· 6 min read
We’ve been calling it an emergency for years.
From front-page headlines to activist banners, “climate emergency” has become the dominant frame for communicating the crisis we face. But at a recent debate at SXSW London, the first time the iconic South by Southwest festival had ventured beyond US shores, where I had the privilege of speaking for the motion, one deceptively simple question became the centre of the conversation:
Has the climate emergency narrative backfired?
The power of words: A brief history
When I first entered the renewable energy industry nearly 20 years ago, the terms we used were very different. We spoke of “climate change” and, before that, “global warming.” These phrases were relatively innocuous. Scientifically correct, maybe, but they don’t exactly grab you by the scruff of the neck and demand attention. And the public response mirrored the language: muted, cautious, and incremental. A 2003 Gallup poll, for example, showed that while 61% of Americans recognised global warming as an issue, only 33% worried about it. In Europe, surveys in the early 2000s revealed a similar gap between knowledge and urgency. The terminology failed to convey the scale and immediacy of the threat. It shaped a political atmosphere where slow progress felt acceptable, appropriate even, and where the scale of ambition lagged far behind the science.
Soft language by design
Why did this happen? It was no accident. The softening of climate language in public conversation was actively cultivated by fossil fuel interests. One of the more infamous examples is a 2002 memo prepared by U.S. political strategist Frank Luntz, advising political leaders and energy companies to use “climate change” rather than “global warming” because it sounded “less frightening” and “more controllable”. The memo argued that language matters immensely and that careful framing could dampen public demand for action. This was part of a broader effort by fossil fuel companies to sow doubt, delay regulation, and preserve the status quo buying more time to continue to drill. A course of action that is well documented by historians and journalists alike. In this context, the later adoption of climate emergency by activists, media, and even some governments was not mere rhetorical inflation. It was a necessary correction to decades of deliberate minimisation.
The case for urgency
Let’s begin with what the emergency frame has achieved.
There is no question that it was both accurate and necessary. As the event host rightly observed, describing the climate crisis was necessary to cut through and treating it in any other way would have been disingenuous given the science. In an era where political and corporate inertia were the norm, the term emergency provided a moral and rhetorical jolt.
Recent global polling suggests that the language of emergency has cut through. The 2024 People’s Climate Vote, covering 77 countries and 87% of the world’s population, found that 80% of people now want their governments to take stronger climate action, while 72% support a rapid transition away from fossil fuels. More than half of respondents reported that their level of concern about climate change had grown in the past year.
The framing had succeeded in moving climate consciousness from the margins to the mainstream. It emboldened activists, catalysed divestment campaigns, and made climate breakdown a central issue in corporate boardrooms, courtrooms, and parliaments. It gave us a vocabulary that captured the scale of the threat, and ultimately forced those in power to confront it.
It also sparked cultural shifts, with climate themes emerging in art, entertainment, and popular media from the covering of fossil fuel logos in Ted Lasso and DiCaprio’s hit movie ‘Don’t look up’ to high-profile artists like Massive Attack and Cold Play designing low-carbon tours. It is hard to imagine this level of cultural resonance without the climate emergency frame to galvanise it.
In short, the emergency message made the invisible visible.
The case for rethinking the frame
And yet, what got us here will not get us there.
This was the crux of the debate and the argument we presented. The emergency message was right for its moment. But as we enter a more complex phase of the transition, its limitations are becoming clear.
First, the psychology of fear is fragile. Humans shut down when they are overwhelmed, a point rightly emphasised by the other side of the argument. A constant state of alarm, with no clear resolution or pathway, can lead to paralysis, not mobilization. When the emergency becomes the permanent backdrop, people stop hearing it.
Second, there is an issue of resonance. While the climate debate often focuses on scientific metrics, 1.5°C pathways, gigatonne emissions, tipping points these abstractions rarely connect with the lived realities of most people. As we heard during the debate, when citizens are struggling with rent, energy bills, and food costs, messages that feel detached from those immediate concerns risk alienation.
Third, the frame has not always been equitable. Too often, the question of whose emergency we are really talking about, and whose voices get heard in telling that story, remains uncomfortably skewed. Many frontline communities already live the emergency every day. They do not need reminding that it exists, they need solutions and a seat at the table. As was noted, one weakness of the narrative has been a failure to consistently elevate these voices and reflect their lived experience.
The new story we need
So where do we go from here?
This was the most encouraging point of consensus at SXSW, the narrative must now evolve.
Fear alone cannot drive sustained action. What we all need is a story of agency, possibility, empowerment and hope. A shift from constant alarm to constructive participation. We need to move beyond emergency language that says “everything is broken,” toward a narrative that says “here is how we can build something better.”
As was argued, “We need to focus on people, on communities, on solutions.” That is where climate communication needs to go. People want to know how climate action will improve their lives today, not just how it will head off catastrophe tomorrow.
Many wonderful examples of this emerging narrative were mentioned. In Bristol, a community-owned wind turbine brings both clean energy and revenue to local households. In Shropshire, a farming collective has reclaimed land from industrial agriculture. Across the Global South, solar microgrids are expanding access to energy while cutting emissions.
These are not abstract technical victories, they are stories of human dignity, security, and hope. They show that climate action can address not only planetary risk, but also can add to daily well-being. And they are the kind of stories that we must now take to centre stage.
The real question
So, has the climate emergency narrative backfired?
No. It achieved what it needed to, it awoke the world to the scale of the crisis. Without it, we would not have the level of public awareness and political engagement we see today.
But if we want to sustain momentum, combat misinformation and to broaden the coalition for change we must evolve the story. Urgency remains essential but it must be paired with empowerment. Fear must be balanced with agency. And climate communication must become more human centered, more inclusive, and more grounded in the realities of everyday life.
As the SXSW debate made clear, this evolution is not optional. It is the next step in building a climate movement capable of lasting impact.
Our story must evolve, and it must do so fast. Because while the clock still ticks, we still have the power to choose what story the next chapter tells.
illuminem Voices is a democratic space presenting the thoughts and opinions of leading Sustainability & Energy writers, their opinions do not necessarily represent those of illuminem.
