In a move that surprises absolutely no one with a basic understanding of thermodynamics or human incompetence, Chile has officially declared a 'state of catastrophe.' It’s a lovely, dramatic phrase, isn’t it? It has that certain bureaucratic je ne sais quoi that suggests the government is actually doing something other than watching the horizon turn a festive, apocalyptic orange. President Gabriel Boric, the poster child for millennial political earnestness, has emerged from the comfort of his office to warn the populace that the death toll in the Ñuble and Biobío regions is likely to rise. Thank you, Gabriel. Truly. Without that piercing insight, we might have assumed that being surrounded by a wall of literal plasma was a health-conscious lifestyle choice.

At least 18 people have already shuffled off this mortal coil, providing the ultimate escape from having to listen to any more political speeches. The regions of Ñuble and Biobío are currently undergoing a rapid, unasked-for urban renewal project involving extreme heat and the complete removal of oxygen. And yet, the narrative remains the same: shock, awe, and the inevitable hunt for someone to blame. The Right-wing contingent is undoubtedly dusting off their scripts about eco-terrorists and shadowy saboteurs, because the idea that a dry forest might actually ignite in a heatwave is far too simple for their conspiratorial, lead-paint-chip-damaged brains. Meanwhile, the performative Left will wring their hands and weep about the Anthropocene, using the charred remains of rural Chile as a backdrop for their latest lecture on carbon footprints—delivered, naturally, from the climate-controlled comfort of a city that hasn't started melting yet.

Let’s be clear: a 'state of catastrophe' is not a response; it is a confession. It is the formal admission that the social contract has been incinerated along with the timber. We build homes in places that were meant to burn, we underfund the infrastructure required to stop the burning, and then we stand around with our mouths agape when the burning actually happens. It’s a cyclical ritual of stupidity that repeats with the regularity of the seasons. The Chilean government’s sudden urgency is particularly charming. Declaring a catastrophe after eighteen people are dead is like declaring a 'state of wetness' after the Titanic has hit the bottom of the Atlantic. It’s a little late for the paperwork to save anyone, but it certainly helps the middle managers of the soul feel like they’re 'managing' the crisis.

Boric’s warning that the death toll will rise is perhaps the most honest thing a politician has said all year, mostly because it requires zero effort and guarantees he won’t be proven wrong. It’s a safe bet. In the hierarchy of human failure, failing to account for fire is right up there with failing to account for gravity. The regions under fire are being treated as a tragedy, but they are actually a mirror. They reflect a global society that is far too busy arguing about pronouns or tax brackets to notice that the planet is effectively a giant tinderbox populated by arsonists and idiots. The 'catastrophe' isn't the fire; the catastrophe is the collective shrug we give until the smoke starts stinging our own eyes.

As the smoke billows over the Andes, the international community will offer their usual pittance of 'thoughts and prayers,' the digital equivalent of tossing a cup of water onto a volcanic eruption. We love a good disaster, provided it stays on the screen and doesn't interrupt our scrolling. We watch the footage of Biobío charring into a wasteland with the same detached boredom we bring to a mid-season sitcom. It’s just another episode of 'Earth: The Final Season,' and the writing is getting lazily predictable. We know the tropes: the weeping survivor, the soot-stained firefighter, the politician in a windbreaker looking 'concerned' while trying not to get ash on his shoes. It’s a tired aesthetic.

In a few weeks, the fires will die down, not because of some brilliant governmental intervention, but because there will be nothing left to burn. The 'state of catastrophe' will be lifted, replaced by a 'state of rebuilding,' which is just code for 'putting things back exactly where they were so we can do this all again in five years.' We are a species that refuses to learn, governed by people who refuse to lead, living in a world that is tired of hosting us. The 18 dead in Chile are just the early adopters of a trend that is going global. So, raise a glass of Chilean red—if you can find a vineyard that hasn't been reduced to charcoal—and toast to the inevitable. The flames are coming for everyone, and no amount of official declarations will make the smoke smell any better.