Rosa Martinez Rodriguez: The slogan adopted by campaigners against large-scale renewable energy projects in Spain is “Yes to renewables, but not like this” (Renovables sí, pero no así). What does this mean, exactly?

Héctor Tejero: First of all, we need to acknowledge the part that says “Yes to renewables”. On a rhetorical level, this is a step forward from a decade ago, when it might have just been “No to renewables”, full stop. This slogan is employed by a broad coalition united in its opposition to a certain way of doing renewables. It also captures long- standing grievances about ongoing changes to traditional ways of life in some places.

On the surface, their proposals are reasonable. However, they fail to fully appreciate the complexity of the situation and, if implemented, would impede the development of renewable energy. In my opinion, the problem is that climate change is disappearing from the debate. In the context of the climate emergency, even the most badly placed renewables are better for the climate than fossil energy sources.

Can the concerns raised by these movements be easily resolved?

In Spain, the green transition has ignited debates about biodiversity, land use, and agriculture.

While renewable infrastructure undoubtedly has an environmental impact, it’s important to realise that the leading cause of biodiversity loss is climate change. Certain species may be affected by the construction of renewable energy infrastructure, but steps are being taken to tackle this. There are plenty of examples – in the field of photovoltaic energy in particular – of renewable energy projects that actually have a beneficial effect on biodiversity.

The second debate is land use; that of rooftops versus the ground. Selected studies are used to support the argument that our (photovoltaic) power needs can be met via rooftop-mounted solar panels alone. However, most experts will tell you that this isn’t the case. The studies in question focus solely on technical potential and fail to factor in the time needed for installation. Given the challenges of climate change, we can’t wait for rooftop solar capacity to be exhausted before we start developing ground-mounted photovoltaic systems. It’s not just a question of generating the maximum amount of energy; we also need to do so as quickly as possible.

The green transition has ignited debates about biodiversity, land use, and agriculture.

The debate on agriculture tends to focus on the threat to a perceived way of life. Urbanites often romanticise agriculture as something natural – in opposition to solar panels. The reality is that intensive, monocultural, heavily irrigated agriculture is extremely destructive to biodiversity and to the wider environment.

I agree that green energy goals must be reconciled with protecting biodiversity and that the impact on agricultural land should be minimised, but the latter isn’t necessarily that much of a challenge. In order to reach the extended targets of the Spanish National Integrated Energy and Climate Plan by 2030, we only need 0.3 per cent of usable agricultural land. That’s assuming that everything is set up in the countryside. In Spain, 10 per cent of land is abandoned, so there is no widespread problem. Where the development of renewables is handled badly, however, it can still lead to conflict.

What role does territorial inequality play in these grievances?

Electricity production is very poorly distributed in Spain. There are regions that produce far more electricity than they consume, such as Galicia, Aragón, Navarra, and Extremadura. Others consume much more than they produce, the extreme case being Madrid, though this is also true for the Basque Country and the Valencian Community. This discrepancy needs to be rectified, taking into account the fact that our future energy generation will depend on the availability of wind and sun.

We must also remember that electricity only accounts for 20 per cent of the energy we currently consume. Once everything is electrified, this balance will shift significantly. Even with greatly reduced energy consumption, none of the regions are presently producing enough electricity to cover their needs under this scenario.

There’s an aspect to this debate in Spain that doesn’t exist elsewhere in Europe: the concept of España Vaciada (“Empty Spain”, referring to Spain’s rural depopulation), which has helped to politically mobilise this sense of territorial grievance.

Over the last 20 years, this concept has taken shape as a social movement involving political parties. However, it is first and foremost an emotion-driven movement. It’s a group of people who feel they have been short-changed, neglected by the Spanish state. It focuses heavily on very small villages and less on cities in medium-sized provinces. The movement has created a pushback against the development of renewables, which basically says, “Not only do we have fewer services, depopulation and a sense that nobody cares about us, now we also have to shoulder the burden of something that only benefits others.”

So far, the fairness of the energy transition has been seen exclusively in terms of employment. We now need to think about its equitability in territorial terms. Right now, the distribution of renewable projects on the basis of political influence doesn’t seem fair. For instance, [the eastern Spanish city of] Teruel could use its relative overrepresentation in parliament to minimise impacts on its territory, or tourist-rich coastal areas could displace projects into other areas. Renewables planning can’t simply be a matter of “Whoever shouts the loudest gets off the hook”.

Is there a sense that Europe is imposing the energy transition on the Spanish people?

In Spain, the common sentiment is “Europe is making us do it”, with a dash of “They’re making us do it, but it’s good”. Surveys show that people support the ecological transition in principle but disagree with the details.

Three elements have to be underlined. The first is that Spain, as a Western country, has a moral responsibility to make a more sizeable contribution than other non-Western countries. The second is that Spain is among the countries most vulnerable to climate change in Europe, as we see every summer. And the third is that the energy transition presents an opportunity to change the country’s economic model for the better. There’s no guarantee, however, that this will be done right, or that any new economic opportunities will be fairly distributed. This is central to the conflict that we now have on our hands.

However much it may frustrate ecologists, at the end of the day we need to sit down, ask questions, understand people’s points of view, and offer something in return.

What is the position of the Spanish environmental movement?

The environmental movement is facing a dilemma. On one side, there’s what we could call the old guard, steeped in the tradition of the 1970s and 1980s, for whom climate change is not the central issue. This more conservation-oriented environmentalism is now encountering new movements that are focused firmly on the climate.

Environmentalists in Spain have performed herculean feats to prevent genuine tragedies from occurring on the ground. Now, however, it’s not as simple as just opposing certain projects because of their specific environ- mental impact; there will be bigger problems further down the line if they are not implemented. The situation is extremely complex, and there’s a lot of tension within environmental organisations. Everyone understands that renewable energy infrastructure is necessary, but at the same time it has an impact on rural life, or on biodiversity, and is opposed by local residents.

Then you have what we call “climate pessimism”. This perspective – which has taken root across the world, and in the United States in particular – holds a lot of sway within certain organisations in Spain. These organisations have adopted a vision of environmental catastrophe that doesn’t, in my view, match reality. For these people, the effects of climate change are going to be so swift, so violent, and on such a large scale that nothing we do really matters.

Politically, Spain is very fertile ground for this outlook due to its decentralisation, the association between the rural and the local, and its libertarian tradition. Climate pessimism may be a minority viewpoint, but it is strongly represented in the media and within environmental organisations. This is feeding anti-renewables rhetoric here. It’s not hard to find speeches from platforms or organisations with links to territorial politics claiming that renewables are worthless, that they’re just another form of pollution, that they aren’t really renewable, or that they rely heavily on petrochemicals.

In contrast, we are also seeing the emergence of a new current of environmentalism with a much stronger focus on climate change. These new environmentalists are far more open to engagement with state institutions and refuse to accept climate pessimism, and that’s where the conflict lies. It was very easy to oppose a climate-change denier, but now it’s the ecologists versus the heel-draggers, or the electricity oligopoly, or even other ecologists with different views on what needs to be done and how quickly, and the costs we should have to bear.

These debates are tough, even aggressive. Is there a risk of a rift developing within the environmental movement?

It’s the same for any movement that starts on a small scale; when it grows and becomes more diverse, it generates conflicts that cannot always be solved. Everyone thinks they’re doing what’s best for the planet, for their country, for society, or for their children. It doesn’t help that the platform for public debate is often Twitter, which is a very confrontational space.

This potential rift worries me, as does the fact that it’s very easy for newcomers to climate activism to buy into the rhetoric of impending catastrophe that forms such a big part of the zeitgeist. The first risk of this outlook is getting caught in a political dead end. Social movements have an extremely important role in politics, but they ultimately need institutions to enact change. The second is environmental anxiety. The climate pessimist worldview creates a sense of powerlessness that I think is troublesome for mental health and activism more generally, especially among young people.

The electricity oligopoly is central to the public debate in Spain, and it has a bad reputation. How can we counteract this, considering that we can’t rely on small-scale investment alone?

Any project that seeks an ecologically and socially just transition has to be committed to the democratisation of energy markets. We might sometimes delude ourselves into thinking that everyone will become a pro- sumer [an individual who both consumes and produces electricity, selling excess back to the utility], but there are people, maybe even a majority, who aren’t interested in joining an energy community. That said, we need to act fast. We don’t have time to dismantle the oligopoly before we move forward with the transition, but every effort must be made to rein it in. This is the state’s responsibility. We also have to keep in mind that not all companies are the same when it comes to handling the rollout of renewables on the ground. You hear little talk of the photovoltaic companies, which, unlike those rooted in the construction industry, are doing things well – very well, in fact.

Even more problematic than the electricity oligopoly is the fossil fuel one. In Spain, the reputation of the latter isn’t anywhere near as bad, despite its open, direct campaigning against the ecological transition. This isn’t just a fight between a big oligopoly and the little guy; it’s a fight between two oligopolies. If you decide you don’t want to help the electricity oligopoly, then someone else is going to make money by selling gas for combined-cycle power plants and diesel for cars.

How is the government tackling the difficulties with the energy transition?

 The government in general isn’t doing badly. Teresa Ribera’s ministry [for Ecological Transition and the Demographic Challenge] is one of the most influential in the European Union, and is playing a pioneering role. Despite a few communication missteps, the ministry is doing great work to resolve self-supply delays and ensure that energy communities are consulted on decisions such as the pathway that has been opened up to bypass environmental impact reports. I believe the impact of transition projects and the suppression of civic participation processes are the main sources of public distrust. We need to encourage people to take part in the ecological transition.

So participation is important in your view?

It is fundamental. A lot of the resistance to renewable energy projects comes from people feeling like they don’t have a say. Many conflicts are the result of a lack of information. We can’t expect the mayor of a village to find out from the BOE [Boletín Oficial de Estado, the official gazette of the Spanish state] that five renewable projects are to be built somewhere nearby.

We need to make transparency, information, and citizen participation processes mandatory and improve their enforcement – and it would also be relatively easy. This doesn’t mean that we should just accept what people in the villages say, because they may not be right, but a given impact can be minimised as much as possible.

The impact of transition projects and the suppression of civic participation processes are the main sources of public distrust.

Another idea gaining momentum is that of profit sharing. How can we compensate affected communities?

Part of the conflict stems from the perception that renewables are all cost and zero benefits. People are willing to accept certain impacts on their territory if they believe there will be benefits in exchange. Mediation mechanisms, such as specialised offices, and compensation or improvements to services could help persuade the public. Businesses can already offer free electricity, but this isn’t widely available. Another option could be to build a system that lowers energy bills according to the number of inhabitants or renewable installations in a given area. This would be complicated because it involves altering market prices, but it could result not just in savings for households, but also in more competitive, attractive locations for businesses and therefore job creation.

Another option is establishing an investment fund modelled after the Norwegian example – financed with a small increase in prices – that returns the profits from energy generation to impacted areas. Such a price increase would have little impact and could make funds available for specific investments – in health centres or taxi services, for instance – in areas with large projects. Explaining where this money comes from would help people recognise the wider benefits of greener energy besides cheaper electricity bills.

What’s at stake if we don’t manage to roll out renewable energy projects in a fair way?

The ecological transition involves dismantling one world while creating another. In doing this, you will, at least to begin with, make more enemies than friends because you’re altering known ways of life in exchange for something very abstract. Meanwhile, we’re also carrying around the weight of economic liberalism and the perpetual feeling that everything will just keep getting worse. If the first renewable projects are implemented unjustly, people will assume that future ones will mean more of the same.

At this stage, our accomplishments need to serve as examples. We’re in no position for delays, nor to wait until everything is planned out before we take action. This is the great tragedy. It’s not about simply putting up infrastructure, but about stopping the threat of climate crisis. On the whole, the fairer the transition, the quicker it will be.

What should we do differently in the future?

That’s a good question. We have to make it clear that the ecological transition will improve lives. Our framing of the situation has to move from one of impending disaster to one of possibility: a shorter working week, improved care systems, cities with cleaner air, and different ways of working.

The ecological struggle is a political struggle filled with fair and unfair conflicts, and these won’t always be predictable. First, we have to convince people of the necessity and inevitability of the green transition. We might take it for granted that people know it’s coming, but that’s not the case everywhere. Second, we must develop mechanisms for compensation and dialogue that will enable adaptation to happen. Transitions are complex, and people often struggle at the beginning, but once they start seeing the benefits they won’t want to go back – like with pedestrianised streets, for example.

The ecological transition is more than a process of technological substitution; it’s a process of social change. It needs to enlist social scientists who can offer a much clearer approach to public policies and conflicts in relation to the here and now. Political scientists, sociologists, and economists need to start thinking of climate change as more than a just backdrop; they need to recognise it as the great transformation of our times. We need to anticipate conflicts and create a political toolkit to resolve them. People understand that there is going to be an ecological transition, but they are unsure how it will benefit them. This is where the stakes are high.