The Heat Will Kill You First: Life and Death on a Scorched Planet

by Jeff Goodell

WHEN HEAT COMES, it’s invisible. It doesn’t bend tree branches or blow hair across your face to let you know it’s arrived. The ground doesn’t shake. It just surrounds you and works on you in ways that you can’t anticipate or control. You sweat. Your heart races. You’re thirsty. Your vision blurs. The sun feels like the barrel of a gun pointed at you. Plants look like they’re crying. Birds vanish from the sky and take refuge in deep shade. Cars are untouchable. Colors fade. The air smells burned. You can imagine fire even before you see it.

As with most heat waves today, the people who died first were elderly folks who lived alone, or who were too poor to afford air-conditioning, or who had a medical problem that left them vulnerable. In this sense, a heat wave is a predatory event, one that culls out the most vulnerable people. But that will change. As heat waves become more intense and more common, they will become more democratic.

Even the phrase “global warming” sounds gentle and soothing, as if the most notable impact of burning fossil fuels will be better beach weather.

The difficulty of understanding the consequences of heat is amplified by conventional notions of what it means to be hot. In pop culture, hot is sexy.

Globally, killer heat waves are becoming longer, hotter, and more frequent.