The fire is hot

An enthusiastic guest wanders into the kitchen, about to touch the sizzling wok, the warning comes, “Don’t touch; it’s hot.” An ember sparks from a campfire, a quick-to-act, but slow-to-think camper leans forward, bare-handed to pick it up, the warning comes, “Don’t touch; it’s hot.”

“Don’t touch; it’s hot” A simple phrase, almost instinctive, spoken as much for survival as for caution as for concern. It transcends language, resonating in the neurosensory systems we all share. The pain, should we ignore the warning, is immediate and visceral. Yet, it is here—in this shared capacity to feel—that our unity ends, for pain is no uniform force.

To one, pain may bring torrents of tears, while to another, it is little more than a quiet discomfort. And it is here we carry our diversity within the commonality of our biology—different thresholds, different reactions, yet the fundamental truth is the same, we all have the capacity to feel.

A capacity, however inconvenient many may struggle to accept, is one that extends beyond “us.” Though often forgotten, it weaves through the web of life, connecting we humans with all beings regardless of form. We are animals, after all, a part of the rich tapestry that is the animal kingdom. A part of it, not a part from it—linked by a biological continuity too often ignored.

And when we pause to truly consider this, an unsettling realisation can emerge: the suffering we allow to befall animals—be it for our convenience, indulgence, or ignorance—is not so different from the suffering we fear for ourselves.

A cow trembling in the final moments before slaughter, a dog abandoned to the streets, a monkey caged for the sake of research—all feel the sting of pain, the pang of loss, the yearning for freedom. Yet we persist, justifying their plight as necessary, their anguish as insignificant. We subdue our compassion, clinging desperately to the notion that their suffering is somehow less than ours, a lie as old as civilisation itself.

But pain does not lie.

And neither does joy.

For just as they suffer, non-human animals also delight. A chicken uncaged, dances in the sunlight, her chirps echo her joy. A lamb gambols across the fields with their buddies, unburdened by fear. A dog, tail wagging excitedly, finds boundless happiness in the simple companionship of a friend, be that friend human or non-human

And yet, in our supposed age of enlightenment, we continue to look away. We refuse to cradle the thought of their suffering, perhaps fearing the fire of guilt and complicity. But the heat is there, growing hotter with every unheeded warning. For what we visit upon animals, we inevitably visit upon ourselves. Our shared earth bears witness to this truth: the loss of biodiversity, the emergence of pandemics, the unravelling of ecosystems—all speak of a balance disturbed by our hands and cold hearts.

Perhaps, it is time to do more than pause. Perhaps, it is time to act. To see not only the pain of others but their joy, their worth, their right to live unburdened by the choices we impose. For the fire we stoke with indifference and cruelty does not burn in isolation. It spreads, consuming not only them but us as well.

The fire is hot. And if we continue to ignore its warning, we may soon find there is no one left unburned.