The American Republic, so fond of its spectacular displays of civic pride and pyrotechnic excess, has outdone itself. A truck laden with fireworks has caught fire on a highway, producing an impromptu Roman candle show that would make Nero blush. This is not an episode of The Simpsons.
This is real life, and it is a metaphor for a civilisation dancing on the edge of its own grave. The federal government, of course, will hold an inquiry. They will wring their hands and tighten regulations.
But they will miss the point entirely. The point is not that the truck was unsafe. The point is that we have become a nation of spectators, gawking at the explosion of our own infrastructure while inhaling the smoke of decadence.
The fireworks industry, like so many others, operates on a razor-thin margin of safety, and the public appetite for cheap thrills trumps all caution. We have seen this before. In the late Roman Empire, grain ships burned in the harbour.
The chariot races continued. In Victorian London, the poor died in fire traps while the wealthy clucked their tongues from a safe distance. Now, in the Land of the Free, a burning truck is a spectacle, not a warning.
The real fire is in the soul of the nation, and it will not be extinguished by a new set of regulations. It will require a fundamental shift in how we value safety, competence, and collective responsibility over the cheap thrill of a burst of coloured light. But do not hold your breath.
The next truck is already on the road.
