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Of all the imaginative ways to die in New York City — getting pushed in front of a subway car, flattened by a falling a/c unit, clocked by an exploding manhole cover, etc. — perhaps the unlikeliest is Death By Toxic Black Mold.
That hasn’t stopped me from thinking about it ... all the time. Every New Yorker seems to know someone who’s discovered the inky starbursts in their building and had months of migraines, runny noses, and sore throats snap into horrible clarity. Toxic black mold. With a name like that, how could you not be terrified?
Fungi have been a little more top-of-mind lately, though, because they’re everywhere.
I mean that beyond the literal sense that “fungi are everywhere,” which they also are: We’ve found them in Antarctica, gnawing through Shackleton and Scott’s century-old huts; at the bottom of the ocean, in multi-million-year-old mud; on antiseptically clean hospital walls; and at the site of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. Naturally, they survive “surprisingly well” in space.
Over the past decade or so, fungi have begun to infest our stories as well. This is particularly true of horror and sci-fi, including HBO’s recent The Last of Us adaptation, which expands on the 2013 game’s fungal zombie backstory. In 2017, Star Trek: Discovery introduced the idea that the whole universe is connected by mycelia, a concept explained to viewers by the fictional astromycologist Paul Stamets — not to be confused with Eldon Stammets, the mushroom-obsessed serial killer from season one of Hannibal (2013), nor the real mycologist Paul Stamets, after whom both characters were named (Bryan Fuller, a Stamets superfan, worked on both shows). Other memorable fungal sightings in fiction include Mike Carey’s The Girl With All the Gifts (2014); multiple Jeff VanderMeers but perhaps most obviously Annihilation (2014, with a film adaptation in 2018); Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic (2020); and N. K. Jemisin’s The City We Became (2020) — though there are many more. Taking a full inventory, it can almost seem as if, over the course of about a decade, writers collectively realized fungi are the perfect monsters: efficient, unknowable, hungry.
On the one hand, of course. We’re repelled by mold and mushrooms for the same reason we’re disgusted by rats or insects: They are symbols of death, disease, and decay, a reminder that in the end, we’re nothing more than fleshy neighborhoods for “postmortem fungal communities.”
But if there is something primordial about our fungus revulsion, there is something obtuse about it, too. Our lives have been entangled with fungi’s for as long as we’ve been human. The oldest dental records ever studied, belonging to cannibalized 50,000-year-old Neanderthals, indicate ancient hominids ate “primitive penicillin,” possibly for the same medical purposes that we use the mold-derived antibiotic today. Otzi the Iceman was wearing Birch polypores on a leather thong around his neck when he died. Some (admittedly fringe) scientists even believe mushrooms were the spark that set our Homo erectus ancestors on their journey to the higher consciousness of Homo sapiens.
What, then, soured in our multi-millennia-long human-fungus relationship to make us — as mycologist David Arora puts it — the “fungophobic society” we are today? The medical community’s acceptance of germ theory, and our modern obsession with cleanliness, are components, surely.
There is another possibility, too: The closer we’ve looked at fungi, the stranger they reveal themselves to be, and the richer and more possible our wildest fictions become.
Mushrooms might seem to sprout abruptly and at random. But in truth, they’re just the visible fruiting body of a much larger subterranean organism. Great speculative fiction works much the same way: While a story can appear to have sprouted from nothing, it’s been fed, just below the surface, by a tangle of science, headlines, and current events.
In the aftermath of the Hiroshima bombing in 1945, for example, fiction warped the horrors of nuclear science for films like Godzilla (1954), Them! (1954), and Tarantula (1955). And after the moon landing in 1969, Star Wars (1977), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), and Alien (1979) all wondered who else might be up there?
When it comes to mycology, though, science is still getting started. Fungi didn’t even become their own taxonomic kingdom until 1969; before then, scientists just thought they were really weird plants.
Westerners have long approached fungi with suspicion. “The fields were spotted with monstrous fungi of a size and colour never matched before … Death sprang also from the water-soaked earth,” Arthur Conan Doyle wrote in Sir Nigel (1905-06), using fungi as an ominous mood-setter. Edgar Allen Poe wasn’t a fan either: “Minute fungi overspread the whole exterior” of the House of Usher, he wrote in 1839, “hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves.” Folk explanations posited that mushrooms shot from the ground where lightning struck, and “a vast body of Victorian fairy lore connected mushrooms and toadstools with elves, pixies, hollow hills, and the unwitting transport of subjects to fairyland,” explains Mike Jay in The Public Domain Review.
Brits were especially revolted by the “pariahs of the plant world,” to the great disappointment of R.T. Rolfe, who penned a rousing 1925 defense titled Romance of the Fungal World. In Shakespeare’s day, it was questionable if mushrooms were even safely edible; “a hogg wont touch um,” warned Edmund Gayton in his 1695 Art of Longevity. Americans inherited this wariness — “the general opinion [in the U.S. is] all forms of fungus growth are either poisonous or unwholesome,” observed one cookbook writer in 1899 — though many were beginning to come around by the late 19th century, taking cues from the more adventurous eaters of France. Not every culture has been quite so squeamish: mushrooms have long been cultivated in Asia; are a staple of Eastern European, African, and Slavic cuisines; and Indigenous groups throughout the Americas have likewise long enjoyed all that fungi have to offer.
The reevaluation of fungi in refined English society came about almost entirely by accident, via the fortuitous contamination of Alexander Fleming’s staphylococci cultures by the genus Penicillium in 1928. Still, it wouldn’t be until the second half of the 20th century when fungus science really started to get weird — even weirder, you might say, than fiction.
Because the fungi, it appeared, were talking to each other.
When ecologist Suzanne Simard captured the public imagination by describing in a 1997 issue of Nature how trees use webs of underground fungi to communicate with each other, networks — conceptually — were already having a moment. The internet, and the “network of cables and routers” that comprised it, had been around since the 1970s, mycologist Merlin Sheldrake explains in Entangled Life, but when the World Wide Web became available to users in 1991, network science started informing everything from epidemiology to neuroscience. Nature tapped into this buzz by coining the “Wood Wide Web” on its cover to describe Simard’s research, and in doing so, mesmerizingly blurred science-fiction, tech, and biology.
The oft-quoted theory of the Wood Wide Web suggests that fungal threads called mycelium colonize root systems of forest trees, and in doing so, facilitate the exchange of defense signals and other “wisdom” by moving nutrients between plants. “Mother” trees, for example, can supposedly nurture samplings in their communities by shipping excess carbon via fungi. Reviewer Philip Ball went as far as to marvel in Prospect, after reading an account of these and other systems in Sheldrake’s Entangled Life, that “fungi force us to reconsider what intelligence even means.” (Sheldrake’s enthusiasm for the Wood Wide Web is more restrained; he uses it disparagingly to illustrate “plant-centrism in action”).
Ball wasn’t the only one awed, though. References to the “alien language” of fungi began popping up everywhere in popular science writing, as McMaster University’s Derek Woods has observed. Paul Stamets’ Mycelium Running helped bring Simard’s research to a more general audience in 2005, while Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees (2015), and Simard’s own Finding the Mother Tree (2021) followed — not to mention “dozens of imitative articles,” TED talks, documentaries, and offshoot studies. As recently as last year, The Guardian was trumpeting that “Mushrooms communicate with each other using up to 50 ‘words’.”
Some scientists have since raised doubts about the Wood Wide Web, characterizing the research as potentially “overblown” and “unproven" — but it’s a good story, isn’t it? Not to mention a rich jumping-off point for writers who were paying attention to the headlines. One can trace a line directly from Simard’s research, through Stamets’ amplification, straight to Bryan Fuller’s mycelium plane in Star Trek: Discovery.
Yet the phenomenon, as described, sounds far more Edenic than the terrifying, often sentient, man-eating, mind-controlling, city-conquering fungi that have overwhelmingly appeared in modern sci-fi and horror. Is today’s fungal antagonist just a product of those centuries of folk superstitions? Or is something else in the zeitgeist making our skin crawl?
Let’s return, for a moment, to the ways I’ve imagined dying in New York City.
Though the chances of being taken out by a subway or an unsecured a/c unit are slim, they have, tragically, actually happened. But when you start to look into Deaths by Toxic Black Mold, the picture gets a lot murkier.
Few people, verging on none, have definitively died of black mold exposure. You wouldn’t know that, though, from the headlines of the early aughts, which are peppered with celebrity lawsuits over mold, culminating in TMZ tying the mysterious 2009 and 2010 deaths of Clueless actress Brittany Murphy and her husband to mold inhalation (ultimately disproven by their autopsies).
But mold hysteria didn’t originate in Beverly Hills. It comes from Ohio. In the mid ’90s, 12 babies in Cleveland died of lung hemorrhaging and the main suspect was an outbreak of black mold allegedly brought on by unusually heavy rains. CDC investigators found all of the afflicted infants lived in homes with bad water damage, and, in many cases, those homes also had Stachybotrys, a moisture-loving black mold. Soon, stories linking the fungus to the deaths were making national news.
Reevaluations of the outbreak later cast doubt on the correlation. In 1999, the CDC walked back its initial assessment, citing “serious shortcomings in the collection, analysis, and reporting of data.” More skepticism followed: If Stachybotrys is common wherever there is water-damaged wood, why were only babies in the Cleveland area being affected? And how do you explain that some of the babies lived in homes where no Stachybotrys was ever found?
Still, the story stuck, and the link between black mold and a whole host of health problems, including many that remain completely unproven, took root in the public consciousness. Soon, everyone was suing over black mold. “A single insurance company handled 12 cases in 1999,” mycologist Nicholas Money writes in Carpet Monsters and Killer Spores; by 2001, “the company fielded more than 10,000 claims.” The Washington Post likewise observed in 2013 that “experts say mold is not more prevalent these days; instead, we are more aware of it.”
Hypochondriacs eyeing mildew spots on their bathroom ceilings weren’t the only ones reading about deadly mold, of course. Writers were, too. And now fungi had two strikes against them: They possessed a weird alien intelligence and they were dangerous.
Then came the possibility they could control our minds.
The parasitic fungal genus Ophiocordyceps is at least 48 million years old. It has likely survived as long as it has because of its stranger-than-fiction method of propagating: Ophiocordyceps spores infect an ant and “hijack” its brain, forcing it to abandon its colony, climb a high leaf, and affix itself there with a bite. The ant then dies, still clinging to the leaf with its jaws, and the fungus sprouts out of its body, raining spores down onto other unlucky ants.
Humans turning into, or being consumed alive by, fungi had long fascinated writers (see: “The Voice in the Night” by William Hope Hodgson from 1907, or Stephen King’s 1973 “Gray Matter”). But with our increased cultural awareness of Ophiocordyceps in the 21st century, fungal mind control went from being a revolting body horror trope to a plausible sci-fi starting point. Neil Druckmann, the creative director of The Last of Us, has said he learned about the fungus from a 2008 episode of BBC’s Planet Earth, and he went on to use it as the basis for the zombies in his 2013 video game.
Though Druckmann was an early adopter of Ophiocordyceps, the fungus didn’t exactly remain obscure. “Zombie fungi are not known to use humans as hosts. At least yet,” The Columbus Dispatchwrote in 2014 (and filed, cryptically, in its “how to” section). The X-Men comics introduced “Cordyceps Jones,” a “talking parasitic fungal spore, intergalactic casino proprietor, and notorious crime boss,” as a new villain in 2021. The New York Times even saw fit to inform its readers, “After This Fungus Turns Ants Into Zombies, Their Bodies Explode.” Try scrolling past that.
Through this process of scientific discoveries, eye-catching headlines, and a little exaggeration, it took only a handful of decades for fungi to make the leap from “pariahs of the plant world” to the perfect horror villain. The climate crisis will likely be a further creative accelerant. Thanks to intensified hurricanes and flooding, mold will be an ongoing issue in homes nationwide. Plus, fungi are nothing if not survivors, and some are already pushing past the climatological boundaries — and antifungals — that used to contain them.
Even The Last of Us added an explanation in the HBO adaption that the warming planet is what allowed Ophiocordyceps to evolve and make the leap from cooler-bodied insects to comparatively hot humans. The good news is, mycologists say this is all but impossible in real life due to the vast biological differences between humans and ants; the bad news is, a deadly fungal pandemic is absolutely possible and, shocker, experts say we’re not at all prepared for it.
At least, not institutionally. Fiction has already hashed out how Fauna vs. Funga could go in a hundred different ways. Sometimes, the fungus comes to us from outer space. Sometimes, it possesses alien sentience; other times, it just represents the indifferent efficiency of nature. Sometimes, it takes over our minds and turns us against each other. Sometimes, it brings us together to fight back.
Fiction is also beginning to wonder if those villainous fungi might just be our friends. Think of those universe-binding spores that connect us in Star Trek, or the fungal-facilitated hivemind in a popular Hugo Award-winning series, which likewise eludes a straightforward antagonist narrative. It only makes sense: If spores are intelligent colonizers, well, so are we. Maybe the next step will be to put our heads — or at least, our hyphae and neurons — together.
Because while science reveals fungi to be weirder by the day, it also further reinforces that we can’t live without them. They nourish us, heal us, relieve us, protect us, and one day, maybe, will save us.
And oh, how they entertain us.
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On defending wind, Russian gas, and NREL layoffs
Current conditions: A state of emergency is in effect in Manitoba, Canada, due to multiple wildfires • 17 million people in the south-central U.S. are at risk of severe storms on Tuesday • The Interior Department has reportedly suspended air quality monitoring for National Parks, including California’s Joshua Tree, where the AQI today is moderate.
Attorneys general from 17 Democratic states and Washington, D.C., filed a lawsuit on Monday challenging President Trump’s executive order pausing approvals, permits, and loans for onshore and offshore wind projects. The lawsuit argues that Trump exceeds his authority with the indefinite pause, which threatens “thousands of good-paying jobs and billions in investments, and … is delaying our transition away from the fossil fuels that harm our health and our planet,” in the words of New York Attorney General Letitia James, who is leading the coalition.
In a response to the lawsuit, a White House spokesperson told The Associated Press that “the American people voted for the president to restore America’s energy dominance, and Americans in blue states should not have to pay the price of the Democrats’ radical climate agenda.” As my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has written, however, state climate goals “become nearly impossible if no additional [wind] projects are able to get through the permitting process until at least 2029,” with New York state’s especially in jeopardy after the administration ordered the halt of construction on the fully permitted Empire Wind project south of Long Island.
The European Union plans to announce on Tuesday a 2027 deadline for companies to end any remaining energy contracts with Russia, the Financial Times reported Monday. Though the EU’s use of Russian oil and coal virtually ended with sanctions after the invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Europe still bought 49.5 billion cubic meters of Russian gas through pipelines in 2024, and another 24.2 billion transported on ships as liquified natural gas, per Rystad Energy (though some of that LNG was resold). Another way of looking at it: “The EU purchased a total of [$26 billion] in Russian energy in 2024, exceeding its military assistance to Ukraine last year,” Bloomberg writes, with imports accounting for about 19% of the bloc’s total gas purchases.
The proposed measures will need to be approved by a majority of EU member states and the European Parliament before they can be adopted, according to FT. Without Russian LNG, Europe is expected to turn to the U.S. to meet its energy needs.
Share of European Union gas demand met by Russian supply, 2001-2024
IEA
More than 100 employees at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory lost their jobs in a round of layoffs on Monday, Mother Jones reports. The cuts included non-probationary employees, or those who’ve worked at the Department of Energy division for over two years.
Though NREL has more than 3,000 employees on staff, sources who spoke with Mother Jones described the cuts as “rather haphazard and unorganized,” while others stressed that “if I am suddenly the only person on my team, I can’t handle that work.” The layoffs also notably come after President Trump’s “skinny” budget proposed $15 billion in cuts to Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act funding. The White House Office of Management and Budget has said that the budget aims to reorient the Department of Energy’s funding away from “unreliable renewable energy” and “toward research and development of technologies that could produce an abundance of domestic fossil energy and critical minerals, innovative concepts for nuclear reactors and advanced nuclear fuels, and technologies that promote firm baseload power.”
The Federal Emergency Management Agency plans to end door-to-door survivor outreach in disaster areas for the upcoming hurricane and wildfire seasons, Wired reported Monday, based on a FEMA memo dated May 2. Previously, the agency would canvass disaster survivors to inform them about how to register for federal aid, a policy that one emergency management coordinator told Wired was critical given how many survivors don’t get adequate information about recovery resources otherwise. Instead, FEMA’s memo said the agency will “focus survivor outreach and assistance registration capabilities in more targeted venues.”
Last year, Republicans on the Oversight Committee singled out FEMA’s outreach program over alleged “widespread discrimination against individuals displaying Trump campaign signs on their property” in the wake of Hurricane Milton. The White House’s budget has also cited FEMA for supposedly “skipping over homes when providing aid.” But the Trump administration has also sought to pare back the agency aggressively: Earlier this year, it denied a request for federal aid from Arkansas’ Republican Governor and former White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders after severe tornadoes that left more than 40 people in the region dead, arguing the disaster was not “beyond the capabilities of the state, affected local governments, and voluntary agencies” to address.
Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images
The Los Angeles Dodgers have faced calls from activists and fans to end their sponsorship deal with Phillips 66’s 76 gas station brand — but the partnership might face a natural end due to the Olympics coming to L.A. in 2028, Legal Planet reports. Dodger Stadium will be an official Olympic venue during the summer games, and its 76 gas ads will violate the Olympic Charter prohibiting “commercial installations and advertising signs … in the stadia, venues or other sports grounds.”
The Dodgers are under mounting pressure to drop the Phillips 66 partnership even earlier. There are 76 gasoline ads “plastered throughout the ballpark, from the visiting team’s bullpen to the ribbon board screens lining the stands … Even the on-deck circles on the field, where batters prepare to hit, are orange-and-blue 76 logos,” the Los Angeles Times’ Sammy Roth wrote last year in a column calling for the team to break up with the oil company. As of November, the Houston-based energy company was facing six counts of violating the U.S. Clean Water Act by illegally discharging 790,000 gallons of wastewater from its Carson refinery into the L.A. County sewer system. “The lead up to the 2028 Olympic games period would seem to be a natural time for the Dodgers to reset a marquee sponsor for years to come — and to do so on their own terms — or else be forced to by Olympic rules,” Legal Planet writes.
“C’mon Ford, c’mon GM, c’mon Chrysler, let’s roll again/Build something useful that people need, build us a safe way for us to be/Build us something that won’t kill our kids, that runs real clean, that runs real clean.” —Lyrics to Neil Young’s new single “Let’s Roll Again.”
House Republicans’ new plan to transform NEPA, explained
A powerful House Republican committee has proposed shaking up one of the country’s key permitting laws as part of the ongoing process to write President Trump’s tax bill.
A new bill, drafted by the House Natural Resources Committee would transform the National Environmental Policy Act, or NEPA. Under NEPA as it stands today, the government must study the environmental impact of any “major” federal action. Any time a federal agency adopts a new policy, builds a new project, spends federal dollars, or issues a license or permit, that choice gets a full environmental review.
Crucially, this also means that the federal government must study the environmental impact even of privately developed projects that require some kind of federal sign-off. But the new bill would quicken this process and likely shield it from court review.
The law represents a “big step” for permitting reform, Nicholas Bagley, a University of Michigan law professor, told us. “It’s creative and extremely aggressive.” If it passes, Republicans’ budget measure could speed up the construction of energy projects around the country. But it could also reduce local or environmental groups’ ability to sue to slow down or block development.
The bill would allow companies to pay a fee to access a faster, more streamlined NEPA process that would not be reviewable by the courts, according to the bill. That means environmental groups would likely have a harder time suing the government for failing to account for various environmental maladies in their study.
Under the draft legislation, companies would pay 125% of the cost of preparing the report to get an expedited review. But avoiding a lengthy court fight is so valuable that many companies would likely take advantage of this new process, Bagley told us.
“You can read it as effectively creating a price for a litigation shield — the federal government is allowing developers to buy themselves out of litigation risk with a flat fee,” he said.
It would change the status quo in two important ways.
First, many federal agencies already require project sponsors to pay the full cost of preparing a NEPA report for a private project, such as a solar farm or geothermal well. The House Republican proposal would increase this cost by just 25% on the front end.
Second, under the law today, agencies take more than four years on average to prepare a NEPA report, which can regularly stretch into the hundreds of pages. Congress has periodically tried to impose tighter deadlines and shorter page limits on the NEPA process — including in a 2023 debt ceiling law — but it hasn’t been successful.
That’s because the threat of lawsuits ultimately drives the NEPA process, Bagley said. Civil servants write lengthy, meticulous NEPA reports not because statute requires them to do so, but because they’re afraid of losing their work in a lawsuit, he said.
“The thing driving lengthy timelines is litigation risk,” Bagley told us. “Unless and until you correct for the threat of judicial review, NEPA reform isn’t going to go that far.” This proposal is the first modern NEPA report to offer protection from judicial review.
The proposal could help speed up all types of energy projects.
But it could help some more than others. Certain fossil fuel projects — especially those involving fracking — have already received some form of exemption from the NEPA process. But renewables and clean energy projects broadly don’t have such a carve-out. Neither do some other types of natural gas infrastructure, such as pipelines and export terminals. These projects could benefit from a faster and less court-reviewable NEPA process.
This is the big question. To comply with the strictures of what’s known as the “Byrd Rule,” provisions in reconciliation must be primarily budgetary in nature, i.e. related to taxing and spending.
Provisions that have a budgetary effect but are “merely incidental” to their non-budgetary components can be ruled by the Senate Parliamentarian to be “extraneous” and excluded from the bill.
Parliamentarian rulings helped shape — and narrow — Democratic proposals in 2021 and 2022, including stripping out immigration provisions and minimum wage hikes from various bills that were working their way through the reconciliation process.
So where does overhauling NEPA fit in? The 125% fee makes the provisions of the House language arguably germane to the budgetary purposes of the reconciliation package. Supporters of the language will cite a precedent in the Inflation Reduction Act that waived judicial review for the program’s negotiation of drug prices in Medicare.
One way the parliamentarian will try to answer this question is by asking, “‘Is that big policy change necessary in order to achieve the budgetary impact?’ That’s the place where this could fail,” Thomas Hochman, the director of infrastructure policy at the Foundation of American Innovation, told us.
NEPA isn’t the only law that requires the government to study the environmental or cultural impact of its decisions. A handful of other laws — including the Endangered Species Act, the National Historic Preservation Act, or the Clean Water Act — mandate their own permitting process, which can also be lengthy.
Many of these laws impose substantive obligations on government decisions. The NHPA, for instance, requires the government to study whether any decisions will affect Native American cultural sites and to reach an agreement about how to mitigate that impact. These decisions can then be reviewed by the courts — NHPA was at the heart of the Dakota Access pipeline and SunZia cases.
Under the law today, the government often satisfies its duties under these laws as part of a broader “NEPA process,” with one agency essentially handling the paperwork for all the federal permitting laws that matter to a project together.
The House Republican proposal wouldn’t weaken or affect any of these laws, Hochman and Bagley told us. The government would still need to satisfy its obligations under all other federal permitting laws, and the courts could still review those decisions. It’s unclear how those laws would fit into the new streamlined NEPA process.
Senator Joe Manchin of West Virginia led two efforts during the Biden years to pass permitting reform legislation through the conventional lawmaking process. The bills tended to combine policy asks from Republicans and Democrats — that is, oil and gas interests as well as green energy and transmission developers — in an effort to build a broad consensus in favor of policy change.
What that looked like in practice was specific carveouts designed to facilitate the building of long-range transmission lines alongside, say, changes in schedules for leases for extracting fossil fuels on public lands.
This time, Republicans alone are driving the permitting reform process, because the reconciliation bill is expected to be approved (or not) on party lines.
The reconciliation language says nothing specific about transmission, for example, but it includes specific provisions favored by the oil and gas industry like mandating lease sales on a quarterly basis. The American Petroleum Institute praised the bill, and the Sierra Club said that “the only way it could be friendlier to Big Oil CEOs would be if they wrote it themselves.”
But the reform to how NEPA is — and isn’t — litigated is a genuine breakthrough in years of drawing up failed permitting reform plans.
“We haven’t yet seen one bipartisan bill on permitting that broadly amends judicial review,” Xan Fishman, senior managing director of the energy program at the Bipartisan Policy Center, told us.
“One of the difficulties in doing permitting reform is that there isn’t just one problem that needs solving. There are a bunch of things that all add up to a really difficult process that takes a long time and has massive degrees of uncertainty,” Fishman said.
To the extent clean energy projects face sometimes fatal delays due to the specific rigors of the NEPA process, the bill would remove a barrier to their development.
NEPA has proven to be a significant barrier to solar development. About two thirds of solar projects that were assessed under NEPA between 2010 and 2018 faced litigation, as well as almost one third of pipelines and 38% of wind projects, according to Stanford researchers Michael Bennon and Devon Wilson.
Even when agencies win court cases — which can be filed up to six years after a federal agency decision — “litigation overwhelmingly functions as a form of delay,” according to Breakthrough Institute research.
It’s unclear whether the House Republican proposal will ultimately speed up federal energy project approvals, or whether litigants will shift to opposing projects under other permitting laws, such as the Endangered Species Act or NHPA. But permitting reform advocates agree that the proposal nonetheless represents a big step.
“It would be a pretty good shield for persnickety criticisms of [environmental reviews] that are now de rigueur, but it might not provide complete protection from the full run of environmental objections waged against a project,” Bagley said.
“I am firmly convinced that NEPA is a big problem for helping to create and reinforce defensiveness on the part of agency officials. But it’s part of a big web of accountability run maybe too amok,” he said. “One answer is to start clipping parts of the web — it doesn’t fix the whole problem, but it might help you see what else becomes salient.”
Not even the companies that — on the surface, at least — seem most likely to benefit from them.
Amidst the chaos of President Donald Trump’s tariff regime so far, there has been one constant — the 25% levies on steel and aluminum imports applied in February, with no country-specific exemptions. I’ve been a bit befuddled as to what these tariffs may, or may not, mean for the companies trying to green these notoriously hard-to-decarbonize sectors. And it turns out, some of them are a bit befuddled, too.
“It’s a mixed bag,” Cody Finke, CEO of the Bay Area-based clean cement and aluminum startup Brimstone told me. Brimstone’s core breakthrough is figuring out a way to co-produce cement and alumina — the core material in the critical mineral aluminum — using carbon-free calcium silicates such as basalt rather than limestone, which releases a lot of CO2 when it’s processed.
At least on the surface, a company like Brimstone should fall squarely among the beneficiaries of Trump’s trade policy — the whole point of the tariffs, after all, is to increase demand for domestic steel and aluminum by making foreign metals more expensive. That will likely allow U.S.-based producers to raise prices, too, generating even more revenue.
Then again, green steel and aluminum producers rely on imports of these same materials to build their own plants. Tariffs on these vital construction materials — plus exorbitant levies on all goods from China — will make building new production facilities significantly costlier. (As Keith Norman, CEO of the domestic battery manufacturer Lyten told me last month, “The reality is, the energy transition is a manufacturing transition.”) Not to mention the fact that the auto industry — a heavy user of both steel and aluminum — is facing its own 25% tariffs on imported vehicles and auto parts. That stands to raise the price and thus lower the demand for cars, in turn reducing demand for the materials needed to build them, green or not.
Large industry players such as Nucor and Cleveland Cliffs — both of which have plans to produce green steel — have seen mixed responses since the tariffs were announced. “Nucor recently said on an earnings call that they have huge backlogs, suggesting increased demand. [Cleveland] Cliffs, on the other hand, is idling plants due to low demand,” Hilary Lewis, the steel director at Industrious Labs, a nonprofit advocating for heavy industry decarbonization, told me via email. But it’s difficult to know how much a company’s recent performance is attributable to the tariffs. “The impact of the steel tariffs are uneven and subject to other disruptions in the market,” Lewis said.
Industrious Labs aluminum lead Annie Sartor told me that Trump’s first term tariffs on aluminum failed to revitalize the industry, which she said “saw a continued downturn.” So while the latest tariffs are more robust, Sartor is hesitant to to think that “this will be a real game changer.” As she explained, “The biggest challenge that the industry faces is access to electricity, and specifically renewable electricity.”While the tariffs won’t directly address that, Sartor said that an optimistic analysis would suggest that with their extra revenue, companies that rely on electrification to clean up their operations “could use those additional funds to help them access the renewable energy that they want.”
At least for now, many of the leading companies have expressed strong support for Trump’s trade agenda. Century Aluminum’s CEO Jesse Gary said the tariffs “will help drive the resurgence of domestic aluminum production,” while Cleveland Cliff’s CEO Lourenco Goncalves stated they would “penalize the foreign competitors who have been playing by a different set of rules.” And while Leon Topalian, CEO of Nucor, acknowledged that the tariffs will increase the price of the raw materials for steel, such as iron ore, he told investors that he thinks this will be outweighed by “the overall macroeconomic trends in the industry, a healthy, vibrant steel industry.”
Aluminum giant Alcoa, which has also expressed interest in producing green aluminum, is an outlier among industry leaders in its opposition to tariffs. The company’s CEO, Bill Oplinger, told the crowd at a metals and mining conference in February that the disruption caused by the tariffs could eliminate 100,000 jobs in the domestic aluminum industry. The company operates two smelters in Canada that will be subject to tariffs, while it’s closed down many older smelters in the U.S. that it’s in no rush to reopen. “It’s hard to make a restart decision based on tariffs that could change,” Oplinger said during an analyst call, the Wall Street Journal reported. “We just don’t know whether they will stick.”
Startups focused narrowly on green metals production, however, have generally been more circumspect in their responses. “At this point, we’re trying to just stay steady through all of it — not reacting to the day-to-day,” Adam Rauwerdink, senior vice president at the green steel startup Boston Metal, told me. His company uses renewable power to electrolyze iron ore at high temperatures to create molten iron, the feedstock for steel.
Boston Metal has yet to build its first demonstration plant, and while Rauwerdink told me the tariffs could provide some incentive to site the facility in the states, the increase in domestic materials demand that tariffs will presumably bring is by no means enough to guarantee a U.S.-based facility will be worth it. “Here in the U.S. right now, the challenge is just the grid not being sufficient,” he said.
With electricity demand on the rise, green metals companies are now competing for renewable resources with tech giants that are trying to scoop up as much clean energy as possible to power their artificial intelligence-focused data centers. “Innovations like that, which change the landscape on the grid, can definitely impact some of these other solutions that are going to be competing for electrons and are probably less profitable than an AI data center,” Rauwerdink told me.
Electra, a startup that’s also using electrolysis to decarbonize the ironmaking process, recently landed a $186 million Series B funding round to build its demonstration plant in Colorado. But the tariffs aren’t enough for them to commit to the U.S. market, either. As the company’s CEO, Sandeep Nijhawan, told me, building a facility in an area with easy access to renewables is of paramount importance to them too.
Adding to all of this tariff-related uncertainty is the fact that many of these demonstration plants or first commercial facilities, including Brimstone’s, aren’t even scheduled to come online until the latter half of Trump’s term, if not the next decade. “We don’t know what the policy of the United States will be at that time,” Finke told me. The plan is for the company’s first commercial demonstration plant to be operational in 2030. “Maybe the next president will extend those tariffs, or maybe they will cut them back,” Finke said. After all, Biden mostly kept Trump’s first term tariffs on steel and aluminum in place — although prior to this February, there were numerous country-specific exemptions in place.
At the end of the day, tariffs are only one of numerous policy unknowns plaguing these green producers. Another major one is the status of the funding many of them were granted from the Department of Energy but have yet to see. In Brimstone’s case, that’s a $189 million award from the Office of Clean Energy Demonstrations to build its first plant. While Finke told me the company has started spending that money scoping out potential sites, it hasn’t yet been reimbursed. I asked him if that was concerning. “It’s a good question,” he told me. “At this time, it’s too early to say that.”
Similarly, Century Aluminum and Cleveland Cliffs both have $500 million awards from OCED to produce green aluminum and green steel, respectively. While I reached out to both companies for comment on the tariffs and the status of their funding, neither got back to me. Boston Metal also has a $50 million DOE grant for a facility that would produce chromium, a critical material for many advanced energy technologies. That money is, of course, now mired in “limbo and uncertainty,” Rauwerdink told me.
Green aluminum manufacturers large and small also stand to benefit from the Inflation Reduction Act’s advanced manufacturing production tax credit, which incentivizes the domestic production of critical minerals, as well as certain types of clean energy components. This credit — along with so many others — may or may not be slashed as Republicans look to cut funding for a variety of IRA-related initiatives in the budget reconciliation process.
While Finke told me — as so many other companies did — that Brimstone does not rely on tariffs, tax credits, or the company’s DOE grant for its survival,it sure would be nice to have just a little certainty for once. “What we’d really like is to know what number to put in our financial model,” he told me.
Wouldn’t we all.