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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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New research from Climate Central estimates the rise in heat-related emergency room visits due to climate change.
2027 is very likely to be the hottest year ever recorded. Though heat was the climate story of the summer — the ocean heat that dictates the severity of El Niño; the back-to-back heat domes in Europe that killed an estimated 35,000 people; the U.S. experiencing its hottest month in 130 years, breaking the Dust Bowl record — what lies ahead will be, in all likelihood, nothing our species has ever experienced before.
We need to get better at understanding and adapting to extreme heat because lives are on the line. But there is also a lot of bad stuff that happens to people before they actually die from the heat. While excess mortality rates are an important (albeit tricky) way of measuring how bad a heat wave is, climate change-related heat is also fueling an increase in emergency room visits, new peer-reviewed research by Climate Central found.
In a study released Wednesday looking at warm months in the years 2018 to 2025, Climate Central found that the observed rate of heat-related ER visits averaged 130 per 100,000 total visits, compared to a modeled rate of just 95 visits under counterfactual temperature conditions — that is, what temperatures would be without the influence of human-caused climate change. That means human-caused planetary warming directly accounts for about 35 visits per 100,000, or 27% of heat-related emergencies.
While the Sun Belt had the highest overall rates of heat-related ER visits, as expected, the largest relative climate fingerprint appeared in the Northeast (41%) and New England (37%), likely because these regions are far less acclimated to (or built for) extreme heat. Likewise, while July had the highest overall number of ER visits, being the hottest month of the year in the U.S., September showed the highest percentage attributable to climate change (33%) as heat impacts have begun to extend later into the fall.
Measuring emergency room visits might seem superfluous compared to measuring deaths, the latter being the more traditional headline number after an extreme weather-related tragedy. But Kristina Dahl, the vice president for science at Climate Central, told me that her group’s research is part of an emerging branch of attribution science called impact attribution.
“We’re trying to go beyond attributing the physical climate variables like high temperature and see how climate influence percolates into the whole chain of events,” Dahl said. “There’s a lot of literature that shows that heat-related illness increases when temperature increases, and there are a lot of studies that translate high temperatures into deaths and heat-related mortality. But we haven’t seen anything that looks at the lower-level health impacts related to heat exposure.”
Lower-level health impacts are crucial to understand, though. For one thing, more ER visits strain health systems in potentially lethal ways as wait times, premature discharges, and occupancy climb, resources dwindle, and care is rationed, earlier research has found.
Take the 2021 Pacific Northwest heat dome, the most extreme three days in the entire Climate Central record, with an observed rate of 6,763 heat-related ER visits per 100,000. About 1,834 of those visits, or 27%, are attributable to climate change, the researchers found. The Pacific Northwest “probably still would have seen a big spike in ER visits for heat-related illness during that event, even without climate change, because it was so extreme,” Dahl told me. But even a handful more heat patients than usual can gum up an ER, since treating conditions such as heat exhaustion and heat stroke requires lowering a person’s core body temperature slowly back to its normal range. Separate research has found that hospitals are more likely to discharge patients early to free up beds during heat waves, also raising mortality rates.
A visit to the ER isn’t just scary and disruptive; it can also be extremely expensive for whoever’s in the bed. “Our healthcare system is a really challenging system to navigate. It’s strained in a lot of ways, and people’s wallets are also strained because of it,” Dahl pointed out. Understanding how ER visits strain the health care system at large can also help administrators better stage ambulances and personnel ahead of extreme heat events — and invest in workforce expansion and infrastructure upgrades to prepare for the eventuality. Ideally, interventions can prevent people from end up in the hospital at all. Workplace heat protection policies, community cooling centers, and nature- and infrastructure-based cooling solutions are all vital.
There is a critical caveat to the Climate Central analysis, however: The data it uses to calculate heat-related ER visits comes from a Centers for Disease Control and Prevention initiative called the National Syndromic Surveillance Program. More than 85% of U.S. emergency departments report to the NSSP within 24 hours of a patient coming through the doors, conveying the chief complaint that a patient arrives with. “That could be someone saying, ‘I think I have heat exhaustion,’ or ‘I’m super dehydrated,’” Dahl said.
But because of that human element — and because a person having a heart attack isn’t likely to come in saying, “Hey guys, I think I’m having a cardiac event exacerbated by extreme heat” — Climate Central’s analysis faces the same limitations as other excess mortality reports that rely on reporting systems not designed to measure heat impacts. (This is also why NPR recently calculated that the number of people who die from extreme heat in the U.S. each year is likely five times greater than the official CDC numbers.)
When I pressed Dahl on the question, she agreed that Climate Central’s research offers “a conservative look” that could lead to an undercount. “We also know that in parts of the country where physicians don’t typically see heat illness, they tend to be a little less likely to code a visit as heat-related,” she added.
This isn’t a knock on Climate Central’s analysis — rather, it’s frightening to think that the real rates of heat-related hospital visits, much less all visits directly attributable to climate change, are probably much higher. Researchers, of course, need to be careful not to sensationalize, especially since sloppy data and poor science communication can lead to misconceptions and underestimations about the dangers of heat among the population. But it pays to understand what is happening; a surge in ER visits is another piece of the public health puzzle. Hopefully someone is paying attention, because the planet’s hottest summer — if prevailing trends bear out — is now only 41 weeks away.
Here are the major dates on the climate and energy calendar.
This is an edition of Heatmap Daily, an evening review of the day’s news written by our executive editor. Sign up for it here.
The Labor Day weekend is over, so today marks the unofficial start of fall in the United States — and my return to writing Heatmap Daily. Many thanks to Emily Pontecorvo for holding down the fort while I was on vacation.
As the seasons change (at least in a non-meteorological, non-astronomical capacity), I’ve been thinking about what the rest of the year might look like. Only 114 days separate us from the end of 2026, and between now and then, we're going to get answers about some of the country’s — and world’s — biggest ongoing climate and energy questions. By December 31, for instance, we’ll almost certainly know whether Congress has reached a deal on bipartisan permitting reform, and we’ll be watching a likely record-breaking El Niño kick into high gear around the world. The U.S. political system will also be gearing up for the next presidential election.
I’ll have more on some of the biggest questions I’m thinking about later this week, but first I wanted to lay out the map. Here’s a guide to the biggest remaining dates on the climate and energy calendar in 2026.
September 22 to September 28
Every year, world leaders descend on New York City for the UN General Assembly’s week of high-level meetings … at the same time that climate and energy wonks try to scrounge hotel rooms for New York Climate Week, the closest thing that the climate and decarbonization industrial-advocacy complex has to an annual confab.
This year, another event will be added to the mix. President Xi Jinping of China is supposedly skipping the UN meeting this year, but he will be staying just a few hundred miles away on the same exact days for what seems to be a Trump-hosted state visit in Washington, D.C. This will be the Chinese leader’s first state visit to America in more than a decade, and it will come, presumably, as U.S. relations with its neighbors and allies reach a recent nadir. Given the host country here, I wouldn’t expect to hear too much about climate change, but AI, trade, and Taiwan will all likely be on the schedule.
You can expect to hear a lot about climate change (and national energy policy, and the data center boom, and much more besides) at Heatmap House, our all-day gathering at New York Climate Week on September 23. Subscribers can register now, and speakers include former Vice President Al Gore, Secretary of Energy Chris Wright, and more.
October 4, 2026
Voters in Brazil will elect the country’s president, vice president, and members of its National Congress for the first time since former President Jair Bolsonaro attempted a military coup in 2022. Bolsonaro is under house arrest for his role in the attempted autogolpe, so he can’t run; instead, his son Flávio Bolsonaro is standing. The incumbent President Lula da Silva leads in the polls. Under Lula, Brazil has pledged to cut its greenhouse gas emissions by roughly two-thirds below their all-time high by 2035.
November 3, 2026
On the first Tuesday in November, Americans will vote for the full membership of the House of Representatives as well as one-third of the Senate. Democrats are expected to retake the House — it would, at this point, be a shock if they didn’t — but the president’s polling has become so dire that they’re hoping to beat the odds and take the upper chamber, too. If Democrats succeed in winning Congress outright, expect the second half of President Trump’s term to look quite different, with liberal lawmakers running aggressive oversight campaigns in the run-up to the 2028 presidential election. Interior Secretary Doug Burgum’s plan to overhaul the National Parks Service, for instance, seems like just the kind of effort that could falter in a more scrutinized environment; the Trump administration’s extrajudicial war on wind will also likely face more oversight than it has so far. Trump would also presumably have a much harder time making judicial and Executive Branch appointments.
Even though Election Day isn’t until November, early voting starts in less than a month in some states. Expect to hear a lot more about data centers and electricity bills between now and then. Some state-level races — particularly those in Michigan, Georgia, and Pennsylvania — could also shape the field for the upcoming 2028 presidential election. (Whether Senator Jon Ossoff of Georgia runs for president, for instance, will depend heavily on who wins that state’s governor’s race — and could appoint his successor.)
November 9 to November 20, 2026
The UN’s annual climate conference will be in Antalya, Turkey, this year and begin just a few days after the U.S. midterms. This is going to be a weird summit: Turkey is hosting the physical meeting, but Australia is nominally the “political” host. The conference is supposed to focus on clean energy, zeroing waste, and methane reduction. This will be the 31st meeting of the Conference of the Parties to the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change, and it may offer a look at what a post-Trump, post-1.5 degree Celsius UN meeting could look like.
The industry has gotten excited before, to no avail. Will it stick this time?
Over a decade ago, when the global price of silicon-based photovoltaic modules was roughly five times what it is today, the solar industry and media were already hyping up the next big thing: perovskites, a class of materials defined by their specific cube-like crystal structure. The technology promised to boost photovoltaic efficiency while driving down costs, and the industry was atwitter.
“All the cool solar-cell scientists are working on perovskites photovoltaics,” IEEE Spectrum proclaimed in a 2014 article. In the same piece, Oxford Photovoltaics predicted that it would have commercially available cells within four years. The Wall Street Journal profiled the tech that same year, and in 2015, The Guardian declared that perovskites could be “game changing.” The excitement centered around the potential for higher output at lower costs: Perovskite cells were seeing rapid efficiency gains, could be made from cheap materials, and were remarkably thin and lightweight. When the question of durability came up, it was often as an afterthought. But that has turned out to be the technology’s biggest obstacle.
“What the industry came to understand very quickly is that, yes, you could see higher efficiency, but that material is going to degrade pretty quickly,” Laureen Sanderson, chief communication officer at the perovskite startup Cubic PV, told me. “A lot of the efficiency records that you were seeing were records that were achieved on very small scale devices in a laboratory environment, potentially measured in the dark.” Not ideal for a technology designed to soak up the sun on a large scale.
It’s true that perovskite cells tend to break down rapidly on contact with moisture, heat, and light, a problem scientists have been slowly chipping away at in the lab. That fragility largely arises because perovskites are made of electrically charged ions held together mostly by the attraction between positive and negative charges, much like magnets snapping together. That’s an intrinsically looser structure than the covalent bonds in silicon, which fuse the atoms together via shared electrons. As a result, the ions in perovskites migrate when exposed to the elements, accumulating in places where they react with surrounding materials to form unwanted byproducts that gradually break down the cell’s structure.
But while durability has been its fatal flaw, efficiency is perovskite’s superpower. Silicon’s efficiency tops out at 29.4%, a fundamental physics limitation that no amount of engineering can overcome. But because perovskites can be tuned to absorb different wavelengths of light beyond what silicon can capture, stacking a thin perovskite cell atop a conventional silicon cell lets the combined device make use of more sunlight than either material could alone. In July, one of these silicon-perovskite tandem cells — the industry’s dominant architecture — set a new 35.5% efficiency record.
So while this new tech still doesn’t match the stability of conventional panels, it’s getting much better. Tandem cells hold up increasingly well when exposed to heat, light, and moisture in the lab, and early outdoor trials are starting to produce promising real-world performance data. With headlines about perovskites starting to roll in once more, scientists say there’s good reason to believe that, this time around, the hype might actually be justified.
“Over the better part of a decade, there’s been lots of, for want of a better word, device engineering to engineer the material to just be much more stable,” Sam Stranks, an energy materials professor at the University of Cambridge and co-founder of perovskite startup Swift Solar, told me. That includes swapping out an unstable chemical building block in perovskites called methylammonium with a more stable one called formamidinium, improving the connection point that binds the perovskite layer to the electrode layer, and improving the packaging of perovskite cells to seal them off from air and moisture.
“There’s still work to be done to really get it to the point where you could put it up on a rooftop for 25 years and you know it will last. But the trajectory is very promising,” Stranks said.
Scientists have managed to extend perovskite durability from mere hours to the point where cells and modules are now passing industry-standard tests that suggest they could survive outdoors for five to 10 years. That’s still a ways away from the standard 25-year warranties for silicon solar panels, which typically guarantee that a module will retain 85% to 90% of its original output by year 25. And because these latest perovskites simply haven’t been around that long, scientists have yet to test these more ambitious durability claims in the real world.
Industry experts say there’s no reason continued incremental improvements can’t get perovskites to that 25-year standard relatively soon, however. “If you look at silicon, it’s been 70 years of trial and error,” Scott Wharton, CEO of perovskite startup Tandem PV, told me. “Seventy years of constant tweaking and improvement, whereas perovskites have only had about 12.”
Wharton said that Tandem’s testing indicates its panels will degrade at a rate of less than 1% per year. Furthermore, he predicts perovskites will become the dominant solar technology by 2033, a more ambitious timeline than others in the industry typically project. But as he sees it, seven years is roughly enough time to build and deploy two generations of perovskite factories — the kind of iterative ramp-up he says new technologies typically need to achieve market dominance.
The economics just make sense, he told me. Because perovskites are more efficient, they will produce more power per unit — which means less land, hardware, wiring, and labor needed to achieve the same total energy output, driving down costs at every step of the process. Why wouldn’t everyone jump onboard immediately? “All of our customers have said that once we’ve proven it out, they’re going to move,” Wharton told me. “They’re going to move 100% to tandems because of the power of the efficiency gains.”
Others are somewhat more measured regarding how long this may take. Stranks predicted it would be about five years before perovskites with multi-decade warranties even begin hitting the market, while Sanderson estimated they’ll gain real commercial traction by 2029, with perovskites making up a “significant portion of the market” throughout the 2030s.
While the date of that tipping point remains up for debate, the industry appears to have largely settled the question of materials. At least for now, the preferred configuration is to pair a lead-based perovskite cell with silicon rather than build an all-perovskite cell, which would likely face even greater durability challenges. That’s because such a cell would also need a tin-based perovskite layer to capture lower-energy light like silicon does, but tin degrades even faster than lead. In other words, it’s easier to keep silicon — a proven, durable material — in the mix by building so-called “tandem cells” for the foreseeable future.
But there’s still plenty that remains unknown. Every startup’s exact chemistry is proprietary, and there’s no clearly dominant formula yet. There’s also no industry consensus on the architecture best poised to address perovskite’s stability challenge, either, with leading players typically taking one of two different approaches.
Stranks’ Swift Solar team is pursuing what’s known as a “two-terminal” tandem architecture, in which a manufacturer builds the perovskite layer directly on top of the silicon layer, with the two cells functioning as a single unit. That’s opposed to a “four-terminal” design, where companies build two independent perovskite and silicon cells and then mechanically stack them on top of each other rather than fusing them together.
Two-terminal is the more widely studied approach, pursued by other industry leaders such as Oxford PV — the same company that once predicted commercialization by 2018 — along with Chinese solar giants LONGi and JinkoSolar. Proponents argue that using fewer material layers means less light lost, which translates into greater efficiency and lower costs. In a blog post last year, Swift Solar’s team also argued that the four-terminal designs rely on laser cutting, which it says can create more entry points for degradation.
Two-terminal isn’t just the leading theoretical contender, it’s the first architecture to officially make it to market. Oxford PV’s finally executed its long-delayed commercial launch in 2024, shipping its modules to an undisclosed U.S. customer for use in a utility-scale solar project. It was the world’s first commercial sale of perovskite panels, which Oxford claimed could produce up to 20% more energy than standard silicon modules.
But newer market entrants such as Cubic PV and Tandem PV are bullish on the four-terminal approach. For one, while two-terminal designs use fewer materials, they are more difficult to manufacture. Building a perovskite layer directly onto silicon’s rough surface is more technically difficult than coating it onto smooth glass, as Cubic and Tandem do. And because four-terminal companies manufacture the perovskite and silicon cells separately, they can swap in whatever silicon cell is cheapest or most efficient at any given moment, rather than being locked into a single supplier’s tech.
That flexibility could prove important as the market moves beyond early adopters. For now, Stranks said, customers buying tandem modules are probably doing so for strategic testing purposes — placing small, one-off orders to trial the tech themselves. An installer today can’t simply go buy perovskites on the open market by consulting a public pricing list or product catalogue the way they can with silicon panels. “But it’s not too far away before that would be the case,” he explained.
For its part, Swift is moving … swiftly, acquiring the manufacturing assets and IP of the bankrupt Swiss silicon cell maker Meyer Burger this spring. The company plans to use those assets first to build a U.S.-based gigawatt-scale silicon cell and module factory to meet demand for domestically manufactured solar cells, eventually adding silicon-perovskite tandem module production to that same facility.
Tandem PV is also pushing ahead with plans to begin selling to customers by the end of this year “in a volume that would be big enough to hit bankability goals,” Wharton told me. It also plans to bring a gigawatt-scale factory online by 2028. The company is targeting the independent power producers who build, own, and operate most utility-scale solar projects today. And like Oxford, Swift, and Cubic, Tandem is focused primarily on the utility-scale solar market — by far the biggest opportunity for perovskite technology.
Cubic scrapped plans in 2024 to build a facility producing silicon wafers — the raw material used to make solar cells — amid collapsing wafer prices globally and surging construction costs domestically. While Sanderson says the company remains interested in building its own factory, it has no timeline for doing so. But in the meantime, it’s also interested in licensing its IP to other perovskite companies.
The outlook for domestic wafer production has improved in recent years, though, after the Biden administration provided stronger financial incentives for producing wafers in the U.S. The Trump administration has kept these in place, though it’s made domestic content requirements stricter and more complex overall.
There’s also another new policy variable in the mix: Section 232 tariffs on cheap silicon wafers from China. Going into effect this December, the tariffs could benefit producers like Swift and Cubic, which plan to manufacture silicon cells domestically, while potentially raising costs for companies like Tandem that hope to simply source the cheapest, most efficient silicon available on the market.
At any rate, perovskites give the U.S. a chance to secure a domestic supply chain for the next wave of solar tech. Because while Chinese perovskite producers are setting efficiency records, Wharton told me that they tend to be quieter on the question of durability. That could easily give a Western producer with a credible, multi-decade warranty the opportunity to jump to the front of the pack.
And that may happen sooner than you’d expect. “This always follows the same pattern,” Wharton said of technology breakthroughs generally. “You have a bunch of early entrepreneurs who overhype things, and then everybody goes, Yeah, that was a bunch of BS. And then it actually gets real, and then people go, It’s real, but it’s going to take forever. But then it doesn’t take forever because economics always wins.”