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A little-known grant program in the Inflation Reduction Act is spurring almost every state to make a climate plan.
To date, less than half of all states have set forth targets to reduce their greenhouse gas emissions. Within two years, almost all of them will have official climate goals. Even Texas, even West Virginia, even Wyoming.
It’s already been a big year for climate action in states where the issue has been a nonstarter politically. The Inflation Reduction Act, the historic climate package that Biden signed last year, has brought billions of dollars in investment and tens of thousands of new jobs in clean energy manufacturing to places like Georgia. But that state’s governor, Brian Kemp, has managed to champion the economic opportunity without mentioning climate change. Now, his administration is gearing up for its first-ever climate plan.
That’s thanks to a program in the IRA that has flown mostly under the radar called the Climate Pollution Reduction Grants. It earmarked $3 million each for all 50 states, plus Washington, D.C. and Puerto Rico, to produce a comprehensive climate action plan.
The grants are noncompetitive, and states could access the funding simply by opting in. All but four — South Dakota, Kentucky, Florida, and Iowa — said yes, please.
By taking the money, the states agreed to produce an inventory of their greenhouse gas emissions and a list of actions they might take to reduce them, due to the Environmental Protection Agency by March. This is already a meaningful change — many states don’t regularly track or publish data about where their emissions are coming from. Then, in 2025, recipients will have to follow up with a much more detailed plan that includes projections of future emissions if the plan is followed, an analysis of benefits for disadvantaged communities, and workforce planning needs. Their plans will also have to include greenhouse gas reduction goals in line with the Biden administration’s commitment to reduce emissions 50% from 2005 levels by 2030.
For many states, that extra funding could go a long way. While some like California and New York have hundreds of staffers working on emission reduction plans, others may have a dozen or fewer. They haven’t had the capacity to do the data collection, modeling, and community engagement work that emissions inventorying, climate goal-setting, and action planning require. Now, fiscally constrained state environmental agencies will be able to hire extra staff and consultants. That extra support can also help states develop strategies to unlock more federal funding from the dozens of other programs in the IRA.
“A lot of the federal policy conversation is shaped by what happens in states,” Justin Balik, the state program director for the advocacy group Evergreen Action, which fought for this program to be included in the IRA, told me. “And so we saw this opportunity to continue to cement this role that states can play in continuing to drive the ball forward.”
Balik pointed out the funding is especially meaningful in states like Wisconsin, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania, where the governors in office want to be climate champions and have already made substantial climate plans but are hamstrung by conservative legislatures unwilling to fund them.
North Carolina, for example, recently completed a report modeling pathways it could take to achieve Gov. Roy Cooper’s goal of cutting emissions in half by 2030, and reaching net-zero by 2050. Bailey Recktenwald, the climate change policy advisor for the North Carolina governor’s office, told me that the state will use the new grant to do additional analysis of the solutions identified in that report, weighing factors like environmental justice, to determine “which of these recommendations we’ve already put together will get the most bang for our buck.”
Of course, a plan is meaningless without the willpower and funding to act on it, and there’s no requirement for states to fulfill their plans or achieve their goals. A number of states that accepted the planning grants, including Montana and New Hampshire, have made climate action plans in the past, only to let them sit on a shelf. And this could all be moot if a Republican wins in 2024 and shifts priorities at the EPA.
But the EPA’s program dangles a carrot for states to treat the planning process as a starting point — additional funding. Once they’ve submitted their priority plans, states can apply for a second round of grants for implementation. Unlike the planning grants, these are competitive. The EPA has $4.6 billion to hand out in chunks of between $2 million and $500 million for projects that reduce emissions.
That could mean — almost literally — anything. The grants could go toward a one-off project, like replacing a coal plant, or installing carbon capture on a cement plant. They could go toward programs designed to achieve sector-wide goals, like rebates for electric vehicles. Or they could be used for regional partnerships. States in the Northeast, for instance, could go in together on a program to subsidize the beleaguered offshore wind industry. Or they could work together to fund interstate transmission lines that will free up more room for renewables on the grid.
Recktenwald told me one opportunity for North Carolina might be to create incentives to cut emissions from trucks and buses. Cooper had hoped to enact clean truck regulations this year, which a number of other states have adopted, but the legislature prohibited him from doing so. “Now we’re looking for other creative ways to still move that industry and market forward,” Recktenwald said.
The grants’ flexibility leaves room for a range of outcomes — for better and for worse. The think tank RMI is encouraging states and the EPA to consider the timescales required to cut emissions from different sources. “When states are awarded money, it should be based upon how quickly they can move — how relevant a state’s suggested plan of action is to its unique situation,” Drew Veysey, a senior associate at RMI, told me.
It would be more effective for states with a lot of coal plants to use the funding to replace them than to create incentive programs for electric vehicles or heat pumps, for example. When you shut down a coal plant and replace it with clean power, those emissions stop immediately. But if a state starts encouraging the adoption of EVs, it will still have millions of previously sold gas cars driving around for the next 15 years or more. Scientific modeling efforts agree that most, if not all coal plants will have to shut down in the next decade in order to achieve Biden’s 2030 goal.
That may not be on the table in a coal-reliant state like West Virginia or Wyoming; states where climate change is still controversial are already being careful in their public messaging around the program. Montana’s Department of Environmental Quality, for one, has stressed that it’s looking at “non-regulatory, innovative, voluntary” approaches for the program. The Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation created a video about the program that doesn’t once mention climate change. Good luck trying to avoid it forever, though — the program is literally titled “climate pollution reduction grants.”
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New York City may very well be the epicenter of this particular fight.
It’s official: the Moss Landing battery fire has galvanized a gigantic pipeline of opposition to energy storage systems across the country.
As I’ve chronicled extensively throughout this year, Moss Landing was a technological outlier that used outdated battery technology. But the January incident played into existing fears and anxieties across the U.S. about the dangers of large battery fires generally, latent from years of e-scooters and cellphones ablaze from faulty lithium-ion tech. Concerned residents fighting projects in their backyards have successfully seized upon the fact that there’s no known way to quickly extinguish big fires at energy storage sites, and are winning particularly in wildfire-prone areas.
How successful was Moss Landing at enlivening opponents of energy storage? Since the California disaster six months ago, more than 6 gigawatts of BESS has received opposition from activists explicitly tying their campaigns to the incident, Heatmap Pro® researcher Charlie Clynes told me in an interview earlier this month.
Matt Eisenson of Columbia University’s Sabin Center for Climate Law agreed that there’s been a spike in opposition, telling me that we are currently seeing “more instances of opposition to battery storage than we have in past years.” And while Eisenson said he couldn’t speak to the impacts of the fire specifically on that rise, he acknowledged that the disaster set “a harmful precedent” at the same time “battery storage is becoming much more present.”
“The type of fire that occurred there is unlikely to occur with modern technology, but the Moss Landing example [now] tends to come up across the country,” Eisenson said.
Some of the fresh opposition is in rural agricultural communities such as Grundy County, Illinois, which just banned energy storage systems indefinitely “until the science is settled.” But the most crucial place to watch seems to be New York City, for two reasons: One, it’s where a lot of energy storage is being developed all at once; and two, it has a hyper-saturated media market where criticism can receive more national media attention than it would in other parts of the country.
Someone who’s felt this pressure firsthand is Nick Lombardi, senior vice president of project development for battery storage company NineDot Energy. NineDot and other battery storage developers had spent years laying the groundwork in New York City to build out the energy storage necessary for the city to meet its net-zero climate goals. More recently they’ve faced crowds of protestors against a battery storage facility in Queens, and in Staten Island endured hecklers at public meetings.
“We’ve been developing projects in New York City for a few years now, and for a long time we didn’t run into opposition to our projects or really any sort of meaningful negative coverage in the press. All of that really changed about six months ago,” Lombardi said.
The battery storage developer insists that opposition to the technology is not popular and represents a fringe group. Lombardi told me that the company has more than 50 battery storage sites in development across New York City, and only faced “durable opposition” at “three or four sites.” The company also told me it has yet to receive the kind of email complaint flood that would demonstrate widespread opposition.
This is visible in the politicians who’ve picked up the anti-BESS mantle: GOP mayoral candidate Curtis Sliwa’s become a champion for the cause, but mayor Eric Adams’ “City of Yes” campaign itself would provide for the construction of these facilities. (While Democratic mayoral nominee Zohran Mamdani has not focused on BESS, it’s quite unlikely the climate hawkish democratic socialist would try to derail these projects.)
Lombardi told me he now views Moss Landing as a “catalyst” for opposition in the NYC metro area. “Suddenly there’s national headlines about what’s happening,” he told me. “There were incidents in the past that were in the news, but Moss Landing was headline news for a while, and that combined with the fact people knew it was happening in their city combined to create a new level of awareness.”
He added that six months after the blaze, it feels like developers in the city have a better handle on the situation. “We’ve spent a lot of time in reaction to that to make sure we’re organized and making sure we’re in contact with elected officials, community officials, [and] coordinated with utilities,” Lombardi said.
And more on the biggest conflicts around renewable energy projects in Kentucky, Ohio, and Maryland.
1. St. Croix County, Wisconsin - Solar opponents in this county see themselves as the front line in the fight over Trump’s “Big Beautiful” law and its repeal of Inflation Reduction Act tax credits.
2. Barren County, Kentucky - How much wood could a Wood Duck solar farm chuck if it didn’t get approved in the first place? We may be about to find out.
3. Iberia Parish, Louisiana - Another potential proxy battle over IRA tax credits is going down in Louisiana, where residents are calling to extend a solar moratorium that is about to expire so projects can’t start construction.
4. Baltimore County, Maryland – The fight over a transmission line in Maryland could have lasting impacts for renewable energy across the country.
5. Worcester County, Maryland – Elsewhere in Maryland, the MarWin offshore wind project appears to have landed in the crosshairs of Trump’s Environmental Protection Agency.
6. Clark County, Ohio - Consider me wishing Invenergy good luck getting a new solar farm permitted in Ohio.
7. Searcy County, Arkansas - An anti-wind state legislator has gone and posted a slide deck that RWE provided to county officials, ginning up fresh uproar against potential wind development.
Talking local development moratoria with Heatmap’s own Charlie Clynes.
This week’s conversation is special: I chatted with Charlie Clynes, Heatmap Pro®’s very own in-house researcher. Charlie just released a herculean project tracking all of the nation’s county-level moratoria and restrictive ordinances attacking renewable energy. The conclusion? Essentially a fifth of the country is now either closed off to solar and wind entirely or much harder to build. I decided to chat with him about the work so you could hear about why it’s an important report you should most definitely read.
The following chat was lightly edited for clarity. Let’s dive in.
Tell me about the project you embarked on here.
Heatmap’s research team set out last June to call every county in the United States that had zoning authority, and we asked them if they’ve passed ordinances to restrict renewable energy, or if they have renewable energy projects in their communities that have been opposed. There’s specific criteria we’ve used to determine if an ordinance is restrictive, but by and large, it’s pretty easy to tell once a county sends you an ordinance if it is going to restrict development or not.
The vast majority of counties responded, and this has been a process that’s allowed us to gather an extraordinary amount of data about whether counties have been restricting wind, solar and other renewables. The topline conclusion is that restrictions are much worse than previously accounted for. I mean, 605 counties now have some type of restriction on renewable energy — setbacks that make it really hard to build wind or solar, moratoriums that outright ban wind and solar. Then there’s 182 municipality laws where counties don’t have zoning jurisdiction.
We’re seeing this pretty much everywhere throughout the country. No place is safe except for states who put in laws preventing jurisdictions from passing restrictions — and even then, renewable energy companies are facing uphill battles in getting to a point in the process where the state will step in and overrule a county restriction. It’s bad.
Getting into the nitty-gritty, what has changed in the past few years? We’ve known these numbers were increasing, but what do you think accounts for the status we’re in now?
One is we’re seeing a high number of renewables coming into communities. But I think attitudes started changing too, especially in places that have been fairly saturated with renewable energy like Virginia, where solar’s been a presence for more than a decade now. There have been enough projects where people have bad experiences that color their opinion of the industry as a whole.
There’s also a few narratives that have taken shape. One is this idea solar is eating up prime farmland, or that it’ll erode the rural character of that area. Another big one is the environment, especially with wind on bird deaths, even though the number of birds killed by wind sounds big until you compare it to other sources.
There are so many developers and so many projects in so many places of the world that there are examples where either something goes wrong with a project or a developer doesn’t follow best practices. I think those have a lot more staying power in the public perception of renewable energy than the many successful projects that go without a hiccup and don’t bother people.
Are people saying no outright to renewable energy? Or is this saying yes with some form of reasonable restrictions?
It depends on where you look and how much solar there is in a community.
One thing I’ve seen in Virginia, for example, is counties setting caps on the total acreage solar can occupy, and those will be only 20 acres above the solar already built, so it’s effectively blocking solar. In places that are more sparsely populated, you tend to see restrictive setbacks that have the effect of outright banning wind — mile-long setbacks are often insurmountable for developers. Or there’ll be regulations to constrict the scale of a project quite a bit but don’t ban the technologies outright.
What in your research gives you hope?
States that have administrations determined to build out renewables have started to override these local restrictions: Michigan, Illinois, Washington, California, a few others. This is almost certainly going to have an impact.
I think the other thing is there are places in red states that have had very good experiences with renewable energy by and large. Texas, despite having the most wind generation in the nation, has not seen nearly as much opposition to wind, solar, and battery storage. It’s owing to the fact people in Texas generally are inclined to support energy projects in general and have seen wind and solar bring money into these small communities that otherwise wouldn’t get a lot of attention.