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Even critical minerals can get complicated.

In northeastern Minnesota, a fight over the proposed NewRange Copper Nickel mine, better known as PolyMet, has dragged on for nearly two decades. Permits have been issued and revoked; state and federal agencies have been sued. The argument at the heart of the saga is familiar: Whether the pollution and disruption the mine will create are worth it for the jobs and minerals that it will produce.
The arguments are so familiar, in fact, that one wonders why we haven’t come up with a permitting and approval process that accounts for them. In total, the $1 billion NewRange project required more than 20 state and federal permits to move forward, all of which were secured by 2019. But since then, a number have been revoked or remanded back to the permit-issuing agencies. Just last year, for instance, the Army Corps of Engineers rescinded NewRange’s wetlands permit on the recommendation of the Environmental Protection Agency.
The messy history of this mine displays the difficult decisions the U.S. faces when it comes to securing the critical minerals that are key to a clean energy future — and the ways in which our current regulatory and permitting infrastructure is ill-equipped to resolve these tensions.
All sides in this debate recognize that minerals like nickel and copper are vital to the energy transition. Nickel is an integral component in most lithium-ion EV battery chemistries, and copper is used across a whole swath of technologies — electric vehicles, solar panels, and wind turbines, to name a few.
“We recognize that you're going to need copper, nickel, and other minerals in order to have a functioning society and to make the clean energy transition that we're all interested in,” Aaron Klemz, Chief Strategy Officer at the Minnesota Center for Environmental Advocacy, told me. But along with a number of other environmental groups and the Fond du Lac band of the Minnesota Chippewa tribe, which lives downstream of the proposed mine, MCEA opposes the project. “You can’t not mine. We understand that. But you have to take it on a case-by-case basis.”
On the one hand, the Duluth Complex, where the NewRange mine would be sited, contains one of the world’s largest untapped deposits of copper, nickel and other key metals. However, the critical minerals in this water-rich environment are bound to sulfide ores that can release toxic sulfuric acid when exposed to water and air. The proposed mine sits in a watershed that would eventually flow into Lake Superior, a critical source of drinking water for the Upper Midwest.
Many advocacy groups believe water pollution from the mine is inevitable, especially given NewRange’s plans for its waste basin. The current proposal involves covering the waste products, known as tailings, with water and containing the resulting slurry will with a dam. That’s considered much riskier than draining water from the tailings and “dry stacking” them in a pile. NewRange’s upstream dam construction method is also a concern, as the wet tailings can erode the dam’s walls more easily than with other designs. An upstream dam collapsed in Brazil in 2019, leading the country to ban this type of construction altogether.
And lastly, there’s the narrow question of the NewRange dam’s bentonite clay liner. Late last year, an administrative law judge recommended that state regulators refrain from reissuing NewRange’s permit to mine on the grounds that this liner was not a “practical and workable” method of containing the tailings.
Christie Kearney, director of sustainability, environmental and regulatory affairs for NewRange Copper Nickel, called these criticisms “tired and worn talking points” in a follow-up email to me, and said that the concerns simply don’t hold water “after the most comprehensive and lengthy environmental review and permitting process in Minnesota history.” The bentonite issue in particular, she told me, represents one of the main reasons permitting has been so challenging. “Instead of allowing agencies (who have the expertise) to make these decisions as established in Minnesota law, the regulatory decisions get challenged in court by mining opponents, leaving it to judges (who don’t have the technical expertise) to make these determinations,” she wrote.
The whole process could have gone more smoothly if all the stakeholders were involved from the beginning, she told me when we spoke. “In particular, we have a number of state permits that are overseen by the EPA, yet the EPA isn't involved until the very end, which has caused frustration both in our environmental review process as well as our permitting process.”
Klemz has another approach to ending the confusion. What is needed, he said, is a pathway to shut down projects once and for all if they’re deemed too environmentally hazardous. “There is no way to say no under the system we have now,” he told me. While courts can deny or revoke a permit, companies like NewRange can always go back to the drawing board and resubmit. “What we have instead is a system where the company has the incentive to keep on trying over and over and over again, despite whatever setback they encounter.”
While there’s no systematic way to block a mine, myriad avenues can lead to a “no.” Last year, the federal government placed a moratorium on mining on federal lands upstream of Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness Area, effectively shutting down another proposed copper-nickel mine. And the EPA banned the disposal of mine waste near Alaska’s proposed Pebble mine, blocking that project as well.
It’s a delicate balancing act, because ultimately the administration does want to incentivize domestic critical minerals production. The Inflation Reduction Act provides generous tax credits for companies involved in minerals processing, cathode materials production, and battery manufacturing. Then there’s the $7,500 credit available to consumers that purchase a qualifying EV, which depends on the automaker sourcing minerals from either the U.S. or a country the U.S. has a free-trade agreement with.
Under the current interpretation of the IRA, it’s possible that none of this money would flow directly to NewRange, since mineral extraction isn’t eligible for a tax credit, and it’s yet unclear whether the company will process the metals to a high enough grade to be eligible for credits there, either. Automakers that source from NewRange could benefit, but the project doesn’t currently have offtake agreements with any electric vehicle or clean energy company. That’s something that critics of the mine point to when NewRange touts its clean energy credentials.
“It's much more likely that this will end up in a string of Christmas lights than it will end up in a wind turbine in the United States,” Klemz told me. Of course, more critical minerals in the market overall will lower prices, thereby benefiting clean energy projects. But NewRange is a less neat proposition than, say, the proposed Talon Metals nickel mine, which is sited about two hours southwest of NewRange. As MIT Technology Review reports, this mine could unlock billions in federal subsidies through its offtake agreement with Tesla.
That hasn’t inoculated Talon from fierce local opposition, either. “As disinterested as the public may be in a lot of things, they are really engaged in a new mining project in their backyard,” said Adrian Gardner, Principal Nickel Markets Analyst at the energy and research consultancy Wood Mackenzie, which has been tracking both the Talon and NewRange mine since they were first proposed.
The Biden administration is also engaged. Two years ago, the Department of the Interior convened an interagency working group to make domestic minerals production more sustainable and efficient, starting with the Mining Law of 1872 — still the law of the land when it comes to new mining projects. The group released a report last September recommending, among other things, that the Bureau of Land Management and U.S. Forest Service provide standardized guidance to prospective developers and require meetings between all relevant agencies and potential developers before any applications are submitted. That means Congress will need to provide more resources to permitting agencies.
Those resources could come from a proposed royalty of between 4% and 8% on the net proceeds of minerals extracted from public lands, a fee that would also go to help communities most impacted by mining. The National Mining Association, of which NewRange is a member, has come out strongly against the report’s recommendations, highlighting the high royalties as a particular point of contention.
But many of the report’s proposals might have helped NewRange in its early days. “There were a lot of early missteps by the company,” Kearney admits. “The first draft [Environmental Impact Statement] that the company went through received a very poor reading from the EPA, and the company went back to its drawing board, changed out its leadership and its environmental leads.”
More stern rebukes, of course, would be the ideal for many advocacy groups. “I don't know how they could redesign it quite honestly, given what we know about the science, to comply with the law,” Klemz said.
Kearney is adamant, though, that even after five years of litigation, NewRange has no plans to give up the fight. “Not many companies can weather that,” Kearney said. Not many companies, however, are backed by mining giant Glencore. PolyMet, the project’s original developer, “really only survived because Glencore came in a few years back and invested over time until the point where they got 100% control,” Kearney told me.
Glencore, a $65 billion Swiss company, is pursuing the NewRange project in partnership with Teck Resources, which is worth $20 billion. The companies can afford to fight for a very long time, meaning nobody knows quite how or when this all ends.
“We do need this material. I get that,” Klemz told me. “So I don't really know if there's going to be some kind of neat future resolution to this.”
Kearney put it simply. “We don't have a timeline right now.”
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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.