#Ørsted #RevolutionWind #Oslo #Nobel #WindEnergy #EnergyTransition #PensionFunds #BureaucraticCrime
This essay is written by Germán Toro Ghio, Germán & Co, Karlstad, Sweden. Date: 28 August 2025. © All rights reserved. Copyright belongs to Germán & Co. Any reproduction or distribution, in whole or in part, is prohibited without prior permission.
Introduction: The Iron Metaphor
When a project with eight out of ten pieces installed is halted, Excel becomes landscape: wind turbines stand immobile, in their silence like sculptures of iron. Not turbines, but totems, like the sculptures of Vigeland Park in Oslo.
Oslo —that northern city of austere light, where each December the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded. A paradox carved in stone: Alfred Nobel, who amassed an infinite fortune through dynamite, through destruction, then sought to redeem it by funding peace, by building solidarity from the ruins of violence. The Nobel is not only a medal handed to laureates; it is a foundation that, quietly, discreetly, almost anonymously, has for more than a century worked to stitch together a better world.
The lesson of Oslo is simple, brutal, and easily forgotten: true goodness belongs to the soul, not to the spectacle. It thrives in silence, not in noise. It requires no stage, no applause, no propaganda — only persistence.
Each stranded blade in the sea rises as a monument not to transition, but to interruption.
And if those sculptures of iron try to survive, they do so in a desperate “Scream”, as Munch condensed in his small-format, universal canvas: a mute cry, compressed in the void of inevitability. But here, the crime—à la Capote—was executed in cold blood: no blood spilled, no noise, only the asepsis of an administrative decree. Yet its shockwaves extend to millions: retirees, workers, families condemned to the invisible misery of bureaucratic murder.
Will say the Dominican Pulitzer laureate Junot Díaz: Wow. Tremendo genio, right? Except it wasn’t genius, it was juice — inside juice, the kind of whispers you only hear if you’re in the room. While the turbines sit out there, mute as iron ghosts, this pana flips 2.6 billion in seconds. Boom. What kind of world is this? Crazy, loco, upside-down — the silence of steel, the noise of money.
1. The Train Wreck: The Non-Greek Electric Tragedy
A train wreck runs today through the very heart of the global electricity sector. A wreck that is not technological, but political. One that places the world’s most capital-intensive industry—electric power—at the mercy of narratives, decrees, and ideological pendulums. On one side of the track: Joe Biden’s White House, the Democratic establishment, and their attempt to frame the transition to renewables as a moral and economic imperative. On the other hand, Donald Trump, the libertarians, climate sceptics, and nationalists who brand the green agenda as a hoax that drains prosperity.
It is not just Biden versus Trump; it is green versus grey, cosmopolitan versus provincial, woke climate rhetoric versus energy nationalism. The clash has escalated into what can only be described as a non-Greek tragedy. Non-Greek because it is not destiny written by the gods, but volatility written by politics. A tragedy because it corrodes confidence: that of investors, of citizens, of the pensioner who sees their savings tied to projects that may vanish overnight with a presidential signature.
Electricity, the backbone of modern civilization, was supposed to be the safest of assets—predictable flows, long-term contracts, steady dividends. Instead, it has become hostage to electoral cycles, budget negotiations, and executive orders. The paradox is brutal: what should embody intertemporal trust has become the epicentre of fragility.
2. The Green Mirage: The ESG (Environmental, Social and Governance) Campaign
The green push of the past decade was not merely technological. It was, above all, a campaign of communication. Banks, asset managers, governments, universities, NGOs—all joined forces to construct a near-universal narrative: investing in renewables was saving the planet.
Trillions of dollars flowed into green bonds, ESG-labelled funds, and climate ETFs. Pension funds reallocated their portfolios under pressure from their boards, activists, and the evolving language of corporate responsibility. Marketing also played its part: children smiling beneath blue skies, turbines in picturesque fields, rising graphs marked “ESG” featured in every corporate presentation.
It was not just about finance; it was aesthetics, morality, identity. Being “green” meant being cosmopolitan, urban, elite—especially elite. Above all, elite: associated with intellectual circles, foundations, environmental groups that, like Eurocommunists of old, appeared detached from the mundane noise of everyday life and never triggered into becoming a true political option.
This success, however, sowed its own fragility. By promising not only returns but salvation—by elevating investment to an act of redemption—the narrative placed itself at risk. Absolute dogma always breeds counter-dogma. And in politics, counter-narratives never remain silent.
3. The Grey Counter-Narrative: Libertarians, Sovereignty, and “Unleashing American Energy”
Into this fragile vacuum stepped the libertarians and nationalists. Their story was simpler: the planet is not in danger—at least not from oil and gas. What is in danger is prosperity, sovereignty, and energy independence.
Trump and his circle reframed the discussion. For them, wind and solar were not salvation but fraud: expensive, elitist, unreliable. “Unleashing American Energy” became the slogan of a return to hydrocarbons, to pipelines, to oil rigs that symbolized freedom and jobs.
The cultural contrast was stark:
To be green was to be cosmopolitan, elite, out of touch.
To be grey was to be popular, patriotic, and a defender of the working family.
The Ukraine war provided the perfect backdrop. When electricity bills tripled across Europe and rose sharply in the U.S., the grey narrative gained ground: why cling to expensive fantasies when natural gas and oil could deliver prosperity now?
And in this clash of stories, every turbine, every subsidy, every tax credit became a battlefield.
4. Revolution Wind: The Reasonless Sacrifice
The conflict reached its climax in August 2025. Revolution Wind, Ørsted’s flagship offshore wind farm off Rhode Island, was over 80% built. Billions had already been invested. Contracts had been signed, supply chains mobilized, foundations sunk, and turbines erected. It was, to all intents, nearly complete.
And then, a decree fell like a guillotine. The Bureau of Ocean Energy Management (BOEM, Bureau of Ocean Energy Management in the U.S.) issued a “stop-work order” invoking “national security.” No new technical studies had been published, and no new environmental concerns had been raised. The justification was generic, elastic, and political.
For Ørsted, the impact was immediate: impairments in the billions, capital increases to cover losses, and ratings downgrades. For pension funds holding green bonds and equity in the sector, it was worse: invisible write-downs that diluted the retirement savings of millions.
This was not a regulation. This was a sacrifice. Arbitrary, reasonless sacrifice.
5. The Subterfuge of Weak Governments
The decree against Revolution Wind exemplified a broader method: governments too weak—or too fearful—to legislate openly against a sector resort to subterfuge. Instead of banning, they suffocate:
Harder eligibility for tax credits under the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA, Inflation Reduction Act in the U.S.).
Delays in the transferability of incentives are strangling financial closure.
Procedural “national security” arguments are deployed without evidence.
This is not governance; it is sabotage by bureaucracy. And sabotage corrodes trust faster than any honest debate. Investors can price carbon, currency, or commodity risks—but they cannot price arbitrary decrees.
6. The Economy of Sacrifice: Pensions, Fossil Subsidies and CTC (Competition Transition Costs)
The destruction of value was immediate. Turbines already standing became stranded assets. Foundations in the sea turned into monuments of paralysis. Billions evaporated in impairments and lawsuits.
But the most painful blow fell not on executives or traders, but on pension funds. For millions of retirees, their pension income is already meagre—barely enough to cover a week of survival. When those pensions are tied to projects that a decree can annihilate, the fragility becomes existential.
Meanwhile, fossil fuel subsidies continue at levels of science fiction. According to the IMF and IEA, in 2022, fossil subsidies surpassed $7 trillion—over 7% of world GDP. In Iran, Nigeria, and Venezuela, they have exceeded more than 10% of national GDP. Fossil subsidies are normalized, invisible, while green subsidies are vilified as extravagance.
And yet history shows that subsidies are not new. In the 1990s, Competition Transition Costs (CTC) were designed to compensate utilities stuck in expensive emergency Power Purchase Agreements (PPAs). Governments acknowledged that without these subsidies, liberalization would bankrupt the system. Subsidies were not privileges, but conditions for stability.
To condemn renewable incentives today while ignoring fossil subsidies and past CTCs is not just hypocrisy—it is historical amnesia.
7. The Vicious Circle of WACC (Weighted Average Cost of Capital) and CAPEX (Capital Expenditures)
The Revolution Wind decree triggered an immediate repricing of regulatory risk in the U.S. Banks demanded higher collateral, insurers revised premiums, and developers raised hurdle rates. The WACC (Weighted Average Cost of Capital) climbed, CAPEX (Capital Expenditures) swelled, and projects stalled.
The vicious circle is deadly:
Higher financing costs → higher power prices.
Higher prices → easier for politicians to denounce green energy as a scam.
Denunciations → more decrees, more subterfuge.
It is not just a cycle of economics; it is a cycle of mistrust.
8. The European Contrast: CfD (Contracts for Difference) and PPAs
Europe, bruised by the 2022 energy crisis, learned a different lesson. It reinforced its system with:
Contracts for Difference (CfD) guarantee long-term stability.
PPAs indexed to inflation, protecting revenue flows.
Network infrastructure is regulated with stable returns.
The result was not perfection, but resilience. Pension funds found in Europe a safer haven than in the U.S., where political beta now overshadows financial fundamentals.
9. Global Repercussions: Asia, Africa and the Mirror of the World
The sacrifice of Revolution Wind resonated globally. In the Asia-Pacific, it reinforced the belief that only centralized regimes can execute megaprojects without sabotage. In Africa, where 600 million people still lack electricity, it discouraged investment: if Rhode Island is unsafe, what chance does Lagos have?
Markets learned too: political risk is no longer exclusive to emerging economies. The U.S. itself had joined the club.
10. Politics, Language and the Child Who Asks
What do you tell a child when politicians say: the planet is clean, green was an expensive lie?
You tell them that politics may lie, but physics does not. CO₂ accumulates. Electricity demand grows. Every megawatt matters.
You tell them the truth is in the data: record heat waves, wildfires, droughts. And you tell them the hardest truth: that their grandparents’ pensions, their parents’ savings, can be destroyed by a decree signed in silence.
11. Ten Theses to Escape the Pendulum
Contracts that survive elections.
Shielding of construction risk.
Governance of regulatory risk.
Multi-year fiscal transparency.
Transmission and distribution investment.
Recognition of system value for storage and backup.
Realistic industrial policy in critical supply chains.
Tangible benefits for local communities.
Honest communication—no messianism, no denial.
Protection of pension funds with reinforced legal frameworks.
Epilogue: Bureaucratic Murder, Cold Blood
A decree fell on Revolution Wind like a dry gunshot—no blood on the ground, but blood everywhere nonetheless — financial, moral, generational. Ørsted was the first victim, but not the last; that much is clear. The hostage is bigger: the energy transition itself.
As in Capote’s In Cold Blood, the killers were not beasts with knives but clerks with stamps. Violence without bullets, only seals. Murder executed through silence, through paper, through the cold machinery of administration.
What perished was not just a wind farm, but the most fragile currency of all: the belief that the future can be built, that continuity is possible. That faith —more delicate than steel, more perishable than capital— is what has been executed.
And now, wait. Because this is not an isolated crime. The wave is already moving outward, inexorable, across other projects, across other seas. An expansive shock that will break the spine of investments, of pensions, of promises made to generations unborn.
This is not simply a setback. It is a disaster scripted in bureaucracy, a tragedy in iron and ink.
The author
Germán Toro Ghio is one of the rare voices capable of moving seamlessly across the borders of energy, politics, and culture. With his distinctive style and profound knowledge, he has built an audience of over 250,000 readers worldwide. In just the past three days, his work has attracted nearly 30,000 reads on LinkedIn — a record-breaking surge — confirming his position as a key figure in the global debate on energy and power.
As an Expert in The Energy Collective and a contributor to Energy Central’s Power Perspectives™ series, Toro Ghio has set himself apart by making the complex interactions of markets, geopolitics, and infrastructure understandable.
The Toro Ghio’s journey extends far beyond kilowatts and contracts. Before entering the energy sector, he explored the worlds of literature, diplomacy, and cultural policy. He served as Executive Secretary of the Forum of Culture Ministers of Latin America and the Caribbean; he co-authored Colombia en el Planeta with William Ospina and Beatriz Caballero of the La Candelaria Theatre Group for the UNDP; he collaborated with Nicaraguan poet-priest Ernesto Cardenal; and, with the encouragement of Octavio Paz, he revived Carlos Martínez Rivas’s La insurrección solitaria—restoring Central American poetry to its rightful place in twentieth-century literature.
As a writer, he has published works ranging from Nicaragua Year 5—the documentary testimony in images, catalogued by Lund University—to The Non Man’s Land and Other Tales. He has directed and overseen literary editions such as Joven arte dominicano, promoted by Casa de Teatro in Santo Domingo and distributed to universities across the world.
Chilean filmmaker and political scientist Juan Forch—an architect of Chile’s historic 1990 “NO” campaign, later dramatized in Pablo Larraín’s Oscar-nominated No—has written of Toro Ghio’s narratives that they “enrich our understanding of history beyond traditional battlefields and royal courts,” praising journeys that move effortlessly “from the discomfort of a Moscow hotel to the exhilaration of the Nicaraguan jungle.”
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