Summer in Luxembourg, as elsewhere, stretches its days under a blazing sun. While some enjoy sunny terraces or cool vacation getaways, others experience each heatwave as an ordeal. In the same neighborhood, an executive enjoys air conditioning in the office, while a few streets away a construction worker suffocates on the burning asphalt. Elderly people fear the rising mercury, isolated in overheated apartments, while wealthier families escape the heat by fleeing to ocean beaches. Under the heatwave, our destinies are unequal: summer heat exacerbates social and territorial inequalities, revealing a true climate injustice at work. Accessible and pleasant for some, summer can become an unbearable burden—a kind of damnation—for others.
A revelation of climate inequality
Heatwaves act as a magnifier of our social vulnerabilities. Who are the “damned of the heat”? Above all, the most vulnerable—seniors, young children, the sick, the homeless—and more broadly, those who accumulate risk factors. A study across Europe showed that women and the elderly suffer the most during hot summers: in 2023, heat-related mortality was 55% higher for women than men, and over seven times higher for those over 80 compared to the 65–79 age group. This can be explained by concrete realities: women live longer (often alone in old age), and older people suffer from health conditions or isolation that make heat deadly. In Luxembourg, the 2003 European heatwave particularly affected the country: +14.3% mortality in August compared to the norm, making the Grand Duchy one of the most proportionally impacted areas. More recently, the summer of 2022 also led to dozens of excess deaths. Heat kills silently, and it’s always the same people who are on the front lines.
Socioeconomic inequalities further aggravate this toll. Low-income individuals often live in poorly insulated housing—attic apartments, aging buildings without adequate ventilation—that turn into ovens in the summer. Conversely, wealthier households have more access to modern housing with thermal insulation, air conditioning, or shaded gardens. The streets are unforgiving: homeless people, without access to cool shelter, suffer directly from extreme heat. Yet, as pointed out by the collective “Solidaritéit mat den Heescherten,” Luxembourg’s heatwave plan focuses on isolated elderly people (via Red Cross registration) and provides no specific measures for the homeless—support relies mostly on NGOs’ volunteer efforts. No systematic water distribution, no designated shaded spaces: in 2025, as temperature records are broken, this population remains left out. The heatwave thus reveals a double injustice: those who contributed the least to climate change—the poor, excluded, vulnerable—suffer its harshest consequences without adequate safety nets.
Territories under extreme heat: urban and rural disparities
Vulnerability to heat is also geographical. A patch of greenery in the countryside does not compare to a concrete canyon in the city. Luxembourg, though temperate, now experiences significant territorial disparities due to warming. Studies by the Luxembourg Institute of Science and Technology (LIST) confirm that dense urban areas trap much more heat than their surroundings. In the urbanized and post-industrial south of the country, some municipalities face a severe urban heat island effect: low vegetation, high building density, and impermeable surfaces contribute to critical temperatures, sometimes reaching 46°C in peak summer. Without adaptation, this urbanized mining basin (PRO-SUD) could become even less livable by 2060, with an additional +0.7 to +2.7°C expected. The map below illustrates the heat concentrations identified across the country. You can clearly see these urban “hotspots,” the result of decades of mineralized urban planning.
By contrast, rural or wooded areas benefit from nighttime cooling due to natural soil and airflow. This territorial climate injustice even exists within cities: between a tree-less concrete district and a shaded park, the perceived temperature can differ by several degrees. “A cool island can feel 3 to 5°C cooler instantly,” notes MP Semiray Ahmedova. This gap is huge—and vital—during a heatwave. For years, however, urban planning has favored asphalt and cars, sidelining nature in cities. The consequences are clear: paving and façades radiate heat, there’s no tree cover for shade, and airflow is blocked by dense structures. Now, greening our cities is not just aesthetic—it’s a public health emergency. The Luxembourg government has understood this by supporting the renaturation of urban spaces. In 2021, over €10 million were invested to help municipalities de-seal surfaces and plant trees, hedges, and urban gardens. Every tree planted, every square meter of lawn or green roof, is a small victory against summer suffocation.
Working under a scorching sun
At the peak of July, not all workers are equal under the thermometer. While some office employees sit behind tinted windows and air conditioning, many construction workers, craftsmen, or public agents remain exposed outdoors or in poorly cooled spaces. Working under heat becomes a health challenge. When temperatures reach 35°C in the shade—the orange alert level from MeteoLux—bodies suffer, productivity drops, and the risk of accidents increases. Luxembourgish authorities, aware of the issue, emphasize that employers are responsible for workplace safety during extreme heat. The Labour and Mines Inspectorate (ITM) publishes specific recommendations:
- Provide shaded areas or ventilated shelters on construction sites
- Ensure each worker has access to sufficient drinking water (3–4L per day) and is encouraged to drink regularly
- Adjust schedules to avoid intense physical labor during the hottest hours, especially near hot metal or asphalt surfaces
- Adapt clothing: neck-covering helmets, light-colored and breathable clothes, sunglasses, and sunscreen
- Thermally insulate hot machines or pipes, ventilate spaces, install fans or temporary air conditioning where possible
As a last resort, the law allows companies to declare weather-related work stoppage if conditions threaten workers’ health. In other words, a heatwave can be treated as force majeure, like a storm or flood. These measures are essential, but in practice, not all employees feel empowered to claim them. On some sites, informal arrangements are made: teams start as early as 6 or 7 AM to benefit from cooler hours and finish earlier. “It gets really tough when the temperature hits 39 degrees,” says one worker, noting that a newcomer “wouldn’t last two weeks” in such extreme conditions. His comment reflects both the seasoned resilience of long-time workers and the harsh reality for all.
Fortunately, some sectors already account for this seasonal reality. In construction, for example, a mandatory collective summer leave gives workers about three weeks off from late July, traditionally including August 15. This break is well-timed to protect them during the hottest part of the summer. But with the climate becoming more erratic, heatwaves now strike in June or September, beyond planned breaks. In the future, greater flexibility and anticipation may be needed: why not expand remote work or flexible schedules during heatwaves, even for white-collar jobs? Or institutionalize a midday siesta like in southern countries? The value of work shouldn’t be measured by the number of hours spent in the scorching sun when that sun threatens life itself. Once again, climate justice means rethinking habits—and putting health before productivity, especially when the heat becomes oppressive.
The damned of the heat
Air Conditioning: False Good Idea or Vital Necessity?
When a heatwave hits, the temptation to turn on the air conditioning is strong. What could be simpler than switching on a unit to transform your home into a cool oasis? In fact, access to air conditioning already saves tens of thousands of lives worldwide each year. Studies have shown that the risk of heat-related death is reduced by around 75% in households equipped with AC—a massive gap that highlights how vital artificial cooling can be for vulnerable populations. In hospitals, care homes, or for pregnant women and those who are ill, AC can truly mean the difference between life and death. So, giving it up altogether is out of the question. As researcher Enrica De Cian reminds us, some people really need air conditioning.
However, expanding AC use on a massive scale without making other changes would be like treating an illness with an even worse one. A “cooled world” where every room, car, and store relies on artificial cold is a vicious cycle for the planet. Already today, AC is responsible for around 1 billion tons of CO₂ per year—nearly 3% of global emissions. And that figure is skyrocketing with growing demand. There are an estimated 2 billion air conditioners in operation worldwide, and that number is expected to rise sharply due to global warming and income growth. If everyone seeks salvation by turning on a unit, we risk making the very problem we’re trying to escape even worse. Electricity production must keep up—and during heatwaves, AC can account for up to half of a region’s peak electricity demand. That often means more fossil-fueled power plants, and more emissions.
What’s more, air conditioners release heat outside. They cool our living rooms by blowing hot air into the streets, adding to the urban heat island effect. Simulations show that a fully air-conditioned city could see nighttime temperatures rise by about 1°C due to this rejected heat—a cruel paradox. Add to that the use of powerful greenhouse gases in refrigerants, and it’s clear that mass AC use, as practiced today, is an unsustainable escape route.
A New Inequality: The Thermal Divide
This headlong rush is all the more unjust because it leaves behind those who can’t afford it. Installing a split unit or covering the added electricity costs is out of reach for many. Even those with AC may have to choose between staying cool or covering other basic needs when bills rise. The result is a growing divide: between those who can afford their own microclimate and those who suffer heatwaves without relief. In short, a kind of thermal apartheid, if AC becomes the only remedy.
A Balanced Path: Combine, Don’t Ban
The solution is clearly not to ban air conditioning—that would be utopian and cruel—but to regulate its use and combine it with other approaches. First, we must decarbonize the electricity powering these devices: AC run on renewables doesn’t worsen the climate crisis. Then, technological progress can reduce its footprint: more efficient units, low-impact refrigerants, strict energy standards, and regulations to prevent waste (for example, setting a minimum temperature of 24°C, as recommended by the International Energy Agency).
But most importantly, AC should not distract us from deeper, structural responses. Before buying a unit, can we insulate our homes better to retain coolness? Plant trees around buildings for shade? Paint roofs and sidewalks light colors to reflect heat? Install fountains, misting systems, and natural airflow in the streets? All these measures, says Robert Dubrow, director of the Yale Center on Climate and Health, “help us cool sustainably”—and “putting them in place is just a matter of political will.”
In the end, a city’s true air conditioning lies in its vegetation, its bioclimatic architecture, and the solidarity of its people.
Building Urban Oases: Rethinking Infrastructure and Housing
Instead of air-conditioning the atmosphere, wouldn’t it make more sense to adapt our living spaces so they remain naturally comfortable? Thermal renovation of buildings is a key lever in this socio-ecological shift. For years, construction in Luxembourg focused mainly on protection from winter cold. Now, with summer temperatures climbing to 35–40 °C, we also need to protect ourselves from the heat. Insulating a home doesn’t just save heating costs in January—it helps keep it cool in July. Shutters, sunshades, and nighttime ventilation can reduce indoor temperatures by several degrees.
The government has taken note: its new climate adaptation strategy requires that new buildings incorporate resilience criteria, like enhanced insulation and green roofs to limit overheating. But what about existing buildings? Public programs are encouraging renovation through financial aid (PrimeHouse, enoprimes, reduced VAT) for adding insulation, replacing windows, and installing ventilation systems. These remain costly investments, raising the issue of accessibility for low-income households. Without stronger support, we risk deepening a thermal divide between well-renovated homes and poorly insulated ones where the most vulnerable live.
Beyond walls, the public space itself must become a heat refuge. Every municipality can help create accessible “cool islands”: parks, water features, outdoor pools, air-conditioned libraries open during heat alerts. Some European cities are innovating: in Paris and Athens, “climate shelters” (churches, museums, shopping centers) are listed and freely accessible. In Barcelona and Münster, shade sails are installed over public benches used by the homeless, so they aren’t left to roast in the sun. Luxembourg could draw inspiration from these practices. For now, the response often depends on local actors or volunteers (water distribution, Red Cross patrols), but the time has come to institutionalize heatwave solidarity.
Why not imagine a “right to coolness”, guaranteeing everyone access to an air-conditioned or ventilated shelter during extreme heat? After all, we already do this in winter with emergency shelters—lethal summer heat deserves the same attention.
Planning for a Livable Future
Rethinking cities for a warming world means embracing long-term vision in urban planning. Climate adaptation isn’t just a green issue—it’s a cross-cutting challenge involving health, economy, and social cohesion. Luxembourg adopted a National Adaptation Strategy in 2018, updated in 2025 with 131 measures. Key initiatives include real-time heat-related health monitoring, expanding urban green infrastructure, and mobilizing businesses for climate resilience.
It’s heartening to see the state planning ahead. But even the most ambitious strategy must be translated into concrete actions—and most importantly, into inclusive ones. Who benefits from these changes? If we only green affluent neighborhoods and showcase city centers, we’ll neglect suburban areas where many working-class and elderly residents live, often unable to move elsewhere. Equal access to coolness must become a core principle of spatial planning—just like access to water or energy.
Planting a leafy square in a social housing estate could save lives in the next heatwave just as much as adding yet another park to a privileged district. Local climate justice is won—or lost—in these everyday choices.
Imagination and Justice: Choosing a Livable Future
Our responses to heatwaves reflect the collective imaginaries we live by. What vision of progress shapes our choices? Have we normalized the idea that stifling summers are inevitable and that we should each lock ourselves inside with AC? Or can we dream of a world where walking through the city in August still feels pleasant—where no one is forced to sleep in a 30 °C room with the window open to noise and pollution?
The dominant high-tech narrative has long underestimated the material reality of the climate crisis. It whispered that for every problem, there’d be a technical fix—a new AC unit to beat the heat, a giant geoengineering project to cool the planet. But this “techno-solutionist” approach has shown its limits: it hides inequality (only some get access to the fixes) and often worsens the problem (through rebound effects on the environment).
On the flip side, a “back-to-the-candle” vision romanticizing stoic suffering is no solution either. The ecological shift we need isn’t about rejecting technology nor blindly embracing it. It’s about placing technology at the service of the common good, combined with the wisdom of low-tech and sober approaches.
A Call for Just, Radical Change
This ecological bifurcation means changing course—fast and radically—to escape the trap of passive heat exposure. It starts with drastically reducing greenhouse gas emissions—an area where Luxembourg holds particular responsibility, being one of Europe’s highest emitters per capita (17.6 tons of CO₂e per year, more than double the EU average). As a wealthy and innovative country, Luxembourg must lead by example in energy sobriety and renewable transition, to help limit global warming.
Every fraction of a degree matters: projections show that beyond +1.5 °C (a threshold Europe may cross by 2027), heatwaves will become so intense and frequent that adaptation alone won’t suffice. In other words, we can’t adapt our way out of this crisis without tackling its root causes.
Globally, climate justice demands that countries like Luxembourg—with high historical emissions and living standards—do their fair share to prevent the world’s poorest from facing a thermal hell. The “damned of the heat” are already out there: millions across the Sahel, India, and elsewhere are enduring unbearable temperatures without resources to protect themselves.
From Surviving to Thriving: A Political and Poetic Challenge
Locally, ecological bifurcation means putting social justice at the heart of climate policy. It means helping low-income households insulate or equip their homes, ensuring everyone’s access to cooling infrastructure (parks, pools, climate shelters), protecting outdoor workers even if it challenges traditional work rhythms, and encouraging more resilient lifestyles (adjusted summer hours, neighborhood solidarity, etc.).
It’s about strengthening the commons—shared resources like air, water, and the shade of trees—so no one is left alone under a burning sun. And it’s about telling new stories: celebrating those who plant urban forests, invent passive cooling materials, and reimagine the city as an oasis, not a concrete desert. These stories foster hope and collective action, where fatalism only brings paralysis.
In this sense, extreme heat is both a political and poetic challenge. Poetic, because it calls us to reconnect with the climate, to feel the heartbeat of sun and soil, to imagine new ways of inhabiting summer. Political, because it demands brave decisions today to avoid catastrophe tomorrow.
In the blaze of July, a society reveals what it values: will it protect the vulnerable or sacrifice them for the status quo? Will it adapt in solidarity—or retreat into air-conditioned individualism?
The “damned of the heat” don’t have to stay that way. If we make climate justice our compass, we can transform this ordeal into a wave of human and ecological care. Summer doesn’t have to be hell for some while remaining leisure for others. It’s up to us to build, starting now, the kind of city and society where every heatwave is met with a wave of collective coolness.
That’s how we keep our summers livable—and shared.
Author: Tarik Bouriachi