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Patrick Brown claims to have “left out the full truth” in order to get published. But his full story is much more perplexing.

Patrick Brown is a climate scientist at the Breakthrough Institute, a heterodox think tank based in California that advocates for using technology and economic growth to manage climate change. He holds a Ph.D. from Duke University in Earth and ocean science.
Last week, Brown and a team of co-authors published a paper in Nature that found climate change has made it more likely that California wildfires will experience a particularly dangerous kind of event: a moment of rapid, explosive growth. Thanks to climate change, these dangerous events are now 25% more likely to occur, the paper found.
On Tuesday, Brown published a lengthy Twitter thread about his wildfire paper, as well as an article in The Free Press, an online publication founded by the former New York Times columnist Bari Weiss. Now Brown told a different story about his research — a far more negative one. His new paper revealed fundamental problems with climate science, he said, because it looked at climate change alone and not at the role that other factors, such as vegetation change, arson, or forest management tactics, might play in driving wildfire growth.
“I knew not to try to quantify key aspects other than climate change in my research because it would dilute the story that prestigious journals like Nature and its rival, Science, want to tell,” he wrote. “I sacrificed contributing the most valuable knowledge for society in order for the research to be compatible with the confirmation bias of the editors and reviewers of the journals I was targeting.”
These incentives revealed that climate science is now more interested in serving as a “Cassandra” than revealing new information about the world — a tendency, he charged, that can “actually mislead the public.”
Brown’s argument attracted my attention, because I have written about how nuanced and complicated climate science can sometimes be. When President Joe Biden linked the Quebec wildfires to climate change, I expressed doubts about the connection. When Hurricane Ian made landfall in Florida last year, I wrote that hurricanes have a far more complicated relationship with global warming than many believe. And in 2019, I broke the news that a respected team of climate scientists had ruled out some of the worst-case scenarios for rapid sea-level rise this century. I am not, in other words, someone who sees climate change in every shadow.
On Wednesday, I called Brown to talk about his claims, the Nature publication process, and the state of climate science as a field. Our conversation follows below. But I left the interview unsure of why Brown had made such a fuss.
Brown argues that climate science suffers from a serious misallocation of incentives. He says that his paper should have looked at the influence of many factors — such as arson or forest management — in driving rapid wildfire growth. Yet it didn’t. Even though he says these factors can be “just as or more important” than climate change, he declined to study them because the professional incentives pointed against it. Doing so would have detracted from his paper’s “clean narrative” focused on climate catastrophism and made his paper less likely to “pass muster with Nature’s editors and reviewers.”
But after talking to him and reading his paper, a different story emerged. When Brown began his research, he did not actually know that, say, arson or forest management were as important as climate change in driving wildfire growth. What he did know is that it would be complicated — and labor-intensive — to pull out every factor that might influence a wildfire’s growth. So he chose to focus his first paper on what was likely to be the biggest signal: climate change.
During the peer-review process, Nature’s reviewers asked him why he made this choice. It would have been “very difficult” to study those other variables, such as forest management, he replied. “This is precisely why we chose to use a methodology that addresses the much cleaner but more narrow question of what the influence of warming alone is on the risk of extreme daily wildfire growth,” he wrote, adding that he hoped to look at other factors in future research.
Nature’s editors and reviewers accepted this argument in good faith. And Brown did, in fact, begin studying the role of those other factors on wildfires. He claims that newer, unpublished work shows that active forest management can negate some impacts of climate change on wildfire in California, although this finding has yet to be peer reviewed.
When the Nature paper came out last week, Brown was admirably upfront about its limitations. The paper itself cautions that its findings should be interpreted only “narrowly”; Brown stressed on Twitter and in interviews that even though climate change is making wildfires worse, near-term greenhouse-gas reductions will do little to cut that risk. And journalists listened to him. NPR and the Los Angeles Times devoted multiple paragraphs of their stories to that insight and to the importance of forest management.
So I’m left asking: What’s the problem here? Brown had a knotty research problem, and he chose to divvy it up into smaller parts and focus on the easiest part first. He triaged, in other words. When peer reviewers — whom he now claims accepted his paper due only to their “confirmation bias” — pushed back on his decision, he argued against them and said that he would look at other variables later. He kept that promise; he is studying those variables now. When his paper was published, he publicized its findings fairly and accurately. The media covered them with nuance. Where’s the scandal, again? What are we supposed to be mad about here?
Brown seems to have talked himself into the view that he did something wrong, but it’s not clear to me that he actually did. Shorn of his personal example, his Free Press article amounts to a series of gripes about other high-impact climate papers. He criticizes an article that calculated how carbon emissions could hit GDP, but his concerns, while reasonable enough, are hardly an indictment of the field. He complains that journal editors look for “eye-popping” statistics when reviewing papers, but this is hardly a vice unique to climate science. None of what he describes — least of all his own behavior — amounts to an effort to “distort research” or “mislead the public” that he has seemingly alleged.
His critique has found its audience anyway. Since we talked, Brown’s argument has been cited by Fox News, The New York Post, and The Telegraph. “Climate scientist admits editing paper to fit ‘preapproved narratives,’” reads a typical headline. (Brown denies distorting or lying about his results.) The editor-in-chief of Nature, meanwhile, has rebuked Brown and said that the journal is “carefully considering the implications of his stated actions.” During our conversation, Brown lamented that only articles warning of climate change’s dangers ever appear in the media. Now he is receiving a wholly different type of coverage.
Our conversation has been edited for concision and clarity.
I wonder if you could catch me up on what’s happened in the past few days and on the criticism, or the meta-criticism, of the paper that you just published.
If you look at my tweet thread or the press release on the paper, I went out of my way to emphasize the points that I end up critiquing the paper for. I emphasize that in our current phase of research, we’re finding that hazardous fuel reduction treatments might be able to completely overwhelm the impact of climate change on fire.
My argument is that I would very much defend the research overall, but I’m making this commentary on framing it for the journal. What I did when writing with paper, when my goal was to get it in Science or Nature, is very, very common. It’s pervasive. It’s just turning the dials in all these specific ways that end up skewing the public view of the overall situation that we’re in. As a climate researcher, if you want this high-end paper, if you want this paper that’s going to make a splash and help you in your career, your goal is to cut through everything else and use a bunch of sophisticated statistics to find the climate change signal in there.
There’s nothing explicitly wrong with this paper; it’s just what ends up getting communicated at the end of the day. So in this case, you hold everything constant, you only look at this temperature impact, so you’re controlling for other factors — like changes in human ignition patterns or changes in characteristics from fire suppression. Those caveats are mentioned in the paper, so I’m not saying that they’re hidden. But you focus exclusively on climate change and you ignore these other factors that might be important. There’s a firehose of papers like this, but they end up giving a totally overemphasized impression of the climate change impact.
Climate change is this nuanced thing, and it shows up in different ways in the world, and what we know about it is quite nuanced. I think that can absolutely get lost in the loudest parts of the discourse.
I struggle with it. People are coming from such different baselines, where I think some people are of the mindset that we don’t even know if the climate is changing, or we have no idea if humans are contributing to it or something like that. And, obviously, that is completely against what all of the empirical evidence and science shows. For those people, I’d love to convince them of the importance of climate change and the dominant role that humans play in it.
But then there’s this other group of people that I think is misled by social media or certain media outlets, that are under a very misinformed impression about how large changes in weather and impacts on people are at least historically or up to this point. That starts with the journal articles themselves, and I perceived there to be strong incentives to really just focus exclusively on the climate change impact and to play it up more than it deserves to be played out.
I want to talk about that by focusing on this paper. It seems there are these other factors that shape wildfires. You mentioned just now changing ignition patterns, changes in fire suppression, changes in vegetation. I think the way that you just described them is that they “might” be important. The way you described them yesterday is that they’re “just as or more important.”
My first question is: Do we know that? I can imagine that they might be important. But have you done the research to know they’re just as important?
So the paper in Nature was submitted in July 2022, and since I submitted this, I moved on to that question. And we don’t have a manuscript yet, but what we're seeing using the same methodology is that fuel loads just have an enormous impact on fire danger. It’s a struggle to figure out how to model mechanical thinning and prescribed burning, but the results indicate that doing that at least locally can totally overwhelm or negate the climate change impact.
That will be a new paper, but that’s not some new result. If you look at disciplinary journals — it’s not in PNAS or Nature for the most part — that is kind of a consensus, that the fuel component of this is very large. It’s not unreasonable at all to think that a hazardous fuel reduction could overwhelm the impact of climate change.
So, do we know that for sure? No, but that’s one of the points I’m making — researchers aren’t incentivized to write that paper as much as I think that they should be. That’s a paper that's like, We’re going to do the very best we can varying different scenarios of ignition, or how we think ignition patterns have changed historically, or varying different scenarios of fuel buildup based on suppression policies and climate change. And we’re going to do this in a super rigorous, fair way, and we could rank these things or just see the relative influence of those factors. That has a much lower return on investment from the perspective of a researcher. It’s way more work, it’s way harder, and whatever the results, it will be much more equivocal. It’s going to be this super long paper, and it’s going to get bogged down in review.
I want that to be the gold standard. But what I see becoming the gold standard are these papers that are mimicked off of Science and Nature. You have a limit of about 2,000 words and three figures, and it incentivizes you to make this case. You have all of this data that’s messy, and your goal is to find the story and to tell the story with beautiful figures. Inevitably, doing it that way, you have to relegate things that go against your story to the supplements and explain them away. That’s the way that scientific publishing works, at least for these letter-type papers in Science or Nature.
There are two threads here, but I want to stay focused on the smaller one first. I think the way you put it in your thread was that to focus on other factors would “muddy the waters of a clean story” or would decrease the odds that this gets approved by Nature’s editors or reviewers.
Yeah.
But at the time you submitted the study, did we have methods to pull out the vegetation signal? Or the ignition signal?
What I’m doing now is the same idea as trying to pull out the temperature signal. You’re using the variation in space and time to get at the incremental influence of fuels on fire danger. But historically you would’ve had to come up with an estimate of what suppression policies had done to those fuels.
Got it. But at the time you submitted the paper, the work hadn’t been done.
Right. And I would love to have it be the case where as a researcher you could afford essentially to submit a paper and then be like, actually this other [method] is better or something, and then take your paper back. But that is insane, but you would never do that as a researcher. You need publications, and you want to build off the previous one.
I’m asking because there’s a throughline in some of what you’ve written that basically alleges that this kind of science is simply not something that Nature and these high-level scientific institutions are looking for. You wrote, “I sacrificed contributing the most valuable knowledge for society in order for the research to be compatible with the confirmation bias of the editors and reviewers of the journals I was targeting.”
I’m struggling to square that with the fact that the Nature reviewers, who are the people you accused of confirmation bias, directly ask you for this analysis in the peer review. One of them flags that there’s “numerous factors that play a confounding role in wildfire growth that are not directly accounted for, including vegetation, fire management, and ignition.” And another cautions against publishing the study because of methodological problems.
And during peer review, you responded to them, “We agree that climatic variables other than temperature are important for projecting change” — then you name all the factors we’ve been talking about — but “accounting for changes in all of these variables and their potential interactions simultaneously is very difficult. This is precisely why we chose to use a methodology that addresses the much cleaner but more narrow question of what the influence of warming alone is on the risk of extreme daily wildfire growth.”
It seems there’s this motte and bailey here. I understand that a researcher has limited time and they’re going to invest in the most methodologically clear stories. But you’re saying that you “molded” your work to fit the confirmation bias of Nature reviewers. Yet the Nature reviewers actually asked you to do the thing that you’ve identified as the biggest question mark in the article — and when they asked for that, you said it was too difficult. So which is it?
So I think that, that’s very good that the reviewers brought that up. But like I said before, doing that is, then, it’s not a Nature paper. It’s too diluted in my opinion to be a Nature paper.
This is what I’m trying to highlight, I guess, from the inside as a researcher doing this type of research. Reviewers absolutely will ask for good sensitivity tests, and bringing in caveats, and all that stuff, but it is absolutely your goal as the researcher to navigate the reviews as best you can. The file even gets automatically labeled Rebuttal when you respond to the reviewers. It’s your goal to essentially get the paper over the finish line.
And you don’t just acquiesce to reviewers, because you’d never get anything published. You don’t just say, Oh you’re right, okay, we will go back and do that work for five years and submit elsewhere. The reality of the situation is you have to go forward with your publication and get it published. They can ask for legitimate things, and you can kind of hand wave it away, and I don’t think that would work if you were not focused on the climate-change signal alone. If you were only focused on the fuel effect, I don’t think it would even go to review. They would be like, They didn’t consider climate change. That’s the thing we care most about.
I think it’s good that they’re now publishing reviewer comments and retorts, but that is common, absolutely conventional practice. You do what you think you have to do, and you don’t do what you think would take too long or bog it down or end up with a paper not being published.
There’s two different stories there, though. I mean, you write: “To put it bluntly, climate science has become less about understanding the complexities of the world and more about serving as a kind of Cassandra” and that this “distorts a great deal of climate science research. It misinforms the public and it makes practical solutions more difficult to achieve.”
The argument you make in your article is that this is due to confirmation bias and the desire for splash. And the argument you’re making now, which is different, is that the methods on the climate signal are much better developed. That it’s a much clearer thing. It’s what everyone cares the most about, for understandable reasons, and if you’re a researcher, it’s the lowest-hanging fruit, so it’s the easiest and most pressing thing to focus on. But that’s very different from this being about confirmation bias or a tendency toward catastrophism — it’s about researchers trying to make the most of the limited time that they have.
Yeah, I don’t think that they’re that different. I think that the methods are less developed for these other causal factors because of this climate obsession. We know the most about the climate signal, again, because the data sets and the infrastructure are all designed around the climate signal.
So it’s very easy for me to get estimates of the temperature change since the pre-industrial era, and we have all these models, and it’s all at my fingertips. It’s easier, it is the low hanging fruit. But you can imagine a world where in the fire science community, there are resources and databases estimating historical ignitions or other data, like, “this is our year-by-year estimate of fuel loads from 1850 to the present.” Then, that would be the low-hanging fruit. You would have potentially a totally different feeling for what comes out the other end, or what is reported in the media, if those data sets existed.
But the other side of that story is right here, which is that the peer reviewers ask you for that other stuff, and you say it’s too hard. You said it’s “very difficult.” And the other thing you said is that, “Our study shows that large-growth days are predictable using our predictors despite having no other information.” My interpretation is that this leaps out of the data even if everything else is moot.
The predictors include fuel characteristics. There’s nothing in the paper that does long-term manipulation of those, like the temperature or other variables. The models do know certain fuel characteristics, but those have gotten much more sophisticated in the current version of the models.
But back in 2019 or 2020, when you started the wildfire paper, you actually didn’t know about the role of ignitions or vegetation or forest management in driving wildfire growth. You would assume, as I would assume, that these are important factors, but you didn’t know about them. You chose to focus on climate first.
Yeah.
And then you were told to go back and look at the other ones, which you eventually did — that’s what you’re doing now. But at the time, you were like, that’s very hard, so we’re doing this one first. So my question here is: Isn’t this just science working, then? Is that really so scandalous? You picked the highest salience trendline first and then, having found that, went to go study other things.
You could say that that’s science working, but I think that what would happen is that when we start to dilute the climate change story, it’s not a Nature paper anymore. It's not a high-profile paper.
I’m not throwing all of science or all of climate science under the bus. I’m saying, the incentives are aligned to get this exclusive billing in these highest-profile papers and that skews the overall public impression of how large the climate signal is. So yeah, we could go publish another paper, but that wouldn’t have nearly the splash or penetration into the public as this one would have.
I am not sure that's true. I’m also not sure that it seems like nobody has done this vegetation work that you're doing. And when you publish that, it seems like it will be a very important methods paper — and methods papers get cited in some ways more than the high-impact stuff.
I don’t see a story, really, or a narrative getting into The New York Times about how — or especially the Guardian, or someplace like that — about how something other than climate change could be the dominant driver. Maybe I’m wrong, but that doesn’t seem like it would be nearly as likely as focusing on the climate change thing exclusively.
Again, I’m not sure that’s true, but I think that gives away the game a little, because if you’re a researcher trying to publish work that will be highly salient to the public, of course you’ll focus on climate change — the public already cares a lot about climate change. And the public is fundamentally right to care. I even think this whole process has sold your own paper short: If climate change is contributing to these rapid wildfire growth events, that’s a very important finding! Even if it’s not fixable in the near term with emissions reductions. Of course the public cares about it.
There’s a lot in your criticism that suggests certain kinds of analysis are “discouraged” or that certain kinds of questions would not have made this a Nature paper. And I understand you’re just trying to get past the review stage, but the process that was set up to edit Nature did tell you this, and you argued against it. So it’s a little duplicitous to turn around to the public and say, Well, I was only arguing against them because of the incentives.
I realize you have to publish. But when the peer reviewers told you to look at these other factors, you were like, “Oh, it’s very difficult, and climate change is so important that it’s worth pulling out this signal anyway.” And now to the public, your meta-interpretation of your own paper is like, “I wish I had been able to focus on this other stuff.”
But we got it through. Reviewers and editors could say, “No, this is ridiculous, you can’t focus exclusively on the climate change signal.” And they could do that with everything — with yields, with deaths, with fires, with floods, with GDP.
But what I’m saying is that from reading Nature, from reading Nature Climate Change, from reading Nature Communications, from reading Science, from reading Science Advances, I know as a researcher that this is not going to stop my paper. This is what everyone does. So when someone says, look at other factors — which is always what you get in reviews — you just learn to say, that’s not in the scope of this paper, but we can do it potentially in future work. You come up with a reason why you’re not going to do it in this paper, because you need that paper published so you can go on to the next one.
I hear that, but it does feel dishonest to turn around and interpret the paper to the public in this way. You’re not saying, in either the Twitter thread or Free Press article, that “Frankly it was very hard to pull out all these other factors, so we didn’t do it in this paper, but you should know that other factors matter.” What you’re saying is that the entire publication set-up is geared toward producing articles finding a catastrophic climate impact.
I understand you felt you had to just get past the reviews, but you can’t tell a high-impact journal that what they want is too hard, then turn around and tell the public, “Simply put, the incentives didn’t let me do this!”
Yeah, I understand what you’re saying, but what I would say is that there was no pathway for the reviewer to say, “Consider these other factors,” and then for us to do that, and for it to become a Nature paper. There’s no off-ramp there where you say, “Okay, good idea, we’ll go do that.” Your response has to convince the reviewer that you don’t need to do that. That would be a potential way to reform things — if you were able to hold papers in limbo. As a researcher needing publications, and wanting as many high-profile publications as you can, you have to argue with the reviewers and do whatever’s necessary to then get it over the finish line. My larger point is that it’s still the biases of the editors and reviewers that allowed the hand-waving response to get through.
But if you thought that they had made such a valid point that it torpedoed the paper, you could have pulled the paper. You did have options.
Yeah. I could have pulled the paper.
But that’s my point. I’m trying to improve science. And I’m saying, from the inside, that you don’t pull your paper, that’s crazy. You would never do that. Your incentives as a researcher are not aligned with the best knowledge generation for the public. You can say, okay, a more pure scientist would have done that, and shame on me for not pulling the paper, but I don’t think that’s fair, because I think 99.99% of people in my position … this is our job. To argue with reviewers and get papers over the finish line. Especially when nothing is actually wrong. Nothing is explicitly wrong here.
You’ve said that this “wouldn’t make it a Nature paper.” But there was a commentary in Nature Climate Change just yesterday that argued against the assumption that the future will be worse than the present and said that we shouldn’t paint an increasingly dire version of the future.
These articles don’t always get covered in the press, but is this a problem with science, or is it just a problem with the press?
Well, I think that there’s definitely a press issue, and that's a whole separate issue. But yeah, I’m highlighting what I think is a basic foundational science portion of the issue. And there are feedbacks between the two. I think 10 years ago, or 15 years ago, I don’t think there was this alliance between certain celebrity scientists and certain journalists, like — “You journalists will be the PR for my study that just came out, and I’ll shape my study to be the most salient for writing about.” I think that’s a natural tendency for highly motivated and ambitious people.
This question of an “alliance” is an interesting one. Because there’s a very understandable story about the incentives you’re describing. I think it’s good to point out that climate change is where we have the most developed methods, it’s what the public cares about the most, so it’s what you write about first when you start to take a crack on this wildfire problem. And if there are negative consequences that follow from those incentives, that’s quite understandable. But when you talk about an “alliance,” it suggests that there’s this malevolent or highly self-interested conspiracy —
I don’t think that. Just as an example, though, you are being an excellent journalist right now. You are really questioning me, and shaking me down, and questioning all sorts of things that I said. But I did a bunch of interviews on the Nature paper and I got nothing like that. No one ever asked challenging questions. They do this kind of, You are the scientist, you are the arbiter of truth-type thing.
So I notice a difference here — when I am in this role of warning about climate change, I am treated very differently than when I’m in this role of challenging that. And maybe you always do this with all the climate stuff that you cover, but I think that the people on the climate beat should not just be these megaphones for researchers, they should challenge them.
When those reporters were asking you questions, were you going out of your way to say, “Oh, fire management is really important. Actually, how we manage this is really important.”
Yes, I was, actually.
And did it make it into the stories?
Well, the vast majority of the stories I was not interviewed for. There was an NPR story and an LA Times story, and I think my quotes got in there. So that’s good.
That’s good to hear. I’ll be honest that when I saw your Free Press article yesterday, I was pretty taken aback. And it’s because I was looking forward to calling you as an expert during a big wildfire event. But when I call a researcher about a paper, I need them to be honest with me and tell me their full views about it. But if someone says A to me and to my readers, and then they turn around a few days later and say, In fact, I really believe B — I was only saying A because of the incentives, it gives me pause. Because why should I trust you?
I totally understand what you’re saying. Part of this is certainly a confession of personal fault, but in my tweet thread and in the press release, I made sure to emphasize everything I thought was important. If we had wanted it to go viral, I could have emphasized a [high emissions scenario] and made the title that climate change radically alters wildfire growth. But the title was about using artificial intelligence. And in all the interviews I did, I emphasized what I think is the most scientifically interesting part of this, which is that if you put climate change on different wildfires, you get different responses because forests are nearer or closer to these aridity thresholds. I feel no regrets whatsoever about the publicity I did for the paper.
I want to ask you about a few of the ways that Twitter and Free Press readers have interpreted the criticisms you’re making. One reader says you “inflated numbers” in order to get the article published. Did you do that?
No. That sounds like something totally different from what I’m talking about. That sounds like you go into a spreadsheet and change the numbers or something. I’m talking about a much more subtle thing, about emphasis.
Got it. There was a Free Press commenter who walked away from your story and said that you “distorted the facts and lied in order to succeed.” Do you think that’s a fair read?
No — “lied in order to succeed”? No. There’s nothing out of the ordinary or unconventional about this paper. I’m saying the conventions lead to an incomplete picture overall.
Do you understand why people walked away from the criticism you were making with those ideas?
I suppose if you just understand that people are reading things pretty quickly and lightly, but I don't think if you go word by word through my piece, you would see that.
Your piece does allege that the public’s being misled by the incentives here.
I think the overall picture being painted emphasizes climate more than it deserves.
Were your co-authors aware that you were going to use the paper in the way that you did?
I gave some of them a verbal heads up, but they did not see the piece, so this is, 100%, I own it. They are not involved and should not be accused of anything. I wrote the paper, I did the entire analysis, and this is my thing in terms of the opinion piece as well.
Is this really about climate change, or is this really about something that we know happens in every scientific discipline, which is that the most novel, eyebrow-raising papers get into high-impact journals and get the most press coverage? We don’t read about the bulk of the experiments that happen at the Large Hadron Collider, either.
It’s hard for me to judge completely about other fields since I’m not in them, but I would say that the splashiest papers in a non-politicized field are the ones that would go against conventional wisdom or the state of perceived knowledge in the field. I would say it’s the opposite in climate science. It’s all about emphasizing the climate-change signal or the climate-change impact. A lot of climate researchers feel like it’s essentially their job to raise alarm about climate change and emphasize the emissions reduction component.
But climate change is inherently politicized, right?
Yeah.
And the history is that climate scientists are not who politicized it. The reason it’s an especially touchy field is because there was a 15-year effort to emphasize every single error bar, every quibble, every well-founded scientific statement of doubt, to convince the public to doubt the climate-change hypothesis.
I take your point. I don’t know if it’s fair to say — I mean, are you saying that they could be politicized? Because I think it’s still politicized in general. There’s all these values that are taken onboard [by scientists]. There are traditional environmentalist values that impacting Earth is inherently bad, and so we should look for and highlight these bad things. That’s not explicitly, necessarily a partisan, political thing, but it’s an ideology that’s running in the background. It’s different from an ideology that says warming is this much, but it could be overwhelmed or offset by this technology.
I’m not someone who sees the fossil-fuel industry in every failed climate policy. But just as a matter of historical fact, from 1990 to at least 2005, there was a well-funded, highly organized effort to publicize every point of scientific caution to sow doubt about climate change. And yes, climate science was associated with environmentalism through the 1970s and ’80s, but had there not been an organized effort to play up every morsel of doubt in the literature, climate science wouldn’t have been politicized in the same way.
I’m not a historian of that. I take your point.
You’re describing a set of incentives that push researchers to look at climate change first. But if you go to a climate science conference, it’s really different, and you do in fact see ideas in climate science get rolled back over time. Like, in the 2000s, we thought climate change played a much larger role in hurricanes than we do now.
I think that’s a really important point, but I don’t think that that is at all what the public thinks or that’s communicated to the public. I guess if that’s an empirical question, you could do the polling on it, but it seems like, now, to me, it seems like every extreme weather event is covered through the lens of climate change.
Look at Canada’s explosive wildfire year. On the one hand, it’s so out of line with historical norms, it’s hard to see how there isn’t a climate change signal there — on the other hand, it’s so out of line that it’s hard to say what’s going on. So what do we want the public to do here? Because I don’t think every member of the public will be an expert on exactly how climate change drives extreme weather. So is the American public, writ large, sufficiently concerned about climate risks as I understand them? Probably not. Is 5% of the public too concerned? Maybe, yeah. But I also don’t know what’s going to happen in the future.
I’d have to look at the polls. I remember seeing that 42% of young people have some form of climate anxiety every day, which I think is filtered through social media reframing all extreme weather through the lens of climate change, bringing in a very apocalyptic view that I think is incongruent with the data. You think 5% is too concerned? I don’t know. You’d also have to bring in policies, and costs of policies, and the net overall costs and benefits of energy systems and agricultural systems and everything, and that’s just a much more difficult thing to get right.
But the leading candidate for one of the two parties also says climate change isn’t real. So my question would be, are there malicious actors and institutions here? Or is this just an extremely hard, very difficult thing to get right?
I do not think that there are malicious actors and institutions. I think it’s much more just the cultural milieu of institutions. The problems that I’m highlighting, I think there’s just a groupthink that develops, and people not wanting to rock the boat too much, and everyone kind of being on board knowing that, Well, the good side is to raise alarm about climate change and to reduce emissions, and the bad side is to do anything that would be in the other direction of that. And I think that you can make an argument for that, but I think that that ends up distorting actual scientific output.
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Neither Republicans nor Democrats have a coherent idea of how to move forward.
Adapted from a speech given to an energy policy conference hosted by the Niskanen Institute, a centrist think tank, on December 5, 2025.
It is a disjointed moment for energy policy in the United States. Democrats and Republicans are at sea. Neither party has a particularly coherent plan for how it expects to develop energy policy over the next decade or so. And both parties have too many visions, too many goals, and too many places where their aspirational coalitions conflict with their policy commitments to advance a clear theory of energy policy in 2025.
You can best understand this confusion by starting on the Republican side, I think — and by comparing energy policies from the first and second Trump administrations. Both administrations seem to share a common framework: Both set a goal of “energy dominance,” both have tried to enact favorable policies for the oil and gas industry, and both have been characterized by an aggressive approach to environmental and climate deregulation — and by a sense that greenhouse gas pollution is not only a necessary evil but a positive good. But there the similarities stop.
The first Trump administration continued a long-running policy of benign neglect, and even of occasional encouragement, to wind and solar energy development — provided such energy development did not undermine fossil fuels. It was Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke who, in December 2018, auctioned off sites for offshore wind development in Massachusetts — and when these sites were snapped up for a record $405 million, promptly celebrated a “BIDDING BONANZA.”
“To anyone who doubted that our ambitious vision for energy dominance would not include renewables, today we put that rumor to rest,” Zinke said at the time. “With bold leadership, faster, streamlined environmental reviews, and a lot of hard work with our states and fishermen, we’ve given the wind industry the confidence to think and bid big.”
The first Trump administration was by no means a climate champion. It tried to rescue the coal industry, in part through advancing an emergency rule at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission that would have subsidized coal-fired and nuclear power plants through power markets. Its Environmental Protection Agency ended the Obama administration’s attempt to regulate greenhouse gas pollution from power plants, and it weakened restrictions on tailpipe pollution from cars and light-duty trucks. And of course, it attacked California’s ability to regulate vehicle emissions.
But it rarely seemed to want to destroy the renewables industry, and it distinguished between climate policy and renewables policy. Perhaps it remained favorable to wind energy in part because Republican senators from the interior are favorable to wind energy. On the whole, it acted in a manner that was often defensibly pro-electricity development of all types.
The second Trump administration, by contrast, has sought to hamper and obstruct renewables development out of principle. Gone are the days when Zinke told the wind industry to “think and bid big.” Instead, the second Trump administration has told the wind industry to drop dead. It has implemented a de facto moratorium on new wind and solar projects on federal lands; it has sought new ways to revoke permits from offshore wind projects or block them outright.
At the same time, it has continued its crusade against climate policy. It has defanged the Transportation Department’s fuel efficiency standards. It has attacked state pollution policy once more, including California’s clean car standard, as well as New York City’s congestion pricing. And it has even sought to unwind the EPA’s endangerment finding, the determination that carbon dioxide is a dangerous pollutant and should be regulated as such.
This war on new energy sources has come just as the Trump administration has tried to tell voters that it cares about the rising cost of living — and, particularly, rising electricity costs. And it has come as the Trump administration has embraced AI, the industry driving more electricity demand growth than any other this century.
This combination has put the Trump administration in the position that George Pollack, a senior policy analyst at Signum Global Advisors, has called an “energy trilemma.” Trump wants to preside over an AI boom, avoid the political costs of rising energy prices, and block renewables growth. He can only pick two of these — and as more constraints hold back U.S. energy development, he might only be able to pick one.
Let me add to this another conflict that the Trump administration faces. Trump officials want the United States to catch up to China’s industrial development because they fear losing military competitiveness. But China’s economic model depends on encouraging and subsidizing market formation of what they call the “new three industries” — batteries, solar panels, and electric vehicles. Yet the administration does not want subsidized price parity for EVs, nor a competitive market for solar panels or electric vehicles; it would prefer that, perhaps with the exception of Tesla, as few people buy EVs as possible.
You can see this conflict most concretely in their critical minerals policy. From the first day of his second term, Trump has declared that America’s lack of mineral mining and refining capacity is an “energy emergency.” His administration has intervened in mineral markets — lining up financing and establishing a price floor for rare earth production, for example, or taking a stake in a lithium mine — in order to guarantee sufficient domestic supply. But the industries that actually use these minerals are largely wind turbine, electric vehicle, and electronics makers. Military equipment makes up a relatively small share of mineral use. He wants minerals, but he doesn’t want the industries that will actually use those minerals.
The clearest energy policy has come in the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which, as the product of a legislative process, represents the Republican Party’s energy views rather than the president’s regulatory policies.
I think the law reveals that congressional Republicans have more coherent energy views than their copartisans in the administration — or at least that the pressures on congressional Republicans sometimes tilt the party in the direction of quasi-coherence. The most pulchritudinous act was, to be clear, terrible for clean energy innovation and deployment: It repealed the wind and solar tax credits and it junked consumer and business incentives for buying or leasing a new or used electric vehicle. It also repealed programs meant to encourage zero-carbon industrial development, particularly around the hydrogen industry. It was terrible for blue-collar workers in the Sun Belt, Gulf Coast, and Appalachia, who stood to benefit from EV manufacturing and clean industrial investment.
Yet it, again, revealed areas of intriguing quasi-coherence. One of the biggest policy innovations of the Inflation Reduction Act was to replace the government’s piecemeal investment and production tax credits for various energy technologies — such as wind, or solar, or geothermal — with a single zero-carbon technology-neutral investment and production tax credit. With this new policy, Democrats in Congress essentially said: We welcome the addition of any price-competitive generation resource on the grid as long as it emits essentially no carbon pollution. In theory, this liberated Democratic lawmakers from the endless process of adding and subtracting specific technologies from the tax code, and it showed that the party was listening to critics who said the government shouldn’t be picking particular technological winners and losers.
Now, Republican energy officials — particularly Secretary of Energy Chris Wright — have criticized the intermittent nature of renewables. They claim that wind and solar — which cannot flex their production of electricity to meet the grid’s needs, and which do not, of course, reliably produce electricity 24 hours of the day — impose unacknowledged costs to the power grid through the transmission grid. The facts, I should add, don’t agree; a recent Lawrence Berkeley National Lab study does not find that transmission costs are rising significantly in the U.S. — most of the recent electricity rate hikes have come from the rising cost of the local distribution system, particularly from transformers, poles, wires, and undergrounding equipment.
The One Big Beautiful Bill Act’s changes to the zero-carbon technology-neutral tax credit cohere, at least, to Wright’s worldview. The GOP law leaves the technology-neutral tax credit intact, but excises wind and solar from it after 2027. This means that the law effectively preserves support for zero-carbon technologies that are flexible and do generate power 24/7 — such as, above all, batteries, but also advanced geothermal and nuclear fusion. And broadly, I would add that the Trump administration’s support for grid-scale batteries, which allow wind and solar electricity to spread out through the day; for advanced geothermal, which uses technology derived from fracking innovation to generate electricity; and for nuclear power of every stripe has been a rare spot where the administration has encouraged more low-carbon energy deployment.
Of course, any kindness there pales in comparison to how the administration has acted toward the oil and gas industry. Trump has lavished that industry with gifts: He opened vast new swaths of federal wilderness to drilling, including 1.5 million acres of Alaska’s Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, and he hopes to open another billion acres of U.S. coastal waters to drilling. He has rolled back rules restricting methane pollution from U.S. drilling operations, approved new liquified natural gas export terminals, and attacked any regulation meant to conserve or more efficiently deploy fossil fuels in the transportation sector. This friendliness has, so far, failed to help the oil and gas industry out of its ongoing doldrums; oil prices have remained stubbornly low through Trump’s second term, in part because of his tariffs and in part because of rising battery vehicle deployment.
So that’s Trump. What a mess.
Unlike Trump’s energy trilemma, Democrats are dealing with a much more classic energy dilemma. It is much closer to dilemmas faced by liberal policymakers around the world: On the one hand, Democrats want to reduce carbon emissions; on the other hand, they want to lower nominal energy costs for voters — or at least keep them flat. The party has dealt with this dilemma in different ways. During the Obama administration, the party took an “all of the above” approach to energy: It largely encouraged the buildout of the country’s natural gas system — working sometimes hand-in-glove with environmentalists to shut down coal plants and replace them with natural gas — while pursuing EPA rules that sought to improve energy efficiency and reduce emissions from vehicles and power plants.
The Biden administration dealt with the energy dilemma in a different way, when it dealt with it at all. It passed the Inflation Reduction Act, the country’s first comprehensive climate law. The IRA incentivized and tried to buy down the deployment costs of many types of zero-carbon energy technologies, and it sought to speed up learning curves so as to achieve durably lower costs for decarbonization technology. It largely did not, however, ease the permitting or process barriers to adding more energy to the grid.
At the same time, the Biden administration was more hostile to the fossil fuel energy industry than the Obama administration had been — during the campaign, Biden said that the industry would eventually have to shut down — while paying occasional but intense attention to its ability to impose politically salient costs on Americans. This could sometimes come across as confused: The Biden administration slow-walked oil and gas permitting on federal lands through the Department of the Interior, but he — in a burst of policy creativity — released oil from the Strategic Petroleum Reserve during the period of painfully high gasoline prices following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
Since January, Democrats haven’t really had to face this dilemma in the same way because they have been locked out of federal power. This has allowed the party to, for instance, largely side-step questions of how to balance the AI buildout with keeping electricity costs low.
But Democrats will soon begin to face pressures at the state level. That recent Lawrence Berkeley National Labs study finds that while renewables do not increase electricity prices, state-level policies that mandate renewable penetration, such as renewable portfolio standards, sometimes do. In New Jersey, the governor-elect Mikie Sherrill won in part by promising to freeze the state’s electricity rates for the next two years. That commitment may butt up against the state’s environmental goals. Electricity prices are highest in those states or regions where Democrats have the most power; the party faces a risk that this fact may hurt its ability to marshal an electricity affordability argument against the Trump administration.
The party, too, is suffering from something of a climate politics hangover. President Biden embraced climate as one of the four “existential” threats facing the country, and he moved climate to the center of his legislative agenda; the party broadly moved left on climate and environmental justice. They did so in part under the belief that it was the right thing to do — and in part under the belief that young voters and voters of color would reward them for the shift.
In return, Democrats saw their numbers crater with young people, voters of color, and environmental justice communities in the 2024 election — and even if that collapse was not about climate policy, per se, so much as the president’s unpopularity, it suggests that climate is not a special issue for these demographics. The climate voter, to the extent they exist, is likely already a Democrat.
That is where the parties find themselves. Before I continue, I want to highlight two more trends — outside of party politics — that will shape and constrain how energy policymakers go forward.
The first is the reinvigorated political and economic importance of the electricity system. As you may know, America’s era of flat electricity demand has ended, and load growth has returned to the system. We are even seeing load growth now in places that were, until recently, losing heavy industry, such as the Mid-Atlantic. And while the largest driver of load growth has been the data center boom, AI has not, so far, been responsible for most load growth. The return of manufacturing, the slow electrification of the vehicle fleet, and plain old economic and population growth is driving much of the rise in demand.
There is a bigger change here than just a return in demand growth, though. Electricity is becoming more structurally important to the U.S. economy’s frontier industries. After two decades that saw upheavals in America’s oil, gas, and chemical sectors, but that left electricity largely untouched but for shifts in the generation mix, we are seeing hints of a structural reformation of the power sector.
But there are perils here. Electricity rates have risen twice as fast as inflation over the past year. That is driven by a rise in distribution costs — the poles, wires, underground equipment, and transformers that get power the last mile from substations to homes and businesses. Transformers have been in short supply more or less since the pandemic. Natural disaster costs — from wildfires out West and extreme storms in the Southeast — have forced utilities to rebuild the entire distribution grid in some regions, raising costs and further shocking supplies. In an investor letter last year, Warren Buffett warned that costs are getting so high that the industry may no longer be viable as a private business. “Certain utilities might no longer attract the savings of American citizens and will be forced to adopt the public-power model,” he wrote.
I would be loath here not to mention a final trend: The American natural gas system is about to see a significant demand expansion, as well. Over the next four years, North America’s liquified natural gas export capacity is essentially going to double; some 27% of U.S. gas production could now theoretically be exported. Natural gas provides 43% of U.S. electricity generation needs and 38% of overall U.S. energy needs; if linking American gas markets to global gas markets brings domestic gas prices closer to their global equilibrium, we are in for a price shock. This outcome isn’t guaranteed — in the late 2010s, liquified natural gas capacity increased without a significant rise in domestic gas prices — but it is a risk.
So: Republicans face an energy trilemma. Democrats face an energy dilemma. And the electricity system is becoming increasingly important — and coming under increasing stress. What does this mean for policy?
In the near term, the big question driving most energy and climate policy across both parties is: How can we — in the broadest sense — get to yes? How can the United States build, permit, connect, and construct the energy infrastructure that the economy needs to grow or decarbonize? How can we overcome the local barriers to renewable construction — or the national obstacles to more nuclear construction?
For Republicans, this question reflects a traditional deregulatory view. But for Democrats, this question is the end result of a successful shift — which I would argue began with the Paris Agreement — to reformulate the problem of climate change as a problem of decarbonization, not emissions reduction; that is, a problem of addition, as well as subtraction; of building new energy sources, as well as energy efficiency or conservation.
And for both parties, it reflects the unignorable influence of China’s new energy economy. China, for reasons owing as much to its political economy and internal anxieties as any externally oriented environmentalism, has built a new kind of energy economy — one that can swallow hundreds of terawatt-hours of load growth every year, that can build 360 gigawatts of wind, solar, and batteries at the same time that it plans 100 gigawatts of new coal-fired power plants. It has constructed the unintuitive-to-American-ears feat of a coal, hydro, and solar-based grid with flat or declining emissions. Policymakers are aware that this abundant and at least facially cheap electricity helps the country’s AI and manufacturing industries.
This question and these anxieties point to a few policies in the near term: permitting reform and transmission construction.
Permitting reform is a catch-all term for policies that could cut down on the bureaucratic or local obstacles to building energy and infrastructure projects, clean and fossil alike. This is the third Congress in a row that has tried to do something about permitting, and while the last two did pass small pieces of legislation, a “grand bargain” on permitting has remained elusive. Questions about permitting reform tend to fall into three big buckets.
The first are what gates the permitting review process: What sets off the permitting review process? The National Environmental Policy Act applies to any “major federal action.” But what is a major federal action? When the government lends money, or grants it to a nonprofit, does that constitute a “major federal action”? Should it? Right now, the answer is usually yes — meaning that a federal loan to, say, a new EV factory essentially creates a federal nexus for that project and thus thousands of hours of paperwork requirements and litigation exposure. Should that change?
Are there some actions that never need a NEPA review? For the past two decades, Congress has said that the government didn’t need to review oil and gas drilling under NEPA if that drilling happened on a sub-five-acre footprint or on federal land which the government had already planned for oil or gas extraction. In just the first two years this exclusion was created, the BLM approved 6,100 permits under this rationale, according to the Government Accountability Office, so this policy is now likely responsible for tens of thousands of approved permits. Should other types of activity never face a NEPA review? For instance, advanced geothermal technology uses similar equipment to that used in fracking and it has a similar land footprint.
What often holds up a federal project is not the NEPA review itself, but the open-ended legislation that can follow such a review. We also know that one driver of very long NEPA reviews — reviews far in excess of what legislators envisioned when they wrote the law — is a fear that courts will reject it.
That brings us to the second question: When and how can the courts review a NEPA or permitting decision? Who can file a lawsuit? Are there remedies that don’t involve forcing an agency to redo an environmental review all over again? And finally, should courts take the position that a gap in the analysis does not presumptively invalidate an agency’s work?
Finally, how far does your analysis of a project’s environmental impact have to go to meet NEPA’s mandate? Does it have to extend just to the fenceline of a project, or to the county line? Or does it need to encompass the whole planet? Earlier this year, the Supreme Court ruled in the Seven County case that a NEPA review does not need to consider greenhouse gas emissions downstream of a project, such as those that would be released when a new railroad project opens up a new area for oil exploration. Should Congress extend that logic to the universe of NEPA reviews?
Those three questions dominate most permitting reform policy discussions around NEPA. But permitting reform, as I said earlier, is a catch-all — and each party has concerns that do not fall so elegantly in those categories. Progressives usually want permitting reform to include a commitment to expand agency staffing. They believe that NEPA reviews take so long to complete in many cases not because the law’s requirements are too onerous, but because the government lacks the labor hours to process the reviews that it has, in essence, assigned itself. Republicans, meanwhile, favor a fossil-friendly change: They want to see Congress alter the Clean Water Act so that state governments can no longer block new pipelines. This reform would not favor clean energy, but the oil and gas industry believes that it will only be politically feasible if it passed in a broader permitting reform package.
Lately, the parties have begun to agree on a new idea. The Trump administration’s successful efforts to block offshore wind, solar, and battery projects that have already been approved has raised concerns about executive interference. Democrats lament what Trump is doing, while Republicans fear a future Democrat could use those powers to block fossil fuel projects. The SPEED Act, which passed the House this month, includes a new provision meant to block presidents from interfering with already-approved energy projects. But the SPEED Act would not pass the Senate as written.
America struggles to build new long-distance transmission lines. This is an old problem, but it has deteriorated in the past decade: As recently as 2013, the country built thousands of miles of new transmission lines a year; in 2025, it is set to build about 400 miles. This problem’s opportunity cost has gotten worse over time: Because solar and especially wind resources are more abundant in some places than others, the country’s overall ability to access cheap and zero-carbon electricity is limited by its ability to build new power lines.
We already have signs that this bottleneck is slowing clean energy deployment. The U.S. hit a record for new wind capacity deployment in 2020 and 2021, but the industry’s deployment has slowed since then. This was not, until recently, due to any lack of support from the federal government — in fact, the Biden administration was quite solicitous of wind — but because we may have started to run out of windy places with ample transmission capacity in the United States.
This bottleneck has become politically urgent in the age of load growth and AI data centers, and policymakers have proposed a number of policies to deal with it. They have come up with four big ideas.
The first is to strengthen FERC’s ability to backstop new power lines. Under federal law, FERC has a limited authority to approve new transmission lines in designated high-priority areas, but a much broader “one-stop shop” ability to approve new interstate natural gas pipelines. As a consequence, it is much easier to move natural gas around the country than electricity. Perhaps FERC’s ability to approve and expedite new power lines could be made more similar to its pipeline authority.
The second is a transmission tax credit — likely an investment tax credit that could cover something like 30% of the cost of a new transmission line. This would be especially useful for merchant developers who believe it would be profitable to build a large-scale clean energy resource and connect it to a congested region of the grid.
Third, a way of standardizing who pays for and who benefits from new transmission lines. Right now, utilities and power producers must essentially divide up the costs and benefits of a new power line on an ad hoc basis. A standard calculation — backed by the federal government — could ease that negotiation and make it clear where new lines would make the most sense.
Finally, some policy to “force” a transmission buildout and solve siting issues. You could imagine this happening in at least two different ways. One way is a legislated minimum transfer requirement — a mandate that every grid be able to transfer a certain amount of load to its neighbors. That would essentially mandate the construction of new lines, which could then be built by utilities or merchant transmission developers. Another would be to establish a new interregional transmission planning authority. This presumably federal body would plan, contract, and build a new high-voltage, direct current “backbone” grid for the country — it would, essentially, treat electricity transmission infrastructure as a critical resource on par with the interstate highway system.
Although this approach might sound like central planning — and, admittedly, it is central planning — one of the country’s biggest and most laissez-faire power markets has found success by preemptively planning and building transmission infrastructure. In 2005, Texas passed a state law to build new high-voltage transmission lines to promising areas for new wind farms. This investment anticipated future wind investment, based partly on the idea that while wind farms take only a few years to construct, transmission lines could take five to seven years. (That number has since gotten worse.) Ultimately, that law is credited with bringing on more than 18 gigawatts of wind power to the Texas grid.
Once you move beyond these two big issues, you get to a series of problems which I would describe as more imminent areas of bipartisan interest, but with no clear policy solution yet.
The first is executive discretion. Is there some way for Congress to limit a POTUS’s ability to tamper with energy projects that had already been approved by the relevant executive agency, as Biden did with the Keystone XL pipeline and Trump has done with offshore wind farms? I should add that between writing this speech and delivering it, this might have found a bipartisan policy solution — the SPEED Act, which passed late last month out of the House Natural Resources Committee, contains text meant to constrain future legislators.
The second is trade. The Trump administration has shown it is far more willing to raise trade barriers than previous administrations, and Democrats have noticed. Could trade barriers be enacted in a more bipartisan way, and could they advance other economic or decarbonization goals? Namely, should the U.S. adopt a carbon border adjustment fee, as the European Union is doing? Should we integrate our “trading club” with Europe’s, for climate or security reasons? What would such a fee look like in the absence of a domestic carbon price?
The third is electricity. As I have discussed, after years of stagnation, the AI boom and electrification have turned the power grid into a far more interesting and dynamic energy system. I also mentioned that some owners of regulated utilities, such as Warren Buffett, are concerned about the utility sector’s future investability.
This is giving way to more profound questions. If you want to connect your data center to the grid, should all customers pay for that? Or should you bear the costs alone? Should we auction off the ability to connect to the power grid? Should the federal government take a more forceful role in financing and permitting new power plants — particularly nuclear power plants, which both parties can find a reason to appreciate at the moment? Is there a broader role for public power agencies, either through the Federal Power Act or at the state level? Is the deregulated electricity market model breaking down — and if so, what should follow it?
The fourth is industrial policy, advanced manufacturing, and the question of economic competitiveness with China. At this point, most observers have realized, I hope, that China has a far more competitive and innovative vehicle sector — not just an electric vehicle sector, but vehicle sector — than the United States does. As has happened in other East Asian developmental states, the country has moved up the value chain — progressing from making car parts to assembling foreign cars to designing and building their own domestic cars — and it weds its own subsidized but competitive markets with the largest internal one-country market that global capitalism has ever seen.
This innovation has given rise to several questions — some of which the Inflation Reduction Act tried to answer in policy that has since been repealed — and some of which have never been satisfactorily answered.
They include: What kinds of investments will stimulate EV manufacturing, or indeed any kind of advanced manufacturing? China has begun to build impressive and highly automated factories, in part by iterating on improvements purchased from the West. What kind of investments will encourage automation and dispersion of advanced robotics into manufacturing in the United States? What other industries should see policies like 45X?
Batteries are widely understood as a new general-purpose technology. Does the U.S. need to conduct a research program to catch up to Chinese-level understanding of battery chemistries? Do we need a CHIPS Act for batteries?
The Trump administration has experimented with new forms of public ownership and public support for industrial companies, from the golden share in U.S. Steel to the mineral production backstops with LP Materials. Which of those policies will be retained, and which should be expanded or innovated on? What can partial federal ownership do that traditional public markets cannot?
Finally, we have the next frontiers for both parties. Republicans are coming off a successful spate of aggressive environmental deregulation. They are increasingly willing and eager to weaken the National Historic Preservation and Endangered Species Acts. How will the public interpret those efforts? Will environmentalists mount a more effective resistance than they did for, say, the Inflation Reduction Act’s repeal?
Democrats, meanwhile, are left asking: What is the next step of climate policy? Which IRA-style tax credits could have the biggest emissions impact at the lowest cost to consumers? Is an economy-wide emissions cap worth trading away, say, the Clean Air Act’s section 111 rules on power plants? And how should policy benefit electric vehicles when, by the way, such policies are likely to benefit Tesla? How do self-driving cars like Waymo fit into any of this?
I began by saying that both parties, but especially Republicans in the second Trump administration, have become quite confused in their energy policies. This has had downsides for the American economy, as we have heard. But it also means that this is the most open moment for energy policy creativity in the United States in at least a decade. Democrats and Republicans each had their shot in government to remake the energy system — and neither has been particularly thrilled by what followed. People are hungry for new ideas, new approaches.
The parties’ long-standing energy coalitions have become destabilized, as well. The rise of China and the Biden administration’s unpopularity has destabilized climate policy in the Democratic coalition. At the same time, Republicans’ rejection of renewables and their embrace of the Big Tech has altered how that party looks to the public — and will change further if the economy slows or if the backlash to AI data centers grows. For the first time since 2012, you can see the outline of an energy realignment.
Or maybe not. If you are trying to tell the future of energy and climate policy in 2026, start here: Americans are going to need a lot more electricity in the years to come, as cheaply and cleanly as we can get it. Meeting that challenge will almost certainly require public investment and regulatory reform, meaning neither party’s radical flank will see its dearest visions come true. But everyone’s well-being depends on the grid: Republicans cannot achieve their economic objectives — nor Democrats their climate goals — without a grid buildout. Our choice is to grow the grid or watch the lights go out.
A blast from the past with the director of the Energy Policy Institute at the University of California, Berkeley’s Haas School of Business, Severin Borenstein.
Shift Key is off for the holidays, but we hope you’ll enjoy this classic episode.
Rooftop solar is four times more expensive in America than it is in other countries. It’s also good for the climate. Should we even care about its high cost?
Yes, says Severin Borenstein, an economist and the director of the Energy Policy Institute at the University of California, Berkeley’s Haas School of Business. In a 2024 blog post, he argued that the high cost of rooftop solar will shift nearly $4 billion onto the bills of low- and middle-income Californians who don’t have rooftop solar. Similar forces could soon spread the cost-shift problem across the country.
On this week’s episode of Shift Key, Rob and Jesse talk with Borenstein about who pays for rooftop solar, why power bills are going up everywhere, and about whether the government should take over electric utilities. 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:
Jesse Jenkins: I should say, it’s not really a problem with solar per se, right? It is sort of a wicked combination of significantly escalating costs in California due to wildfire prevention, and liabilities, and other investments in the distribution and transmission grids — which are largely fixed costs that you don’t avoid when you produce more solar power — and the particular way in which we design electricity rates, which then dictates how solar is valued if either you consume it on-site or, in the case of net metering, if you export it to the grid and are basically credited as if you could avoid a full kilowatt-hour of consumption, as well. So it’s this sort of combination of those three factors.
I just want to stress for listeners, like, this isn’t a problem with solar per se. It’s kind of a problem with how we design and structure electricity rates.
Severin Borenstein: Absolutely. If rates really reflected the actual cost of providing those additional kilowatt-hours then people would be facing exactly the right incentives on whether to put in solar or not. Unfortunately, nowhere do they really reflect that, but in California, they’re just completely out of line, and have gotten drastically more out of line in the last few years.
The two biggest utilities, PG&E and Southern California Edison — PG&E rates have gone up 80% in the last five years, and Edison’s rates have gone up 90%. So these are just huge increases. Some of it is directly connected to delivering electricity. A lot of it isn’t — a lot of it is the impact of climate change, and it’s the decision by the state legislature that we’re going to pay for these costs by raising your electricity price when we could easily be paying for these through the state budget.
Not easily, I mean there’s still costs. But it would be natural to pay for many of them through the state budget.
Mentioned:
Shift Key’s rooftop solar series, featuring Mary Powell, Severin Borenstein, and Heatmap’s own Emily Pontecorvo
Jesse’s distributed energy research at MIT
Australia’s Solar Choice Price Index
More on Texas’ Griddy debacle
Leah Stokes et al. on utilities’ climate record
This episode of Shift Key is sponsored by …
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Music for Shift Key is by Adam Kromelow.
Reflections on a rock ’n’ roll road trip.
I expected touring the whole country with my rock band could change me. I didn’t think it would shatter my understanding of the U.S. energy transition.
First, a quick word about myself for any Heatmap readers who may not know: Along with delivering you scoop after scoop, I’ve been writing and playing music as the front person of a band called Ekko Astral. Last fall, we had the privilege of touring the entire U.S. opening for two of my favorite rock acts, PUP and Jeff Rosenstock. The tour itself was immensely successful, with packed-out rooms full of thousands of screaming fans. Getting to play those stages was the culmination of a dream I’d had since playing guitar at age 11 at the local coffeeshop open-mic. It was awesome.
What I hadn’t considered about this cross-country rock n’ roll tour, however, was that it would take me through the fields of wind turbines and solar projects being built across the country that I’d reported on but mostly hadn’t seen in person.
Driving across the country with my band, I saw solar and wind projects in Wisconsin, Kansas, Arizona, and Idaho. One drive from Austin, Texas to Rozwell, New Mexico, sent me through a dizzying maze of wind farms in a western portion of the Lone Star State that surrounded my vehicle on all sides with spinning blades and transmission lines — and fracking rigs, because it was Texas. It felt like some sort of twisted, magnificent energy wonk video game level.
I also drove through myriad pockets of rural America where companies have been fighting tooth-and-nail to build utility-scale renewable energy and sometimes losing to hardened opposition. I drove through open fields and farmland in the Midwest and the Great Plains, for example, including places where building solar or wind is banned outright. I drove straight through the part of central Idaho where Lava Ridge, once the largest wind farm in the country, would have been built this year if not for Donald Trump. Sure, there were counties where I could understand wanting to avoid solar farms on farmland, or wind turbines cluttering more picturesque vistas. But I can’t tell you how many times I looked out the window of my vehicle and thought, Why isn’t this a solar farm? There’s no one here!
At the same time, I was trapped in my own form of climate hypocrisy, touring the country in a gas-powered Ford Transit van. I kept longing for us to have the capacity to tour by electric van. But setting aside the limited availability of electric vans for touring purposes, the sheer logistical requirements of going electric would be difficult for any touring band. Music venues do not always have reliable charging access, and calculating when and how to charge the van on our tour probably would’ve made already time-limited logistics impossible. Sure, Ed Sheeran might be able to do it, but not an up-and-coming band on a budget.
To make matters more frustrating, it turns out band merch isn’t great for the planet. Yes, you can choose greener materials for T-shirts and record packaging, but vinyl records are produced with petrochemicals. Cleaner alternatives, known as biovinyl, have been tried but can have serious quality issues (see: the Billie Eilish experiment). Then add in the shipping required to get multiple rush orders of shirts dropped in random spots across the country and, well, you’re looking at quite a lot of potential carbon emissions.
One day, late in the tour, I walked off stage in Salt Lake City and opened my phone to a text from a source notifying me that Esmeralda 7 — the largest solar project in the U.S. — had been killed. I wrote the piece, then went back to selling more copies of Ekko Astral songs printed onto petroleum discs.
All of this made me feel angry and helpless. By the time the tour ended I wasn’t quite a doomer, but I was tired, and my views on climate action had changed in three important ways.
First, we need to rethink what kind of “permitting reform” is necessary for the energy transition. After driving through so many open areas with so little economic development and no new renewable energy generation, I no longer think that changing federal environmental laws will make much of a difference, except to make more polluting forms of energy more economical. The permitting issues delaying projects in these places are, as I have reported for Heatmap, sometimes caused by people on social media who are manipulating a decline in civil engagement and participation in municipal government to block energy projects they personally dislike, even when the developments enjoy broad community support.
This is not a federal permitting problem, it’s a local one. But national politicians could help mitigate this issue if they really wanted to. New gas pipelines need approval from just one entity — the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission — but transmission lines have to cross all the Ts with every state agency along their path. Lawmakers trying to rectify that problem should also turn their attention to the local moratoria and restrictive ordinances holding up what Heatmap Pro data shows is more than a thousand renewable energy and battery storage projects across the country. I do not know what the specific policy solution is here, but we need policy experts to start coming up with ideas.
Second, I believe that artists need to practice what we preach.
In the wake of my tour, I’ve found myself daydreaming about what a true climate-friendly tour would look like, and have spoken with fellow musicians — and climate wonks — about how to make it happen. Maybe one day I will commandeer an electric vehicle and bring only enough gear to play music off the battery in the car. Or perhaps I will put on an outdoor concert run entirely on renewable-powered generators, as the band Massive Attack did earlier this year, claiming it slashed most of the emissions from their performance. In any case, these forms of radical thinking will be crucial because culture is upstream of politics, and art is the soundtrack that defines action.
Lastly, I think more of us need to go out and see the rest of our world, because it’s frustrating it took me a rock n’ roll tour to see what was right there this whole time: the frustratingly slow pace of progress.
I’m used to hearing from all sides that renewable energy deployment in the U.S. is moving at a rapid clip, even in spite of Trump’s rise to power. Nearly half of all new power coming online this year is going to be solar and wind. Battery manufacturing investments continue to be a bright spot. Carbon emissions are going down, albeit slowly. All of this is nice to hear, but I just traveled the whole country and it didn’t feel like I was seeing or feeling the transition that is supposedly underway.
This country has a lot of potential. I want to see us go so much further towards a greener electric grid, transportation system, and arts community.