Climate change and scorching temperatures are no longer a future apocalyptic threat or a matter for geographically distant academics who study the poles and how the habitat of bears and seals is melting. The effect of climate change is what we feel on our skin when the asphalt burns, when not even the fan seems to move the density of the air because the nights are so hot that they don’t let us sleep, and opening the window feels like connecting with the volcano where Frodo threw the one ring.
It is also a present and continuous part of everyday conversations, part of our daily complaint, and when someone says “there are no springs anymore” it no longer evens seems original to us. We also live in houses that were not designed to withstand that heat and neighborhoods seem to retain the heat, so leaving home is not an escape either. In fact, it not only seems like they retain it, but they actually do (the heat island). This change and the accompanying heat affect us all, but they do not affect all people equally, because as so often happens with major social processes, it hits harder those who were already living in more fragile conditions. Housing, once again, is one of the most powerful differentiating filters.
Among those who suffer the most from the heat are older people, those who live with some disability (or several), or those going through situations of social and economic vulnerability. Some people, in this lottery of life, are in more than one of these categories at the same time. In the case of old age, it is not only an exclusively biological matter, although it is true that the aging body adapts worse to extremes, responds more slowly to heat, and accumulates diseases that make it more difficult to cope. Nor is it solely a matter of material resources, although those who have air conditioning and a cool home have an enormous advantage compared to those who live in a fourth-floor apartment without insulation (like me, as I write this, though at least I have cold water in the fridge). It is above all a combination of intersecting factors: age, of course, but above all health status, economic resources, the quality of the housing we live in, but also the level and quality of our relationships and social support, access to transportation and to information, even how that information is processed. All of this, in its different degrees and combinations, multiplies vulnerability.
A heat wave may be an annoying and overwhelming episode for someone in good health but with certain resources (more water, less physical activity, and some shade) to face it; for an older person who lives alone in a poorly insulated apartment, with reduced mobility or pain, with limited income and without the possibility of, for example, having air conditioning (in a context in which bad construction makes it essential), heat goes beyond being a nuisance to become a serious threat to life. The data remind us that deaths attributable to heat among older people have grown alarmingly over the last two decades and that the trend is upward.
Extreme heat and its effects on the body are compounded by other less visible but equally harmful effects. Mental health suffers, and emotional distress finds fertile ground when discomfort is constant, when lack of sleep accumulates, or when the feeling of confinement drags on for days. The isolation during the pandemic seems to have been forgotten, but many older people face this situation (and the risk of imposed loneliness) in their daily lives. In contexts of extreme temperatures, isolation and the impossibility of going out for a walk intensify. The difficulty of going outside, the limitation to participate in daily activities, or the simple fear of becoming dehydrated or suffering from heat stroke can lead to spending entire days shut in, in solitude (the unwanted kind, imposed by external factors), with everything that entails.
The city, so often presented (or used to be, I’m beginning to think) as a space of opportunities, turns into an oven that suffocates us. Here comes into play the so-called “heat island” effect I mentioned, which makes cities concentrate and amplify temperatures; the grayer a city seems, the more heat it traps. Concrete is our enemy, and cement plazas are places of torture. In places like Madrid, it is enough to walk a little (as much as the body can endure) through its streets to see that not all areas suffer the same heat or with the same intensity.
Neighborhoods with more greenery, well-kept parks, and tree-lined streets manage to mitigate part of the impact, while in others the absence of shade turns summer into an endurance race. We could talk about Puerta del Sol, but why. In Madrid, as in so many other cities, there are numerous poorly insulated homes, tall buildings where heat accumulates in the upper floors, and neighborhoods where urban precariousness and poorly thought-out urban furniture (gray, cement, absorbing heat) multiply risks and discomfort. Let’s not forget that not everyone has the possibility of taking refuge elsewhere for a few days, of fleeing Madrid city to the north on the most unbearable days; not everyone has family networks that can provide company during these scorching days or invite them to spend the heat in a more livable home. How I miss having that possibility these days of 104 degrees, at least.
If we want to delve even deeper, let’s add the energy issue as an extra layer of inequality. Adapting to the heat requires resources: fans, air conditioners, refrigerators running at full capacity. All of this means expenses that not every pocket can afford. Energy poverty leaves many people in the dilemma of choosing between enduring the heat without adequate means or reducing other essential expenses. It is not unusual to find households that barely ventilate to avoid spending on cooling, even beyond the heat, when they live with humidity and mold that worsen respiratory and rheumatic illnesses. Climate change, in this sense, not only brings extreme temperatures but also exposes and worsens other housing inequalities.
If we look beyond the walls of homes, we discover that vulnerability also extends to other living spaces. Nursing homes, day centers, hospitals, and even public transportation must adapt to a climate that no longer follows past patterns. However, protocols often do not sufficiently consider the needs of older people (let alone those with disabilities) in situations of climate emergency. Evacuating a building, finding a temporary shelter, or simply accessing clear and understandable information are not minor tasks when mobility is reduced, when electronic devices are not handled easily, or (let’s imagine) when information arrives in inaccessible language.
Faced with this reality, the pressing question is what we can do as a society. And the answer cannot be limited to individual recommendations such as drinking more water or avoiding going out during peak hours of the day. We need urban policies that invest in more trees, shade, and water fountains in public spaces (please). Inclusive emergency plans are required, from an age perspective, that think about those who cannot evacuate on their own or who need specific assistance. It is essential to strengthen social and community services so that no one is forced to face a heat wave alone in a poorly insulated, overheated apartment. It is also urgent to combat energy poverty with measures that ensure that adapting to climate change is not a privilege reserved for those who have the most.
Climate change is altering our living conditions, but it is also clearly showing us the cracks in our societies. In its rawness, it points out where we have failed to guarantee basic rights such as decent housing, affordable energy, or care for dependency, which goes beyond certain limited conceptions of what care is. Old age in the 21st century cannot be thought of apart from climate change. If gaining years of life has been one of the greatest achievements of our society, the challenge now is that those years are lived with dignity in a safe environment. It is of little use to speak of longevity if extreme heat locks in, exhausts, and threatens the lives of older people. It is of little use to celebrate that we will live longer if we do not ensure that those additional years do not turn into years of suffering. Recognizing the need to address the impact of climate change on old age is an exercise in collective responsibility.
