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We know dangerously little about how hot it’s getting inside.
If the last few weeks are any indication, this summer is going to be a scorcher.
In Spain and Portugal, April temperatures reached record highs. A heat wave swept through Asia, killing dozens on the Indian subcontinent; temperatures in the region hovered around 110 degrees Fahrenheit for days. The United States saw records break throughout the Northeast and Midwest, with temperatures into the 90s.
And that’s just how hot it was outside. Inside is a completely different story — one we know far less about.
Heat is the deadliest extreme weather phenomenon in the United States, and when the outside world is boiling, the advice is often pretty simple: get inside. But the majority of heat-related deaths happen indoors, and, unlike the satellites and weather stations that can measure outdoor temperature, we have very little data on just how hot our homes are getting.
That’s a major blindspot. Without knowing exactly how hot buildings are getting, lawmakers have little, if any, data to rely on when it comes to crafting policies around indoor heat. A WHO report from 2018, which lays out a strong recommendation for a minimum heat threshold of 18 degrees Celsius (about 64 degrees Fahrenheit), simply suggests that, when it comes to heat, “strategies to protect populations from excess indoor heat should be developed and implemented.”
“Humans spend the majority of their time indoors, and we have entire building stocks across our cities where we haven’t taken into account what the weather systems around those buildings are going to look like,” said Vivek Shandas, a professor at Portland State University who studies heat in urban environments and advisor to CAPA Strategies, a climate data consultancy. Regional architecture gave way to cheap steel and concrete around the country, and the result has been residents being put at risk by the very nature of their homes.
A new study from the city of Portland, Oregon, one of the first of its kind, goes a little way towards closing the indoor temperature data gap. In the wake of an intense, deadly heat wave that killed 123 Oregonians in June 2021 — locals called it a heat dome, for the hot air mass that parked itself over the region for days — the Portland Bureau of Emergency Management (PBEM) commissioned CAPA Strategies to find out just how hot the homes of the city’s residents were getting. In particular, they looked at three properties managed by Home Forward, the city’s housing authority, which had each seen resident deaths from heat-related illnesses.
The setup was simple: Residents volunteered to have temperature sensors placed in their units — usually away from an air conditioner, if they had one. The sensors then monitored indoor temperatures over the summer of 2022, which while not quite as hot as 2021’s heat dome, still brought intense heat to the region. If indoor temperatures got above 80, 85, or 90 degrees Fahrenheit, residents got an alert that would, ideally, nudge them into taking action to protect themselves from heatstroke.
And the apartments did get hot, though not quite as hot as the outside world: Interior temperatures maxed out in the low to mid-90s on 100-degree days, and every apartment in the study tipped over 80 degrees on multiple days. Units in two of the residences, which were built with concrete, stayed hot for longer even as nighttime temperatures fell outside. (Units in the third residence, which was built out of wood, were far better at cooling down.)
That kind of heat is striking: Prolonged exposure to temperatures that high can be dangerously hot, especially for elderly people or anyone with a medical condition that makes them susceptible to heat, though none of the residents who participated in the study suffered any serious medical impacts.
To get an idea of how that indoor heat affected residents in less life-threatening ways, the researchers also periodically sat down with them to conduct surveys and workshops. They found that residents experienced some sort of heat stress — difficulty sleeping, headaches, or even just heightened irritability — throughout the summer, not just during heat waves.
“It was disheartening to see how much heat stress many building residents are putting up with all the time,” said Jonna Papaefthimiou, who was the city’s chief resiliency officer at the time of the study and recently left for the same role at the state level. The residents of the Home Forward buildings dealt with particular obstacles that might not have been present in other houses, like a lack of mesh screens that discouraged residents from opening their windows at night for fear of intruders, whether insect or human. “There were a lot of barriers for people to just do basic things to cool off,” Papaefthimiou told me.
But they also tried to take care of each other, she said. Many of the residents signed up for the study out of a desire to help their neighbors and better understand heat risks in their building, including a person whose apartment had previously been the home of one of the victims of the 2021 heat dome. Mutual aid is a simple, if underappreciated, climate-adaptation practice, and this kind of community involvement can save lives: Over the course of the study, the researchers found that residents were eager to learn how to check in on and help each other during heat waves.
While there’s certainly a lot of work that governments need to do to help their citizens deal with extreme heat, Papaefthimiou thinks this desire to help is an encouraging sign. “Neighbors helping each other does not represent a failure of government to me. It actually means that something's going well in the community as a whole,” she told me.
For the most part, cities across the country have dealt with heat by letting developers and residents throw air conditioning at the problem. It’s an effective, if blunt, tool — the best one we have in a heat wave, really — but it’s by no means perfect. Air conditioners are energy-hungry, which makes them expensive to run, often out of reach for lower-income residents, and vulnerable to black outs when everyone turns them on. They also struggle to cool buildings on particularly hot days. That’s especially true if they’re, say, window AC units in buildings that were never designed with cooling in mind, as is the case with many cities in the northeast.
Most of the buildings in Portland were built for a different climate than the one that exists today and will need to be retrofitted to adapt for a changing climate, Papaefthimiou told me. This is true of cities across the country, and each one will be forced to reckon with an associated host of questions as a result, from what the best approach to retrofitting is (passive cooling might be a better investment than air conditioning in some instances, for example) to whether that process will end up pricing people out of the places they live in now.
The Portland indoor heat report includes a number of recommendations for what the city’s government can do to help its citizens, from the short-term (distributing things like thermal curtains and magnetic window screens) to the medium- and long-term (retrofitting buildings with central AC or providing professional insulation services). But the study is limited — only 53 residential units participated over three months — and researchers at CAPA are hoping to secure funding from Multnomah County, which was one of the partners of this year’s report, to conduct a second study later this year.
More study is needed either way, and not just in Portland: The more information we have about how extreme heat affects people who are trying to shelter from it, the better prepared we are to make policies that can mitigate it. Some activists, for example, are calling for cities to institute summer maximum heat thresholds similar to how many northeastern cities mandate minimum temperatures in the winter — something that the Arizona cities of Phoenix and Tempe have already implemented. But every city, and even every building in every city, is different, and data collection will be key to moving from a one-size-fits-all policy of air conditioning to more targeted, productive solutions that take into account the way people interact with the buildings they live in.
“I tend to think that often what we're doing is throwing lots of money at things that we intuitively believe will work,” Shandas told me. “But what we think works may not always be the thing that works well. People inhabit spaces in very different ways, and I think we need to get a better handle on designing for their behaviors instead of throwing a bunch of money at our assumptions.”
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Maybe you’ve never heard of it. Maybe you know it too well. But to a certain type of clean energy wonk, it amounts to perhaps the three most dreaded words in climate policy: the interconnection queue.
The queue is the process by which utilities decide which wind and solar farms get to hook up to the power grid in the United States. Across much of the country, it has become so badly broken and clogged that it can take more than a decade for a given project to navigate.
On this week’s episode of Shift Key, Jesse and Rob speak with two experts about how to understand — and how to fix — what is perhaps the biggest obstacle to deploying more renewables on the U.S. power grid. Tyler Norris is a doctoral student at Duke University’s Nicholas School of the Environment. He was formerly vice president of development at Cypress Creek Renewables, and he served on North Carolina Governor Roy Cooper’s Carbon Policy Working Group. Claire Wayner is a senior associate at RMI’s carbon-free electricity program, where she works on the clean and competitive grids team. Shift Key is hosted by Robinson Meyer, the founding executive editor of Heatmap, and Jesse Jenkins, a professor of energy systems engineering at Princeton University.
Subscribe to “Shift Key” and find this episode on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.
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Here is an excerpt from our conversation:
Robinson Meyer: Can I interject and just ask why, over the past decade, the interconnection queue got much longer — but also over the past decade, 15 years, the U.S. grid did change in character and in fuel type a lot, right? We went from burning a lot of coal to a lot of natural gas. And that transition is often cited as one of the model transitions, one of the few energy transitions to happen globally that happened at the speed with which we would need to decarbonize. Obviously, switching coal to gas is not decarbonizing, but it is a model — it happened fast enough that it is a good model for what decarbonizing would look like in order to meet climate goals.
Evidently, that did not run into these kind of same interconnection queue problems. Why is that? Is that because we were swapping in within individual power plants? We were just changing the furnace from a coal furnace to a gas furnace? Is that because these were larger projects and so it didn’t back up in the queue in the same way that a lot of smaller solar or wind farms do?
Claire Wayner: I would say all the reasons you just gave are valid, yeah. The coal to gas transition involved, likely, a lot of similar geographic locations. With wind and solar, we’re seeing them wanting to build on the grid and in a lot of cases in new, rather remote locations that are going to require new types of grid upgrades that the coal to gas transition just doesn’t have.
Jesse Jenkins: Maybe it is — to use a metaphor here — it’s a little bit like traffic congestion. If you add a generator to the grid, it’s trying to ship its power through the grid, and that decision to add your power mix to the grid combines with everyone else that’s also generating and consuming power to drive traffic jams or congestion in different parts of the grid, just like your decision to hop in the car and drive to work or to go into the city for the weekend to see a show or whatever you’re doing. It’s not just your decision. It’s everyone’s combined decisions that affects travel times on the grid.
Now, the big difference between the grid and travel on roads or most other forms of networks we’re used to is that you don’t get to choose which path to go down. If you’re sending electricity to the grid, electricity flows with physics down the path of least resistance or impedance, which is the alternating current equivalent of resistance. And so it’s a lot more like rivers flowing downhill from gravity, right? You don’t get to choose which branch of the river you go down. It’s just, you know, gravity will take you. And so you adding your power flows to the grid creates complicated flows based on the physics of this mesh network that spans a continent and interacts with everyone else on the grid.
And so when you’re going from probably a few dozen large natural gas generators added that operate very similarly to the plants that they’re replacing to hundreds of gigawatts across thousands of projects scattered all over the grid with very complicated generation profiles because they’re weather-dependent renewables, it’s just a completely different challenge for the utilities.
So the process that the regional grid operators developed in the 2000s, when they were restructuring and taking over that role of regional grid operator, it’s just not fit for purpose at all for what we face today. And I want to highlight another thing you mentioned, which is the software piece of it, too. These processes, they are using software and corporate processes that were also developed 10 or 20 years ago. And we all know that software and computing techniques have gotten quite a bit better over a decade or two. And rarely have utilities and grid operators really kept pace with those capabilities.
Wayner: Can I just say, I’ve heard that in some regions, interconnection consists of still sending back and forth Excel files. To Tyler’s point earlier that we only just now are getting data on the interconnection queue nationwide and how it stands, that’s one challenge that developers are facing is a lack of data transparency and rapid processing from the transmission providers and the grid operators.
And so, to use an analogy that my colleague Sarah Toth uses a lot, which I really love: Imagine if we had a Domino’s pizza tracker for the interconnection queue, and that developers could just log on and see how their projects are doing in many, if not most regions. They don’t even have that visibility. They don’t know when their pizza is going to get delivered, or if it’s in the oven.
This episode of Shift Key is sponsored by …
Watershed’s climate data engine helps companies measure and reduce their emissions, turning the data they already have into an audit-ready carbon footprint backed by the latest climate science. Get the sustainability data you need in weeks, not months. Learn more at watershed.com.
As a global leader in PV and ESS solutions, Sungrow invests heavily in research and development, constantly pushing the boundaries of solar and battery inverter technology. Discover why Sungrow is the essential component of the clean energy transition by visiting sungrowpower.com.
Antenna Group helps you connect with customers, policymakers, investors, and strategic partners to influence markets and accelerate adoption. Visit antennagroup.com to learn more.
Music for Shift Key is by Adam Kromelow.
In the closing minutes of the first presidential debate tonight, Donald Trump’s attacks on Kamala Harris took an odd, highly specific, and highly Teutonic turn. It might not have made sense to many viewers, but it fit into the overall debate’s unusually substantive focus on energy policy.
“You believe in things that the American people don’t believe in,” he said, addressing Harris. “You believe in things like, we’re not gonna frack. We’re not gonna take fossil fuel. We’re not gonna do — things that are going to make this country strong, whether you like it or not.”
“Germany tried that and within one year, they were back to building normal energy plants,” he continued. “We’re not ready for it.”
What is he talking about? Let’s start by stipulating that Harris has renounced her previous support for banning fracking. During the debate, she bragged that the United States has hit an all-time high for oil and gas production during her vice presidency.
But why bring Germany into it? At the risk of sane-washing the former president, Trump appears to be referencing what German politicians call the Energiewiende, or energy turnaround. Since 2010, Germany has sought to transition from its largest historic energy sources, including coal and nuclear energy, to renewables and hydropower.
The Energiewiende is often discussed inside and outside of Germany as a climate policy, and it has helped achieve global climate goals by, say, helping to push down the global price of solar panels. But as an observant reader might have already noticed, its goals are not entirely emissions-related: Its leaders have also hoped to use the Energiewiende to phase out nuclear power, which is unpopular in Germany but which does not produce carbon emissions.
The transition has accomplished some of its goals: The country says that it is on target to meet its 2030 climate targets. But it ran into trouble after Russia invaded Ukraine, because Germany obtained more than half of its natural gas, and much of its oil and coal besides, from Russia. Germany turned back on some of its nuclear plants — it has since shut them off again — and increased its coal consumption. It also began importing fossil fuels from other countries.
In order to shore up its energy supply, Germany is also planning to build 10 gigawatts of new natural gas plants by 2030, although it says that these facilities will be “hydrogen ready,” meaning that they could theoretically run on the zero-carbon fuel hydrogen. German automakers, who have lagged at building electric vehicles, have also pushed for policies that support “e-fuels,” or low-carbon liquid fuels. These fuels would — again, theoretically — allow German firms to keep building internal combustion engines.
So perhaps that’s not exactly what Trump said, to put it mildly — but it is true that to cope with the Ukraine war and the loss of nuclear power, Germany has had to fall back on fossil fuels. Of course, at the same time, more than 30% of German electricity now comes from wind and solar energy. In other words, in Germany, renewables are just another kind of “normal energy plant.”
Hunter Biden also made an appearance in Trump’s answer to the debate’s one climate question.
Well, it happened — over an hour into the debate, but it happened: the presidential candidates were asked directly about climate change. ABC News anchor Linsey Davis put the question to Vice President Kamala Harris and former President Donald Trump, and their respective answers were both surprising and totally not.
Harris responded to the question by laying out the successes of Biden’s energy policy and in particular, the Inflation Reduction Act (though she didn’tmention it by name). “I am proud that as vice president, over the last four years, we have invested a trillion dollars in a clean energy economy,” Harris noted.
The vice president immediately followed this up, however, by pointing out that gas production has also increased to “historic levels,” under the Biden-Harris administration. This framing, highlighting an all-of-the-above approach to energy, is consistent with Harris’s comments earlier in the debate, whenshe claimed to support fracking and investing in “diverse sources of energy.” Harris went on to reiterate the biggest wins of the Inflation Reduction Act, namely, “800,000 new manufacturing jobs,” and shouted out her endorsement from the United Auto Workers and its President Shawn Fain.
Trump, who earlier in the debate called himself “a big fan of solar” before questioning the amount of land it takes up, started off his response by once again claiming that the Biden-Harris administration is building Chinese-owned EV plants in Mexico (they are not). Then Trump veered completely off topic and rounded out his answer by ranting about Biden (both Joe and Hunter). “You know, Biden doesn’t go after people because, supposedly, China paid him millions of dollars,” Trump noted. “He’s afraid to do it between him and his son, they get all this money from Ukraine.”
Trump’s answer included no reference to climate or clean energy — but it did include a shout out to “the mayor of Moscow’s wife,” so there’s that.