Magnetised onto an old fridge hangs a faded photo of a schoolgirl; she's smiling in a maroon, woollen blazer and bowler hat, a high school uniform that swelters in the Canberra summers.

This is Jan, 16 when the photo was taken, 17 when she left Canberra and met John, 20 when their daughter Arianwen was born, and 29 when their son Evan was born. In March 2018, when Jan was 59, she watched the Tathra bushfire tear through her community, razing some 1250 hectares and destroying 65 homes including her own. The Mother's Day brooches Arianwen made in kindy, the wooden bowls Evan made in year 9, her blazer-clad school photos - all of it was destroyed in the blaze.

For those who have come through these devastating conflagrations, it's not - or not primarily - about counting the dollar cost. It's the irreplaceable loss of the kids' first drawings, or the home they grew up or raised their families in.

When we listen to the stories of bushfire survivors like Jan, we immediately understand we are hearing something deeply personal; these stories aren't the abstract statistics of the climate crisis, they are the traumatised human experience of it.

Jan is a member of Bushfire Survivors for Climate Action, a grassroots, non-partisan community organisation created in the wake of the Tathra district fire. Members share their stories, horrific and personal as they are, in the hope of changing the conversations around bushfires and climate change. They hope these stories will remind Australian leaders in politics, business, and communities that systemic change is not only necessary but overdue, if we are to effectively combat the climate crisis as a country.

Their unique contribution is that their truth is unquestionable. It's impossible to argue their lives were not dramatically changed by catastrophic fires that reduce homes to rubble and ash and obliterate histories. Yet as BSCA president Jo Dodds says, they are not victims but survivors - and they are interested in solutions.

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The survivors understand that sharing their stories is one way to inspire government and corporate decision-makers to accelerate climate action. They are more interested in unity in a time of crisis than exploiting old divisions: no matter where or how you live, everyone is affected by the climate crisis.

The survivors are equally adamant that you can't argue with the science - that is, anthropogenic climate change's role in the increasingly extreme bushfires around the world.

Australia's climate politics remain arrested, inhumane and impersonal; an insulting inversion of the violent, deeply human and personal reality of the climate crisis itself. It is a terrible irony; empty gestures to accompany empty, burned out homes, a cognitive dissonance exemplified best by Prime Minister Scott Morrison trying to force handshakes and sanitised photo opportunities upon grieving fire-affected communities.

The survivors take some measure of hope in the inevitability of change, with or without Morrison. Australia's governments will, sooner or later, catch up to the reality of the climate crisis that is already affecting its citizens - people like Jo and Jan. It is simply a matter of how much damage to our people, environment, and reputation needs to be endured before then. And it's a minute to midnight. Action is needed now, in this critical decade, if we are to avoid a future in which the terrifying spectacle that was the Black Summer is commonplace.

These survivors are a cautionary voice, a warning from our collective conscience. They are taking on the behemoth Australian fossil-fuel lobby's immense wealth, powerful connections, cynical marketing campaigns, and political donations - ordinary people sharing their horrific experiences to provoke empathy and inspire the change we need to see to, quite literally, save the world.