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A slew of sector-specific issues — including, surprisingly, the methodical rollout of the Inflation Reduction Act — have recently made for a bumpy ride.
A hiccup?
A speed bump?
A snag?
Whatever you want to call it when investors become harder to reach, suppliers drive a harder bargain, and new hires get delayed, the climate-tech and renewables industries seem to be experiencing it.
Since the year began, the pace of new investment in climate-tech and renewables companies has slowed. High interest rates are starting to make some projects unattractive. And a slew of sector-specific issues — including Silicon Valley Bank’s collapse and, surprisingly, the methodical rollout of the Inflation Reduction Act — are causing leaders across climate-related companies to tap the brakes.
“I do think it’s a softening of the market,” Tim Latimer, the CEO of Fervo Energy, a Houston-based geothermal startup, told me. “Without a doubt, it’s more difficult and it takes longer to close funding rounds today than it did 12 or 24 months ago.”
“There’s definitely been a little bit of a slowdown,” Jorge Vargas, the cofounder and CEO of Aspen Power Partners, a renewables developer, said.
Last quarter, venture-capital investment in climate-tech startups dropped to its lowest level since the spring of 2020, according to Pitchbook data. The total value of deals fell 36% since the previous quarter and is down 51% since 2021’s all-time high.
In raw totals, there were only 279 climate-tech deals completed in the first three months of the year — the lowest level since 2019, according to Pitchbook.
“People made a variety of bets over the past 36 months as capital — which was long overdue — came into climate tech,” Latimer said. “Now people are being a little bit more discerning about which companies and teams are hitting their milestones.”
“It’s nowhere near as pronounced as what we’ve seen in the tech space,” he added.
The industry clearly isn’t in crisis yet. New climate-focused venture funds are still opening. By any measure, climate-tech startups are having an easier time fundraising now than they did in the late 2010s, when less than $2 billion flowed into the space in some quarters, Pitchbook data shows.
Still, the pullback has caused some of the very youngest companies to delay hiring or reduce their headcount, Latimer said. At least one climate-tech unicorn has made a similar move. Last week, Arcadia, a climate-data and software provider last valued at $1.5 billion in December, laid off about 9% of its employees. The company had “almost 700” employees late last year.
“This painful but necessary decision was reached after carefully weighing Arcadia’s market-leading position against the uncertain outlook for the economy,” Gabriel Madway, the company’s vice president of communications, told me in a statement.
But Arcadia is an unusual climate-tech firm in some respects: Founded in 2014, it is nearing its 10th birthday, a de facto make-or-break moment for venture-funded companies. Most climate-tech startups are younger and have spent less of their investment. And the market for climate-curious engineers, programmers, and project managers is still brisk, by all reports. Climate-tech job boards such as Climatebase still show hundreds of open positions.
“Valuations were good enough in ‘21 and ‘22 that people raised fairly sizable [investment] rounds, and people have positioned their company so they have 18 months of runway,” Latimer, the Fervo CEO, said.
If leaders see a slowdown, that “means you would’ve grown 10x and now you’re growing 3x,” he told me. “If you zoom out on a five-year time horizon, it’s nothing. It’s at most a blip.”
Clay Dumas, a partner at the climate-focused fund Lower Carbon Capital, doubted that climate tech was in a serious moment of crisis. “While investors are catching their breath post-[Silicon Valley Bank], the tailwinds for climate tech are only gathering strength,” he told me in an email.
Whatever you want to call it — a blip? a breather? a gurgle? — most executives agreed that companies are dealing with two sector-specific sources of uncertainty beyond the broader, economy-wide fears of a recession. The largest might surprise environmental advocates: It’s President Joe Biden’s flagship climate law, the Inflation Reduction Act.
On paper, the Inflation Reduction Act, or IRA, should be good for anyone in the climate business. Since the act — initially forecast to spend $374 billion on climate — was passed last year, banks have fallen over themselves to publish new and engorged estimates of its impact. The law will pay out more than $800 billion, Credit Suisse analysts insisted in October. No, it will spend $1.2 trillion, and unleash another $3 trillion in private investment, a Goldman Sachs team replied last month.
No matter the topline number, just about everyone agrees the law will ultimately transform companies that work on climate change.
But for now, companies find themselves in a limbo where the law has been passed, and their suppliers and customers know the climate economy is about to boom — but the money hasn’t started to flow.
Although the Department of the Treasury and the IRS have set up programs for electric vehicles, they have yet to publish guidelines for some of the law’s most important tax credits, including those meant to boost the clean hydrogen industry or support renewables projects in low-income areas. The Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency, which oversee some of the law’s largest targeted programs, are still setting up those opportunities or inviting organizations to apply for them.
That is making it hard for companies that will benefit from those programs to prepare for the future. “Not knowing when the incentives will hit the market makes it hard to do planning,” Andy Frank, the CEO of the home-weatherization company Sealed, told me. This could leave startups and companies less well staffed and less ready to take advantage of the IRA’s programs when they actually launch.
“If the whole goal of the IRA is to unlock private capital, the longer there is uncertainty as to what things will look like, then the longer private capital will sit on the sidelines,” Frank said. “On the other hand, if they announce rules tomorrow that are really crappy … then private capital will also sit on the side lines.”
The outlook was slightly different in renewables world, Vargas, the CEO of the renewable developer Aspen Power, said.
“We speak about a windfall, and everyone is excited, but it hasn’t trickled into the economics of projects. This stuff is barely scraping by,” Vargas, who used to lead Morgan Stanley’s solar financing office, said.
“The cost of building projects has increased because of [the] IRA,” he said. “After all the adders were announced — all the vendors, all the construction, they raised their prices. It’s just a passthrough.”
Latimer, the Fervo CEO, was more upbeat.
“We know that the IRA will be a generationally defining investment opportunity for anyone working in the clean energy sector,” he said. “But for specific technologies, for how fast and how quickly and how much capital they’ll need to scale up, we don’t know yet. The whole industry is waiting for more guidance on the law interpretation.”
At the same time, parts of the broader climate industry are just getting over a Silicon Valley Bank-shaped speed bump.
Silicon Valley Bank, or SVB, collapsed in March after suffering a run fueled by panicky investors. The bank was “an integral part of the early-stage climate tech community,” Gabriel Kra, a climate-focused venture capitalist, told me at the time. But the bank was particularly important for financing community solar projects, a type of large-scale solar farm that collectively benefits a pool of individuals, companies, or nonprofits. The bank said that it had financed 62% of all community-solar projects nationwide.
“Three to five years ago, SVB was one of the only shops in town,” Jeff Cramer, the president and chief executive of the Coalition for Community Solar, told me. “Now there are more banks that are comfortable with community solar.”
Still, the bank’s collapse problem set back Vargas’s company, Aspen Power. In early March, Aspen Power was in the final stages of closing a new lending arrangement with SVB. It also kept one of its cash accounts there.
Then SVB fell apart. “We thought, ‘Oh my God, we’re so screwed,’” Vargas told me, although he added that the firm had cash at another bank and was never in serious danger of missing payroll. Within days, the federal government stepped in to guarantee SVB’s depositors, and Aspen Power eventually opened a new lending facility with another bank.
The entire episode “slowed us down about three weeks,” he said.
“If you add in the SVB collapse and you add in uncertainty around [the IRA’s] business credits … there’s a bit of a hold” across the community solar industry, Cramer said. “It doesn’t mean that there’s uncertainty in those projects generally. It’s simply a matter of timeline that when it makes sense for those projects to energize.”
“If you go out three, four, years, I don’t think it will change the amount of [solar] capacity or number of customers overall,” he said.
A bit of a hold — a three-week delay — these things might seem like a hiccup, but they can be more destabilizing for companies that depend on a steady flow of new renewable projects coming online. The question for climate-tech and renewables companies — and the American economy — is whether the past month’s wobbles are the start of something more serious, or whether they’ll be forgotten by the summer. Dumas, the climate-focused venture capitalist, was optimistic.
“Profit motive, national security, cultural and corporate attitudes, plus more than a trillion dollars in government spending and AI-boosted discovery are all accelerating adoption of new products and technologies that [will] win,” he told me. “They’re better, faster, closer, [and] cheaper, on top of being lower carbon.”
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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.