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He promised to protect almost a third of the U.S. So far he’s nowhere close.

Over the course of a presidential term, a mature ironwood tree will add only about four inches to its height. Unless you happen to see one during the 10 or 12 days in May that pale pink flowers cover its branches, it’s not a shrub you’re likely to call one of the Sonoran Desert’s most attractive flora — gnarled and hunched, the ironwood lacks both the alien charm of the Joshua tree and the iconic flamboyance of the Saguaro cactus. It makes up for this with its longevity: Some ironwoods growing in the hills east of the Coachella Valley have clung there 400 years longer than California has been a state. Adequately protected, those very same trees could plausibly still be standing for our successors to marvel at in the year 2724 — 175 presidential terms from now.
Who knows if they’ll still talk about President Joe Biden then — in 700 years, he’ll be as deep in the past as Edward II of England is now. But if those ironwood trees are still standing, it could be because of him. Biden has called the fight against climate change the defining cause of his presidency, and he views conservation and the preservation of biodiversity as part and parcel of that legacy. His 30x30 executive order — which aims to set aside 30% of America’s lands and waters for conservation by 2030 — was a week-one priority once he took office.
Among his best remaining opportunities to add to his tally would be the designation of Chuckwalla National Monument, a 660,000-acre stretch of desert south of Joshua Tree National Park that is home to one-fifth of the ironwood trees left in the world. The same goes for a sacred and culturally significant region in the southwest corner of California called Kw’tsán; about Sáttítla, a vulnerable volcanic landscape near Mt. Shasta; about the Owyhee, a million-acre Oregon watershed that sits in the crosshairs of mining and energy development; and about the homestead in Maine that belonged to Frances Perkins, the first woman to serve in the U.S. cabinet. The list goes on.
But with less than two months until Biden’s move-out day, environmental advocates are starting to wonder whether he’ll ever get around to fulfilling his promise.
“There are still several national monument campaigns that are ready to go and awaiting the president’s signature, and those are the sorts of things that could cement President Biden’s legacy as one of the great conservation presidents of all time — if he takes those steps here in the last few weeks,” Aaron Weiss, the deputy director of the Center for Western Priorities, a nonpartisan conservation advocacy group, told me.
When Biden took office in 2021, roughly 293 million acres of the United States fell under the protection of various federal laws, about 12% of his 30% goal. Since then, Biden has set aside another 1%, or 37 million acres, for protection, including about 1.6 million acres of new monuments under the Antiquities Act. So far, Biden has protected slightly less land than President Bill Clinton did in his first term, per the Center for Western Priorities’ accounting. And every day that passes matters; the Center for American Progress has found that the U.S. loses a football field’s worth of natural area every 30 seconds.
Still, conservationists have celebrated Biden’s moves to set aside the National Petroleum Reserve and the Tongass National Forest in Alaska, and to expand Berryessa Snow Mountain National Monument and San Gabriel Mountains National Monument in California. “When you look at it from a traditional land protection perspective, I think [the Biden administration has] a strong record,” Chris Wood, the president and chief executive officer of the conservation group Trout Unlimited, told me.
And Mustafa Santiago Ali, the executive vice president of the National Wildlife Federation, also told me not to discount Biden’s designation of the Springfield 1908 Race Riot National Monument in Illinois, the Emmett Till and Mamie Till-Mobley National Monument in Illinois and Mississippi, and Baaj Nwaavjo I’tah Kukveni — Ancestral Footprints of the Grand Canyon National Monument in Arizona, even though they don’t add substantial acreage to his totals. “Folks may not pay attention to how important those monuments are — honoring folks who have sacrificed in the past,” Ali said. Weiss, likewise, commended Biden and Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland for “acknowledging that you need Indigenous stewardship to lead and be central to all public land management decisions.”
As the remaining weeks of Biden’s tenure quietly tick by, there is increasing anxiety about whether and when the president will reach for the Antiquities Act again. Kristen Brengel, the senior vice president of government affairs at the National Parks Conservation Association, told me she hopes Biden will announce at least two more national monuments between now and January 20.
Ultimately, though, when it comes to the question of how much land Biden will choose to set aside in the waning days of his administration, “the limiting factor is time,” Ryan Houston, the executive director of the Oregon Natural Desert Association, which has campaigned extensively for the designation of an Owyhee National Monument, told me. “If we don't take action before Inauguration Day in January, then we’re entering at least a two-, four-, or six-year period where there won’t be opportunities to follow through and protect the Owyhee,” Houston went on. “And that sets us back a long way.”
Organizers don’t get a tip-off ahead of time about where or what the Biden administration is considering. Chuckwalla, with its ironwood trees, rare reptiles, cultural sites, and Joshua Tree-adjacent wildlife corridors, seems likely — Haaland visited it this spring, a portentous sign according to advocates. Other would-be monuments like the Owyhee in Oregon are less certain and may attract executive attention only if Congress fails to roll it into a public lands omnibus bill expected by the end of the year.
The clock has already run out for other key components of Biden’s conservation legacy. “In the first month of his presidency, it seemed like it would be great,” Brendan Cummings, the conservation director of the Center for Biological Diversity, a nonprofit focused on endangered species protections, told me. With the president’s 30x30 executive order and his pause on federal fossil fuel leasing, it’d “seemed like he was going to live up to his promises.”
Then came the Willow Project approval, new LNG export terminal sign-offs, and so many new oil and gas permits that Biden surpassed even Trump. “One of the few areas where Biden has actually been excellent is national monuments,” Cummings conceded. “But everything else is sort of this mix of muddled middle or profoundly disappointing.” He added, “Trump took us two steps back, and Biden took us one step forward — so we’re still behind at the end of the day.”
Though the other advocates I spoke with for this story weren’t as sour on Biden’s record as Cummings, many had a wishlist of items they’d hoped Biden would address. Brengel of the NPCA had hoped there’d be more climate resiliency funding for the National Parks, which have “been on the frontlines of dealing with some of the most dramatic effects of climate change.” Wood, at Trout Unlimited, was holding out for the creation of a federal fund to deal with the legacy of abandoned mines via a royalty on hard rock metals, the only commodity produced from public lands that doesn’t have a surcharge or tax. Weiss of Western Priorities wanted to see action on livestock grazing reforms.
It’s hard to feel too frustrated with the Biden administration, though. Much of 2021 and 2022 were spent addressing Trump administration policies and roll-backs, including restoring protections for Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments. Biden’s executive powers had their limits, too. While one of his administration’s conservation wins had been blocking the culturally significant lands around New Mexico’s Chaco Canyon from new oil and gas leasing, Trump will have a relatively straightforward path to reopening it to drilling if he so chooses. “I think with the cards that we had in our hands, Deb Haaland and Biden have done everything they could do to protect this area,” Paul F. Reed, a preservation archaeologist with Archaeology Southwest, which campaigned to protect Chaco Canyon, told me. But “short of congressional action, this area will continue to be a political football.” The same may again be true for Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante.
There is better Trump-proofing elsewhere. Jenny Rowland-Shea, the director of public lands at the left-leaning advocacy group the Center for American Progress, told me that for Trump to unwind Biden’s protections in the Arctic, which were established via a lengthier rule-making process, the incoming president would have to prove that the science behind the ecology subsistence isn’t valid — a bigger lift. It’s part of why she feels comfortable calling Biden’s actions in the Arctic one of the more significant pieces of his conservation legacy.
Others pointed to the Bureau of Land Management’s Public Lands Rule, which put conservation on equal footing with other land uses like drilling this past spring, as the real gift that Biden leaves behind. Wood, of Trout Unlimited, told me that what he hopes will outlast the 46th president is Biden’s approach to looking at conservation as a part of natural resiliency, the effort to “make our lands more resistant to floods, fires, and drought.” Meanwhile, Ali of NWF told me his wish is that future presidents will use Biden’s accomplishments as a “north star” to measure themselves against and surpass.
But Cummings of the Center for Biological Diversity believes there is only one way for Biden to cement his legacy in the remaining weeks he has in office. “Almost everything the president does gets forgotten,” he said. “But the land that a president protects is forever.”
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A new report shared exclusively with Heatmap documents failures of transparency and governance at the Greenhouse Gas Protocol.
It is something of a miracle that tens of thousands of companies around the world voluntarily report their greenhouse gas emissions each year. In 2025, more than 22,100 businesses, together worth more than half the global stock market, disclosed this data. Unfortunately, it’s an open secret that many of their calculations are far off the mark.
This is not exactly their fault. To aid in the tedious process of tallying up carbon and to encourage a basic level of uniformity in how it’s done, companies rely on standards created by a nonprofit called the Greenhouse Gas Protocol. The group’s central challenge is ensuring that its standards are both credible and feasible — two qualities often in tension in greenhouse gas accounting. The method that produces the most accurate emissions inventory may not always be feasible, while the method that’s easy to implement may produce wildly inaccurate results.
Critics have long faulted the Protocol for allowing companies to look far better on paper than they do to the atmosphere. In 2022, the group began in earnest to try and fix this, starting with an overhaul of its governance. It created a new Independent Standards Board that would oversee and approve updates to each of its accounting rules, and later convened a series of technical working groups to develop the substance of those updates. One such group was updating the method for how companies should account for their electricity use. Another was focused on supply chain emissions.
The working groups would meet regularly to put together proposals and then submit those proposals to the Independent Standards Board for approval. A separate steering committee would then review the board’s decision to ensure that the Protocol’s overall principles had been followed throughout the process and make the final call.
The new structure was meant to “further bolster the credibility and integrity of these standards,” the Protocol wrote. The overhaul was especially timely as governments around the world, including those of the European Union and the state of California, were taking steps to adopt the Protocol’s standards in their own mandatory climate disclosure rules.
But what started as a laudable effort to improve transparency and accountability has turned rancid, some of the participants told me. Scientists are being pitted against industry representatives. Proposals, voting records, and other key documents are being kept from the public eye. Decisions made behind closed doors are going undocumented and undisclosed, kept secret even from the working group members who have devoted significant unpaid time to the cause of developing stronger standards.
These issues are broadly illustrated by the experience of Kate Dooley, a member of the GHG Protocol’s technical working group on forest carbon accounting. Dooley is a political scientist and lecturer at the University of Melbourne’s School of Geography, Earth and Atmospheric Sciences who has worked on issues related to forest carbon accounting for roughly two decades. She joined the 17-person working group in December 2024; the group’s assignment was to resolve a contentious debate over how companies that own or control forests or use forestry products in their supply chains should account for carbon emissions related to their harvesting, land management, and wood product purchases. The group included academics like Dooley, industry representatives from companies such as IKEA, and experts from non-profits including the Natural Resources Defense Council and the American Forest Foundation.
After six months of meetings, however, the members could not reach a consensus. One of the key reasons forest carbon accounting is difficult is that forests can both emit carbon and remove it from the atmosphere. Determining what proportion of those removals are a result of human activity versus what would happen naturally gets complicated quickly. The stakes were high, because even though the GHG Protocol standards are portrayed as neutral accounting exercises, small decisions about how this accounting is performed can create big shifts in incentives for how companies operate.
The forestry group considered two main approaches. One is called the “managed land proxy,” or MLP, and it is the method countries use to report their emissions to the United Nations. This method would allow companies to include all of the carbon that’s being sequestered on their lands in their greenhouse gas inventory. A timber company that cuts down trees, for instance, would count both the emissions released from logging as well as the carbon sequestered by the remaining tree stands and calculate a net result.
The major criticism of this approach is that it’s easy to game and leads to unintuitive results, where forest product companies come out looking like they are removing far more carbon than they are releasing. The method would also enable companies to use the average emissions and removals of an entire region in their calculations, rather than the specific logging and forest management practices of their supply source. Another risk is that companies could simply buy up additional forest land to reduce their emissions on paper while changing nothing about their business practices.
Proponents of this method put forward what they framed as a compromise, called “MLP+,” which attempted to put some guardrails around these issues. Regardless, the scientists in the group argued that it was scientifically incorrect to attribute all forest carbon sequestration that happens within a given tract of land to a company when that carbon removal may be the result of unrelated factors such as elevated CO2 in the air from climate change, or that a previous owner had cut down trees that were now growing back.
The alternative method that the scientists, including Dooley, put forward is called “activities-based accounting.” Rather than take credit for all forest growth, this method would require landowners to account for the growth that would have occurred without human interference and subtract it from their estimate of carbon removals. This method would be more difficult and require further work to fine-tune. It would also have the effect of making corporate forest emissions look much higher on paper.
In a final vote between two proposals, the members split 8 to 7 in favor of MLP+, with two sitting out the vote. The group delivered both proposals to the Independent Standards Board for consideration last spring, but the board could not reach a consensus, either. Ultimately, the organization decided to finalize the land sector standard in January 2026 without any guidance for forest carbon accounting, advising companies to go with whatever method they wanted as long as they disclosed how they did it. It noted that it would soon issue a request for information to gather more stakeholder input on the issue.
By the end of the working group process, the internal dynamics had grown combative. Dooley and other scientists in the group had presented certain scientific papers to support their rebuke of MLP, but another member, Nathan Truitt, the executive vice president of climate funding at the American Forest Foundation, began arguing that the same papers made the opposite point.
“It was this weird, Kafka-eque development,” Dooley said. She responded to the entire group with a long email detailing the last 20 years of debate on the subject, she told me. “I think in that email I accused [Truitt] of industry bias, because there was no other explanation for what he was doing,” she said.
The American Forest Foundation works with private landowners to support sustainable forest product markets. Truitt, for his part, characterized the atmosphere in the working group as toxic. He told me that the scientists did not adequately explain to him why they thought he was interpreting the papers incorrectly. He noted that the foundation is a mission-based nonprofit, and less than 5% of its revenues comes from the forest products industry, but the organization does believe in supporting healthy forest markets. “If landowners can’t generate revenue from appropriate forest management, there won’t be forest there very long,” he said.
But Dooley’s concerns were bigger than just interpersonal challenges. She didn’t understand why none of the explanatory memos or official proposals produced by the working group had been published to the Protocol’s website, when similar documents produced by the other working groups had been made public. (Truitt also was not aware of this until I reached out to him, and was surprised to learn it.)
Initially, the scientists’ full memo on their approach was not even shown to the Independent Standards Board; Dooley told me she had to write to the head of the board and ask that it be shared. It was also odd to her that there was no follow-up from the Independent Standards Board after the proposals had been submitted.
Perhaps one of the strangest elements of the process was that the Greenhouse Gas Protocol had conducted a real-world pilot program of MLP prior to the formation of the working group. There was public documentation of the pilot’s existence, but the outcomes were not published, nor were they shared with the group. Dooley said that someone who had viewed the results told her they decidedly proved the problems with MLP. Her understanding was that almost all of the forest product companies that participated reported huge amounts of net carbon removals, making them appear to have a beneficial impact on the climate, contributing nothing to global emissions. “To me, it’s inexplicable why that pilot study wasn’t shown,” she said.
Months later, in January 2026, Dooley received a document that reframed her experience. It was a formal complaint made by Truitt the previous April that challenged the scientists’ expertise and impartiality, she told me. She also learned that following the complaint, the Independent Standards Board solicited opinions from additional outside scientists on the two proposals. She was shocked that she had been kept in the dark as this was going on.
Dooley emailed the head of the board and other leaders at the Protocol to ask why she and the other scientists weren’t told about the complaint or given a chance to respond. “We write to express concern that this complaint was not initially communicated to those concerned, and to request clarification regarding its handling and any subsequent developments,” the email said. She also inquired about the unpublished proposals and lack of follow-up from the board. She sent the email on January 23. She has yet to receive a response, she said.
“It strikes me as a very bizarre process,” she told me. “It’s unacceptable.”
When I spoke to Truitt about the complaint, he told me he did not mean to suggest that Dooley and the other scientists’ perspective was invalid. On the contrary, Truitt was concerned that there weren’t more experts in the working group, or at least more of the right experts. In 2024, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change had hosted a three-day meeting in Italy specifically about the issues with forest carbon accounting, albeit at the national level. Truitt read the final report that came out of that meeting and didn’t understand why none of the scientists involved were on the Protocol’s technical working group.
Initially he wanted to share this concern with the working group directly, he said, but third-party consultants hired to facilitate the group’s progress advised him to bring it to the Protocol’s staff. He did that, and again asked to share it with his colleagues so that it would at least be in the group’s records, but was instructed not to, he said.
Truitt told me his complaint urged the Protocol to invite some of the experts from the IPCC meeting to join the working group. He said that the head of the Independent Standards Board later told him there was not enough time, but that the board would consult with some of those experts once it had the proposals.
The GHG Protocol did not answer detailed questions I sent them for this story. “We are in the process of addressing, through an independent review, a few concerns relating to work within one of our Technical Working Groups,” a spokesperson told me in an email. “As this is an internal ongoing matter, we cannot comment further but we are committed to addressing any findings appropriately.”
The spokesperson also emphasized that robust debate was central to the standard-setting process, and that the organization is “committed to ensuring that all discussions are conducted in a respectful, transparent and well-facilitated manner, with clear governance structures in place to support balanced and evidence-based outcomes. We value all inputs and feedback on how to improve our multistakeholder processes.”
While Truitt and Dooley vehemently disagree on forest carbon accounting and what went wrong in the working group, they are on the same page about one thing — the Protocol has issues with transparency. A new paper published Wednesday argues that the issues Dooley described are systemic, and warns that the Protocol seems to be moving further away from its commitment to accountability.
The paper’s author is Danny Cullenward, an economist and lawyer focused on the scientific integrity of climate policy, who is currently a senior fellow at the University of Pennsylvania’s Kleinman Center for Energy Policy. Cullenward also sits on the Protocol’s Independent Standards Board and is restricted by a non-disclosure agreement from describing what he has witnessed in the role. His paper draws on publicly available information in an effort not to violate his NDA. (Cullenward has also contributed to Heatmap.)
Part of what drove Cullenward to write the piece were concerns outlined in a complaint he and another board member filed jointly to the Protocol. While Cullenward could not discuss the substance of the complaint, his paper notes that it alleges “violations of the Board’s terms of reference,” and that the violations “undermined the scientific integrity of the Board’s deliberations” over the land sector standard.
“I do not have any confidence that we are going to end up in a place where there is public disclosure about what occurred,” he told me, “and that is concerning.”
His paper critiques the Protocol’s formal complaints process more generally, noting that it does not describe how complaints should be adjudicated. Because the Independent Standards Board is bound by an NDA, filing a complaint is the only means by which members can flag malfeasance. If these complaints are then adjudicated in private, there is no “external mechanism to ensure that the Protocol’s overall governance rules are being followed in practice,” Cullenward writes.
He further highlights two overarching failings at the Protocol. The first is that the group’s two key decisionmaking bodies — the Independent Standards Board and the Steering Committee — are imbalanced. The former has members from industry, academia, and government, but no one from environmental non-governmental organizations. More than half the members on the latter are from the business and financial world, and the Steering Committee does not have a single member from the research community.
Not only does the nonprofit community not have a voice on the board, Cullenward writes, but the absence of those voices “risks politicizing the work of scientist Board members.” While the Protocol’s official decision-making hierarchy deems scientific integrity as its top priority, in practice, scientists are left to defend the science to the business community. If and when contentious scientific issues do arise and the board’s decisions are elevated to the Steering Committee, there is no one on that committee with the training to evaluate the disagreement.
Cullenward also criticizes the Protocol for not publishing records from the Independent Standards Board’s meetings, despite the fact that the board’s governance documents explicitly require the publication of meeting minutes. The board’s votes are done by secret ballot, the report says, so members themselves cannot even see how each other voted. Cullenward calls for this rule to be lifted, for votes to be public, and for board members not to be restricted by NDAs. “A well-functioning organization that follows its own rules does not need to restrict Board members’ legal ability to speak about their experiences,” he writes.
Lastly, Cullenward warns that the Protocol seems to be heading down a path of increasing opacity. Last fall, the group announced that it was planning to harmonize its standards with the International Organization for Standardization, or ISO, a separate, much larger group that writes voluntary standards for all kinds of industries. (To date it has written more than 26,000 standards, applying to everything from screw threads and paper sizes to food safety and electrical grids.) The GHG Protocol published new rules governing this joint work, which, unlike the technical working group rules, do not require members’ names be public or a balanced representation of stakeholders.
One of these joint working groups has already been convened, and while the GHG Protocol published the names of the members it nominated to the group on its website, the ISO-nominated members are not listed, and the total group size is unclear. It’s also unclear what this harmonization process will look like, and whether it will involve another overhaul of all of the standards the Protocol has spent the past several years revising.
I reached out to a few other carbon accounting experts for their thoughts on Cullenward’s paper. Michael Gillenwater, the executive director of the Greenhouse Gas Institute, who is in one of the other technical working groups, told me the concerns raised about bias go back to the origins of corporate climate accounting. The focus has long been on “what companies want to report and claim versus what is technically fit for the evolving range of purposes that the GHG Protocol has been and is newly being used for,” he said.
Matthew Brander, a professor of carbon accounting at the University of Edinburgh who also serves on a technical working group, told me he agrees that commercial interests are overrepresented among the working groups — not just in terms of numbers, but also in the amount of time and resources they can spend to engage and lobby for their preferred outcomes. Despite the Protocol’s claim of being “science-led,” he told me, scientific research is often ignored. Brander was also frustrated with the complaints procedure, telling me that a complaint he submitted did not get a substantive response.
“I don’t think there is ever a perfect way of managing/governing standard-setting processes,” he said in an email, “and commercial interests will very often hold sway.”
While Cullenward told me he thought improving transparency and representation would help alleviate many of his concerns, Dooley was less sure.
“The idea that science speaks as an independent, authoritative voice is a myth,” she said. “It’s actually what my research is about. Lots of science is politicized and can be used to support any side of the debate generally. But the way the process was set up very much leant into that and allowed that to happen, rather than mitigated against that.”
Just as demand for batteries is intensifying.
The energy impacts of the continued crisis in the Persian Gulf are obvious. Countries that rely on the natural gas and oil from the region are dealing with higher prices, and in some cases are trying to tamp down their demand for fuel and electricity to keep prices under control, not to mention maintain basic energy availability.
But it’s not just gas-fired power plants and internal combustion engines that are feeling the pinch.
The consequences of the effective closure of the Strait of Hormuz go well beyond the set of energy commodities typically associated with the Persian Gulf, including a vast array of minerals and petrochemicals, including many necessary to produce clean energy. We’ve already covered aluminum, a key component of solar panels, cars, and batteries, which requires so much energy for processing that almost 10% of it is produced in the Middle East, where fuel is abundant.
Now another chemical essential to the battery supply chain is seeing price hikes and supply reductions: sulfuric acid.
Sulfuric acid is used in refining and processing several metals and minerals key to the energy transition, including copper, cobalt, nickel, and lithium. Copper is used throughout EVs and other clean technologies, while nickel and cobalt are used in cathodes in lithium-ion batteries — which, of course, also contain lithium. Shortages or higher prices of sulfuric acid could lead to shortages or higher prices for batteries and electric vehicles, just as consumers flock to them to help mitigate the impacts of rising fossil fuel costs.
Sulfur is a byproduct of oil and natural gas refining, hence about half of seaborne sulfur comes from the Middle East, according to Argus Media, but only a handful of sulfur-bearing vessels have transited the Strait of Hormuz since the war began. In response to the disruption, China, the world’s top exporter of sulfuric acid, began restricting shipments abroad, according to S&P.
Sulfuric acid “is an irreplaceable input in the manufacture of renewable energy materials, such as silicon wafers in solar panels; the nickel, cobalt, and rare earths in wind turbine magnets and electric vehicle (EV) motors; and the copper wiring in every grid connection and transformer,” wrote Atlantic Council fellow Alvin Camba in an analysis for the think tank.
“Most elemental sulfur comes from the Middle East,” Camba told me, “and it goes to places like Indonesia,” where metals are processed to “produce the batteries for a lot of vehicles for companies like Tesla, BYD, and Honda.”
Shortages of sulfuric acid will likely hit Indonesia especially hard. The country produces about 60% of the world’s nickel, but has only about a month’s inventory of sulfur, according to a team of Morgan Stanley analysts. “We believe the energy shock is reverberating and will sustain beyond the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz,” the analysts wrote of China’s export restrictions. “It will keep fuel markets tighter, lift the cost curve for Indonesian nickel, and raise refining margins in Asia. Higher energy prices will show up in food, tech and battery supply chains.”
Already, according to Morgan Stanley, “several” Indonesian nickel producers have reduced their output by at least 10% from last month. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, copper and cobalt miners are reducing their use of chemicals in their operations and considering cutting output.
Battery manufacturers are already seeing higher costs for their materials. The Chinese battery giant (and Tesla supplier) CATL saw its profit margins decline quarter-over-quarter revenue growth due to “cost pressure,” Morningstar analyst Vincent Sun wrote last week in a note to clients — and that’s despite greater sales volumes as consumers attempt to escape fossil fuel-dependency. As sulfuric acid rises in price, the battery companies will also be competing with agribusiness, who use sulfuric acid to produce phosphate fertilizers, Camba told me.
Even Ivanhoe Mines chief executive and metal and mining mega-bull Robert Friedland said in a statement last week, “If the closure of the Straits of Hormuz continues … second-derivative effect will be on global copper production due to the shortage of the world’s most important industrial chemical, sulfuric acid.” Friedland described the market for sulfur and sulfuric acid as “extremely tight.”
That also spells bad news for lithium, the namesake mineral used in EV batteries. Around half of global lithium production comes from spodumene, a hard rock mined largely in Western Australia. Refining that rock requires a “shitload’ of sulfuric acid, Nathaniel Horadam, the founder and president of Full Tilt Strategies, told me, through an energy intensive process known as “acid baking.”
Australian mines were already suffering from high diesel prices and shortages due to the conflict in Iran, according to Argus Media. The high price of sulfuric acid could put a squeeze on margins for lithium refining, which largely occurs in China.
“If their production costs go up, that’s going to be factoring into their market pricing,” Horadam said. “I would expect all those prices to go up in the short to medium term until this stuff kind of settles.”
The other major threat to battery makers specifically, Horadam said, was shortages of petrochemicals like ethylene, which is used in the production of plastics, and polyethylene, a polymer often used in plastic bags.
Ethylene is often made from ethane, a natural gas liquid, or naphtha, a refined petroleum product and production in the Persian Gulf has been severely disrupted by the Hormuz crisis. As of March, Asian petrochemical producers had already reduced their output in anticipation of shortages.
Polyethylene is also a crucial component in lithium-ion batteries, where it’s often used in the “separator,” which physically divides the cathode from the anode. Even the Trump administration has thrown its support behind polyethylene in battery manufacturing A $1.3 billion loan from the Department of Energy’s in-house bank to finance a separator manufacturing facility in Indiana survived the Trump administration’s gutting of that office, with $77 million getting disbursed last September. (Notably, the Trump-era announcement dropped a reference to electric vehicles and instead enumerated separators’ uses in “data centers, energy storage, and consumer electronics.”)
Over 40% of lithium-ion separators are produced in China with the “bulk” of them produced in Asia, according to the DOE, which makes support for domestic production paramount to maintaining international competitiveness and domestic supply chains.
“We’re relying on the Chinese and Japanese to produce all our separators and electrolytes and such,” Horadam said. “This sulfuric stuff is getting all the attention because it’s pretty obvious in terms of visible, salient minerals that are directly impacted, but I wouldn’t sleep on separators and binding agents.”
The opinion covered a host of actions the administration has taken to slow or halt renewables development.
A federal court seems to have struck down a swath of Trump administration moves to paralyze solar and wind permits.
U.S. District Judge Denise Casper on Tuesday enjoined a raft of actions by the Trump administration that delayed federal renewable energy permits, granting a request submitted by regional trade groups. The plaintiffs argued that tactics employed by various executive branch agencies to stall permits violated the Administrative Procedures Act. Casper — an Obama appointee — agreed in a 73-page opinion, asserting that the APA challenge was likely to succeed on the merits.
The ruling is a potentially fatal blow to five key methods the Trump administration has used to stymie federal renewable energy permitting. It appears to strike down the Interior Department memo requiring sign-off from Interior Secretary Doug Burgum on all major approvals, as well as instructions that the Interior and the Army Corps of Engineers prioritize “energy dense” projects in ways likely to benefit fossil fuels. Also struck down: a ban on access to a Fish and Wildlife Service species database and an Interior legal opinion targeting offshore wind leases.
Casper found a litany of reasons the five actions may have violated the Administrative Procedures Act. For example, the memo mandating political reviews was “a significant departure from [Interior] precedent,” and therefore “required a ‘more detailed justification’ than that needed for merely implementing a new policy.” The “energy density” permitting rubric, meanwhile, “conflicts” with federal laws governing federal energy leases so it likely violated the APA, the judge wrote.
What’s next is anyone’s guess. Some cynical readers may wonder whether the Supreme Court will just lift the preliminary injunction at the administration’s request. It’s worth noting Casper had the High Court’s penchant for neutralizing preliminary injunctions in mind, writing in her opinion, “The Court concludes that the scope of this requested injunctive relief is appropriate and consistent with the Supreme Court’s limitations on nationwide injunctions.”