and producer has spanned scripted and unscripted storytelling, animation, and live-action. I’ve had the honor of overseeing monumental projects like The Last OG with Jordan Peele & Tracy Morgan, producing alongside Kerry Washington and Amber Ruffin, and founding Black Monarch Entertainment to amplify underrepresented voices. Most recently, I launched Water Lily Entertainment — a globally focused production company rooted in Los Angeles but telling stories that transcend borders.

Beyond my professional work, I’m deeply committed to arts education, mentorship, and social justice advocacy, lending my expertise to institutions like NYU, USC, UCLA, and Sundance. While storytelling is my trade, family and community remain at the heart of everything I do.

That’s why I’m writing to you today — not as a representative of the Hollywood elite, but as a niece and proud member of a family from humble beginnings that has had Southern California roots for generations.

Although I was born in Los Angeles (at Inglewood’s Centinela Hospital in November of 1991), devastation was soon at my family’s doorstep when the Rodney King fueled 1992 LA Riots erupted a few months later in our neighborhood. My parents, Reginald and Renea Morris, sprung into action and created a non-profit initiative called the “Youth Job Awareness Project” to help young people the inner city find jobs when they were still kids themselves, and my dad was later deemed a “hero of the LA Riots” and given a key to the City. 

In order to find a safe haven for their budding family, my parents moved my brother and I around the country for our early years until we eventually settled in Cincinnati, Ohio. I grew up with an education richly steeped in the arts, and spent the first 18 years of my life with my eyes on both coasts, unsure if I wanted to spend my life on stage, in front of the camera, or behind it. The summer between high school and attending NYU in the fall, a makeshift bedroom in Uncle Ronnie’s home gave me a foothold on the West Coast, and allowed me to orient myself within such a vast and culturally rich new environment. It’s where I fell in love with Southern California, and it’s that love that has called back time and time again.

My dad’s brother, Ronnie Morris, lost everything last week when the devastating Altadena fires burned his home to the ground. The tragedy unfolded in a way that’s heartbreakingly familiar in America: while first responders rushed to protect the affluent Pacific Palisades — evacuating horses and multimillion-dollar estates —historic Black neighborhoods like Altadena were left to burn. By the time anyone arrived, his house was already gone.

Uncle Ronnie’s home wasn’t just a house. It was a cornerstone of our family, a place that had stood for nearly 30 years. It survived earthquakes and life’s ups and downs, but this fire took it all. He had just retired two months ago after decades with LAUSD, ready to enjoy a new chapter of life. But like many Californians, he had been priced out of private insurance after premiums skyrocketed from $4,000 to $14,000 before being canceled outright. Forced into the state insurance program, he now faces an excruciatingly slow claims process with no immediate relief.

When the fire reached his street, the power had already gone out hours earlier. At 2 a.m., the police gave him and his family just five minutes to evacuate. They escaped with only the clothes on their backs, leaving behind a lifetime of memories. Now, he has nothing — not even the resources to begin cleaning up what’s left.

Uncle Ronnie isn’t just starting over; he’s doing so while supporting his displaced wife. They’ve not only lost their family home (the childhood home to his 3 adult children) but also their connection to a community rich in history, resilience, and culture.

The Altadena fires are more than a natural disaster — they’re a glaring reflection of systemic neglect. It’s a story as old as the Tulsa Massacre or Seneca Village, playing out 100 years later: historic Black communities displaced and erased while wealthier, predominantly white neighborhoods receive every possible resource.

If you want to understand more about the gravity of this tragedy, USA Today and New York Times have captured the devastation in Altadena beautifully. I’ve shared personal reflections on this incredible home here, in a blog I wrote that summer when I was 18, that I affectionately refer to as my “Freedom Summer.”

Please donate and share. This isn’t just about rebuilding a home — it’s about preserving the legacy of Black resilience in Los Angeles and standing against the forces that would erase it.