There is something deliciously ironic about the way the European Union preens itself over its rail infrastructure. They look at the crumbling, pothole-infested asphalt of the Americas with a smug, espresso-fueled disdain, yet here we are again, watching a commuter train in Barcelona transform into a pile of scrap metal because nature decided to remind us that mud exists. A retaining wall collapsed. Think about that for a moment. A wall designed specifically to stay in one place and hold things back failed at its one job because it got a little damp. It is the perfect metaphor for the modern state: expensive, aesthetically pleasing from a distance, and structurally incapable of handling a Tuesday morning rain shower.

The facts are as grim as they are predictable. A driver is dead, and thirty-seven others are 'injured'—a clinical term for having their lives upended by bureaucratic negligence—all because a pile of dirt and a few stones decided to succumb to gravity. This happened near Barcelona, a city that fancies itself a global hub of culture and sophisticated urban planning. Apparently, that planning didn't account for the radical, unforeseen concept of 'rain in the autumn.' The authorities were quick to point out that the rain was 'heavy,' as if a bit of precipitation is a supernatural event that absolves them of the responsibility to ensure their transit lines don't turn into death traps.

But wait, there is more. This wasn't even the only rail catastrophe in Spain this week. Just days prior, the south of the country decided to get in on the action with a separate deadly collision. It seems the Spanish rail network is currently operating on a 'one disaster per region' quota. If you are a commuter in Madrid, I would suggest walking. Or perhaps a helicopter. Actually, given the general state of human competence, you should probably just stay in bed and wait for the roof to cave in.

The reaction to these events is always the same tiresome theater. We see the 'swift response' of emergency services, a phrase designed to make us feel better about the fact that the response was only necessary because someone else failed to do their job months or years ago. High-visibility vests swarm the wreckage, clipboards are brandished like holy relics, and politicians offer their 'thoughts and prayers'—the universal currency of the useless. The Left will inevitably blame a lack of public funding, ignoring the fact that they’ve had decades to prioritize safety over performative pet projects. The Right will scream about inefficiency and the need for more privatization, as if a corporate logo on the side of a derailed train makes the wreckage any more comfortable for the victims.

We are told that high-speed rail and modern connectivity are the pinnacles of human progress. We are sold a vision of a borderless, seamless Europe where you can sip a latte while hurtling across the landscape at two hundred kilometers per hour. But this vision is built on the cheap. It is built on the assumption that the earth will remain static and that maintenance is a secondary concern to the optics of a grand opening ceremony. When a retaining wall collapses, it isn't just the dirt that falls; it’s the entire illusion of control. We aren't masters of our environment; we are just passengers in a tin can, crossing our fingers that the people in charge of the 'retaining' parts of the infrastructure weren't distracted by a budget meeting or a siesta.

Let’s talk about the driver. One dead. A person whose job was to navigate this supposedly world-class system, only to be buried by the very terrain the system was meant to conquer. The thirty-seven injured will be tallied up, compensated with some meager sum, and forgotten by the next news cycle. Meanwhile, the transport ministry will launch an 'investigation.' In political terms, an investigation is a black hole where accountability goes to die. They will spend months, perhaps years, producing a document that concludes that 'errors were made' and 'lessons will be learned.' Spoilers: the lessons are never learned. The only thing that happens is the ink dries on the report just in time for the next wall to collapse.

This is the reality of the 21st century. We have the technology to map the human genome and send billionaire-funded phallic symbols into the upper atmosphere, but we can't keep a train on its tracks when it gets cloudy. It is a pathetic display of civilizational fatigue. We are so busy arguing over the nuances of identity politics or the fluctuations of the carbon market that we’ve forgotten how to build a wall that stays up. We have become a species of managers and middle-men, far too important to worry about the literal mud under our feet until it’s pouring through the windshield of a commuter locomotive.

So, congratulations to Spain for proving once again that modernity is a fragile crust over an ocean of incompetence. Whether it’s the high-speed rails in the south or the commuter lines in the north, the message is clear: your safety is a statistical afterthought. The next time you step onto a train, don't look at the sleek design or the digital displays. Look at the hillsides. Look at the clouds. Because in the end, a few gallons of water have more influence over your arrival than the entire Spanish government combined. Enjoy the ride, if you can. Just don't expect the destination to be anything other than a ditch.