The Infrastructure of Doubt

In the United States, disinformation has increasingly become part of government communication. In Russia, it has long been a standard political tool. In both cases, one preferred target stands out: Europe’s climate and energy policy.

What matters is often not a single “big lie,” but the systematic spread of doubt. Misleading comparisons, figures taken out of context, and emotionally charged narratives are among the preferred methods. These narratives are not only exported to Europe; they are designed specifically for European audiences, adapted, and tailored to local conflicts. They spread through social media, right-wing networks, and political actors who understand how existing tensions around energy prices, infrastructure projects, or climate measures can be politically exploited.

The methods vary, but the effect remains the same: climate policy slows down. Fossil fuels are portrayed as the supposedly natural and rational choice, while renewable energy and clean technologies are framed as too expensive, too rushed, ineffective, or unfairly burdensome. Familiar antagonists appear again and again: urban elites, foreign interests, or supposedly out-of-touch experts. Depending on the country and political context, these narratives are constantly repackaged and localized.

The threat posed by disinformation is far from abstract. Analyses by the International Panel on the Information Environment (IPIE) show that even brief exposure to climate-related disinformation can weaken trust in climate policy. Research by EU DisinfoLab further demonstrates how narratives are systematically amplified across platforms, languages, and national contexts in order to create the impression of broad public debate and widespread opposition.

The consequences are tangible. Analyses by the International Energy Agency (IEA), the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), and the World Bank have repeatedly shown that political conflict and declining public trust delay infrastructure projects, increase investment risks, and slow the expansion of energy grids and networks. Climate policy is rarely stopped outright; more often, it simply gets bogged down. The outcome is often the same.

The fact that disinformation is now increasingly viewed as a strategic challenge for climate and energy policy is also reflected at the international level. The latest UN climate conference, COP30, deliberately placed the issue high on the agenda. Host country Brazil brought its own political experience to the discussion. In recent years, right-wing populists as well as parts of the agribusiness and fossil fuel lobby have used disinformation campaigns to intensify conflicts around deforestation, energy policy, and climate action while undermining trust in public institutions.

Together with partners from across the UN system, including UNESCO, Brazil helped advance the “Global Initiative for Information Integrity on Climate Change.” The term “information integrity” may sound technocratic, but the underlying idea is straightforward: public debate should be grounded in verifiable facts rather than deliberate deception.

This reflects a broader lesson that is highly relevant for Europe as well. Anyone seeking to secure public support for climate and energy policy must avoid reducing communication to broad and often abstract goals. People want concrete answers: What will it cost? Who benefits? What does it mean for households, businesses, or municipalities? The more tangible and understandable those answers are, the harder it becomes for fear-based narratives and disinformation campaigns to take hold.

At the same time, this changes the way disinformation itself is addressed. For a long time, the dominant approach was so-called debunking—fact-checking and disproving false claims after they had already spread. But those who merely react are almost always too late. The core narratives used by opponents of climate action have been known for years. They keep resurfacing, often only slightly modified.

As a result, a fundamentally different approach is gaining prominence: preventive action against disinformation, often referred to as “prebunking.” The focus is less on disproving every individual claim in hindsight and more on exposing the recurring patterns behind them. Why are certain figures selectively highlighted? Why are false dichotomies constructed? Why do seemingly open questions often steer audiences toward a predetermined conclusion? The aim is to make people aware of these tactics before they encounter them.

Equally important is where these debates take place. While visibility is often created on the national stage, opinions are rarely shaped there. Far more influential are the concrete conflicts that play out locally: over a wind farm, a new power line, or the future of heating systems. That is where doubts become socially embedded — and where communication needs to begin long before conflicts escalate.

Importantly, this does not mean simply telling people that they are victims of disinformation. That approach quickly sounds patronizing and often produces resistance instead of trust. Tone matters. Questions and concerns need to be taken seriously before they harden into political resentment.

At a town hall meeting, for example, it is rarely helpful to say: “This is a typical anti-climate narrative.” A more constructive approach would be: “One of the first questions people usually ask about projects like this is whether they are truly worth the cost — and who ultimately pays for them.” The concern is acknowledged without turning the discussion into a confrontation.

The next step is decisive: providing concrete answers. What does the project mean for electricity prices, for the municipality, for jobs, or for energy security? Clear and locally grounded explanations can remove much of the fertile ground on which simplistic narratives depend.

This also changes who communicates. National messages from governments or prominent experts often remain abstract. Trust tends to emerge closer to everyday life: in municipalities, among local utilities, and through the people directly involved in implementing projects on the ground.

At the same time, strategic restraint matters. Disinformation thrives on attention. Responding publicly to every provocation can unintentionally amplify it — a dynamic often described as the “Streisand effect.” Not every inflammatory claim requires a high-profile confrontation. In many cases, brief contextualization is enough.

The situation changes, however, when individuals become targets. Scientists, journalists, and local or civil society actors increasingly face organized harassment and intimidation. Silencing credible voices has become part of the strategy itself. Organizations, public authorities, and media institutions therefore need clear procedures: Who responds when attacks escalate? Who supports affected individuals? And when is it strategically wiser not to engage further? Without such preparations, communication can quickly become disjointed—and stand little chance against the coordinated campaigns of the other side. 

Disinformation is now highly professionalized. The response to it cannot remain improvised. What matters most are often not spectacular campaigns. What matters are credible local voices, easy-to-grasp explanations, and communication that gets ahead of the next conflict. Safeguarding the energy transition ultimately requires more than building infrastructure. It also requires building trust.