SCIENCE IS SCREAMING. No One is Listening.

I won’t lie. Over the past four years, I’ve questioned whether I could face another day. I’ve stood on the edge, more than once, since climate chaos roared into my world and destroyed everything. Believe me, you don’t want this trauma. I am saying this out loud, not for pity, but to demand your attention.

Yes, I know. Life is hard enough. Putting food on the table and paying bills already feels impossible. Violence lurks at every corner, and the world is about to see a new US President destabilise everything—gutting social fabric, endangering millions, turning the global stage into a house of cards. Security arrangements, world trade, war—all of it’s up in the air. 

But I stand my ground in seeking your attention. Climate chaos is escalating around us every day, yet you won’t know it if the mainstream news is your source of information. In 2022, UN Secretary-General António Guterres warned of an ‘uninhabitable’ world. The latest scientific reports cut through any last traces of ‘hopium’: reaching net-zero won’t stop what’s already set in motion. It’s already baked in. That world is already here and the devastation is spreading. 

‘… we found reaching net-zero in the next few decades will not bring an immediate end to the global heating problem. Earth’s climate will change for many centuries to come. And this continuing climate change will not be evenly spread. Australia [my home] will keep warming more than almost any other land area.’ (The Conversation)

Today, governments meet again to deliberate about climate mitigation as though the clock hasn’t already run out. They’re meeting to talk about ‘the money’, but it’s doomed from the start. Trump has made it clear he thinks climate change is a ‘hoax’, so the largest emitter and the largest donor are mute at the table. But Trump doesn’t wear the full blame. Nor does the US election. Bidden’s Inflation Reduction Act falls egregiously short of the US responsibility for the current mess. The other major emitters are no better. These summits, these policies—they are all a façade, giving governments a mask to hide their inaction, as if they’re prioritising our safety or nature’s future.

They are not. 

No one is preparing. In the past six months alone, we’ve seen floods ravage Spain, Nigeria, and Nepal; hurricanes devastate the US; and deadly heatwaves sweep through Greece, Morocco, and India. Experts predicted many of these events. The warnings ignored. Wildfires are burning on every continent, including tearing across 1.3 million hectares of the Pantanal, the world’s largest tropical wetland. Climate collapse isn’t coming—it’s here, and it’s now the leading driver of humanitarian crises from heatwaves, wildfires, floods, tropical storms and hurricanes. Already 3.6 billion people live in areas susceptible to climate chaos. By the end of this decade, the direct damage costs to health (excluding costs in health-determining sectors like agriculture, water and sanitation) are projected to reach between US$2–4 billion per year.

For years, I’ve watched scientists temper their language, terrified of seeming alarmist. Now, they’re shouting, calling this moment ‘unprecedented’, ‘catastrophic’. 2024 will probably be the hottest year on record and Carlo Buontempo, Director of Copernicus, has issued a primal scream dressed in accurate prose.

‘Our civilisation never had to cope with a climate as warm as the current one. This inevitably pushes our ability to respond to extreme events—and adapt to a warmer world—to the absolute limit.’

The WMO (World Meteorological Organization) warn carbon dioxide is accumulating in the atmosphere faster than any time experienced during human existence; rising by over 10 percent in just two decades.  WMO Secretary-General Celeste Saulo has practically yelled what this means:

‘Another year. Another record. This should set alarm bells ringing among decision makers. We are clearly off track to meet the Paris Agreement goal of limiting global warming to well below 2°C and aiming for 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels. These are more than just statistics. Every part per million and every fraction of a degree temperature increase has a real impact on our lives and our planet.’

Has any government official or agency said anything useful in reply. Nope.  Science is warning us, at the top of their lungs, but still no one is listening—or perhaps they are and then just forgetting.

Yet, every one of these message haunts me. Not because I care more, or have uncanny insight, or privilege. Because I’ve crossed a threshold, a line of awareness that most of the world unconsciously avoids. It’s a one-way ticket to understanding the harsh reality of climate chaos. The clarity is not a badge of honour; it’s a curse that came when a wildfire took my home, my community, and my belief in ‘normal’. The monstrous blaze scorched everything I was, everything I believed, leaving me with an unhealable wound that political neglect only deepens.

The grotesque heaps of incinerated animals along the roadside are seared into my memory. I flash, daily, to the bleak ashscape stretching across horizons, the wind empty, murmuring death—no buzz, no birdsong for months. My neighbours’ hollow eyes still haunt me, vacant with sorrow. I hear the echoes of gunshots as farmers shot thousands of animals, sparing them the agony of slow death. I see animals with skin scorched from their bodies, intestines exposed, feet burned to bone, udders boiled, joeys cooked alive in pouches. My words fall short of these monstrous realities. I’ve seen nature obliterated, and I’ve lived the slow-motion hell of rebuilding life from ruins—each step a cruel reminder of how deeply unprepared, how shockingly negligent, our governments are in the face of the nightmares closing in. These images are testament to the obscene indifference of our leaders.

Human security, stability, infrastructure—it’s all paper-thin. Food security teeters on a knife-edge, as does access to clean water and reliable power. Communication lines are weak. If you live far from a city, don’t delude yourself—emergency services won’t arrive in time. Government sympathy is a farce. They show up with flimsy support, stage photo ops, and retreat to self-preservation plans that exclude us all.

Know this: every individual who has survived the recent wildfires, floods, or storms is alive but gutted. We face mental collapse, financial ruin, and a shattered world. Our suffering goes unspoken, drowned out by the superficial rage of news cycles. And because the world isn’t listening, we stand before you in silence. We know this truth now: we’re on our own. Survival is up to us.

My community is still rebuilding, five years later. We’ve seen PTSD up close. We stay connected because it’s all we have. We know that the extreme Fire Weather Index numbers that brought us the wildfire of Black Summer are at least four times more likely with a 2ºC temperature rise. Between now and 2ºC  is an escalating hell-scape. So, we are setting up independent communication systems, working out how to survive, growing our own food, and harvesting water. And some preparations I can’t share—our government would shut us down. This is my full-time, unpaid occupation now. It’s that important. We know that despite the illusion of society, we’re alone in this fight.

My message to every other community is stark and clear: prepare yourselves. Step out of your online ‘echo chamber’ into the real world—those voices of agreement are no substitute for an actual community that will stand with you. Forge bonds with people nearby. Face-to-face, start building the network of trust and shared action you’ll need to weather the coming storms.

Understand this: community isn’t about shared ideology; it’s about shared geography. It’s the people you’ll see every day, the ones you’ll lean on when systems break down. Building this takes time and resilience, not just a good talk. Drop the distractions and filtering people by politics. Start finding common ground that goes beyond words. Listen hard, until you hear the genuine fears and hopes of those around you.

Whether it’s 30, 300, or 3000 people, you need a tight, local network that can handle hard decisions and quick action. Forget niceties—this is about facing the raw, unfiltered human realities that crises lay bare. If you’re serious about surviving the climate dystopia, get comfortable with rough edges and grit.

When you have trust, have the guts to bring up survival—skip the politics, drop the judgements, and focus on what needs doing. Where are you, and what are your collective risks? Is it wildfire rolling over the hill from the state forest? Is it catastrophic flooding, water scarcity, or a deadly heatwave? What skills does your community have. How can you plug your gaps. Speak plainly. Build a plan—even if it’s illegal—and get to work. Government is not coming, and if you’re still waiting, you’re wasting precious time.

Forget the fantasy of ‘kumbaya’ moments; actual community isn’t a campfire singalong. It’s about building grit, about working alongside people who may drive you mad. Yet they’re here, and so are you. This is the radical work of survival—not just showing up to a protest, not just making noise, but working day by day with real people on the ground.

To those who haven’t faced a firestorm, flood, or heat dome, this advice might sound extreme. Maybe you think building community is lowbrow. But look around—climate catastrophe isn’t waiting, it’s tearing through families, ripping apart towns, and it’s escalating. Every wildfire, every cyclone, every flood, and every rain bomb is a testament to that failure.

Listen and act. Please. The scientists are screaming, and so am I.

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Image credit: Community members clean up in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene in Marshall, N.C. (Jabin Botsford/The Washington Post/Getty Images)

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