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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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“It’s got nothing to do with technology. It’s nothing to do with execution capability. It’s purely due to access to capital.”
Ever since Trump reentered the White House, Europe has been a safe haven for U.S. climate tech companies fleeing an increasingly hostile policy environment. Through strong carbon pricing and stable regulations, the bloc has created demand for still-experimental technologies such as green hydrogen, thermal energy storage, low-carbon building materials, and sustainable fuels.
And yet at the same time, Europe has struggled to finance many of its own climate tech startups as they enter the capital-intensive scale-up phase. What gives?
The problem is not a lack of startups or capital. European firms raised $61 billion for climate-focused funds last year, far outpacing those in the U.S., which brought in $37 billion, according to Sightline Climate. The problem is that almost all of that European money flows to infrastructure and private equity investors backing more mature technologies. Early-stage startups also enjoy relatively strong backing, but the market starves the growth-stage middle.
The issue is both cultural and structural: Most of the bloc’s investors are unaccustomed to making the high-risk, high-reward bets required to scale climate tech. They also often can’t access tools like loan and equity guarantees, which remain limited in Europe, nor are there the institutional limited partners and growth-stage co-investors that could help de-risk those investments.
“It’s got nothing to do with technology. It’s nothing to do with execution capability. It’s purely due to access to capital,” Craig Douglas, a founding partner at the Berlin-based multi-stage venture firm World Fund, told me. That means companies that have outgrown early-stage financing but are still considered too small or too risky for larger institutional investors often either shutter or seek capital abroad. Logically, if given the chance, most startups choose the latter.
“You’re allowing U.S. investors to cherry pick European assets,” Douglas told me. The result? “European technologies and European companies that are successful end up enriching American pension funds rather than European pension funds.”
Ioannis Ioannou, an associate professor of strategy and entrepreneurship at the London Business School, told me that the consequences extend beyond the purely financial, emphasizing that Europe runs a strategic risk by relying on foreign capital for its climate tech scale-up. “It means you lose the supply chains. You lose the skills. You lose the fine manufacturing capabilities. You lose the so-called green jobs.”
Douglas and the other specialists in European climate finance I spoke with emphasized that the ever-ominous “missing middle” funding gap is particularly pronounced in Europe. A report Douglas co-authored earlier this year, aptly titled “The Series B Funding Gap In European Climate Tech,” quantifies the problem. While 25% of U.S. climate tech companies that raised a seed round from 2010 to 2020 had moved on to secure a Series B by the first half of last year — regardless of what country the capital came from — only 15% of European companies were able to do the same. That has created a growing backlog of startups stuck in a financing limbo: The lineup of European companies looking to raise a Series B grew from 220 in 2020 to 533 in the first half of last year.
While smaller climate tech funds in Europe and the U.S. have raised similar amounts of funding for early-stage startups — $18.5 billion in Europe versus $20.2 billion in the U.S. from 2020 through the first half of 2025 — the gap at the larger end of the market is stark. The U.S closed 29 funds of at least $500 million or more, compared with just 11 in Europe. These larger funds are the ones capable of writing the $25 million to $100 million checks companies desperately need to commercialize and scale. As Douglas’ report notes, fewer than 20% of European climate funds are pursuing a growth strategy, with over 70% making early-stage investments only.
“When we raised World Fund One, we were the largest [debut] climate fund in Europe, and we’re a €300 million fund. That’s nuts,” Douglas told me. World Fund aims to help companies “reach growth-investor readiness” by supporting startups from their seed through Series B, a model Douglas would like to see replicated throughout the region. “We need another 20 World Funds out there in the market to start filling this capital shortfall,” he told me. The firm announced last February that it’s raising a second, €500 million fund, but that’s yet to close.
One of the primary reasons European growth-stage investors have less capital to deploy comes down to the structure of European financial markets, which remain heavily reliant on bank lending rather than higher-risk equity investments. As a result, institutional investors like pension funds, insurers, and endowments never built the habit of investing in venture capital, which shows up when comparing the LP bases across the two regions: In the U.S., about 72% of VC funding comes from private institutional investors, compared with just 30% in Europe. Public money, much of it from the European Investment Fund, helps bridge the gap, but it simply cannot match the scale of private institutions.
Pension funds are a telling case. They’re among the largest sources of venture capital in the U.S., allocating nearly 2% of their assets to VC. But in the EU, they allot just 0.018% — roughly 100 times less. And because the U.S. also has far more money sitting in pension funds than Europe does, this makes the gap in actual dollars reaching startups wider still. Without that deep pool of institutional funding, Europe struggles to support the $500 million- to $1 billion-plus funds that would have the wherewithal to lead growth-stage rounds.
The result is a self-reinforcing cycle. Large growth funds require large institutional backers, but precisely because European pension funds and other institutional investors haven’t stepped up, the venture market remains too small to absorb the kinds of $100 million-plus commitments pension investors managing billions of dollars typically want to make. “They don’t see [venture] as an asset class that they can invest in,” Douglas told me. “But the reason that it doesn’t exist is because they’re not investing themselves in that asset class.”
If there’s one thing I learned from my reporting, it’s that white these problems run deep, Europe is hardly standing still. Policymakers and investors are well aware of the disconnect and are now experimenting with strategies to close the scale-up gap and affirm the region’s position as a leader in climate innovation.
To attract more institutional investment, for example, a growing number of initiatives aim to create “funds of funds” and other government-backed structures that pool money from pension funds, insurers, banks, foundations, and other large investors. The fund-of-funds structure lets an institution make a single, large commitment; then, intermediary asset managers break that capital into smaller chunks and invest it across multiple venture funds. This gives large-ticket investors the scale and diversification they want without requiring them to conduct due diligence on dozens of small venture funds; venture managers, in turn, gain access to much larger pools of capital.
Germany’s Wachstumsfonds Deutschland, for example, is a €1 billion fund-of-funds backed by more than 20 investors — including insurers, pension funds, and large family offices — that invests across the German and broader European VC ecosystem, with a focus on growth-stage capital. The EU’s European Tech Champions Initiative follows a similar model. The European Investment Bank and six member-states launched the initiative in 2023 with €3.9 billion to back regional growth-stage VC funds. Now it’s raising a second tranche of money — targeting €15 billion — and is bringing in private institutional capital for the first time.
Europe’s member states have also pushed institutional investors toward coordinated capital commitments in recent years, with France’s Tibi initiative serving as the model. Launched in 2019, it tasks the French government with vetting venture and growth funds, with those that qualify becoming eligible for backing from initiative’s signatories, primarily insurers and some pension funds. The program has attracted about €31 billion in commitments to date. Germany adopted a similar approach with its WIN initiative, which has now secured €12 billion in pledges from more than 30 major corporations — including Deutsche Bank, BlackRock, and Henkel — to invest in the country’s venture ecosystem by 2030.
The Irish Venture Capital Association has proposed a similar model, while Tibi’s founder — the economist Philippe Tibi himself — has been on a tour essentially pitching the idea across the bloc. But Ioannou isn’t convinced that creating country-specific Tibi-style commitments is the most efficient way for the region to scale climate tech.
“I’m not sure that fragmentation will actually solve the problem,” he told me. “Maybe it will be better if all that capital came into one larger fund, whereby the scale-ups wouldn’t have to deal with country level fragmentation, regulations, jurisdictions, legal, and all that kind of stuff.”
That’s the idea behind the new €5 billion pan-EU Scaleup Europe Fund, which is designed to invest directly in European deep-tech startups — climate tech very much included — rather than through venture funds. Announced last year, the fund has already secured roughly €2.5 billion in capital commitments from both the European Commission and private institutional investors, with a second fundraising round planned for the second half of this year. EQT, Europe’s largest private-markets investor, will manage the funds, ultimately deciding which growth-stage companies to back.
“Everything happened so quickly, from agreeing to it to executing on it to allocating it,” Douglas told me. “In effect, it happened in less than a year, which in the European context is crazy.”
The idea is to replicate what the combination of U.S. federal support and deep private capital markets has accomplished, Dimitri Colin, a policy officer at the cleantech policy and advocacy group Cleantech for Europe, told me. “The whole idea is to bring what worked in the U.S. into European public financing policies,” he said. Colin extolled the virtues of the Biden-era Loan Programs Office, as well as the efficacy of other Inflation Reduction Act-fueled efforts such as generous production tax credits when it comes to derisking investment in first-of-a-kind tech.
In our interview as well as in a recent report, Colin argued that EU funding should move from prioritizing grants to loan and equity guarantees in its forthcoming budget for the years 2028 through 2034. That’s because guarantees have proven far more effective than government grants at bringing private investors into climate tech, Colin told me. According to his report, every euro of grants or equity capital channeled through the VC arm of the European Innovation Council yields about €3 in additional investment. That’s nothing to scoff at, but it pales in comparison with InvestEU, the bloc’s €26.2 billion investment guarantee program. Every euro of guarantees from the latter attracts nearly €14.80 in private follow-on capital.
“The main idea behind the whole budget should be to focus on the leverage effect,” Colin told me, referring to how much additional private funding government backing generates. “How can the little public money that we have in Europe — because the fiscal environment is, of course, very constrained — more easily mobilize private money? That’s what the LPO did well.”
Colin also wants to change the EU’s public funding rules to make it easier to subsidize ongoing operational expenses for early-stage cleantech facilities, similar in effect to U.S. production tax credits. Currently, European policymakers often structure public support for these projects as capex grants paid out after construction is complete. This type of support is more difficult for private investors to underwrite since it doesn’t directly improve the plant’s ongoing operating economics, one of the risks investors care about most.
Getting these financing structures right is a matter of life or death for many of Europe’s most promising climate tech industries. Douglas points to batteries, critical minerals, semiconductors, and green molecules as sectors with the technological readiness to scale domestically — but not yet the capital. “One of the major risks in every sector we know is who’s going to be there, who’s going to be able to go with us on that journey to make sure the company has the capital to be successful,” he told me. Still, he sees reason for optimism. Because if there’s one thing that can be said about the E.U. at this moment, it’s that “they’re definitely taking it seriously.”
“The perfect solution doesn’t exist,” Colin told me. “We need to align the funding models, we need public de-risking tools, but we need also a true industrial strategy, China has done that, the US has done that with the IRA,” he explained. Now it’s Europe’s turn.
Not going to lie, I didn’t see this coming.
Tesla just finished its strongest showing in years. In the second quarter of 2026, the company sold about 480,000 vehicles around the world — well over stock market projections of about 400,000 EVs. Tesla’s sales mark a full 25% year-over-year increase from the second quarter of last year.
If you’re surprised by this news, you’re not alone. Sales of Elon Musk’s EVs had been trending downward over the past few years following a series of self-inflicted wounds. The Cybertruck was a bomb. Tesla appeared to be interested only in building the self-driving cars and autonomous robots of the future, not the electric vehicles of today. Musk’s associations with President Trump and off-putting online politics alienated potential customers everywhere.
Yet here we are. So what happened?
European gas prices, for one thing. Tesla sales actually continued to fall in the U.S., where the electric car market as a whole still hasn’t recovered from tariffs confusion, the loss of federal subsidies, and other chaotic conditions over the past year. Tesla’s rally came instead from China and, interestingly, Europe: Registrations rose 39% in Denmark, 56% in Sweden, and 43% in Portugal and Italy.
It wasn’t so long ago that Musk’s politics had reportedly cratered interest in his cars in those countries. But European gas prices, which are typically much higher than those in the U.S., have also soared because of oil shocks related to the Iran War. EV interest, then, is up — so high that lots of buyers are willing to look past the personality of Tesla’s chief. (It doesn’t hurt that Tesla introduced less-expensive versions of both Model 3 and Model Y, with remarkably cheap leases and loans, to Europe this year to help overcome its struggles there.)
In China, meanwhile, Tesla has had something else up its sleeve to buoy sales. We’ve repeatedly noted the contraction of the company’s EV lineup: With the failure of the Cybertruck as well as the outright cancellation of the older and slow-selling Model S and Model X — the electric cars that pushed Tesla into the mainstream in the 2010s — the brand gets nearly all of its sales (more than 97% in Q2) from just two cars, the Model 3 sedan and Model Y crossover. And there are no signs it has an all-new mass-market car coming soon.
Instead, Tesla cobbled one together by making a new version of an existing car. In China, Musk has been selling the Model Y L, a version of his crossover with its platform stretched out by 6 inches to cram in an extra row of seats. (Tesla has offered a seven-seat version of its ordinary Model Y, but the two little seats in the back had just 25 inches of legroom compared to the 31 inches in this new version.) As a three-row SUV, the longer Model Y lets Tesla compete in a space that it vacated when it killed off the giant, expensive, gullwing-doored Model X. And as of last week, Model Y L is available in the U.S. Tesla hopes the vehicle can lead to a reversal of its sinking fortunes here, where its EV sales shrank by 20% in the second quarter.
Truthfully, the car is a bit of a kluge. Rear seats often require a compromise on comfort and space. In the case of the Model Y L, Jalopnik notes that even with the 6 inches added to the wheelbase, Tesla’s signature sloping roof doesn’t leave much headroom for the occupants of the way-back. Boxier EVs that were built to be three rows to begin with, like the Hyundai Ioniq 9, Kia EV9, and Rivian R1S, are more pleasant for the fifth and sixth passengers. Nevertheless, those who wanted a bigger Tesla at a starting price of around $60,000 can now get one, and that counts.
Model Y L is also a testament to the power of the platform. Yes, building a new vehicle from the ground up would have provided Tesla with a better all-around vehicle than what it got by hacking the Model Y. But the modified Model Y was much faster and cheaper to deliver, providing an entry into a popular segment of the car market just at the moment Tesla needed to right the ship.
Doing more with less, like creating a three-row EV on the platform of your two-row car, looks primed to become a big part of the future of electric vehicles. That’s particularly true when it comes to growing adoption in America, where legacy automakers and startups alike are trying to simplify manufacturing to bring down costs. The solution to get to market for a company like Honda was simply to borrow General Motors’ EV platform and build its first EV on top of it. Rivian has said it has no plans to sell a pickup truck on its new R2 platform the way it has with its original vehicle, but it absolutely could — and arguably should — if market conditions suddenly made such an EV pickup a hot item.
On half-full glasses, Omani polysilicon, and U.S. vs. Chinese nuclear
Current conditions: Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands are carrying out damage assessments after Super Typhoon Bavi made landfall Monday as the equivalent of a Category 5 hurricane • A wildfire has scorched more than 11,000 acres in the French Pyrenees, forcing thousands to evacuate • Heavy rain from Typhoon Maysak has killed at least 15 people in China this week.
The governors of 11 states across the American West signed onto a pact to speed up permitting and increase coordination on the regional electrical grid. The agreement, brokered at the Western Governors’ Association’s annual meeting last week, unites Arizona, Colorado, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, North Dakota, Oregon, Utah, Washington, and Wyoming behind the Western Transmission Expansion Coalition, or WestTEC. The interstate effort to build out the grid across America’s western half published a study in February that found the region needed 12,600 miles of new transmission lines over the next decade, at a cost of roughly $60 billion. Even the energy adviser to Utah Governor Spencer Cox — a Republican who has positioned himself as a vocal champion of “fiscal responsibility” — called the investment “just common sense” for the West. “Getting energy to where it’s needed, when it’s needed, is just as important as generating it in the first place,” Emy Lesofski, who also serves as the director of the Utah Office of Energy Development, said in a statement. “Think of the grid like the roads and highways connecting our communities — it doesn’t matter how much is produced if you can’t move it to where people actually live and work.”
It’s a sign, perhaps, of the counterintuitive but optimistic conclusion of a new study by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Center for Energy and Environmental Policy Research. Entitled “Glass Half Full,” the report — which my colleague Robinson Meyer published as an exclusive — compared the tax and spending laws passed under the Biden and Trump administrations and also analyzed each administration’s environmental rules. The analysis concludes that 74% of new clean energy capacity that would have gotten built under the Biden administration’s policy by 2035 will still get built under Trump’s policies by that same year. Those new renewables and nuclear plants will generate about 71% of the electricity that would have been expected had Biden’s policies remained law. Roughly 67% of the climate pollution that would have fallen under Biden’s policies will still drop under the trajectory Trump set. “The glass is substantially full,” Lily Bermel, the report’s author and a visiting fellow at the Columbia Center on Global Energy Policy, told Rob. “It’s not barely half full. It’s like three-quarters full.”
The U.S. grid needs to increase its supply of reliable electricity as quickly as possible. But regulators are stretched so thin racing to approve new projects that they can’t risk diverting attention to fast track last-minute design changes to a $2 billion gas-fired plant in the nation’s largest and arguably most stressed grid system. On Monday, Utility Dive reported that the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission decided last week to reject a request for a waiver to allow Advanced Power Services’ Chestnut Run project in eastern Ohio to hook up to the PJM Interconnection system while bypassing certain rules. PJM included the plant — the parent company of which is ArcLight Capital Partners, which in turn sold itself in May to the data center developer DigitalBridge for $1.1 billion — in the initial 51 projects designated under the Reliability Resource Initiative, a program to fast-track roughly 12 gigawatts of additional generation from new and existing power stations.
In a dynamic that echoes what went wrong with Westinghouse’s buildout of two AP1000s at Southern Company’s Plant Vogtle, the process for the program barred any changes to a project’s size and capacity in its interconnection rights. With gas turbines in short order, Advanced Power couldn’t get critical equipment. The Boston-based independent power producer told FERC it had found alternative turbines, but that the new units would change the plant’s configuration, shaving off a modest 55 megawatts from its maximum output of more than 1.2 gigawatts of electricity. It’s barely a 4% difference. But FERC said that “studies resulting from the equipment changes would introduce substantial delays” and “have a ripple effect” on other projects in the queue.

Back in February, Oman’s United Solar opened the Middle East’s largest polysilicon plant. At full capacity, the facility will churn out 100,000 metric tons of polysilicon per year, enough to produce 40 gigawatts of solar panels. That makes the plant the largest of its kind outside China. Initially backed by Oman’s sovereign wealth fund, United Solar has already received $30 million in backing from Waaree Solar Americas, the U.S. subsidiary of an Indian solar giant that Semafor reported was championed by Prime Minister Narendra Modi in recent trade talks in Muscat. On Monday, the Oman Observer reported that United Solar had closed a $1.6 billion deal with the International Finance Corporation, the private sector arm of the World Bank Group. In a statement, the company described the investment as an endorsement of United Solar as a supplier of material that can comply with mounting American and European trade restrictions on Chinese solar panels.
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Cuba’s entire power grid went offline Monday as the Caribbean nation’s energy crisis devolves into catastrophe amid Washington’s blockade on fuel shipments. Energy Minister Vicente de la O Levy told CNN that officials were working to restore energy and that they’ve already activated emergency “microsystems” that supply electricity to critical services. In a plea to the United Nations in May, Francisco Pichón, the highest ranking officer in the Havana office of the U.N.’s Development System, said “time is running out, we need fuel now to save lives.” As in neighboring Puerto Rico, the ongoing grid disaster has spurred a boom in rooftop solar. But NBC News reported that Cubans are also turning to dirtier energy sources such as charcoal to cook indoors, subjecting themselves to dangerous smoke.
I find the comparison to Puerto Rico particularly poignant. Both islands were colonized around the same time, forming the beachhead of Spain’s early empire in the Americas, and rebelled against Madrid’s rule around the same time. Both fell under Washington’s suzerainty after the Spanish-American War of 1898, although the Americans granted Cubans self rule while seizing Puerto Rico as a colony. After the Cuban Revolution, the U.S. invested in Puerto Rico as a manufacturing hub and a symbol of the American system’s superiority. But as the memory of the Cold War faded into the 1990s, the U.S. cut key support for Puerto Rico, flipping over the first domino in a process that ultimately led to the island’s bankruptcy and the total collapse of its electrical system. The islands had opposite experiences of the so-called American Century. Neither one can keep the lights on.
In the early hours of July 4, the microreactor developer Aalo Atomics split atoms at its test reactor for the first time, becoming the fourth company in the Trump administration’s reactor pilot program to go critical. Criticality, on its own, is not a huge deal. But the program supported 10 companies to build test reactors that could generate data that the developers can use in their applications to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. The Department of Energy, which administered the program, set a July 4 deadline for at least three companies to split atoms for the first time. First came Antares Nuclear, whose microreactor — designed for the military and space — went live at the Idaho National Laboratory early last month. Two weeks later, the gas-cooled microreactor maker Valar Atomics fired up its test reactor at the San Rafael Energy Lab in Utah. A week ago, as I told you, Deployable Energy went critical with its “nuclear battery,” also at the Idaho National Lab. In a statement, Aalo Atomics CEO Matt Loszak called reaching criticality “our most significant milestone to date, as it paves the way for the deployment of” the full-scale power units by smoothing the pathway to NRC approval.
I hope you were soothed by that chaser, because here’s the acrid shot: While we split atoms at test reactors, China just hooked up a whole new gigawatt-scale reactor to its grid. Last week, I told you that the second of six new Hualong One reactors — essentially China’s standardized version of the American AP1000 with an all-domestic supply chain — had hit a critical juncture. Well, now it’s hit the most critical juncture of all: It’s officially supplying power to the grid. Onto the next one.
The offshore wind industry may be in retreat in the U.S., but it’s just picking up in Europe. On Monday offshoreWIND.biz reported that the Netherlands’ 760-megawatt Hollandse Kust West VI offshore wind farm has officially connected to the grid. The 52-turbine plant is expected to reach full capacity by the end of this year.