Ah, so suddenly after all.
Suddenly, politicians discover that the heat is dangerous. That cities no longer cool down at night. That elderly people collapse, that children suffer, and that housing becomes concrete ovens. Welcome to 2026 — glad you’re finally taking a look.
While people in Rennes sit on park benches at night because their rooms have become unbearably hot, somewhere, committees are still debating “long-term climate strategies.” Long-term. That word now sounds like pure sarcasm.
Climate change is no longer at our doorstep. It is already settled in the living room, consuming the electricity of fans and depriving us of sleep.
And yet, many officials continue to behave as if it were just a somewhat prolonged weather phase. A few fountains here, a little mist there — here’s the municipal fig leaf. Of course, these measures help in the short term. No doubt. But they now look like bandages on an open wound.
The truth is: for decades, there was talking, postponing, relativizing. It was repeatedly said that the economy should not be overstressed, citizens not worried, and industry not pressured. Strange that now entire cities are overwhelmed — by temperatures that were once rare exceptions.
And now? Now, parks are open at night.
This makes human sense. But it is at the same time a heavy symbol. Because if people have to seek refuge in parks at night at the end of May in Brittany, then something is really wrong.
The double political morality is particularly absurd. The same voices that for years rejected climate protection as hysteria or “too expensive” are today presenting emergency measures against the heat as a great innovation. Bravo. Really. Maybe then people will discover that trees provide shade.
Sarcasm is difficult, because the situation is already very serious.
Because the summers to come will be harder. Cities will continue to warm up, water will become scarcer, extreme weather events more frequent. All this has been noted for years in scientific reports. No one can claim to be surprised. What is surprising is the persistence with which politics still tries to minimize the obvious.
People are already noticing that something is changing. Not in any models. But at night in their own bed. Seeing the dried-up green spaces. Feeling like there is not enough air even though the sun has already set.
How many tropical nights will it take before the discourse of compassion finally turns into real action?
Or are we seriously waiting for the last air-conditioned meeting rooms to become too hot in turn?