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To manage the clean energy transition, it may have to get into the leveraged buyout game.
The United States produces more natural gas and crude oil than any other country ― it isn’t even a contest. But these “molecules of U.S. freedom” aren’t free: They’re extracted and transported through a network of rigs, drills, pumps, and pipes that are, increasingly, controlled and operated by myriad private equity companies. As a society, we have a strong interest in winding down these climate-polluting assets in a swift yet orderly fashion. But as businesses, their private equity owners don’t.
Over the past decade, pressure from shareholders and activists has succeeded in pushing many fossil fuel majors to consider how best to reduce their emissions. (Although that, too, has come at a cost.) But rather than winding down or cleaning up their most polluting and least profitable assets, many have instead simply divested. Coal companies in West Virginia have sold off their mines to undercapitalized vulture firms, which rely on continued coal sales to (in theory) pay for expensive environmental remediation costs. The same is happening in the oil and gas industry, where private equity firms have rolled up many of the drilling sites and pipelines, the capillaries and veins of the country’s energy infrastructure.
Shielded from the scrutiny of public markets, private equity funds have thus become some of the country’s top methane emitters by asset ownership in the natural gas sector. These opaque owners, capitalizing on other companies’ disinterest in holding high-emitting assets, are betting that fossil fuel infrastructure will keep paying out for quite some time; recent massive increases in expected energy demand have only juiced this trend toward industry consolidation.
Private equity firms and private debt funds, with their short-term profit horizons, concealed balance sheets, and seeming imperviousness to tighter financial regulation and shareholder activism, work well with fossil fuel assets, particularly those sold at fire-sale prices by publicly traded fossil fuel majors. Despite those assets’ long-term market value instability, their near-term cash flow prospects are what matter.
But what’s been good for fossil fuel majors’ balance sheets has been bad for the planet. Many of these buyout firms — well-capitalized private equity funds and scrappy vulture funds, alike — are not budgeting anywhere near enough for environmental remediation. One company, Diversified Energy Co, has been purchasing the rights to operate almost-depleted natural gas wellheads at scale, extending many of their lifespans by decades; far too few wellheads are closed each year to stem the methane spewing unimpeded into the atmosphere.
Rather than accept a situation where utilities and fossil fuel majors toss their liabilities to unaccountable vulture funds, sustainability-conscious investors and shareholder groups have begun screening transactions for responsible asset phaseout plans. But the lack of a binding set of transition standards has revealed a huge coordination problem: What counts as a responsible phaseout, particularly when private asset owners get to decide? The federal government has put down guidelines, but not its foot. A disorganized drawdown of assets under a patchy regulatory framework, without a doubt, leaves vulnerable communities on the hook for the financial, environmental, and health damages.
Progressive analysts have long argued that nationalizing fossil fuel assets and folding them into a state holding company is the best solution to sidestep this particular problem. The federal government is well staffed with energy and electricity experts who, operating under a public mandate to preserve grid reliability, can phase out fossil fuel assets on a unified, coherent timeline responsive to community needs while continuing to operate those assets as the “peaker” or “reserve” capacity required to ensure grid stability. A series of climate shocks has even convinced conservative leaders in Texas of the importance of public power for grid resilience, achieved through state ownership of “peaker” gas plants. This course of action is far worse than investments in, say, battery capacity ― California, for instance, is now reaping the benefits of massive battery deployment, which reduces the state’s need for gas ― but the logic behind building public reserve capacity is sound.
What advocates of a state holding company-type model do not often discuss is how exactly a government goes about acquiring all these soon-to-be-stranded fossil fuel assets. As just one example, a recent proposal from the Roosevelt Institute suggests that a state holding company should be “free to engage in debt financing, make equity investments, and acquire assets.” Sure, proposals like these are meant to buttress the case for why nationalization is a far better way to achieve a managed phaseout than surrendering that process to yield-seeking investors, not to detail the financial mechanics of a buyout. But still: this is vague!
Actually thinking through the specifics suggests that, interestingly enough, a comprehensive state-led buyout program could work a lot like an existing private equity transaction, for two key reasons.
Before we get there, we should separate private equity’s deserved reputation as an opaque asset owner from the way the industry works. Private equity’s calling card, the “leveraged buyout,” is little more than the act of raising debt to 1) purchase equity in and, therefore, ownership over an asset, and 2) refinance the asset’s liabilities. To do so, private equity funds work with banks or, more commonly these days, private debt or private credit funds, to raise debt that is generally backed by the combined assets of the purchaser firm and purchased asset.
But leveraged buyouts themselves are technically something that any financial institution could do. Take the federal government, the country’s most liquid debt issuer, whose debt anchors the global economy and backstops private financial institutions. It could raise debt (leverage) to finance a buyout of fossil fuel assets at interest rates far lower than private investors could. And because private credit funds, like other institutional investors, already buy loads of government bonds to match their liabilities and hedge their risks, this kind of nationwide leveraged buyout ― which would require substantial new debt issuance ― could actually help stabilize the financial system against potential shocks from within notoriously inscrutable private markets. The government can do exactly what private equity does, only a lot better, and with wider benefits.
The government has already planted the seeds of a leveraged buyout program across the country’s coal ash heaps. The Loan Programs Office, thanks to the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and the Inflation Reduction Act, now offers far-below-market-rate loan guarantees to developers, including state governments and utility companies, seeking to repurpose fossil fuel assets through its Energy Infrastructure Reinvestment program. This program’s authority allows borrowers to use their financing for “refinancing outstanding indebtedness directly associated with eligible Energy Infrastructure.” All policymakers have to do now is scrap the program’s 2026 end date and, ideally, endow a federal institution with the power to borrow from this authority to purchase and refinance fossil fuel assets, rather than leave that task solely in the hands of state governments and utilities, with their varying capacities for and interest in coordinating a coherent phaseout plan. And now that interest rates are poised to fall, this refinancing becomes much cheaper.
That’s reason number one. Reason number two has to do with private equity funds’ ability to shield the assets in their portfolio from valuation volatility on publicly traded stock markets. Private equity funds need not publicize how much their portfolios are worth, except at infrequent intervals and when they sell assets. But thanks to private equity’s reputation as a high-return investment, fund investors pay a premium for the illiquidity of not always knowing the value of their assets. Purchase assets, juice returns, sell, and repeat ― this is the conventional private equity playbook.
But macroeconomic conditions today are such that private equity companies are now struggling to sell their portfolios. High interest rates have made leveraged buyouts of new assets and refinancing debts on unsold assets much more costly, and have tempered rapid asset value growth. As this once-frenetic industry slows down, funds are anxious to get assets off their books ― hence the recent wave of consolidation.
This is an opportune moment for the Feds to step in. It’s not just that the government’s capacity for undertaking leveraged buyouts is the greatest; more importantly, it never needs to sell. The valuation volatility that first prompts fossil fuel majors to divest from dying, dangerous assets yet incentivizes private equity funds to pump as much as they can out of them to resell them later at a profit is simply not something the federal government needs to worry about. A state holdingcompany can siphon distressed assets off public markets and shut down the “merry-go-round” of asset sales and resales.
Objections to government intervention here are likely premised on the fact that, well, it’s the government. But the government would still be purchasing assets from private owners on financial markets, just like any market actor would. Today’s uncoordinated constellation of private fossil fuel firms and funds, on the other hand, cannot manage a coordinated phaseout, especially not under binding profitability constraints ― which the federal government does not share.
Local communities can’t finance phaseouts or cleanups themselves, and leaving hundreds of billions of dollars worth of stranded assets in the hands of under-regulated private firms will only accelerate climate catastrophe. The government must use the financial techniques that private equity funds have already pioneered to bring them to heel, in service of public goals.
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It was a curious alliance from the start. On the one hand, Donald Trump, who made antipathy toward electric vehicles a core part of his meandering rants. On the other hand, Elon Musk, the man behind the world’s largest EV company, who nonetheless put all his weight, his millions of dollars, and the power of his social network behind the Trump campaign.
With Musk standing by his side on Election Day, Trump has once again secured the presidency. His reascendance sent shock waves through the automotive world, where companies that had been lurching toward electrification with varying levels of enthusiasm were left to wonder what happens now — and what benefits Tesla may reap from having hitched itself to the winning horse.
Certainly the federal government’s stated target of 50% of U.S. new car sales being electric by 2030 is toast, and many of the actions it took in pursuit of that goal are endangered. Although Trump has softened his rhetoric against EVs since becoming buddies with Musk, it’s hard to imagine a Trump administration with any kind of ambitious electrification goal.
During his first go-round as president, Trump attacked the state of California’s ability to set its own ambitious climate-focused rules for cars. No surprise there: Because of the size of the California car market, its regulations helped to drag the entire industry toward lower-emitting vehicles and, almost inevitably, EVs. If Trump changes course and doesn’t do the same thing this time, it’ll be because his new friend at Tesla supports those rules.
The biggest question hanging over electric vehicles, however, is the fate of the Biden administration’s signature achievements in climate and EV policy, particularly the Inflation Reduction Act’s $7,500 federal consumer tax credit for electric vehicles. A Trump administration looks poised to tear down whatever it can of its predecessor’s policy. Some analysts predict it’s unlikely the entire IRA will disappear, but concede Trump would try to kill off the incentives for electric vehicles however he can.
There’s no sugar-coating it: Without the federal incentives, the state of EVs looks somewhat bleak. Knocking $7,500 off the starting price is essential to negate the cost of manufacturing expensive lithium-ion batteries and making EVs cost-competitive with ordinary combustion cars. Consider a crucial model like the new Chevy Equinox EV: Counting the federal incentive, the most basic $35,000 model could come in under the starting price of a gasoline crossover like the Toyota RAV4. Without that benefit, buyers who want to go electric will have to pay a premium to do so — the thing that’s been holding back mass electrification all along.
Musk, during his honeymoon with Trump, boasted that Tesla doesn’t need the tax credits, as if daring the president-elect to kill off the incentives. On the one hand, this is obviously false. Visit Tesla’s website and you’ll see the simplest Model 3 listed for $29,990, but this is a mirage. Take away the $7,500 in incentives and $5,000 in claimed savings versus buying gasoline, and the car actually starts at about $43,000, much further out of reach for non-wealthy buyers.
What Musk really means is that his company doesn’t need the incentives nearly as bad as other automakers do. Ford is hemorrhaging billions of dollars as it struggles to make EVs profitably. GM’s big plan to go entirely electric depended heavily on federal support. As InsideEVsnotes, the likely outcome of a Trump offensive against EVs is that the legacy car brands, faced with an unpredictable electrification roadmap as America oscillates between presidents, scale back their plans and lean back into the easy profitably of big, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks. Such an about-face could hand Tesla the kind of EV market dominance it enjoyed four or five years ago when it sold around 75% of all electric vehicles in America.
That’s tough news for the climate-conscious Americans who want an electric vehicle built by someone not named Elon Musk. Hundreds of thousands of people, myself included, bought a Tesla during the past five or six years because it was the most practical EV for their lifestyle, only to see the company’s figurehead shift his public persona from goofy troll to Trump acolyte. It’s not uncommon now, as Democrats distance themselves from Tesla, to see Model 3s adorned with bumper stickers like the “Anti-Elon Tesla Club,” as one on a car I followed last month proclaimed. Musk’s newest vehicle, the Cybertruck, is a rolling embodiment of the man’s brand, a vehicle purpose-built to repel anyone not part of his cult of personality.
In a world where this version of Tesla retakes control of the electric car market, it becomes harder to ditch gasoline without indirectly supporting Donald Trump, by either buying a Tesla or topping off at its Superchargers. Blue voters will have some options outside of Tesla — the industry has come too far to simply evaporate because of one election. But it’s also easy to see dispirited progressives throwing up their hands and buying another carbon-spewing Subaru.
Republicans are taking over some of the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth.
When Republicans flipped the Senate, they took the keys to three critical energy and climate-focused committees.
These are among the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth. The Senate plays the role of gatekeeper for important legislation, as it requires a supermajority to overcome the filibuster. Hence, it’s both where many promising climate bills from the House go to die, as well as where key administrators such as the heads of the Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency are vetted and confirmed.
We’ll have to wait a bit for the Senate’s new committee chairs to be officially confirmed. But Jeff Navin, co-founder at the climate change-focused government affairs firm Boundary Stone Partners, told me that since selections are usually based on seniority, in many cases it’s already clear which Republicans are poised to lead under Trump and which Democrats will assume second-in-command (known as the ranking member). Here’s what we know so far.
This committee has been famously led by Joe Manchin, the former Democrat, now Independent senator from West Virginia, who will retire at the end of this legislative session. Energy and Natural Resources has a history of bipartisan collaboration and was integral in developing many of the key provisions in the Inflation Reduction Act — and could thus play a key role in dismantling them. Overall, the committee oversees the DOE, the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, so it’s no small deal that its next chairman will likely be Mike Lee, the ultra-conservative Republican from Utah. That’s assuming that the committee's current ranking member, John Barrasso of Wyoming, wins his bid for Republican Senate whip, which seems very likely.
Lee opposes federal ownership of public lands, setting himself up to butt heads with Martin Heinrich, the Democrat from New Mexico and likely the committee’s next ranking member. Lee has also said that solving climate change is simply a matter of having more babies, as “problems of human imagination are not solved by more laws, they’re solved by more humans.” As Navin told me, “We've had this kind of safe space where so-called quiet climate policy could get done in the margins. And it’s not clear that that's going to continue to exist with the new leadership.”
This committee is currently chaired by Democrat Tom Carper of Delaware, who is retiring after this term. Poised to take over is the Republican’s current ranking member, Shelley Moore Capito of West Virginia. She’s been a strong advocate for continued reliance on coal and natural gas power plants, while also carving out areas of bipartisan consensus on issues such as nuclear energy, carbon capture, and infrastructure projects during her tenure on the committee. The job of the Environment and Public Works committee is in the name: It oversees the EPA, writes key pieces of environmental legislation such as the Clean Air Act and Clean Water Act, and supervises public infrastructure projects such as highways, bridges, and dams.
Navin told me that many believe the new Democratic ranking member will be Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island, although to do so, he would have to step down from his perch at the Senate Budget Committee, where he is currently chair. A tireless advocate of the climate cause, Whitehouse has worked on the Environment and Public Works committee for over 15 years, and lately seems to have had a relatively productive working relationship with Capito.
This subcommittee falls under the broader Senate Appropriations Committee and is responsible for allocating funding for the DOE, various water development projects, and various other agencies such as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
California’s Dianne Feinstein used to chair this subcommittee until her death last year, when Democrat Patty Murray of Washington took over. Navin told me that the subcommittee’s next leader will depend on how the game of “musical chairs” in the larger Appropriations Committee shakes out. Depending on their subcommittee preferences, the chair could end up being John Kennedy of Louisiana, outgoing Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, or Lisa Murkowski of Alaska. It’s likewise hard to say who the top Democrat will be.
Inside a wild race sparked by a solar farm in Knox County, Ohio.
The most important climate election you’ve never heard of? Your local county commissioner.
County commissioners are usually the most powerful governing individuals in a county government. As officials closer to community-level planning than, say a sitting senator, commissioners wind up on the frontlines of grassroots opposition to renewables. And increasingly, property owners that may be personally impacted by solar or wind farms in their backyards are gunning for county commissioner positions on explicitly anti-development platforms.
Take the case of newly-elected Ohio county commissioner – and Christian social media lifestyle influencer – Drenda Keesee.
In March, Keesee beat fellow Republican Thom Collier in a primary to become a GOP nominee for a commissioner seat in Knox County, Ohio. Knox, a ruby red area with very few Democratic voters, is one of the hottest battlegrounds in the war over solar energy on prime farmland and one of the riskiest counties in the country for developers, according to Heatmap Pro’s database. But Collier had expressed openness to allowing new solar to be built on a case-by-case basis, while Keesee ran on a platform focused almost exclusively on blocking solar development. Collier ultimately placed third in the primary, behind Keesee and another anti-solar candidate placing second.
Fighting solar is a personal issue for Keesee (pronounced keh-see, like “messy”). She has aggressively fought Frasier Solar – a 120 megawatt solar project in the country proposed by Open Road Renewables – getting involved in organizing against the project and regularly attending state regulator hearings. Filings she submitted to the Ohio Power Siting Board state she owns a property at least somewhat adjacent to the proposed solar farm. Based on the sheer volume of those filings this is clearly her passion project – alongside preaching and comparing gay people to Hitler.
Yesterday I spoke to Collier who told me the Frasier Solar project motivated Keesee’s candidacy. He remembered first encountering her at a community meeting – “she verbally accosted me” – and that she “decided she’d run against me because [the solar farm] was going to be next to her house.” In his view, he lost the race because excitement and money combined to produce high anti-solar turnout in a kind of local government primary that ordinarily has low campaign spending and is quite quiet. Some of that funding and activity has been well documented.
“She did it right: tons of ground troops, people from her church, people she’s close with went door-to-door, and they put out lots of propaganda. She got them stirred up that we were going to take all the farmland and turn it into solar,” he said.
Collier’s takeaway from the race was that local commissioner races are particularly vulnerable to the sorts of disinformation, campaign spending and political attacks we’re used to seeing more often in races for higher offices at the state and federal level.
“Unfortunately it has become this,” he bemoaned, “fueled by people who have little to no knowledge of what we do or how we do it. If you stir up enough stuff and you cry out loud enough and put up enough misinformation, people will start to believe it.”
Races like these are happening elsewhere in Ohio and in other states like Georgia, where opposition to a battery plant mobilized Republican primaries. As the climate world digests the federal election results and tries to work backwards from there, perhaps at least some attention will refocus on local campaigns like these.