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How Team Biden learned to stop worrying and love carbon removal.

What does the new American climate policy look like?
Last week, we got a better sense. On Friday, the Biden administration unveiled a massive investment — more than $1.2 billion — that aims to create a new industry in the United States out of whole cloth that will specialize in removing carbon from the atmosphere.
As President Joe Biden’s climate law hits its one-year anniversary, the investment shows the audacity, the potential, and — ultimately — the risks of his approach to climate and economic policy.
If successful, the investment will establish a new sector of the American economy and remake another one, while providing the world with an important tool to fight climate change. If unsuccessful, then the investment could set back an important climate technology and forever link it to the fossil-fuel industry.
The investment’s centerpiece is two large industrial facilities in Louisiana and Texas that will remove more than 1 million tons of carbon from the atmosphere every year. But the program is much broader than those hubs, encompassing more advanced and experimental approaches to carbon removal, or CDR, than the government has previously funded. The government has unleashed old industrial policy tools, such as advanced market guarantees, toward the nascent field.
Although Biden is implementing this policy, the approach will almost certainly outlive his administration. America’s support for carbon removal is strongly, perhaps surprisingly, bipartisan. The new hubs and the other policies announced last week were funded by the bipartisan infrastructure law or by other bipartisan legislation.
Given all that, it’s worth it to spend some time on these investments to better understand how they work and what they might mean for the future of the American economy.
Let’s start here: Yes, we will probably need carbon dioxide removal, or CDR, to meet the world’s and the country’s climate goals.
This wasn’t always clear. When I started as a climate reporter in 2015, carbon removal was taboo, something that only climate deniers and other folks who wanted to delay decarbonization brought up. An influential Princeton study from earlier in the decade had concluded that carbon removal — especially capturing carbon in the ambient air, a strategy called direct air capture, or DAC — would never pencil out financially and that it would always be cheaper to reduce fossil-fuel use rather than suck carbon out of the sky.
But in 2018, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change made a startling announcement: So much carbon dioxide had accumulated in the atmosphere that it would be virtually impossible to keep global warming below 1.5 degrees Celsius without carbon removal.
The IPCC studied global energy models and found that even in optimistic scenarios, humanity would release too much carbon by the middle of the century to keep temperatures from briefly rising by more than 1.5 degrees Celsius. But if we began removing carbon from the atmosphere, then we could avoid locking in that spike in temperatures for the long term. That is, in order to hit the 1.5-degree goal by 2100, humanity must spend much of the 21st century removing carbon from the atmosphere and sequestering it for thousands of years.
We need carbon removal, in other words, not so we can keep burning fossil fuels, but to deal with the fossil-fuel pollution that is already in the atmosphere.
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This change was only possible because CDR’s costs were falling. A few months earlier, a company called Carbon Engineering had announced that it would soon cut direct air capture’s cost to $230 a ton. (DAC was once thought to cost $600 a ton.) This suggested that in a handful of cases — a small handful — it might make financial sense to use DAC instead of decarbonizing a particular activity.
Even so, the numbers involved in this effort are mind-boggling. This year, several thousands tons of carbon will be removed from the atmosphere worldwide, at a cost of $200 to $2,000 a ton, according to one industry expert. Perhaps 100,000 tons of carbon have ever been removed from the atmosphere by a human-run process, according to CDR.fyi, a community-run database.
But by 2050, in order to hit the IPCC’s targets, humanity must remove about 5 billion tons a year at a cost of roughly $100 a ton.
For context, the global shipping industry moves about 11 billion tons of material each year.
In other words, in the next three decades, humanity must perfect the technology of CDR, find a way to pay for it, and massively scale it up to the degree that it captures roughly half of the amount of material that travels via oceanborne trade today. And it must do this while decarbonizing the rest of the energy system — because if we fail to bring fossil-fuel use nearly to zero during this period, then all of this will be for naught.
Q: Well, if we have to store all this carbon for a very long time, why don’t we plant a lot of trees?
A: For a few years in the mid 2010s, trees did seem like the cheapest way to pull carbon out of the atmosphere.
But the scale of the carbon problem exceeds what biology alone can fix. Since 1850, humanity has pumped 2.5 trillion tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. This is nearly twice the total biomass of all life on Earth. Only geology can deal with such a massive (literally) problem. To truly undo climate change, we must put carbon back into geological storage. Plus, even if you sopped up a lot of carbon with trees, they might burn down. Then you’d be back where you started.
Yet CDR isn’t just a logistical problem.
Fossil fuel companies have long used the rhetoric of carbon removal — and its relative, carbon capture and storage, which sucks up climate pollution from a smokestack or industrial process — as an excuse to keep drilling for oil and gas. At the same time, they’ve resisted any federal regulation that would require them to actually capture carbon when they burn fossil fuels.
What’s more, the infrastructure and the expertise best-suited for carbon removal is largely in the same places that have fossil-fuel industries today. (Think of the Gulf Coast or North Dakota.) Some people who live in those places want to see decarbonization end the fossil-fuel industry forever — not transform it into something different, like a carbon management industry.
And although the technology to inject captured carbon dioxide into the ground is decades-old, concentrated CO2 can be dangerous if mishandled.
It’s not hard to imagine a world where the promise of CDR allows oil and gas companies to keep drilling and polluting, but where a lack of any binding regulation — and local pushback whenever a CDR facility is announced — means that very little carbon actually gets removed from the atmosphere. In that world, no matter how powerful CDR is technologically, the politics of CDR would make climate change worse.
Which brings us to the Biden administration’s strategy for scaling up the CDR industry. It has three components:
1. Build massive direct air capture facilities around the country.
2. A slew of new programs to boost alternative (and maybe less energy-intensive) approaches to CDR.
3. A new “Responsible Carbon Management” guideline.
In short, the administration is seeking to scale up the most straightforward carbon-removal technology, financially support other promising approaches, and then ensure it all happens in an above-board way.
The marquee announcement here are the carbon capture hubs, which were widely covered last week. The Energy Department will spend $1.2 billion on large-scale facilities in Louisiana and Texas that will use industrial processes to cleanse carbon from the ambient air. Each will remove about one million tons of carbon a year when complete.
Project Cypress, the Louisiana hub, will be run by the federal contractor Battelle in conjunction with Climeworks, a Swiss DAC company, and Heirloom, which stores carbon dioxide in concrete.
The boringly named South Texas DAC Hub will be run by Occidental Petroleum, an oil company, in conjunction with the DAC company Carbon Engineering and Worley, an engineering firm.
These are going to be the charismatic megaprojects of the CDR industry. They are meant to create clusters of expertise and infrastructure, concentrated in a geographic core, that will give rise to more innovation. You can think of them as little Silicon Valleys — or, more pointedly, little Shenzens — of carbon removal.
As goes these hubs, so goes CDR. If the hubs have an accident, or take too long to build, then the industry will struggle; if they succeed, it will have a running start. Therefore, the Energy Department has made a big fuss about how these projects should help local residents: When selecting these projects, it took the unusual step of ranking these projects’ “community benefits” as highly as their more technical aspects.
Last week, an Energy Department official was quick to point out to me that these projects have merely been selected and that neither has received any money yet. Next, the department and these hubs will negotiate binding contracts that will seek to lock in community benefits for locals. Only then will the funds flow.
What’s more interesting, though, is what’s not here. In the infrastructure law, Congress required that the Energy Department establish four DAC hubs. Only two have been announced. That’s because officials realized last year that fewer than four places nationwide had the expertise and understanding of DAC necessary to erect a massive million-ton facility on demand.
So the department set up a kind of starter DAC hub program — a series of grants that will allow cities, nonprofits, universities and companies to study the feasibility of establishing a DAC hub in their town. It gave out more than a dozen of these grants last week to companies and universities in Utah, California, Illinois, Kentucky, and more.
Officials clearly hope that these starter grants may produce more than two full-fledged DAC hub projects, which Congress can then fund at the same level as the Texas and Louisiana facilities.
Even those starter projects will specialize in DAC, though, which means that each approach will use industrial machinery to capture carbon from the ambient air and inject it underground.
But removing carbon doesn’t necessarily require DAC. It may be possible to remove carbon passively by using certain kinds of rock, for instance, or by growing lots and lots of algae. These approaches will probably use less energy than DAC, and they may even remove more carbon than DAC, but they will be harder to measure and verify, and there will be more uncertainty about exactly how much carbon you’re taking out of the atmosphere.
But federal policy has a strong pro-DAC bias. That’s not only because of the DAC hubs, but also because of the Inflation Reduction Act: Biden’s climate law pays companies $180 for each ton of carbon that they remove from the atmosphere, but it is written such that it can essentially only be used for DAC.
The department is trying to diversify away from DAC within the bounds that Congress has given. Last week, it announced that it would soon sponsor small pilot programs that use alternative technologies, including rock mineralization, biomass, and ocean-based processes. It will also fund efforts to measure and verify those techniques so as to make sure they remove a dependable amount of carbon from the atmosphere.
The Energy Department also announced that it will create a new pilot purchase program for carbon removal efforts, providing an “early market commitment” to carbon-removal companies in the same way that it provided one to COVID vaccine makers. This program, which will have an initial budget of $35 million, will use federal expertise to identify which CDR techniques are the most viable and promising, allowing a DOE purchase contract to function as a de facto stamp of approval. (Heatmap first covered the existence of this program earlier this month.)
Finally, the department will launch a separate prize for commercial DAC providers with the goal of cutting its costs down to $100 a ton.
These programs have the unfortunate name “Carbon Negative Shot,” which is meant to evoke a “moonshot” but sounds more like an overpriced product for deer hunters. We will not dwell on it any longer.
All these efforts will turn the Department of Energy into the world’s biggest public buyer and supporter of carbon removal. That lays the groundwork for the final aspect of its strategy that launched last week: a “Responsible Carbon Management Initiative.”
This is a nonbinding list of principles that any carbon-management project will have to follow: These include engaging respectfully with communities before setting up a project, consulting with local tribes, developing the local workforce and ensuring good jobs, and monitoring local air and water quality. (The department is seeking public comment on what, exactly, these principles should be.)
Eventually, the Energy Department hopes to use these principles to provide “technical assistance” to projects that meet the guidelines. It will also recognize developers that have demonstrated they meet the principles.
In other words, the initiative could, over time, become a kind of soft standards-setting body for the industry — a way to distinguish good carbon-removal projects from the bad (and hopefully eliminate the bad in the first place). It will help that the same department publishing these guidelines will also be where all the funding is coming from.
Will all this work? I don’t know. But the scale of the effort is meaningful in itself, because it shows how the Biden administration approaches the task of erecting an industry de novo. If there’s such a thing as Bidenomics, this is what it looks like: a place-based development strategy that admires industrial clustering, supports domestic supply and demand, and applies an optimistic approach to regulation.
You can also see the risk of Biden’s approach. Decarbonization requires technical expertise and real-world know-how; in America, most of that expertise resides in the private sector. Occidental, an oil company that describes itself (optimistically) as a carbon management company, will operate one of the DAC hubs. Although it is prohibited by law from doing anything really egregious — like using the carbon that it’s capturing to drill for more oil — the Biden team cannot ensure that its heart or actions will remain pure. Occidental will be a good carbon-removal team player only so long as it benefits its bottom line.
Yet I don’t want to overstate the importance of this investment either. The vast majority of the Biden administration’s climate investment is going to cutting emissions: If anything, the Biden administration is spending too little on carbon removal, not too much. By my estimate, these programs, including the DAC hubs, will amount for 2% of the roughly $173 billion that the bipartisan infrastructure law devotes to climate or environmental projects. And when you include the Inflation Reduction Act’s climate spending — which is where most federal climate spending is in the first place — the programs discussed here drop to perhaps one percent of total climate spending, although that will depend on how many facilities use the DAC tax credit.
That is a small price for a big prize. If this funding “works,” then these investments will represent the beginning of a new industry — a carbon management industry capable of pulling millions of tons of pollution out of the sky. But even if they fail, then we’ll have learned something too: that carbon removal — and especially DAC — may in fact be unworkable, and that we should not comfort ourselves in the years to come with the hope of cleaning up the atmosphere.
“Our responsibility is to do what we can, learn what we can, improve the solutions, and pass them on. It is our responsibility to leave the people of the future a free hand,” the physicist Richard Feynman once wrote. A couple billion seems a worthy price for learning if that hand is free or not.
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With construction deadlines approaching, developers still aren’t sure how to comply with the new rules.
Certainty, certainty, certainty — three things that are of paramount importance for anyone making an investment decision. There’s little of it to be found in the renewable energy business these days.
The main vectors of uncertainty are obvious enough — whipsawing trade policy, protean administrative hostility toward wind, a long-awaited summit with China that appears to have done nothing to resolve the war with Iran. But there’s still one big “known unknown” — rules governing how companies are allowed to interact with “prohibited foreign entities,” which remain unwritten nearly a year after the One Big Beautiful Bill Act slapped them on just about every remaining clean energy tax credit.
The list of countries that qualify as “foreign entities of concern” is short, including Russian, Iran, North Korea, and China. Post-OBBBA, a firm may be treated as a “foreign-influenced entity” if at least 15% of its debt is issued by one of these countries — though in reality, China is the only one that matters. This rule also kicks in when there’s foreign entity authority to appoint executive officers, 25% or greater ownership by a single entity or a combined ownership of at least 40%.
Any company that wants to claim a clean energy tax credit must comply with the FEOC rules. How to calculate those percentages, however, the Trump administration has so far failed to say. This is tricky because clean energy projects seeking tax credits must be placed in service by the end of 2027 or start construction by July 4 of this year, which doesn’t leave them much time left to align themselves with the new rules.
While the Treasury Department published preliminary guidance in February, it largely covered “material assistance,” the system for determining how much of the cost of the project comes from inputs that are linked to those four nations (again, this is really about China). That still leaves the issue of foreign influence and “effective control,” i.e. who is allowed to own or invest in a project and what that means.
This has meant a lot of work for tax lawyers, Heather Cooper, a partner at McDermott Will & Schulte, told me on Friday.
“The FEOC ownership rules are an all or nothing proposition,” she said. “You have to satisfy these rules. It’s not optional. It’s not a matter of you lose some of the credits, but you keep others. There’s no remedy or anything. This is all or nothing.”
That uncertainty has had a chilling effect on the market. In February, Bloomberg reported that Morgan Stanley and JPMorgan had frozen some of their renewables financing work because of uncertainty around these rules, though Cooper told me the market has since thawed somewhat.
“More parties are getting comfortable enough that there are reasonable interpretations of these rules that they can move forward,” she said. “The reality is that, for folks in this industry — not just developers, but investors, tax insurers, and others — their business mandate is they need to be doing these projects.”
Some of the most frequent complaints from advisors and trade groups come around just how deep into a project’s investors you have to look to find undue foreign ownership or investment.
This gets complicated when it comes to the structures involved with clean energy projects that claim tax credits. They often combine developers (who have their own investors), outside investment funds, banks, and large companies that buy the tax credits on the transferability market.
These companies — especially the banks, which fund themselves with debt — “don’t know on any particular date how much of their debt is held by Chinese connected lenders, and therefore they’re not sure how the rules apply, and that’s caused a couple of banks to pull out of the tax equity market,” David Burton, a partner at Norton Rose Fulbright, told me. “It seems pretty crazy that a large international bank that has its debt trading is going to be a specified foreign entity because on some date, a Chinese party decided to take a large position in its debt.”
For those still participating in the market, the lack of guidance on debt and equity provisions has meant that lawyers are having to ascend the ladder of entities involved in a project, from private equity firms who aren’t typically used to disclosing their limited partners to developers, banks, and public companies that buy the tax credits.
“We’re having to go to private equity funds and say, hey, how many of your LPs are Chinese?” David Burton, a partner at Norton Rose Fulbright, told me. This is not information these funds are typically particularly eager to share. If a lawyer “had asked a private equity firm please tell us about your LPs, before One Big Beautiful Bill, they probably would have told us to go jump in the lake,” Burton said.
Still, the deals are still happening, but “the legal fees are more expensive. The underwriting and due diligence time is longer, there are more headaches,” he told me.
Typically these deals involve joint ventures that formed for that specific deal, which can then transfer the tax credits to another entity with more tax liability to offset. The joint venture might be majority owned by a public company, with a large minority position held by a private equity fund, Burton said.
For the public company, Burton said, his team has to ask “Are any of your shareholders large enough that they have to be disclosed to the SEC? Are any of those Chinese?” For the private equity fund, they have to ask where its investors are residents and what countries they’re citizens of. While private equity funds can be “relatively cooperative,” the process is still a “headache.”
“It took time to figure out how to write these certifications and get me comfortable with the certification, my client comfortable with it, the private equity firm comfortable with it, the tax credit buyer comfortable with it,” he told me, referring to the written legal explanation for how companies involved are complying with what their lawyers think the tax rules are.
Players such as the American Council on Renewable Energy hope that guidance will cut down on this certification time by limiting the universe of entities that will have to scrub their rolls of Chinese investors or corporate officers.
“It’d be nice if we knew you only have to apply the test at the entity that’s considered the tax owner of the project,” i.e. just the joint venture that’s formed for a specific project, Cooper told me.
“There’s a pretty reasonable and plain reading of the statute that limits the term ’taxpayer’ to the entity that owns the project when it’s placed in service,” Cooper said.
Many in the industry expect more guidance on the rules by the end of year, though as Burton noted, “this Treasury is hard to predict.”
In the meantime, expect even more work for tax lawyers.
“We’re used to December being super busy,” Burton said. “But it now feels like every month since the One Big Beautiful Bill passed is like December, so we’ve had, like, you know, eight Decembers in a row.”
Deep cuts to the department have left each staffer with a huge amount of money to manage.
The Department of Energy has an enviable problem: It has more money than it can spend.
DOE disbursed just 2% of its total budgetary resources in fiscal year 2025, according to a report released earlier this year from the EFI Foundation, a nonprofit that tracks innovations in energy. That figure is far lower than the 38% of funds it distributed the year prior.
While some of that is due to political whiplash in Washington, there is another, far more mundane cause: There simply aren’t that many people left to oversee the money. Thanks to the Department of Government Efficiency’s efforts, one in five DOE staff members left the agency. On top of that, Energy Secretary Chris Wright shuffled around and combined offices in a Kafkaesque restructuring. Short on workers and clear direction, the department appears unable to churn through its sizable budget.

Though Congress provides budgetary authority, agencies are left to allot spending for the programs under their ambit, and then obligate payments through contracts, grants, and loans. While departments are expected to use the money they’re allocated, federal staff have to work through the gritty details of each individual transaction.
As a result of its reduced headcount, DOE’s employees are each responsible for far more budgetary resources than ever before.
“DOE is facing its largest imbalance in its history,” Alex Kizer, executive vice president of EFI Foundation, told me. In fiscal year 2017, DOE budgeted around $4.7 million per full-time employee. In the fiscal year 2026 budget request, that figure reached $35.7 million per worker — about eight times more.
Part of that increase is the result of the unprecedented injection of funding into DOE from the 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act and the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act. The pair of laws, which gave DOE access to $97 billion, comprised the United States’ largest investment to combat climate change in the nation’s history.
The epoch of federally backed renewable energy investment proved to be short-lived, however. Once President Trump retook office last year, his administration froze funds and initiated a purge of federal workers that resulted in 3,000 staffers (about one in five) leaving DOE through the Deferred Resignation Program. The administration canceled hundreds of projects, evaporating $23 billion in federal support.
While the One Big Beautiful Bill Act passed last summer depleted some of the IRA’s coffers and sunsetted many tax credits years early, it only rescinded about $1.8 billion from DOE, according to the EFI Foundation. Much of the IRA’s spending had already gone out the door or was left intact.
This leaves DOE in a strange position: Its budget is historically high, but its staffing levels have suffered an unprecedented drop.

Even before the short-lived Elon Musk-run agency took a chainsaw to the federal workforce, DOE struggled to hire enough people to keep up with the pace of funding demanded by the IRA’s funding deadlines. The Loan Programs Office, for example, was criticized for moving too slowly in shelling out its hundreds of billions in loan authority. According to a report from three ex-DOE staffers that Heatmap’s Emily Pontecorvo covered, the IRA’s implementation suffered from a lack of “highly skilled, highly talented staff” to carry out its many programs.
“The last year’s uncertainty and the staff cuts, the project cancellations, those increase an already tightening bottleneck of difficulty with implementation at the department,” Sarah Frances Smith, EFI Foundation’s deputy director, told me.
One former longtime Department of Energy staffer who asked not to be named because they may want to return one day told me that as soon as Trump’s second term started, funding disbursement slowed to a halt. Employees had to get permission from leadership just to pay invoices for projects that had already been granted funding, the ex-DOE worker said.
While the Trump administration quickly moved to hamstring renewable energy resources, staff were kept busy complying with executive orders such as removing any mention of diversity equity and inclusion from government websites and responding to automated “What did you do last week?” emails.
On top of government funding drying up, Kizer told me that the confusion surrounding DOE has had a “cooling effect on the private sector’s appetite to do business with DOE,” though the size of that effect is “hard to quantify.”
Under President Biden, DOE put a lot of effort into building trust with companies doing work critical to its renewable energy priorities. Now, states and companies alike are suing DOE to restore revoked funds. In a recent report, the Government Accountability Office warned, “Private companies, which are often funding more than 50 percent of these projects, may reconsider future partnerships with the federal government.”
Clean energy firms aren’t the only ones upset by DOE’s about-face. Even the Republican-controlled Congress balked at President Trump’s proposed deep cuts to DOE’s budget in its latest round of budget negotiations. Appropriations for fiscal year 2026 will be just slightly lower than the year before — though without additional headcount to manage it, the same difficulties getting money out the door will remain.
The widespread staff exit also appears to have slowed work supporting the administration’s new priorities, namely coal and critical minerals. LPO, which was rebranded the “Office of Energy Dominance Financing,” has announced only a few new loans since President Biden left office. Southern Company, which received the Office’s largest-ever loan, was previously backed by a loan to its subsidiary Georgia Power under the first Trump administration.
Despite Trump’s frequent invocation of the importance of coal, DOE hasn’t accomplished much for the technology besides some funding to keep open a handful of struggling coal plants and a loan to restart a coal gasification plant for fertilizer production that was already in LPO’s pipeline under Biden.
Even if DOE wanted to become an oil and gas-enabling juggernaut, it may not have the labor force it needs to carry out a carbon-heavy energy mandate.
“When you cut as many people as they did, you have to figure out who’s going to do the stuff that those people were doing,” said the ex-DOE staffer. “And now they’re going to move and going, Oh crap, we fired that guy.”
Will moving fast and breaking air permits exacerbate tensions with locals?
The Trump administration is trying to ease data centers’ power permitting burden. It’s likely to speed things up. Whether it’ll kick up more dust for the industry is literally up in the air.
On Tuesday, the EPA proposed a rule change that would let developers of all stripes start certain kinds of construction before getting a historically necessary permit under the Clean Air Act. Right now this document known as a New Source Review has long been required before you can start building anything that will release significant levels of air pollutants – from factories to natural gas plants. If EPA finalizes this rule, it will mean companies can do lots of work before the actual emitting object (say, a gas turbine) is installed, down to pouring concrete for cement pads.
The EPA’s rule change itself doesn’t mention AI data centers. However, the impetus was apparent in press materials as the agency cited President Trump’s executive order to cut red tape around the sector. Industry attorneys and environmental litigants alike told me this change will do just that, cutting months to years from project construction timelines, and put pressure on state regulators to issue air permits by allowing serious construction to start that officials are usually reluctant to disrupt.
“I think the intended result is also what will happen. Developers will be able to move more quickly, without additional delay,” said Jeff Holmstead, a D.C.-based attorney with Bracewell who served as EPA assistant administrator for air and radiation under George H.W. Bush. “It will almost certainly save some time for permitting and construction of new infrastructure.”
Air permitting is often a snag that will hold up a major construction project. Doubly so for gas-powered generation. Before this proposal, the EPA historically was wary to let companies invest in what any layperson would consider actual construction work. The race for more AI infrastructure has changed the game, supercharging what was already an active debate over energy needs and our nation’s decades-old environmental laws.
Many environmental groups condemned the proposal upon its release, stating it would make gas-powered AI data centers more popular and diminish risks currently in place for using dirtier forms of electricity. Normally, they argue, this permitting process would give state and federal officials an early opportunity to gauge whether pollution control measures make sense and if a developer’s preferred design would unduly harm the surrounding community. This could include encouraging developers to consider alternate energy sources.
“Inevitably agencies have flexibility as to how much they ask, and what this allows them to do is pre-commit in ways that’ll force agencies to take stuff off the table. What’s taken off the table, it’s hard to know, but you’re constraining options to respond to public concerns or recognize air quality impacts,” said Sanjay Narayan, Sierra Club’s chief appellate counsel.
Herein lies the dilemma: will regulatory speed for power sacrifice opportunities for input that could quell local concerns?
We’re seeing this dilemma play out in real time with Project Matador, a large data center proposal being developed in Amarillo, Texas, by the Rick Perry-backed startup Fermi Americas. Project Matador is purportedly going to be massive and Fermi claims its supposed to one day reach 11 GW, which would make it one of the biggest data centers in the world.
Fermi’s plans have focused on relying on nuclear power in the future. But the only place they’ve made real progress so far in getting permits is gas generation. In February, the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality gave Fermi its air permit for building and operating up to 6 gigawatts of gas power at Project Matador. At that time, Fermi was also rooting for relaxed New Source Review standards, applauding EPA in comments to media for signaling it would take this step. The company’s former CEO Toby Neugebauer also told investors on their first earnings call that Trump officials personally intervened to help get them gas turbines from overseas. (There’s scant public evidence to date of this claim and Neugebauer was fired by Fermi’s board last month.)
But now Fermi’s permit is also being threatened in court. In April, a citizens group Panhandle Taxpayers for Transparency filed a lawsuit against TCEQ challenging the validity of the permit. The case centers around whether the commission was right to deny a request for a contested case hearing brought by members of the group who lived and worked close to Project Matador. “Once these decisions are made, they don’t get reversed,” Michael Ford, Panhandle Taxpayers for Transparency’s founder, said in a fundraising video.
This is also a financial David vs. Goliath, as Ford admits in the fundraising video they have less than $2,000 to spend on the case – a paltry sum they admit barely covers legal bills. We’re also talking about a state that culturally and legally sides often with developers and fossil fuel firms.
At the same time, this lawsuit couldn’t come at a more difficult time as Fermi is struggling with other larger problems (see: Neugebauer’s ouster). Eric Allman, one of the attorneys representing Panhandle Taxpayers for Transparency, told me they’re still waiting on a judge assignment and estimated it’ll take about one year to get a ruling. Allman told me legally Fermi can continue construction during the legal challenge but there are real risks. “Applicants on many occasions will pause activity while there is an appeal pending,” he told me, “because if the suit is successful, they won’t have an authorization.”
Aerial photos reported by independent journalist Michael Thomas purportedly show Fermi hasn’t done significant construction since obtaining its air permit. Fermi did not respond to multiple requests for comment on the lawsuit.
Industry attorneys I spoke to who wished to remain anonymous told me it was too early to say whether EPA’s rulemaking would exacerbate local conflicts by making things move faster. “A lot of times the environmental community likes to litigate things in the hope delays will kill a project, so in that regard, this strategy may be harder for them to implement now,” one lawyer told me. “But just because a plant gets a permit doesn’t mean they can build.”
Environmental lawyers, meanwhile, clearly see more potential for social friction in a faster process. Keri Powell of the Southern Environmental Law Center compared this EPA action to xAI’s rapid buildout in Tennessee and Mississippi where the Al company’s construction of gas turbines before it received its permits has only added to local controversy. This new rule would not make what xAI did permissible; this is a different matter. Yet there are thematic similarities between what the company is doing and the new permitting regime, with natural gas generation expanding faster when companies are allowed to start forms of site work before an air permit is issued.
“By the time a permit is issued, the company will be very, very far along in constructing a facility. All they’ll need to do is bring in the emitting unit, and oftentimes that doesn’t entail very much,” she said. “Imagine you’re a state or local permitting agency – your ability to choose something different than what the company already decided to do is going to be limited.”