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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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The two economic booms resemble each other somewhat. But data centers have a far more dire PR problem.
This is an edition of Heatmap Daily, an evening review of the day’s news written by our executive editor. Sign up for it here.
In Pennsylvania, the governor required data center developers to comply with new restrictions. Texas began its mandatory audit for grid-connected data centers. And Nebraska limited tax incentives for data centers and started a new task force.
In Wisconsin’s governor race, candidates began posturing over who will treat data centers the toughest; in Michigan’s Senate race, the GOP candidate Mike Rogers called for a statewide moratorium on them. A Politico analysis found that of the more than 100 campaign ads mentioning data centers this election, none have put the technology in a positive light.
It makes sense, then, that when Heatmap published its most recent polling on data centers — finding that 75% of Americans oppose their local development — it seemed to blow up. But there’s one aspect of that polling that I want to discuss here, because I think it has been underacknowledged.
It’s this: According to our polling, data centers are about as unpopular in urban areas as rural areas. They’re slightly less unpopular in the suburbs.
The differences in disapproval, to be clear, aren’t enormous. Local data center development is 63 points underwater in rural areas and 60 points underwater in urban areas. That’s close enough to our poll’s 2.3% margin of error that it may just be noise. Even in the suburbs, data center development is 58 points underwater — a small distinction.
But it represents a big shift from the political geography of recent decades, where cities and rural areas have tended to disagree profoundly over policy. Since the 2000 election or so, cities have elected Democrats, rural areas have picked Republicans, and then the parties have fought over the suburbs.
Data centers, however, appear to unite these two partisan bases against some of the country’s largest companies — and some of our political systems’ odder ducks. Heatmap’s polling earlier this year found that AI YIMBYs tend to be urban, largely Trump-voting men who are optimistic about technology. And in March, the Republican pollster Echelon Insights found that some of data centers’ biggest fans were MAGA Republicans with graduate degrees living in cities.
These results help explain why Republicans have suddenly turned on a dime against data centers: Their base has rejected it. As a political reporter friend put it to me, after looking at our data, you don’t want to be on the wrong side of a trend that’s uniting college-educated and non-college-educated Americans.
In trying to understand this transition, I’ve tried to think about other technologies that have undergone similar investment booms in recent American history. One oft-made comparison is fracking, which expanded quickly across the country in the 2010s. Many commentators — myself included — have suggested that data centers may follow fracking’s example, where blue states ban a new type of economic activity and red states welcome it. The red (and sometimes purple) states then get to reap much of the resulting economic growth — and the tax receipts — while everyone has to deal with the emissions. The revelation that data centers are driving a new natural gas boom only deepens the link.
But there’s one big problem with that analogy: Fracking was never this unpopular. While fracking has rarely commanded a large majority of support among the mass public, its popular nadir came in spring 2020, when 60% of Americans told Pew that they opposed an expansion of fracking. (Its popularity began to recover after President Biden took office — a classic case of thermostatic public opinion.)
In every poll that we could find at Heatmap, too, expanding fracking always commanded a majority of Republican support. Throughout the 2010s and 2020s, rank-and-file Republicans have wanted to “drill, baby, drill.” But they don’t seem to want to “compute, baby, compute.” And that means — among other things — energy and climate analysts like me need to find another analogy.
Temperatures are high, but electricity drama is low.
The Texas summer isn’t over — highs today are forecasted to be at or above 100 degrees Fahrenheit in much of the state — but so far the state’s grid has held up.
In the past month or so, Texas’ grid has hit a number of generation records, according to data collected by Grid Status. Those include its highest load ever (91,308 megawatts on July 22), its highest level of renewables generation (53,000 megawatts on August 13), maximum wind output (29,000 megawatts on June 29) and, most notably, its maximum battery discharge (some 13,256 megawatts earlier this week, on August 23, at 7:45 p.m.).
And all the while, the grid has been stable, which is by no means guaranteed in Texas.
The state’s grid operator, ERCOT, has not issued a single “conservation appeal” so far this summer, asking Texans to voluntarily reduce electricity consumption to support the grid. By contrast, in 2023, the grid manager issued six between August 24 and August 30.
Those conservation appeals were almost always given for the late afternoon and early evening, when demand typically peaks thanks to demand from workers returning home and cranking up their air conditioning. That’s also when the grid has to ramp up dispatchable resources quickly to compensate for solar falling off the grid as the sun sets.
“We’re really seeing peak demand divorced from peak prices,” Joshua Rhodes, research scientist at the University of Texas, told me. This means that when demand is at its highest on a summer day — say around 4 p.m. this past Monday, when load was over 90 gigawatts — real-time prices were about $46 per megawatt-hour, according to Grid Status. At that time, natural gas made up about 42% of the grid and solar 36%. Compare that to the same time in 2023, when real-time prices were $85 per megawatt-hour during peak usage times and wind and solar combined made up around 20% of the grid.
As Abby Lestina, principal market analyst at Grid Status, put it to me, “The lack of pricing action would lead to the conclusion that the grid is more stable.”
Another positive side effect of that stability is that batteries on the system can still charge even when demand is at its highest, and then discharge in the evening to help make up for lost solar. “Even when we were setting peak demand records, we’re still on net charging batteries, which at first blush feels so wrong,” Rhodes told me. “We have so much solar on the system that we’re charging batteries when prices are low, getting ready to discharge as the sun goes down before the wind picks back up.”
Let’s take Monday as an example again: At 7:50 p.m., when solar was down to just 1.5% of the mix on the grid, batteries were discharging 11,573 megawatts and real-time prices were around $125 per-megawatt-hour. On the same Monday of 2023, real-time prices at 7:50 p.m. were bouncing up and down from just below the statutory peak of $5,000 per megawatt hour and batteries were putting out just over a gigawatt.
“Because we have so much battery capacity online, it hasn’t been all that exciting,” Olivier Beaufils, head of US central at Aurora Energy Advisors, told me, referring to the hand-off from solar to batteries. “The price action, it’s like 150 bucks, not thousands, and that’s really because of this battery capacity.”
Texas is also aided by friendly geography — there are extensive solar projects in the western part of the state, while the load is largely in the Texas Triangle in the eastern part of the state, giving solar panels an extra hour or so to serve high demand later in the day.
Average electricity bills in Texas, an energy-hungry state, sat at $252 a month in July, according to Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub, up just 2.3% in the past year, while rates are virtually unchanged at 16 cents per kilowatt-hour.
Along with California’s CAISO, ERCOT dominates battery deployment in the United States. According to the energy consulting firm GridLab, “ERCOT alone has deployed nearly 10 times more storage than PJM, MISO, SPP, and the Southeast combined.”
If anything, Texas’ solar and grid battery industries have been a victim of their own success. In Texas, where battery projects are brought online by investors seeking profits in the energy markets, generators make money by selling when prices are high. The same lower prices that show batteries are making the grid more stable are also revenues that battery operators are no longer getting.
“We’ve added so much battery capacity that they’ve cannibalized, they’ve eaten their own lunch,” Beaufils told me. “The situation’s a bit difficult for those operators.” California’s battery storage sector, by contrast, originated with a state mandate for utilities, jumpstarting the industry by force.
Of course, these types of cycles are nothing new to the energy business, especially in Texas.
“ERCOT’s characterized by these boom-bust cycles, and so the market’s never perfectly going to be in a supply-demand equilibrium,” Kevin Lee, head of advisory services for the central U.S. at Aurora Energy Research, told me. “Sometimes you have a little bit less capacity than you need, sometimes a little bit more. But generally, whenever you have a little bit less, the price signals go up, and then that’s driving more investment.”
While Texas still leads the country in battery additions so far this year, other states besides California are beginning to catch up, including Arizona. Thankfully, there’s still more sun yet to store.
Voltpost announced two new models today designed to mount on walls and ceilings.
Voltpost, the company putting electric vehicle chargers on lampposts, is now expanding to parking garages.
On Wednesday, the company unveiled two new configurations that can attach to the walls and ceilings of parking garages, lots, and other locations without easy access to streetlights or utility poles. Like Voltpost’s signature pole-mounted design, the ceiling- and wall-mounted options avoid the expensive construction work required by freestanding charging infrastructure. In theory at least, that should allow the company to deploy more chargers faster.
“Our mission has always been to decarbonize mobility by democratizing charging access,” Jeff Prosserman, Voltpost’s co-founder and CEO, told me. “And the real value proposition is that, when you can leverage the existing infrastructure, you can significantly reduce the cost, the timeline, and the physical footprint of chargers.”
The second Trump administration hasn’t made things easy. Almost immediately after taking office, Trump officials began slashing Biden-era programs designed to support the EV charging buildout, including the National Electric Vehicle Infrastructure and Charging and Fueling Infrastructure programs. Along with a handful of environmental groups, 17 states sued in May of last year to force the federal government to release NEVI funding and quickly received a preliminary injunction unfreezing the program. A similar group sued in December over the CFI funding, and though that case is still pending, Prosserman told me he expects to see a positive resolution before the end of the year.
Though the death of the EV tax credit has shrunk its addressable market, Voltpost has emerged relatively unscathed. “Honestly, that doesn’t really impact us at all,” Prosserman told Heatmap’s Katie Brigham last year. “At the end of the day, EV adoption will either increase X or Y percent in a given year, but it’s going to continue to increase year over year. We’re past the tipping point, going from early adopters into the mainstream.”
That said, he also told Katie that the company was taking a “more conservative approach” to growth as climate tech investment dried up. Voltpost itself also received several federal grants that are still in limbo. Instead, the company focused on its strategic partnerships with the likes of AT&T and Zipcar, and in July signed an agreement with InCharge Energy to handle installation and maintenance. To date, Voltpost’s funders include RWE Energy Transition Investments, a private equity vehicle within German energy giant RWE, alongside Twynam Funds Management, Exelon Foundation, Good News Ventures, and Climate Capital.
Like its lamppost chargers, Voltpost’s wall- and ceiling-mount kits work with Tesla and non-Tesla vehicles alike, and come with demand management software that responds to electricity time-of-use price signals to enable cheaper charging where and when possible. As for the cost of the kits and how many the company plans to install initially, Prosserman wouldn’t say.
Since deploying its first lamppost chargers in New York in 2024, Voltpost has expanded into California, Massachusetts, and Washington, D.C., among other states. It has more than 100 deployments in the pipeline through the end of this year, and is aiming for 10,000 by 2030. The point, Prosserman told me, is not to stand out in these communities, but rather to fit in.
“It’s not going to be just about greenfield project development if we’re going to decarbonize a planet across all aspects,” Prosserman said. “We’re really looking at building something that’s integrated, that fits in the fabric of the built environment and communities.”