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Plus how it’s different from carbon capture — and, while we’re at it, carbon offsets.

At the heart of the climate crisis lies a harsh physical reality: Once carbon dioxide enters the atmosphere, it can stay there for hundreds or even thousands of years. Although some carbon does cycle in and out of the air via plants, soils, and the ocean, we are emitting far more than these systems can handle, meaning that most of it is just piling up. Burning fossil fuels is like continuously stuffing feathers into a duvet blanketing the Earth.
But there may be ways to begin plucking them out. That’s the promise of carbon removal, a category of technologies and interventions that either pull carbon dioxide from the air and store it securely or enhance the systems that naturally absorb carbon today.
Carbon removal is not, inherently, a license to continue emitting — it is far cheaper and easier to reduce the flow of emissions into the atmosphere than it is to remove them after the fact. Climate action has been so slow, however, that removing carbon has become a pressing consideration.
There are many technical, political, and economic challenges to deploying carbon removal at a meaningful scale. This guide will introduce you to some of those challenges, along with the basics of what carbon removal is, the rationale for trying to do it, and the risks and trade-offs we’ll encounter along the way. Let’s dive in.
Variously called carbon removal, carbon dioxide removal, CDR, and negative emissions technologies, all of these terms refer to efforts to suck carbon from the atmosphere and store it in places where it will not warm the planet, such as oceans, soils, plants, and underground. The science behind carbon removal spans atmospheric studies, oceanography, biology, geology, chemistry, and engineering. The carbon removal “industry” overlaps with oil and gas drilling, farming, forestry, mining, and construction — sometimes several of these sectors at once.
Carbon removal encompasses an astonishingly wide range of activities, but the two best known examples are probably the simple practice of planting a tree and the complex engineering project of building a “direct air capture system.” The latter are typically big machines that use industrial-sized fans to blow air through a material that filters carbon dioxide, and then apply heat to extract the carbon from the filter.
But there are many other methods that fall somewhere in between. “Enhanced rock weathering” involves taking minerals that are known to slowly pull carbon from the air as they break down over millennia and trying to speed up those reactions by grinding them into a fine dust and spreading it on agricultural fields. In “ocean alkalinity enhancement,” minerals are deposited directly into the ocean, catalyzing chemical reactions that may enable surface waters to soak up more carbon from the atmosphere. Companies are also experimenting with ways to take carbon-rich organic waste, like sewage, corn stalks, and forest debris, and bury it permanently underground or transform it into more stable materials like biochar.

If you read the words “carbon capture” literally, then yes, carbon removal involves capturing carbon. It’s common to see news articles use the terms interchangeably. But “carbon capture” is also the name for a technology that addresses a very different problem, with different challenges and implications. For that reason, it’s useful to distinguish carbon removal as its own category.
By definition, carbon removal deals with carbon that was previously emitted into the atmosphere — the feathers piling up in the duvet. Carbon capture, by contrast, has historically referred to systems that collect carbon from the flue of an industrial site, like a power plant, before it can enter the atmosphere.
Some carbon removal methods, such as the aforementioned direct air capture machines, share equipment with carbon capture. Both might use materials called sorbents to separate carbon from flue gas or from the air, and both rely on pipelines and drilling to transport the carbon to underground storage wells. But carbon capture cleans up and extends the relevance of present-day industrial processes and fuels. Carbon removal can be deployed concurrent with or independent of today’s energy systems and addresses the legacy carbon still hanging around.
There are different opinions on this. Some consider “geoengineering” to mean any large-scale intervention to counteract climate change. Others reserve the term for interventions that deal only with the effects of climate change, rather than the root cause. For example, solar radiation management, an idea to release tiny particles into the atmosphere that reflect sunlight back into space, would cool the Earth but not change the concentration of carbon in the atmosphere. If we started to do it at scale and then stopped, global warming would rear right back, unless and until the carbon blanketing the atmosphere was removed.
Any global cooling achieved by carbon removal, by contrast, would likely be more durable. To be clear, scientists don’t propose trying to use carbon removal to bring global average temperatures back down to levels seen during the pre-industrial period. It would already take an almost unimaginably large-scale effort to cool the planet just a half a degree or so with carbon removal — more on that in a bit.
While scientists have been talking about carbon removal for decades, a sense of urgency to develop practicable solutions emerged in the years following the 2015 Paris Climate Agreement. The signatories to that United Nations agreement, which included almost every nation in the world, committed to limit warming to “well below 2 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels” and strive for no more than 1.5 degrees of warming.
When scientists with the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change reviewed more than a thousand modeled scenarios mapping out how the world could achieve these goals, they found that it would be extraordinarily difficult without some degree of carbon removal. We had emitted so much by that point and made so little progress to change our energy systems that success required either cutting emissions at an unfathomably fast clip, cutting emissions more gradually and rapidly scaling up carbon removal to counteract the residuals, or “overshooting” the temperature targets altogether and using carbon removal to back into them.
If limiting warming to 1.5 degrees was a stretch back then, today it’s become even more implausible. “Recent warming trends and the lack of adequate mitigation measures make it clear that the 1.5°C goal will not be met,” reads a January 2025 report from the independent climate science research group Berkeley Earth. The authors expect the threshold to be crossed in the next five to 10 years. Another independent research group, Climate Action Tracker, estimates that current policies put the world on track to warm 2.7 degrees by the end of the century.
To many, carbon removal may seem Sisyphean. As long as we’re still flooding the atmosphere with carbon, trying to take it out bit by bit sounds futile.
But our relatively slow progress cleaning up our energy systems only strengthens the case to develop carbon removal. Just think of all the carbon that’s continuing to accumulate! If we reach a point in the future where energy is cleaner and emissions are significantly lower, carbon removal offers a chance to siphon out some of it and start to reverse the dangerous effects of climate change. If we don’t start building that capacity today, future generations will not have that option.
Scientists also make the case that carbon removal will be essential to halting climate change, never mind reversing it. That’s because there are some human activities that are so difficult or expensive to decarbonize — think commercial aviation, shipping, agriculture — that it may be easier, more economical, or even more environmentally friendly to remove the greenhouse gases they emit after the fact. Stopping the planet from warming does not necessarily require eliminating all emissions. The more likely path is to achieve “net zero,” a point where any remaining emissions are counterbalanced by an equal amount of carbon removal, including from human activities as well as natural carbon sinks.
It would certainly be easier, less expensive, and less resource-intensive to cut emissions today than it will be to remove them in the future. Some scientists have even argued we may be better off assuming carbon removal will not work at scale, as that might motivate more rapid emissions reductions. But the IPCC concluded pretty definitively in 2022 that carbon removal will be required if we want to stabilize global temperatures below 2 degrees this century.
The Paris Agreement temperature targets are not thresholds after which the world falls apart. But every tenth of a degree of warming will strain the Earth’s systems and test human survival more than the last. Abandoning carbon removal means accepting whatever dangerous and devastating effects we fail to avoid.
The latest edition of the “State of CDR” report, put together by a group of leading carbon removal researchers, found that all of the Paris Agreement-consistent scenarios modeled in the scientific literature require removing between 4 billion and 6 billion metric tons of carbon per year by 2035, and between 6 billion and 10 billion metric tons by 2050. For context, they estimate that the world currently removes about 2 billion metric tons of carbon per year over and above what the Earth would naturally absorb without human interference, 99% of which comes from planting trees and managing forests.
These estimates, however, are steeped in uncertainty, as the models make assumptions about the cost and speed of decarbonization and society’s willingness to make behavioral changes such as eating less meat and flying less. We could work toward other futures with less reliance on carbon removal. We could also passively drift toward one that calls for far more.
In short, the amount of carbon removal that may be desirable in the future depends largely on how quickly we reduce emissions and how successful we are in solving the hardest-to-decarbonize parts of the economy. It also depends on what kinds of trade-offs society is willing to make. Large-scale carbon removal would likely be resource-intensive, requiring a lot of land, energy, or both, and could impinge on other sustainability goals.
Afforestation and reforestation are responsible for most carbon removal that happens today, and planting more trees is essential to tackling climate change. But it would be a mistake to bank our carbon removal strategy on that approach alone. For one, depending on how much carbon removal is needed, there may not be enough land that can or should be forested without encroaching on food production or other uses. Large-scale tree planting efforts also often produce monoculture plantations, which are an inexpensive way to maximize carbon sequestration but can harm biodiversity.
The other argument for developing alternative solutions has to do with time. As I explained earlier, carbon dioxide emissions can stay in the atmosphere for millennia. Most tree species do not live longer than 1,000 years, and some are known to survive only for a few decades. The carbon stored in trees is vulnerable to fires, pests, disease, drought, and the simple fact of mortality. Climate change is already increasing these risks.
If we use carbon removal to neutralize residual fossil fuel emissions — which, again, could help us halt warming faster than we otherwise would be able to — the carbon will need to stay out of the atmosphere for as long as the emissions stay in. When we rely on trees to offset CO2 emissions, the climate scientist Zeke Hausfather wrote in a 2022 New York Times op-ed, we “risk merely hitting the climate ‘snooze’ button, kicking the can to future generations who will have to deal with those emissions.”
Every form of carbon removal has trade-offs. Direct air capture uses lots of energy; enhanced rock weathering relies on dirty mining processes and its effectiveness is difficult to measure. It’s still too early to know the extent to which these can be minimized, or to say what the ideal mix of solutions looks like.
There are hundreds of companies and research labs around the world working on various methods to remove carbon from the atmosphere, and the number of real-world projects is growing every year. But the field’s progress is limited by funding. There’s no natural market for carbon removal — it’s essentially a public service. Most of the money going into the field has come from tech companies like Microsoft and Stripe, which have voluntarily paid for carbon removals that haven’t happened yet to help startups access capital to deploy demonstration projects.
Experts across the industry say that in order for carbon removal to scale, governments will need to play a much bigger role. For one, they’ll likely need to pony up for research and development. The U.S. government has been spending about $1 billion per year to support carbon removal research, but according to one estimate, we’ll need to scale that to $100 billion per year by 2050 in order to make the technology set a viable solution. Many argue that compliance markets, in which governments require companies to lower their emissions and permit the purchase of carbon removal to meet targets, will be key to creating sustained demand. (These are not to be confused with carbon offsets, which have also been part of these markets, but have been more focused on projects that avoid emissions.) That’s already starting to happen abroad — this summer, the U.K. decided to incorporate removals into its emissions cap and trade program in 2029, and the E.U. proposed doing the same.
The few programs we do have in the U.S., on the other hand, are currently at risk. Congress appropriated $3.5 billion to the Department of Energy in 2021 to develop several direct air capture “hubs,” but Secretary of Energy Chris Wright may try to cancel the program. The agency also had a pilot program in which it planned to pre-pay for carbon removal, similar to what the tech companies have done, but it’s unclear whether that will move forward. But there’s more action in other countries.
Another central preoccupation in the field today is the development of robust standards that ensure we can accurately measure and report how much carbon is removed by each method. While this is relatively straightforward for a direct air capture system, which is a closed system, it’s much harder for enhanced rock weathering, for example, where there are a lot of outside variables that could affect the fate of the carbon.
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The Supreme Court keeps changing the terms of the deal between the legislative branch and the executive.
The Supreme Court ended its 2025–2026 term today, issuing a flurry of rulings on its most controversial cases. Most significantly, it rejected President Trump’s attempt to overturn birthright citizenship, preserving the 14th Amendment as it has been read for more than a century. It also struck down restrictions on how much political parties can spend in coordination with candidates — a change that could shape political strategies in November’s midterm election.
But I suspect that the year’s most important ruling for energy and climate policy came … yesterday. In a 6-3 ruling, the court’s conservative majority allowed President Trump to fire the commissioners of independent agencies without cause. Although the case concerned the Federal Trade Commission, it will matter for every independent agency that governs energy and climate policy.
My colleague Matthew Zeitlin wrote about what the case will mean for the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, for instance, and I urge you to read his story. As he writes, the agency that governs the country’s power markets, transmission grid, and natural gas infrastructure has a culture of bipartisan consensus, even comity, and the ruling could chill that warmer clime. Last year, a cross-partisan group of 11 former FERC officials warned that allowing the president to fire commissioners “would bulldoze the structural supports that Congress built into” the agency to protect its power “from abuse.”
But FERC is not the only commission that governs climate and energy policy. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission — which Trump has also sought to bring to heel — is led by independent commissioners. So too are the Securities and Exchange Commission and the Commodity Futures Trading Commission, which the Biden administration tried (and largely failed) to turn into climate policy-making agencies.
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The independent commission is an old American legal structure, invented in the 19th century to manage issues where Congress deemed technical expertise and a deliberative process were essential to producing good policy. Although some guardrails for these agencies remain intact — such as requirements that a certain number of their commissioners come from each party — the court has permanently changed how they work. For instance, instead of having to wait for commissioners at FERC or the FTC to retire, step down, or serve out their terms, the president can now fire any or all of them and remake an independent commission almost as soon as they take office — assuming, at least, a cooperative Senate that is willing to confirm new appointees.
While reading about the ruling, I’ve found myself thinking back to an article written last year by the Georgetown Law professor Josh Chafetz. It concerns a little-known (or at least new to me) 1983 Supreme Court case, INS v. Chadha, that reshaped the relationship between Congress and the executive branch. For decades, Congress passed laws granting new powers to the president (or a federal agency) while retaining the ability to nullify those powers with a “legislative veto,” whereby one or both houses of Congress could cancel a given action with a simple majority vote.
In Chadha, the court ruled that the legislative veto was unconstitutional, a decision that affected hundreds of statutes, according to Chafetz. But crucially, the court did not cancel Congress’ grants of authority in those statutes; it only removed Congress’ ability to veto the use of that authority by a vote. In doing so, it ratcheted up the executive branch’s powers and diminished the legislative’s — “thereby leaving in place only one side of a bargain between Congress and the presidency,” Chafetz writes.
Why does this matter? Because the court is doing something similar again. Congress struck a bargain with the president when it set up commissions like FERC and the NRC: It granted new powers to the executive branch, but also placed important restrictions on how those powers can be used. In allowing the president to fire commissioners, the Supreme Court has altered the deal, preserving Congress’ grant of authority while removing any real restrictions on the president’s ability to use that authority. In doing so, it has overhauled how those agencies work, essentially creating a new and more potent version of FERC, or the NRC, or the FTC that wears the staff and authorities of the old one as a skin suit.
No legislator would have chosen to set up FERC, or the NRC, or the FTC as they now exist. But after the Supreme Court’s partial demo job yesterday, they are the agencies we have. The court has overhauled how the United States regulates electricity markets, or antitrust law, or nuclear safety regulation. Let’s pray, I suppose, that the Supreme Court doesn’t alter the deal any further.
I promised I wouldn’t write about Europe’s air conditioning adoption today, and I have kept my vow. But my colleague Jeva Lange — who just returned from a 10-day trip on the continent with her husband, her 9-month-old daughter, and her 69-year-old father — has written about it, and in the most delightful way. What was Europe actually like, as an (ew) American? Find out.
I decided to go to Italy in June with my husband, my 9-month-old daughter, and my 69-year-old father. What could go wrong?
The start of a vacation really begins 10 days before departure, when your arrival date first appears on your weather app. Like the turning over of a tarot card, it is this initial forecast that hints at the potential character of your trip — whether your beach vacation might be ruined by rain, or if spring break will fall this year during an unanticipated cold spell.
For our recent trip to Bologna, Italy, my family and I seemed to have pulled one of the worst cards in the deck: Our weather apps suggested early on that the high would be near 100 degrees Fahrenheit on the weekend of our arrival.
Little did we know then, it would never cool down.
Coming on the heels of Europe’s second-hottest May on record, an extreme heat wave settled over the continent on June 18, 2026 — the first day of our trip — and lasted through Sunday, June 29 — the day we returned home. This would, on its face, seem to be a case of abysmal luck. But as someone who writes about extreme heat, it felt more like the moment I went from covering the story to living it myself, a jarring but not uncommon experience among my professional colleagues. As is often the case on the climate beat, it is only a matter of time before we become the subjects of our own stories.
To be sure, I’ve been hot in Europe before. Last year, I was also in Bologna during a heat wave, when the city set a record for the highest minimum temperature in June. At that time, I was pregnant and attending the Il Cinema Ritrovato film festival with my husband, a movie critic. Despite the wimpy European AC running in the theaters — and the nonexistent AC in many of the city’s best restaurants — we had such a good time that we pledged to make our attendance an annual family tradition. Next year, we decided then, we’d return with the baby.
Ah, the naïveté of parents to-be!
Our itinerary took us from Seattle to Paris for a one-night stopover before we would carry on to Bologna. On our arrival day, June 18, Paris hit 97 degrees Fahrenheit. Determined to try to see as much of the new-to-us city as we could, we stuck the baby in a backpack and raced from our air-conditioned room to another AC oasis, the Musée d’Orsay — a walk of about half an hour that took us along the sun-blasted east end of the Tuileries and over the exposed Pont Royal. By the time we reached the long line of wilting tourists waiting to enter the museum, our daughter had slumped, lethargic, in her carrier. Beside ourselves with panic, we pushed our way into the museum’s lightly air-conditioned ticketing office. I was calculating the fastest way to get medical help — yell for security and hope the museum had paramedics on hand? Dial the local emergency number? — when, after what felt like a terrifyingly long time, she opened her eyes and cried.
I’ve replayed that walk over and over in my head, wondering where we went wrong. Unfortunately, it is difficult to get good medical information about babies and heat. Infants’ warning signs are contradictory — sweat is a red flag, but so is not sweating; increased irritability should be watched for, but so should lethargy — and an individual’s acclimation and compounding conditions like hydration and airflow make it even harder to know when a temperature is safe, or isn’t. Did the sweltering ride into the city on an overcrowded RER mean our daughter was already under heat stress when we left again for our walk? Was it just jet lag compounding her lethargy? Was it the heat transfer from being in a carrier that was at fault, or all that direct sun on the Seine?
Whatever the cause, we arrived in Bologna on edge. In addition to our daughter, I was worried about the other most vulnerable member of our small party: my dad, a senior, who joined us a few days later. Having reported on the 2021 Pacific Northwest heat dome deaths and knowing the cardiac stressor of dehydration, especially on older adults, I was extra obnoxious about making sure everyone carried a water bottle and ensured that the apartment we rented (which I’d made extra sure came with air conditioning) stayed at an “American-style” temperature of “wrap yourself in a blanket indoors.” (I admit to having the weak American mind disease when it comes to using AC, although I was fascinated by the story a Belgian friend told about the social stigma against installing AC in his country because it’s perceived as making the conditions hotter for one’s neighbors.)
Still, meals out couldn’t be avoided, and while many restaurants seemed to have added air conditioning since our trip last year, Bologna is still an eat-on-the-street kind of city. Breakfast was tolerable; leaving for lunch and dinner, though, felt like having a tennis racket of heat swung directly at your face as soon as you stepped outside. The city’s famous porticoes, a “historical form of climactic refuge” designed to provide passive cooling in the form of shade and airflow, offered marginal relief. But even the clever medieval architecture couldn’t compete with the fossil fuel emissions-worsened heat; after the sun went down around 9 p.m., the heat would linger, radiating out of the masonry. The thermometer I hung from the stroller frequently read over 90 degrees Fahrenheit even as late as 11 p.m. To keep the baby cool, we tucked ice packs wrapped in burp cloths alongside her in the stroller, misted her with fans, and covered her legs in a Frogg Toggs evaporative cooling towel that we’d rewet in the city’s public water fountains.
During our 10 days in Italy, the daytime high never dropped below 95 degrees, and my dad and the baby spent almost their entire vacation indoors — either at the apartment or at the wonderful Biblioteca Salaborsa, a library and one of Bologna’s community cooling centers. It was from my colleague Robinson Meyer that I later learned more than half of Italian households now have air conditioning, although adoption has grown faster in the south than in the north, where we were. That’s a pattern that extends across Europe; about “28% of French homes and 13% of apartments have some kind of air conditioning,” Rob further writes.
But while excess mortality takes a long time to calculate accurately, France already reports that more than 1,300 people have died due to the heat since June 21, 2026. Most of the casualties are among people over the age of 65, as is usually the case during heat waves, but small children are also among the dead.
There isn’t a tidy ending to this story. We were hot, we lived, and we went home. I have almost no pictures of my child on her first international vacation because she spent practically all of it indoors, but that is hardly a tragedy. And — as I kept reminding myself when my intrusive thoughts and mom guilt became overwhelming — there are millions of parents raising millions of children in parts of the world that are very, very hot. What we accomplished, while inconvenient, was nothing extraordinary; in the coming years, it will probably become even more banal. (Indeed, it was about 10 degrees hotter in parts of France during this heat wave than anything we endured in Bologna.)
But let’s go back to that excess mortality number for just a moment. In 2022, a summer likely to be cooler than the six-day-old El Niño-fueled one now beginning in Europe, the World Health Organization calculated that more than 61,000 people died on the continent due to extreme heat stress. That’s 61,000 people with daughters and sons who also harangued them about remembering to drink water or stay out of the sun; 61,000 people who now won’t see their grandchildren start school, who won’t attend another family meal, who won’t take another vacation. While I spent 10 days worrying about how to keep the people I care about safe from extreme heat, it’s all but certain someone else — many someone elses — lost the ones they love in those same temperatures.
On the night before our departure for Paris, when our whole weather app had filled up with 97, 98, and 101 degree days stretching into the foreseeable future, my husband and I asked each other if we still wanted to go and be in that kind of heat. What a privilege it is, for now, to have been able to decide.
Republican Mike Braun loves data centers but hates electricity price increases.
Elected officials — especially in executive positions like governor, mayor, or, say, president — tend to support economic development writ large, looking to bring jobs to their constituents and expand the tax base. By that same token, they also tend to be quite sensitive to rising costs — especially utility bills, for which voters tend to hold state governments accountable, per Heatmap polling.
That puts governors — especially Republican governors, who are often more friendly to business and more likely to buy into arguments proffered by the White House about national security and economic competitiveness — in a tricky position as both the data center buildout and opposition to it gain momentum across the United States. No one embodies the dilemma more than Indiana’s Governor Mike Braun, who has positioned himself as a champion of data centers while also going on the rhetorical warpath against the utility AES Indiana and the Indiana Utility Regulatory Commission.
His latest barrage against Indiana’s electricity ratemaking process started in mid-June, when the utility commission approved a rate case from AES Indiana granting the utility a $71 million revenue increase across two phases, the first beginning in July, each of which will raise monthly bills by “less than $5 per month,” according to the company. AES had originally asked for a $190 million increase, but thanks in part to intervention from Indiana’s Office of Utility Consumer Counselor, a public advocate in utility rate hearings, it was eventually whittled down.
The utility commission handed down its decision on June 17. Later that same day, Braun issued a blast against AES and the IURC, saying in a statement that “my top priority is affordability, which is why I am deeply disappointed by the IURC’s approval of another AES rate increase. Hoosiers have spent years tightening their belts and making tough financial decisions. It’s time for utility companies to do the same.” The next day he was back with another fire-breathing statement: “Yesterday’s decision by the IURC to allow another rate increase by AES is unacceptable,” he said, and called for a rehearing of the rate case.
The regulator is in the midst of an “investigative inquiry on energy affordability” launched earlier this year that has required the state’s five large investor-owned utilities to make presentations on their ratemaking. “We’ve heard the concerns about the burden utility bills have on families and businesses across the state, and we are committed to evaluating short- and long-term solutions related to affordability,” then-Chair Andy Zay said in a news release in February announcing the investigation.
Braun, apparently, wasn’t convinced. By Monday, June 22, he’d removed Andy Zay as chairman of the IURC, and installed Commissioner Anthony Swinger to lead the regulator. “Affordability is my top priority,” he reiterated in a post on X, “and I am confident Chairman Swinger will deliver on that priority for Hoosiers.”
When asked about this past month’s events, AES Indiana said that it “respects the independence of the regulatory process and works constructively with all stakeholders. We remain focused on executing under the final approved order and delivering for our customers,” a spokesperson told me. Neither Braun’s office nor the IURC responded to my requests for comment.
The rhetoric was not particularly new for Braun. Last fall, for instance, he declared of utility rate hikes, “we can’t take it anymore,” and ordered the state’s utility consumer advocate “to evaluate utilities’ profits and find cost-saving measures to ease the financial burden on Hoosiers.” That said, his swift actions of late surprised some outside observers. “While Gov. Braun has made utility affordability a priority, the abrupt leadership change at the IURC is nonetheless surprising,” Jefferies analyst Julien Dumoulin-Smith wrote in a note to clients. “We perceive a cautionary tone for Indiana regulation; future orders will likely be more visibly defensible on affordability.”
Indiana sits at the transmission-rich crossroads between the Midwest and East Coast and has long been governed by business-friendly Republicans, and has thus become a locus of data center construction — and backlash. Twenty-one out of 92 counties in the state have enacted some sort of pause or ban on data center construction, according to Heatmap Pro data. Earlier this year, the Indianapolis City Council passed a resolution calling for a pause on approvals for data centers. When the White House earlier this year got large technology companies to commit to the Ratepayer Protection Pledge, in which they agreed to fund any additional grid costs incurred by their data centers, it was arguably following in the footsteps of Indiana, which negotiated a large load tariff last year meant to shield customers of Indiana Michigan Power, a subsidiary of AEP, from data center-related costs.
Braun’s position in Indiana also mirrors the ideological divide in Washington — Braun supports data center development while demanding that utilities figure out a way to spare ratepayers. Advocates to his left, both at the state and federal level, support a pause on all data center construction. André Carson, one of two Democrats representing Indiana in the House of Representatives, introduced a bill that would enact a nationwide data center moratorium alongside Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie Sanders. (For what it’s worth, most Americans seem to prefer the leftward road.)
Indiana’s typical household electricity bills have indeed risen in the past couple of years, from about $113 per month two years ago to $120 per month as of May, while prices have risen 19%, according to Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub. Prices are up 12% in the past year, according to the Heatmap-MIT data, while the electricity prices nationwide have risen 6%.
Attributing rate hikes to data centers is a notoriously tricky exercise, however, and researchers have generally found that in most states, it’s hard to discern an exact connection. When pressed, Indiana utilities have claimed that higher prices are necessary to fund improvements for reliability or cold weather. Some critics of Indiana utilities, like Citizens Action Coalition Ben Inskeep, attribute years of rate hikes to coziness between the state legislature and utilities and the gradual weakening of regulators who could push back against hikes. Citizens Action has called for a moratorium on data centers in the state.
In spite of his harsh words against utilities, Braun has generally supported data centers as part of an overall economic development strategy, appearing at the groundbreaking for a $10 billion Meta data center project in Lebanon, Indiana, earlier this year. “In Indiana, it’s clear we’re a very easy state to do business in, but the communities are going to have to approve it,” he said on Fox Business earlier this month, setting himself up as a champion of local communities and ratepayers. “In Indiana, if you’re coming in, you’re paying for all of the construction and the generation of electricity, and you’re going to put more electrons onto the grid, taking prices down,” he said.
Braun’s consumer-and-conservation-minded critics have taken aim at this exact claim in pushing for a pause on development.
“We are one of the three or four Ground Zero states for data center development. We’re extremely attractive to data centers,” Kerwin Olson, executive director of Citizens Action Coalition, told me. “That happened at the same time as bills skyrocketing.”
Olson pointed out that Indiana’s data center boom has come at the tail end of a series of controversial economic developments, including a proposed hydrogen hub, carbon capture and storage projects, and a proposed water pipeline. “Here comes Amazon, here comes Meta, Google, and all hell just broke loose,” Olson said.
Referring to Braun, Olson said, “We don’t doubt his sincerity about his concern about affordability. We disagree with him on these solutions that need to happen.”