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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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The Supreme Court keeps changing the terms of the deal between the legislative branch and the executive.
The Supreme Court ended its 2025–2026 term today, issuing a flurry of rulings on its most controversial cases. Most significantly, it rejected President Trump’s attempt to overturn birthright citizenship, preserving the 14th Amendment as it has been read for more than a century. It also struck down restrictions on how much political parties can spend in coordination with candidates — a change that could shape political strategies in November’s midterm election.
But I suspect that the year’s most important ruling for energy and climate policy came … yesterday. In a 6-3 ruling, the court’s conservative majority allowed President Trump to fire the commissioners of independent agencies without cause. Although the case concerned the Federal Trade Commission, it will matter for every independent agency that governs energy and climate policy.
My colleague Matthew Zeitlin wrote about what the case will mean for the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, for instance, and I urge you to read his story. As he writes, the agency that governs the country’s power markets, transmission grid, and natural gas infrastructure has a culture of bipartisan consensus, even comity, and the ruling could chill that warmer clime. Last year, a cross-partisan group of 11 former FERC officials warned that allowing the president to fire commissioners “would bulldoze the structural supports that Congress built into” the agency to protect its power “from abuse.”
But FERC is not the only commission that governs climate and energy policy. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission — which Trump has also sought to bring to heel — is led by independent commissioners. So too are the Securities and Exchange Commission and the Commodity Futures Trading Commission, which the Biden administration tried (and largely failed) to turn into climate policy-making agencies.
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The independent commission is an old American legal structure, invented in the 19th century to manage issues where Congress deemed technical expertise and a deliberative process were essential to producing good policy. Although some guardrails for these agencies remain intact — such as requirements that a certain number of their commissioners come from each party — the court has permanently changed how they work. For instance, instead of having to wait for commissioners at FERC or the FTC to retire, step down, or serve out their terms, the president can now fire any or all of them and remake an independent commission almost as soon as they take office — assuming, at least, a cooperative Senate that is willing to confirm new appointees.
While reading about the ruling, I’ve found myself thinking back to an article written last year by the Georgetown Law professor Josh Chafetz. It concerns a little-known (or at least new to me) 1983 Supreme Court case, INS v. Chadha, that reshaped the relationship between Congress and the executive branch. For decades, Congress passed laws granting new powers to the president (or a federal agency) while retaining the ability to nullify those powers with a “legislative veto,” whereby one or both houses of Congress could cancel a given action with a simple majority vote.
In Chadha, the court ruled that the legislative veto was unconstitutional, a decision that affected hundreds of statutes, according to Chafetz. But crucially, the court did not cancel Congress’ grants of authority in those statutes; it only removed Congress’ ability to veto the use of that authority by a vote. In doing so, it ratcheted up the executive branch’s powers and diminished the legislative’s — “thereby leaving in place only one side of a bargain between Congress and the presidency,” Chafetz writes.
Why does this matter? Because the court is doing something similar again. Congress struck a bargain with the president when it set up commissions like FERC and the NRC: It granted new powers to the executive branch, but also placed important restrictions on how those powers can be used. In allowing the president to fire commissioners, the Supreme Court has altered the deal, preserving Congress’ grant of authority while removing any real restrictions on the president’s ability to use that authority. In doing so, it has overhauled how those agencies work, essentially creating a new and more potent version of FERC, or the NRC, or the FTC that wears the staff and authorities of the old one as a skin suit.
No legislator would have chosen to set up FERC, or the NRC, or the FTC as they now exist. But after the Supreme Court’s partial demo job yesterday, they are the agencies we have. The court has overhauled how the United States regulates electricity markets, or antitrust law, or nuclear safety regulation. Let’s pray, I suppose, that the Supreme Court doesn’t alter the deal any further.
I promised I wouldn’t write about Europe’s air conditioning adoption today, and I have kept my vow. But my colleague Jeva Lange — who just returned from a 10-day trip on the continent with her husband, her 9-month-old daughter, and her 69-year-old father — has written about it, and in the most delightful way. What was Europe actually like, as an (ew) American? Find out.
I decided to go to Italy in June with my husband, my 9-month-old daughter, and my 69-year-old father. What could go wrong?
The start of a vacation really begins 10 days before departure, when your arrival date first appears on your weather app. Like the turning over of a tarot card, it is this initial forecast that hints at the potential character of your trip — whether your beach vacation might be ruined by rain, or if spring break will fall this year during an unanticipated cold spell.
For our recent trip to Bologna, Italy, my family and I seemed to have pulled one of the worst cards in the deck: Our weather apps suggested early on that the high would be near 100 degrees Fahrenheit on the weekend of our arrival.
Little did we know then, it would never cool down.
Coming on the heels of Europe’s second-hottest May on record, an extreme heat wave settled over the continent on June 18, 2026 — the first day of our trip — and lasted through Sunday, June 29 — the day we returned home. This would, on its face, seem to be a case of abysmal luck. But as someone who writes about extreme heat, it felt more like the moment I went from covering the story to living it myself, a jarring but not uncommon experience among my professional colleagues. As is often the case on the climate beat, it is only a matter of time before we become the subjects of our own stories.
To be sure, I’ve been hot in Europe before. Last year, I was also in Bologna during a heat wave, when the city set a record for the highest minimum temperature in June. At that time, I was pregnant and attending the Il Cinema Ritrovato film festival with my husband, a movie critic. Despite the wimpy European AC running in the theaters — and the nonexistent AC in many of the city’s best restaurants — we had such a good time that we pledged to make our attendance an annual family tradition. Next year, we decided then, we’d return with the baby.
Ah, the naïveté of parents to-be!
Our itinerary took us from Seattle to Paris for a one-night stopover before we would carry on to Bologna. On our arrival day, June 18, Paris hit 97 degrees Fahrenheit. Determined to try to see as much of the new-to-us city as we could, we stuck the baby in a backpack and raced from our air-conditioned room to another AC oasis, the Musée d’Orsay — a walk of about half an hour that took us along the sun-blasted east end of the Tuileries and over the exposed Pont Royal. By the time we reached the long line of wilting tourists waiting to enter the museum, our daughter had slumped, lethargic, in her carrier. Beside ourselves with panic, we pushed our way into the museum’s lightly air-conditioned ticketing office. I was calculating the fastest way to get medical help — yell for security and hope the museum had paramedics on hand? Dial the local emergency number? — when, after what felt like a terrifyingly long time, she opened her eyes and cried.
I’ve replayed that walk over and over in my head, wondering where we went wrong. Unfortunately, it is difficult to get good medical information about babies and heat. Infants’ warning signs are contradictory — sweat is a red flag, but so is not sweating; increased irritability should be watched for, but so should lethargy — and an individual’s acclimation and compounding conditions like hydration and airflow make it even harder to know when a temperature is safe, or isn’t. Did the sweltering ride into the city on an overcrowded RER mean our daughter was already under heat stress when we left again for our walk? Was it just jet lag compounding her lethargy? Was it the heat transfer from being in a carrier that was at fault, or all that direct sun on the Seine?
Whatever the cause, we arrived in Bologna on edge. In addition to our daughter, I was worried about the other most vulnerable member of our small party: my dad, a senior, who joined us a few days later. Having reported on the 2021 Pacific Northwest heat dome deaths and knowing the cardiac stressor of dehydration, especially on older adults, I was extra obnoxious about making sure everyone carried a water bottle and ensured that the apartment we rented (which I’d made extra sure came with air conditioning) stayed at an “American-style” temperature of “wrap yourself in a blanket indoors.” (I admit to having the weak American mind disease when it comes to using AC, although I was fascinated by the story a Belgian friend told about the social stigma against installing AC in his country because it’s perceived as making the conditions hotter for one’s neighbors.)
Still, meals out couldn’t be avoided, and while many restaurants seemed to have added air conditioning since our trip last year, Bologna is still an eat-on-the-street kind of city. Breakfast was tolerable; leaving for lunch and dinner, though, felt like having a tennis racket of heat swung directly at your face as soon as you stepped outside. The city’s famous porticoes, a “historical form of climactic refuge” designed to provide passive cooling in the form of shade and airflow, offered marginal relief. But even the clever medieval architecture couldn’t compete with the fossil fuel emissions-worsened heat; after the sun went down around 9 p.m., the heat would linger, radiating out of the masonry. The thermometer I hung from the stroller frequently read over 90 degrees Fahrenheit even as late as 11 p.m. To keep the baby cool, we tucked ice packs wrapped in burp cloths alongside her in the stroller, misted her with fans, and covered her legs in a Frogg Toggs evaporative cooling towel that we’d rewet in the city’s public water fountains.
During our 10 days in Italy, the daytime high never dropped below 95 degrees, and my dad and the baby spent almost their entire vacation indoors — either at the apartment or at the wonderful Biblioteca Salaborsa, a library and one of Bologna’s community cooling centers. It was from my colleague Robinson Meyer that I later learned more than half of Italian households now have air conditioning, although adoption has grown faster in the south than in the north, where we were. That’s a pattern that extends across Europe; about “28% of French homes and 13% of apartments have some kind of air conditioning,” Rob further writes.
But while excess mortality takes a long time to calculate accurately, France already reports that more than 1,300 people have died due to the heat since June 21, 2026. Most of the casualties are among people over the age of 65, as is usually the case during heat waves, but small children are also among the dead.
There isn’t a tidy ending to this story. We were hot, we lived, and we went home. I have almost no pictures of my child on her first international vacation because she spent practically all of it indoors, but that is hardly a tragedy. And — as I kept reminding myself when my intrusive thoughts and mom guilt became overwhelming — there are millions of parents raising millions of children in parts of the world that are very, very hot. What we accomplished, while inconvenient, was nothing extraordinary; in the coming years, it will probably become even more banal. (Indeed, it was about 10 degrees hotter in parts of France during this heat wave than anything we endured in Bologna.)
But let’s go back to that excess mortality number for just a moment. In 2022, a summer likely to be cooler than the six-day-old El Niño-fueled one now beginning in Europe, the World Health Organization calculated that more than 61,000 people died on the continent due to extreme heat stress. That’s 61,000 people with daughters and sons who also harangued them about remembering to drink water or stay out of the sun; 61,000 people who now won’t see their grandchildren start school, who won’t attend another family meal, who won’t take another vacation. While I spent 10 days worrying about how to keep the people I care about safe from extreme heat, it’s all but certain someone else — many someone elses — lost the ones they love in those same temperatures.
On the night before our departure for Paris, when our whole weather app had filled up with 97, 98, and 101 degree days stretching into the foreseeable future, my husband and I asked each other if we still wanted to go and be in that kind of heat. What a privilege it is, for now, to have been able to decide.
Republican Mike Braun loves data centers but hates electricity price increases.
Elected officials — especially in executive positions like governor, mayor, or, say, president — tend to support economic development writ large, looking to bring jobs to their constituents and expand the tax base. By that same token, they also tend to be quite sensitive to rising costs — especially utility bills, for which voters tend to hold state governments accountable, per Heatmap polling.
That puts governors — especially Republican governors, who are often more friendly to business and more likely to buy into arguments proffered by the White House about national security and economic competitiveness — in a tricky position as both the data center buildout and opposition to it gain momentum across the United States. No one embodies the dilemma more than Indiana’s Governor Mike Braun, who has positioned himself as a champion of data centers while also going on the rhetorical warpath against the utility AES Indiana and the Indiana Utility Regulatory Commission.
His latest barrage against Indiana’s electricity ratemaking process started in mid-June, when the utility commission approved a rate case from AES Indiana granting the utility a $71 million revenue increase across two phases, the first beginning in July, each of which will raise monthly bills by “less than $5 per month,” according to the company. AES had originally asked for a $190 million increase, but thanks in part to intervention from Indiana’s Office of Utility Consumer Counselor, a public advocate in utility rate hearings, it was eventually whittled down.
The utility commission handed down its decision on June 17. Later that same day, Braun issued a blast against AES and the IURC, saying in a statement that “my top priority is affordability, which is why I am deeply disappointed by the IURC’s approval of another AES rate increase. Hoosiers have spent years tightening their belts and making tough financial decisions. It’s time for utility companies to do the same.” The next day he was back with another fire-breathing statement: “Yesterday’s decision by the IURC to allow another rate increase by AES is unacceptable,” he said, and called for a rehearing of the rate case.
The regulator is in the midst of an “investigative inquiry on energy affordability” launched earlier this year that has required the state’s five large investor-owned utilities to make presentations on their ratemaking. “We’ve heard the concerns about the burden utility bills have on families and businesses across the state, and we are committed to evaluating short- and long-term solutions related to affordability,” then-Chair Andy Zay said in a news release in February announcing the investigation.
Braun, apparently, wasn’t convinced. By Monday, June 22, he’d removed Andy Zay as chairman of the IURC, and installed Commissioner Anthony Swinger to lead the regulator. “Affordability is my top priority,” he reiterated in a post on X, “and I am confident Chairman Swinger will deliver on that priority for Hoosiers.”
When asked about this past month’s events, AES Indiana said that it “respects the independence of the regulatory process and works constructively with all stakeholders. We remain focused on executing under the final approved order and delivering for our customers,” a spokesperson told me. Neither Braun’s office nor the IURC responded to my requests for comment.
The rhetoric was not particularly new for Braun. Last fall, for instance, he declared of utility rate hikes, “we can’t take it anymore,” and ordered the state’s utility consumer advocate “to evaluate utilities’ profits and find cost-saving measures to ease the financial burden on Hoosiers.” That said, his swift actions of late surprised some outside observers. “While Gov. Braun has made utility affordability a priority, the abrupt leadership change at the IURC is nonetheless surprising,” Jefferies analyst Julien Dumoulin-Smith wrote in a note to clients. “We perceive a cautionary tone for Indiana regulation; future orders will likely be more visibly defensible on affordability.”
Indiana sits at the transmission-rich crossroads between the Midwest and East Coast and has long been governed by business-friendly Republicans, and has thus become a locus of data center construction — and backlash. Twenty-one out of 92 counties in the state have enacted some sort of pause or ban on data center construction, according to Heatmap Pro data. Earlier this year, the Indianapolis City Council passed a resolution calling for a pause on approvals for data centers. When the White House earlier this year got large technology companies to commit to the Ratepayer Protection Pledge, in which they agreed to fund any additional grid costs incurred by their data centers, it was arguably following in the footsteps of Indiana, which negotiated a large load tariff last year meant to shield customers of Indiana Michigan Power, a subsidiary of AEP, from data center-related costs.
Braun’s position in Indiana also mirrors the ideological divide in Washington — Braun supports data center development while demanding that utilities figure out a way to spare ratepayers. Advocates to his left, both at the state and federal level, support a pause on all data center construction. André Carson, one of two Democrats representing Indiana in the House of Representatives, introduced a bill that would enact a nationwide data center moratorium alongside Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez and Bernie Sanders. (For what it’s worth, most Americans seem to prefer the leftward road.)
Indiana’s typical household electricity bills have indeed risen in the past couple of years, from about $113 per month two years ago to $120 per month as of May, while prices have risen 19%, according to Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub. Prices are up 12% in the past year, according to the Heatmap-MIT data, while the electricity prices nationwide have risen 6%.
Attributing rate hikes to data centers is a notoriously tricky exercise, however, and researchers have generally found that in most states, it’s hard to discern an exact connection. When pressed, Indiana utilities have claimed that higher prices are necessary to fund improvements for reliability or cold weather. Some critics of Indiana utilities, like Citizens Action Coalition Ben Inskeep, attribute years of rate hikes to coziness between the state legislature and utilities and the gradual weakening of regulators who could push back against hikes. Citizens Action has called for a moratorium on data centers in the state.
In spite of his harsh words against utilities, Braun has generally supported data centers as part of an overall economic development strategy, appearing at the groundbreaking for a $10 billion Meta data center project in Lebanon, Indiana, earlier this year. “In Indiana, it’s clear we’re a very easy state to do business in, but the communities are going to have to approve it,” he said on Fox Business earlier this month, setting himself up as a champion of local communities and ratepayers. “In Indiana, if you’re coming in, you’re paying for all of the construction and the generation of electricity, and you’re going to put more electrons onto the grid, taking prices down,” he said.
Braun’s consumer-and-conservation-minded critics have taken aim at this exact claim in pushing for a pause on development.
“We are one of the three or four Ground Zero states for data center development. We’re extremely attractive to data centers,” Kerwin Olson, executive director of Citizens Action Coalition, told me. “That happened at the same time as bills skyrocketing.”
Olson pointed out that Indiana’s data center boom has come at the tail end of a series of controversial economic developments, including a proposed hydrogen hub, carbon capture and storage projects, and a proposed water pipeline. “Here comes Amazon, here comes Meta, Google, and all hell just broke loose,” Olson said.
Referring to Braun, Olson said, “We don’t doubt his sincerity about his concern about affordability. We disagree with him on these solutions that need to happen.”