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With new corporate emissions restrictions looming, Japanese investors are betting on carbon removal.

It’s not a great time to be a direct air capture company in the U.S. During a year when the federal government stepped away from its climate commitments and cut incentives for climate tech and clean energy, investors largely backed away from capital-intensive projects with uncertain economics. And if there were ever an expensive technology without a clear path to profitability, it’s DAC.
But as the U.S. retrenches, Japanese corporations are leaning in. Heirloom’s $150 million Series B round late last year featured backing from Japan Airlines, as well as major Japanese conglomerates Mitsubishi Corporation and Mitsui & Co. Then this month, the startup received an additional infusion of cash from the Development Bank of Japan and the engineering company Chiyoda Corporation. Just days later, DAC project developer Deep Sky announced a strategic partnership with the large financial institution Sumitomo Mitsui Banking Corporation to help build out the country’s DAC market.
Experts told me these investments probably won’t lead to much large-scale DAC deployment within Japan, where the geology is poorly suited to carbon sequestration. Many of these corporations likely don’t even plan to purchase DAC-based carbon offsets anytime soon, as they haven’t made the type of bold clean energy commitments seen among U.S. tech giants, and cheaper forestry offsets still dominate the local market.
Rather, contrary to current sentiment in the U.S., many simply view it as a fantastic business opportunity. “This is actually a great investment opportunity for Japanese companies now that the U.S. companies are out,” Yuki Sekiguchi, founder of Startup Navigator for Climate Tech and the leader of a group for the Japanese clean tech community, told me. “They get to work with really high caliber startups. And now everybody’s going to Japan to raise money and have a partnership, so they have a lot to choose from.”
Chris Takigawa, a director at the Tokyo-based venture firm Global Brain, agreed. Previously he worked at Mitsubishi, where he pioneered research on CO2 removal technologies and led the company’s investment in Heirloom. “Ultimately, if there’s going to be a big project, we want to be part of that, to earn equity from that business,” he told me of Mitsubishi’s interest in DAC. “We own large stakes in mining assets or heavy industrial assets. We see this as the same thing.”
Takigawa said that he sees plenty of opportunities for the country to leverage its engineering and manufacturing expertise to play a leading role in the DAC industry’s value chain. Many Japanese companies have already gotten a jump.
To name just a few, NGK Insulators is researching ceramic materials for carbon capture, and semiconductor materials company Tokyo Ohka Kogyo is partnering with the Japanese DAC startup Carbon Xtract to develop and manufacture carbon capture membranes. The large conglomerate Sojitz is working with academic and energy partners to turn Carbon Xtract’s tech into a small-scale “direct air capture and utilization" system for buildings. And the industrial giant Kawasaki Heavy Industries has built a large DAC pilot plant in the port city of Kobe, as the company looks to store captured CO2 in concrete.
During his time at Mitsubishi, as he worked to establish the precursor to what would become the Japan CDR Coalition, Takigawa told me he reached out to “all the companies that I could think about that might be related to DAC.” Most of them, he found, were already either doing research or investing in the space.
Japan has clear climate targets — reach net-zero by 2050, with a 60% reduction in emissions by 2035, and a 73% reduction by 2040, compared to 2013 levels. It’s not among the most ambitious countries, nor is it among the least. But experts emphasize that its path is stable and linear.
“In Japan, policy is a little more top down,” Sekiguchi told me. Japan’s business landscape is dominated by large conglomerates and trading companies, which Sekigushi told me are “basically tasked by the government” to decarbonize. “And then you have to follow.”
Unlike in the U.S., climate change and decarbonization are not very politically charged issues in Japan. But at the same time, there’s little perceived need for engagement. A recent Ipsos poll showed that among the 32 countries surveyed, Japanese citizens expressed the least urgency to act on climate change. And yet, there’s broad agreement there that climate change is a big problem, as 81% of Japanese people surveyed said they’re worried about the impacts already being felt in the country.
The idea that large corporations are being instructed to lower their emissions over a decades-long timeframe is thus not a major point of contention. The same holds for Japan’s now-voluntary emissions trading scheme, called the GX-ETS, that was launched in 2023. This coming fiscal year, compliance will become mandatory, with large polluters receiving annual emissions allowances that they can trade if they’re above or below the cap.
International credits generated from DAC and other forms of carbon removal, such as bioenergy with carbon capture and storage, are accepted forms of emissions offsets during the voluntary phase, making Japan the first country to include engineered credits in its national trading scheme. But to the dismay of the country’s emergent carbon removal sector, it now appears that they won’t be included in the mandatory ETS, at least initially. While a statement from the Chairman and CEO of Japan’s Institute of Energy Economics says that “carbon removal will be recognized in the future as credits,” it’s unclear when that will be.
Sekiguchi told me this flip-flop served as a wake-up call, highlighting the need for greater organizing efforts around carbon removal in Japan.
“Now those big trading houses realize they need an actual lobbying entity. So they created the Japan CDR Coalition this summer,” she explained. Launched by Mitsubishi, the coalition’s plans include “new research and analysis on CDR, policy proposals, and training programs,” according to a press release. The group’s first meeting was this September, but when I reached out to learn more about their efforts, a representative told me the coalition had “not yet reached a stage where we can effectively share details or outcomes with media outlets.”
Sekiguchi did tell me that the group has quickly gained momentum, growing from just a handful of founding companies to a membership of around 70, including representatives from most major sectors such as shipping, chemicals, electronics, and heavy industry.
Many of these companies — especially those in difficult to decarbonize sectors — might be planning for a future in which durable engineered carbon offsets do play a critical role in complying with the country’s increasingly stringent ETS requirements. After all, Japan is small, mountainous, densely populated, and lacks the space for vast deployments of solar and wind resources, leaving it largely dependent on imported natural gas for its energy needs. “We’ll always be using fossil fuels,” Takigawa told me, “So in order to offset the emissions, the only way is to buy carbon removals.”
And while the offset market is currently dominated by inexpensive nature-based solutions, “you have to have an expectation that the price is going to go up,” Sekiguchi told me. The project developer Deep Sky is certainly betting on that. As the company’s CEO Alex Petre told me, “Specifically in Japan, due to the very strong culture of engineering and manufacturing, there is a really deep recognition that engineered credits are actually a solution that is not only exciting, but also one where there’s a lot of opportunity to optimize and to build and to deploy.”
As it stands now though, the rest of the world may expect a little too much of Japan’s nascent DAC industry, experts told me.
Take the DeCarbon Tokyo conference, which was held at the beginning of December. Petre, Sekiguchi, and Takigawa all attended. Petre’s takeaway? “Deep Sky is not the only company that has figured out that Japan is really interested in decarbonization,” she put it wryly. DAC companies Climeworks and AirMyne were also present, along with a wide range of other international carbon removal startups such as Charm Industrial, Captura, and Lithos Carbon.
Overall, Sekiguchi — who attended the conference in her role as a senior advisor to the Bay Area-based AirMyne — estimated that about 80% of participants were international companies or stakeholders looking for Japanese investment, whereas “it should be the other way around” for a conference held in Tokyo.
“I think there’s big potential, Japan can be a really big player,” she told me. But perhaps Americans and Europeans are currently a little overzealous when it comes to courting Japanese investors and pinning their expectations on the country’s developing decarbonization framework. “There’s so much hope from the international side. But in Japan it’s still like, okay, we are learning, and we are going steadily but kind of slowly. So don’t overwhelm us.”
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Environmental advocates initially opposed SunZia and CHPE, but they love the two transmission projects now.
Over the past few years, I’ve become convinced that the United States will never decarbonize its economy — or renovate its aging electricity sector — without building new, large-scale power lines. There is some good news on that front this month: Two major new transmission projects opened or are about to open, each connecting major cities to abundant sources of zero-carbon electricity.
The first is the Champlain Hudson Power Express, known by its happy-go-lucky initials CHPE and pronounced chippy. It is a 339-mile underground and underwater transmission line, which will ferry 1,250 megawatts of zero-carbon electricity from Quebec’s hydroelectric dams straight into New York City. It officially became operational last week.
The project means that 20% of the city’s electricity demand can now be met by clean electricity. That power will go a long way toward replacing the 2 gigawatts of zero-carbon electricity lost when former Governor Andrew Cuomo shut down the Indian Point Energy Center, a nuclear power plant 24 miles north of the city, following a public campaign led by Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
The second is the SunZia Wind and Transmission Project, a roughly 550-mile power line that links a gargantuan new 3.5-gigawatt wind farm in New Mexico to energy-hungry cities in Arizona and California. The project began generating power earlier this spring and is set to fully come online this month.
Now that these two new transmission lines are operating, the response from climate and clean energy advocates has been — I would say — solidly positive.
Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s chief climate officer called CHPE “a huge game changer.” Meanwhile, Nic Fulghum, a senior analyst at the climate data think tank Ember, said SunZia is “a truly astonishing project that will remove huge amounts of gas power from California's electricity generation” last month. “Don’t let this be one of the last remnants of US clean power leadership,” he added. (We had Nic on our podcast, Shift Key, to discuss some unrelated good news about the global energy system earlier this year.)
I recount all this not because I disagree with these descriptions — I don’t — but because it is striking to see them stated so forthrightly now. I remember when these projects were getting built and the yearslong permitting battles to secure their construction. I even covered the 20-year fight over SunZia for Heatmap.
The simple, uncomfortable fact is that neither of these power lines commanded such widespread respect from traditional environmental advocates before they became operational. In many cases, in fact, self-described environmentalists led the fights to block them.
The Sierra Club and its local New York chapters, for instance, fought CHPE for years. The club played up the physical impact on the land that, say, the converter station would have in Astoria, Queens. “It is certain that if [the project’s developers] succeed, several New York businesses and their employees will be harmed,” one missive warned.
Other green groups argued that building the line would outsource clean energy jobs to Canada or focused on the Canadian First Nations that opposed the power project. (Other Canadian indigenous groups supported it.)
Hudson Riverkeeper, an environmental group long associated with RFK Jr., first supported the new power line in 2013 as part of its quest to shut down the Indian Point nuclear plant. But in 2019 — two years after Indian Point’s closure was finalized — Riverkeeper revoked its support for the power line and began fighting it. Had Riverkeeper gotten its wish, it would have effectively locked in years of additional fossil fuel consumption in New York.
What’s most astonishing now is the yearslong scaremongering that accompanied the line’s connection to the Canadian government. CHPE draws its energy from dams owned by Hydro-Québec, a government-owned public utility and the provider of some of the cheapest electricity in North America. Today, left-wing advocates such as the Climate and Community Institute celebrate Hydro-Québec as a renewable-rich, government-owned success story.
But in 2018, the Sierra Club derided the proposed power line as a “private roadway” for Hydro-Québec, which it called “a private corporation heavily subsidized by the Canadian government.” Back then, too, the club questioned whether Quebec’s generating fleet — which some progressives now celebrate as abundant “renewable energy” — was truly low carbon.
This isn’t to say that dams can’t produce unexpected carbon or mercury emissions. They can. But the long-running effort to block this project — as compared to the praise for it now — should remind us how fluidly categories can change when a project is online.
If anything, though, SunZia had an even more frustrating story. Back in 2024, I covered the two-decade saga that saw the power line bounce from one permitting review to another.
In that story, I wrote about how the environmentalist Robin Silver, a founder of the Center for Biological Diversity, battled the project’s route through the San Pedro Valley in southeastern Arizona. When I asked Silver why he opposed the clean energy project — even though a natural gas pipeline already transited the valley — he was blunt: The power line was an eyesore. “There are no 200-foot large power lines going through the San Pedro Valley,” he said. “The gas pipeline doesn’t have 200 foot towers.”
Today, that SunZia line — now complete — will help reduce demand for natural gas. If we want to get serious about meeting America’s energy challenges, especially if we also want to reduce carbon emissions at the same time, then we will need many more projects like CHPE and SunZia. They won’t always be popular. But people will love them when they’re complete.
The latest update to the Electricity Price Hub shows a price increase in line with what regulators predicted.
Hawaii already had the most expensive electricity in the country. Then the war in Iran happened.
America’s 50th state has no domestic fossil fuel industry and no access to the continental United States’ natural gas pipeline network, and is therefore uniquely dependent on imported oil to generate electricity. (The state’s last coal plant shut down in 2022.)
While Hawaii’s electricity prices and household bills have spiked along with oil prices since the United States and Israel attacked Iran in late February, the average electricity bill in Hawaii shot up to $248 in May, compared to an already-high $203 in April, according to the latest data in Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub, released Monday. The average price of electricity rose by 6 cents per kilowatt-hour, from 46 cents in April to 52 cents in May. Nationally, average prices stand at around 17.5 cents and are up 3.6% (or just over half a cent) from May of last year, with national average bills of $140 per month up about $6 from a year ago.
Hawaii’s eye-watering prices far outmeasure even the state’s peers in expensive electricity. May bills for California were $137, for instance, while prices were 25 cents per kilowatt-hour. In Massachusetts, where prices have also spiked this spring, they only got to 38 cents per kilowatt-hour. Maine, which has been struggling with high prices thanks to high costs linked to storm recovery, prices in May were 28 cents per kilowatt-hour, up about 10% from a year ago, but down substantially from the 35 cents per kilowatt-hour in February.
The situation in Hawaii was pretty much a foregone conclusion way back in April. Hawaii’s Department of Commerce and Consumer Affairs warned customers that bills from Hawaiian Electric, which serves almost the entire state, would almost certainly go up between 20% and 30% from then through June.
“We told our customers to prepare for potential increases in energy costs in the coming months, driven by rising global oil prices linked to escalating geopolitical tension,” Scott Seu, Hawaiian Electric’s chief executive, said in an April earnings call. “Affordability is a core focus of ours, and affordability pressures have intensified given the recent increase in fuel prices across the globe.”
Some Hawaii ratepayers will have the opportunity to claim a one-time credit on their bills this month as part of an annual rate relief drive by the Hawaii Home Energy Assistance Program. The state program is administered through local nonprofits and provides bill credits for households that claim some form of social assistance, like food stamps or Social Security or disability payments administered through Social Security
The benchmark global oil price was sitting at around $70 per barrel in the weeks leading up to the opening of the U.S.-Israel-Iran war, and is now around $95, down from a high of $118. While Hawaii ratepayers probably won’t feel comforted this is far from the worst-case scenario for runaway oil prices as public and private inventories of oil have largely filled the gaps. If the story of the energy effects of the Iran War in the United States is that some combination of trapped natural gas, inventory releases, and healthy domestic production have made the oil price hike manageable, it may only be in the non-insular United States.
According to analysis of price hub data from our partners at CleanEcon, customers in the Lanai division of Hawaiian Electric’s Maui service area faced an 18 cents per kilowatt-hour rise just from “recovery” for high energy supply prices, a nearly 60% hike, which on its own added $76 to average bills compared to the beginning of this year.
The good news is that due to its famously agreeable climate, Hawaiian households consume little electricity compared to the rest of the country. But with those electricity rates, who can blame them.
All that cash has to go somewhere. Why not philanthropic funding for decarbonization?
Artificial intelligence models — and the infrastructure to support them — have kept the U.S. economy afloat amidst a turbulent year of tariffs, war, and energy price volatility. Nvidia, the dominant supplier of high-end AI chips, is now the world’s most valuable company. Leading AI firm Anthropic has filed to go public, while reporting indicates that OpenAI will soon follow suit. SpaceX, which is betting heavily on orbital data centers, is also going public this month, in what analysts expect will be the largest IPO in history.
All of which is to say that a lot of people have already become very, very rich from the AI boom, with many more poised to do so very soon. That will almost certainly lead to a wave of philanthropic capital in search of worthy causes. AI safety will obviously be a priority. But given growing concerns over AI’s power needs, reliance on fossil fuel infrastructure, water consumption, and effect on electricity prices, it seems likely that climate and clean energy will become top priorities for newly minted AI billionaires, as well.
“It is not lost on the people who are working on AI that there are big environmental impacts associated with data centers,” Lara Pierpoint, managing director of Trellis Climate, told me. Her organization helps philanthropists and foundations invest in first-of-a-kind climate infrastructure projects that wouldn’t move forward without their support. She expects that the “strong outdoor and environmentally-focused culture” of the Bay Area will also hold sway over these emerging philanthropists.
Nan Ransohoff, Stripe’s head of climate, laid out the scale of this coming capital influx in a recent Substack post: “The OpenAI Foundation holds 26% of OpenAI, worth about $220 billion at today’s valuation. Anthropic’s seven co-founders have pledged to give away 80% of their wealth and have instituted the most aggressive donor matching program for employees in tech history,” she writes.
By Ransohoff’s back-of-the-envelope math, accounting for just the OpenAI Foundation and Anthropic’s co-founders and employees with charitable savings accounts translates to about $37 billion to $100 billion per year in additional philanthropic spending, assuming everyone allocates about 10% of their pledged wealth annually. That could add as much as 17% more philanthropic spending per year compared to what all U.S. donors allocate today. Much of that will likely go toward AI-related risk mitigation. But certainly not all of it.
Though Ransohoff never mentions climate change explicitly in the piece, it can’t have been far from her mind. Ransohoff is the head of Frontier, the Stripe-led coalition of carbon removal buyers using advance purchase agreements to catalyze the nascent market. This is exactly the type of technology — critical to the fight against climate change but expensive and largely lacking a natural market to drive scale-up — that could benefit from philanthropic dollars. A range of other climate mitigation and adaptation efforts fall in this same bucket, including satellite-based methane monitoring, wetlands and mangrove restoration, resilience infrastructure in low-income communities, and even controversial geoengineering efforts such as solar radiation management.
The network of players allocating climate-focused philanthropic spending are well aware of these opportunities, apparently, as Ransohoff’s piece drummed up lots of excitement among my sources. “I think we’ve all been circling around the notion that there will be some additional philanthropy that comes into the picture,” Pierpoint told me. Ransohoff, she said, is just the first to put numbers to the potential scale. “It wasn’t clear even a year ago that all these companies were going to be looking to IPO so soon,” Pierpoint explained. (Ransohoff herself didn’t respond to my request for an interview.)
Now that we’re here, Pierpoint and others certainly have thoughts about where they can put this capital to work. Many see substantial room for improvement in the current philanthropic landscape. “The problem is how it’s structured. It’s more around donor appeasement and gatekeeping and less around results,” climate tech investor Susan Su of Toba Capital told me.
Elemental Impact CEO Dawn Lippert has been working to create a better model for the sector since she founded the philanthropically-funded nonprofit investor in 2009. She describes Elemental’s structure as combining “the mission of a nonprofit with the discipline of an investor and operating posture and talent density of a high-growth startup.” Much like Trellis, Elemental seeks to fill climate tech’s “missing middle” funding gap for first-of-a-kind climate infrastructure projects, which are too costly for venture firms but too risky for traditional institutional investors. That involves leveraging philanthropy to build things like a critical minerals recovery facility and a low-emissions fertilizer production plant that wouldn’t otherwise see the light of day.
“Philanthropy alone won’t close the gap, but philanthropy will be the fuel for the experiments,” Lippert told me. “It’s an art, because it’s not about using philanthropy to subsidize investors, it’s about leveraging philanthropy to build things that otherwise would not happen in the world.
Lippert wants to capitalize on this AI moment not only by harnessing billionaires’ money, but also by treating the data center buildout as a climate tech market opportunity — an approach that appears to resonate with its philanthropic backers. Late last month, Elemental launched the Data Center Innovation Initiative alongside funders such as Breakthrough Energy Discovery, Builders Vision Philanthropy, and Salesforce, aiming to test and commercialize clean tech for data centers that also has broader energy and industrial applications. For example, chip-cooling technologies would be out of scope because they’re too data center-specific, Lippert told me. But developing a new industrial coolant would be right on the money.
Elemental will provide between $500,000 and $5 million to 10 startups through 2027, while the initiative’s tech partners — Amazon, Google, Meta, and Microsoft — will support the companies with strategic guidance and real-world trials in their data centers. Although Elemental has not yet selected the initiative’s cohort, it’s looking to back everything from energy storage to novel cooling solutions and low-carbon building materials.
The highly detailed “funding opportunity guide” that Elemental released for prospective applications outlines the initiative’s priority technology areas and technical targets, offering the kind of clarity and specificity that many in climate philanthropy say is needed to help innovators focus on the sector’s most pressing challenges.
Some noteworthy efforts do already exist on this front. One example is climate philanthropist John Doerr’s Speed & Scale tracker which provides entrepreneurs, business leaders, and policymakers with a detailed assessment of global progress toward ten key climate objectives. Then there’s the more granular Climate Tech Map, an associated resource designed by a coalition of leading climate groups to help innovators identify and design for the technical bottlenecks most critical to the energy transition.
Defining the opportunity space so precisely, including explicit metrics for success, is likely to resonate with those from technical backgrounds. Many of these new donors will likely bring a philanthropic ethos shaped at least in part by the effective altruist movement, which has strong ties to the Bay Area tech community, and has long prioritized the potential existential risks posed by advanced AI systems.
But Aliya Haq, president of the policy-focused nonprofit Clean Economy Project (one of Heatmap’s partners on the Electricity Price Hub), noted that this mental model is “hard to square” with the realities of politics and thus policy advocacy overall. “Politics doesn’t follow a technocratic or data-driven reality, it’s far more about human psychology,” she told me. So while she sees room for a more technocratic approach to climate outcomes and the policies that get us there, “there’s a time where you have to be able to read the room and understand cultural shifts, political shifts, communication shifts, to be able to make those policies happen.”
CleanEcon was born from the ashes of Breakthrough Energy’s climate policy arm, which Bill Gates — the organizations’ founder primary backer — disbanded last year. Today, CleanEcon focuses on advancing policies that accelerate clean energy projects, derisk private investment, and drive down the costs of novel tech. Haq views these efforts as the most effective use of philanthropic dollars, even if all the data in the world can never precisely capture the political winds or what approaches will resonate with legislators and the electorate.
But the climate doesn’t get to choose its philanthropists or their ethos. “Whether or not we think a tech-oriented approach to giving is the right path forward, that will be one of the core elements of what this next wave of philanthropy will look like,” Pierpoint told me. Sectoral experts can help mold and shape the ideologies and whims of philanthropists, however, and there will always likely be a portion of funders deeply invested in exerting political influence, precise efficacy metrics be damned.
Many argue the real work now lies in connecting new donors with climate experts, and in turn, working to embed those experts more deeply within philanthropic foundations and grantmaking or investment institutions. Because while some newly minted rich folks will inevitably start by going it alone, pursuing wild bets or pet projects, Su explained that alongside new funders and builders, the sector really needs “very talented translators to be able to channel that desire to make an impact towards organizations that are in need and that are already making an impact.”
What everyone also seems to agree on is that the new philanthropists must be less risk-averse than the old philanthropists. As Pierpoint puts it, risk-taking “should be the role of philanthropy within this ecosystem — to try things that are hard to do under the existing ecosystem that we have.” Lippert similarly sees philanthropy as “fuel for the experiments” in the climate sector. Let’s hope that it proves to be that fuel, because as this new AI wealth begins to flow through the economy, the opportunity space for philanthropic experimentation might be larger than ever in the coming years.
“The magnitude of dollars is huge, it’s so much bigger than it ever was before,” Su told me. “So you can only think, because these people are so new and fresh to this — and they spent their entire lives thinking in a more innovative way — that maybe that’ll be the difference.”