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Last time around they were bulwarks for climate action. This time is different.
This story is part of a Heatmap series on the “green freeze” under Trump.
Following Donald Trump’s election in November, climate advocates self-soothed with the conviction that cities and states would continue carrying the banner in the absence of federal climate action. That’s what happened during Trump’s first presidency, after all. When he pulled the U.S. out of the Paris Agreement in 2017, hundreds of local governments declared they were “still in” on climate, and a new wave of state and local climate policies swept the country.
By the time Biden stepped into the White House four years later, many of these communities had climate plans either in place or in progress. When his administration passed the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act and the Inflation Reduction Act, setting aside billions of dollars for emissions reduction and climate adaptation projects, they were in a prime position to apply for funding. By November 2024, with most of that money doled out, it was easy to imagine how climate-forward cities could forge ahead, seeded by grants, regardless of what Trump did.
Except then Trump did the thing that many assumed he would not — because he legally could not — do. He froze and is now trying to claw back congressionally appropriated, contractually obligated funds. And in so doing, he has thrown the prospects for cities as a last line of defense into question.
“In this administration, it’s a lot more chaotic,” Barbara Buffaloe, the mayor of Columbia, Missouri, told me. “There’s a lot more happening than I feel like there was in 2017, right at the get-go. Nobody knows what the universe is right now.”
Columbia was among those that joined the “still in” campaign in 2017. It adopted emissions reduction goals in 2018, and passed a climate action and adaptation plan in 2019. The Biden administration awarded the city more than $28 million across three separate federal grants to build electric vehicle charging stations, make electrical upgrades that would allow it to charge electric buses, and redesign its central business loop to be more walkable, bikeable, and safe.
All three of those grants are now up in the air. Buffaloe said she was told by state partners that the $2.1 million business loop planning grant from the Department of Transportation’s Reconnecting Communities program was paused. Columbia was the only city in Missouri to get a Charging and Fueling Infrastructure Grant from the DOT, with the $3.6 million supposed to help pay for EV chargers at the library and the airport. The city is moving ahead with initial activities like environmental reviews and preliminary engineering in the hope that funds to build the actual stations will be unfrozen by the time it’s ready to break ground. Regarding the $23 million bus infrastructure grant, part of a separate DOT program, she said the city hasn’t heard from its grant managers in about a month.
“We don’t know whether or not to continue on the projects,” she told me. “It’s that feeling of uncertainty and trepidation that is causing us the most anxiety. Our construction window is not year-round in Columbia, and because we’re a public institution, it takes a lot longer for us to put out bids and to start projects. We need to know if we have this budget or not.”
It’s not just the funding freeze leaving Columbia in a holding pattern. The city has a municipally-owned electric utility that had been looking to take advantage of “direct pay,” an option for nonprofit entities with no tax liability to collect federal renewable energy incentives as direct subsidies, to help it build more solar farms. But now Republicans in Congress are considering eliminating direct pay.
The funding freeze has put a lot of cities in this position where time-sensitive decisions are stalled. Hundreds of communities were awarded grants from the U.S. Department of Agriculture program to fund tree-planting for carbon mitigation and shade creation, for example. Some recipients have been told their grants were canceled altogether, others are still in the dark — their federal grant managers have been fired and no one is responding to their emails.
“They’re kind of at this point of, hey, do we put in the order for trees? We need to plant at certain times of the year,” Laura Jay, the deputy director of Climate Mayors, a national network of mayors working to address climate change, told me. “For a lot of these cities and programs, there’s key decisions that they have to be making, and when there’s uncertainty around it, it puts the city at a huge risk.” There’s financial risk, she said, in terms of spending money without knowing if it will get reimbursed, but also planning risks. A number of cities were awarded grants to purchase electric school buses, for example, and they need to make sure they are going to have enough to get kids to school.
As a larger, wealthier city, Columbia is in a better position than others. It collects revenue through a capital improvement tax that Buffaloe said could be used for climate projects. “We’ll do as much as we can,” she told me.
But in more rural areas, these grants represented a rare opportunity to modernize and build more equitable access to infrastructure.
“We’re in Southeast Ohio, which traditionally has been left behind when it comes to larger infrastructure projects,” Andrew Chiki, the deputy service-safety director in Athens, Ohio, told me. “We don’t have an interstate highway.”
Chiki helped lead a regional effort to apply for a Charging and Fueling Infrastructure Grant, the same program Columbia won funding from that is now frozen. He and his partners were awarded $12.5 million to build a corridor of electric vehicle chargers in 16 communities between Athens and Dayton. “One of our attempts with this was to answer the question, if EV adoption takes off the way that we are envisioning, how do we allow an on-ramp for communities that are already disadvantaged to be able to adopt?”
Chiki said they were still waiting to hear whether they could move forward with the project or not. Athens passed a resolution declaring a climate emergency in 2020, and adopted a target to reduce emissions by 50% over 10 years. The city has made some strides, Chiki said, by making buildings more energy efficient and installing solar on city-owned facilities. “We are still committed to doing as much as we can,” he told me.
But if the EV charging grant falls through, the smaller villages and towns between Athens and Dayton that don’t have the staff resources or capacity to apply for these types of grants will lose out, he said. “We would probably look at other types of funding sources, but it would make it incredibly difficult and not be nearly as broad as we want.”
There are some pots of money for local climate projects that have flown under the Trump administration’s radar. Last year, the South Florida ClimateReady Tech Hub, a consortium of local governments, schools, labor groups, and companies working to accelerate the development of climate technologies, won a $19.5 million grant from the Department of Commerce’s Economic Development Administration. The money came from the Biden-era CHIPS and Science Act, a law that Trump is pushing Congress to scrap but that Republicans have thus far defended. Tech Hub will use the funds to scale low-emissions cement that can be used for adaptation projects, energy efficiency, and workforce development, among other things.
Francesca Covey, the chief innovation and economic development officer for Miami-Dade County and regional innovation officer for the Tech Hub, told me the group has continued to have quarterly check-ins with federal partners and haven’t gotten any signal that the funding is in jeopardy. “It’s really been more business as usual,” she said. Covey also mentioned two pilot projects to build artificial reefs and seawalls in the area that had funding from the Department of Defense and were moving forward.
Still, the Tech Hub has adjusted its language to stay competitive in the new political environment. The group changed its name to the Risk and Resilience Tech Hub two weeks ago, Covey told me. “We wanted to underscore the economic imperative of the work,” she said, when I asked what motivated the name change. “Right now we’re finding that where we are getting the best traction with the private and public community is around risk. We wanted to make sure we were couching it in the right way.”
Ithaca, New York, on the other hand, which passed its own Green New Deal in 2019, is committed to its climate and equity-centric messaging. “We are not intending to change the narrative around what we’re doing,” Rebecca Evans, the city’s sustainability director, told me. “It’s still clean energy, and it is still because climate change is a threat to human existence. We are still going to prioritize black and brown populations and populations that experience poverty at various levels because they are most vulnerable to climate change.”
About 85% of Evans’ Green New Deal budget comes from federal sources, and at first she worried that was all at risk. In 2022 and 2023, Ithaca had received funding from what’s called “congressional directed spending,” or “earmarks,” in two federal appropriations bills, meaning that New York state lawmakers fought to get money set aside for the city. The first grant, worth $1 million, was for a hydrogen production and fueling project. The second, worth $1.5 million, was for a wide-ranging program to decarbonize the school system and enhance a local workforce development program to include new energy efficiency certifications. Both programs included explicit diversity, equity, and inclusion-related objectives, so Evans assumed they would be targeted by the Trump administration.
But on Tuesday, she was told by federal partners on the hydrogen grant that congressionally directed spending was not subject to Trump’s executive orders and got the greenlight to move into the next phase. Evans still hasn’t heard back from her federal partners on the second grant, but she’s more hopeful now that it will move forward.
Back when I first spoke to Evans, when things were more up in the air, she told me she worried that the Trump administration’s actions would cause advocates to lose hope. “I think anger can be a positive thing, but it’s the loss of hope, even if it’s marginal, that is truly, truly dangerous to this movement.”
Perhaps that’s why Evans, like all of the other local leaders I spoke with, projected optimism when I asked what they could accomplish over the next four years without federal support. She was already trying to find the money elsewhere, she said. “We can’t do all of the amazing things that we wanted to do, but we can still make progress,” she said.
“Cities are incredibly nimble and innovative,” Jay, of Climate Mayors, told me. “I think that they’re eager to and committed to keeping the work going. What that looks like, I think, is hard to figure out right now, because everyone’s kind of caught in the chaos of trying to figure out if they still have this funding or not. But they’re fully committed to making sure that this work is continuing.”
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The Senate told renewables developers they’d have a year to start construction and still claim a tax break. Then came an executive order.
Renewable energy advocates breathed a sigh of relief after a last-minute change to the One Big Beautiful Bill Act stipulated that wind and solar projects would be eligible for tax credits as long as they began construction within the next 12 months.
But the new law left an opening for the Trump administration to cut that window short, and now Trump is moving to do just that. The president signed an executive order on Monday directing the Treasury Department to issue new guidance for the clean electricity tax credits “restricting the use of broad safe harbors unless a substantial portion of a subject facility has been built.”
The broad safe harbors in question have to do with the way the government defines the “beginning of construction,” which, in the realm of federal tax credits, is a term of art. Under the current Treasury guidance, developers must either complete “physical work of a significant nature” on a given project or spend at least 5% of its total cost to prove they have started construction during a given year, and are therefore protected from any subsequent tax law changes.
As my colleague Matthew Zeitlin previously reported, oftentimes something as simple as placing an order for certain pieces of equipment, like transformers or solar trackers, will check the box. Still, companies can’t just buy a bunch of equipment to qualify for the tax credits and then sit on it indefinitely. Their projects must be up and operating within four years, or else they must demonstrate “continuous progress” each year to continue to qualify.
As such, under existing rules and Trump’s new law, wind and solar developers would have 12 months to claim eligibility for the investment or production tax credit, and then at least four years to build the project and connect it to the grid. While a year is a much shorter runway than the open-ended extension to the tax credits granted by the Inflation Reduction Act, it’s a much better deal than the House’s original version of the OBBBA, which would have required projects to start construction within two months and be operating by the end of 2028 to qualify.
Or so it seemed.
The tax credits became a key bargaining chip during the final negotiations on the bill. Senator Lisa Murkowski of Alaska fought to retain the 12-month runway for wind and solar, while members of the House Freedom Caucus sought to kill it. Ultimately, the latter group agreed to vote yes after winning assurances from the president that he would “deal” with the subsidies later.
Last week, as all of this was unfolding, I started to hear rumors that the Treasury guidance regarding “beginning of construction” could be a key tool at the president’s disposal to make good on his promise. Industry groups had urged Congress to codify the existing guidance in the bill, but it was ultimately left out.
When I reached out to David Burton, a partner at Norton Rose Fulbright who specializes in energy tax credits, on Thursday, he was already contemplating Trump’s options to exploit that omission.
Burton told me that Trump’s Treasury department could redefine “beginning of construction” in a number of ways, such as by removing the 5% spending safe harbor or requiring companies to get certain permits in order to demonstrate “significant” physical work. It could also shorten the four-year grace period to bring a project to completion.
But Burton was skeptical that the Treasury Department had the staff or expertise to do the work of rewriting the guidance, let alone that Trump would make this a priority. “Does Treasury really want to spend the next couple of months dealing with this?” he said. “Or would it rather deal with implementing bonus depreciation and other taxpayer-favorable rules in the One Big Beautiful Bill instead of being stuck on this tangent, which will be quite a heavy lift and take some time?”
Just days after signing the bill into law, Trump chose the tangent, directing the Treasury to produce new guidance within 45 days. “It’s going to need every one of those days to come out with thoughtful guidance that can actually be applied by taxpayers,” Burton told me when I called him back on Monday night.
The executive order cites “energy dominance, national security, economic growth, and the fiscal health of the Nation” as reasons to end subsidies for wind and solar. The climate advocacy group Evergreen Action said it would help none of these objectives. “Trump is once again abusing his power in a blatant end-run around Congress — and even his own party,” Lena Moffit, the group’s executive director said in a statement. “He’s directing the government to sabotage the very industries that are lowering utility bills, creating jobs, and securing our energy independence.”
Industry groups were still assessing the implications of the executive order, and the ones I reached out to declined to comment for this story. “Now we’re circling the wagons back up to dig into the details,” one industry representative told me, adding that it was “shocking” that Trump would “seemingly double cross Senate leadership and Thune in particular.”
As everyone waits to see what Treasury officials come up with, developers will be racing to “start construction” as defined by the current rules, Burton said. It would be “quite unusual” if the new guidance were retroactive, he added. Although given Trump’s history, he said, “I guess anything is possible.”
“I believe the tariff on copper — we’re going to make it 50%.”
President Trump announced Tuesday during a cabinet meeting that he plans to impose a hefty tax on U.S. copper imports.
“I believe the tariff on copper — we’re going to make it 50%,” he told reporters.
Copper traders and producers have anticipated tariffs on copper since Trump announced in February that his administration would investigate the national security implications of copper imports, calling the metal an “essential material for national security, economic strength, and industrial resilience.”
Trump has already imposed tariffs for similarly strategically and economically important metals such as steel and aluminum. The process for imposing these tariffs under section 232 of the Trade Expansion Act of 1962 involves a finding by the Secretary of Commerce that the product being tariffed is essential to national security, and thus that the United States should be able to supply it on its own.
Copper has been referred to as the “metal of electrification” because of its centrality to a broad array of electrical technologies, including transmission lines, batteries, and electric motors. Electric vehicles contain around 180 pounds of copper on average. “Copper, scrap copper, and copper’s derivative products play a vital role in defense applications, infrastructure, and emerging technologies, including clean energy, electric vehicles, and advanced electronics,” the White House said in February.
Copper prices had risen around 25% this year through Monday. Prices for copper futures jumped by as much as 17% after the tariff announcement and are currently trading at around $5.50 a pound.
The tariffs, when implemented, could provide renewed impetus to expand copper mining in the United States. But tariffs can happen in a matter of months. A copper mine takes years to open — and that’s if investors decide to put the money toward the project in the first place. Congress took a swipe at the electric vehicle market in the U.S. last week, extinguishing subsidies for both consumers and manufacturers as part of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act. That will undoubtedly shrink domestic demand for EV inputs like copper, which could make investors nervous about sinking years and dollars into new or expanded copper mines.
Even if the Trump administration succeeds in its efforts to accelerate permitting for and construction of new copper mines, the copper will need to be smelted and refined before it can be used, and China dominates the copper smelting and refining industry.
The U.S. produced just over 1.1 million tons of copper in 2023, with 850,000 tons being mined from ore and the balance recycled from scrap, according to United States Geological Survey data. It imported almost 900,000 tons.
With the prospect of tariffs driving up prices for domestically mined ore, the immediate beneficiaries are those who already have mines. Shares in Freeport-McMoRan, which operates seven copper mines in Arizona and New Mexico, were up over 4.5% in afternoon trading Tuesday.
Predicting the location and severity of thunderstorms is at the cutting edge of weather science. Now funding for that science is at risk.
Tropical Storm Barry was, by all measures, a boring storm. “Blink and you missed it,” as a piece in Yale Climate Connections put it after Barry formed, then dissipated over 24 hours in late June, having never sustained wind speeds higher than 45 miles per hour. The tropical storm’s main impact, it seemed at the time, was “heavy rains of three to six inches, which likely caused minor flooding” in Tampico, Mexico, where it made landfall.
But a few days later, U.S. meteorologists started to get concerned. The remnants of Barry had swirled northward, pooling wet Gulf air over southern and central Texas and elevating the atmospheric moisture to reach or exceed record levels for July. “Like a waterlogged sponge perched precariously overhead, all the atmosphere needed was a catalyst to wring out the extreme levels of water vapor,” meteorologist Mike Lowry wrote.
More than 100 people — many of them children — ultimately died as extreme rainfall caused the Guadalupe River to rise 34 feet in 90 minutes. But the tragedy was “not really a failure of meteorology,” UCLA and UC Agriculture and Natural Resources climate scientist Daniel Swain said during a public “Office Hours” review of the disaster on Monday. The National Weather Service in San Antonio and Austin first warned the public of the potential for heavy rain on Sunday, June 29 — five days before the floods crested. The agency followed that with a flood watch warning for the Kerrville area on Thursday, July 3, then issued an additional 21 warnings, culminating just after 1 a.m. on Friday, July 4, with a wireless emergency alert sent to the phones of residents, campers, and RVers along the Guadalupe River.
The NWS alerts were both timely and accurate, and even correctly predicted an expected rainfall rate of 2 to 3 inches per hour. If it were possible to consider the science alone, the official response might have been deemed a success.
Of all the storm systems, convective storms — like thunderstorms, hail, tornadoes, and extreme rainstorms — are some of the most difficult to forecast. “We don’t have very good observations of some of these fine-scale weather extremes,” Swain told me after office hours were over, in reference to severe meteorological events that are often relatively short-lived and occur in small geographic areas. “We only know a tornado occurred, for example, if people report it and the Weather Service meteorologists go out afterward and look to see if there’s a circular, radial damage pattern.” A hurricane, by contrast, spans hundreds of miles and is visible from space.
Global weather models, which predict conditions at a planetary scale, are relatively coarse in their spatial resolution and “did not do the best job with this event,” Swain said during his office hours. “They predicted some rain, locally heavy, but nothing anywhere near what transpired.” (And before you ask — artificial intelligence-powered weather models were among the worst at predicting the Texas floods.)
Over the past decade or so, however, due to the unique convective storm risks in the United States, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and other meteorological agencies have developed specialized high resolution convection-resolving models to better represent and forecast extreme thunderstorms and rainstorms.
NOAA’s cutting-edge specialized models “got this right,” Swain told me of the Texas storms. “Those were the models that alerted the local weather service and the NOAA Weather Prediction Center of the potential for an extreme rain event. That is why the flash flood watches were issued so early, and why there was so much advanced knowledge.”
Writing for The Eyewall, meteorologist Matt Lanza concurred with Swain’s assessment: “By Thursday morning, the [high resolution] model showed as much as 10 to 13 inches in parts of Texas,” he wrote. “By Thursday evening, that was as much as 20 inches. So the [high resolution] model upped the ante all day.”
Most models initialized at 00Z last night indicated the potential for localized excessive rainfall over portions of south-central Texas that led to the tragic and deadly flash flood early this morning. pic.twitter.com/t3DpCfc7dX
— Jeff Frame (@VORTEXJeff) July 4, 2025
To be any more accurate than they ultimately were on the Texas floods, meteorologists would have needed the ability to predict the precise location and volume of rainfall of an individual thunderstorm cell. Although models can provide a fairly accurate picture of the general area where a storm will form, the best current science still can’t achieve that level of precision more than a few hours in advance of a given event.
Climate change itself is another factor making storm behavior even less predictable. “If it weren’t so hot outside, if it wasn’t so humid, if the atmosphere wasn’t holding all that water, then [the system] would have rained and marched along as the storm drifted,” Claudia Benitez-Nelson, an expert on flooding at the University of South Carolina, told me. Instead, slow and low prevailing winds caused the system to stall, pinning it over the same worst-case-scenario location at the confluence of the Hill Country rivers for hours and challenging the limits of science and forecasting.
Though it’s tempting to blame the Trump administration cuts to the staff and budget of the NWS for the tragedy, the local NWS actually had more forecasters on hand than usual in its local field office ahead of the storm, in anticipation of potential disaster. Any budget cuts to the NWS, while potentially disastrous, would not go into effect until fiscal year 2026.
The proposed 2026 budget for NOAA, however, would zero out the upkeep of the models, as well as shutter the National Severe Storms Laboratory in Norman, Oklahoma, which studies thunderstorms and rainstorms, such as the one in Texas. And due to the proprietary, U.S.-specific nature of the high-resolution models, there is no one coming to our rescue if they’re eliminated or degraded by the cuts.
The impending cuts are alarming to the scientists charged with maintaining and adjusting the models to ensure maximum accuracy, too. Computationally, it’s no small task to keep them running 24 hours a day, every day of the year. A weather model doesn’t simply run on its own indefinitely, but rather requires large data transfers as well as intakes of new conditions from its network of observation stations to remain reliable. Although the NOAA high-resolution models have been in use for about a decade, yearly updates keep the programs on the cutting edge of weather science; without constant tweaks, the models’ accuracy slowly degrades as the atmosphere changes and information and technologies become outdated.
It’s difficult to imagine that the Texas floods could have been more catastrophic, and yet the NOAA models and NWS warnings and alerts undoubtedly saved lives. Still, local Texas authorities have attempted to pass the blame, claiming they weren’t adequately informed of the dangers by forecasters. The picture will become clearer as reporting continues to probe why the flood-prone region did not have warning sirens, why camp counselors did not have their phones to receive overnight NWS alarms, why there were not more flood gauges on the rivers, and what, if anything, local officials could have done to save more people. Still, given what is scientifically possible at this stage of modeling, “This was not a forecast failure relative to scientific or weather prediction best practices. That much is clear,” Swain said.
As the climate warms and extreme rainfall events increase as a result, however, it will become ever more crucial to have access to cutting-edge weather models. “What I want to bring attention to is that this is not a one-off,” Benitez-Nelson, the flood expert at the University of South Carolina, told me. “There’s this temptation to say, ‘Oh, it’s a 100-year storm, it’s a 1,000-year storm.’”
“No,” she went on. “This is a growing pattern.”