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How Republicans and Democrats came together to seed new industries in specific places
The Biden administration announced on Friday that it would spend up to $7 billion to create seven new “hydrogen hubs” across the country. These hubs will house large-scale industrial facilities specializing in producing, moving, and using hydrogen, a potent gas that could play a range of roles in a climate-friendly economy. Hydrogen, which does not emit carbon pollution when burned, could decarbonize long-distance trucking, energy storage, chemical making, and heavy industry.
These hubs will, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo writes, become important public-private laboratories for the use of clean hydrogen. They will complement tens of billions of dollars in tax credits that could soon support a clean hydrogen industry.
Although these hubs are a key part of the president’s climate strategy, they are not created by his signature climate law, the Inflation Reduction Act. They were funded, instead, by the bipartisan infrastructure law, which passed in December 2021.
That same legislation also spent $3.5 billion to create new direct air capture hubs, big regional facilities that will deploy technology capable of sucking carbon dioxide from the ambient air. In August, the Energy Department awarded the first of those hubs to Texas and Louisiana.
It matters that these two “hub”-based programs command some measure of bipartisan support. It signals, first, that these programs are likely to endure even if the GOP takes the White House next year. It shows, too, that Republicans in Congress — and especially in the Senate, where 19 Republicans voted for the infrastructure law — can back climate policy under some conditions. (Even if those conditions might involve having to negotiate with a Democratic president.)
It certainly helps, too, that hydrogen and direct air capture are two potentially climate-friendly industries where the fossil fuel industry could play the largest role. The chief executive of Occidental Petroleum, a fossil-fuel company that is building one of the first air-capture hubs, has even argued that carbon removal technology could allow the oil and gas industry to operate for decades to come.
But the bipartisan support for these programs reveal something else, too — a deeper change in how America’s leaders think about governing and growing the economy. Most coverage of the hubs has elided the fact that they’re called “hubs,” almost treating the word “hub” as a synonym for “big new economic thing.” But the hubs are called “hubs” for a reason; don’t snub the hubness of the hubs. The hubs are meant to do more than create new experimental industrial facilities at taxpayer expense. They are meant to seed specific industries in specific places, creating new centers of gravity that will allow new regional economies to form.
The idea behind the hubs goes back more than a decade. In 2010, a team of researchers at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology looked around the U.S. economy and realized something strange: Although many of the world’s most innovative and profitable companies did their R&D, design, and distribution in America, very few of them made their products here. Think of Apple, for instance, whose iPhones then bore the inscription: “Designed in California. Assembled in China.”
Why was that?, the team asked. That arrangement distorted the economy, depriving working-class people of the benefits of new industries. It also seemed unsustainable. “Without production capabilities in the U.S., can we generate new growth and jobs?” asked Suzanne Berger, a political science professor who led the project. “Can we even sustain innovation without manufacturing capabilities in the U.S.?”
The U.S. could not go on like this forever, they concluded, because innovation in design was inseparable from innovation in production. Many industries — including biotech, material science, and clean energy — required engineers to constantly flit back and forth from the factory floor to the lab, bringing problems encountered by assembly technicians back to the design engineers.
But this tight circuit of design, production, and design again didn’t just happen within influential companies, like Ford, AT&T, and 3M. One takeaway from their report, Making in America, is that innovation emerges from skilled communities of practice located in specific places. When a big company opens a factory or R&D lab somewhere, an ecosystem grows up around it. Small- and medium-sized manufacturers with their own expertise cluster around that big firm, because they can make a living by selling their own goods and services to that firm (or its competitors).
Speaking to a Senate committee in 2013, Berger described what happened when her team visited the laboratory of Tonio Buonassisi, a mechanical engineer then building a new type of solar cell. Buonassisi’s lab in Cambridge, Massachusetts, was full of cutting-edge equipment that had been made by an instrument company located only a couple hours away.
“Much of [that] machinery had been made in close collaboration between the lab and the instrument companies as they handed ideas and components and prototypes back and forth,” Berger said. “Used for the first time in the lab, these tools were now being marketed to commercial solar companies.”
At the time, the domestic solar industry was collapsing, and it worried Buonassisi. If American solar-cell makers went out of business, then it would put his specialty toolmaker out of business, too — and slow down or possibly end his own research agenda. “Even in a fragmented global economy with instant connection over the Internet to anywhere in the world,” Berger said, the close geographic ties “that connect research in its earliest stages to production in its final phases remain vital.”
When you start looking, you see endless evidence of these ecologies of production, these skilled communities of practice, everywhere. Silicon Valley once earned its name because it housed a booming semiconductor manufacturing industry nurtured by the Defense Department. A chip conductor at Intel could access a specialty lens maker, or metallurgist, or chemicals maker only a short drive away; even outside of work, these people met at bars and socialized in the same places. Soon, that semiconductor ecosystem gave rise to other adjacent businesses: a software industry that could write code for those semiconductors, and a personal computing industry that could make semiconductors useful to mass-market consumers; those industries gave rise to today’s tech industry.
Nor was that region’s power solely rooted in its technicians. The banks near Silicon Valley grew so familiar with the hardware and software industries that they could finance companies there more easily and cheaply than other financial institutions. One of those institutions even named itself after Silicon Valley.
Today, America has relatively few of these innovative clusters left. The point of the hub-based strategy is to build them back. The idea of the hubs isn’t only that America will get seven new large-scale facilities that produce or process hydrogen, or four new facilities that suck carbon out of the air. The object is that these big facilities will anchor new skilled communities of practice, the same way that, say, a deep-sea volcanic vent gives rise to an entire colorful food chain. President Biden might be announcing a new Philadelphia-based hydrogen hub today, but we won’t know if that hub will be a success until it’s scuttling with metallurgists and chemists and financiers and specialty electricians in 10 years.
The hydrogen and direct air capture facilities, in other words, are meant to grow into true hubs — hubs of engineering, hubs of finance, hubs of innovation. The government, having recognized that new industries and industrial centers will not form naturally, is now trying to seed them intentionally.
That is far from the laissez faire approach to innovation once embraced by policymakers. And it matters that Democrats and Republicans alike have embraced it in the infrastructure law: It reveals the growing belief that free markets alone will not keep America at the top of the global economy. Today’s announcement might be the first time you hear about a new federally supported “hub.” It probably won’t be the last.
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It was a curious alliance from the start. On the one hand, Donald Trump, who made antipathy toward electric vehicles a core part of his meandering rants. On the other hand, Elon Musk, the man behind the world’s largest EV company, who nonetheless put all his weight, his millions of dollars, and the power of his social network behind the Trump campaign.
With Musk standing by his side on Election Day, Trump has once again secured the presidency. His reascendance sent shock waves through the automotive world, where companies that had been lurching toward electrification with varying levels of enthusiasm were left to wonder what happens now — and what benefits Tesla may reap from having hitched itself to the winning horse.
Certainly the federal government’s stated target of 50% of U.S. new car sales being electric by 2030 is toast, and many of the actions it took in pursuit of that goal are endangered. Although Trump has softened his rhetoric against EVs since becoming buddies with Musk, it’s hard to imagine a Trump administration with any kind of ambitious electrification goal.
During his first go-round as president, Trump attacked the state of California’s ability to set its own ambitious climate-focused rules for cars. No surprise there: Because of the size of the California car market, its regulations helped to drag the entire industry toward lower-emitting vehicles and, almost inevitably, EVs. If Trump changes course and doesn’t do the same thing this time, it’ll be because his new friend at Tesla supports those rules.
The biggest question hanging over electric vehicles, however, is the fate of the Biden administration’s signature achievements in climate and EV policy, particularly the Inflation Reduction Act’s $7,500 federal consumer tax credit for electric vehicles. A Trump administration looks poised to tear down whatever it can of its predecessor’s policy. Some analysts predict it’s unlikely the entire IRA will disappear, but concede Trump would try to kill off the incentives for electric vehicles however he can.
There’s no sugar-coating it: Without the federal incentives, the state of EVs looks somewhat bleak. Knocking $7,500 off the starting price is essential to negate the cost of manufacturing expensive lithium-ion batteries and making EVs cost-competitive with ordinary combustion cars. Consider a crucial model like the new Chevy Equinox EV: Counting the federal incentive, the most basic $35,000 model could come in under the starting price of a gasoline crossover like the Toyota RAV4. Without that benefit, buyers who want to go electric will have to pay a premium to do so — the thing that’s been holding back mass electrification all along.
Musk, during his honeymoon with Trump, boasted that Tesla doesn’t need the tax credits, as if daring the president-elect to kill off the incentives. On the one hand, this is obviously false. Visit Tesla’s website and you’ll see the simplest Model 3 listed for $29,990, but this is a mirage. Take away the $7,500 in incentives and $5,000 in claimed savings versus buying gasoline, and the car actually starts at about $43,000, much further out of reach for non-wealthy buyers.
What Musk really means is that his company doesn’t need the incentives nearly as bad as other automakers do. Ford is hemorrhaging billions of dollars as it struggles to make EVs profitably. GM’s big plan to go entirely electric depended heavily on federal support. As InsideEVsnotes, the likely outcome of a Trump offensive against EVs is that the legacy car brands, faced with an unpredictable electrification roadmap as America oscillates between presidents, scale back their plans and lean back into the easy profitably of big, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks. Such an about-face could hand Tesla the kind of EV market dominance it enjoyed four or five years ago when it sold around 75% of all electric vehicles in America.
That’s tough news for the climate-conscious Americans who want an electric vehicle built by someone not named Elon Musk. Hundreds of thousands of people, myself included, bought a Tesla during the past five or six years because it was the most practical EV for their lifestyle, only to see the company’s figurehead shift his public persona from goofy troll to Trump acolyte. It’s not uncommon now, as Democrats distance themselves from Tesla, to see Model 3s adorned with bumper stickers like the “Anti-Elon Tesla Club,” as one on a car I followed last month proclaimed. Musk’s newest vehicle, the Cybertruck, is a rolling embodiment of the man’s brand, a vehicle purpose-built to repel anyone not part of his cult of personality.
In a world where this version of Tesla retakes control of the electric car market, it becomes harder to ditch gasoline without indirectly supporting Donald Trump, by either buying a Tesla or topping off at its Superchargers. Blue voters will have some options outside of Tesla — the industry has come too far to simply evaporate because of one election. But it’s also easy to see dispirited progressives throwing up their hands and buying another carbon-spewing Subaru.
Republicans are taking over some of the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth.
When Republicans flipped the Senate, they took the keys to three critical energy and climate-focused committees.
These are among the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth. The Senate plays the role of gatekeeper for important legislation, as it requires a supermajority to overcome the filibuster. Hence, it’s both where many promising climate bills from the House go to die, as well as where key administrators such as the heads of the Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency are vetted and confirmed.
We’ll have to wait a bit for the Senate’s new committee chairs to be officially confirmed. But Jeff Navin, co-founder at the climate change-focused government affairs firm Boundary Stone Partners, told me that since selections are usually based on seniority, in many cases it’s already clear which Republicans are poised to lead under Trump and which Democrats will assume second-in-command (known as the ranking member). Here’s what we know so far.
This committee has been famously led by Joe Manchin, the former Democrat, now Independent senator from West Virginia, who will retire at the end of this legislative session. Energy and Natural Resources has a history of bipartisan collaboration and was integral in developing many of the key provisions in the Inflation Reduction Act — and could thus play a key role in dismantling them. Overall, the committee oversees the DOE, the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, so it’s no small deal that its next chairman will likely be Mike Lee, the ultra-conservative Republican from Utah. That’s assuming that the committee's current ranking member, John Barrasso of Wyoming, wins his bid for Republican Senate whip, which seems very likely.
Lee opposes federal ownership of public lands, setting himself up to butt heads with Martin Heinrich, the Democrat from New Mexico and likely the committee’s next ranking member. Lee has also said that solving climate change is simply a matter of having more babies, as “problems of human imagination are not solved by more laws, they’re solved by more humans.” As Navin told me, “We've had this kind of safe space where so-called quiet climate policy could get done in the margins. And it’s not clear that that's going to continue to exist with the new leadership.”
This committee is currently chaired by Democrat Tom Carper of Delaware, who is retiring after this term. Poised to take over is the Republican’s current ranking member, Shelley Moore Capito of West Virginia. She’s been a strong advocate for continued reliance on coal and natural gas power plants, while also carving out areas of bipartisan consensus on issues such as nuclear energy, carbon capture, and infrastructure projects during her tenure on the committee. The job of the Environment and Public Works committee is in the name: It oversees the EPA, writes key pieces of environmental legislation such as the Clean Air Act and Clean Water Act, and supervises public infrastructure projects such as highways, bridges, and dams.
Navin told me that many believe the new Democratic ranking member will be Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island, although to do so, he would have to step down from his perch at the Senate Budget Committee, where he is currently chair. A tireless advocate of the climate cause, Whitehouse has worked on the Environment and Public Works committee for over 15 years, and lately seems to have had a relatively productive working relationship with Capito.
This subcommittee falls under the broader Senate Appropriations Committee and is responsible for allocating funding for the DOE, various water development projects, and various other agencies such as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
California’s Dianne Feinstein used to chair this subcommittee until her death last year, when Democrat Patty Murray of Washington took over. Navin told me that the subcommittee’s next leader will depend on how the game of “musical chairs” in the larger Appropriations Committee shakes out. Depending on their subcommittee preferences, the chair could end up being John Kennedy of Louisiana, outgoing Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, or Lisa Murkowski of Alaska. It’s likewise hard to say who the top Democrat will be.
Inside a wild race sparked by a solar farm in Knox County, Ohio.
The most important climate election you’ve never heard of? Your local county commissioner.
County commissioners are usually the most powerful governing individuals in a county government. As officials closer to community-level planning than, say a sitting senator, commissioners wind up on the frontlines of grassroots opposition to renewables. And increasingly, property owners that may be personally impacted by solar or wind farms in their backyards are gunning for county commissioner positions on explicitly anti-development platforms.
Take the case of newly-elected Ohio county commissioner – and Christian social media lifestyle influencer – Drenda Keesee.
In March, Keesee beat fellow Republican Thom Collier in a primary to become a GOP nominee for a commissioner seat in Knox County, Ohio. Knox, a ruby red area with very few Democratic voters, is one of the hottest battlegrounds in the war over solar energy on prime farmland and one of the riskiest counties in the country for developers, according to Heatmap Pro’s database. But Collier had expressed openness to allowing new solar to be built on a case-by-case basis, while Keesee ran on a platform focused almost exclusively on blocking solar development. Collier ultimately placed third in the primary, behind Keesee and another anti-solar candidate placing second.
Fighting solar is a personal issue for Keesee (pronounced keh-see, like “messy”). She has aggressively fought Frasier Solar – a 120 megawatt solar project in the country proposed by Open Road Renewables – getting involved in organizing against the project and regularly attending state regulator hearings. Filings she submitted to the Ohio Power Siting Board state she owns a property at least somewhat adjacent to the proposed solar farm. Based on the sheer volume of those filings this is clearly her passion project – alongside preaching and comparing gay people to Hitler.
Yesterday I spoke to Collier who told me the Frasier Solar project motivated Keesee’s candidacy. He remembered first encountering her at a community meeting – “she verbally accosted me” – and that she “decided she’d run against me because [the solar farm] was going to be next to her house.” In his view, he lost the race because excitement and money combined to produce high anti-solar turnout in a kind of local government primary that ordinarily has low campaign spending and is quite quiet. Some of that funding and activity has been well documented.
“She did it right: tons of ground troops, people from her church, people she’s close with went door-to-door, and they put out lots of propaganda. She got them stirred up that we were going to take all the farmland and turn it into solar,” he said.
Collier’s takeaway from the race was that local commissioner races are particularly vulnerable to the sorts of disinformation, campaign spending and political attacks we’re used to seeing more often in races for higher offices at the state and federal level.
“Unfortunately it has become this,” he bemoaned, “fueled by people who have little to no knowledge of what we do or how we do it. If you stir up enough stuff and you cry out loud enough and put up enough misinformation, people will start to believe it.”
Races like these are happening elsewhere in Ohio and in other states like Georgia, where opposition to a battery plant mobilized Republican primaries. As the climate world digests the federal election results and tries to work backwards from there, perhaps at least some attention will refocus on local campaigns like these.