In southern Gran Canaria—where more than 100.000 tourist beds are concentrated and nearly 40% of the island's electricity demand is consumed—we no longer speak of sunshine, but of shadows: the looming blackout that is imminent if the energy rupture that has been mended with neglect and a great deal of complacency is not repaired, and soon. And when the supply falters, when the air conditioning becomes a relic and the desalination plant motor rattles, there is no "all-inclusive" option. Tourists don't expect miracles: they expect light. And what they get is uncertainty.
Who's responsible? Well, while Red Eléctrica de España has invested more than €500 million in the Canary Islands over the last decade, reinforcing substations like Arguineguín and El Tablero, the north-south axis, and voltage control systems, Endesa—which generates, distributes, and collects its bills like the Virgin of the Volt—prefers to play the victim. Or rather, the victim. And that's not the case. Because what's happening isn't a transportation problem, but rather an inability to plan on the part of Endesa in the Canary Islands, which is now looking for someone to blame so it doesn't have to look in the mirror.
Endesa's narrative is as simplistic as it is effective: "Red Eléctrica won't let me evacuate renewable energy." But what if we tell the truth? That Endesa has promoted projects that don't fit into the existing grid. That it has ignored technical warnings. That it has relied on a distribution network from the 2025s for a 250 demand. And now, with more than 130 MW of renewables planned and only XNUMX MW with real evacuation capacity, it doesn't know how to explain the bottleneck. Easy: blame Red Eléctrica. The strategy of the child who breaks the vase and blames the dog.
And the fact is that the Endesa leadership in the Canary Islands, led by Pablo Casado—the same one that spends more time between offices than transformers—isn't managing the electrical system: it's managing its reputation. And at the slightest risk of a blackout, they activate the machinery of excuses, the press release, the off-the-record statements. All to avoid being linked to the obvious: that the south of Gran Canaria grew in beds but not in power lines, and that no one at Endesa raised their hand in time. Of course, they're first to put signs on roofs and take a photo with sustainability.
Red Eléctrica, meanwhile, is holding its own. The one that has done its homework. The one that has strengthened connections to the new Santa Águeda substation, which will output more than 70 MW of power in the coming months. The one that has promoted the new energy storage system in Barranco de Tirajana with its own funds. The one that, despite political pressure, continues to demand technical studies, security of supply, and planning. What doesn't make a fuss isn't valued. But without Red Eléctrica, this would have been in the black for a long time.
Because the problem isn't a lack of energy. There's plenty of generation, but a lack of brainpower and arrogance. What's missing is an adapted grid, nor a medium-term vision. And that's not Red Eléctrica's fault. It's a direct consequence of an erratic business strategy that prioritizes immediate profitability over system resilience.
So, enough with the stories. The threat of a blackout isn't coming from Red Eléctrica: it's coming from Endesa's short-sighted management, which has allowed the archipelago's most touristic area to depend on a saturated and vulnerable infrastructure. If the spark fails, don't blame the plug: ask who designed the installation. And if you can't find it in the reports, look in the photos.
