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The same technology that powers your cell phone also helps expand the reach of renewable energy.

Batteries are the silent workhorses of our technological lives, powering our phones, computers, tablets, and remotes. But their impact goes far beyond our daily screentime — they’re also transforming the electricity grid itself. Grid-scale batteries store excess renewable energy and release it as needed, compensating for the fact that solar and wind resources aren’t always available on demand.
The price of the most ubiquitous battery technology — lithium-ion — has fallen remarkably in the past 15 years. That’s allowed for an enormous buildout of battery storage systems in the U.S. and beyond, which has in turn helped to integrate more renewables onto the grid than ever before. With the assistance of batteries, California ran entirely on clean energy for the equivalent of 51 days last year, while South Australia managed the same for 99 days.
Even as deployment accelerates, startups and other innovators are working to improve on standard lithium-ion tech — or in some cases, supplant it. We’ll get into all that soon, but first, let’s start with a little Battery 101.
All electrochemical batteries — that’s everything from your standard AA to grid-scale lithium-ion systems — work by turning chemical energy into electrical energy through what’s known as an electrochemical reaction. These batteries have three primary components:
Grid batteries charge when there’s excess renewable energy on the grid or when demand for energy is low. When a lithium-ion battery is charging, lithium ions move from the cathode to the anode, where they’re stored. When the battery discharges electricity back to the grid, lithium ions move from the anode to the cathode. This movement triggers the release of electrons at the anode, which move through an external wire that carries power to the grid.
There’s variation within the realm of lithium-ion batteries. For example, some use different cathode chemistries, a solid electrolyte, or a pure lithium metal anode. Within the broader world of electrochemical batteries, there are also a variety of alternate chemistries including sodium-ion, lithium-sulfur, and iron-air (more on those below).
But if one broadens the definition of a battery to include any system that stores energy, that’s when the possibilities really open up. In this sense, a battery could be a pumped hydropower storage system, in which energy is stored by moving water uphill into a reservoir and later releasing it to generate electricity through kinetic energy. A battery could also be energy stored as heat or compressed air. Many of these mechanisms rely on converting stored energy into electricity by turning a turbine or generator.
Batteries help to stabilize the electric grid and help communities and grid operators to take full advantage of their renewable energy resources by providing a reliable power supply when, as the saying goes, the sun isn’t shining and the wind isn’t blowing. New solar or wind plants combined with battery storage can also be highly cost-effective, achieving power prices that are competitive with or lower than those of new natural gas facilities in many cases.
Homes and businesses can also install their own personal battery storage systems to bank energy from rooftop solar panels or directly from the grid. This allows individuals and companies to lower their electricity bills by charging their batteries when grid prices are low and using stored energy when prices are high.
By the end of last year, the installed capacity of utility-scale batteries in the U.S. reached about 26 gigawatts, surpassing the cumulative capacity of pumped hydro for the first time. So while pumped hydro can still store a larger amount of total energy, batteries can now deliver more instantaneous power to the grid than any other energy storage resource. And though that 26 gigawatts represents a mere 2% of the U.S.’s total 1,230 gigawatts of generation capacity, the battery sector is growing rapidly. The International Energy Agency reported in February that planned capacity additions for this year totaled 18.2 gigawatts for the U.S. alone.
Lithium-ion batteries weren’t originally designed for grid-scale energy storage. Rather, they were commercialized in the early 1990s for use in portable consumer electronics such as camcorders, cell phones, and laptops. These batteries proved to be more energy dense, lighter, and longer lasting than their predecessors, and were thus eventually adopted for a whole host of applications, including the growing electric vehicle market in the 2010s.
As electric vehicle production ramped up throughout the decade, manufacturers scaled up their production of lithium-ion batteries, quickly driving down prices — from 2010 to 2020 the cost of battery packs declined nearly 90%. Production became primarily concentrated in East Asia, where companies such as CATL, LG Energy Solution, and Panasonic emerged as dominant players.
As the cheapest and most mature battery tech on the market, lithium-ion thus became the default for grid developers looking to manage the variability of intermittent solar and wind resources. As renewables deployment surged, adding battery storage to these facilities started to become more cost-effective than building new fossil-fuel facilities in some markets and provided a reliable way to regulate the grid’s frequency. Lithium-ion batteries can begin absorbing or delivering power at a moment’s notice, which is integral to keeping the grid balanced.
While lithium-ion batteries have never been a very practical or economical option when it comes to long-duration storage — that is, the ability to dispatch energy for more than about four to eight hours at a time — they are well suited to applications such as storing excess solar produced during the day for use in the evening, or smoothing out the fluctuations in renewable resources throughout the day.
For one, China essentially has a virtual monopoly on the lithium-ion battery industry. The country made EV production a national priority beginning in the 2000s, and by the 2010s it was heavily subsidizing battery and EV manufactures alike. Thus, China came to dominate the supply chain at nearly every level, from raw materials refining to cell manufacturing, anode and cathode production, and battery pack assembly. Ideally, the U.S. would lessen its technological reliance on a nation that it’s long seen as an adversary, but building a domestic lithium-ion battery industry from scratch is an extremely complex and expensive endeavor.
In terms of technical drawbacks, most lithium-ion batteries use a flammable liquid electrolyte. That’s prone to catching fire if a battery component or surrounding equipment fails, if a cell is punctured or simply overheats, as illustrated by the Moss Landing fire in California, which broke out in January at one the world’s largest battery storage facilities. While the energy density of lithium-ion is a main selling point, the flipside is that in a fire, more energy equals more heat. And since grid-scale systems pack battery cells close together, a fire in one cell can spread quickly across an entire facility.
Finally, in terms of cost, there’s only so far lithium-ion batteries can fall due to the expense of the raw materials. The price of lithium itself has been notoriously volatile. After hitting record highs in 2022, the commodity price subsequently collapsed after a wave of new mining projects oversupplied the market. This type of volatility wreaks havoc for battery storage developers and their balance sheets, thus spurring interest in chemistries that offer lower, more stable costs, as well as technologies with potentially superior cycle life, energy density, discharge times, and safety profiles.
The most widely commercialized spin on conventional lithium-ion batteries, which are traditionally made with an NMC cathode, is a variant known as lithium iron phosphate, or LFP. The iron-phosphate bond in a LFP cathode is very strong, making it more thermally stable than those in NMC batteries. LFP materials are also more structurally durable than nickel and cobalt, meaning these batteries can be charged and discharged more times before wearing out. Finally, LFPs are also cheaper and more sustainable, as the cathode materials are plentiful and less environmentally damaging to mine. LFP’s main drawback is its lower energy density, but its many advantages have enabled it to overtake NMC as the leading chemistry for new battery energy storage systems.
All the other competitors have much lower levels of commercial maturity. But on the plus side, this means there’s an opportunity to build out domestic supply chains for them. Sodium-ion batteries, for example, replace lithium with sodium, which is far more abundant. They’re also more thermally stable. Unfortunately for U.S. manufacturers, China is already surging ahead in the race to scale up this tech. Then there’s the more nascent lithium-sulfur batteries. They have a very high theoretical energy density, which could lead to lighter and more compact energy storage systems if companies can overcome core technical challenges such as short cycle life.
Flow batteries are also an option that’s been studied for decades. These store energy in liquid electrolytes held in external tanks rather than in solid electrodes. This presents a promising option for longer-duration energy storage since the design can be scaled easily — more energy simply means bigger tanks. Because the active materials are liquid, these batteries also have a very long cycle life, and their water-based designs are non-flammable. Flow batteries are also much bulkier, however, and haven’t yet scaled enough to become cost-competitive with lithium-ion under most circumstances.
Getting into the realm of long-duration storage also opens up possibilities such as iron-air batteries, which are being commercialized by the Massachusetts-based Form Energy. In theory, these can discharge for 100-plus hours by taking in oxygen from the air and reacting it with iron to form rust, releasing electrons in the process. When the battery is charging, an electrical current converts the rust back into iron. Because iron is cheap and plentiful, this tech could also be significantly less expensive than LFP batteries. And since it uses a water-based electrolyte, these batteries aren’t flammable. The first iron-air battery plant is set to come online at the end of the year.
Beyond the electrochemical domain, there’s a wider, weirder world of energy storage technologies, many of which are being explored for their long-duration storage potential. Pumped hydro can only be built only in very specific geographies, so it’s not a main competitor in many regions today. But gravity-based storage companies such as Energy Vault often take inspiration from this approach, storing energy by using excess electricity to raise heavy objects such as concrete blocks. When energy is needed, the blocks are lowered, causing the motors that lifted them to run in reverse and act as generators to produce electricity.
Canadian company Hydrostor is pursuing another method, which involves using surplus energy to compress air and pump it into a water-filled cavern, displacing the water to the surface. To discharge, water is released back into the cavern, pushing the air to the surface, where it mixes with stored heat to turn an electricity-generating turbine.
Then there’s thermal energy storage — essentially storing energy as heat in materials such as carbon blocks. This method has the potential to decarbonize industrial processes such as steel and cement production, which demand high temperatures that are difficult to achieve with electricity. Via resistance heating — the same technology as a toaster — electricity from renewable energy is converted into heat, which is then stored in thermally conductive rocks or bricks. When that heat is needed, it can be delivered directly as hot air or steam to the facility, or in some cases converted back into electricity for use at the facility or on the grid.
Experts say that none of the aforementioned technologies is likely to fully replace lithium-ion anytime soon. That’s in large part because lithium-ion is a fully mature technology with well-established supply chains, but also because it’s simply efficient and cost effective for what it can do.
Many of the technologies mentioned could, however, become effective complements to lithium-ion on the grid. For example, it’s possible that some combination of iron-air batteries, gravity energy storage, and compressed air energy storage could meet longer-duration needs — in some cases discharging continuously for days at a time. Thermal energy storage could also play a role here, as well as in decarbonizing high-heat heavy industries, which don’t make economic sense to electrify with lithium-ion batteries.
Sodium-ion batteries could eventually become cheaper than LFP, but because the tech has yet to scale and reach that price point, it’s still primarily viewed as a complementary solution. Having other viable battery chemistries such as sodium-ion would help reduce the overall demand for lithium, thus working to stabilize prices and risk in the battery supply chain as a whole. But because sodium-ion is less energy dense, it probably won’t make sense in space-constrained regions.
As for lithium-sulfur, the tech is just beginning to hit the market as companies such as Lyten focus on early applications in drones, satellites, and two- and three-wheelers. But it doesn’t yet have the cycle life to make sense for any grid-scale applications, and whether it will ever get there has yet to be discovered.
Yes, but battery recycling — especially for battery energy storage systems — is still a nascent industry. And it remains uncertain whether recycling and reusing battery materials is financially viable in an environment where lithium prices have plummeted and other key battery minerals such as nickel, cobalt, and graphite have become significantly cheaper. LFP’s cost efficiency improvements have further depressed interest in recycling their materials. But there’s still interest in this sector as it could help establish a domestic mineral supply chain, greatly reduce the need for environmentally disruptive mining projects, and ameliorate problems such as toxic chemical leaching and fire risk, which can occur when batteries are improperly disposed of.
Because grid-scale battery deployments didn’t begin to ramp in earnest until 2019, most systems have yet to reach the end of their useful life, which can last on the order of 10 to 20 years. As such, most leading battery recyclers — such as the well-funded startup Redwood Materials — are primarily focused on old EV batteries for now. Redwood says it can recover, on average, over 95% of battery materials such as lithium, nickel, cobalt, copper, aluminum, and graphite. Recently, the company has also been working to repurpose old EV batteries with some life left in them to make grid-scale battery storage systems, and it’s made forays into recycling grid batteries as well.
One of the industry’s former leaders, Li-Cycle, filed for bankruptcy in May, while another player, Ascend Elements, has paused construction on its recycling facility in Kentucky due to “changing market conditions.” As the U.S. seeks to develop a more localized battery supply chain, however, recycling will only become more critical.
It’s a mixed bag. On the one hand, President Trump’s steep tariffs on Chinese goods are set to substantially increase prices for domestic battery energy storage systems, given that the U.S. imports nearly all of its battery cells from China. This will threaten developers’ margins, potentially leading to project cancellations or delays.
Trump’s One Big Beautiful Bill maintained tax credits for battery energy storage projects through 2032, however stringent foreign sourcing rules now apply, withholding tax credits from projects that source a certain percentage of their components from Russia, Iran, North Korea, and most importantly, China. Given how China-centric the battery supply chain is, achieving the required sourcing levels could prove difficult, though exactly how difficult ultimately depends on forthcoming guidance from the Treasury department.
On the bright side, the administration is also bullish on bolstering the U.S. supply chain for critical minerals and rare earths. In a recent meeting, White House officials told a group of critical minerals firms that they would guarantee a price floor for their products. Such a policy could, of course, bolster the domestic battery supply chain, though at the risk of making this tech more expensive.
Assuming the U.S. navigates the current political headwinds and maintains a degree of momentum in its transition to clean energy, battery energy storage will play an increasingly critical role on the future grid, both domestically and globally. As electricity demand grows and renewables make up a progressively larger proportion of the mix, batteries will help ensure grid flexibility and resiliency. That will be increasingly important as extreme weather events become more common and severe.
In some markets, solar plus storage facilities have been more economical than so-called fossil fuel “peaker plants” for years. Peakers fire up during times of maximum electricity demand, and as batteries continue to fall in price, stored renewable power becomes an ever-cheaper way to supplement supply. As long-duration storage tech advances and comes down the cost curve, renewables will be able to provide firm baseload power over a period of days or even weeks, making fossil fuel infrastructure increasingly obsolete.
The International Energy Agency reports that in order to reach net zero emissions by 2050, global grid-scale battery storage needs to expand to nearly 970 gigawatts of capacity by 2030. That means annual grid-scale deployments must average about 120 gigawatts per year from 2023 to 2030. So while last year saw a record-setting 55 gigawatts of newly installed grid-scale capacity, that type of hockey-stick growth will need to accelerate even further if batteries are to pull their weight in the IEA’s net zero scenario.
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Cement, plywood, and some electronic equipment will face 50% levies. But the real cost is much higher.
Here we go again. The United States will impose new 50% tariffs on a slew of imports from Canada, the White House announced on Monday afternoon. The trade levies — which will hit more than 500 categories of goods, from anoraks, beer, and curtains, to yarn, wool, and whey protein — will take effect in 30 days.
The new tariffs don’t seem to be wildfire-related. President Trump threatened to impose new tariffs last week after smoke from Canadian wildfires drifted south over the northern U.S. border, but administration officials have claimed to CNN that these new levies were already in motion by then.
Even so, a few aspects of the announcement stand out. Most important, at least from a generalist perspective, is the legal mechanism that President Trump is using to apply them: Section 338 of the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act. This passage, which has never been used by a previous president to levy tariffs, allows the United States to tax trade from countries that the president says have “discriminated against” U.S. commerce.
Significant, too, is the fact the White House asserts this new kind of tariff could apply to any kind of product — even those that would normally be covered by the North American free trade pact, the U.S.-Mexico-Canada Agreement. So far, the “Big Three” automakers — whose supply chains cross the Mexican or Canadian borders half a dozen times before a car is finally assembled — have avoided major tariff danger because auto parts and other inputs fall under the USMCA’s auspices. If the White House now thinks it can levy taxes despite that pact, then the risks for Ford, General Motors, and their suppliers have increased.
Energy and critical minerals are exempt from the new tariffs, so Canadian crude oil, gasoline, diesel, natural gas, and electricity will presumably keep flowing into the United States. (That explicit carve-out might be ominous in its own right, because energy had been protected by USMCA so far, too.) By omitting energy, Trump and his officials may be calculating they can avoid major inflationary hazards from this round of tariffs.
Who knows. In any case, to my eye, these tariffs do seem like they could aggravate construction costs and possibly contribute to wider U.S. inflation. There’s already some evidence that data centers are driving a new wave of inflation, for instance, by hiking construction input and labor costs. Yet data centers use a lot of cement — and cement will now face a 50% tariff under the new regime. So too will plywood, plaster, and paperboard, as well as industrial cooling equipment, chemicals, and some circuit boards.
I could keep listing the potential economic costs here — I could point out that overall inflation risk is rising or that average U.S. gas prices rose to $4 a gallon today on the Iran war news — but I think it’s important to look at least one step beyond the hits to commerce alone.
I mentioned earlier that these tariffs are meant to punish “discrimination.” In this case, some of the “discrimination” appears to be what some Canadian provinces did to retaliate against the president’s earlier tariffs. The state-owned liquor stores in Quebec and Ontario, for instance, stopped buying U.S.-made booze after Trump slapped 25% tariffs on Canada in March 2025; those boycotts are mentioned by name in today’s proclamation. Canada, you see, is not supposed to respond to Trump’s tariffs. It is just supposed to take it — just like it’s supposed to take the constant stream of falsehoods, abuse, belittling, and invasion threat.
Over the past few years, politicians and pundits have learned to respond to Trump’s policies by appealing to U.S. self-interest — by explaining how the president’s policies are making Americans poorer. It is a sensible strategy for a morally denuded era. A recent statement from Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer about Canada, for example, criticized the president for hurting “our closest ally and partner … right when summer tourism season is arriving.” I get the move here — and I think, in some sense, Schumer is trying to avoid polarizing Trump’s treatment of Canada along partisan lines — but Canadians are more than their tourism dollars.
For the past several years, Trump has threatened to strip Canada of its sovereignty and its dignity. He has treated what was once a deep and secure relationship as something to be bartered and mined and dissipated. It is a mucilaginous approach to statecraft, and as recent reporting has made clear, its long-term costs will exceed any simple accounting. We Americans have been robbed of an honorable friendship. Some losses cannot be counted in dollars.
In seven years of owning an electric car, I’ve done practically no maintenance. My 2019 Tesla Model 3 has gotten a new set of tires and windshield wipers, but because an EV doesn’t require oil changes or many of the other occasional chores that come with gas cars, that’s about it.
The one thing I have had to fix is the battery, and no, I don’t mean the big one that makes the car go.
Twice in those seven years, I’ve replaced the car’s 12-volt battery. This is the toolbox-sized unit that’s familiar to millions — it’s what the phrase “car battery” used to mean back before electric vehicles. Lots of new or aspiring EV drivers may not even realize their car has a second, smaller battery borrowed from combustion days. But this crucial holdover — the most recycled object on the planet, by the way, at a rate of more than 100 million annually — has already been a source of annoyance for EV engineers and drivers.
The reason behind the weird setup is straightforward. Despite the fact that EVs are effectively giant batteries on wheels, they need a backup source to operate the power windows and doors. If you’re in a car accident that disables the main battery, for instance, you need power to the doors to escape, and also a way to disconnect the high-voltage battery. Thus, the old-fashioned 12-volt battery squirreled away deep inside the car to protect it during collisions.
It’s not just a matter of backup power, either. A large, high-voltage battery would have to step down its electrical output for applications other than pushing a car down the road; it’s simpler to power them with a 12-volt battery and use the big unit to recharge the smaller one. After all, legacy carmakers have decades of experience building this kind of electrical system for gasoline-powered cars. Some EVs also use the 12-volt setup to disconnect the high-voltage power supply when the car is simply parked for a long time.
All this makes solid engineering sense. It also means that a sleek, modern EV is reliant upon the clunky car battery of yesteryear. Some drivers, including those in new Kia EVs, have said they can’t drive their cars even though there’s plenty of juice in the big unit because something went wrong with the 12-volt. As one Reddit commenter wrote: “It seems absurd to design a car that can run out of electrons and not be able to start while it is carrying 70 kWh of energy in a giant battery.” Yet that’s exactly the reality.
There are a few reasons why. As InsideEVs has noted, the rugged old 12-volt keeps getting more and more responsibility. Nowadays, the constant cellular connectivity of modem EVs — as well as features that can be used while the car is parked, such as security systems that tap into the vehicle’s exterior cameras to monitor the surrounding area — can cause a continuous drain on the 12-volt battery. That requires the car’s big battery to “wake up” and recharge the smaller one, which not only bleeds the vehicle’s driving range while it’s sitting still but also causes lots of recharging cycles for the 12-volt, prematurely aging the small battery.
Rivian had notorious problems from this issue for the older R1T and R1S and had to engineer a fix. Hyundais and Kias, meanwhile, have had longstanding issues with their Integrated Charging Control Unit, the system that recharges the 12-volt battery, that have caused a variety of recalls and headaches widely documented in online posts and videos. Chevy and Toyota have endured their own growing pains trying to make a low-voltage electrical system work well inside an EV.
But the car companies are getting smarter. Rather than duplicating what works in gas cars, more of them are building EV-specific systems with this application in mind. For example, the 12-volt in an EV doesn’t need to provide the big single burst needed to start up a gas engine, but it does need to be able to survive being subjected to more recharging cycles. In other words, it’s not that using these batteries in modern EVs is a bad idea — we just need to be smarter about how.
Perhaps EV builders one day will engineer away the old battery. Rivian, for one, has filed a patent for an electrical architecture that would work without a low-voltage battery at all. But those workarounds are a long way out. For now, even the most futuristic-feeling electric cars are stuck with the same kind of battery your dad had to jump-start in the church parking lot that time you left the AC on and the engine wasn’t running. My big, high-voltage battery might keep running forever, even as its capacity continues to diminish. But inevitably, I’ll need another small, dumb battery when this one goes kaput.
GOP lawmakers know climate change is real. But they lack political incentives to do anything about it.
The New York Times recently profiled former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and his increasing engagement on climate change. Many of the online comments accused him of hypocrisy. Why, they asked, did he only become concerned about climate change after leaving Congress?
It’s an understandable question.
I have spent the better part of a decade discussing climate change with Republican members of Congress and can see a frequently overlooked part of the answer. During my hundreds of one-on-one conversations with Republican senators and representatives, almost none of them deny that climate change is occurring. Most understand the science well enough, and many acknowledge privately that it presents serious long-term risks.
They don’t lack knowledge. They lack political incentives.
Members of Congress have finite political capital. Every day they must decide which issues deserve their attention. Naturally, they devote their time to the issues that voters, donors, activists, staff, and party leaders tell them matter most.
Politics is a marketplace of incentives. For decades, climate advocates have devoted their efforts to changing Republicans’ minds, but have devoted little effort to changing the incentives for Republicans to act.
The political ecosystem for Democrats could not be more different. Democrats are surrounded by organizations that continually reinforce the importance of climate policy. Environmental groups, philanthropies, labor organizations, advocacy organizations, academics, campaign donors, think tanks, and congressional staff all create an environment in which climate engagement is expected and rewarded.
Republicans experience almost none of that.
When I was quoted in the New York Times article, I described the “eco right” as “a lonely place.” I meant it literally. There are remarkably few conservative organizations whose primary mission is helping Republican elected officials develop serious climate policy. Few donors make climate engagement a condition of support. Few advocacy groups reward constructive leadership. Few congressional staff have access to a deep bench of conservative climate experts. Climate is far more often presented as a political liability than a leadership opportunity.
In that environment, addressing climate change is rarely a priority. This largely explains what puzzles many observers — that Republican leaders often become noticeably more outspoken about addressing climate change after leaving office. The science has not changed. Their incentives have.
Freed from primary elections, fundraising pressures, and the constant competition for legislative attention, they’re able to think about problems whose consequences unfold over decades instead of election cycles.
That observation leads to an uncomfortable conclusion for those of us who want stronger climate policy: Persuading Republicans that climate change is real is not just unnecessary, it’s unproductive. They know it’s real. The more important task is building the institutions that make climate engagement a priority. That means investing in conservative policy organizations, developing Republican congressional staff expertise, supporting Republican governors and state legislators, encouraging business leaders to engage, creating donor networks that reward constructive center-right leadership, and giving Republican members credible partners they can trust.
In other words, we need to make the eco-right a much less lonely place.
Building institutions requires capital, both political and financial. Today, the overwhelming majority of climate-related political spending — whether by advocacy organizations, political action committees, or philanthropically supported campaigns — flows to Democratic candidates and causes. It’s understandable. Democrats have generally been more supportive of climate action, and donors naturally want to reward those who stand with them.
But rewarding allies isn’t the same as expanding the number of them.
If the objective is durable climate policy rather than simply electing more Democrats, then the current allocation of political spending deserves reconsideration. Congress writes laws, and lasting legislation almost always requires bipartisan support. A movement that invests overwhelmingly in one party shouldn’t be surprised when the other party lacks champions, expertise, and political incentives.
Climate philanthropists, advocacy organizations, and political action committees should explicitly seek to create Republican allies by committing a more significant portion of their electoral spending to Republican candidates. This support would send a powerful signal throughout Republican politics that constructive engagement on climate change will be rewarded. More Republican candidates would respond to those incentives, and the universe of viable partners would expand.
For Republicans, the greatest opportunity lies in primary elections. While general elections determine which party governs, primaries determine what kind of Republicans and Democrats will govern. Donors should identify Republican candidates who are willing to engage on a variety of climate-related topics — from adaptation and resilience to market-based policies that reduce emissions to energy innovation — and help them succeed. The objective isn’t ideological purity. It’s to demonstrate that constructive climate leadership is politically viable within today’s Republican Party, and to give those candidates the confidence that they aren’t alone.
Over time, this approach would accomplish something today’s funding model cannot. Rather than simply rewarding an existing coalition, it would create a larger one. It would produce more Republican members who see climate engagement as compatible with conservative principles. Climate change would still be a scientific and economic challenge, but politics would no longer preclude addressing it.
Rather than increasingly evident climate change adding to political division, it could drive both parties to act. America’s biggest policy achievements have generally occurred when a president elevated an issue as a national priority and Congress responded. Tax reform, welfare reform, civil rights, and other major agreements all required presidential leadership before they produced durable bipartisan legislation.
Climate policy has not yet reached that level. While voters increasingly care about it, it does not determine presidential elections or dominate governing agendas.
The closest climate change has come to being a top-tier issue was when President George H.W. Bush signed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change in 1992, but that was before addressing climate change became so partisan. More recently, President Joe Biden included clean energy tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. That modest success is noteworthy in part because it rode upon legislation to address inflation, a top-tier voter issue — and because the provisions were largely repealed less than three years later. Until climate change becomes a presidential-level issue — one that candidates in both parties believe they must address — Congress is unlikely to devote sustained attention to it.
That day will come. And when that moment arrives, the quality of the legislation will depend on the work being done now. If we want bipartisan climate policy tomorrow, we need to build bipartisan political capacity today.
The climate movement has spent decades rewarding allies. The next several decades should be spent adding more. Politics follows incentives more than information. If we want Republicans to lead on addressing climate change or at least become those allies, we must stop just trying to persuade them and start investing in the institutions, incentives, and people that make it possible.