In 2004, John Perkins published Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, a controversial memoir describing how development projects and international finance were often used to advance the interests of powerful corporations and governments. Whether every claim in the book stands up to scrutiny is still debated.

What is harder to debate is the pattern.

For generations, poorer countries supplied raw materials, labor, land, and water to fuel economic growth elsewhere. Colonization took many forms, but the flow of wealth was remarkably consistent. Resources moved outward. Profits followed. Local communities were frequently left with the environmental damage.

Today, the world is racing to decarbonize.

That is necessary.

Yet in some corners of the globe, the clean energy transition is beginning to resemble a familiar story.

The fuel has changed.

The power dynamics often have not.

Take critical minerals.

According to the International Energy Agency (IEA), demand for lithium could grow more than fortyfold by 2040 in scenarios aligned with global climate goals. Demand for graphite, cobalt, and nickel could increase twenty to twenty-five times over the same period. Copper demand for electricity networks is expected to more than double.

Those minerals have to come from somewhere.

Much of the world’s lithium lies beneath the salt flats of Argentina, Bolivia, and Chile. The region is often called the Lithium Triangle.

The batteries that power electric vehicles are frequently celebrated as symbols of a cleaner future. Less attention is paid to the communities living above the mineral deposits.

Lithium extraction can require significant amounts of water in some of the driest regions on Earth. Indigenous communities have repeatedly raised concerns about groundwater depletion, ecosystem disruption, and limited participation in decisions that directly affect their livelihoods.

The irony is difficult to miss.

Communities that contributed almost nothing to global greenhouse gas emissions are increasingly being asked to absorb the environmental impacts of supplying materials for a transition largely driven by wealthier countries.

The same questions are emerging around green hydrogen.

Governments and corporations are promoting hydrogen as a climate solution capable of decarbonizing industry, shipping, and aviation. Massive projects are being proposed across Africa, Latin America, Australia, and the Middle East.

Namibia has become one of the most prominent examples.

International investors have announced plans for multibillion-dollar hydrogen developments intended largely for export. Supporters point to jobs, infrastructure, and economic opportunity. Critics ask whether local communities will ultimately benefit from dedicating scarce land, renewable electricity, and water resources to producing energy for foreign markets.

Those concerns are not hypothetical.

They reflect a broader pattern that scholars increasingly describe as climate colonialism.

The term refers to situations where climate policies, conservation programs, carbon markets, or energy projects shift environmental burdens onto vulnerable communities while benefits accrue elsewhere.

Carbon offsets provide another example.

Many corporations continue purchasing carbon credits to compensate for emissions they cannot or will not eliminate. In theory, these projects protect forests, restore ecosystems, and reduce atmospheric carbon.

Reality can be messier.

The Oakland Institute has documented cases in Africa where carbon offset and forestry projects have been linked to land conflicts, displacement concerns, and restrictions on traditional land use. Its reports The Darker Side of Green, Carbon Colonialism, and Green Colonialism 2.0 argue that some offset programs effectively transfer control over land and natural resources to outside investors under the banner of climate action.

Researchers have documented similar concerns elsewhere. A peer-reviewed study examining forestry carbon projects in Uganda described what the authors called “carbon violence,” highlighting tensions between carbon markets and local communities whose access to land was affected by plantation development.

Not every carbon project creates these outcomes.

Not every renewable energy project is exploitative.

But the pattern appears often enough to warrant scrutiny.

The financial side of the transition raises equally troubling questions.

According to the latest debt analyses from the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD), developing countries owed approximately $31 trillion in public debt in 2024 and paid a record $921 billion in interest. Their external debt reached $11.4 trillion, roughly equivalent to 99 percent of export earnings.

Debt itself is not inherently bad.

Infrastructure requires investment.

Energy systems require financing.

The concern arises when countries assume large financial obligations while much of the economic value generated by projects flows to foreign contractors, multinational corporations, or distant investors.

Recent analyses warn that many developing nations are facing severe debt pressures that limit spending on healthcare, education, climate adaptation, and public services.

That reality should make us cautious whenever billion-dollar climate projects are promoted as automatic engines of development.

Development for whom?

Jobs for whom?

Profits for whom?

Those questions matter.

Perhaps the deeper issue is that many climate plans quietly assume consumption can continue expanding indefinitely as long as the energy powering it becomes cleaner.

More electric vehicles.

More data centers.

More industrial production.

More mining.

More extraction.

More growth.

Yet every technology depends on physical resources. Solar panels require minerals. Wind turbines require metals. Batteries require lithium, nickel, graphite, and cobalt. Data centers require enormous quantities of electricity and water.

The clean energy transition is essential.

The assumption that it can be achieved through endless expansion deserves closer examination.

A truly just transition would look different.

Communities would have meaningful authority over projects affecting their land and water. Indigenous rights would not be treated as obstacles to development. Public investments would prioritize local resilience, conservation, efficiency, distributed energy, and community ownership alongside renewable generation.

The goal should not be to create a greener version of the same extractive economy.

The goal should be to leave extraction behind whenever possible.

Climate action should reduce emissions.

It should also reduce inequality.

If the transition simply shifts environmental burdens from one set of communities to another while preserving existing power structures, the world may succeed in changing its energy source without changing the system that created so many injustices in the first place.