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This year’s ocean-heating phenomenon could make climate change seem less bad than it really is — at least in the U.S.

You may have heard that we could be in for a “super” or even a “super duper” El Niño this year. The difference is non-technical, a matter of how warm the sea surface temperature in the El Niño-Southern Oscillation region of the central-eastern Pacific Ocean gets. An El Niño forms when the region is at least half a degree Celsius warmer than average, which causes more heat to be released into the atmosphere and affects global weather patterns. A super El Niño describes an anomaly of 2 degrees or higher. Some models predict an anomaly of over 3 degrees higher than average for this year.
If a super El Niño forms — and that is still a big if, about a one-in-four chance — it would be the fourth such event in just over 40 years. But the impacts could be even more severe, simply because the world is hotter today than it was in the previous super El Niño years of 1983, 1998, and 2016.
“2016 would be an unusually cold year if it occurred today,” Zeke Hausfather, the climate research lead for payment processing giant Stripe and a research scientist at Berkeley Earth, told me. “1998 would be exceptionally cold.”
And yet in a strange twist, a 2026-2027 El Niño event might actually make Americans care less about climate change. Though many parts of the world are likely to get clobbered by El Niño’s characteristic combination of hotter, drier weather, the phenomenon has the potential to alleviate some of the extreme weather we’ve seen recently in the United States.
For example, warmer, wetter conditions in the southern U.S., milder winters in the north, and increased wind shear in the Atlantic hurricane basin are all classic El Niño signatures in North America.
“It may actually mean a better snow season for the Western U.S. and the mountains, hopefully recovering our snowpack if it’s not too warm,” Hausfather said. “We might benefit from higher rainfall” next winter, which could help lift widespread drought conditions in the southwest. High wind shear usually results in reduced hurricane activity in the Atlantic by depriving the storm systems of their heat engines and causing them to be too lopsided to organize into a full-blown cyclone.
Though the body of evidence for climate change remains incontrovertible, the temporary reprieve in some of its more visible effects will almost certainly make some Americans less concerned. Blame it on evolutionary biology. Brett Pelham, a social psychologist at Montgomery College who researches egocentrism and biases, told me that humans are hardwired to pay attention to the conditions happening directly around them. “That’s great if you’re living 20,000 or 80,000 years ago,” he said. “But today, we’re pumping tons of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, and it’s a recipe for disaster because people only care deeply about that problem if they feel the heat on a pretty chronic basis where they live.”
People are generally less likely to believe the planet is warming on a snowy day in March than they are in the summer, and a lower average state temperature is about as reliable a predictor of climate change skepticism as being a Republican, even when controlling for income, party affiliation, education, and age. Given that it is, in theory, easier to convince someone living in scorching hot Phoenix that greenhouse gases are warming the atmosphere than someone living by a lake in Minnesota, if an El Niño mellows out some extreme weather trends in the U.S. this year and next, it could also mellow some of the sense of urgency to act.
“It’s a definite implication of my work that day-to-day variation, monthly variation, and geographical variation matter,” Pelham said.
“If my data are true,” he added, “it’s going to be true on average that in places that have an unseasonably cool summer or winter, there’s going to be a temporary shift in the average attitude.”
Such shifts affect the average by just a few points either way — “they’re not night and day, like ‘I believed in climate change and now I don’t,’” Pelham stressed. But it’s undoubtedly ironic — and concerning — that heading into what could be one of the hottest years on the planet in recent history, Americans may be predisposed to feeling relatively safe.
Other parts of the world won’t have such luxury. Even a normal-strength El Niño, which looks all but certain to form this year, could cause major damage, from wildfires in parched Indonesia to catastrophic floods in East Africa to water rationing in South America. In Peru and Ecuador, El Niño is already a “current event,” Ángel F. Adames Corraliza, an atmospheric researcher at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a 2025 MacArthur Fellow, told me. Warm coastal conditions off the continent — a known, albeit not guaranteed, global El Niño precursor — are causing deluges, landslides, and heat waves in the upper northwest corner of South America. “You can see how the impacts start extending towards other parts of the world until it reaches us,” he said.
It is possible to combat local biases. Pelham told me other researchers have found that images can break through our egocentrism. So “if we see more pictures of melting glaciers or waters rising in our own backyards, we would start to say, ‘Oh my goodness, we really have to do something about this global problem,” he said.
But to that end, coverage of climate change that might have this effect is becoming rarer. Stories about global warming have dropped about 38% since 2021; even people working in climate-related industries have “a kind of exhaustion with ‘climate’ as the right frame through which to understand the fractious mixture of electrification, pollution reduction, clean energy development, and other goals that people who care about climate change actually pursue,” my colleague Robinson Meyer wrote based on the results of latest Heatmap Insiders Survey.
Of course, there is no promise that the U.S. will skirt disaster because of El Niño. Increased rainfall means more floods and landslides; if the El Niño pushes temperatures up too high, snowpack will once again be an issue next winter. All it takes is one big hurricane forming and making landfall for it to be considered a bad storm year, which is as much a roll of the dice as anything else. And because El Niño releases ocean heat into the atmosphere, the periods immediately following it are often about two-tenths of a degree Celsius warmer, increasing the severity of heat waves and droughts. Compounded by climate change, that puts 2027 on track to be potentially the hottest year the planet has seen in human history.
“We might be at 1.45 degrees Celsius [above preindustrial levels] next year from human activity, and we might end up at 1.65 degrees because there’s a very strong El Niño,” Hausfather said. But for context, “we are seeing that much warmth added to the climate system from human activity roughly every decade,” he told me. That is, “— we’re adding a permanent super El Niño-worth of heat to the climate system” via the continued burning of fossil fuels.
There couldn’t be a worse time to let up on our collective sense of climate urgency, to put it mildly. But if El Niño makes conditions in the U.S. appear any better, then even if there’s disaster elsewhere, “you’re going to give a sigh of relief,” Pelham predicted. “You’re going to feel like [climate change is] not as bad as people have hyped it up to be.”
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Timber companies think of them as pests, but new research indicates that stands of the slender tree can act as barriers against raging flames.
Colorado’s Aspen Acres Fire is named after a quiet RV campground located high in the San Isabel Mountains, about a five-hour drive due southeast of the state’s better-known Aspen. Both places, however, are named after the iconic deciduous tree known for its golden leaves in the fall. While the start of monsoon season may yet prevent the Aspen Acres Fire — the seventh-largest in Colorado’s history — from joining Utah’s Babylon Fire as the second 100,000-acre “megafire” of the season, the conflagration has been aided in its rampage not by aspens, but rather by dead, downed, and blighted ponderosa pines, spruce, and Douglas firs. The wildfire has now burned over 98,000 acres and nearly 300 homes, and is only 36% contained due to steep terrain that has hampered firefighting efforts, along with extreme drought conditions and beetle infestations that have greatly degraded the forest health of the region.
But what about its aspens? Though the extent of the damage at the campground remains unknown, according to a recent study of Populus tremuloides, Colorado’s iconic golden trees could be one of the keys to more wildfire-resistant forests in the future.
Flavie Pelletier, a recent PhD graduate of McGill University’s Natural Resource Sciences program, told me she first became interested in aspens while working as a tree planter in British Columbia. “The historical assumption on aspen is that stands are very good at stopping fire progression. But the paradox is that if you take an aspen by itself, it’s going to burn at high severity,” Pelletier, who published her findings in Forest Ecology and Management, told me.
By creating near-real-time maps of fires using satellites and comparing them against the Canadian Forest Service’s newly available maps of dominant tree species in the boreal, Pelletier and her colleagues discovered that aspen were almost two and a half times more common at the perimeter of a burned area than inside it. The finding suggests that despite the flammability of a single aspen with its thin bark, stands of aspen act as a kind of barrier when wildfire ran up against them, likely because they lack the flammable resins of conifers and their high foliage helps force running crown fires back toward the ground. Pine and spruce, by contrast, showed a near-zero or even negative effect.
When aspen stands did burn, Pelletier found they did so more slowly: A tree cover of 50% aspen burned at about 224 hectares per day, compared to 717 hectares per day in areas where aspen made up less than 10% of the cover. That’s the equivalent of about 1,000 FIFA-regulation soccer pitches per day in places where aspen are sparser — like Aspen Acres.
Even more surprising, though, was that the pattern held true in the early season, when the trees are still twiggy and have yet to grow their moisture-filled leaves, and despite the severity of fire weather. “Aspen still showed resilience even when the fire weather was very intense, [like in 2023, when] we had all the fires,” Pelletier said.
But she was also the first to admit that seasons are getting more extreme, and that there’s no guarantee the pattern will hold for the next 10 or 20 years.
Pelletier was reluctant to make a policy recommendation based on her research, noting that she’s not a forest manager. But in Alberta and British Columbia, timber companies spray hundreds of thousands of acres of timber with glyphosate, an herbicide, to kill off aspens because the trees outcompete the more commercially valuable conifers. Her findings are “a big argument to stop the spreading of herbicides because you’re increasing the risk of fire in your forest by removing aspen,” Pelletier said.
Despite her hesitation, Pelletier is explicit in her paper about one thing: that aspens “should be encouraged — specifically around key landscape positions, such as population centers” — given that they are a proven means of hardening the wildland-urban interface against wildfires. It might be too late for the idyllically named Aspen Acres, of course; any of the aspens that once drew tourists to the area are likely now ash.
But this not be Colorado’s last fire, either.
Current conditions: More than two dozen locations across the Mountain West and Midwest broke temperature records Sunday as the nation’s heat wave roasted the Central United States • At least 12 people died fleeing a sweeping wildfire in Spain as hundreds of firefighters battled the flames • In Colorado, the ongoing Aspen Acres Fire has destroyed 780 structures.
During President Donald Trump’s first term, his administration’s big fight over public lands centered on the last two national monuments approved by Barack Obama on the way out of office. In 2017, Trump signed executive orders slashing the size of Bears Ears National Monument by 85% and nearby Grand Staircase-Escalante, both located in Utah, by half. Legal challenges were still pending when President Joe Biden restored the reserves to their initial size in 2021. But ABC4 in Utah reported last week that Trump planned to announce a new executive order to shrink the boundaries of the monuments yet again, likely this afternoon. “The Antiquities Act was a one-way statute when Teddy Roosevelt signed it into law. It was a one-way statute when President Trump tried to ignore it in 2017. It’s still a one-way statute today,” Aaron Weiss, the executive director of the Center for Western Priorities, said in a statement. “Just last month, Congress had a chance to weaken the management plan for Grand Staircase-Escalante and declined.”
In April, the Senate approved a House resolution using the Congressional Review Act to clear the way for a mining operation near Minnesota’s Boundary Waters, in what my colleague Jeva Lange called a declaration of “open season on public lands.”
Over the past 12 months ending in July, 56 fusion companies raised a total of $4.5 billion, a 69% jump over 2025’s total. That’s according to the latest data from the Fusion Industry Association’s annual report. Total funding since 2021 now stands at $14.2 billion, a sevenfold increase. Twice as many companies are now competing as when the report was first published six years ago. This year’s figures include major financing rounds from Commonwealth Fusion Systems, which raised $863 million last August; Inertia Enterprises, which brought in $450 million in February; Helion Energy, which raked in $456 million last month; and the European champion Proxima Energy, which netted $518 million this month.

Back in January, I told you when the price of copper hit a record high. We kept track, too, of Chilean miners’ plans to ramp up production last month. But Chile’s output of copper fell sharply in May, according to a Mining.com analysis of data from Codelco, the country’s national miner. Production from major miners such as BHP dropped over 18% year-on-year to 106,300 metric tons. The fall comes as key mines in the South American nation face declining ore quality.
The move comes right as one of China’s biggest solar manufacturers switched from using silver to copper in its panels in response to what Bloomberg described as the surging prices of the precious metal.
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The world’s first commercial satellite powered by nuclear energy has launched into space after escaping the Earth’s atmosphere on a SpaceX Transporter-17 vessel. Miami-based City Labs, the company behind the launch, specializes in designing, developing, and manufacturing micro power technology based on the radioisotope tritium. The technology is meant to provide long-lasting, maintenance-free power for medical, industrial and space applications. “This is a historic step for commercial nuclear power in space,” City Labs CEO Peter Cabauy told World Nuclear News. The system “demonstrates that safe, compact, and regulatory-approved nuclear power systems are ready for routine commercial deployment.” The technology “enables persistent, always-on” operations “that are not constrained by sunlight or battery life.”
New York is behind on its development of clean energy. Its offshore wind buildout has stagnated. The state has limited space and sunlight for large-scale solar. And while Albany is positioning itself as the state leader on nuclear power with plans to construct more reactors upstate, those efforts are long term, and only just began. But one source of green power is expanding faster than expected: rooftop solar. New Yorkers installed 8 gigawatts of distributed solar capacity, putting the state ahead of schedule moving toward its legally-binding goal of 10 gigawatts by 2030. “New York continues to set the bar high as we mark another milestone for solar within our communities across the state,” New York Governor Kathy Hochul, a Democrat, said in a statement. “This is low-cost, reliable clean energy that is delivering cost savings for families and businesses while expanding the availability of renewable energy which benefits our environment, our economy and contributes to New York’s diverse energy resource mix.” That’s optimistic. But as Heatmap’s contributor Jesse Jenkins explained on our Shift Key podcast in 2023, there are limits to how big an impact rooftop solar can have on emissions.
China, as I told you last week, has been investing heavily in green hydrogen. The statement in Beijing’s latest Five-Year Plan confirms that green hydrogen, ammonia, and methanol “will play a significant role in decarbonizing China,” Hydrogen Insight reported.
Building a data center is also quite carbon-intensive.
When I helped start Heatmap News three years ago, I didn’t think I would be writing this much about big tech companies.
I knew that, sure, they were crucial to America’s ability to develop and scale some next-generation emissions-reducing technologies. (By then, Microsoft had already started its huge carbon removal purchasing program.) And, yes, I knew they bought a lot of renewables. But I still understood their clean energy programs chiefly as an employee perk — a way for some of the economy’s richest firms to show their largely urban, college-educated, and liberal employees that they cared.
Perhaps that was true once. It’s not true anymore. Over the past several years, the tech companies have become major electricity consumers and producers in their own right. Artificial intelligence has turned their electricity procurement and development businesses into core operational competencies. (Meta and Microsoft have even considered entering the electricity trading business.) Some of the thorniest questions in climate policy were first encountered by these tech companies.
More importantly, their hunger for electricity has transformed them into quasi-industrial companies — and given them enough heft in the market to sometimes counterbalance (and sometimes collaborate with) the utilities and fossil fuel firms that previously steered the sector. As such, they’re now crucial parts of the U.S. decarbonization story.
Three companies in particular dominate the artificial intelligence cloud business: Google, Amazon, and Microsoft.
The country’s best-known frontier labs, such as OpenAI and Anthropic, rely on these companies to provide their compute power; Amazon Web Services is the backbone of virtually the entire online software industry. Amazon, Google, and Microsoft account for more than half of the country’s data center power capacity, according to the investment firm Jeffries.
So these companies’ emissions are, in a sense, not only their own; they also give us a view into the AI industry’s carbon footprint more broadly.
Over the past two weeks, all three of these cloud providers released their energy and emissions data for the past year, and we’ve looked at the top line findings from these reports in past editions. Today I want to briefly dive into what they could mean together.
Let’s handle the part you already know: Everyone’s emissions are up.
Microsoft’s emissions grew by 25% last year, their largest year-over-year leap since the pandemic. Amazon’s emissions leapt by 16%, its largest one-year increase ever. Google’s emissions increased by 18%, rising above their pre-pandemic level.
This surge will make the companies’ climate goals increasingly difficult to meet — and some of them are coming up fast. Microsoft has pledged to become ‘carbon negative’ by 2030, meaning it must remove more climate pollution from the atmosphere than it emits in that year. Google has pledged to achieve net zero by 2030, a goal that requires — by its own estimate — cutting its emissions in half by that year, as compared to their 2019 level. Amazon, meanwhile, has pledged to achieve net-zero in its operations by 2040.
All three firms’ greenhouse gas emissions are up because of the AI data center boom. Microsoft consumes nearly four times as much electricity as it did before the pandemic; Google’s electricity use has more than doubled.
These companies’ energy use has swelled, too, but at least as of last year, nearly all of their energy demand still took the form of electricity. When we think about “electrification” in the national context, perhaps we should think at least as much about these AI megalodons as we do about heat pump or battery manufacturers.
Amazon, to its shame, does not publish recent electricity usage data, so it doesn’t appear on either of these charts.
But outsiders have estimated its power consumption based on the numbers it does publish. Hendrik Rood, an IT researcher and consultant in the Netherlands, calculates that Amazon’s data center business used 78,000 gigawatt-hours in 2025. That would mean it consumes nearly as much electricity as Microsoft and Google combined.
As I cautioned yesterday, some of these figures are already outdated. Although all three companies just released their 2025 sustainability data, Microsoft brackets its report to the fiscal year, which ended on June 30, 2025. Google and Amazon’s data covers the calendar year.
In what might be a quirk inherent to the genre, all three sustainability reports have a somewhat defensive tone (or at least a writing style that tries to anticipate quibbles). These companies know that their sustainability pledges, embraced in the heady flush of 2020 and 2021, have become much more difficult to fulfill in the AI era. And they want you to know that all of their emissions could be worse — if not for their corporate policies, pollution might be much higher.
I can’t say I find these counterfactuals entirely believable. We don’t know what Google or Microsoft or Amazon would do if, say, computing were more energy intensive or a certain process more environmentally damaging. And Jevon’s paradox suggests that every gain in efficiency — especially for a service as in-demand as AI — will make it cheaper to use AI, therefore raising its energy demand.
But I do think it’s worth sharing these claims to get some perspective. Google, for its part, says that its corporate emissions would be five times higher than they are if not for its total slate of policies:

Microsoft takes a more clinical approach. It selects four of its corporate policies: “carbon-free electricity, sustainable fuels, XBOX console efficiency,” as well as efforts to decarbonize its Surface tablet production. If not for these interventions, it says, it would have emitted 34 million tons of greenhouse gas into the atmosphere last year, not the 21 million tons that it did produce.
For all the focus on the difficulty of powering data centers (including by Heatmap), electricity does not drive most of these companies’ emissions — or it didn’t in the first half of last year, at least. The majority of Microsoft, Google, and Amazon’s greenhouse gas emissions came from what are dubbed “scope 3” emissions, a somewhat nebulous category that includes buildings, employee travel, and the full carbon footprint of their supply chain. This category reflects the AI boom in its own way.
(Skip this if you’re a sustainability nerd: In the classic schema used for corporate emissions accounting, “scope 1” emissions are direct fossil fuel pollution from an asset that the company owns or controls, “scope 2” emissions are pollution associated with the electricity, steam, or chilled water purchased by the company, and “scope 3” emissions are everything else — pollution from the company’s upstream supply chain and its downstream product use. I find this scheme makes somewhat more sense for businesses like airlines and automakers than it does for technology conglomerates. But that’s a different newsletter.)
It makes sense, then, that Amazon should have huge scope 3 emissions. The scope 3 subcategory called “Purchased Goods and Services” drives the largest share of its emissions; these include pollution from goods and services that Amazon buys for its employees to use, as well as all the embodied carbon in its line of Amazon Basics products.
But the biggest driver of scope 3 emissions — and thus for emissions overall — for Microsoft and Google came from “capital goods,” a category that covers new construction, physical assets and other fixed infrastructure used to produce products and services. More than 40% of Microsoft’s total emissions came from capital goods, and they made up more than 9 million metric tons of the company’s greenhouse gases. Google doesn’t fully aggregate out its “capital goods” category, combining it with the “use of sold products” subcategory, but it was responsible for almost 9 million tons as well.
These capital goods include the new data centers themselves: all the cement, steel, server racks, and silicon that actually make up the physical infrastructure supporting the AI boom. Here at Heatmap, we often focus on the electricity sector because it’s where so much change. But it’s good to remember that construction remains enormously carbon-intensive, and the literal buildings that house AI are, in many cases, still driving a disproportionate amount of emissions.