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The worn-out carbon footprint

The carbon footprint became one of the most successful concepts in modern climate discourse. For years, the message was clear: turn off the lights, recycle, use less plastic, eat less meat, drive less. The planet’s climate future seemed to depend, above all else, on the individual choices of millions of people.

The recently published People and Climate Change 2026 report by Ipsos shows a major shift in that perception. Between 2021 and 2026, the countries analyzed saw a decline in the number of people who believe that if individuals don’t act now, they will fail future generations.

Colombia is among the countries where this perception dropped the most. This doesn’t mean Colombians don’t believe in climate change; rather, we’ve started to question the burden placed on us as individuals within a crisis involving actors with far greater responsibility and power to act.

In fact, 61% of people still state that failing to act on climate change would be failing future generations. Furthermore, in 29 of the 31 countries studied, the majority rejects the idea that it is “already too late” to do anything about it. In other words, the concern is still there and people still see a window for action—but it is no longer a guilt that the individual should have to shoulder alone.

The report also notes that 74% of people are worried about rising energy prices, and 50% believe governments should prioritize keeping energy costs low, even if emissions increase. Consequently, the climate conversation has ceased to be strictly environmental; it has become economic, geopolitical, and social.

War, inflation, and energy uncertainty have shifted the priorities of millions. 63% of respondents believe their country is too dependent on foreign energy sources. Meanwhile, only 27% consider their country to be a true leader in the fight against climate change.

All of this leads to the conclusion that the “carbon footprint” is starting to reach its limits. For years, a narrative was built in which citizens had to carry much of the moral responsibility for the problem, while energy, industrial, and political systems moved much slower. A collective crisis was individualized. The reality is more complex: the energy transition depends on infrastructure, energy security, technological innovation, public investment, political stability, and institutional trust.

These figures should force us to rethink how we communicate the energy transition. People do not respond to abstract speeches about carbon neutrality or “Net Zero by 2050” when they are feeling the pressure of the cost of living, electricity bills, or fuel prices. The report concludes that consumers react more to messages associated with immediate, human benefits—savings, health, energy security, or stability—than to technical or guilt-based narratives.

The climate discussion has become more pragmatic. People remain concerned about the planet and still believe there is time to act, but what has changed is how responsibility is understood. The energy transition can no longer be presented solely as a collection of individual sacrifices; it must be a collective, credible project capable of better distributing the costs and responsibilities of change.

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Santa Marta and the Energy Transition

As representatives from over 50 countries gather in Santa Marta for the International Conference on Fossil Fuel Transition, an uncomfortable reality looms over the entire conversation: what governments say and what they actually fund don’t always align.

There is plenty of talk about energy transition, decarbonization, clean energy, and energy independence. In fact, as has been echoed throughout the event, many nations are at a breaking point: they either accelerate the transition or remain exposed to price shocks and energy vulnerability. However, once you look at the numbers, the story becomes more complex.

Globally, in 2024, governments allocated over $1.2 trillion in support of fossil fuels, compared to roughly $254 billion directed toward clean energy. In other words, the very system we aim to transform is still, in practice, the one receiving the most backing.

This isn’t just an inconsistency; it’s a reflection of how energy systems actually operate. When there is pressure on prices or supply risks, governments react. They subsidize, they stabilize, they secure supply. Failing to do so would carry immediate political and economic costs. The problem isn’t that knee-jerk reaction itself; the problem is that the response isn’t always accompanied by a clear strategy on how the system will transform over time.

This is where the discussion on roadmaps—a central theme at the Santa Marta conference—becomes crucial. These plans aren’t just technical details: they provide the process with direction, align expectations, and reduce uncertainty for governments, investors, and communities alike.

Without that sequencing, what you have isn’t a transition, but a series of reactive decisions. This matters more than it might seem because when signals are mixed, investment stalls, decisions are postponed, and the system becomes even more vulnerable. You end up with the worst of both worlds: failing to transform the system at the necessary pace while also failing to fully guarantee short-term stability.

The debate, then, shouldn’t revolve around whether or not to support fossil fuels, but rather the logic behind that support and for how long. Pretending the system can reorganize itself overnight is unrealistic, but continuing to react without a clear course of action is equally unsustainable.

Ultimately, the energy transition isn’t measured by what is announced at events like the Santa Marta conference promoted by President Petro, but by the coherence between words, funding, and the order in which things are done. Today, what we are seeing isn’t so much a lack of ambition, but a profound lack of alignment.

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Colombia Doesn’t Have to Choose Between Clean Energy and Gas

A false dilemma is being sold to Colombians, especially amidst today’s electoral tensions: the choice between the energy transition and natural gas, as if the two were mutually exclusive.

While the political agenda forces us to bet on one or the other, the reality of the power grid tells a different story. We aren’t facing a choice; we are managing a complex system where different technologies fulfill distinct and necessary roles.

Today, for instance, roughly 65% to 70% of the energy we consume comes from hydroelectric sources. Historically, this has been a major advantage, but it is also a vulnerability. Whenever El Niño strikes, reservoir levels drop, and the system comes under immense strain.

This is where gas stops being a secondary player and becomes critical. It is the fuel that steps in when water falls short—the one that maintains grid reliability during moments of high stress.

Simultaneously, Colombia has made strides in incorporating non-conventional renewables like solar and wind. However, by their very nature, these sources do not generate power constantly; they depend on the sun and the wind—conditions that aren’t always under our control.

In 2025, for the first time in history, we produced more solar energy than coal-fired power. While this is a milestone worth celebrating, it doesn’t change a fundamental reality: that energy remains intermittent and requires backup to guarantee a continuous supply. Without that complementarity, progress in renewables doesn’t automatically translate into a reliable grid.

That is why, rather than competing, these sources need each other. Yet, the public conversation has simplified this landscape to the point where it seems the country must pick a side. This is where the problem begins, because simplifying a complex system leads to poor decision-making.

In reality, the supposed dilemma between “clean” and “dirty” energy doesn’t exist. Gas isn’t the antagonist of renewables; in many cases, it is what allows them to function without risking blackouts. Framing them as opposites doesn’t just confuse the public—it derails the discussion from where it should actually be.

Colombia currently produces about 795 million cubic feet of natural gas per day, but we consume more than that. The gap is being bridged by imports, which now account for nearly 21% of consumption. In other words, while the debate centers on whether gas should be in the equation, the reality is that we already need more of it than we can produce.

During the most recent El Niño, nearly 30% of the country’s electricity was generated using gas. That figure alone should be enough to illustrate its role in system reliability.

The underlying issue isn’t technical—it’s communicative. We are explaining the energy transition as if it were an immediate replacement, as if one source must vanish for another to exist. This is not only inaccurate; it’s irresponsible.

We cannot lose sight of how the system actually works, or we will open the door to decisions that jeopardize reliability and drive up energy prices. Even worse, we will create the wrong incentives: industries might migrate back to more polluting fuels because gas loses its competitive edge, causing us to quietly backslide on our decarbonization goals.

The energy transition is not a replacement race. If anything, it is a long-distance marathon of coexistence. Understanding this isn’t a minor detail—it is the difference between an orderly transition and one that yields uncertainty, higher costs, and a loss of public trust. We don’t have to choose between clean energy and gas; we have to learn how to integrate them.

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El Niño to Strike Midst Colombia’s Energy Storm

Colombia is bracing for El Niño as if it were merely a weather pattern. It isn’t—at least not entirely. It is, above all, an energy and economic crisis arriving at the worst possible moment.

The National Government has warned of a 90% probability that El Niño will hit the country by September 2026. This news has been framed as exactly what it appears to be: a climate alert. Acting Minister Irene Vélez spoke of droughts, rising temperatures, forest fires, and water stress. While all of that is true, it is an incomplete picture.

In a country like Colombia, where roughly 70% of electricity depends on water, El Niño is not just an environmental event. It is primarily an energy signal—and even more so, an economic one.

Every El Niño cycle depletes reservoir levels, limits hydroelectric capacity, and forces the system to rely on thermal power plants, which are significantly more expensive. This silent shift—from water to fossil fuels—doesn’t just change how energy is produced; it changes how much it costs. Inevitably, that cost is passed on to households, businesses, and the State itself.

Furthermore, there is an aggravating factor: the country does not have the same energy safety net it had a decade ago. The decline in local production has forced a reliance on Liquefied Natural Gas (LNG) at volatile international prices.

The disparity is staggering. According to figures from the Mercantile Exchange of Colombia, gas prices jumped from an average of US$4.6 per million BTU in 2022 to nearly US$10 in 2024. Meanwhile, imported gas has fluctuated between US$14.6 and US$18.3 per million BTU. Essentially, at the exact moment the system requires thermal backup, that backup is not only more expensive but also more dependent on external markets.

To make matters worse, the country is witnessing a significant downturn in its mining sector. Coal production—one of Colombia’s primary exports—has dropped substantially amid dwindling investment, higher tax burdens, and regulatory uncertainty. In 2025, the sector recorded its worst performance in two decades, seeing a sharp decline in both investment and exports.

This is not an isolated statistic. It is part of a larger equation: Colombia is losing its capacity to generate income from energy resources just as its energy system becomes more costly to maintain.

Yet, the full story isn’t being told. El Niño is communicated as a climate event. Imported gas is debated as a technicality. The decline of mining is treated as niche industry news. We need to connect the dots, because when risks are communicated in fragments, the country is only half-prepared.

The real danger isn’t just that El Niño is coming. The danger is that it arrives in a country that hasn’t fully grasped or explained the sheer magnitude of the energy crisis it faces.

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From Green Enthusiasm to Energy Realism

During the last decade, the global conversation on energy was dominated by a clear narrative: the transition to clean sources was not only necessary but inevitable. Governments, companies, and citizens seemed to align—at least in their discourse—around a future powered by renewables. However, recent data suggests that something is shifting, and it is no minor change.

A new study by the Pew Research Center, published on April 3, 2026, reveals a quiet but profound transformation in how Americans perceive energy. Although support for sources like solar and wind remains the majority view, it has steadily declined in recent years. Simultaneously, support for fossil fuels is rising, and interest in nuclear energy is growing significantly.

At first glance, this could be interpreted as a setback for the climate agenda. But such a reading would be superficial. What we are witnessing is not an abandonment of environmental concern, but a reconfiguration of priorities. In a context of geopolitical tensions, energy inflation, and market volatility, the public is beginning to prioritize variables such as immediate cost, supply reliability, and energy security.

In other words, the discussion has ceased to be exclusively moral (saving the planet) and has also become a practical one: What energy works, how much does it cost, and how secure is it?

This shift has deep implications. On one hand, it forces a rethink of how the energy transition is communicated. For years, the emphasis was placed on environmental benefits and climate urgency. Today, that message, while necessary, is insufficient. Audiences demand more concrete answers regarding rates, system stability, and resilience in the face of external crises.

On the other hand, this change opens up space for sources that previously occupied a marginal place in public conversation. Nuclear energy, for example, is beginning to establish itself as an attractive alternative because it combines low emissions with high reliability. Its growing bipartisan acceptance in the United States is no accident: it responds to the need to find a balance between sustainability and security.

It also highlights a more marked political polarization. While progressive sectors maintain solid support for renewables, conservative sectors have shifted strongly toward fossil fuels. This imbalance reflects not only ideological differences but also divergent perceptions of risk, cost, and energy sovereignty.

For Latin America, and particularly for countries like Colombia, these signals are far from irrelevant. In economies where the energy transition is still under construction, ignoring this evolution in global public opinion can lead to strategic errors. It is not enough to design technically sound policies; it is essential to build narratives that connect with the real concerns of the citizenry.

The challenge, then, is not to abandon the transition, but to make it politically viable and socially sustainable. This implies recognizing that energy is not just an environmental issue, but also an economic, geopolitical, and—above all—deeply human one.

Perhaps we are entering a new stage: that of energy realism. A stage in which decisions are not made solely based on ideals, but also on constraints—and where the success of the transition will depend less on the ambition of its goals and more on the credibility of its solutions.

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Extreme Winter Does Not Disprove Climate Change

Every time a severe winter hits some region of the world, the same question reappears, almost always with a mocking tone: if it’s this cold, where is climate change?

The question is neither new nor inherently ill-intentioned. In fact, it’s understandable. For years, we were told the planet was becoming a cauldron, and extreme cold seems to contradict that idea. Today, U.S. media outlets are reporting the arrival of a cold front bringing heavy snowfall, with even the threat of light snow in the “Sunshine State” (Florida), where extreme cold is rarely part of the landscape. Every time something like this happens, the same denialist sentiment resurfaces.

It is important for us to know—whether here in Colombia or anywhere else—that an episode of severe cold does not contradict the reality of climate change. On the contrary, it is connected to it. Climate change affects the Arctic with greater intensity, a key region for climate balance. As the temperature contrast between the pole and middle latitudes decreases, the large air currents that usually keep the cold “locked in” become more unstable. When this occurs, polar air masses can shift toward areas where they were previously uncommon, bringing extreme cold to places unaccustomed to it.

The complexity lies not in the physics of the phenomenon, but in the public conversation built around it. Denying a problem as serious as climate change with an Instagram post of a snowstorm is a simplification that confuses more than it clarifies. Failing to understand the problem—or refusing to understand it—is costing us our future.

We could say, then, that cold fronts bring not only snow and blizzards, but an excess of denialism. The climate does not operate based on beliefs or political affinities; it operates by physical laws. Turning it into an object of mockery or denial doesn’t just misinform—it erodes trust in evidence and impoverishes the debate.

In fact, the relevant question is not why there are such harsh snowfalls if everyone says the planet is getting hotter over the years. What we must ask ourselves is whether we are prepared to understand and manage a climate system that is increasingly extreme, erratic, and unpredictable. That conversation loses its meaning when it is reduced to slogans, even when world leaders and heads of state choose to question or ridicule a widely documented reality.

This winter will pass. What remains to be seen is whether public discussion can mature enough to stop being ideological and start being responsible.

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Do You Know What “Energy Transition” Means in Colombia?

Few expressions are repeated as frequently in today’s energy debate as “energy transition.” However, it is also one of the least defined.

Depending on who is saying it, it can mean anything from abandoning fossil fuels and electrifying the economy to reducing carbon emissions or diversifying the energy matrix. In some cases, it is even used to refer to all these things simultaneously, with varying degrees of urgency.

Do we actually know what we are talking about when we discuss the energy transition in Colombia?

In its simplest form, the energy transition refers to the process by which a country changes how it produces, transports, and consumes energy to reduce its environmental impact. In our case, the transition in Colombia is usually associated primarily with the expansion of renewable energies like solar and wind, the electrification of certain sectors of the economy, and the gradual reduction of dependence on fossil fuels (coal, oil, and gas).

Now, part of the problem with defining this term stems from the fact that the conversation happens in highly specialized circles: engineers, economists, regulators, and experts who frequently debate energy matrices, emissions, or emerging technologies. These terms are rarely translated into language that is clear and practical for the majority of Colombians, turning what should be a technical evolution into a challenge of public communication.

Understanding energy is crucial: when the key concepts of such an ambitious transformation are unclear, public debate becomes muddled. Other actors take advantage of this confusion to promote their own agendas. Consequently, the average citizen either flatly rejects what they don’t understand or simply ignores a topic they don’t perceive as relevant to their own lives.

The energy transition in Colombia implies much more than building new technologies or modifying regulatory frameworks. It also implies building a public conversation capable of explaining what is changing, why, and to what end.

Obviously, this doesn’t mean society needs to become experts in energy engineering. But it does mean that any transformation of this magnitude requires a language that is clearer, more accessible, and more connected to the daily lives of Colombians.

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Energy Transition vs. Energy Aggregation: The Problem Isn’t Technical, It’s Narrative

I recently came across a social media campaign proposing something interesting: that we stop talking about “energy transition” in Colombia and start talking about “energy aggregation.”

The idea, as I understand it, is that Colombia cannot “transition” because doing so would jeopardize our energy security; “transition” sounds like replacing some sources with others, or depending on a single matrix. Therefore, the “correct” term should be “aggregation”—that is, adding, complementing, and diversifying.

Beyond whether this is technically accurate, what interests me is something else: what happens when we try to change a term that is already fully established globally?

The energy transition is not a local invention or a Colombian ideological slogan. It is the framework under which economies like Germany, China, and the United States are operating. It is the language used by markets, multilaterals, and investors. It is the term that organizes the global conversation.

Attempting to replace it here isn’t just a simple semantic adjustment. It is trying to play on a different semantic field when the game is already being played elsewhere. And we are losing.

From a communication standpoint, this move has a problem: it doesn’t change the mental framework of those who think differently. It doesn’t persuade critics. It doesn’t reconfigure the international conversation. What it does, in practice, is reinforce the idea among those already convinced—the followers. And that, frankly, is both unnecessary and inefficient.

Energy transition in Colombia does not mean shutting down mining tomorrow. It doesn’t mean closing the industry. It doesn’t mean ignoring that we currently depend on certain sources. It means looking toward the horizon and setting goals. It means planning.

I understand that for some trade associations, the term “energy transition” has become ideologically charged. It’s true: some sectors in Colombia have used it as a political banner. But just because a term becomes politicized in public debate doesn’t mean its conceptual architecture is captured by that ideology.

Colombia may not be the world’s largest producer of $CO_2$, but it does suffer the consequences of climate change. We see it in the floods in the department of Córdoba; in rural populations in Magdalena; in communities that do not participate in semantic debates but do feel the impact every rainy season.

Companies must protect their interests and communicate based on their productive reality. Colombian energy security is a serious matter. But perhaps the challenge isn’t replacing global language, but learning how to inhabit it intelligently.

The energy transition is not, by definition, an attack on mining. It is a horizon of transformation. The productive sectors that understand how to position themselves within that horizon—without denying or diluting it—will be the ones that achieve the greatest legitimacy in the long run.

Perhaps it’s not about changing the word, but about changing how we tell the story. And that is where, more than new terms, what we need is a better strategy.

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This Is Where CEOs Fail Most When Communicating Sustainability

Many CEOs believe the problem is that people don’t understand sustainability. However, that is rarely the case; the issue is how they communicate it.

I have seen impeccable presentations—sustainability reports full of data, elegant graphs, and targets for 2030, 2040, and 2050. And yet, the message fails to connect. Why? Because they are making three very common mistakes:

1. Confusing Data with Credibility

“We reduced X tons of CO₂.” “We invested X millions.” “We are leaders in the energy transition.”

It all sounds impressive, but trust isn’t born from a figure. It’s born from consistency. If the message feels like a checklist of achievements, the audience perceives it as self-promotion. And when something sounds like self-promotion, skepticism kicks in. More numbers do not always equate to more trust.

2. Talking About the Company, Not the Impact

Most messages are written from the “we” perspective. For example: “We did,” “we implemented,” or “we led.”

But almost no one answers the key question: How does this change things for everyone else? Sustainability should not be communicated as a corporate trophy.

3. Believing All Audiences Want to Hear the Same Thing

  • The investor wants risk management.
  • The community wants quality of life.
  • The worker and their family want stability.
  • The government wants job creation.

And yet, many CEOs use the same speech for everyone. Stating that X tons of CO₂ were reduced might work in an annual report, but for a community, the tonnage isn’t what matters. What matters is: Will there be less pollution? Less risk? More stability?

Segmenting the message isn’t manipulation. It’s understanding that every audience listens through the lens of their own concerns.

It’s not that companies aren’t doing the work; it’s that they don’t know how to communicate it.

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The Energy Transition Fails Not for Lack of Technology, but for Lack of Narrative

Whenever we talk about climate change or the energy transition, we assume the problem is purely technical: we need more renewable energy, more investment, more regulation, and more innovation. And yes, that is true. But there is something rarely discussed with the same level of seriousness: the way we talk about these processes can either accelerate or stall their progress.

The energy transition does not occur in a vacuum. It happens in public opinion, on Facebook, in family conversations, in political debates, in news headlines, and in private sector sustainability reports. In that arena, words matter.

It is not the same to speak of a “climate crisis” as it is to speak of “climate variability.” I recently read a CEO in Colombia suggesting we replace “energy transition” with “energy aggregation.” That choice of words is not minor. Just as it is not the same to refer to fossil fuels as “dirty energy” as it is to call them “traditional energy in transformation.” Each adjective activates different mental frameworks. Each metaphor constructs a different reality.

When we describe the energy transition as a “war on oil,” we are inviting confrontation. When we present it as an “evolution of the energy system,” we open space for adaptation. Metaphors are not literary ornaments: they are cognitive shortcuts that shape how we understand the world.

In Latin America, where a large portion of economies depend on the energy sector, language is not a trivial detail. If the transition is communicated as a punishment, it generates resistance. If it is communicated as a gradual and strategic process, it invites negotiation. If it is communicated as a threat to employment, it awakens fear. If it is communicated as a productive reconversion, it opens up possibilities.

Public policies can be designed with impeccable technical precision. But if the accompanying narrative generates distrust, the political cost multiplies. Social legitimacy is not built with figures alone; it is built with meaning.

That is why the way we communicate climate change matters—a lot. Not because it replaces action, but because it defines the ground upon which those actions will be accepted, debated, or blocked.

The energy transition is not solely a technological challenge. It is, above all, a narrative challenge.

And as long as we fail to understand that, we will continue to wonder why, despite having the technical solutions, change moves slower than expected.