Fireworks explode over the Charles River in Boston on July 4, 1987. —Jan Housewerth—The Boston Globe via Getty ImagesThis year’s Fourth of July fireworks promise to be especially explosive. The White House is endeavoring to smash the Guinness World Record for the largest-ever pyrotechnic display by shooting off 50 times more fireworks than last year. As such, the nation will ring in 250 years with barbeques, parades, and prescription sedatives for their panicked pets.I understand the appeal. As a child, I loved fireworks. Each year, I waited impatiently for darkness to fall and was thrilled when the rockets’ red glare streaked across the night sky—and then fell into the coastal waters of Connecticut. And I am far from alone in my appreciation. The first Independence Day, celebrated in 1777 in Philadelphia, included fireworks. Ever since, fireworks have symbolized celebration and freedom, becoming so intertwined with Independence Day that it is difficult to imagine one without the other. Unfortunately, the costs of this fleeting spectral wonder are high, borne by negative consequences for our environment and our health.Remember the deadly Palisades firestorm of January 2025, which erupted in the immediate vicinity of an earlier fireworks-ignited blaze that firefighters thought they had extinguished. Six days later, powerful Santa Ana winds kicked up smoldering embers that sparked one of Los Angeles’ most devastating infernos. The individual alleged to have started the Lachman fire was charged with arson in federal court, though the case ended in a mistrial. In 2024, climate scientists combed through data on accidental fires in the U.S. over the past 20 years. They noticed a spike on one day in particular, which had nearly twice as many wildfires as any other day in the U.S. West. Researchers reported in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences that between 1992 and 2012, “the most common day for human-started fires by far was July 4th, US Independence Day, with 7,762 fires starting that day over the course of the record,” averaging a shocking 388 per year. Exacerbating these risks is the fact that climate change is making landscapes more vulnerable to fire. Rising temperatures, prolonged drought, and increasingly erratic weather patterns have transformed forests, grasslands, and shrublands into tinderboxes, even as wet winters in some places produce abundant vegetation that summer heat dries into fuel for fast-moving flames. Sadly, the climate reality in which Americans my age grew up celebrating the Fourth of July no longer exists, and it’s not coming back. Fireworks pose other life-threatening challenges. Glorious and eye-popping as they may be, this cherished form of holiday entertainment, and the wildfire risk it poses, is only part of the story. The environmental costs are equally significant. Once detonated, fireworks release fine particulate matter that can degrade air quality for hours or even days. In many communities, air-quality monitors register unhealthy and hazardous levels of pollution. For people with asthma, cardiovascular disease, or other respiratory conditions, the toxic air presents genuine health risks. Wildlife researchers have also documented the disruptive effects on birds and animals. The US Fish & Wildlife Service writes that fireworks’ “abrupt lights and sounds are often seen as a threat by nesting bald eagles and easily startle great blue herons and other colonial nesting birds.” Paradoxically, the nighttime cannonade can also trigger PTSD symptoms for military servicemembers, the very same veterans we claim to be honoring. The misuse and malfunctioning of fireworks produces another set of traumas. An estimated 13,000 people were injured by fireworks last year, according to the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission. Most are the result of burns, but sustained injuries to heads, faces, and ears, like those to hands and fingers, are common enough that The Pitt (Season 2, Episode 9) featured a gruesome case of a 12-year-old boy who lost two fingers when a powerful M-80 exploded prematurely. Too often, when we think about fireworks, we tend to focus on the immediate spectacle and rarely consider whether there is a healthier alternative. There are several, and despite this administration’s blithe disregard for environmental safety, America’s 250th birthday offers a striking opportunity to consider them. One more sustainable path has been blazed by such countries as the Netherlands, Ireland, Chile, Australia, and Singapore. Each has instituted a ban on consumer fireworks. Unfortunately, that would be a politically fraught process in the United States, and surely unenforceable at any level of government. When I lived in San Antonio, Bexar County strictly regulated the licensing, sale, and handling of fireworks, leading vendors to set up shop just beyond the county line. It would be much more effective to flip the celebratory script. After all, traditions endure by adapting, as China has demonstrated. In the nation that invented fireworks more than a millennium ago, many cities now stage sophisticated, elaborate drone shows that conjure breathtaking images. Last year, dozens of American cities put on their own dazzling digital displays before large audiences, among them Salt Lake City and Sarasota. No technology is without consequences, but drone displays are an innovative alternative with far fewer risks. The Fourth of July is our most explosive holiday, but it doesn’t need to be. We can recognize two truths at once: fireworks evoke a sense of collective awe, and we must evolve to save lives. Fireworks’ destructive toll is clear. As we celebrate our nation’s 250th birthday, the most patriotic thing we can do is ensure that on the morning of July 5th, Americans can breathe clean and healthy air.