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That’s not an exaggeration, at least by one calculation.
In late March, the board that oversees New York’s Metropolitan Transportation Authority cast a final vote to implement congestion pricing. If the plan survives some last-ditch lawsuits, drivers will soon have to cough up $15 to travel into Lower Manhattan during rush hours. The MTA will get billions every year to make capital improvements, the air will be markedly cleaner, the streets notably less congested, and a proposal that was first pitched by former Mayor Michael Bloomberg 17 years ago will have finally been realized.
“I often wonder what our system would have been like if we passed it back in 2008,” MTA board member Haeda Mihaltses, a veteran of the Bloomberg administration, mused just before she cast her vote in favor.
The price of nearly two decades of procrastination over doing something to alleviate the most densely-populated, traffic-snarled place in North America is, indeed, unfathomably high. There’s the billions of dollars of mass transit infrastructure we missed out on, the billions spent on health care from breathing in dirty air.
And then there’s the most precious resource of all. According to one calculation from transport economist and congestion pricing advocate Charles Komanoff, the plan the MTA adopted last month will save drivers, bus passengers, and subway riders a combined 225,000 hours every single day. Here’s a fun thought experiment: If New York had adopted this plan back in 2008, we could have saved ourselves a combined 1,314,000,000 hours, or 150,000 years.
How could implementing something so obviously necessary and routine — anyone who has paid to camp in a National Park or drive on the New Jersey Turnpike understands the concept — take so long? What does it say about how we govern? And what can we learn from it?
“I think it is fair to say that whatever roadblock congestion pricing could have hit, it hit,” Rachael Fauss, a policy director and MTA researcher for the good government group Reinvent Albany, told me. “It was the worst case scenario of timelines if you were to project out: What are the things that could delay this?”
Some of the delays were deliberate: It’s hard enough for lawmakers to summon the courage to raise taxes on millionaires and billionaires, so charging drivers money for something that used to be “free,” to fund a transit agency that often conjures delayed trains and decades-long boondoggles in the public’s imagination, was always going to require a fortitude that is in chronically short supply in Albany.When then-New York Governor Andrew Cuomo pushed to pass congestion pricing in 2019, he and his fellow lawmakers wrote into the actual bill that the tolling scheme couldn’t be announced for a year and a half — until after the 2020 election. The same politicians who were supposedly brave enough to vote congestion pricing into law didn’t want anything to do with putting that law into practice.
Then there were the bureaucratic delays. The COVID pandemic, of course, redirected much of the government and forced the MTA into survival mode as subway ridership dropped 90%; suddenly the agency’s most important work was to coordinate lifesaving bailouts from the federal and state governments. Then the Trump administration slow-walked the answer to a key question: Because the congestion pricing plan involved placing tolls on roads built with federal funding, the state needed a sign-off from the federal Department of Transportation. But was congestion pricing the kind of massive infrastructure project that, under the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969, required an exhaustive Environmental Impact Statement? Could it pass NEPA review with a less thorough Environmental Assessment? Or, given that nothing was actually being built up or torn down, could it be exempt from these reviews altogether?
Two years after the congestion pricing law passed, and months after the plan was supposed to go into effect in early 2021, the newly installed Biden administration finally asked for the middle option, an Environmental Assessment, which the MTA initially said could be done in a matter of months. In actuality, that timeline stretched to 16 months and produced a 4,000-page behemoth that some experts noted was more comprehensive than the average EIS.
Seemingly nothing escaped the MTA’s scrutiny — it even looked at how congestion pricing would affect traffic in the Philadelphia suburbs (not all that much). The results were not exactly shocking: Tolling vehicles entering Lower Manhattan below 60th Street would result in up to 20% fewer vehicles in the Central Business District, improving air quality while also generating $1 billion in revenue for public transit, which could then be used to secure up to $15 billion in bonds. After more than 50 public meetings and 25,000 written comments (60% in favor of the plan), the Biden administration produced a “finding of no significant impact,” meaning that congestion pricing wouldn’t negatively affect the economy, the environment, or the roads.
There was at least one notable benefit that came from doing such a comprehensive, time-intensive review: The MTA found that congestion pricing could cause an increase in truck traffic to the South Bronx for drivers looking to toll shop, which in turn prompted the agency to allocate $200 million to alleviate pollution in some of New York City’s poorest neighborhoods, which have shamefully high asthma rates that mostly affect Black and Latine New Yorkers. “Is it congestion pricing’s job to remedy those problems? Maybe not,” Fauss, of Reinvent Albany, said. “But is it a really important way to correct some past wrongs? Yeah, absolutely.”
The MTA’s thoroughness may help protect it from the bad faith lawsuits that have been filed to try and shut down the license plate readers before they go live on June 15. But we’re in the midst of a climate crisis. Why should a 54-year-old law designed to prevent overeager developers from doing things like demolishing neighborhoods to build highways discourage cities and states from enacting dynamic, flexible solutions to cut pollution created by those highways — and fund public transit at the same time? And why should a review of a plan that requires no concrete, no demolition — no actual infrastructure — take three years?
The biggest hurdle congestion pricing had to overcome might have been psychological. Let’s call it "car brain": Even though 85% of commuters who travel into the Central Business District take mass transit, for years, lawmakers and congestion pricing opponents have argued (and in the case of the current New York City Mayor Eric Adams, stillargue) that charging people to drive into Lower Manhattan was a kind of attack on the middle class. In a city where valuable street real estate has been converted into free parking, congestion pricing was portrayed as profaning the sacred rights of "regular" New Yorkers — never mind the fact that just 2% of New York’s working poor will end up paying the tolls. Driving your car wherever you please, it turns out, is quite expensive.
“Elected officials are facing the world from the front seat of a car, whether they’re driving or being driven,” Danny Pearlstein, the policy and communications director at Riders Alliance, one of the most forceful proponents of congestion pricing, told me. Pearlstein added that “bureaucrats who drive to work” probably contributed to the Biden administration’s slow-walking of the approval process, or so he suspects. “They were very cautious about doing something that alters not just, you know, air patterns, or patterns of inequity, but actual commutes,” Pearlstein said.
As a reporter who has covered congestion pricing for nearly a decade, I have learned never to underestimate the power of “car brain” on public policy. As a New Yorker who lives steps from the entrance of the Williamsburg Bridge on the Lower East Side, who watches mothers push strollers through oceans of hot, heavy steel boxes belching poisonous gasses driven by people on a hair trigger, and who has seen our leaders pretend that this is New York, that we are too exceptional to change, I cannot help but go about my day, doing my best to tune out the incessant honking, feeling like the dog engulfed in flames: “This is fine.”
That it took transportation advocates, regional planners, and forward-looking politicians nearly 20 years to enact congestion pricing in New York City — the U.S. municipality perhaps most amenable to it because of its housing density and excellent mass transit system — reveals the daunting task of weaning Americans off the automobile. More than three-quarters of us drive our own personal cars to our jobs.
“The only thing that’s going to change the fact that the overwhelming majority of Americans drive to work is not permitting reforms to programs like congestion pricing. It’s permitting reforms to allow dense housing development in metropolitan areas across the country,” Pearlstein said.
“It’s a little bit like a Marxian analysis,” he mused. The crisis must come to a head in order to overthrow the status quo. “In order to adopt congestion pricing, you first have to exacerbate congestion significantly by condensing your built environment.”
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Trump’s first administration supported it. But now there’s a new crowd coming into town.
The first Trump administration helped advance the dream of cultivated meat grown from animal cells. The second Trump administration might try to kill the dream.
Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., who could control the fate of cultivated meat in America as President-elect Trump’s nominee for health secretary, has suggested that it’s an unsafe and unnatural corporate science experiment designed to enrich techno-billionaires. Vice President-elect JD Vance has called cultivated meat “disgusting,” Donald Trump, Jr. has proposed banning it, and Governor Ron DeSantis, Trump’s rumored backup choice for Pentagon secretary, has already banned it in Florida.
The timing is brutal for a potentially climate-friendly new industrythat had hoped to start competing with conventional meat in 2025. Cultivated meat executives are tryingto project optimism about the next four years, pointing out that President Trump’s aides created a constructive regulatory framework for their products during his first term. Republicans who support innovation, competition, and economic nationalism, they argue, ought to support high-tech manufacturing startups in the U.S. Trump ally Elon Musk’s own startup, SpaceX, has flown cultivated meat into space, while his brother Kimbal, an investor in the cultivated meat venture Upside Foods, once cooked its slaughter-free chicken on stage at a CNN event.
Still, the industry is clearly nervous. Trumpworld is divided on food issues between “Make America Healthy Again” techno-skeptics like Kennedy and conventional Republicans aligned with traditional livestock industries, but there’s opposition to cultivated meat on both sides of that divide. Cultivated meat executives met with their regulators from the Food and Drug Administration and U.S. Department of Agriculture last month at Tufts University,and while several attendees told me the discussion focused on how to get safe cultivated products to market, everyone in the room knew that roadmight get blocked on January 20.
San Francisco-based Mission Barns is waiting for FDA approval to blend its cultivated pork fat into plant-based meatballs and bacon; it already has photos on its website of the boxes it intends to sell in supermarkets. But its leaders are keenly aware that Kennedy may soon oversee the FDA — and that he’s expressed the same kind of doubts about “lab-grown meat” that he’s expressed about food dyes, genetically modified grain, and heavily processed foods in general.
“The election really shouldn’t affect our safety review. We know these folks care about protecting the American economy and ensuring American self-sufficiency,” Bianca Lê, the head of external affairs for Mission Barns, told me. “Obviously, though, anything can happen.”
One source close to Kennedy told me he probably wouldn’t propose banning what he calls “lab-grown meat,” but he’s likely to create regulatory hurdles that could keep startups like Mission Barns in perpetual limbo. When I asked if that meant making applicants for FDA approval jump through a million hoops, the Kennedy ally replied: “Maybe half a million.”
Growing meat from animal cells without killing animals was just a science-fiction fantasy until 2013, when the Dutch scientist Mark Post unveiled a burger patty he grew in his lab from bovine cells. That single burger cost $330,000 to produce, but investors poured more than $3 billion into hundreds of cultivated meat and seafood ventures over the next decade. Since then, they’ve brought down their costs per poundby about 99.99%.
Culturing cells into meat is still not as cheap as growing meat inside animals, but the startups are only making tiny quantities, and they’re confident they can approach price parity with animal products once they can scale up their production. The Israeli firm Believer Meats is building America’s first commercial-scale cultivated meat plant in North Carolina, and several other startups are planning to build U.S. factories once they receive regulatory approval.
But that’s been a slow process.
Trump’sfirst-term FDA head, Scott Gottlieb, and Agriculture Secretary, Sonny Perdue, worked with cultivated meat startups as well as conventional meat interests to create a joint regulatory process that almost everyone liked. In 2023, the Biden administration gave the Bay Area startups Upside (with investors including Cargill and Tyson as well as Kimbal Musk and Bill Gates) and Good Meat (the cultivated spin-off of the plant-based egg company Eat Just)the go-ahead to sell cultivated chicken filets.
But both companies envisioned the filets as proof-of-concept marketing plays to demonstrate that slaughter-free animal meat was real, not mass-market products they could take to commercial scale. Both sold their chicken to a limited number of diners in just one restaurant, and both ended the promotions this year.
So cultivated meat is currently unavailable in America. It’s illegal in Florida and Alabama, which both enacted bans in May. That leaves more than two dozen companies, including Upside and Good Meat, waiting for FDA approval for less expensive products they can take to market. Upside hopesto sell a product mixing cultivated chicken shreds with plant proteins at a price point competitive with organic chicken. Startups like Blue Nalu, which is cultivating bluefin tuna toro in San Diego, and Wildtype, which is cultivating salmon nigiri in San Francisco, believe they’ll be able to compete with high-end seafoodas soon as they can get the federal go-ahead and build commercial factories.
The industry’s party line is that its products are safe, it’s been cooperative with regulators, and it has no reason to expect political meddling by the new political appointees.
“I don’t see the Trump administration doing bold nanny-state policy that interferes with consumer freedom,” Suzi Gerber, a nutrition scientist who leads the Association for Meat, Poultry and Seafood Innovation, an industry trade group, told me. “I think they’re going to end up on the side of American businesses and innovators, supporting the American dream.”
Globally, the strongest arguments for cultivated meat have usually emphasized the downsides of animal agriculture. Livestock operations use about a third of the land on Earth, driving much of the world’s deforestation, and cattle are a leading source of planet-warming methane. Cultivated meat would avoid those problems — as well as concerns about the mistreatment of animals and slaughterhouse workers, the overuse of antibiotics, and the fouling of rivers and lakes with manure.
But Trump doesn’t seem concerned about any of those problems, and even tech icon Musk, who used to talk a lot about climate change when his main focus was Tesla’s electric cars, falsely claimed on Joe Rogan’s podcast that the idea that animal agriculture contributes to global warming is “hot bullshit.” So the alternative protein sector, like the clean energy sector, is learning to speak the MAGA language of economic nationalism, arguing that if the U.S. regulatory process bogs down, nations like Singapore, Israel, and China will dominate the future of literal factory farming.
“The first Trump administration was very clear that it wanted this kind of innovation to stay in this country,” Upside founder and CEO Uma Valeti told me. “This isn’t about getting rid of animal meat. It’s about creating the next great American industry.”
The second Trump administration seems more likely to pick on any industry associated with the kind of climate concerns aired by Democrats. It doesn’t help that cultivated meat is also considered a threat by cattlemen and other livestock interests who reliably support Republicans. And then, of course, there’s RFK.
“I can’t remember ever seeing this level of uncertainty,” Eric Schulze, a molecular biologist and former FDA regulator who consults for several cultivated meat startups, told me. “The new team will have to decide if it supports typical Republican values of free enterprise and entrepreneurship, or if they want to create an over-regulatory environment that would be a first for the FDA under conservative leadership. The honest answer is we don’t know.”
The Biden administration isn’t rushing to approve applications before leaving office, and there’s not much the companies can do except wait. After the frenzy of interest and venture funding around cultivated meat several years ago, some once-promising startups have shut down, including New Age Eats and Sci-Fi Foods.
Wildtype raised more than $120 million during the initial burst, and it’s got a nice story to tell about producing nutritious salmon without pesticides, antibiotics, or microplastics in the U.S., instead of depleting wild salmon stocks or relying on environmentally damaging fish farms overseas. CEO Justin Kolbeck is confident that once it reaches commercial scale, growing fish filets from cells in a brewery will be more efficient and cheaper than feeding fish that have to swim, poop, and grow guts, tails, and bones that people don’t eat. But he’s got 85 employees, and he’s burning through his cash.
“How long can we wait? Not forever, that’s for sure,” Kolbeck told me. “But we try not to get too spun up about stuff we can’t control. Startups have a million ways to die, and regulatory delays are just one of them.”
Through the wrong eyes, an electric truck can look like an ideal weapon.
Law enforcement is still investigating whether any connection exists between the deadly New Year’s attacks in Las Vegas and New Orleans, but among the eerie similarities is one curious factor in common: electric vehicles.
In New Orleans, officials say a suspect now identified as 42-year-old veteran Shamsud-Din Jabbar drove into a crowd on Bourbon Street in a Ford F-150 Lightning, the electric version of the popular pickup truck, killing at least 14 and injuring many more. He had rented the truck in Houston using the peer-to-peer app Turo, which allows anyone to post their own vehicle for someone else to borrow.
In Las Vegas, the bed of a Tesla Cybertruck — also rented from Turo — exploded outside of the Trump Hotel, killing the driver and injuring seven. The EV truck, which was loaded down with fireworks, gasoline, and camping fuel, was reportedly driven by an active-duty member of U.S. Army Special Operations.
It could turn out to be a coincidence that both horrendous incidents were carried out with electric vehicles. For now, though, it’s easy to wonder whether this was a deliberate choice — if the perpetrators of what might turn out to be acts of terrorism chose EVs on purpose to cause maximum damage, especially knowing that both trucks were rented specifically for these insidious ends.
One undeniable fact is that EV pickups such as the F-150 Lightning and Cybertruck are big, heavy, and powerful. The Ford has a curb weight exceeding 6,000 pounds, with the enormous battery needed to power it making the EV heavier than the gas-powered version of the best-selling truck. The Tesla also tips the scale at more than 3 tons.
The ever-growing girth of the American car is already a known public safety hazard. The big trucks and SUVs that dominate our roads are increasingly dangerous to pedestrians, cyclists, and other vehicles given their weight and a driver’s difficulty in monitoring their surroundings.
The electrification movement has complicated this issue even more, since putting a big battery in a big vehicle makes it even heavier. Plus, EVs are remarkably powerful. All of their torque is available from a standstill, as opposed to combustion vehicles, which need time to rev up. This is what allows EVs to accelerate so quickly from a stop.
To put it in stark terms, an electric pickup truck has exactly the attributes that would appeal to someone who wanted to launch a terrorist attack on a crowd of people.
The other much-discussed safety issue for EVs is whether their batteries are a hazard because of potential fire danger. As InsideEVsnotes, EV blazes are statistically rarer than those involving ordinary gas vehicles — they just seem more common because they get more sensationalized news coverage — however they can also be more difficult to extinguish because of the energy released when a lithium-ion battery ignites.
This problem seems pertinent in light of the Cybertruck attack in Vegas, where the driver reportedly loaded down the truck with incendiary material in the apparent hope of creating an out-of-control blaze. For what it’s worth, Tesla CEO Elon Musk has said the blast was caused by the incendiary material loaded into the Cybertruck and not anything to do with the vehicle itself, and argued the EV’s stainless steel frame helped contain the explosion.
Then there are the increasingly weird politics of EVs. It’s impossible not to look at a Tesla detonating outside Donald Trump’s casino and see some kind of statement about Musk’s support for the president-elect (and growing influence over the American government). Where once EVs were the car of choice for the climate-aware, now we have a big metal electric truck that communicates a right-wing worldview as it barrels around town.
“It’s a Tesla truck, and we know that Elon Musk is working with President-elect Trump, and it’s the Trump Tower,” Kevin McMahill, sheriff of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, told reporters. “So, there’s obviously things to be concerned about there, and that’s something we continue to look at.”
We’ve covered at length some of the things EVs can do that gas cars can’t. They can use the energy in their batteries to back up your home in case of power outage, or air-condition your dog while you run into the store. But as EVs become more prevalent around the country, it seems we now have to worry about whether their downsides will be used in the worst ways imaginable.
That said, the U.S. EV maker also reported record fourth-quarter deliveries.
Tesla reported today that it had delivered 495,570 cars in the last three months of the year, and 1,789,226 in 2024 as a whole. That represents a decline in annual sales from 2023 — Tesla’s first annual decline in more than 10 years, back when the company’s deliveries were counted in the hundreds or single-digit thousands — although the fourth quarter figure is a record for quarterly deliveries.
Analysts polled by Bloomberg expected 510,400 deliveries for the fourth quarter, while Tesla had forecast around 515,000 deliveries to meet its “slight growth” goals. The company had cited “sustained macroeconomic headwinds” weighing on the broader electric vehicle market in its most recent investor letter, and again referred to “ongoing macroeconomic conditions” to explain the miss on deliveries. In the fourth quarter of 2023, Tesla deliveries stood at 484,507, with 1,808,581 for the year as a whole.
Going forward, Tesla buyers in the United States are likely to lose out on up to $7,500 in federal subsidies as the incoming Trump administration puts its stamp on energy and environmental policy. Tesla’s chief executive, Elon Musk, has supported ditching EV credits.
The below-expectations deliveries dragged on the stock, which traded down more than 4.5% in early trading Thursday. Tesla shares have otherwise been on a tear, rising around 75% in the last six months before today, with especially torrid performance following the 2024 United States presidential election.
The Chinese car company BYD is in a virtual tie with Tesla for annual battery electric vehicle sales, with 1,764,992 delivered in 2024, the company announced Wednesday. While Tesla’s 2024 sales confirm that the U.S. company maintains a narrow lead over BYD, the Chinese automaker’s sales are growing at a rapid clip — electric sales increased by over 12% for the year, compared to the slight fall in Tesla sales from 2023 to 2024.
While Tesla’s car business appears to have stalled to some extent — though it was buoyed by the release of a new model, the Cybertruck, which is already the third best-selling electric vehicle in the United States — the company’s energy storage business is another story. The company said that in the fourth quarter of last year it had deployed 11 gigawatt-hours of storage, and 31.4 gigawatt-hours in the year as a whole. If Tesla’s deployment rate in 2025 merely matched its fourth quarter rate, it would mean 40% annual growth.