Opinion

Drummond Energy (a Drummond Ltd. subsidiary) recently announced it will prioritize shale fracking projects in the Cesar-Rancheria basin over building a regasification plant in Cienaga and importing natural gas. According to country manager Alberto Garcia, the gas beneath the basin could multiply the country’s reserves tenfold.

The decision comes with the backing of President Abelardo De La Espriella’s government, which pledged on the campaign trail, in his own words, to develop “responsible and sustainable fracking” in Colombia.

It’s one of the most significant energy policy shifts the country has seen in years. Still, it took me straight back to Drummond’s fracking episode from a few years ago. We’ve seen this movie before, just under a different title.

In 2019, Colombia’s Council of State ordered a halt to 15 coalbed methane wells Drummond was operating in the La Loma field, in Caporo Norte. The lawsuit originated with a citizen complaint alleging the company was using a technique the country had banned the year before.

Drummond pushed back, saying what it was doing wasn’t fracking: these were vertical wells using traditional hydraulic stimulation, the same technique used in Colombia for over fifty years in other fields. And they had a point, sort of: it was a form of fracking, just not the “fracking” the law was written to regulate. The technique the ban targeted required horizontal drilling and multistage fracturing of shale formations, conditions those wells didn’t meet. A year later, in 2020, the Council of State agreed and reversed the suspension.

But here’s what actually happened underneath the legal technicalities: a community, represented by a single citizen, had no way of telling apart the several things people call “fracking.” A distinction that’s second nature to anyone working in oil and gas never became shared knowledge between the company and the community around it. That gap got filled the way gaps like this usually do: with long documents written by lawyers, in dense legal language, and with news outlets simply repeating quotes.

Now we’re talking about horizontal, multistage fracking arriving within a few short years, with contracts ready to go and a target of drilling the first wells by 2027. And I find myself wondering whether we’re actually ready for that, from a communications standpoint.

The real work here goes beyond social media content, or showing up in communities with forms and flyers to check a compliance box. The 2019 case proved that a company can meet every regulatory requirement and still end up in court, because what was missing wasn’t paperwork. It was clarity.

Building that shared understanding, explaining to a community, in terms it can verify for itself, what separates one technique from another, what safeguards exist, what questions are fair to ask and who to ask them to, isn’t a last minute task you tack on once the contract is signed and the first well is about to be drilled. Communicating isn’t just about checking the environmental and social boxes ANLA requires. It’s a strategy that has to start before prior consultation begins, not during it.

The 2019 Drummond case was never really about whether fracking was safe. It was about whether anyone, before the lawsuit arrived, had done the work of explaining what was happening there, as many times as it took, with the right tools and a shared language, so that anyone in the community could explain it themselves and understand the benefits a project like this brings. Build a strong, consistent communications architecture, and you cultivate allies. Skip it, and you sow opponents.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.