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This is the first story in a Heatmap series on the “green freeze” under Trump.
The renewables industry was struggling even before Donald Trump made his return to the White House. High interest rates, snarled supply chains, and inflation had already dealt staggering blows to offshore wind; California turned hostile to the residential solar market; and even as deployment of utility-scale solar accelerated, profits haven’t necessarily followed. (Those were still reserved for the fossil fuel industry.)
Then Trump came into office, issuing a barrage of executive orders that, at best, didn’t help, and at worst threatened to choke off the industry’s remaining avenues for growth. Now, Republican legislators are eyeing the Inflation Reduction Act for red meat to feed their tax cut machine; Elon Musk — himself the richest green tech entrepreneur of all time — is captaining an effort to slash the size of the federal government, particularly environmental programs; and the federal regulatory apparatus has essentially ground to a halt.
The early days of the Trump presidency have turned a clean energy slump into a kind of green freeze, with projects being cancelled and clean energy investors in many cases fixating on hypothetical policy changes, as opposed to the ins and outs of any given quarter. This creates a kind of trap for green energy companies, which are being punished in the immediate term for bad results while investors sit on the sidelines until the final resolution of the IRA comes into focus.
Speaking about the solar industry specifically, Morningstar analyst Brett Castelli told me that near term viability is not going to be about the specifics of any given company’s financial performance. “It’s going to be about how much the IRA is potentially changed.”
That’s likely the case across the green energy sectors. The iShares Global Clean Energy ETF, which tracks a number of renewables companies, is down 14% since November 5, and down 20% in the past year. “All businesses like certainty,” Castelli said. “The renewables market right now is facing a high degree of uncertainty in regards to what changes are coming to the IRA.”
But not every company has been affected equally. Those that were already flagging have been quick to blame the political environment, while others have gamely tried to explain to investors and the public how their lines of business align with the Trump administration’s priorities.
Executives at the residential solar company Sunnova — whose stock has fallen to below a dollar a share since it issued a “going concern” notice, essentially notifying investors that its existence as a company was under threat — mentioned “policy” or “political” or “politicians” six times in its earnings call last week. Chief Executive John Berger told an analyst that the reason for the going concern notice was that “the overall environment is terrible. I mean, it’s the political environment, the capital markets,” and that the company “struggled to close some things after the election.”
Berger stepped down Monday, and Sunnova’s former chief operating officer Paul Mathews immediately took over. Mathews “will focus on disciplined growth, stronger cash generation, cost efficiency, and enhancing the customer experience,” the company said.
Other companies have told investors and the public that they’re scrapping expansion plans, in many cases due to a policy change or a market change running downhill from policy.
“Manufacturing is probably where we see the biggest concern,” Maheep Mandloi, a stock analyst at Mizuho Securities, told me. “A lot of solar and battery projects are getting pushed out.”
Among them, battery manufacturer KORE Power, said in February that it was canceling a $1 billion battery project in Arizona. The Arizona facility was going to be supported with federal financing, specifically a loan from the Energy Department’s Loan Program Office for up to $850 million, but the conditional commitment never turned into cash in hand before the end of the Biden administration. Its new chief executive, Jay Bellows, told Canary Media that the company wanted to retrofit an existing facility into a battery plant instead.
Aspen Aerogels, which makes thermal barriers for batteries in electric vehicles, told investors in February that it wouldn’t move forward with a planned new plant in Statesboro, Georgia, and would instead “maximize capacity” at its Rhode Island plant. The company’s chief financial officer noted that it had already “decided to right-time” its Statesboro project in early 2023, “pre-empting a reset in EV demand expectations.”
And just last week, Ascend Elements, a battery materials company, said it was scrapping plans to manufacture cathode active material at its Hopkinsville, Kentucky plant, the Times Leader reported Thursday. Ascend said that it had agreed with the Department of Energy to cancel a $164 million grant that would support cathode active material (a key battery component) manufacturing, although a separate, $316 million grant for cathode precursor technology “remains active.”
But optimism still abounds — and it has nothing to do with any hopes about the fate of grants and tax credits under the IRA. Regardless of the law’s fate, the exuberance over artificial intelligence may prove to be an even greater subsidy.
In contrast to Sunnova, Sunrun — another residential solar company whose stock price has flagged since the election, but whose ability to stay in business has not been questioned — put a much more neutral spin on the political environment. Chief Executive Mary Powell told investors during the company’s earnings call in late February, “The fundamental long-term demand drivers for our business are incredibly strong and unrelated to any political party affiliation. Americans want greater energy independence and control of their lives and their pocketbooks. The country also needs more power from all sources to fuel rapid growth in electrification and data centers, and our growing fleet of energy resources will be part of the solution.”
Where once executives focused their rah-rah optimism on the declining costs of renewables, today they’re talking up their products’ quick path to deployment. The speed with which renewables can be built and switched on — especially solar and storage — compares favorably to the four-to-five year development timelines for new gas-fired plants. NextEra chief executive John Ketchum told analysts in a January earnings call “you can build a wind project in 12 months, a storage facility in 15, and a solar project in 18 months.”
That’s either the light at the end of the tunnel or the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, depending on your level of fatalism or skepticism.
This oncoming demand could reignite the renewables industry even if it potentially loses access to generous IRA subsidies, Ben Hubbard, the chief executive of the infrastructure advisory firm Nexus Holdings, told me.
“The hyperscale datacenter demand is pretty massive, and when you have to really start massively upgrading your transmission and distribution infrastructure, those rates get passed on, unfortunately, to the average ratepayer like me and you and everybody else.” With higher rates, renewables could become profitable and investable on their own, without IRA subsidies, Hubbard said.
NextEra, a major renewables developer that also operates a natural gas fleet, has been one of the main promoters of the “speed to power” narrative. In its January earnings call, Ketchum told analysts, “We’re expecting load demand to increase over 80% over the next five years, six-fold over the next 20 years. And if you think about generation types and needing all of the above, they’re not all created equally in terms of timing.”
Although the Trump administration is seeking to unleash fossil fuel development, power plants don’t build themselves. They need, at the very least, turbines, and those gas turbines are not easy to get your hands on. As Heatmap has reported, manufacturer GE Vernova has only modest plans to increase capacity, and is already getting reservations for turbine slots in 2027 and 2028.
“With gas-fired generation, the country is starting from a standing start,” NextEra CEO Ketchum said on the earnings call. “We need shovels in the ground today because our customers need the power right now.”
Developers and investors hope this means that data center developers and utilities will become both voracious and omnivorous in their power demand.
“I think what you’re going to see is the big tech companies, especially, are going to just have to eat the cost if they want to win the AI race,” Hubbard told me. “They’re going to take natural gas fuel, and they’re going to take biomass power, and they’re going to take solar. They’re going to take it all, because it’s almost insignificant relative to getting ahead of AI demand.”
Most of the industry, however, is gamely working through an environment where their day-to-day business may be fine, but their investors are still in wait-and-see mode.
“The common feedback we hear from a lot of investors is, ‘I’ll just probably come back once the dust settles and I know exactly what things are going to change,” Mandloi told me.
That’s even as executives point to a glorious future of AI-driven electricity demand. But investors may be waiting to count their chips from the IRA before they’re willing to take a flyer on powering data centers that are yet to be built.
And there’s nothing certain about the AI boom, either. More computationally efficient Chinese models have thrown that energy narrative into doubt, driving down the share price of Nvidia, which makes the chips that consume all that data center power (along with the share prices of power companies with large natural gas fleets). That stock is down by almost 20% so far this year. If the chip designer’s AI profits are less than previously thought, the electron providers may have to settle for less, as well. Renewables companies are hoping the data center boom will be a case of “if you build it, they will come,” but investors aren’t yet quite willing to buy it.
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Cement, plywood, and some electronic equipment will face 50% levies. But the real cost is much higher.
Here we go again. The United States will impose new 50% tariffs on a slew of imports from Canada, the White House announced on Monday afternoon. The trade levies — which will hit more than 500 categories of goods, from anoraks, beer, and curtains, to yarn, wool, and whey protein — will take effect in 30 days.
The new tariffs don’t seem to be wildfire-related. President Trump threatened to impose new tariffs last week after smoke from Canadian wildfires drifted south over the northern U.S. border, but administration officials have claimed to CNN that these new levies were already in motion by then.
Even so, a few aspects of the announcement stand out. Most important, at least from a generalist perspective, is the legal mechanism that President Trump is using to apply them: Section 338 of the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act. This passage, which has never been used by a previous president to levy tariffs, allows the United States to tax trade from countries that the president says have “discriminated against” U.S. commerce.
Significant, too, is the fact the White House asserts this new kind of tariff could apply to any kind of product — even those that would normally be covered by the North American free trade pact, the U.S.-Mexico-Canada Agreement. So far, the “Big Three” automakers — whose supply chains cross the Mexican or Canadian borders half a dozen times before a car is finally assembled — have avoided major tariff danger because auto parts and other inputs fall under the USMCA’s auspices. If the White House now thinks it can levy taxes despite that pact, then the risks for Ford, General Motors, and their suppliers have increased.
Energy and critical minerals are exempt from the new tariffs, so Canadian crude oil, gasoline, diesel, natural gas, and electricity will presumably keep flowing into the United States. (That explicit carve-out might be ominous in its own right, because energy had been protected by USMCA so far, too.) By omitting energy, Trump and his officials may be calculating they can avoid major inflationary hazards from this round of tariffs.
Who knows. In any case, to my eye, these tariffs do seem like they could aggravate construction costs and possibly contribute to wider U.S. inflation. There’s already some evidence that data centers are driving a new wave of inflation, for instance, by hiking construction input and labor costs. Yet data centers use a lot of cement — and cement will now face a 50% tariff under the new regime. So too will plywood, plaster, and paperboard, as well as industrial cooling equipment, chemicals, and some circuit boards.
I could keep listing the potential economic costs here — I could point out that overall inflation risk is rising or that average U.S. gas prices rose to $4 a gallon today on the Iran war news — but I think it’s important to look at least one step beyond the hits to commerce alone.
I mentioned earlier that these tariffs are meant to punish “discrimination.” In this case, some of the “discrimination” appears to be what some Canadian provinces did to retaliate against the president’s earlier tariffs. The state-owned liquor stores in Quebec and Ontario, for instance, stopped buying U.S.-made booze after Trump slapped 25% tariffs on Canada in March 2025; those boycotts are mentioned by name in today’s proclamation. Canada, you see, is not supposed to respond to Trump’s tariffs. It is just supposed to take it — just like it’s supposed to take the constant stream of falsehoods, abuse, belittling, and invasion threat.
Over the past few years, politicians and pundits have learned to respond to Trump’s policies by appealing to U.S. self-interest — by explaining how the president’s policies are making Americans poorer. It is a sensible strategy for a morally denuded era. A recent statement from Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer about Canada, for example, criticized the president for hurting “our closest ally and partner … right when summer tourism season is arriving.” I get the move here — and I think, in some sense, Schumer is trying to avoid polarizing Trump’s treatment of Canada along partisan lines — but Canadians are more than their tourism dollars.
For the past several years, Trump has threatened to strip Canada of its sovereignty and its dignity. He has treated what was once a deep and secure relationship as something to be bartered and mined and dissipated. It is a mucilaginous approach to statecraft, and as recent reporting has made clear, its long-term costs will exceed any simple accounting. We Americans have been robbed of an honorable friendship. Some losses cannot be counted in dollars.
In seven years of owning an electric car, I’ve done practically no maintenance. My 2019 Tesla Model 3 has gotten a new set of tires and windshield wipers, but because an EV doesn’t require oil changes or many of the other occasional chores that come with gas cars, that’s about it.
The one thing I have had to fix is the battery, and no, I don’t mean the big one that makes the car go.
Twice in those seven years, I’ve replaced the car’s 12-volt battery. This is the toolbox-sized unit that’s familiar to millions — it’s what the phrase “car battery” used to mean back before electric vehicles. Lots of new or aspiring EV drivers may not even realize their car has a second, smaller battery borrowed from combustion days. But this crucial holdover — the most recycled object on the planet, by the way, at a rate of more than 100 million annually — has already been a source of annoyance for EV engineers and drivers.
The reason behind the weird setup is straightforward. Despite the fact that EVs are effectively giant batteries on wheels, they need a backup source to operate the power windows and doors. If you’re in a car accident that disables the main battery, for instance, you need power to the doors to escape, and also a way to disconnect the high-voltage battery. Thus, the old-fashioned 12-volt battery squirreled away deep inside the car to protect it during collisions.
It’s not just a matter of backup power, either. A large, high-voltage battery would have to step down its electrical output for applications other than pushing a car down the road; it’s simpler to power them with a 12-volt battery and use the big unit to recharge the smaller one. After all, legacy carmakers have decades of experience building this kind of electrical system for gasoline-powered cars. Some EVs also use the 12-volt setup to disconnect the high-voltage power supply when the car is simply parked for a long time.
All this makes solid engineering sense. It also means that a sleek, modern EV is reliant upon the clunky car battery of yesteryear. Some drivers, including those in new Kia EVs, have said they can’t drive their cars even though there’s plenty of juice in the big unit because something went wrong with the 12-volt. As one Reddit commenter wrote: “It seems absurd to design a car that can run out of electrons and not be able to start while it is carrying 70 kWh of energy in a giant battery.” Yet that’s exactly the reality.
There are a few reasons why. As InsideEVs has noted, the rugged old 12-volt keeps getting more and more responsibility. Nowadays, the constant cellular connectivity of modem EVs — as well as features that can be used while the car is parked, such as security systems that tap into the vehicle’s exterior cameras to monitor the surrounding area — can cause a continuous drain on the 12-volt battery. That requires the car’s big battery to “wake up” and recharge the smaller one, which not only bleeds the vehicle’s driving range while it’s sitting still but also causes lots of recharging cycles for the 12-volt, prematurely aging the small battery.
Rivian had notorious problems from this issue for the older R1T and R1S and had to engineer a fix. Hyundais and Kias, meanwhile, have had longstanding issues with their Integrated Charging Control Unit, the system that recharges the 12-volt battery, that have caused a variety of recalls and headaches widely documented in online posts and videos. Chevy and Toyota have endured their own growing pains trying to make a low-voltage electrical system work well inside an EV.
But the car companies are getting smarter. Rather than duplicating what works in gas cars, more of them are building EV-specific systems with this application in mind. For example, the 12-volt in an EV doesn’t need to provide the big single burst needed to start up a gas engine, but it does need to be able to survive being subjected to more recharging cycles. In other words, it’s not that using these batteries in modern EVs is a bad idea — we just need to be smarter about how.
Perhaps EV builders one day will engineer away the old battery. Rivian, for one, has filed a patent for an electrical architecture that would work without a low-voltage battery at all. But those workarounds are a long way out. For now, even the most futuristic-feeling electric cars are stuck with the same kind of battery your dad had to jump-start in the church parking lot that time you left the AC on and the engine wasn’t running. My big, high-voltage battery might keep running forever, even as its capacity continues to diminish. But inevitably, I’ll need another small, dumb battery when this one goes kaput.
GOP lawmakers know climate change is real. But they lack political incentives to do anything about it.
The New York Times recently profiled former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and his increasing engagement on climate change. Many of the online comments accused him of hypocrisy. Why, they asked, did he only become concerned about climate change after leaving Congress?
It’s an understandable question.
I have spent the better part of a decade discussing climate change with Republican members of Congress and can see a frequently overlooked part of the answer. During my hundreds of one-on-one conversations with Republican senators and representatives, almost none of them deny that climate change is occurring. Most understand the science well enough, and many acknowledge privately that it presents serious long-term risks.
They don’t lack knowledge. They lack political incentives.
Members of Congress have finite political capital. Every day they must decide which issues deserve their attention. Naturally, they devote their time to the issues that voters, donors, activists, staff, and party leaders tell them matter most.
Politics is a marketplace of incentives. For decades, climate advocates have devoted their efforts to changing Republicans’ minds, but have devoted little effort to changing the incentives for Republicans to act.
The political ecosystem for Democrats could not be more different. Democrats are surrounded by organizations that continually reinforce the importance of climate policy. Environmental groups, philanthropies, labor organizations, advocacy organizations, academics, campaign donors, think tanks, and congressional staff all create an environment in which climate engagement is expected and rewarded.
Republicans experience almost none of that.
When I was quoted in the New York Times article, I described the “eco right” as “a lonely place.” I meant it literally. There are remarkably few conservative organizations whose primary mission is helping Republican elected officials develop serious climate policy. Few donors make climate engagement a condition of support. Few advocacy groups reward constructive leadership. Few congressional staff have access to a deep bench of conservative climate experts. Climate is far more often presented as a political liability than a leadership opportunity.
In that environment, addressing climate change is rarely a priority. This largely explains what puzzles many observers — that Republican leaders often become noticeably more outspoken about addressing climate change after leaving office. The science has not changed. Their incentives have.
Freed from primary elections, fundraising pressures, and the constant competition for legislative attention, they’re able to think about problems whose consequences unfold over decades instead of election cycles.
That observation leads to an uncomfortable conclusion for those of us who want stronger climate policy: Persuading Republicans that climate change is real is not just unnecessary, it’s unproductive. They know it’s real. The more important task is building the institutions that make climate engagement a priority. That means investing in conservative policy organizations, developing Republican congressional staff expertise, supporting Republican governors and state legislators, encouraging business leaders to engage, creating donor networks that reward constructive center-right leadership, and giving Republican members credible partners they can trust.
In other words, we need to make the eco-right a much less lonely place.
Building institutions requires capital, both political and financial. Today, the overwhelming majority of climate-related political spending — whether by advocacy organizations, political action committees, or philanthropically supported campaigns — flows to Democratic candidates and causes. It’s understandable. Democrats have generally been more supportive of climate action, and donors naturally want to reward those who stand with them.
But rewarding allies isn’t the same as expanding the number of them.
If the objective is durable climate policy rather than simply electing more Democrats, then the current allocation of political spending deserves reconsideration. Congress writes laws, and lasting legislation almost always requires bipartisan support. A movement that invests overwhelmingly in one party shouldn’t be surprised when the other party lacks champions, expertise, and political incentives.
Climate philanthropists, advocacy organizations, and political action committees should explicitly seek to create Republican allies by committing a more significant portion of their electoral spending to Republican candidates. This support would send a powerful signal throughout Republican politics that constructive engagement on climate change will be rewarded. More Republican candidates would respond to those incentives, and the universe of viable partners would expand.
For Republicans, the greatest opportunity lies in primary elections. While general elections determine which party governs, primaries determine what kind of Republicans and Democrats will govern. Donors should identify Republican candidates who are willing to engage on a variety of climate-related topics — from adaptation and resilience to market-based policies that reduce emissions to energy innovation — and help them succeed. The objective isn’t ideological purity. It’s to demonstrate that constructive climate leadership is politically viable within today’s Republican Party, and to give those candidates the confidence that they aren’t alone.
Over time, this approach would accomplish something today’s funding model cannot. Rather than simply rewarding an existing coalition, it would create a larger one. It would produce more Republican members who see climate engagement as compatible with conservative principles. Climate change would still be a scientific and economic challenge, but politics would no longer preclude addressing it.
Rather than increasingly evident climate change adding to political division, it could drive both parties to act. America’s biggest policy achievements have generally occurred when a president elevated an issue as a national priority and Congress responded. Tax reform, welfare reform, civil rights, and other major agreements all required presidential leadership before they produced durable bipartisan legislation.
Climate policy has not yet reached that level. While voters increasingly care about it, it does not determine presidential elections or dominate governing agendas.
The closest climate change has come to being a top-tier issue was when President George H.W. Bush signed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change in 1992, but that was before addressing climate change became so partisan. More recently, President Joe Biden included clean energy tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. That modest success is noteworthy in part because it rode upon legislation to address inflation, a top-tier voter issue — and because the provisions were largely repealed less than three years later. Until climate change becomes a presidential-level issue — one that candidates in both parties believe they must address — Congress is unlikely to devote sustained attention to it.
That day will come. And when that moment arrives, the quality of the legislation will depend on the work being done now. If we want bipartisan climate policy tomorrow, we need to build bipartisan political capacity today.
The climate movement has spent decades rewarding allies. The next several decades should be spent adding more. Politics follows incentives more than information. If we want Republicans to lead on addressing climate change or at least become those allies, we must stop just trying to persuade them and start investing in the institutions, incentives, and people that make it possible.