The newly spotted ATLAS comet – possibly interstellar, possibly just another wanderer passing through – has stirred that old childhood nerve in me: the dream that one day something not‑from‑here would notice us. For years I imagined a scene of “first contact” with excitement, like humanity standing at the doorway of a larger reality. I wanted that badly.
Not anymore.
Not because I stopped believing that life might be out there, but because I no longer think we deserve to meet it. Look at who governs this planet. Look at what gets rewarded. Look at the cultural mood: cruelty as entertainment, war as a default, greed as a virtue, outrage as public sport. If an advanced civilization were observing us from the safety of vacuum, I doubt they would see a species ready for dialogue. We look more like a hazard.
First contact is a risk – for them. A band of violent, nervous, history‑erasing primates obsessed with dominance is not a safe neighbor. If I were them, I would reverse thrusters immediately. Study us from afar, read our chronicles of war and collapse, watch the way we treat our own weakest members – and then leave, silently. It would be the rational choice.
People romanticize the idea that aliens would uplift us. I think they would protect themselves instead. The wiser action might be to pretend they never saw us. Let the comet pass. Let the sensors go dark. Let Earth remain a quarantined world until it finally learns to act like a civilization rather than a predator with electricity.
Maybe it is better if they never land – not for our safety, but for theirs.