LA GUAJIRA, Colombia — On the sun-scorched plains of northern Colombia, towering wind turbines now stand like sentinels above the desert scrubland, catching the powerful Caribbean gusts that race across the La Guajira peninsula. These gleaming structures signal progress to outsiders — Colombia’s pivot toward greener energy. However, according to BBC, the reality is far more complex for the Wayuu, the region’s ancestral guardians.
Every morning, José Luis Iguarán steps out of his home to face the metallic giants that now dot his ancestral land. “It’s not just the view that’s changed,” he says. “We don’t hear the trees anymore — only the constant whoosh of turbines.”
La Guajira, long isolated and underdeveloped, is home to the Wayuu people, a vibrant Indigenous group that has survived for centuries by herding, fishing and drawing life from the harsh terrain. Now, it’s at the center of Colombia’s renewable energy revolution.
The first operating project, Guajira 1, is just the beginning — 15 more wind farms are under construction, and dozens more are on the horizon. While these projects offer infrastructure improvements — like clean water systems, paved roads and solid housing — they also bring cultural disruption and social strife.
“In our culture, dreams are sacred. They’re how we speak to our ancestors,” explains Iguarán. “But the noise at night keeps us from dreaming.”
Despite his spiritual concerns, Iguarán acknowledges the benefits. Isagen, the Colombian company behind Guajira 1 and owned by Canada’s Brookfield, has invested in the local community. They’ve built homes, supplied drinking water and paid annual royalties to three Wayuu groups based on electricity revenues and carbon credit sales.
But not all are convinced that the trade-off is fair.
Aaron Laguna, a fisherman in the coastal town of Cabo de la Vela, is wary. His village is next in line for wind development. “These projects divide our people,” he says. “Some are promised compensation; others are left out. The process isn’t clear, and decisions are made without proper consultation.”
He’s seen neighbors protest over broken promises, mishandled funds and ignored traditions. Internal conflict, he warns, is on the rise.
Energy companies maintain they’re working with transparency and respect, but critics argue that Colombia lacks a legal framework to truly measure the social impact of these ventures. “There’s a misconception that renewable energy is automatically good,” says Joanna Barney of the Colombian think tank Indepaz. “But when local voices are ignored, green projects can bring harm too.”
This friction has led to project cancellations. In late 2024, Spanish energy giant EDP Renováveis scrapped two planned wind farms, citing financial concerns and an unexpected surge in Wayuu communities claiming affected status — from 56 to 113. Months earlier, Italy’s Enel had pulled out from another site after prolonged protests halted work for almost two years.
Even Guajira 1 has seen roadblocks and unrest. Indepaz has documented attacks on company staff, including kidnappings and armed robberies. In some areas, disputes over project benefits have escalated into violence among the Wayuu themselves. “It’s become a ‘war of the winds,’” Barney says.
Anthropologist Wieldler Guerra sees a deeper cultural chasm. “These companies speak a different language from the Wayuu. Literally and spiritually.” To the Wayuu, the wind is alive — eight different winds exist in their mythology, each with its own personality and story. Harnessing them without reverence, Guerra explains, feels like a violation.
Meanwhile, Colombia’s push for energy diversification continues. The country currently relies heavily on hydroelectricity, but climate change and low reservoir levels make wind an appealing backup. Yet wind power still makes up less than 1% of Colombia’s energy mix.
AES Colombia is building the country’s largest wind energy complex in La Guajira, spanning six farms. The company claims to prioritize fair compensation and local engagement. But General Manager Federico Echavarría admits that collaboration alone won’t resolve the deep-rooted tensions. “We need the government to step in and help mediate between communities,” he says.
Back in Cabo de la Vela, Laguna remains skeptical. The region’s chronic lack of infrastructure — no reliable healthcare, education or piped water — makes the promises of progress feel hollow.
His village uses a small desalination plant to survive, and residents are pushing for the new wind project to fund its expansion. But the irony isn’t lost on him: “The electricity from these turbines will go somewhere else. We won’t get a single watt.”
While Colombia strides toward a greener future, many in La Guajira fear being left in the shadows, forgotten by a system that sees their winds as resources but not their people as partners.
