You’re out of free articles.
Log in
To continue reading, log in to your account.
Create a Free Account
To unlock more free articles, please create a free account.
Sign In or Create an Account.
By continuing, you agree to the Terms of Service and acknowledge our Privacy Policy
Welcome to Heatmap
Thank you for registering with Heatmap. Climate change is one of the greatest challenges of our lives, a force reshaping our economy, our politics, and our culture. We hope to be your trusted, friendly, and insightful guide to that transformation. Please enjoy your free articles. You can check your profile here .
subscribe to get Unlimited access
Offer for a Heatmap News Unlimited Access subscription; please note that your subscription will renew automatically unless you cancel prior to renewal. Cancellation takes effect at the end of your current billing period. We will let you know in advance of any price changes. Taxes may apply. Offer terms are subject to change.
Subscribe to get unlimited Access
Hey, you are out of free articles but you are only a few clicks away from full access. Subscribe below and take advantage of our introductory offer.
subscribe to get Unlimited access
Offer for a Heatmap News Unlimited Access subscription; please note that your subscription will renew automatically unless you cancel prior to renewal. Cancellation takes effect at the end of your current billing period. We will let you know in advance of any price changes. Taxes may apply. Offer terms are subject to change.
Create Your Account
Please Enter Your Password
Forgot your password?
Please enter the email address you use for your account so we can send you a link to reset your password:
The fire was “fueled by drought and hurricane-force winds.” It “jumped from one home to the next,” the local news later reported, and “moved in unpredictable and unprecedented ways.” Camera phone videos showed shaky scenes of last-minute evacuations — a “dizzyingly chaotic display of improvisation and panic.” The fire had apparently ignited in dry invasive grasses outside of town, perhaps due to a downed power line, before blowing into an unstoppable “urban firestorm.” Airborne embers destroyed hundreds of structures, leaving behind ashen ruins that survivors said looked like a war zone.
It was December 30, 2021. The Marshall fire would become the most destructive in Colorado’s history, ultimately killing two people, causing 35,000 to flee, and destroying more than 1,000 homes and businesses outside of Boulder. But to an untrained eye, the landscape hardly looked like a place where a wildfire could break out; after all, there was no forest. “It was 200 yards from a Costco — why would I have to worry about fire?” one survivor recounted to The Washington Post afterward. “It’s, like, suburbia, you know?”
But grass fires are a growing danger in the United States, even if they lack the iconic imagery of the forest fires that tend to dominate the news this time of year. The 2018 Martin fire in Nevada, the largest in the state’s history, burned 435,000 acres of invasive cheatgrass and at one point stretched 54 miles long. The 2006 East Amarillo Complex fire in Texas blackened almost a million acres. And the wildfires in Maui this month were the deadliest in modern U.S. history, in part because they ignited in highly flammable non-native grasses, which burn hot, fast, and unpredictably.
“They’re too intense for firefighters to get next to with either ‘dozers or engines,” Brad Smith, the Predictive Services department head at Texas A&M Forest Service, told me of the wind-driven grass fires he sees across Texas. “They also move too fast, so it’s dangerous to put people out in front of these fires. It’s often the case we have to wait either for the weather to change or for the fire to move into a more favorable fuel type,” such as plowed agricultural land, before first responders can get it under control.
I had reached out to Smith after seeing him dispense grassland firefighting advice in a 2011 educational video for firefighters titled, “Oh, It’s Just a Grass Fire.” Produced by the Wildland Fire Lessons Learned Center — a grimly named government agency that exists to “share lessons and knowledge within the entire wildland fire community” — the video was apparently intended to head off dismissals of what it calls a “potentially underestimated fuel type.”
Such an underestimation in the industry comes from the fact that grass fires can actually have “a few advantages” for wildland firefighters, as authors Justin Angle and Nick Mott write in their forthcoming guideThis Is Wildfire. “There are a lot of fire-fighting strategies that are just more feasible in a grassy landscape that’s more open and has more fuel breaks like roads and bodies of water,” the authors go on to explain. “In addition, the fuel type is more homogenous (and therefore predictable) compared with a mountain ecosystem.”
But throw in high winds, and all of a sudden grassland fires can become a completely different beast. “People think [wildfires] just move in one direction, but winds generally quarter,” Smith said. “So let’s say you have a north wind; you think, Well, [the fire] is going south. But if you get a 45-degree change in direction, that fire can move left or right for short periods of time very quickly. That can catch people by surprise.” In the instructional video, this point is made with the cautionary tale of Destry Horton, a father of two who was killed fighting a grass fire in Oklahoma in 2006.
But if even firefighters need the occasional somber refresher to take grass fires seriously, then many of the rest of us have likely barely registered them as a threat. “I think a lot of people look at a grass fire and feel like, ‘Well, I could just go stomp it out,’” Barb Satink Wolfson, the University of California’s Cooperative Extension fire advisor for Monterey, San Benito, Santa Clara, and Santa Cruz counties, told me.
Perhaps that’s partially because “forest fire” is often interchanged with “wildfire,” inadvertently evoking the conflagration out of Bambi: popping evergreen trees, flames reaching for the sky, adorable woodland animals running for cover. Reality looks a little different: Grassland pasture and range make up 60% of land use in the Mountain West and about 29% of land use in the Pacific Coast states, the most recent survey by the United States Department of Agriculture found (compared to 18% and 29% forest-use land, respectively).
Fire statistics seem to bear that out: In a study of burns in 11 western states between 1984 and 2020, only 35% were actually in forests, Denver’s 5280 magazine reports. In another cited study, local fire departments “responded to forest fires just 7% of the time, compared to 39% for grass fires.” Smith also told me that of the 30 largest fires in Texas since 2000, 28 had “occurred in our grass-dominant fuel-scape in West Texas.”
The tragic consequence of the public not taking grass fires seriously — or not knowing to take them seriously — is that many people who live in wildland-urban interface communities near or adjacent to natural, undeveloped lands might not have made the proper wildfire preparations or have an evacuation plan because the fire threat feels remote.
That can prove deadly. A quarter of Hawaii is covered in highly flammable non-native grasses and “virtually every community [in the state] is on a wildland-urban interface,” one fire manager recently told Wired. Yet the communities were unsuspecting and unprepared for the fire that swept through Lahaina and the surrounding landscape last week. Part of that is because fire is “not something that has been a part of ... society in Hawaii,” Satink Wolfson said, adding: “There isn’t a big history of people telling [residents]: ‘You need metal gutters, you need to make your home fire safe.’”
Though fire is not a historic part of the ecology of Hawaii, it is in North American grasslands, where Indigenous communities have practiced cultural burning for centuries upon centuries. But non-native grass species are likewise disrupting these natural cycles in the western United States, since invasive plants tend to grow thickly and contiguously, unlike native perennials that grow in more isolated clumps that help naturally break up fires. By one estimate, invasive grasses can more than triple a region’s susceptibility to wildfire.
Making matters worse, non-native grasses tend to quickly colonize and outcompete native plants after burns, in effect bridging fire further and further into landscapes where it doesn’t belong, such as deserts — or urban environments. “Those non-native herbaceous species are like the wick,” Max Moritz, a Cooperative Extension wildfire specialist and adjunct professor at U.C. Santa Barbara’s Bren School of Environmental Science & Management, told me. “They’re the place that fire can get a foothold on the landscape, even if the landscape wasn’t supposed to burn very often from a fire ecology perspective.”
Increasingly, attention in the West has focused on allowing “good fires” to run their course — grass fires included. “I would love to see CalFire use natural ignitions to reduce fire hazard and to improve ecosystem health,” Satink Wolfson said. “I’ve already seen so many fires put out this year that could have had a positive impact.” Moritz’s focus is on better land-use planning, including rehabilitating abandoned farmlands into working buffer zones. Both Satink Wolfson and Moritz floated strategic grazing as another possibility. But everyone agrees: Something needs to be done.
“Grasslands — there’s a lot of area there to manage if you are hoping to reduce the ignition potential,” Moritz said, then ominously warned: “It’s almost all ignitable.”
Read more about grass fires:
Log in
To continue reading, log in to your account.
Create a Free Account
To unlock more free articles, please create a free account.
On the COP16 biodiversity summit, Big Oil’s big plan, and sea level rise
Current conditions: Record rainfall triggered flooding in Roswell, New Mexico, that killed at least two people • Storm Ashley unleashed 80 mph winds across parts of the U.K. • A wildfire that broke out near Oakland, California, on Friday is now 85% contained.
Forecasters hadn’t expected Hurricane Oscar to develop into a hurricane at all, let alone in just 12 hours. But it did. The Category 1 storm made landfall in Cuba on Sunday, hours after passing over the Bahamas, bringing intense rain and strong winds. Up to a foot of rainfall was expected. Oscar struck while Cuba was struggling to recover from a large blackout that has left millions without power for four days. A second system, Tropical Storm Nadine, made landfall in Belize on Saturday with 60 mph winds and then quickly weakened. Both Oscar and Nadine developed in the Atlantic on the same day.
Hurricane OscarAccuWeather
The COP16 biodiversity summit starts today in Cali, Colombia. Diplomats from 190 countries will try to come up with a plan to halt global biodiversity loss, aiming to protect 30% of land and sea areas and restore 30% of degraded ecosystems by 2030. Discussions will revolve around how to monitor nature degradation, hold countries accountable for their protection pledges, and pay for biodiversity efforts. There will also be a big push to get many more countries to publish national biodiversity strategies. “This COP is a test of how serious countries are about upholding their international commitments to stop the rapid loss of biodiversity,” said Crystal Davis, Global Director of Food, Land, and Water at the World Resources Institute. “The world has no shot at doing so without richer countries providing more financial support to developing countries — which contain most of the world’s biodiversity.”
A prominent group of oil and gas producers has developed a plan to roll back environmental rules put in place by President Biden, The Washington Post reported. The paper got its hands on confidential documents from the American Exploration and Production Council (AXPC), which represents some 30 producers. The documents include draft executive orders promoting fossil fuel production for a newly-elected President Trump to sign if he takes the White House in November, as well as a roadmap for dismantling many policies aimed at getting oil and gas producers to disclose and curb emissions. AXPC’s members, including ExxonMobil, ConocoPhillips, and Hess, account for about half of the oil and gas produced in the U.S., the Post reported.
A new report from the energy think tank Ember looks at how the uptake of electric vehicles and heat pumps in the U.K. is affecting oil and gas consumption. It found that last year the country had 1.5 million EVs on the road, and 430,000 residential heat pumps in homes, and the reduction in fossil fuel use due to the growth of these technologies was equivalent to 14 million barrels of oil, or about what the U.K. imports over a two-week span. This reduction effect will be even stronger as more and more EVs and heat pumps are powered by clean energy. The report also found that even though power demand is expected to rise, efficiency gains from electrification and decarbonization will make up for this, leading to an overall decline in energy use and fossil fuel consumption.
Ember
The world’s sea levels are projected to rise by more than 6 inches on average over the next 30 years if current trends continue, according to a new study published in the journal Nature. “Such rates would represent an evolving challenge for adaptation efforts,” the authors wrote. By examining satellite data, the researchers found that sea levels have risen by about .4 inches since 1993, and that they’re rising faster now than they were then. In 1993 the seas were rising by about .08 inches per year, and last year they were rising at .17 inches per year. These are averages, of course, and some areas are seeing much more extreme changes. For example, areas around Miami, Florida, have already seen sea levels rise by 6 inches over the last 31 years.
“As the climate crisis grows more urgent, restoring faith in government will be more important than ever.” –Paul Waldman writing for Heatmap about the profound implications of America becoming a low-trust society.
That means big, bad things for disaster relief — and for climate policy in general.
When Hurricanes Helene and Milton swept through the Southeast, small-government conservatives demanded fast and effective government service, in the form of relief operations organized by the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Yet even as the agency was scrambling to meet the need, it found itself targeted by far-right militias, who prevented it from doing its job because they had been led by cynical politicians to believe it wasn't doing its job.
It’s almost a law of nature, or at least of politics, that when government does its job, few people notice — only when it screws up does everyone pay attention. While this is nothing new in itself, it has increasingly profound implications for the future of government-driven climate action. While that action comes in many forms and can be sold to the public in many ways, it depends on people having faith that when government steps in — whether to create new regulations, invest in new technologies, or provide benefits for climate-friendly choices — it knows what it’s doing and can accomplish its goals.
As the climate crisis grows more urgent, restoring faith in government will be more important than ever. Unfortunately, simply doing the right things — like responding competently to disasters — won’t be enough to convince people that the next climate initiative will do what it’s supposed to.
The number of people expressing faith in government today is nearly as low as it has been in the half-century pollsters have been asking the question. That trust has bounced up and down a bit — it rose after September 11, then fell again during the disastrous Iraq War — but for the last decade and half, only around 20% of Americans say they trust the government most of the time.
It’s partisan, of course: People express more trust when their party controls the White House. And the decline of trust reaches beyond the government. Faith in most of the key institutions of American life — business, education, religion, news media — has fallen in recent decades, sometimes for good reason. The net result is a public skeptical that those in authority have the ability to solve complex problems.
Changing that perspective is extraordinarily difficult, often because of the nature of good and bad news: The former usually happens slowly and invisibly, while the latter often happens dramatically and all at once.
Take the program created in the Energy Department under George W. Bush to provide loans to innovative energy technologies. If most Americans had heard of it, it was because of one company: Solyndra, a manufacturer of innovative but overly expensive solar panels. Undercut by a decline in prices of traditional panels, the company went under, and its $535 million loan was never repaid. Republicans made Solyndra’s failure into a major controversy, claiming that the program showed that government investment in green technology was corrupt, ineffective, and wasteful.
What few people heard about was that the loan program overall not only turned a profit at the time (and for what it’s worth, it still does), it also provided help to many successful companies, even if a few failed — as any venture capital investor could tell you is inevitable. The successes included Tesla, which used its federal loan to ramp up production of the sedans that would turn it from a niche manufacturer of electric roadsters into what it is today. Needless to say, Elon Musk does not advertise the fact that his success was built on government help.
More recently, the hurricane response has shown how partisan polarization can be used to undermine trust in government — especially when Donald Trump is involved. Trump took the opportunity of the hurricanes to accuse the federal government of being both political and partisan, delivering help only to those areas that vote for Democrats. Soon after, he promised to do precisely what he falsely accused the Biden administration of doing, saying that if he is president again, he will withhold disaster aid from California unless Gov. Gavin Newsom changes the state’s water policies to be more to Trump’s liking. “And we’ll say, Gavin, if you don’t do it, we’re not giving any of that fire money that we send you all the time for all the fire, forest fires that you have,” Trump said. And in fact, in his first term Trump did try to withhold disaster aid from blue states.
What sounds like hypocrisy is actually something much more pernicious. As he often does, Trump is arguing not that he is clean and his opponents are dirty, but that everyone is dirty, and it’s just a question of whether government is in the hands of our team or their team. When he says he’ll “drain the swamp,” he’s telling people both that government is corrupt, and the answer is merely to change who gets the spoils. If you believe him, you’ll have no trust in government whatsoever, even if you might think he’ll use it in a way you’ll approve of.
We’ve seen again and again that people want government to perform well and get angry when it doesn’t, but they don’t reward competence when it happens. Which is why making sure systems operate properly and problems are solved is necessary but not sufficient to win back trust. Government’s advocates — especially those who are counting on it to undertake ambitious climate action both now and in the future — need not only to deliver, they have to get better at, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Policy success is not its own advertisement. And despite his ample policy achievements, Joe Biden has not been a charismatic and effective messenger — on the role of government, or much else.
Ronald Reagan used to say that the most frightening words in the English language were “I’m from the government and I’m here to help”; the oft-repeated quip was at the center of his incredibly successful effort to delegitimize government in the eyes of voters. To reverse the decline of trust so people will believe that government has the knowledge and ability to tackle climate change, the public needs to be reminded — often and repeatedly — of what government does well.
Touting past and present successes on climate — and disaster relief, and so many other ways the government solves problems every day — is essential to building support for future climate initiatives. Those successes are all around, it’s just that most people never hear about them or take them for granted. But promoting government as an engine of positive change should be as high a priority for climate advocates, including those who hold public office, as discrediting government was for Reagan and is for Trump.
After a decade of leadership, voters are poised to overturn two of its biggest achievements. What happened?
Twenty years ago, you could still get away with calling Redmond, Washington, an equestrian town. White fences parceled off ranches and hobby farms where horses grazed under dripping evergreen trees; you could buy live chicks, alfalfa, and Stetson hats in stores downtown. It wasn’t even unusual for Redmond voters to send Republicans to represent their zip code in the state legislature, despite the city being located in blue King County.
The Redmond of today, on the other hand, looks far more like what you’d expect from an affluent (and now staunchly progressive) suburb of Seattle. A cannabis dispensary with a pride flag and a “Black Lives Matter” sign in the window has replaced Work and Western Wear, and the new high-performing magnet school happens to share a name with one of the most popular cars in the neighborhood: Tesla. But Washington is a state full of contradictions, and among Redmond’s few remaining farms is one registered under the winkingly libertarian name of “Galt Valley Ranch LLC.” It belongs to a multimillionaire who has almost single-handedly bankrolled the most significant challenge yet to Washington’s standing as a national climate leader.
Andrew Villeneuve, the founder of the Northwest Progressive Institute, a left-wing think tank also based in Redmond, told me he’s struggled to get voters to pay attention to ballot measures in the past. “I’ve had no such awareness issues this year,” he said. “Nobody’s like ‘Who’s Brian Heywood?’”
A hedge fund manager, multimillionaire, and recent California transplant, Heywood has in short order made himself the supervillain of Washington’s left. His Joker arc into politics involves fleeing the liberal dystopia of the Golden State in 2010 for the no-income-tax refuge of Washington, only to discover that Olympia was progressive, too. This year, he set out to personally “fix stupid things” in his adopted state by spending $6 million out of pocket on a signature-gathering campaign that ultimately landed four conservative initiatives on Washington’s general election ballot. (His campaign, Let’s Go Washington, is also allusively named, although Heywood toldThe Seattle Times that he is not a MAGA supporter.)
Two of the four ballot measures Heywood has willed before voters this November address standard small-government gripes: One would repeal the capital gains tax, and the other would allow workers to opt out of the state’s long-term care payroll tax. Others, however, will ask Washingtonians to vote directly on whether to repeal the state’s landmark cap-and-invest carbon-trading program (I-2117) or block its transition away from natural gas (I-2066).
“We’ve faced initiatives like these before,” Villeneuve told me, “but what is different is how many of them are coming at once.”
As in many Western states, it’s relatively easy for a motivated individual with means to collect the roughly 320,000 signatures needed for a petition to end up on the ballot in Washington. (Contract workers are paid up to $5 per signature, and they often descend on ferry lines, where bored motorists can be talked into putting down their names as they wait for the next boat.) But while rich activists have leveraged this system in the past — Washingtonians may remember the name Tim Eyman — the outcome of the ballot measures before voters this fall will be closely watched by other states and legislatures to gauge how directly popular bold climate progress really is.
“What happens in Washington will certainly have an impact on what happens around the rest of the country,” Leah Missik, the Washington deputy policy director at the clean energy nonprofit Climate Solutions, who also serves on the executive board of the No on 2066 campaign, told me. She added, “If these [laws] are in any way repealed or weakened, that is a sign to other states, and I think it would be incredibly damaging and incredibly unfortunate.”
Though politics in Washington have long been conservation-minded and, shall we say, crunchy (I grew up in Redmond), the state really began to stand out as a leader in progressive climate policy with Governor Jay Inslee’s election in 2013. During Inslee’s tenure, Washington committed to one of the most aggressive 100% clean energy pathways in the country, passed a wide-ranging building emissions law that RMI described as “significantly [raising] the level of ambition on what might be possible for other states,” and in 2023 enacted its landmark cap-and-invest program, called the Climate Commitment Act, which has generated over $2 billion in state revenue so far for transit projects, decarbonization initiatives, and clean air and water programs. Washington has even been credited with inspiring some of President Biden’s climate actions in office.
With Inslee, a Democrat, retiring at the end of this term, Let’s Go Washington’s campaign begins to appear designed to dismantle his legacy while proposing little in the way of alternatives. Hallie Balch, the communications director, denied this allegation in an emailed statement, telling me the initiatives “promote choice and affordability.” The cap-and-invest program, for example, “has not done what the governor said it would do,” she said, and “there are no metrics in place to track [its] success.”
Though the CCA’s cap covers about 75% of the state’s total greenhouse gas emissions, it’s true that we’re still a few years away from having a clear picture of the program’s results. (The law’s first compliance deadline for polluters isn’t until this November.) “The CCA has only been around for almost two years at this point, and so we haven’t yet seen the big emissions declines,” Emily Moore, the director of the climate and energy program at the Sightline Institute, a nonpartisan sustainability think tank that does not take an official position on initiatives, told me. “But what we are seeing,” she added, “is the money that it has generated for a whole suite of climate-friendly and community-friendly projects.”
There isn’t a revenue source remotely comparable to cap-and-invest available to fund the state’s transit, infrastructure, and community projects if the program goes away, meaning a repeal would have a dramatic impact on everything from bus service to salmon recovery projects to local heat pump and induction stove rebates, with most likely getting the axe. The program is also one of the main levers Washington has to reach its goal of reducing emissions 95% below 1990 levels by 2050. As one person involved in crafting the CCA described the upcoming vote on I-2117 to me, it’s “life or death for climate action in Washington.”
That’s partially because I-2117 wouldn’t only repeal the CCA; it would also bar the state from implementing a new climate tax or cap-and-invest program at any point in the future. When asked what an alternative might be last week during a debate at Seattle University’s Department of Public Affairs and Nonprofit Leadership, Heywood vaguely proposed “something that works.”
“We always knew we were going to have to defend this program at the ballot box,” Joe Fitzgibbon, the majority leader of Washington’s House of Representatives and the chair of the House Environment and Energy Committee, who helped create the CCA, told me. He admitted that he’d expected such a defense to take the form of legislative elections, but 2022 came and went without a single backer of the CCA losing their seat. “I guess in hindsight, I thought we were out of the woods,” Fitzgibbon said.
Let’s Go Washington has labeled I-2117 a “hidden gas tax” and, bundled with its other initiatives, is running on the slogan “vote yes, pay less.” I-2117 is already the most expensive ballot measure campaign of this election cycle — and the most controversial, with Heywood campaigning at gas stations offering discounted gas, which opponents say violates vote-buying anti-bribery laws. But opposition to the initiative has also rallied a remarkable and unprecedented coalition of strange bedfellows in defense of the CCA, including over 500 businesses, environmental groups, health care organizations, faith leaders, tribes — as well as more than 30 breweries, “a very important coalition member in the state of Washington,” as No on I-2117’s communication director Kelsey Nyland quipped to me. Jane Fonda recently swung through the state to stump for I-2117; the ‘no’ campaign even has the support of the Green Jobs PAC, whose contributors include Shell and BP.
While almost all the advocates I spoke to about I-2117 were feeling optimistic ahead of Washington ballots going out at the end of this week, the most recent Cascade PBS/Elway poll on the initiative shows support has dropped slightly since May, with 46% saying they would vote no over 30% who would vote yes. (Heywood has pointed optimistically to the number of undecided voters this leaves.) Still, it seems pretty unlikely that Washingtonians will repeal their cap-and-invest program.
I-2066 is a different story.
To the immense frustration of its opponents, Let’s Go Washington touts I-2066 as “Stop the Gas Ban.” The measure was only certified for the ballot in July, compared to January for 2117, meaning that organizers have had much less time to mobilize — several major national green groups, including Defenders of Wildlife and the Environmental Defense Action Fund, confirmed to me that they’d endorsed No on I-2117 but not considered a position on I-2066 — and are on the back foot to combat misinformation.
For one thing, there is no gas ban: I-2066, rather, would repeal parts of a Washington law directing its largest utility, Puget Sound Energy, to consider electrification alternatives before installing new gas pipes; scuttle a pilot effort to promote thermal energy networks as a gas alternative; and, most starkly, it would bar cities and towns, as well as Washington’s energy code, from “prohibiting, penalizing, or discouraging” gas appliances in buildings. “Discouraging” does a lot of work here. For example, Seattle’s building emissions performance standard, which doesn’t ban gas but nudges large developments toward a 2050 net-zero emissions target, could be in jeopardy.
Still, all of this is a lot to expect voters to sort through in the few minutes they might spend filling in the bubbles in their ballot, especially when Let’s Go Washington is making out its message to sound like one simply about energy choice. Add the opaque triple-negative climate campaigners have to sell (“vote no on a ban on banning gas”), and the messaging headaches grow more severe.
Earlier this month, the editorial board for the largest media outlet in Washington, The Seattle Times, endorsed a yes vote on I-2066, arguing for a slower transition away from fossil fuels that leans more heavily on natural gas. “Unfortunately, we are up against a network of fossil fuel corporations and their allies who have a lot of money and who are very invested in the status quo because it perpetuates their wealth and their influence,” Missik, who’s involved with the No on I-2066 campaign, told me, pointing to the Building Industry Association as well as Northwest Natural, National Propane Gas Association, and Koch Industries, who have backed the other side. I-2066 is also polling much better than I-2117; as of September, 47% of voters said they would vote yes, compared to 29% who said they’d vote no.
Rather than interpret those numbers as the electorate’s backlash to Washington’s climate progress, advocates argue they indicate how fossil fuel groups have successfully capitalized on the door propped open by Heywoods’s signature-gathering campaigns. It’s “because one guy opened his wallet; it is that simple,” Villeneuve, the founder of the Northwest Progressive Institute, said. “There is no grassroots movement to overturn these laws; it doesn’t exist. Brian Heywood brought this entire thing into being.” Or, as Missik put it: “Most Washingtons do believe in climate progress, whether or not this will be overridden by money. I sure hope not.”
All of this ultimately brings us back to the question of what Heywood’s whole deal is. With the singular exception of I-2066, his $6 million initiatives seem mostly doomed.
Some I spoke to floated the idea that Heywood and his allies are using Washington as a testing ground for dismantling climate action and seeing what sticks. “If it can happen here, it can happen anywhere: It can happen in California, it can happen in Colorado, it can happen in New York, it can happen in all these states that have passed really strong climate policies,” Caitlin Krenn, the climate and clean energy director of the nonprofit Washington Conservation Action, told me.
But there are other rumors, too. The Washington State Standard’s Jerry Cornfield recently quoted a local GOP chair calling Heywood’s initiatives “a powerful tool” that will “help get Republicans elected” — essentially, a turnout generator. (“We certainly want to see as many people as are eligible to vote exercise their right to make their voices heard, but our top priority is to educate voters about what's at stake with the initiatives this November,” Balch told me in response.) And then there is Heywood’s ranch. Republicans have long cosplayed as rural farmers and cowboys to tap into the masculine conservative fantasy of rugged individualism (what Texas Monthly once called “authenticity drag”). It’s essentially an image-building exercise — perhaps not so unlike positioning yourself as the guy who tried to rein in the state’s runaway Dems.
So far, Heywood has dodged questions about whether he plans to run for governor, and his campaign told me he “isn't using the initiatives as anything other than a way to bring broken policies directly to the people to vote on.” But with this year’s ballots going out to Washington voters today, it’s also a question for another time.
Regardless of what happens, many of the organizers I spoke to rejected the framing of Washington voters cooling on climate. One went as far as to tell me that the time, attention, and money Heywood has spent trying to roll back Washington’s progress is the highest compliment of all. “This is part of the process of doing big things,” Isaac Kastama, who was involved in enacting the CCA and now works for the advocacy group Clean and Prosperous Washington, told me. “If it’s not big and if it goes undetected, that probably means you’re not doing something serious enough.”