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Here’s a grim fact: The most destructive fires in recent American history swept over a state with the country’s strictest wildfire-specific building code, including in some of the neighborhoods that are now largely smoldering rubble.
California’s wildfire building code, Chapter 7A, went into effect in 2008, and it mandates fire-resistant siding, tempered glass, vegetation management, and vents for attics and crawlspaces designed to resist embers and flames. The code is the “most robust” in the nation, Lisa Dale, a lecturer at the Columbia Climate School and a former environmental policy advisor for the State of Colorado, told me. It applies to nearly any newly built structure in one of the zones mapped out by state and local officials as especially prone to fire hazard.
The adoption of 7A followed years of code development and mapping of hazardous areas, largely in response to devastating urban wildfires such as the Tunnel Fire, which claimed more than 3,000 structures and 25 lives in Oakland and Berkeley in 1991, and kicked off renewed efforts to harden Californian homes.
The Federal Emergency Management Agency’s report on the 1991 fire makes for familiar reading as the Palisades and Eaton fires still smolder. The wildland-urban interface, it says, was put at extreme risk by a combination of dry air, little rainfall, hot winds blowing east to west, built-up vegetation that was too close to homes, steep hills, and limited access to municipal water. The report also castigates the “unregulated use of wood shingles as roof and siding material.”
This was not the first time a destructive fire on the wildland-urban interface had been partially attributed to ignitable building materials. The 1961 Bel-Air fire, for instance, which claimed almost 200 homes, including that of Burt Lancaster, and the 1959 Laurel Canyon fire were both, FEMA said, evidence of “the wood roof and separation from natural fuels problems,” as were fires in 1970 and 1980 near where the Tunnel Fire eventually struck in 1970 and 1980.
But it was the sheer scale of the Tunnel Fire that prompted action by California lawmakers.
Throughout the 1990s, fire-resilient roofing requirements were ramped up, designating which materials were allowed in fire hazard areas and throughout the state. By all accounts, the building code works — but only when and where it’s in force. Dale told me that compliant homes were five times as likely to survive a wildfire. Research by economists Judson Boomhower and Patrick Baylis found that the code “reduced average structure loss risk during a wildfire by 16 percentage points, or about a 40% reduction.”
“The challenge from the perspective of wildfire vulnerability is that those codes are relatively recent, and the housing stock turns over really slowly, so we have this enormous stock of already built homes in dangerous places that are going to be out there for decades,” Boomhower told me.
The 7A building code applies only to new buildings, however. In long-settled areas of California like Pacific Palisades, which has little new housing construction or even existing home turnover due to high costs and permitting complications, especially in areas under the jurisdiction of the California Coastal Commission, many houses are not just failing to comply with Chapter 7A, but also with any housing code at all.
Looking at which homes had survived past fires, Steve Quarles, who helped advise the California State Fire Marshal on developing 7A, told me, “What really mattered was if it was built under any building code.” Many homes destroyed by the fires in Los Angeles likely were not. In Pacific Palisades, fire management is a frequent topic of concern and discussion. But as late as 2018, local media in Pacific Palisades noted that the area still had some homes with wood shingle roofs.
While a complete inventory of homes lost in the Palisades and Eaton fires has yet to be taken, the neighborhoods were full of older homes. According to CalFire incident reports, of the almost 47,000 structures in the zone of the Palisades Fire, more than 8,000 were built before 1939, and 44,560 were built before 2009. For the Eaton Fire area, of the around 41,000 structures, almost 14,000 were built before 1939, and only around 1,000 were built since 2010.
A Pacific Palisades home designed by architect Greg Chasen and built in 2024, however, survived the fire and went viral on X after he posted a photo of it still standing after the flames had moved through. The home embodied some of the best practices for fire-safe building, according to Bloomberg, including keeping vegetation away from the building, a metal roof, tempered glass, and fire-resistant siding.
When Michael Wara, the director of Stanford University’s Climate and Energy Policy Program, spoke with firefighters and insurance industry officials in the process of drafting a 2021 report for the Stanford Woods Institute for the Environment on strategies for mitigating wildfire risk, they told him that, from their perspective, wildfires are often a matter of “home ignition,” meaning that while building near forested areas puts any home at risk, the risk of a home itself igniting varies based on how it’s built and the vegetation clearance around it. “Existing homes in high fire threat areas” built before the implementation of California’s wildfire building codes, Wara wrote, “are a massive problem.” At the time he published the paper, there were somewhere between 700,000 and 1.3 million pre-building code homes still standing in “high or very high threat areas.”
The flipside of focusing on “home ignition” and the building code is that the building code works better over time, as more and more homes comply with it thanks to normal turnover, people extensively renovating, or even tearing down old homes — or rebuilding after fires. Homes that are close to homes that don’t ignite in a fire are more likely to survive.
One study that looked at the 2018 Camp Fire, which destroyed more than 18,000 structures and claimed more than 80 lives in the Northern California town of Paradise, sampled homes built before 1997, between 1997 and 2018, and from 2018 onwards, and found that only 11.5% of pre-1997 homes survived, compared to 38.5% from 1997 and after. The researchers also found that building survivability had a kind of magnifying effect, with distance from the nearest destroyed structure and the number structures destroyed in the immediate area among “the strongest predictors of survival.”
“The more homes that comply, the less chance you get those structural ignitions and the less chance you get those huge disasters like this,” Doug Green, who manages Headwaters Economics’ Community Assistance for Wildfire Program, told me. “It takes people doing the right thing to their own home — dealing with vegetation, making sure roofs are clean, having right roofing. It’s really a community-wide strategy to stop fires that happen like this.”
But just as any home hardening — or just building to code — is more effective the more the homes around you do it as well, it’s just as true in reverse. “If your next door neighbors don’t do that work, the effectiveness of your efforts will be less,” Dale said. “Building codes ultimately work best when we get an entire landscape or neighborhood to adopt them.”
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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.”
Current conditions: The Pacific has officially entered El Niño, and the warmer-than-average weather pattern is expected to be stronger than usual • Heavy rains are deluging China’s Hunan and Guangxi provinces • While Puerto Ricans living in New York just threw the diaspora’s annual parade, thousands of Boricuas living on the island are enduring days of water shortages so severe the U.S. territory’s governor activated the National Guard.
In a pair of Sunday evening posts on Truth Social, President Donald Trump said a “great deal” with Iran to end the conflict and reopen the Strait of Hormuz without any tolls was “now complete.” As part of the truce, Trump said he would “authorize the immediate removal of the United States Naval blockade” at the mouth of the Persian Gulf. The waterway through which up to a quarter of the global seaborne oil trade travels will remain closed until the deal is signed on Friday, Trump said, “for purposes of mine removal,” meaning Iran will collect the explosives its military planted around the strait to prevent vessels from passing. “Ships of the World, start your engines,” Trump wrote. “Let the oil flow!”
My colleague Emily Pontecorvo had a big scoop on Friday: The Trump administration is no longer defending the president’s moratorium on permitting wind projects. The Department of Justice filed a motion last week to dismiss its appeal of a federal court’s December decision vacating the order to halt wind energy approvals. Ending the White House’s all-of-government assault on wind and solar projects has been a key demand from Democrats seeking compromise for a permitting reform package. Experts say the procedural move in this case is a bullish sign for the various bills before Congress now. “The door to federal permitting is now unlocked again and each developer will be able to make the case for permitting their individual project based on the facts and the law,” Kit Kennedy, the managing director for power, climate, and energy at the Natural Resources Defense Council, told Emily.
The thaw in the permitting freeze comes as the SunZia Wind Project, the largest wind farm in the United States, is preparing to begin commercial operations in the coming days. The development in New Mexico, which has a total net summer generating capacity of 3,650 megawatts, is made up of 916 turbines.

Trump wants to temporarily suspend the federal tax on gasoline to ease surging fuel prices caused by the war with Iran. His proposal would waive the tax of $0.184 per gallon, but doing so requires an act of Congress. According to a new analysis from the Budget Lab at Yale University shared exclusively with Heatmap, lifting the levy would pay Americans back about $37 of the roughly $250 in higher gasoline costs paid over the course of three months. While richer households would spend a smaller share of total income on fuel, they would accrue more per-dollar benefits than lower-income Americans. Likewise, the gas tax holiday would afford more rewards to heavy drivers.
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It started out as a British nonprofit devoted to documenting, standardizing, and tracking how much carbon dioxide various partner organizations produce. Dubbed the Carbon Disclosure Project, the group, founded in 2000, had emerged as one of the central authorities on an issue increasingly baked into financial reporting rules. Now known only by its acronym, CDP said last week it would split its organization in two, segmenting a charitable, science-focused nonprofit called the CDP Foundation from a new commercial entity designed to deliver environmental data and disclosure services for a fee. The London private equity giant Permira will back the for-profit CDP’s launch. “For 25 years, CDP has been at the forefront of environmental disclosure, transforming it from the sidelines to the centre of decision-making,” the organization said in a statement. “To meet the scale and speed of today’s environmental challenges and market expectations, CDP is sharpening its focus, enabling stronger science-led disclosure and greater investment in technology to simplify the disclosure experience and deliver more decision-useful insights.”
Tennessee Senator Marsha Blackburn, a key GOP tech policy reform voice in the Senate running for governor in her home state, just came out against a data center next to Nashville Zoo. “Tennessee should be thoughtful and considerate when deciding where data centers are located. The proposed site near the Nashville Zoo is neither,” she wrote in a post on X. “Let’s revisit this placement.” It’s yet another sign that the backlash against data centers is, as Heatmap’s Jael Holzman wrote, splintering the right.
The geothermal industry is gearing up for a next-generation boom. Until Fervo Energy’s big stock market debut last month, the big publicly-traded player in the business was Ormat Technologies, a conventional geothermal giant that both builds power stations and manufactures the parts needed for plants. Now, at the industry’s big trade show in Calgary this week, Ormat is unveiling a 100-megawatt power generation system designed for unconventional wells like those Fervo or Ormat’s partner Sage Geosystems are drilling. It’s a sign, Think GeoEnergy reported, that Ormat is seeking “to accelerate the commercial deployment of next-generation geothermal projects.”
Welcoming the world’s first clean energy trillionaire.
SpaceX is now a public company. The rocket and satellite maker’s shares began trading this morning, surging 19% from their initial price of $135 to more than $160 at the market close. With the sale, Elon Musk became the world’s first trillionaire; his wealth has roughly tripled since President Donald Trump won re-election in 2024.
I’ll let other observers judge the IPO’s success, the firm’s long-term prospects, and the meaning of a world where we now have trillionaires. So I will make a few other points:
I remain agog at Musk’s ability to raise enormous amounts of cash from public equity markets to do hardware and manufacturing development. To some degree, the idea of a venture-backed firm doing hardware engineering — or what some now call “deep tech” — is Musk’s most impressive creation. The SpaceX IPO raised $75 billion today. That money will now go in part to scaling and commercializing rockets, factory equipment, and allegedly, at some point in the future, orbiting data centers.
Let’s not forget how crucial the U.S. government is to Musk’s story. In the world of climate, energy and manufacturing, we wail about financing’s “missing middle,” the elusive type of investment that can help scale and deploy early-stage technologies by bridging the gap between expensive venture capital and cheap bank lending. But this is at least partially a solved problem. SpaceX and Tesla survived the valley of death with government help: The Energy Department’s Loan Programs Office (which the Trump administration has dubbed the Office of Energy Dominance Financing) extended a $465 million loan to Tesla to build its Fremont, California, factory in 2010; NASA’s 2008 commercial resupply contract gave SpaceX guaranteed offtake for its Falcon rocket. Neither firm would likely have survived without those key injections of financial certainty.
To some degree, Musk has already made his mark on the American economy by creating a new culture of manufacturing engineering. I cannot recommend enough my colleagues Matthew Zeitlin and Emily Pontecorvo’s report on the new cadre of climate tech founders who came up at SpaceX and Tesla. As it happens, I spent Wednesday touring a clean energy factory founded by a Tesla alumnus, and I was struck by how many signs of Musk’s bottlenecks-focused management approach were visible, even at a company seemingly run more humanely than Musk’s famously “hardcore” firms.
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To that point, Emily and Matt asked a number of clean tech executives who worked for SpaceX or Tesla what they learned from the experience. Their responses are fascinating; you can read them in full here. These comments from Justin Lopas, the COO of Base Power, stuck out — he was asked the “one thing” he learned from working for Musk:
You can get way more done in a day and can move way faster than you think. This does not mean necessarily more hours (although solving any hard problem requires that too), but instead being thoughtful about sequencing work, not accepting delays from suppliers or external counterparties without solid rationale, parallel pathing, accelerating critical learnings to early in the project, etc
To step back, one irony of Elon Musk’s situation — at least to me — is that relatively few American politicians are eager to talk about what has actually driven his wealth. I’m not just talking about his firms’ reliance on public financing, although that counts too. I mean Tesla itself. Although Musk now describes that business as a “robotics company,” it is and remains an electric vehicle and battery manufacturer. (It recently began high-volume production of the Tesla Semi, a potentially game-changing long-haul electric truck.) After today, Musk’s Tesla stake makes up less than half of his wealth, but, still, he would not be a trillionaire without EVs, solar panels, and batteries.
But that is not a particularly convenient fact. That Musk is a clean energy trillionaire remains unpalatable to Republicans, who would prefer to cast EVs as an inferior substitute made to satisfy government mandates. And Musk’s antisemitism, far-right politics, and gleeful destruction of the U.S. Agency for International Development — not to mention Tesla’s violation of labor law — have obviously destroyed his reputation among Democrats.
Yet his elevation to a 13-digit net worth nonetheless marks a new era in American capitalism. The richest Americans in history have almost always been oilmen: John D. Rockefeller became the country’s first billionaire by creating the Standard Oil trust; when he died in 1937, his net worth of $1.4 billion represented 1% to 2% of the country’s gross domestic product. In the 1960s, J. Paul Getty became the country’s richest person by negotiating Saudi and Kuwaiti oil concessions. Yet Musk became a billionaire not by harnessing commodities, but through his mastery of software, hardware, and clean energy.
Musk’s fortune now exceeds 3% of U.S. GDP. He is the richest American in history, judged as a share of national production. And it was electricity, lithium, and modern factory production — and, if you wish, the kerosene and methane that fuel SpaceX’s rockets — that got him there. As the science fiction writer William Gibson almost said, the future is already here; it’s just not evenly distributed in your retirement portfolio yet.
Many thanks for reading, and have a wonderful weekend.