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Decarbonizing the global economy requires replacing stuff that emits carbon dioxide with stuff that doesn’t. At its heart, this challenge is financial: All these high-emitting assets ― coal plants, gas stoves, airplanes ― were at some point financed into existence by investors seeking returns. Climate policymakers’ greatest challenge is not just figuring out how to phase out existing, dangerous capital investments in fossil fuels, but also how to finance into existence new, climate-stabilizing clean assets.
This is all much easier said than done. Central banks’ high interest rates are strangling clean energy and adaptation infrastructure investments in the United States and abroad. Recent struggles to develop offshore wind and small modular nuclear reactors in the United States exemplify how deeply hesitant private developers are to commit to long-term capital expenditures. Investors view these projects as too risky, their expected profits too low to meet their minimum return thresholds. Absent policies to stabilize supply chains and other factors affecting the financing environment for clean energy, the United States ― to say nothing about the rest of the world ― won’t meet its climate goals.
The Inflation Reduction Act is, to its credit, a paradigm-shifting attempt to finance better, cleaner stuff. One of the most potentially transformative initiatives in the IRA is, in fact, financial: the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund offers $27 billion in startup capital to state green banks, community development financial institutions, and nonprofits to lend to decarbonization projects primarily in vulnerable communities.
By any standard, the GGRF is an incredible infusion of cash into nascent sectors that might otherwise be neglected by mainstream investors, including community-scale renewable energy and building weatherization. Most of that cash was awarded in early April, including $14 billion divided among three separate clean energy financing coalitions made up of green banks, impact investors, and CDFIs; and $6 billion divided among various technical assistance providers for project development in low-income areas. GGRF funding recipients can use their awards to finance all kinds of community improvements ― not just through grants, but also through debt and equity. In the process, they will make a market for investments in local climate mitigation and resilience, particularly in vulnerable communities.
The GGRF is about more than simply using this seed funding to make private projects profitable. The truth is, there aren’t that many private investors rushing to structure local decarbonization projects ― not even because they don’t want to enter these market segments, but because they’re really just too busy to try anything unconventional. Some markets, like those for rooftop solar assets, are fairly standardized and liquid, insofar as investors can tranche and trade rooftop solar loans like government bonds or mortgages.
But the nascent markets for many other kinds of mitigation and resilience investments like home retrofits are illiquid. Making them liquid — and getting investors interested — requires GGRF awardees to underwrite, structure, and sequence project development themselves. They must set lending guidelines, standardize financial products, and create architectures for risk management where none exist.
If GGRF recipients build up significant financial and legal capacities to finance community decarbonization, not to mention the technical and regulatory expertise needed to coordinate state and federal funding sources in the process, then they will position themselves to help alleviate significant constraints on the flow of financing toward local decarbonization projects. This is how the IRA promises state and local governments the chance to provide unprecedented liquidity to green investments.
Cities and states currently get the liquidity they need to fund most of our public infrastructure and services through the American municipal bond market. Why not use this market to finance decarbonization, too?
It’s a good idea — except that municipal bond markets are dysfunctional. Cities and states rely heavily on private banks to structure their municipal bonds and sell them to private investors, and on credit rating agencies to certify them; these dependencies have historically forced local governments to tailor their bond issuances to the interests of a few private buyers, which are skewed against spending on longer-term priorities with lower expected returns.
Borrowing big is more often punished than rewarded, especially where governments already have smaller tax bases and less borrowing capacity. In 2018, the rating agency Moody’s downgraded Jackson, Mississippi on account of its “financially stressed” water system and its residents’ low average incomes, raising the city’s future cost of borrowing on bond markets. Last year, its water system spiraled into crisis on account of severe underinvestment, leading to a foregone conclusion: At a time when Jackson, a predominantly black city, needed more low-cost, long-term investment to fix its infrastructure, its government was structurally unable to raise enough of it.
Increasingly frequent climate disasters will set in motion the same process again and again across the country. Greater perceived climate risks are increasing municipal borrowing costs and insurance premiums, thereby driving investment away from vulnerable areas, preventing communities from investing in adaptation and resilience, and increasing their future vulnerability. Proactive disaster prevention policy requires breaking this financial doom loop.
It doesn’t help that municipal bonds are a volatile asset class, seeing sharp price drops and prolonged sell-offs during periods of market uncertainty and, lately, rapid interest rate hikes. Their dependence on risk-averse private buyers is a primary culprit. Indeed, private investors’ muni bond fire sales at the start of the pandemic nearly broke this market. Had it not been for the Federal Reserve’s emergency creation of the Municipal Liquidity Facility, which committed the Fed to buying muni bonds that no other investor wanted to hold, cities and states would not have been able to fund crucial social and community services, pay employees, and undertake necessary capital investments. The mere announcement of this backstop program preserved cities’ ability to raise debt during the first phase of the pandemic, but Congress forced it to wind down at the end of 2020.
That’s a shame: Absent this kind of backstop for public bond markets to stabilize local governments’ long-term borrowing costs, policymakers literally cannot secure the liquidity they need to keep their climate promises. There really is no way to flood-proof New York, storm-proof Miami, summer-proof Amtrak, or manage wildfire out West without the long-term public debt finance that would allow states and cities to spend responsibly and consistently on resilience.
This is a problem not just for long-term adaptation and resilience investments, but also for the mitigation investments the IRA is designed to facilitate. Considering that green banks, state financing authorities, and public-sector power developers will have to issue considerable amounts of debt to accelerate the deployment of renewable energy ― and especially because no comprehensive decarbonization program can neglect public housing or schools, which finance themselves via municipal bonds ― state and federal policymakers should not let their investment priorities fall victim to the whims of our illiquid, volatile public debt markets.
Where climate mitigation is concerned, there are some provisions of the IRA that demonstrate how rewiring the financial system to power decarbonization works in practice. Tax credits that pump a functionally unlimited amount of money into private and public clean energy development allow developers to take on more debt at better terms, facilitating greater investment. (Bonus tax credits for investments in disadvantaged communities should help mitigate against geographic biases, too.) And expanded lending authority at the Department of Energy makes financing higher-risk, longer-term decarbonization investments of all kinds vastly less expensive. The United States has seen over $200 billion in new decarbonization investments in the past year, suggesting that, despite the lack of finalized regulations on tax credit financing and “chaining,” a set of provisions that could allow public and nonprofit entities to engage in tax credit financing of private projects, the Biden administration’s political down payment on decarbonization is already paying off.
Not in every sector, though. Private investors are fickle, risk-averse, and face considerable restrictions on where they can put direct money. The developers they finance, particularly those behind the most ambitious decarbonization projects, are under similar pressures. As Ørsted, the world’s leading offshore wind developer, retreats from projects in the U.S. and elsewhere, its CEO has admitted that “what our investors need” is for Ørsted to “create value.” If expected returns aren’t high enough, then its projects won’t pencil out. Time is of the essence; this outcome shouldn’t be acceptable.
New York’s recently passed Build Public Renewables Act mandates that New York’s public energy authority build renewable energy itself for just this reason — its proponents doubted that relying on private developers made good business sense. But it may not have passed without the IRA’s financial firepower behind it. The IRA allows the public sector to access many of the same decarbonization incentives it gives private firms, balancing the playing field and empowering transformative public sector policymaking.
The public sector can also compete against risk-averse private lenders to finance project development — public financing authorities can lend for longer, on cheaper terms, and with a higher risk tolerance than most private lenders could. By offering cost-share agreements, low-cost construction loans, equity injections to buy out troubled projects, or even by building up critical component stockpiles, the public sector can set the pace of the transition.
To that end, the IRA empowers state and local governments and community lenders to seed ambitious decarbonization projects of all types and sizes where private investors alone might hesitate. This brings us back to the GGRF and all it could do for local decarbonization ― and to carveouts in the Department of Energy’s lending authorities which enable state green banks to pass on extremely low-interest loans to eligible project developers. So long as public and private entities take the effort to access them, these programs create considerable liquidity for ambitious mitigation programs and resilience investments.
But the GGRF does not target larger infrastructure improvements, and the IRA’s other grant programs for adaptation and resilience, however ambitious they may be on the scale of U.S. history, are also wholly inadequate. If policymakers and legislators want to make nationwide climate adaptation feasible, they will still have to fix public debt markets.
Maximizing the potential of the IRA to replace bad assets with better ones requires giving local and state governments the chance to throw money at mitigation and adaptation problems that money can actually solve. Leave the financial system as is, however, and the private investors that mediate it will steer the benefits of decarbonization and adaptation toward the communities wealthy enough to make doing so a good investment. Meanwhile, the communities experiencing climate disasters first and worst ― spread across underinvested rural and urban pockets, here and globally ― will struggle to secure the long-term financing they urgently need both to lessen their contributions to climate change and also to prepare for its inevitable effects.
The financial status quo forces a kind of trickle-down decarbonization that is wholly inadequate to the scale of the climate challenge. Responsible climate policymaking, then, requires the elimination of this liquidity constraint everywhere, to the greatest extent possible, and the creation of coordination mechanisms to ensure that what people need is what gets built. Public liquidity is, without a doubt, a public good.
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Though it might not be as comprehensive or as permanent as renewables advocates have feared, it’s also “just the beginning,” the congressman said.
President-elect Donald Trump’s team is drafting an executive order to “halt offshore wind turbine activities” along the East Coast, working with the office of Republican Rep. Jeff Van Drew of New Jersey, the congressman said in a press release from his office Monday afternoon.
“This executive order is just the beginning,” Van Drew said in a statement. “We will fight tooth and nail to prevent this offshore wind catastrophe from wreaking havoc on the hardworking people who call our coastal towns home.”
The announcement indicates that some in the anti-wind space are leaving open the possibility that Trump’s much-hyped offshore wind ban may be less sweeping than initially suggested.
In its press release, Van Drew’s office said the executive order would “lay the groundwork for permanent measures against the projects,” leaving the door open to only a temporary pause on permitting new projects. The congressman had recently told New Jersey reporters that he anticipates only a six-month moratorium on offshore wind.
The release also stated that the “proposed order” is “expected to be finalized within the first few months of the administration,” which is a far cry from Trump’s promise to stop projects on Day 1. If enacted, a pause would essentially halt all U.S. offshore wind development because the sought-after stretches of national coastline are entirely within federal waters.
Whether this is just caution from Van Drew’s people or a true moderation of Trump’s ambition we’ll soon find out. Inauguration Day is in less than a week.
Imagine for a moment that you’re an aerial firefighter pilot. You have one of the most dangerous jobs in the country, and now you’ve been called in to fight the devastating fires burning in Los Angeles County’s famously tricky, hilly terrain. You’re working long hours — not as long as your colleagues on the ground due to flight time limitations, but the maximum scheduling allows — not to mention the added external pressures you’re also facing. Even the incoming president recently wondered aloud why the fires aren’t under control yet and insinuated that it’s your and your colleagues’ fault.
You’re on a sortie, getting ready for a particularly white-knuckle drop at a low altitude in poor visibility conditions when an object catches your eye outside the cockpit window: an authorized drone dangerously close to your wing.
Aerial firefighters don’t have to imagine this terrifying scenario; they’ve lived it. Last week, a drone punched a hole in the wing of a Québécois “Super Scooper” plane that had traveled down from Canada to fight the fires, grounding Palisades firefighting operations for an agonizing half-hour. Thirty minutes might not seem like much, but it is precious time lost when the Santa Ana winds have already curtailed aerial operations.
“I am shocked by what happened in Los Angeles with the drone,” Anna Lau, a forestry communication coordinator with the Montana Department of Natural Resources and Conservation, told me. The Montana DNRC has also had to contend with unauthorized drones grounding its firefighting planes. “We’re following what’s going on very closely, and it’s shocking to us,” Lau went on. Leaving the skies clear so that firefighters can get on with their work “just seems like a no-brainer, especially when people are actively trying to tackle the situation at hand and fighting to save homes, property, and lives.”
Courtesy of U.S. Forest Service
Although the Super Scooper collision was by far the most egregious case, according to authorities there have been at least 40 “incidents involving drones” in the airspace around L.A. since the fires started. (Notably, the Federal Aviation Administration has not granted any waivers for the air space around Palisades, meaning any drone images you see of the region, including on the news, were “probably shot illegally,” Intelligencer reports.) So far, law enforcement has arrested three people connected to drones flying near the L.A. fires, and the FBI is seeking information regarding the Super Scooper collision.
Such a problem is hardly isolated to these fires, though. The Forest Service reports that drones led to the suspension of or interfered with at least 172 fire responses between 2015 and 2020. Some people, including Mike Fraietta, an FAA-certified drone pilot and the founder of the drone-detection company Gargoyle Systems, believe the true number of interferences is much higher — closer to 400.
Law enforcement likes to say that unauthorized drone use falls into three buckets — clueless, criminal, or careless — and Fraietta was inclined to believe that it’s mostly the former in L.A. Hobbyists and other casual drone operators “don’t know the regulations or that this is a danger,” he said. “There’s a lot of ignorance.” To raise awareness, he suggested law enforcement and the media highlight the steep penalties for flying drones in wildfire no-fly zones, which is punishable by up to 12 months in prison or a fine of $75,000.
“What we’re seeing, particularly in California, is TikTok and Instagram influencers trying to get a shot and get likes,” Fraietta conjectured. In the case of the drone that hit the Super Scooper, it “might have been a case of citizen journalism, like, Well, I have the ability to get this shot and share what’s going on.”
Emergency management teams are waking up, too. Many technologies are on the horizon for drone detection, identification, and deflection, including Wi-Fi jamming, which was used to ground climate activists’ drones at Heathrow Airport in 2019. Jamming is less practical in an emergency situation like the one in L.A., though, where lives could be at stake if people can’t communicate.
Still, the fact of the matter is that firefighters waste precious time dealing with drones when there are far more pressing issues that need their attention. Lau, in Montana, described how even just a 12-minute interruption to firefighting efforts can put a community at risk. “The biggest public awareness message we put out is, ‘If you fly, we can’t,’” she said.
Fraietta, though, noted that drone technology could be used positively in the future, including on wildfire detection and monitoring, prescribed burns, and communicating with firefighters or victims on the ground.
“We don’t want to see this turn into the FAA saying, ‘Hey everyone, no more drones in the United States because of this incident,’” Fraietta said. “You don’t shut down I-95 because a few people are running drugs up and down it, right? Drones are going to be super beneficial to the country long term.”
But critically, in the case of a wildfire, such tools belong in the right hands — not the hands of your neighbor who got a DJI Mini 3 for Christmas. “Their one shot isn’t worth it,” Lau said.
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect that the Québécois firefighting planes are called Super Scoopers, not super soakers.
Plus 3 more outstanding questions about this ongoing emergency.
As Los Angeles continued to battle multiple big blazes ripping through some of the most beloved (and expensive) areas of the city on Friday, a question lingered in the background: What caused the fires in the first place?
Though fires are less common in California during this time of the year, they aren’t unheard of. In early December 2017, power lines sparked the Thomas Fire near Ventura, California, which burned through to mid-January. At the time it was the largest fire in the state since at least the 1930s. Now it’s the ninth-largest. Although that fire was in a more rural area, it ignited for some of the same reasons we’re seeing fires this week.
Read on for everything we know so far about how the fires started.
Six major fires started during the Santa Ana wind event last week:
Officials are investigating the cause of the fires and have not made any public statements yet. Early eyewitness accounts suggest that the Eaton Fire may have started at the base of a transmission tower owned by Southern California Edison. So far, the company has maintained that an analysis of its equipment showed “no interruptions or electrical or operational anomalies until more than one hour after the reported start time of the fire.” A Washington Post investigation found that the Palisades Fire could have risen from the remnants of a fire that burned on New Year’s Eve and reignited.
On Thursday morning, Edward Nordskog, a retired fire investigator from the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department, told me it was unlikely they had even begun looking into the root of the biggest and most destructive of the fires in the Pacific Palisades. “They don't start an investigation until it's safe to go into the area where the fire started, and it just hasn't been safe until probably today,” he said.
It can take years to determine the cause of a fire. Investigators did not pinpoint the cause of the Thomas Fire until March 2019, more than two years after it started.
But Nordskog doesn’t think it will take very long this time. It’s easier to narrow down the possibilities for an urban fire because there are typically both witnesses and surveillance footage, he told me. He said the most common causes of wildfires in Los Angeles are power lines and those started by unhoused people. They can also be caused by sparks from vehicles or equipment.
At more than 40,000 acres burned total, these fires are unlikely to make the charts for the largest in California history. But because they are burning in urban, densely populated, and expensive areas, they could be some of the most devastating. With an estimated 9,000 structures damaged as of Friday morning, the Eaton and Palisades fires are likely to make the list for most destructive wildfire events in the state.
And they will certainly be at the top for costliest. The Palisades Fire has already been declared a likely contender for the most expensive wildfire in U.S. history. It has destroyed more than 5,000 structures in some of the most expensive zip codes in the country. Between that and the Eaton Fire, Accuweather estimates the damages could reach $57 billion.
While we don’t know the root causes of the ignitions, several factors came together to create perfect fire conditions in Southern California this week.
First, there’s the Santa Ana winds, an annual phenomenon in Southern California, when very dry, high-pressure air gets trapped in the Great Basin and begins escaping westward through mountain passes to lower-pressure areas along the coast. Most of the time, the wind in Los Angeles blows eastward from the ocean, but during a Santa Ana event, it changes direction, picking up speed as it rushes toward the sea.
Jon Keeley, a research scientist with the US Geological Survey and an adjunct professor at the University of California, Los Angeles told me that Santa Ana winds typically blow at maybe 30 to 40 miles per hour, while the winds this week hit upwards of 60 to 70 miles per hour. “More severe than is normal, but not unique,” he said. “We had similar severe winds in 2017 with the Thomas Fire.”
Second, Southern California is currently in the midst of extreme drought. Winter is typically a rainier season, but Los Angeles has seen less than half an inch of rain since July. That means that all the shrubland vegetation in the area is bone-dry. Again, Keeley said, this was not usual, but not unique. Some years are drier than others.
These fires were also not a question of fuel management, Keeley told me. “The fuels are not really the issue in these big fires. It's the extreme winds,” he said. “You can do prescription burning in chaparral and have essentially no impact on Santa Ana wind-driven fires.” As far as he can tell, based on information from CalFire, the Eaton Fire started on an urban street.
While it’s likely that climate change played a role in amplifying the drought, it’s hard to say how big a factor it was. Patrick Brown, a climate scientist at the Breakthrough Institute and adjunct professor at Johns Hopkins University, published a long post on X outlining the factors contributing to the fires, including a chart of historic rainfall during the winter in Los Angeles that shows oscillations between wet and dry years over the past eight decades.
But climate change is expected to make dry years drier and wet years wetter, creating a “hydroclimate whiplash,” as Daniel Swain, a pre-eminent expert on climate change and weather in California puts it. In a thread on Bluesky, Swain wrote that “in 2024, Southern California experienced an exceptional episode of wet-to-dry hydroclimate whiplash.” Last year’s rainy winter fostered abundant plant growth, and the proceeding dryness primed the vegetation for fire.
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Editor’s note: This story was last update on Monday, January 13, at 10:00 a.m. ET.