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SpaceX and Tesla have produced executives and founders across the clean energy world. Here’s what they had to say about working for their former boss.

While SpaceX founder and Tesla CEO Elon Musk is often lauded for turning technology like reusable rockets and American-made electric vehicles into thriving businesses in a way long thought impossible, or at least improbable, he has also more quietly done something about as unlikely: get investors excited about capital-intensive hard tech startups.
For most of the time Musk was sleeping on the floor of Tesla’s factory to oversee Model 3 assembly and his rockets were riding across the country on the back of flatbed trucks, the venture capitalists that fund the next generation of technology companies were largely enamored with software businesses, which required little capital to start up and could scale quickly with accelerating profitability.
Today, thanks in no small part to Musk, hard tech companies are able to raise hundreds of millions of dollars within a few years of being starting up, with top-flight venture capital firms such as Andreessen Horowitz building whole funds devoted to the broad sector.
That investor interest has helped nurture a series of startups founded and led by former SpaceX and Tesla employees. These types of businesses don’t have the forgiving characteristics of software companies; instead, they’re often incredibly capital intensive, and require years of design and manufacturing before profits show up. Climate tech and energy companies almost inevitably fall in this category, often working on trying to turn technology that may mostly exist in a lab with nascent markets and high barriers to scale into something that can generate real returns for investors.
To mark the occasion of SpaceX’s initial public offering, Heatmap decided to survey the landscape of SpaceX and Tesla alumni now cutting their own swath through the climate tech marketplace. We identified 40 founders and executives, who all together spent a total of 252 years working for Musk. They’ve since moved on to companies in 9 different industries, from Musk-adjacent categories such as batteries and electric vehicles to carbon removal and grid tech. Cumulatively they’ve raised at least $27 billion, according to the data available in Crunchbase. (Since we finalized this list, one more Musk alum-founded company has emerged from stealth. Welcome to the world, Ambrosia Energy.)
Heatmap asked these founders and executives by email what they learned from their experiences working at Musk-led companies, and we heard back from more than a dozen of them. The vast majority of those told us it was no accident that they’d ended up where they have after working for Musk.
“While working at Tesla, I was surrounded by people who were there for the hard stuff and thrived on it,” Mateo Jaramillo, co-founder and CEO of the long-duration battery company Form Energy and a former Tesla Energy vice president, told us. “It's not just that they tolerated it — that was the stuff they lived for. There are moments in a company's arc when that kind of mentality is required, and at Tesla in those days it was like walking through a crucible every single day, with truly no idea how things were going to resolve. And yet you keep going and figure it out along the way.”
Musk himself has been a formidable digester of investor capital, including from Founders Fund, the venture capital firm founded by his former PayPal colleague Peter Thiel, which invested in SpaceX before its first successful launch.
Founders Fund has since become an investor in several Musk-alumni-founded companies, including the fuel enrichment startup General Matter, the geothermal company Endurance Energy, and the hydrogen company Hgen.
Another frequent investor, Andreessen Horowitz, had previously been the great promoter of software businesses. Its cofounders Marc Andreessen and Ben Horowitz wrote the seminal essay “Why Software Is Eating The World,” which became a manifesto for its investments in businesses like Facebook (now Meta) and Twitter (now X). Since then, a16z, as it’s known, has expanded its remit and invested in several Musk-alumni founded companies, including the power electronics company Heron Power, the mining services company Mariana Minerals, electric boat company Arc, and home battery company Base Power.
These investments are not just simply giving money to Tesla and SpaceX employees to do the same things they did in their previous jobs. Many of the companies we looked at were founded by SpaceX alumni and have nothing to do with space, rockets, or satellites.
Mike Schroepfer, former Meta chief technical officer and founder of hard tech VC firm Gigascale Capital, which has invested in Heron and Form, as well as clean power and carbon removal company Arbor and nuclear microreactor company Radiant, told us that when founders have a Musk company on their resume, it tells him “they’ve been trained to build in the physical world, which is rarer than people think.”
And what’s rare can be profitable.
“Hardware is capital-intensive for the best possible reason” Schroepfer said. “You’re building the foundations the world runs on, and those things have to work reliably and get cheaper as they scale. The dollar figure tells you investors are starting to take the physical world seriously again.”
Philip Schröder, who left the European battery startup Sonnen to run Tesla’s Germany and Austria business, told us that after he rejoined his former company, the European battery startup, they were able to raise “one of the largest cleantech financing rounds in Europe.”
It’s not just raising money where a SpaceX or Tesla pedigree helps. Many former employees of the two companies left with enough of a financial cushion to take a risk on something new. When asked how being part of SpaceX helped him found his own company, John Bucknell, who worked on the Raptor rocket engine at SpaceX, said that having worked for Musk gave him the “financial freedom” necessary to start a company — in his case Virtus Solis, which is developing solar power in space.
But it also doesn’t hurt when raising money to put a SpaceX or Tesla logo on a slide deck, considering the size of returns they’ve generated for their backers.
Former Tesla employees have started and run some of the buzziest and best funded battery, transportation, and electrical infrastructure companies in the world. These include Lucid Motors, led until recently by former Tesla VP of vehicle engineering Peter Rawlinson, battery recycling company Redwood Materials, founded by former Tesla chief technical officer J.B. Straubel, and Heron Power, founded by Drew Baglino, who worked at Tesla from 2006 to 2024, ending his career there leading its powertrain and energy divisions.
When asked how their current work was connected to their past work for Musk or what they had learned, the founders and executives we surveyed — especially the SpaceX alumni — focused more on management and engineering principles than anything specific to energy or transportation.
“You can get way more done in a day and can move way faster than you think,” Justin Lopas, the co-founder of the home battery company Base Power, and a former manufacturing engineer at SpaceX, told us of what he’d learned from Musk.
Musk’s legendary short deadlines (which he says he only expects to hit about half the time) came up frequently among the group. Describing his time at Tesla, Arch Rao, the founder and chief executive of the smart electric panel company Span and a former head of products at Tesla Energy, told us, “The milestones to hit were incredibly audacious, but with the right group of people, possible. This has been a key model for how Span has scaled from the very early days to today.”
Jonathan Criss, the co-founder and chief executive of the desalination company Vital Lyfe, who worked at SpaceX for over a decade on both the Dragon spacecraft and the satellite communications service Starlink, told us that the rocket company had a unique “building for rate” philosophy, where engineers work backwards from a specific production goal, as opposed to first designing a product and then figuring out how to manufacture it as cheaply as possible. “That capability lets us design and manufacture highly reliable products at a fraction of the cost of most of the industry,” Criss said.
Investors, too, recognize SpaceX and Tesla alumni’s ability to work fast. Schroepfer, of Gigascale Capital, told us that speed sets these founders apart. “They know physical products can take years to get from first unit to cost-competitive scale. Even with a long timeline, they move with urgency,” he said. “They get how iteration and cost-down curves only work if you move fast, learn fast, and scale deliberately.”
Several founders also talked about learning to challenge assumptions. “At Tesla, there was a strong culture of questioning established ways of doing things,” Enric Asuncion, the co-founder and CEO of the EV charging company Wallbox who worked as a program manager for vehicle charging at Tesla, told us. Austin Spiegel, the co-founder and CEO of the infrastructure management software company Sift and a former software engineer at SpaceX, said that his former employer never accepted that something was good enough just because it existed. “Instead of buying off-the-shelf software, they asked, what would this look like if we designed it for a company that's going to launch and land rockets for the first time? That stuck with me.”
A former product engineer for Tesla’s Powerwall battery business, Cole Ashman, gave another example. He described how, for years, enabling a home to island from the power grid during a blackout required a labor-intensive, expensive electrical job. Tesla engineered a backup switch that was quicker and easier to install, but it required utility cooperation. “Conventional wisdom said it would never get broad approval,” Ashman, who founded the battery startup Pila, told us. “Tesla did the unglamorous work of bringing utilities along and moving the codes and standards — and pulled the whole industry forward.”
The other management concept that came up frequently was “ownership,” the idea of devolving responsibility down to engineers who were directly responsible for the projects they were working on. Working at SpaceX “taught me how to run a challenging hardware development program: how to choose and organize engineers around a tough unsolved problem, and give each of them real ownership from concept to mission success,” Colin Ho, founder and chief technology officer at the electrolyzer company Hgen, told us.
Frank Tybor, the chief technology officer at Infravision, the drone grid maintenance company and a former launch engineer at SpaceX, told us that “one of the things that made SpaceX special was the concentration of exceptionally talented people who were willing to take ownership of difficult problems and work across traditional organizational boundaries to solve them.”
Andreessen has endorsed the description of Musk-run companies and SpaceX specifically as a “zone of shocking competence” that attracts the best engineers, which its alumni founders have tried to recreate. Justin Cohen, the founder and CEO of Maritime Fusion who did stints at both Tesla and SpaceX, told us the talent network was “analogous to SEAL Team 6 of engineering; there is no better on earth.”
Several mentioned the Musk alumni network as a recruitment resource for their own businesses. “Tesla has cultivated a highly passionate ecosystem of engineers and tech developers,” Rao, the Span founder, told us. “My experience at Tesla helped me quickly identify what a skillful talent pool looks like and expect rapid and ambitious development from them.”
Brad Hartwig, a former SpaceX manufacturing engineer and founder and chief executive of Arbor Energy told us that “several early Arbor employees came from SpaceX, and that shared experience helped us build a world-class engineering team quickly. Many of us have worked on complex, high-stakes technology; we’ve already proven that we can execute in demanding environments, which helps when building a hard-tech company from scratch.”
When asked to name specific, non-Musk employees that influenced them, one name came up more than another: J.B. Straubel, the former Tesla chief technology officer and founder of Redwood Materials.
“Straubel is easily one of the smartest yet incredibly humble engineers and leaders I’ve had the opportunity to work with,” Rao told us.
Straubel, along with Heron Power’s Drew Baglino, “were both influential in how they helped solve complex problems within the company while dealing with constant pressure on cash & company survival,” Kunal Girotra, former Tesla Energy chief and founder of the battery company Lunar Energy, told us.
Jaramillo, the Form Energy founder, also singled out Straubel and Baglino, saying, “They’re very different people from each other, but both technically world class, with incredibly high standards. They drove that mindset into their teams from an engineering perspective — to never compromise on those standards.” About Straubel specifically, Jaramillo said that he had an “amazingly calibrated impatience, to know precisely when enough study is done, to just push start and get going in the physical world, and accept that you're going to learn things along the way.”
While Musk and his legions of former employees have helped turn hard tech and climate tech into an investible sector for venture capitalists, the amount of money the companies we’ve looked at have raised — about $30 billion — pales in comparison to the hottest sector, artificial intelligence. Even SpaceX, the signature hard tech company of its era, is itself running a massive “neo-cloud” business, renting out data center capacity to companies like Anthropic and Google to the tune of around $2 billion a month.
That being said, Tesla and SpaceX, which together are worth around $3 trillion, will continue to produce engineers and managers with sizable net worths and resumes uniquely looked favorably on by investors.
More than 4,000 current and former SpaceX employees are expected to become instant millionaires after the IPO, with 400 potentially getting at least $100 million, generating a wave of wealth that can give potential founders the cushion necessary to found their own company — or the capital necessary to become investors themselves.
“I think this is the emergence of a hardware mafia,” Schroepfer told us. “The PayPal mafia helped define an era of software and internet companies. This group will probably define an era where the center of gravity moves back toward atoms: energy, industry, mobility, infrastructure, manufacturing, and the physical systems that modern life depends on.”
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to correct the description of Arbor Energy.
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The Iran War laid bare the two energy regimes fighting for global dominance.
We have an Iran deal. We think. Since President Trump and Iran announced the arrangement on Sunday afternoon, its details have had a Heisenbergian quality — not even Israeli leaders seem to be sure what they are. From an energy markets standpoint, Trump told The New York Times on Sunday that the text guarantees “permanently toll-free” access to the Strait of Hormuz, but it remains unclear how and when the waterway will reopen.
What we do know is that some version of the deal is set to be signed on Friday. At the same time, the U.S. and Iran will start 60 days of “technical negotiations” to discuss Iran’s nuclear program and sanctions relief, according to Vice President JD Vance. “A lot of very important details” have yet to be figured out, Vance told reporters on Monday. If Iran doesn’t agree to give up its nuclear program in those talks, Trump told the Times yesterday, he would either order bombing to restart or make the United States “the guardian of the Middle East” in exchange for oil revenues. (So much for toll-free access! At least then CENTCOM could establish a hotline.)
Regardless, it may take weeks for Iran to remove its sea mines from the strait. Then ships and their exhausted crews will begin trickling out of the Persian Gulf. My colleague Matthew Zeitlin has the full rundown on what will happen next in Iran — and what it means for oil, natural gas, and the energy transition.
But let’s assume, for a moment, that the war really is over. What did we learn from the past 107 days of conflict?
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For me, the most astonishing thing about the conflict remains that China, which used to buy 11 million barrels of oil a day from global markets, only imported about 7.8 million barrels a day in May. That’s just over 3 million barrels a day of demand, seemingly vaporized overnight. (For context, the world used about 104 million barrels a day last year.) China’s enormous domestic oil and gas stockpiles and its high concentration of electric vehicles seem to have produced the cut — as did a domestic increase in energy prices that helped dampen demand on its own.
For the past few years, climate and energy journalists like me have hammered that China’s solar, battery, and electric vehicle manufacturing complex is the real deal. But the war clarified that the world now has two real and rivalrous energy regimes. There is the oil-and-gas regime, heavily concentrated in the OPEC+ countries and North America, and there is the electricity-and-batteries regime, located in East Asia and especially China.
These systems are linked and interdependent, yet in competition for consumer demand — as well as policy-driven and infrastructural lock-in from countries. The United States is the lynchpin of the former system: Not only is it the world’s No. 1 producer of oil and natural gas, but it also (allegedly) guarantees security and freedom of navigation in the Middle East. China anchors the electric regime: Not only does it dominate the manufacturing of solar panels, wind turbines, lithium-ion batteries, and electric vehicles, but it also owns or refines the minerals essential to their production. While America can boast better petroleum engineers than anywhere else in the world, China has the manufacturing know-how necessary to spin off new innovations. Each country, in other words, dominates the stocks, flows, and knowledge that drive these planet-spanning regimes.
To be clear, I don’t agree with the interpretation — sometimes in vogue — that the United States is a “petrostate” while China is an “electrostate.” America has a much more diversified economy than most petrostates; oil makes up 10% to 15% of our dollar-denominated goods exports and an even smaller share of our overall exports. In Saudi Arabia, by comparison, oil is more than 70% of goods exports. Nor do I think “electrostate” evokes the reality that China, notwithstanding its world-historic renewables buildout, still gets 60% of its power from coal.
Much still unites these systems too — notably the petrochemicals sector, which produces from oil and gas the necessary inputs to solar, batteries, and EVs. But that’s why China’s coal-to-chemicals sector — which I previously discussed on our podcast Shift Key with the energy analyst Lauri Myllyvirta — has played such an important role during the past few months, allowing the country to cut crude demand without slowing down production lines. Given that the coal-to-chemicals industry is more carbon intensive than the sector it ostensibly replaces — and that India is already looking at developing its own version of the sector — I suspect we’ve only heard the beginning of it. We’ll examine it more in the days and weeks to come.
And it’ll take energy markets even longer.
The United States and Iran have agreed on a process that could result in the end of their armed conflict and the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz. Both countries have signed the agreement, U.S. officials told reporters, though the text itself has yet to be released.
The markets, at least, are taking the deal and the promises that the strait will reopen at face value. Benchmark oil prices are now at around $83 per barrel, down slightly from $87 Friday, when traders expected that the U.S. and Iran would soon reach a deal.
“I hereby fully authorize the toll free opening of the Strait of Hormuz, and, simultaneously herewith, authorize the immediate removal of the United States Naval blockade. Ships of the World, start your engines. Let the oil flow!” Trump posted Sunday afternoon on Truth Social.
But that will not happen immediately. No matter what the United States and Iran say, it’s shippers and insurers who will make the final determination of whether the strait is truly open.
For that they will need assurances that Iran means it when it says that vessels are free to sail through, and that it won’t try to impose tolls or force ships through specific routes. “Are the Iranians going to try and control passage?” Robin Mills, chief executive officer of Qamar Energy and non-resident fellow at the Columbia University Center on Global Energy Policy, a consulting and advisory firm in the United Arab Emirates, asked me rhetorically.
This need for evidence of good faith on both sides was a theme of my conversations about the peace deal on Monday.
“The key problem isn’t whether or not the Iranians or the U.S. says the strait is open,” oil analyst Rory Johnston told me. “It is whether shippers — ships that are trapped in the Gulf, as well as ships that are waiting to move into the Gulf — have made the determination that the strait is safe for transit.”
Though some countries were able to divert substantial flows through pipeline networks to avoid the strait, that represented a relatively small amount of Gulf oil production. Johnston has estimated that of the 20 million barrels per day of oil and products that flowed through the Strait before the war, some 13 million to 15 million barrels per day worth of production have been “shut in,” meaning that they were never extracted from the ground.
Even with a peace process underway, the Gulf oil complex won’t be fully operational until ships can first get out of the Strait of Hormuz unencumbered, then get back in to pick up oil shipments, which Johnston estimates won’t happen until the beginning of next month. Some of this is just a judgement call, one that some shippers had already made before the weekend’s announcement.
“There’s been a fairly steady stream of ships that have been exiting the strait by going dark and traveling at night,” Johnston said, “so there is already an understanding for some shipping companies and some regional states that you can transit the waterway safely.”
The number of ships chancing a transit roughly correlates with the temperature of the rhetoric between the U.S. and Iran over the past few weeks. “A total of 29 verified vessel crossings were recorded through the Strait of Hormuz between 10 and 14 June,” according to the maritime analytics service Kpler said Monday. “The data aligns with reports of progress in U.S.-Iran discussions and supports the assessment that the Strait remains operational, although traffic volumes, route transparency and directional balance have yet to return to a clearly normalised pattern.”
The volumes getting through are still far off their pre-war totals, however. In the first two weeks of June, J.P. Morgan analysts estimated Hormuz flows at just over 5 million barrels per day, although about a sixth of that was likely Iranian shipments at risk of being interceded by the U.S. blockade. While that an improvement from around 3 million barrels per day in April and March, it was still well short of the 15 million to 20 million barrels per day of crude oil and petroleum products flowing through the strait before the war began in February.
The ships that have sailed the strait have largely hugged the Omani coast, according to Eurasia Group energy analyst Greg Brew, or else going through close to the Iran side, which is directly controlled by the country’s military. Three months’ worth of shooting (and mining), however, have made the central artery a no go. “There’s no certainty as to whether there are mines, how many there are, and where they are, and that matters in terms of restoring security of transit through the main waterway,” Brew told me.
The portions of the channel that offer safe passage “are not good routes for the largest ships, especially for big container ships and the largest tankers,” Brew added. Clearing the strait will likely involve navies from outside the region, including European fleets and “potentially” China, he said, many of which have ships in the area “specifically equipped for clearing mines.”
That process is likely to be iterative, Johnston told me. “It’s not like there are mines or there are not mines across the entire area,” he said. Instead, he told me, certain widths of the strait will be judged to be mine-free, allowing for safe passage, and that width will expand over time. Brew estimated that it will take two to three weeks to complete that process.
Getting the tankers back in should give oil producers the confidence to restart operations, Johnston said. “But then the challenge becomes how much upstream infrastructure was damaged,” he said. Even if the extraction infrastructure is functional, so-called “downstream” refining infrastructure could still be down, meaning that crude oil production could recover before refined products like gasoline or petroleum liquids begin returning to their previous levels.
As for how long it will take to get back up to full production, Brew told me that will vary country by country. In the short run, Gulf oil producers can pull from existing inventories of oil, with Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, which never fully shut down production, getting back to full flows in a few weeks. Iraq and Kuwait, which had to more severely curtail production, may take a few months.
Governments and companies will eventually have to rebuild their oil and natural gas stockpiles after drawing on them extensively to keep fuel prices from spiking. Among rich nations, inventories have sunk to levels not seen since depths of the post-9/11 conflict in 2003, according to the U.S. Energy Information Administration. The United States’ Strategic Petroleum Reserve had around 415 million barrels of oil before the war began, and has since fallen to around 350 million barrels, the lowest level since 1983.
All told, Johnston told me, “well over” a billion barrels of global fuel reserves have been used up since the war began.
Refilling these inventories — or, for countries newly interested in energy security, establishing them — will be a long-run addition to demand for oil, which could keep prices from falling as sharply as they might have otherwise. “We’re probably going to have two, three years of structurally higher demand as people try to restock,” Johnston said.
But the course of the war has defied risks of prices spiking higher. “This war was the biggest supply disruption in history, and oil had a hard time staying above $100 a barrel,” Brew said. “That implies that the structural factors inside the market are more keeping prices low than pulling prices high.”
A new Searchlight Institute report joins a growing chorus arguing that corporate climate targets do more harm than good.
When Jane Flegal was working in market development for Frontier Climate, a $1 billion initiative to catalyze advances in carbon removal, she had what she called a “radicalizing experience.”
Frontier went out to corporate sustainability teams, selling them on large carbon removal offtake agreements with vetted startups that were developing technologies to suck measurable amounts of carbon directly out of the air. These were more expensive than the carbon offsets companies could buy to support forest conservation or clean cookstoves in Africa, but the investment would support innovation important for fighting climate change. In return, the companies would eventually be able to count the resulting carbon removal toward their net zero emissions targets.
Most companies, however, were more concerned about the cost. “We were trying to get companies to spend more than $1,000 per ton on a new technology we know the world needs,” Flegal told me. “Making that pitch to a corporation when they could also just go make the exact same claim with a $4-a-ton carbon offset credit was a crazy-making experience.”
The revelation, for Flegal, was that the prevailing paradigm for corporate climate action — a single-minded focus on carbon accounting — was not just inadequate, but actively harmful to bringing about the systems-level change required to decarbonize the economy. It incentivized companies to optimize for reducing their individual carbon footprints and failed to recognize the arguably more impactful contributions they could be making to systems change. “Most of the best things they could be doing are just not legible at all in the existing accounting frameworks,” she said.
Flegal fleshed out her critique in a paper published Monday by the Searchlight Institute, a center-left think tank where she is now a senior fellow. The data center boom has exacerbated these perverse incentives, she argues. Tech companies are pursuing corporate power purchase agreements to fulfill their individual clean energy commitments, but mostly failing to help break down the structural barriers to decarbonizing the grid, such as transmission constraints and interconnection backlogs.
The paper challenges the logic of treating a “complex, global, sociotechnical problem as if it were a matter of property rights,” where investors and the public expect companies to own their individual carbon messes. Flegal proposes some alternative measures by which to evaluate corporate climate ambition. One is the quality of a company’s investments — are they causing more clean energy or crucial climate infrastructure to get built than would be otherwise based on market conditions? How many miles of transmission have they financed, or policy proceedings have they influenced? She also calls for companies to be explicit about their theory of change and report how they are taking action consistent with that theory.
“I recognize that these are not perfect metrics, but let’s be real, neither are the ones we have today,” she told me. “The danger of the ones we have today is that they imply a false precision that could be worse for climate outcomes than just being honest about uncertainty.”
The climate community has always fought about carbon accounting, but recently the quarrel has reached a fever pitch. The Greenhouse Gas Protocol, a nonprofit that sets voluntary standards for how companies should measure their emissions, is in the middle of overhauling its rules, a process that has sparked major schisms over how to account for companies’ clean electricity purchases, the carbon stored in forests, and other complex aspects of corporate carbon bookkeeping.
At the same time, the Science Based Targets Initiative, a separate group that acts as an arbiter of whether companies’ climate plans are consistent with the goal of limiting global warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius, has been updating its own standard for “corporate net zero.” A third group, the International Organization for Standardization, is also revising its greenhouse gas reporting rulebooks.
The challenge across all of these efforts is developing standards that are scientifically rigorous but not so rigid as to discourage companies from acting. Companies are lobbying these revision processes to get the rules they want, but many experts worry the outcomes will enable greenwashing.
Flegal joins a growing chorus of thought leaders arguing that this system that feigns precision and prioritizes compliance with an impossible bottom line risks pushing companies away from doing anything at all. Some propose getting rid of individual carbon targets altogether in favor of more qualitative reporting, while others advocate for creating a separate space for companies to earn recognition for their harder-to-measure “contributions” to fighting climate change.
In September, Michael Gillenwater, the executive director of the Greenhouse Gas Management Institute, who has been working on carbon accounting issues for more than 20 years, called for a “paradigm shift” in corporate climate reporting. He and Derik Broekhoff of the Stockholm Environment Institute, another 20-year soldier in this space, argue that boiling down a company’s climate impact to a single inventory of emissions traps “companies in a ’doom loop’ where they are simultaneously criticized for not taking full responsibility for indirect emissions and for greenwashing when they attempt to address these emissions through market-based mechanisms,” such as renewable energy certificates.
They propose instead a “multi-statement” reporting framework in which companies would separate their actual, physical emissions from their investments in carbon offsets, renewable energy certificates, and other market-based tools for climate mitigation. This system reframes carbon credits from “compensating” for a company’s ongoing emissions to playing a more philanthropic role in achieving global net zero and “eliminates the perception that companies can be absolved of responsibility through offsetting,” they write. They also propose a third section where companies would report on remaining barriers to decarbonizing their particular business. Companies could set targets for each section individually, but would not be allowed to combine them into a single performance metric.
Robert Hoglund, the co-founder of the carbon removal tracking site CDR.fyi and head of climate at Milkywire, a corporate advisory firm, published yet another idea in a paper earlier this month. He and his co-author argue that the distinction existing frameworks make between a company’s “direct” and “indirect” emissions doesn’t actually illuminate what’s within its control to reduce. They recommend companies split their net zero targets into two categories, separating “unconditional” emissions cuts — those that are currently feasible — from “conditional” reductions, or those that depend on changes in policy, infrastructure, technoeconomics, etc.
Creating a conditional target “does not make it optional,” they write. “It creates an obligation to help build the world the target assumes. That means policy advocacy, supplier engagement, financing climate solutions, supporting carbon removal, and other system-changing actions are not side activities but flow from the target itself.”
The Science Based Targets Initiative published its new net zero standard this past week, and it appears to adopt at least some of the ideas Flegal, Gillenwater, and Hoglund proposed — namely, attention to systemic constraints. It shifts from looking only at absolute emission reductions to recognizing companies for putting their “best efforts” toward net zero. It stops short, however, of explaining how SBTi will judge what counts as a “best effort.” It also allows companies to use some kinds of carbon certificates to lower their emissions on paper.
Based on an initial read, Hoglund told me he thought SBTi made some positive changes. Flegal hadn’t had a chance to dig into them yet when we spoke. Another critic I spoke to was less pleased.
If Lisa Sachs, the director of Columbia University’s Center on Sustainable Investment, had her way, companies would get rid of net zero targets altogether. She published her own treatise on the subject in May, pointing out that corporate net zero “relies on a mistaken aggregation logic.” It assumes that if every company works to reduce, offset, or neutralize their own emissions, the efforts will sum up to global net zero. Like Flegal, she told me that not only is that impossible without systems change, but she fears that company-level net zero goals “disincentivize the things companies can and should do that would have maximum systems impact.”
While it’s relatively common today for companies to talk openly about the systemic barriers they face in decarbonizing, it’s much more rare for them to say what they’re doing about it. I asked Flegal whether she truly believed sustainability officers would be able to get CEO approval for investments in “systems change,” which is more difficult to break down into clear KPIs.
She pointed out that a lot of companies already make significant philanthropic investments, and this could be put in that bucket. In some cases, like when grid constraints are a barrier to powering a new facility, they could argue that investing in transmission lines is a strategic move and not just part of their climate commitment.
Actions like lobbying in support of regulatory reform and other policy changes seem like a harder sell. The investor-led initiative Climate Action 100+ tracks how companies are attempting to influence climate-related policy debates, and has consistently found that few companies — just 2%, in the latest count — align their lobbying activities with their climate goals.
Reading these papers took me back to 2019 and 2020, when many companies first made net zero commitments. In one sense, it felt like a sea change — all these powerful corporations publicly dedicating themselves to a net zero future — but it was also dubious. They all seemed to have a different definition of what “net zero” meant. For some oil and gas companies, it meant zero-ing out the emissions from their operations, but not from the oil and gas they sold. A lot of companies made the pledge without providing any details about how they would achieve it. SBTi started developing its first net zero standard in 2020 to address this problem by creating a common definition and set of expectations. While having SBTi validate a company’s net zero target is entirely voluntary, more than 11,000 companies have done it.
When I mentioned this history to Flegal and Sachs, they countered that the problem SBTi is trying to address is downstream of the actual problem — that a voluntary net zero framework for companies creates incentives that are not aligned with what really matters for decarbonization.
Both also raised the opportunity cost of the enormous intellectual and financial capital that has gone into refining all of these accounting methodologies and producing reams of reporting to comply with them. “All of these organizations and rule setters for the rule setters for the rule setters, I think we’ve gotten lost in the sauce a bit,” Flegal said.
“These frameworks have become a business — literally a business, in SBTi’s case,” Sachs said, since it has a for-profit arm that validates companies’ reporting for a fee. “I’d rather have a few leaders who raise the tide than to have 11,000 companies aligned with SBTi, and to be finding ourselves in five years figuring out another way to lower the standard.”