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New research published today in Nature shocked even the study’s own authors.

Hurricane Helene is, by conventional measures, the deadliest hurricane to strike the continental United States since Katrina. At least 182 people have been confirmed killed by the storm, with hundreds of people still unaccounted for. Although all hurricanes are deadly, only a handful of storms have killed more than 100 people since 1950. Or at least that is what we have long thought. New research suggests that these conventional tallies may be a vast undercount.
Several years ago, two economists and public policy researchers — Rachel Young and Solomon Hsiang, now of Princeton and Stanford — began to study a seemingly simple question: How many Americans do hurricanes kill each year? According to the federal government, the average hurricane kills 24 people after making landfall. That seemed likely to be a modest underestimate. Economists know that natural disasters can have a long tail of suffering; Hsiang expected the real number to be a “single digit multiple” of that figure — perhaps 50 or 100 people per storm.
Yet when they ran the numbers and looked at mortality in places affected by storms, they were initially perplexed by the results, Hsiang told me earlier this week. The numbers they came up with didn’t even make sense at first.
“It was months of us trying to understand what we were looking at,” Hsiang said. “And then once we realized what we were seeing, it was years of us checking our work to find what we missed.” Only when it was clear that their work resembled other American public health statistics — specifically, that the white-Black mortality mirrored what has been found in other studies — that the horrifying truth sunk in.
The finding: Hurricanes are hundreds of times deadlier than anyone has realized.
Their study, which was published on Wednesday in Nature, finds that the average hurricane kills 7,000 to 11,000 people after making landfall in the United States. These previously uncounted deaths happened not during a storm or in its immediate aftermath, but as a long, slow trickle of mortality that plagues a region long after the clouds have cleared and floods have abated.
In any one year, the number of storm-related deaths is not very high. And yet a wave of excess deaths is visible in population data for at least 15 years after a storm hits an area, they found.
“It lasts for so many years, and because there’s so many storms hitting so many states, once you add up, it becomes this enormous number,” Hsiang told me. When added together, hurricanes’ long-term death toll exceeds American combat deaths in all wars, combined. The number so dwarfs previous estimates that it suggests tropical cyclones alone are a major determinant of public health across the United States.
Kerry Emanuel, an MIT meteorology professor who studies climate change and hurricanes, told me that the results were “truly astounding” and “persuasive,” although he noted that he is not an expert in the statistical approach used in the paper.
“Summed over all hurricanes, this amounts to three to five percent of all deaths near the Atlantic coast,” he said. “I expect this result will prove controversial and will be followed up by many other studies of long-term mortality from natural disasters.”
The paper fits into a growing body of research on what others have called the hidden or invisible public health threat of environmental threats. For years, researchers have known that air pollution and heat waves, seemingly silent hazards, can in fact kill tens of thousands of people. Lately they have begun to apply the same techniques to other hazards, with outsized results.
Officially, Hurricane Maria killed 64 people when it struck Puerto Rico in 2017. But when researchers surveyed households across the island months after the storm, they found the death toll was closer to 4,600. (The territory’s government later revised the official figure to 2,975.) These deaths were caused not by the cyclone’s high winds or torrential floods, but rather by secondary effects of the storm’s destruction. Maria took out the island’s power grid and road networks, for instance, and preventing people with heart attacks and strokes from reaching the hospital in time.
That paper was written six months after Maria struck the island; this new hurricane paper considers a wider time horizon, finding that more than 80,000 Americans die each year as a result of a hurricane, whenever it occurred. Black people were disproportionately killed by the aftermath of hurricanes, at least partly because a larger share of the country’s Black population lives in storm-afflicted areas. About 37,000 white deaths each year are due to a prior tropical cyclone.
How could such storms cause such a long tail of deaths, affecting areas 10 or 15 years after they come ashore? The paper cannot answer those questions today. But Hsiang and Young hypothesize that hurricanes cause extreme economic distress, which can resonate for years or decades afterward. “If someone suffers a loss and can’t invest in their business, then it will have ramifications for their income long into the future,” Hsiang told me. “If someone is on a fixed income and their garage is destroyed, and they pull from their retirement funds to fix the garage, then eight years later when they face a big medical decision, they might choose” a cheaper or less effective form of treatment.
“When you talk to people, you hear stories like this,” Hsiang added. The time and money invested in dealing with the storm is often a “pure loss,” even if some of the damage ultimately gets reimbursed. “Even if you have insurance, that just means you already paid for it in some way,” he said.
Storms cause disruption in other ways. They can break up communities and social networks. (If children move away, for instance, their parent can face higher medical bills.) Hurricanes can also impose high costs on states, towns, and cities, which may then have to reduce or restrict other services as a result.
“When you think about how communities rebuild — local municipalities and states — they also play a lot of games with their budget” in the aftermath of a storm, Hsiang said. “If they spend a lot of money to rebuild a bridge or boardwalk somewhere, does that come out of some social program 10 years later? Or building a new NICU hospital?” That could explain why an infant — even one born 15 years after a storm struck a given area — could face a higher chance of death.
Young and Hsiang think that these economic drivers are most likely to be the big reason for the excess deaths — the effect is just too big and drawn out to make any other cause likely — but other possibilities exist, they recognize. Hurricanes could be deadly simply because they are highly stressful events. “We see an effect on cancer rates and also cardiovascular illness. Stress matters a lot to those,” Hsiang said. It’s also possible that hurricanes unleash contamination into the environment that then makes people sick. A flooded basement can become a breeding ground for mold. “There’s gas stations in every town. What chemicals come out when there’s flooding?” Hsiang wondered.
The paper may also help resolve a riddle in American public health. On average, Americans die earlier in the eastern half of the continental United States than in the western half. This effect is worst in the Gulf Coast and Southeast but persists to some degree in the Mid-Atlantic and Northeast.
The paper suggests that hurricanes may have something to do with this geographic phenomenon. For infants, people below the age of 44, and Black people of all ages, hurricanes may explain a large share but not all of the mortality gap.
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The fourth-generation gas-cooled reactor company ZettaJoule is setting up shop at an unnamed university.
The appeal of next-generation nuclear technology is simple. Unlike the vast majority of existing reactors that use water, so-called fourth-generation units use coolants such as molten salt, liquid metal, or gases that can withstand intense heat such as helium. That allows the machines to reach and maintain the high temperatures necessary to decarbonize industrial processes, which currently only fossil fuels are able to reach.
But the execution requirements of these advanced reactors are complex, making skepticism easy to understand. While the U.S., Germany, and other countries experimented with fourth-generation reactors in earlier decades, there is only one commercial unit in operation today. That’s in China, arguably the leader in advanced nuclear, which hooked up a demonstration model of a high-temperature gas-cooled reactor to its grid two years ago, and just approved building another project in September.
Then there’s Japan, which has been operating its own high-temperature gas-cooled reactor for 27 years at a government research site in Ibaraki Prefecture, about 90 minutes north of Tokyo by train. Unlike China’s design, it’s not a commercial power reactor. Also unlike China’s design, it’s coming to America.
Heatmap has learned that ZettaJoule, an American-Japanese startup led by engineers who worked on that reactor, is now coming out of stealth and laying plans to build its first plant in Texas.
For months, the company has quietly staffed up its team of American and Japanese executives, including a former U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission official and a high-ranking ex-administrator from the industrial giant Mitsubishi. It’s now preparing to decamp from its initial home base in Rockville, Maryland, to the Lone Star State as it prepares to announce its debut project at an as-yet-unnamed university in Texas.
“We haven’t built a nuclear reactor in many, many decades, so you have only a handful of people who experienced the full cycle from design to operations,” Mitsuo Shimofuji, ZettaJoule’s chief executive, told me. “We need to complete this before they retire.”
That’s where the company sees its advantage over rivals in the race to build the West’s first commercial high-temperature gas reactor, such as Amazon-backed X-energy or Canada’s StarCore nuclear. ZettaJoule’s chief nuclear office, Kazuhiko Kunitomi, oversaw the construction of Japan’s research reactor in the 1990s. He’s considered Japan’s leading expert in high-temperature gas reactors.
“Our chief nuclear officer and some of our engineers are the only people in the Western world who have experience of the whole cycle from design to construction to operation of a high temperature gas reactor,” Shimofuji said.
Like X-energy’s reactor, ZettaJoule’s design is a small modular reactor. With a capacity of 30 megawatts of thermal output and 12 megawatts of electricity, the ZettaJoule reactor qualifies as a microreactor, a subcategory of SMR that includes anything 20 megawatts of electricity or less. Both companies’ reactors will also run on TRISO, a special kind of enriched uranium with cladding on each pellet that makes the fuel safer and more efficient at higher temperatures.
While X-energy’s debut project that Amazon is financing in Washington State is a nearly 1-gigawatt power station made up of at least a dozen of the American startup’s 80-megawatt reactors, ZettaJoule isn’t looking to generate electricity.
The first new reactor in Texas will be a research reactor, but the company’s focus is on producing heat. The reactor already working in Japan, which produces heat, demonstrates that the design can reach 950 degrees Celsius, roughly 25% higher than the operating temperature of China’s reactor.
The potential for use in industrial applications has begun to attract corporate partners. In a letter sent Monday to Ted Garrish, the U.S. assistant secretary of energy in charge of nuclear power — a copy of which I obtained — the U.S. subsidiary of the Saudi Arabian oil goliath Aramco urged the Trump administration to support ZettaJoule, and said that it would “consider their application to our operations” as the technology matures. ZettaJoule is in talks with at least two other multinational corporations.
The first new reactor ZettaJoule builds won’t be identical to the unit in Japan, Shimofuji said.
“We are going to modernize this reactor together with the Japanese and U.S. engineering partners,” he said. “The research reactor is robust and solid, but it’s over-engineered. What we want to do is use the safety basis but to make it more economic and competitive.”
Once ZettaJoule proves its ability to build and operate a new unit in Texas, the company will start exporting the technology back to Japan. The microreactor will be its first product line.
“But in the future, we can scale up to 20 times bigger,” Shimofuji said. “We can do 600 megawatts thermal and 300 megawatts electric.”
Another benefit ZettaJoule can tap into is the sweeping deal President Donald Trump brokered with Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi in October, which included hundreds of billions of dollars for new reactors of varying sizes, including the large-scale Westinghouse AP1000. That included financing to build GE Vernova Hitachi Nuclear Energy’s 300-megawatt BWRX-300, one of the West’s leading third-generation SMRs, which uses a traditional water-cooled design.
Unlike that unit, however, ZettaJoule’s micro-reactor is not a first-of-a-kind technology, said Chris Gadomski, the lead nuclear analyst at the consultancy BloombergNEF.
“It’s operated in Japan for a long, long time,” he told me. “So that second-of-a-kind is an attractive feature. Some of these companies have never operated a reactor. This one has done that.”
A similar dynamic almost played out with large-scale reactors more than two decades ago. In the late 1990s, Japanese developers built four of GE and Hitachi’s ABWR reactor, a large-scale unit with some of the key safety features that make the AP1000 stand out compared to its first- and second-generation predecessors. In the mid 2000s, the U.S. certified the design and planned to build a pair in South Texas. But the project never materialized, and America instead put its resources into Westinghouse’s design.
But the market is different today. Electricity demand is surging in the near term from data centers and in the long term from electrification of cars and industry. The need to curb fossil fuel consumption in the face of worsening climate change is more widely accepted than ever. And China’s growing dominance over nuclear energy has rattled officials from Tokyo to Washington.
“We need to deploy this as soon as possible to not lose the experienced people in Japan and the U.S.,” Shimofuji said. “In two or three years time, we will get a construction permit ideally. We are targeting the early 2030s.”
If every company publicly holding itself to that timeline is successful, the nuclear industry will be a crowded field. But as history shows, those with the experience to actually take a reactor from paper to concrete may have an advantage.
It’s now clear that 2026 will be big for American energy, but it’s going to be incredibly tense.
Over the past 365 days, we at The Fight have closely monitored numerous conflicts over siting and permitting for renewable energy and battery storage projects. As we’ve done so, the data center boom has come into full view, igniting a tinderbox of resentment over land use, local governance and, well, lots more. The future of the U.S. economy and the energy grid may well ride on the outcomes of the very same city council and board of commissioners meetings I’ve been reporting on every day. It’s a scary yet exciting prospect.
To bring us into the new year, I wanted to try something a little different. Readers ask me all the time for advice with questions like, What should I be thinking about right now? And, How do I get this community to support my project? Or my favorite: When will people finally just shut up and let us build things? To try and answer these questions and more, I wanted to give you the top five trends in energy development (and data centers) I’ll be watching next year.
The best thing going for American renewable energy right now is the AI data center boom. But the backlash against developing these projects is spreading incredibly fast.
Do you remember last week when I told you about a national environmental group calling for data center moratoria across the country? On Wednesday, Senator Bernie Sanders called for a nationwide halt to data center construction until regulations are put in place. The next day, the Working Families Party – a progressive third party that fields candidates all over the country for all levels of government – called for its candidates to run in opposition to new data center construction.
On the other end of the political spectrum, major figures in the American right wing have become AI skeptics critical of the nascent data center buildout, including Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, Missouri Senator Josh Hawley, and former Trump adviser Steve Bannon. These figures are clearly following the signals amidst the noise; I have watched in recent months as anti-data center fervor has spread across Facebook, with local community pages and groups once focused on solar and wind projects pivoting instead to focus on data centers in development near them.
In other words, I predicted just one month ago, an anti-data center political movement is forming across the country and quickly gaining steam (ironically aided by the internet and algorithms powered by server farms).
I often hear from the clean energy sector that the data center boom will be a boon for new projects. Renewable energy is the fastest to scale and construct, the thinking goes, and therefore will be the quickest, easiest, and most cost effective way to meet the projected spike in energy demand.
I’m not convinced yet that this line of thinking is correct. But I’m definitely sure that no matter the fuel type, we can expect a lot more transmission development, and nothing sparks a land use fight more easily than new wires.
Past is prologue here. One must look no further than the years-long fight over the Piedmont Reliability Project, a proposed line that would connect a nuclear power plant in Pennsylvania to data centers in Virginia by crossing a large swathe of Maryland agricultural land. I’ve been covering it closely since we put the project in our inaugural list of the most at-risk projects, and the conflict is now a clear blueprint.
In Wisconsin, a billion-dollar transmission project is proving this thesis true. I highly recommend readers pay close attention to Port Washington, where the release of fresh transmission line routes for a massive new data center this week has aided an effort to recall the city’s mayor for supporting the project. And this isn’t even an interstate project like Piedmont.
While I may not be sure of the renewable energy sector’s longer-term benefits from data center development, I’m far more confident that this Big Tech land use backlash is hitting projects right now.
The short-term issue for renewables developers is that opponents of data centers use arguments and tactics similar to those deployed by anti-solar and anti-wind advocates. Everyone fighting data centers is talking about ending development on farmland, avoiding changes to property values, stopping excess noise and water use, and halting irreparable changes to their ways of life.
Only one factor distinguishes data center fights from renewable energy fights: building the former potentially raises energy bills, while the latter will lower energy costs.
I do fear that as data center fights intensify nationwide, communities will not ban or hyper-regulate the server farms in particular, but rather will pass general bans that also block the energy projects that could potentially power them. Rural counties are already enacting moratoria on solar and wind in tandem with data centers – this is not new. But the problem will worsen as conflicts spread, and it will be incumbent upon the myriad environmentalists boosting data center opponents to not accidentally aid those fighting zero-carbon energy.
This week, the Bureau of Land Management approved its first solar project in months: the Libra facility in Nevada. When this happened, I received a flood of enthusiastic and optimistic emails and texts from sources.
We do not yet know whether the Libra approval is a signal of a thaw inside the Trump administration. The Interior Department’s freeze on renewables permitting decisions continues mostly unabated, and I have seen nothing to indicate that more decisions like this are coming down the pike. What we do know is that ahead of a difficult midterm election, the Trump administration faces outsized pressure to do more to address “affordability,” Democrats plan to go after Republicans for effectively repealing the Inflation Reduction Act and halting permits for solar and wind projects, and there’s a grand bargain to be made in Congress over permitting reform that rides on an end to the permitting freeze.
I anticipate that ahead of the election and further permitting talks in Congress, the Trump administration will mildly ease its chokehold on solar and wind permits because that is the most logical option in front of them. I do not think this will change the circumstances for more than a small handful of projects sited on federal lands that were already deep in the permitting process when Trump took power.
It’s impossible to conclude a conversation about next year’s project fights without ending on the theme that defined 2025: battery fire fears are ablaze, and they’ll only intensify as data centers demand excess energy storage capacity.
The January Moss Landing fire incident was a defining moment for an energy sector struggling to grapple with the effects of the Internet age. Despite bearing little resemblance to the litany of BESS proposals across the country, that one hunk of burning battery wreckage in California inspired countless communities nationwide to ban new battery storage outright.
There is no sign this trend will end any time soon. I expect data centers to only accelerate these concerns, as these facilities can also catch fire in ways that are challenging to address.
Plus a resolution for Vineyard Wind and more of the week’s big renewables fights.
1. Hopkins County, Texas – A Dallas-area data center fight pitting developer Vistra against Texas attorney general Ken Paxton has exploded into a full-blown political controversy as the power company now argues the project’s developer had an improper romance with a city official for the host community.
2. La Plata County, Colorado – This county has just voted to extend its moratorium on battery energy storage facilities over fire fears.
3. Dane County, Wisconsin – The city of Madison appears poised to ban data centers for at least a year.
4. Goodhue County, Minnesota – The Minnesota Center for Environmental Advocacy, a large environmentalist organization in the state, is suing to block a data center project in the small city of Pine Island.
5. Hall County, Georgia – A data center has been stopped down South, at least for now.
6. Dukes County, Massachusetts – The fight between Vineyard Wind and the town of Nantucket seems to be over.