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The Biden administration is hoping they’ll be a starting gun for the industry. The industry may or may not be fully satisfied.

In one of the Biden administration’s final acts to advance decarbonization, and after more than two years of deliberation and heated debate, the Treasury Department issued the final requirements governing eligibility for the clean hydrogen tax credit on Friday.
At up to $3 per kilogram of clean hydrogen produced, this was the most generous subsidy in the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act, and it came with significant risks if the Treasury did not get the rules right. Hydrogen could be an important tool to help decarbonize the economy. But without adequate guardrails, the tax credit could turn it into a shovel that digs the U.S. deeper into a warming hole by paying out billions of dollars to projects that increase emissions rather than reducing them.
In the final guidelines, the Biden administration recognized the severity of this risk. It maintained key safeguards from the rules proposed in 2023, while also making a number of changes, exceptions, and other “flexibilities” — in the preferred parlance of the Treasury Department — that sacrifice rigorous emissions accounting in favor of making the program easier to administer and take advantage of.
For example, it kept a set of requirements for hydrogen made from water and electricity known as the “three pillars.” Broadly, they compel producers to match every hour of their operation with simultaneous clean energy generation, buy this energy from newly built sources, and ensure those sources are in the same general region as the hydrogen plant. Hydrogen production is extremely energy-intensive, and the pillars were designed to ensure that it doesn’t end up causing coal and natural gas plants to run more. But the final rules are less strict than the proposal. For example, the hourly matching requirement doesn’t apply until 2030, and existing nuclear plants count as new zero-emissions energy if they are considered to be at risk of retirement.
Finding a balance between limiting emissions and ensuring that the tax credit unlocks development of this entirely new industry was a monumental challenge. The Treasury Department received more than 30,000 comments on the proposed rule, compared to about 2,000 for the clean electricity tax credit, and just 89 for the electric vehicle tax credit. Senior administration officials told me this may have been the most complicated of all of the provisions in the IRA. In October, the department assured me that the rules would be finished by the end of the year.
Energy experts, environmental groups, and industry are still digesting the rule, and I’ll be looking out for future analyses of the department’s attempt at compromise. But initial reactions have been cautiously optimistic.
On the environmental side, Dan Esposito from the research nonprofit Energy Innovation told me his first impression was that the final rule was “a clear win for the climate” and illustrated “overwhelming, irrefutable evidence” in favor of the three pillars approach, though he did have concerns about a few specific elements that I’ll get to in a moment. Likewise, Conrad Schneider, the U.S. senior director at the Clean Air Task Force, told me that with the exception of a few caveats, “we want to give this final rule a thumbs up.”
Princeton University researcher Jesse Jenkins, a co-host of Heatmap’s Shift Key podcast and a vocal advocate for the three pillars approach, told me by email that, “Overall, Treasury’s final rules represent a reasonable compromise between competing priorities and will provide much-needed certainty and a solid foundation for the growth of a domestic clean hydrogen industry.”
On the industry side, the Fuel Cell and Hydrogen Energy Association put out a somewhat cryptic statement. CEO Frank Wolak applauded the administration for making “significant improvements” but warned that the rules were “still extremely complex” and contain several open-ended parts that will be subject to interpretation by the incoming Trump-Vance administration.
“This issuance of Final Rules closes a long chapter, and now the industry can look forward to conversations with the new Congress and new Administration regarding how federal tax and energy policy can most effectively advance the development of hydrogen in the U.S.,” Wolak said.
Constellation Energy, the country’s biggest supplier of nuclear power, was among the most vocal critics of the proposed rule and had threatened to sue the government if it did not create a pathway for hydrogen plants that are powered by existing nuclear plants to claim the credit. In response to the final rule, CEO and President Joe Dominguez said he was “pleased” that the Treasury changed course on this and that the final rule was “an important step in the right direction.”
The California governor’s office, which had criticized the proposed rule, was also swayed. “The final rules create the certainty needed for developers to invest in and build clean, renewable hydrogen production projects in states like California,” Dee Dee Myers, the director of the Governor’s Office of Business and Economic Development, said in a statement. The state has plans to build a $12.6 billion hub for producing and using clean hydrogen.
Part of the reason the Treasury needed to find a Goldilocks compromise that pleased as many stakeholders as possible was to protect the rule from future lawsuits and lobbying. But not everyone got what they wanted. For example, the energy developer NextEra, pushed the administration to get rid of the hourly matching provision, which though delayed remained essentially untouched. NextEra did not respond to a request for comment.
Companies that fall on the wrong side of the final rules may still decide to challenge them in court. The next Congress could also make revisions to the underlying tax code, or the incoming Trump administration could change the rules to perhaps make them more favorable to hydrogen made from fossil fuels. But all of this would take time — a rule change, for example, would trigger a whole new notice and comment process. Though the one thing I’ve heard over and over is that the industry wants certainty, which the final rule provides, it’s not yet clear whether that will outweigh any remaining gripes.
In the meantime, it's off to the races for the nascent clean hydrogen industry. Between having clarity on the tax credit, the Department of Energy’s $7 billion hydrogen hubs grant program, and additional federal grants to drive down the cost of clean hydrogen, companies now have numerous incentives to start building the hydrogen economy that has received much hype but has yet to prove its viability. The biggest question now is whether producers will find any buyers for their clean hydrogen.
Below is a more extensive accounting of where the Treasury landed in the final rules.
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On “deliverability,” or the requirement to procure clean energy from the same region, the rules are largely unchanged, although they do allow for some flexibility on regional boundaries.
As I explained above, the Treasury Department also kept the hourly matching requirement, but delayed it by two years until 2030 to give the market more time to set up systems to achieve it — a change Schneider said was “really disappointing” due to the potential emissions consequences. Until then, companies only have to match their operations with clean energy on an annual basis, which is a common practice today. The new deadline is strict, and those that start operations before 2030 will not be grandfathered in — that is, they’ll have to switch to hourly matching once that extended clock runs out. In spite of that, the final rules also ensure that producers won’t be penalized if they are not able to procure clean energy for every single hour their plant operates, an update several groups applauded.
On the requirement to procure clean power from newly built sources, also known as “incrementality,” the department made much bigger changes. It kept an overarching definition that “incremental” generators are those built within three years of the hydrogen plant coming into service, but added three major exceptions:
1. If the hydrogen facility buys power from an existing nuclear plant that’s at risk of retirement.
2. If the hydrogen facility is in a state that has both a robust clean electricity standard and a broad, binding, greenhouse gas cap, such as a cap and trade system. Currently, only California and Washington pass this test.
3. If the hydrogen facility buys power from an existing natural gas or coal plant that has added new carbon capture and storage capacity within three years of the hydrogen project coming into service.
The hydrogen tax credit is so lucrative that environmental groups and energy analysts were concerned it would drive companies like Constellation to start selling all their nuclear power to hydrogen plants instead of to regular energy consumers, which could drive up prices and induce more fossil fuel emissions.
The final rules try to limit this possibility by only allowing existing reactors that are at risk of retirement to qualify. But the definition of “at risk of retirement” is loose. It includes “merchant” nuclear power plants — those that sell at least half their power on the wholesale electricity market rather than to regulated utilities — as well as plants that have just a single reactor, which the rules note have lower or more uncertain revenue and higher operational costs. Looking at the Nuclear Energy Institute’s list of plants, merchant plants make up roughly 40% of the total. All of Constellation Energy’s plants are merchant plants.
There are additional tests — the plant has to have had average annual gross receipts of less than 4.375 cents per kilowatt hour for at least two calendar years between 2017 and 2021. It also has to obtain a minimum 10-year power purchase agreement with the hydrogen company. Beyond that, the reactors that meet this definition are limited to selling no more than 200 megawatts to hydrogen companies, which is roughly 20% for the average reactor.
Esposito, who has closely analyzed the potential emissions consequences of using existing nuclear plants to power hydrogen production, was not convinced by the safeguards. “I don't love the power price look back,” he told me, “because that's not especially indicative of the future — particularly this high load growth future that we're quickly approaching with data centers and everything. It’s very possible power prices could go up from that, and then all of a sudden, the nuclear plants would have been fine without hydrogen.”
As for the 200 megawatt cap, Esposito said it was better than nothing, but he feels “it's kind of an implicit admission that it's not really, truly clean” to produce hydrogen with the energy from these nuclear plants.
Schneider, on the other hand, said the safeguards for nuclear-powered hydrogen projects were adequate. While a lot of plants are theoretically eligible, not all of their electricity will be eligible, he said.
The rules assert that in states that meet the two criteria of a clean electricity standard and a binding cap on emissions, “any increased electricity load is highly unlikely to cause induced grid emissions.”
But in a paper published in February, Energy Innovation explored the potential consequences of this exemption in California. It found that hydrogen projects could have ripple effects on the cap and trade market, pushing up the state’s carbon price and triggering the release of extra carbon emission allowances. “In other words, the California program is more of a ‘soft’ cap than a binding one — the emissions budget ‘expands or contracts in response to price bounds set by the legislature and [California Air Resources Board],’” the report says.
Esposito thinks the exemption is a risk, but that it requires further analysis and he’s not sounding the alarm just yet. He said it could come down to other factors, including how economical hydrogen production in California ends up being.
Producers are also eligible for the tax credit if they make hydrogen the conventional way, by “reforming” natural gas, but capture the emissions released in the process. For this pathway, the Treasury had to clarify several accounting questions.
First, there’s the question of how producers should account for methane leaked into the atmosphere upstream of the hydrogen plant, such as from wells and pipelines. The proposal had suggested using a national average of 0.9%. But researchers found this would wildly underestimate the true warming impact of hydrogen produced from natural gas. It could also underestimate emissions from natural gas producers that have taken steps to reduce methane leakage. “We branded that as one size fits none,” Schneider told me.
The final rules create a path for producers to use more accurate, project-specific methane emissions rates in the future once the Department of Energy updates a lifecycle emissions tool that companies have to use called the “GREET” model. The Environmental Protection Agency recently passed new methane emissions laws that will enable it to collect better data on leakage, which will help the DOE update the model.
Schneider said that’s a step in the right direction, though it will depend on how quickly the GREET model is updated. His bigger concern is if the Trump administration weakens or eliminates the EPA’s methane emissions regulations.
The Treasury also opened up the potential for companies to produce hydrogen from alternative, cleaner sources of methane, like gas captured from wastewater, animal manure, and coal mines. (The original rule included a pathway for using gas captured from landfills.) In reality, hydrogen plants taking this approach are unlikely to use gas directly from these sources, but rather procure certificates that say they have “booked” this cleaner gas and can “claim” the environmental benefits.
Leading up to the final rule, some climate advocates were concerned that this system would give a boost to methane-based hydrogen production over electricity-based production, as it's cheaper to buy renewable natural gas certificates than it is to split water molecules. Existing markets for these credits also often overestimate their benefits — for example, California’s low carbon fuel system gives biogas captured from dairy farms a negative carbon intensity score, even though these projects don’t literally remove carbon from the atmosphere.
The Treasury tried to improve its emissions estimates for each of these alternative methane sources to make them more accurate, but negative carbon intensity scores are still possible.
The department did make one significant change here, however. It specified that companies can’t just buy a little bit of cleaner methane and then average it with regular fossil-based methane — each must be considered separately for determining tax credit eligibility. Jenkins, of Princeton, told me that without this rule, huge amounts of hydrogen made from regular natural gas could qualify.
Producers also won’t be able to take this “book and claim” approach until markets adapt to the Treasury’s reporting requirements, which isn’t expected until at least 2027.
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Though the tech giant did not say its purchasing pause is permanent, the change will have lasting ripple effects.
What does an industry do when it’s lost 80% of its annual demand?
The carbon removal business is trying to figure that out.
For the past few years, Microsoft has been the buyer of first and last resort for any company that sought to pull carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. In order to achieve an aggressive internal climate goal, the software company purchased more than 70 million metric tons of carbon removal credits, 40 times more than anyone else.
Now, it’s pulling back. Microsoft has informed suppliers and partners that it is pausing carbon removal buying, Heatmap reported last week. Bloomberg and Carbon Herald soon followed. The news has rippled through the nascent industry, convincing executives and investors that lean years may be on the way after a period of rapid growth.
“For a lot of these companies, their business model was, ‘And then Microsoft buys,’” said Julio Friedmann, the chief scientist at Carbon Direct, a company that advises and consults with companies — including, yes, Microsoft — on their carbon management projects, in an interview. “It changes their business model significantly if Microsoft does not buy.”
Microsoft told me this week that it has not ended the purchasing program. It still aims to become carbon negative by 2030, meaning that it must remove more climate pollution from the atmosphere than it produces in that year, according to its website. Its ultimate goal is to eliminate all 45 years of its historic carbon emissions from electricity use by 2050.
“At times, we may adjust the pace or volume of our carbon removal procurement as we continue to refine our approach toward sustainability goals,” Melanie Nakagawa, Microsoft’s chief sustainability officer, said in a statement. “Any adjustments we make are part of our disciplined approach — not a change in ambition.”
Yet even a partial pullback will alter the industry. Over the past five years, carbon removal companies have raised more than $3.6 billion, according to the independent data tracker CDR.fyi. Startups have invested that money into research and equipment, expecting that voluntary corporate buyers — and, eventually, governments — will pay to clean up carbon dioxide in the air.
Although many companies have implicitly promised to buy carbon removal credits — they’re all but implied in any commitment to “net zero” — nobody bought more than Microsoft. The software company purchased 45 million tons of carbon removal last year alone, according to its own data.
The next biggest buyer of carbon removal credits — Frontier, a coalition of large companies led by the payments processing firm Stripe — has bought 1.8 million tons total since launching in 2022.
With such an outsize footprint, Microsoft’s carbon removal team became the de facto regulator for the early industry — setting prices, analyzing projects, and publishing in-house standards for public consumption.
It bought from virtually every kind of carbon removal company, purchasing from large-scale, factory-style facilities that use industrial equipment to suck carbon from the air, as well as smaller and more natural solutions that rely on photosynthesis. One of its largest deals was with the city-owned utility for Stockholm, Sweden, which is building a facility to capture the carbon released when plant matter is burned for energy.
That it would some day stop buying shouldn’t be seen as a surprise, Hannah Bebbington, the head of deployment at the carbon-removal purchasing coalition Frontier, told me. “It will be inevitable for any corporate buyer in the space,” she said. “Corporate budgets are finite.”
Frontier’s members include Google, McKinsey, and Shopify. The coalition remains “open for business,” she said. “We are always open to new buyers joining Frontier.”
But Frontier — and, certainly, Microsoft — understands that the real point of voluntary purchasing programs is to prime the pump for government policy. That’s both because governments play a central role in spurring along new technologies — and because, when you get down to it, governments already handle disposal for a number of different kinds of waste, and carbon dioxide in the air is just another kind of waste. (On a per ton basis, carbon removal may already be price-competitive with municipal trash pickup.)
“The end game here is government support in the long-term period,” Bebbington said. “We will need a robust set of policies around the world that provide permanent demand for high-quality, durable CDR funds.”
“The voluntary market plays a critical role right now, but it won’t scale, and we don’t expect it will scale to the size of the problem,” she added.
Only a handful of companies had the size and scale to sell carbon credits to Microsoft, which tended to place orders in the millions of tons, Jack Andreasen Cavanaugh, a researcher at the Center on Global Energy Policy at Columbia University, told me on a recent episode of Heatmap’s podcast, Shift Key. Those companies will now be competing with fledgling firms for a market that’s 80% smaller than it used to be.
“Fundamentally, what it will mean is just an acceleration of something that was going to happen anyway, which is consolidation and bankruptcies or dissolutions,” Cavanaugh told me. “This was always going to happen at this moment because we don’t have supportive policy.”
Friedmann agreed with the dour outlook. “We will see the best companies and the best projects make it. But a lot of companies will fail, and a lot of projects will fail,” he told me.
To some degree, Microsoft planned for that eventuality in its purchase scheme. The company signed long-term offtake contracts with companies to “pay on delivery,” meaning that it will only pay once tons are actually shown to be durably dealt with. That arrangement will protect Microsoft’s shareholders if companies or technologies fail, but means that it could conceivably keep paying out carbon removal firms for the next 10 years, Noah Deich, a former Biden administration energy official, told me.
The pause, in other words, spells an end to new dealmaking, but it does not stop the flow of revenue to carbon removal companies that have already signed contracts with Microsoft. “The big question now is not who will the next buyer be in 2026,”’ Deich said. “It is who is actually going to deliver credits and do so at scale, at cost, and on time.”
Deich, who ran the Energy Department’s carbon management programs, added that Microsoft has been as important to building the carbon removal industry as Germany was to creating the modern solar industry. That country’s feed-in tariff, which started in 2000, is credited with driving so much demand for solar panels that it spurred a worldwide wave of factory construction and manufacturing innovation.
“The idea that a software company could single-handedly make the market for a climate technology makes about as much sense as the country of Germany — with the same annual solar insolation as Alaska — making the market for solar photovoltaic panels,” Deich said, referencing the comparatively low amount of sunlight that it receives. “But they did it. Climate policy seems to defy Occam’s razor a lot, and this is a great example of that.”
History also shows what could happen if the government fails to step up. In the 1980s, the U.S. government — which had up to that point been the world’s No. 1 developer of solar panel technology — ended its advance purchase program. Many American solar firms sold their patents and intellectual property to Japanese companies.
Those sales led to something of a lost decade for solar research worldwide and ultimately paved the way for East Asian manufacturing companies — first in Japan, and then in China — to dominate the solar trade, Deich said. If the U.S. government doesn’t step up soon, then the same thing could happen to carbon removal.
The climate math still relied upon by global governments to guide their national emissions targets assumes that carbon removal technology will exist and be able to scale rapidly in the future. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change says that many outcomes where the world holds global temperatures to 1.5 or 2 degrees Celsius by the end of the century will involve some degree of “overshoot,” where carbon removal is used to remove excess carbon from the atmosphere.
By one estimate, the world will need to remove 7 billion to 9 billion tons of carbon from the atmosphere by the middle of the century in order to hold to Paris Agreement goals. You could argue that any scenario where the world meets “net zero” will require some amount of carbon removal because the word “net” implies humanity will be cleaning up residual emissions with technology. (Climate analysts sometimes distinguish “net zero” pathways from the even-more-difficult “real zero” pathway for this reason.)
Whether humanity has the technologies that it needs to eliminate emissions then will depend on what governments do now, Deich said. After all, the 2050s are closer to today than the 1980s are.
“It’s up to policymakers whether they want to make the relatively tiny investments in technology that make sure we can have net-zero 2050 and not net-zero 2080,” Deich said.
Congress has historically supported carbon removal more than other climate-critical technologies. The bipartisan infrastructure law of 2022 funded a new network of industrial hubs specializing in direct air capture technology, and previous budget bills created new first-of-a-kind purchasing programs for carbon removal credits. Even the Republican-authored One Big Beautiful Bill Act preserved tax incentives for some carbon removal technologies.
But the Trump administration has been far more equivocal about those programs. The Department of Energy initially declined to spend some funds authorized for carbon removal schemes, and in some cases redirected the funds — potentially illegally — to other purposes. (Carbon removal advocates got good news on Wednesday when the Energy Department reinstated $1.2 billion in grants to the direct air capture hubs.)
Those freezes and reallocations fit into the Trump administration’s broader war on federal climate policy. In part, Trump officials have seemed reluctant to signal that carbon might be a public problem — or something that needs to be “removed” or “managed” — in the first place.
Other countries have started preliminary carbon management programs — Norway, the United Kingdom, and Canada — have launched pilots in recent years. The European carbon market will also soon publish rules guiding how carbon removal credits can be used to offset pollution.
But in the absence of a large-scale federal program in the U.S., lean years are likely coming, observers said.
“I am optimistic that [carbon removal] will continue to scale, but not like it was,” Friedmann said. “Microsoft is a symptom of something that was coming.”
“The need for carbon removal has not changed,” he added.
What happens when one of energy’s oldest bottlenecks meets its newest demand driver?
Often the biggest impediment to building renewable energy projects or data center infrastructure isn’t getting government approvals, it’s overcoming local opposition. When it comes to the transmission that connects energy to the grid, however, companies and politicians of all stripes are used to being most concerned about those at the top – the politicians and regulators at every level who can’t seem to get their acts together.
What will happen when the fiery fights on each end of the wire meet the broken, unplanned spaghetti monster of grid development our country struggles with today? Nothing great.
The transmission fights of the data center boom have only just begun. Utilities will have to spend lots of money on getting energy from Point A to Point B – at least $500 billion over the next five years, to be precise. That’s according to a survey of earnings information published by think tank Power Lines on Tuesday, which found roughly half of all utility infrastructure spending will go toward the grid.
But big wires aren’t very popular. When Heatmap polled various types of energy projects last September, we found that self-identified Democrats and Republicans were mostly neutral on large-scale power lines. Independent voters, though? Transmission was their second least preferred technology, ranking below only coal power.
Making matters far more complex, grid planning is spread out across decision-makers. At the regional level, governance is split into 10 areas overseen by regional transmission organizations, known as RTOs, or independent system operators, known as ISOs. RTOs and ISOs plan transmission projects, often proposing infrastructure to keep the grid resilient and functional. These bodies are also tasked with planning the future of their own grids, or at least they are supposed to – many observers have decried RTOs and ISOs as outmoded and slow to respond. Utilities and electricity co-ops also do this planning at various scales. And each of these bodies must navigate federal regulators and permitting processes, utility commissions for each state they touch, on top of the usual raft of local authorities.
The mid-Atlantic region is overseen by PJM Interconnection, a body now under pressure from state governors in the territory to ensure the data center boom doesn’t unnecessarily drive up costs for consumers. The irony, though, is that these governors are going to be under incredible pressure to have their states act against individual transmission projects in ways that will eventually undercut affordability.
Virginia, for instance – known now as Data Center Alley – is flanked by states that are politically diverse. West Virginia is now a Republican stronghold, but was long a Democratic bastion. Maryland had a Republican governor only a few years ago. Virginia and Pennsylvania regularly change party control. These dynamics are among the many drivers behind the opposition against the Piedmont Reliability Project, which would run from a nuclear plant in Pennsylvania to northern Virginia, cutting across spans of Maryland farmland ripe for land use conflict. The timeline for this project is currently unclear due to administrative delays.
Another major fight is brewing with NextEra’s Mid-Atlantic Resiliency Link, or MARL project. Spanning four states – and therefore four utility commissions – the MARL was approved by PJM Interconnection to meet rising electricity demand across West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. It still requires approval from each state utility commission, however. Potentially affected residents in West Virginia are hopping mad about the project, and state Democratic lawmakers are urging the utility commission to reject it.
In West Virginia, as well as Virginia and Maryland, NextEra has applied for a certificate of public convenience and necessity to build the MARL project, a permit that opponents have claimed would grant it the authority to exercise eminent domain. (NextEra has said it will do what it can to work well with landowners. The company did not respond to a request for comment.)
“The biggest problem facing transmission is that there’s so many problems facing transmission,” said Liza Reed, director of climate and energy at the Niskanen Center, a policy think tank. “You have multiple layers of approval you have to go through for a line that is going to provide broader benefits in reliability and resilience across the system.”
Hyperlocal fracases certainly do matter. Reed explained to me that “often folks who are approving the line at the state or local level are looking at the benefits they’re receiving – and that’s one of the barriers transmission can have.” That is, when one state utility commission looks at a power line project, they’re essentially forced to evaluate the costs and benefits from just a portion of it.
She pointed to the example of a Transource line proposed by PJM almost 10 years ago to send excess capacity from Pennsylvania to Maryland. It wasn’t delayed by protests over the line itself – the Pennsylvania Public Utilities Commission opposed the project because it thought the result would be net higher electricity bills for folks in the Keystone State. That’s despite whatever benefits would come from selling the electricity to Maryland and consumer benefits for their southern neighbors. The lesson: Whoever feels they’re getting the raw end of the line will likely try to stop it, and there’s little to nothing anyone else can do to stop them.
These hyperlocal fears about projects with broader regional benefits can be easy targets for conservation-focused environmental advocates. Not only could they take your land, the argument goes, they’re also branching out to states with dirtier forms of energy that could pollute your air.
“We do need more energy infrastructure to move renewable energy,” said Julie Bolthouse, director of land use for the Virginia conservation group Piedmont Environmental Council, after I asked her why she’s opposing lots of the transmission in Virginia. “This is pulling away from that investment. This is eating up all of our utility funding. All of our money is going to these massive transmission lines to give this incredible amount of power to data centers in Virginia when it could be used to invest in solar, to invest in transmission for renewables we can use. Instead it’s delivering gas and coal from West Virginia and the Ohio River Valley.”
Daniel Palken of Arnold Ventures, who previously worked on major pieces of transmission reform legislation in the U.S. Senate, said when asked if local opposition was a bigger problem than macro permitting issues: “I do not think local opposition is the main thing holding up transmission.”
But then he texted me to clarify. “What’s unique about transmission is that in order for local opposition to even matter, there has to be a functional planning process that gets transmission lines to the starting line. And right now, only about half the country has functional regional planning, and none of the country has functional interregional planning.”
It’s challenging to fathom a solution to such a fragmented, nauseating puzzle. One solution could be in Congress, where climate hawks and transmission reform champions want to empower the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission to have primacy over transmission line approvals, as it has over gas pipelines. This would at the very least contain any conflicts over transmission lines to one deciding body.
“It’s an old saw: Depending on the issue, I’ll tell you that I’m supportive of states’ rights,” Representative Sean Casten told me last December. “[I]t makes no sense that if you want to build a gas pipeline across multiple states in the U.S., you go to FERC and they are the sole permitting authority and they decide whether or not you get a permit. If you go to the same corridor and build an electric transmission that has less to worry about because there’s no chance of leaks, you have a different permitting body every time you cross a state line.”
Another solution could come from the tech sector thinking fast on its feet. Google for example is investing in “advanced” transmission projects like reconductoring, which the company says will allow it to increase the capacity of existing power lines. Microsoft is also experimenting with smaller superconductor lines they claim deliver the same amount of power than traditional wires.
But this space is evolving and in its infancy. “Getting into the business of transmission development is very complicated and takes a lot of time. That’s why we’ve seen data centers trying a lot of different tactics,” Reed said. “I think there’s a lot of interest, but turning that into specific projects and solutions is still to come. I think it’s also made harder by how highly local these decisions are.”
Plus more of the week’s biggest development fights.
1. Franklin County, Maine – The fate of the first statewide data center ban hinges on whether a governor running for a Democratic Senate nomination is willing to veto over a single town’s project.
2. Jerome County, Idaho – The county home to the now-defunct Lava Ridge wind farm just restricted solar energy, too.
3. Shelby County, Tennessee - The NAACP has joined with environmentalists to sue one of Elon Musk’s data centers in Memphis, claiming it is illegally operating more than two dozen gas turbines.
4. Richland County, Ohio - This Ohio county is going to vote in a few weeks on a ballot initiative that would overturn its solar and wind ban. I am less optimistic about it than many other energy nerds I’ve seen chattering the past week.
5. Racine County, Wisconsin – I close this week’s Hotspots with a bonus request: Please listen to this data center noise.