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Inside Climeworks’ big experiment to wrest carbon from the air

In the spring of 2021, the world’s leading authority on energy published a “roadmap” for preventing the most catastrophic climate change scenarios. One of its conclusions was particularly daunting. Getting energy-related emissions down to net zero by 2050, the International Energy Agency said, would require “huge leaps in innovation.”
Existing technologies would be mostly sufficient to carry us down the carbon curve over the next decade. But after that, nearly half of the remaining work would have to come from solutions that, for all intents and purposes, did not exist yet. Some would only require retooling existing industries, like developing electric long-haul trucks and carbon-free steel. But others would have to be built from almost nothing and brought to market in record time.
What will it take to rapidly develop new solutions, especially those that involve costly physical infrastructure and which have essentially no commercial value today?
That’s the challenge facing Climeworks, the Swiss company developing machines to wrest carbon dioxide molecules directly from the air. In September 2021, a few months after the IEA’s landmark report came out, Climeworks switched on its first commercial-scale “direct air capture” facility, a feat of engineering it dubbed “Orca,” in Iceland.
The technology behind Orca is one of the top candidates to clean up the carbon already blanketing the Earth. It could also be used to balance out any stubborn, residual sources of greenhouse gases in the future, such as from agriculture or air travel, providing the “net” in net-zero. If we manage to scale up technologies like Orca to the point where we remove more carbon than we release, we could even begin cooling the planet.
As the largest carbon removal plant operating in the world, Orca is either trivial or one of the most important climate projects built in the last decade, depending on how you look at it. It was designed to capture approximately 4,000 metric tons of carbon from the air per year, which, as one climate scientist, David Ho, put it, is the equivalent of rolling back the clock on just 3 seconds of global emissions. But the learnings gleaned from Orca could surpass any quantitative assessment of its impact. How well do these “direct air capture” machines work in the real world? How much does it really cost to run them? And can they get better?
The company — and its funders — are betting they can. Climeworks has made major deals with banks, insurers, and other companies trying to go green to eventually remove carbon from the atmosphere on their behalf. Last year, the company raised $650 million in equity that will “unlock the next phase of its growth,” scaling the technology “up to multi-million-ton capacity … as carbon removal becomes a trillion-dollar market.” And just last month, the U.S. Department of Energy selected Climeworks, along with another carbon removal company, Heirloom, to receive up to $600 million to build a direct air capture “hub” in Louisiana, with the goal of removing one million tons of carbon annually.
Two years after powering up Orca, Climeworks has yet to reveal how effective the technology has proven to be. But in extensive interviews, top executives painted a picture of innovation in progress.
Chief marketing officer Julie Gosalvez told me that Orca is small and climatically insignificant on purpose. The goal is not to make a dent in climate change — yet — but to maximize learning at minimal cost. “You want to learn when you're small, right?” Gosalvez said. “It’s really de-risking the technology. It’s not like Tesla doing EVs when we have been building cars for 70 years and the margin of learning and risk is much smaller. It’s completely new.”
From the ground, Orca looks sort of like a warehouse or a server farm with a massive air conditioning system out back. The plant consists of eight shipping container-sized boxes arranged in a U-shape around a central building, each one equipped with an array of fans. When the plant is running, which is more or less all the time, the fans suck air into the containers where it makes contact with a porous filter known as a “sorbent” which attracts CO2 molecules.

When the filters become totally saturated with CO2, the vents on the containers snap shut, and the containers are heated to more than 212 degrees Fahrenheit. This releases the CO2, which is then delivered through a pipe to a secondary process called “liquefaction,” where it is compressed into a liquid. Finally, the liquid CO2 is piped into basalt rock formations underground, where it slowly mineralizes into stone. The process requires a little bit of electricity and a lot of heat, all of which comes from a carbon-free source — a geothermal power plant nearby.
A day at Orca begins with the morning huddle. The total number on the team is often in flux, but it typically has a staff of about 15 people, Climeworks’ head of operations Benjamin Keusch told me. Ten work in a virtual control room 1,600 miles away in Zurich, taking turns monitoring the plant on a laptop and managing its operations remotely. The remainder work on site, taking orders from the control room, repairing equipment, and helping to run tests.
During the huddle, the team discusses any maintenance that needs to be done. If there’s an issue, the control room will shut down part of the plant while the on-site workers investigate. So far, they’ve dealt with snow piling up around the plant that had to be shoveled, broken and corroded equipment that had to be replaced, and sediment build-up that had to be removed.

The air is more humid and sulfurous at the site in Iceland than in Switzerland, where Climeworks had built an earlier, smaller-scale model, so the team is also learning how to optimize the technology for different weather. Within all this troubleshooting, there’s additional trade-offs to explore and lessons to learn. If a part keeps breaking, does it make more sense to plan to replace it periodically, or to redesign it? How do supply chain constraints play into that calculus?
The company is also performing tests regularly, said Keusch. For example, the team has tested new component designs at Orca that it now plans to incorporate into Climeworks’ next project from the start. (Last year, the company began construction on “Mammoth,” a new plant that will be nine times larger than Orca, on a neighboring site.) At a summit that Climeworks hosted in June, co-founder Jan Wurzbacher said the company believes that over the next decade, it will be able to make its direct air capture system twice as small and cut its energy consumption in half.
“In innovation lingo, the jargon is we haven’t converged on a dominant design,” Gregory Nemet, a professor at the University of Wisconsin who studies technological development, told me. For example, in the wind industry, turbines with three blades, upwind design, and a horizontal axis, are now standard. “There were lots of other experiments before that convergence happened in the late 1980s,” he said. “So that’s kind of where we are with direct air capture. There’s lots of different ways that are being tried right now, even within a company like Climeworks."
Although Climeworks was willing to tell me about the goings-on at Orca over the last two years, the company declined to share how much carbon it has captured or how much energy, on average, the process has used.
Gosalvez told me that the plant’s performance has improved month after month, and that more detailed information was shared with investors. But she was hesitant to make the data public, concerned that it could be misinterpreted, because tests and maintenance at Orca require the plant to shut down regularly.
“Expectations are not in line with the stage of the technology development we are at. People expect this to be turnkey,” she said. “What does success look like? Is it the absolute numbers, or the learnings and ability to scale?”
Danny Cullenward, a climate economist and consultant who has studied the integrity of various carbon removal methods, did not find the company’s reluctance to share data especially concerning. “For these earliest demonstration facilities, you might expect people to hit roadblocks or to have to shut the plant down for a couple of weeks, or do all sorts of things that are going to make it hard to transparently report the efficiency of your process, the number of tons you’re getting at different times,” he told me.
But he acknowledged that there was an inherent tension to the stance, because ultimately, Climeworks’ business model — and the technology’s effectiveness as a climate solution — depend entirely on the ability to make precise, transparent, carbon accounting claims.
Nemet was also of two minds about it. Carbon removal needs to go from almost nothing today to something like a billion tons of carbon removed per year in just three decades, he said. That’s a pace on the upper end of what’s been observed historically with other technologies, like solar panels. So it’s important to understand whether Climeworks’ tech has any chance of meeting the moment. Especially since the company faces competition from a number of others developing direct air capture technologies, like Heirloom and Occidental Petroleum, that may be able to do it cheaper, or faster.
However, Nemet was also sympathetic to the position the company was in. “It’s relatively incremental how these technologies develop,” he said. “I have heard this criticism that this is not a real technology because we haven’t built it at scale, so we shouldn’t depend on it. Or that one of these plants not doing the removal that it said it would do shows that it doesn’t work and that we therefore shouldn’t plan on having it available. To me, that’s a pretty high bar to cross with a climate mitigation technology that could be really useful.”
More data on Orca is coming. Climeworks recently announced that it will work with the company Puro.Earth to certify every ton of CO2 that it removes from the atmosphere and stores underground, in order to sell carbon credits based on this service. The credits will be listed on a public registry.
But even if Orca eventually runs at full capacity, Climeworks will never be able to sell 4,000 carbon credits per year from the plant. Gosalvez clarified that 4,000 tons is the amount of carbon the plant is designed to suck up annually, but the more important number is the amount of “net” carbon removal it can produce. “That might be the first bit of education you need to get out there,” she said, “because it really invites everyone to look at what are the key drivers to be paid attention to.”
She walked me through a chart that illustrated the various ways in which some of Orca’s potential to remove carbon can be lost. First, there’s the question of availability — how often does the plant have to shut down due to maintenance or power shortages? Climeworks aims to limit those losses to 10%. Next, there’s the recovery stage, where the CO2 is separated from the sorbent, purified, and liquified. Gosalvez said it’s basically impossible to do this without losing some CO2. At best, the company hopes to limit that to 5%.
Finally, the company also takes into account “gray emissions,” or the carbon footprint associated with the business, like the materials, the construction, and the eventual decommissioning of the plant and restoration of the site to its former state. If one of Climeworks’ plants ever uses energy from fossil fuels (which the company has said it does not plan to do) it would incorporate any emissions from that energy. Climeworks aims to limit gray emissions to 15%.
In the end, Orca’s net annual carbon removal capacity — the amount Climeworks can sell to customers — is really closer to 3,000 tons. Gosalvez hopes other carbon removal companies adopt the same approach. “Ultimately what counts is your net impact on the planet and the atmosphere,” she said.
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Despite being a first-of-its-kind demonstration plant — and an active research site — Orca is also a commercial project. In fact, Gosalvez told me that Orca’s entire estimated capacity for carbon removal, over the 12 years that the plant is expected to run, sold out shortly after it began operating. The company is now selling carbon removal services from its yet-to-be-built Mammoth plant.
In January, Climeworks announced that Orca had officially fulfilled orders from Microsoft, Stripe, and Shopify. Those companies have collectively asked Climeworks to remove more than 16,000 tons of carbon, according to the deal-tracking site cdr.fyi, but it’s unclear what portion of that was delivered. The achievement was verified by a third party, but the total amount removed was not made public.
Climeworks has also not disclosed how much it has charged companies per ton of carbon, a metric that will eventually be an important indicator of whether the technology can scale to a climate-relevant level. But it has provided rough estimates of how much it expects each ton of carbon removal to cost as the technology scales — expectations which seem to have shifted after two years of operating Orca.
In 2021, Climeworks co-founder Jan Wurzbacher said the company aimed to get the cost down to $200 to $300 per ton removed by the end of the decade, with steeper declines in subsequent years. But at the summit in June, he presented a new cost curve chart showing that the price was currently more than $1,000, and that by the end of the decade, it would fall to somewhere between $400 to $700. The range was so large because the cost of labor, energy, and storing the CO2 varied widely by location, he said. The company aims to get the price down to $100 to $300 per ton by 2050, when the technology has significantly matured.
Critics of carbon removal technologies often point to the vast sums flowing into direct air capture tech like Orca, which are unlikely to make a meaningful difference in climate change for decades to come. During a time when worsening disasters make action feel increasingly urgent, many are skeptical of the value of investing limited funds and political energy into these future solutions. Carbon removal won’t make much of a difference if the world doesn’t deploy the tools already available to reduce emissions as rapidly as possible — and there’s certainly not enough money or effort going into that yet.
But we’ll never have the option to fully halt climate change, let alone begin reversing it, if we don’t develop solutions like Orca. In September, the International Energy Agency released an update to its seminal net-zero report. The new analysis said that in the last two years, the world had, in fact, made significant progress on innovation. Now, some 65% of emission reductions after 2030 could be accounted for with technologies that had reached market uptake. It even included a line about the launch of Orca, noting that Climeworks’ direct air capture technology had moved from the prototype to the demonstration stage.
But it cautioned that DAC needs “to be scaled up dramatically to play the role envisaged,” in the net zero scenario. Climeworks’ experience with Orca offers a glimpse of how much work is yet to be done.
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A conversation on FEMA, ICE, and why local disaster response still needs federal support with the National Low-Income Housing Coalition’s Noah Patton.
Congress left for recess last week without reaching an agreement to fund the Department of Homeland Security, the parent agency of, among other offices, Customs and Border Protection, Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and somewhat incongruously, the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Democrats and Republicans remain leagues apart on their primary sticking point, ending the deadly and inhumane uses of force and detention against U.S. citizens and migrant communities. That also leaves FEMA without money for payroll and non-emergency programs.
The situation at the disaster response agency was already precarious — the office has had three acting administrators in less than a year; cut thousands of staff with another 10,000 on the chopping block; and has blocked and delayed funding to its local partners, including pausing the issuance of its Emergency Management Performance Grants, which are used for staffing, training, and equipping state-, city-, and tribal-level teams, pending updated population statistics post deportations.
Even so, FEMA remains technically capable of fulfilling its congressionally mandated duties due to an estimated $7 billion that remains in its Disaster Relief Fund. Still, the shutdown has placed renewed scrutiny on DHS Secretary Kristi Noem’s oversight of the agency. It has also elevated existing questions about what FEMA is doing alongside CBP and ICE in the first place.
To learn more about how the effects of the shutdown are trickling down through FEMA’s local operations, I spoke with Noah Patton, the director of disaster recovery at the National Low-Income Housing Coalition, which has publicly condemned the use of FEMA funding as a “political bargaining chip to allow ICE and CBP to continue their ongoing and imminent threats to the areas where they operate.”
When asked for comment, a FEMA spokesperson directed me to a DHS press release titled “Another Democrat Government Shutdown Dramatically Hurts America’s National Security.”
The conversation below has been edited for length and clarity.
Why is the DHS shutdown an issue you care about as a low-income housing organization? What are the stakes?
How the country responds to and recovers from disasters is inextricably linked to the issue of affordable housing. Often, households with the lowest incomes are in areas with the highest risk of disaster impacts. Our system has a lot of cracks in it. If you don’t have a rainy day fund for such things; if you’re someone who is not fully insured; if you have non-permanent employment — when disasters occur, you’re going to be hit the hardest. At the same time, you’ll receive the least assistance.
That not only exacerbates existing economic issues but also reduces the affordable housing stock available to the lowest-income households, as units are physically removed from the market when they’re destroyed or damaged by disasters.
What disasters are we talking about specifically at the moment? Are reimbursements for, say, the recent winter storms impacted by the shutdown?
Typically, when the [Disaster Relief Fund] is low, FEMA will implement critical needs funding. It pauses reimbursements for non-specific disaster-response projects and reallocates funds to preserve operational capacity for direct disaster response. That hasn’t happened yet because the DRF has sufficient funds. On the administrative end, reimbursements will be processed as we go along.
Is there anything you’re concerned about in the short term with regard to the DHS shutdown? Or has NLIHC pushed for the depoliticization of FEMA funding because of the cascading effects for the people you advocate for?
FEMA is okay as of right now. The need to stop ICE and CBP and the violence in communities across the country is taking precedence. We appreciate Congress’ interest in ensuring FEMA is adequately funded, but the DHS appropriations bill is not the only vehicle for providing FEMA funding. That’s why we’ve been pushing for a disaster-specific supplemental spending bill. That bill could also have longer-term assistance under HUD for places like Alaska [following Typhoon Halong], Los Angeles [following the January 2025 wildfires], and St. Louis [following the May 2025 tornado].
Maybe you’ve already answered my next question: How has NLIHC been navigating the tension between condemning ICE and CBP, while at the same time pushing for FEMA funding?
We have been big supporters of the House’s FEMA Act: the Fixing Emergency Management for Americans Act. It’s a bill that would remove FEMA from DHS, reestablish it as an independent agency as it was prior to 2003, and implement reforms to expand access to federal assistance for households with the lowest incomes after disasters. We’ve been supporters of that bill since it came out.
I’d also say, in the short term, I don’t see a huge amount of impact on the disaster response and recovery systems. It’s worth pausing on that, given everything going on with ICE and CBP.
What else is on your minds right now at NLIHC?
Much of the work we’re doing stems from the rapid, forced decentralization of the federal government’s emergency management capability — because emergency response and recovery now falls to the states. But many states lack robust disaster response and recovery programs. The state of Oklahoma, for example — I think their Emergency Management Office is 90% federally funded.
The administration’s pull-back of state-level emergency management performance grants and the coordination FEMA was providing on that will get the ball rolling; as we’ve seen in other disasters, the ball ends at households with the lowest incomes being the most impacted. We’re trying to head that off by coordinating advocates at the state and local levels to work with their local governments and facilitate more robust conversations on emergency management and related programs. A good example of that would be what we’re seeing in Washington State after the flooding from the atmospheric rivers. They have not received a disaster declaration from FEMA, so they’re not receiving federal assistance, but people are experiencing homelessness due to those floods. We’re working with folks there to craft programs that ensure that, in the absence of federal assistance, some form of aid continues.
For many years, the federal government was heavily involved in emergency management and served as the main coordinator. They were the source of the vast, vast, vast majority of funding. Now we’re looking toward a world where that’s less true, and where state-level mechanisms will be all the more important. Even if the FEMA Act is passed, it encourages state-level systems to emerge for responding to and recovering from disasters. We’re adding a focus to that state-level work that we didn’t necessarily need before.
The Trump administration has justified its defunding of FEMA by saying, “Well, disaster response is local, so this should be the responsibility of the states.” But like you were saying, places like Oklahoma get all their support from the federal government to begin with.
They always say, “Disaster response is local” because operationally, it needs to be. You’re not going to have a FEMA guy parachute in and start telling the local firefighters and cops what to do; that’s best handled by the folks who are on the ground and are familiar with their communities.
But it’s wrong to say, “If all disaster response is local, then why are we even involved?” FEMA provides the coordination and additional resources that are pivotal. Federal resources are allocated to local officials to respond to the disaster. The salaries of all those local emergency managers — at least, a high percentage of them — that money comes from the feds.
If the shutdown continues much longer, would that be another impact: local emergency managers not receiving their salaries?
The grant-making fight is separate. The administration is trying to slow down the flow of [emergency management preparedness grants] to state governments. Several states have filed high-profile lawsuits to obtain the grants that the federal government arbitrarily paused. Regardless of any shutdown, that will still be an issue.
On Georgia’s utility regulator, copper prices, and greening Mardi Gras
Current conditions: Multiple wildfires are raging on Oklahoma’s panhandle border with Texas • New York City and its suburbs are under a weather advisory over dense fog this morning • Ahmedabad, the largest city in the northwest Indian state of Gujarat, is facing temperatures as much as 4 degrees Celsius higher than historical averages this week.
The United States could still withdraw from the International Energy Agency if the Paris-based watchdog, considered one of the leading sources of global data and forecasts on energy demand, continues to promote and plan for “ridiculous” net-zero scenarios by 2050. That’s what Secretary of Energy Chris Wright said on stage Tuesday at a conference in the French capital. Noting that the IEA was founded in the wake of the oil embargoes that accompanied the 1973 Yom Kippur War, the Trump administration wants the organization to refocus on issues of energy security and poverty, Wright said. He cited a recent effort to promote clean cooking fuels for the 2 billion people who still lack regular access to energy — more than 2 million of whom are estimated to die each year from exposure to fumes from igniting wood, crop residue, or dung indoors — as evidence that the IEA was shifting in Washington’s direction. But, Wright said, “We’re definitely not satisfied. We’re not there yet.” Wright described decarbonization policies as “politicians’ dreams about greater control” through driving “up the price of energy so high that the demand for energy” plummets. “To me, that’s inhuman,” Wright said. “It’s immoral. It’s totally unrealistic. It’s not going to happen. And if so much of the data reporting agencies are on these sort of left-wing big government fantasies, that just distorts” the IEA’s mission.

Wright didn’t, however, just come to Paris to chastise the Europeans. Prompted by a remark from Jean-Luc Palayer, the top U.S. executive of French uranium giant Orano, Wright called the company “fantastic” and praised plans to build new enrichment facilities and bring waste reprocessing to America. While the French, Russians, and Japanese have long recycled spent nuclear waste into fresh fuel, the U.S. briefly but “foolishly” banned commercial reprocessing in the 1970s, Wright said, and never got an industry going again. As a result, all the spent fuel from the past seven decades of nuclear energy production is sitting on site in swimming pools or dry cask storage. “We want to have a nuclear renaissance. We have got to get serious about this stuff. So we will start reprocessing, likely in partnership with Orano,” Wright said. Designating Yucca Mountain as the first U.S. permanent repository for nuclear waste set the project in Nevada up for failure in the early 2000s, Wright added. “In the United States, we’ve tried to find a permanent repository for waste and we’ve had, I think, the wrong approach,” he noted. The Trump administration, he said, was “doing it differently” by inviting states to submit proposals for federally backed campuses to host nuclear enrichment and waste reprocessing facilities. Still, reprocessing leaves behind a small amount of waste that needs to be buried, so, Wright said, “we’re going to develop multiple long-term repositories.”
The Trump administration could tweak tariffs on metals and other materials, U.S. Trade Representative Jamieson Greer said Tuesday. During an appearance on CNBC’s “Squawk Box,” Greer said he’d heard from companies who claimed they needed to hire more workers to navigate the tariffs. “You may want to sometimes adjust the way some of the tariffs are for compliance purposes,” he said. “We’re not trying to have people deal with so much beancounting that they’re not running their company correctly.” Still, he said, the U.S. is “shipping more steel than ever,” and has, as I reported in a newsletter last month, the first new aluminum smelter in the works in half a century. “So clearly those [tariffs] are going in the right direction and they’re going to stay in place.”
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California Governor Gavin Newsom, widely seen as a frontrunner for the Democratic presidential nod in two years, is already staking out an alternative energy approach to Trump. During a stop in London on his tour of Europe, Newsom this week signed onto a new pact with British Energy Secretary Ed Miliband, pledging to work together with the United Kingdom on deploying more clean energy technologies such as offshore wind in the nation’s most populous state. One of the biggest winners of the deal, according to Politico, is Octopus Energy, the biggest British energy supplier, which is looking to enter the California market. But the agreement also sets the stage for more joint atmospheric research between California and the U.K. “California is the best place in America to invest in a clean economy because we set clear goals and we deliver,” Newsom said. “Today, we deepened our partnership with the United Kingdom on climate action and welcomed nearly a billion dollars in clean tech investment from Octopus Energy.”
France, meanwhile, is realigning its energy plan for the next nine years in a way the Trump administration will like. The draft version of the plan released last year called for 90 gigawatts of installed solar capacity by 2035. But the latest plan published last week reduced the target to a range of 55 to 80 gigawatts. Onshore wind falls to 35 to 40 gigawatts from 40 to 45 gigawatts. Offshore wind drops to 15 gigawatts from 18 gigawatts. Instead, Renewables Now reported, the country is betting on a nuclear revival.
When Democrats unseated two Republicans on Georgia’s five-member Public Service Commission, the upsets signaled a change to the state’s utility regulator so big one expert described it to Heatmap’s Emily Pontecorvo at the time as “seismic.” Now one of the three remaining Republicans on the body is stepping aside in this year’s election. In a lengthy post on X, Tricia Pridemore said she would end her eight-year tenure on the commission by opting out of reelection. “I have consistently championed common-sense, America First policies that prioritize energy independence, grid reliability, and practical solutions over partisan rhetoric,” wrote Pridemore, who both championed the nuclear expansion at Georgia Power’s Plant Vogtle and pushed for more natural gas generation. “These efforts have laid the foundation for job creation, national security, and opportunity across our state. By emphasizing results over rhetoric, we have positioned Georgia as a leader in affordability, reliability, and forward-thinking energy planning.”
BHP, the world’s most valuable mining company, reported a nearly 30% spike in net profits for the first half of this year thanks to soaring demand for copper. The Australian giant’s chief executive, Mike Henry, said the earnings marked a “milestone” as copper contributed the largest share of its profit for the first time, accounting for 51% of income before interest, tax, depreciation, and amortization. The company also signed a $4.3 billion deal with Canada’s Wheaton Precious Metals to supply silver from its Antamina mine in Peru in a deal the Financial Times called “the largest of its kind for so-called precious metals streaming, where miners make deals to sell gold or silver that is a byproduct of their main business.”
The mining companies the Trump administration is investing in, on the other hand, may have less rosy news for the market. Back in October, I told you that the U.S. was taking a stake in Trilogy Metals after approving its request to build a mining road in a remote corner of Alaska that’s largely untouched by industry. On Tuesday, the company reported a net loss of $42 million. The loss largely stemmed from what Mining.com called “the treatment of the proposed U.S. government’s investment as a derivative financial instrument” under standard American accounting rules. The accounting impact, however, had no effect on the cash the company had on hand and “is expected to resolve once applicable conditions are met.”
“It’s an environmental catastrophe.” That’s how Brett Davis, the head of a nonprofit that advocates for less pollution at Mardi Gras, referred to the waste the carnival generates each year in New Orleans. Data the city’s sanitation department gave The New York Times showed that the weekslong party produced an average of 1,123 tons of waste per year for the last decade. Reusing the plastic beads that became popular in the 1970s when manufacturing moved overseas and made cheap goods widely accessible just amounts to “recirculating toxic plastic junk no one wants,” Davis told the newspaper. Instead, he’s sold more than $1 million in more sustainable alternative items to throw during the parade, including jambalaya mix, native flower start kits, and plant-based glitter.
Batteries can only get so small so fast. But there’s more than one way to get weight out of an electric car.
Batteries are the bugaboo. We know that. Electric cars are, at some level, just giant batteries on wheels, and building those big units cheaply enough is the key to making EVs truly cost-competitive with fossil fuel-burning trucks and cars and SUVs.
But that isn’t the end of the story. As automakers struggle to lower the cost to build their vehicles amid a turbulent time for EVs in America, they’re looking for any way to shave off a little expense. The target of late? Plain old wires.
Last month, when General Motors had to brace its investors for billions in losses related to curtailing its EV efforts and shifting factories back to combustion, it outlined cost-saving measures meant to get things moving in the right direction. While much of the focus was on using battery chemistries like lithium ion phosphate, otherwise known as LFP, that are cheaper to build, CEO Mary Barra noted that the engineers on every one of the company’s EVs were working “to take out costs beyond the battery,” of which cutting wiring will be a part.
They are not alone in this obsession. Coming into a do-or-die year with the arrival of the R2 SUV, Rivian said it had figured out how to cut two miles of wires out of the design, a coup that also cuts 44 pounds from the vehicle’s weight (this is still a 5,000-pound EV, but every bit counts). Ford has become obsessed with figuring out smarter and cheaper ways for its money-hemorrhaging EV division to build cars; the company admitted, after tearing down a Tesla Model 3 to look inside, that its Mustang Mach-E EV had a mile of extra and possibly unnecessary wiring compared to its rival.
A bunch of wires sounds like an awfully mundane concern for cars so sophisticated. But while every foot adds cost and weight, the obsession with stripping out wiring is about something deeper — the broad move to redefine how cars are designed and built.
It so happens that the age of the electric vehicle is also the age of the software-defined car. Although automobiles were born as purely mechanical devices, code has been creeping in for decades, and software is needed to manage the computerized fuel injection systems and on-board diagnostic systems that explain why your Check Engine light is illuminated. Tesla took this idea to extremes when it routed the driver’s entire user interface through a giant central touchscreen. This was the car built like a phone, enabling software updates and new features to be rolled out years after someone bought the car.
As Tesla ruled the EV industry in the 2010s, the smartphone-on-wheels philosophy spread. But it requires a lot of computing infrastructure to run a car on software, which adds complexity and weight. That’s why carmakers have spent so much time in the past couple of years talking about wires. Their challenge (among many) is to simplify an EV’s production without sacrificing any of its capability.
Consider what Rivian is attempting to do with the R2. As InsideEVs explains, electric cars have exploded in their need for electronic control units, the embedded computing brains that control various systems. Some models now need more than 100 to manage all the software-defined components. Rivian managed to sink the number to just seven, and thus shave even more cost off the R2, through a “zonal” scheme where the ECUs control all the systems located in their particular region of the vehicle.
Compared to an older, centralized system that connects all the components via long wires, the savings are remarkable. As Rivian chief executive RJ Scaringe posted on X: “The R2 harness improves massively over the R1 Gen 2 harness. Building on the backbone of our network architecture and zonal ECUs, we focused on ease of install in the plant and overall simplification through integrated design — less wires, less clips and far fewer splices!”
Legacy automakers, meanwhile, are racing to catch up. Even those that have built decent-selling quality EVs to date have not come close to matching the software sophistication of Tesla and Rivian. But they have begun to see the light — not just about fancy iPads in the cockpit, but also about how the software-defined vehicle can help them to run their factories in a simpler and cheaper way.
How those companies approach the software-defined car will define them in the years to come. By 2028, GM hopes to have finished its next-gen software platform that “will unite every major system from propulsion to infotainment and safety on a single, high-speed compute core,” according to Barra. The hope is that this approach not only cuts down on wiring and simplifies manufacturing, but also makes Chevys and Cadillacs more easily updatable and better-equipped for the self-driving future.
In that sense, it’s not about the wires. It’s about all the trends that have come to dominate electric vehicles — affordability, functionality, and autonomy — colliding head-on.