In a raw, gut-wrenching interview that has reignited fury across Switzerland and beyond, an 18-year-old survivor of the catastrophic New Year’s Eve inferno at Le Constellation bar in Crans-Montana has broken her silence — and her words are explosive. “She could have saved us… but she did nothing,” the young woman, speaking anonymously to protect her ongoing recovery from severe burns, accuses the bar’s female owner of standing frozen as chaos erupted, ignoring the one tool that might have slowed the flames: a locked fire extinguisher tucked away in a restricted area.
The blaze erupted just after 1:30 a.m. on January 1, 2026, transforming a packed basement celebration into one of Switzerland’s deadliest peacetime disasters. What began as festive sparklers atop champagne bottles — a New Year’s tradition gone horribly wrong — ignited soundproofing foam on the ceiling, triggering a rapid flashover that turned the venue into a roaring furnace. Flames shot up walls, smoke choked the air, and panic gripped hundreds of mostly teenagers crammed into the popular ski-resort spot. By dawn, the death toll stood at 40, with 116 injured — many suffering life-altering burns. A month later, on January 31, an 18-year-old Swiss victim succumbed to his wounds in a Zurich hospital, pushing the grim count to 41.
The survivor’s testimony drops like a bombshell amid mounting outrage over alleged safety lapses. She describes scrambling through thickening black smoke, bodies piling up near exits, screams echoing as friends burned alive. In the midst of the horror, she spotted the fire extinguisher — mounted near the DJ booth or in an adjacent locked room — but it was inaccessible. “The owner had the key,” she claims, voice trembling with rage and trauma. “She was right there, one of the few adults who knew the layout, who could have grabbed it and sprayed those first flames. Instead, she ran — or froze. Nothing. She did nothing while kids died around her.”
Multiple witnesses and emerging reports back the chilling narrative. Initial investigations revealed no working fire alarm in the basement, despite Swiss regulations allowing such omissions based on “risk assessment” rather than strict size mandates. The bar’s official capacity was listed at 200, yet promotional posts on social media boasted up to 400 — a discrepancy that prosecutors are now scrutinizing. Fire extinguishers? Sources close to the probe say several were present but stored in locked offices or service areas, out of reach during the crisis. One former employee reportedly told investigators that extinguishers were deliberately secured to prevent “misuse” by patrons — a policy that proved fatal when seconds mattered most.
The emergency exits tell an even darker story. Witnesses, including teenagers who smashed windows to escape, describe the main service door — not officially an emergency exit but a potential lifeline — locked from the inside. A security guard and a waitress perished trying to force it open or help others through. The owner and manager were seen fleeing early, with disturbing rumors (still under investigation) that one grabbed cash from the till before vanishing into the night. Social media accounts linked to the bar were mysteriously deleted or privatized amid the chaos, fueling speculation of a cover-up attempt.
Firefighters’ response time has also come under fire in the survivor’s account. “Where were they?” she demands. “We were trapped for what felt like forever — people burning, no hoses, no voices shouting instructions. By the time help arrived, it was too late for so many.” Official timelines show first responders faced challenges accessing the basement layout and the rapid spread, but critics question whether delayed arrival or inadequate initial equipment contributed to the staggering toll. Many victims were minors — some as young as 14 — celebrating what should have been a milestone New Year. Families now face agonizing waits for identifications, often relying on dental records or DNA due to the severity of burns.
The 18-year-old survivor, still undergoing painful treatments for burns to her face, hands, and body, says the guilt and trauma are overwhelming. “I keep replaying it — if someone had just unlocked that extinguisher, sprayed the foam, bought us minutes… maybe my friends would still be here.” She describes shielding herself behind overturned tables, pulling a slipping friend along, and finally smashing through plexiglass to fresh air. “I don’t know how I got out alive,” she echoes other survivors’ words. “But I know why so many didn’t.”
Public anger is boiling over. Protests have formed outside Crans-Montana’s town hall, demanding accountability from owners Jacques and Jessica Moretti (arrested shortly after the blaze), local inspectors who hadn’t visited the venue since 2019, and broader oversight of nightlife venues in tourist hotspots. Only 40 of 128 bars and restaurants in the area were inspected last year — a statistic the mayor struggled to explain. Advocates for stricter fire codes are calling for mandatory alarms, accessible extinguishers, and unannounced checks, warning that Crans-Montana’s glamour masked deadly risks.
As the investigation drags on — probing pyrotechnics, foam installation, underage entry (drinking age 16, but many victims younger), and potential negligence — the survivor’s voice cuts through the noise. Her accusation isn’t just personal grief; it’s a damning indictment of a night when safety was sacrificed for profit or convenience. “She could have saved us,” she repeats, the words hanging heavy. “But she did nothing.”
The scars — physical and emotional — will last lifetimes. Forty-one lives stolen in flames that never should have spread so fast. Questions linger: Who holds the keys to prevention now? And how many more celebrations will end in ashes before the answers come?
The nation watches, mourns, and demands justice — before another “unthinkable” becomes reality.