With notable exceptions, state and federal leaders treat fentanyl like an afterthought. Compare their response to fentanyl versus other mass killers.

The Boeing 747 has killed 3,746 since taking to the skies in 1970. When one plane goes down, the FAA stops at nothing to prevent a repeat. Two crashes in a short time by the same model grounds the fleet so experts can act. The president and other politicians promise answers.

When a helicopter crash killed a pilot near Frisco, then-U.S. Rep. Jared Polis p— Colorado's governor since 2019 — wisely sent a letter to the FAA demanding a rushed report on helicopter safety rules.

Politicians and celebrities have great concern about Maui's wildfire, as they should. Colorado sent firefighters 3,300 miles from Denver. The fire was tragic, mostly because it killed at least 110.

"Colorado has the people of Lahaina in their hearts and prayers," Polis posted on X.com with sincere compassion.

Fentanyl kills more than 100,000 Americans annually, including infants and teens who mistake it for candy or a pharmaceutical. The poisonous opioid is 100 times stronger than morphine. Each year it kills more than every man, woman and child in Pueblo. Polis, Biden and other leaders should obsess to stop it.

Colorado's annual overdose rate is 31.4 for every 100,000 residents. By contrast, South Dakota has an annual rate of 12.6. In six years, Colorado fentanyl deaths rose 1,000%.

All 747 deaths make up an average death rate of one person each five days over 53 years. To match fentanyl, the fleet would kill nearly 200 a day. At that rate, deaths would approach 4 million — two-thirds of Colorado's population. Authorities would stop the carnage no matter what.

Yet, our Legislature, governor and the Biden administration whistle past graves. They say and do too little to curtail a major attack that begins in China and crosses our borders — much like a virus. Few authorities have demanded adequate penalties for dealers.

Few have called for strict drug screening at the border — a worthy investment for the sake of saving precious lives. They call it "poison" but act like it's the latest fashion in drug culture.

Understandably, the government treated COVID as a crisis of biblical scale. Polis, then-President Donald Trump and most of the country's political class took immediate action that reduced deaths nationwide from thousands a day to fewer than 10. The formula is simple: Acknowledge killer + attack it daily = save lives.

As the fentanyl bloodbath generates symbolic attention, Colorado has three leaders who get it.

U.S. Reps. Doug Lamborn, R-Colorado Springs, and Joe Neguse, D-Lafayette, teamed up on a bill last month to use $146 million in federal funds to buy naloxone for schools, which can reverse near-death opioid trips. If passed, the law will save children. Lamborn worked with schools Tuesday to host a fentanyl roundtable in Colorado Springs.

Last year, Lamborn introduced the "Protecting Kids from Fentanyl Act," to fund naloxone and opioid education.

"The fact that children are dying from fentanyl ... is absolutely unacceptable," Lamborn said this week, stating what should be obvious.

U.S. Rep. Lauren Boebert, R-Rifle, introduced legislation to classify fentanyl as a weapon of mass destruction. Given the death toll, she has a point.

Fentanyl might become the century's largest killer. Dead is dead and grieving hurts — whether resulting from a wildfire, pandemic or ubiquitous poison.

Politicians should join Boebert, Lam-born and Neguse — and others as they find them — in a life-and-death fight we cannot lose.

The Gazette Editorial Board

REPRINTED FROM THE COLORADO SPRINGS GAZETTE

Photo credit: Myriam Zilles at Unsplash