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Most nonprofit boards can do whatever they want.
Surely you’ve heard by now. On Friday, the board of directors of OpenAI, the world-bestriding startup at the center of the new artificial intelligence boom, fired its chief executive, Sam Altman. He had not been “consistently candid” with the board, the company said, setting in motion a coup — and potential counter-coup — that has transfixed the tech, business, and media industries for the past 72 hours.
OpenAI is — was? — a strange organization. Until last week, it was both the country’s hottest new tech company and an independent nonprofit devoted to ensuring that a hypothetical, hyper-intelligent AI “benefits all of humanity.” The nonprofit board owned and controlled the for-profit startup, but it did not fund it entirely; the startup could and did accept outside investment, such as a $13 billion infusion from Microsoft.
This kind of dual nonprofit/for-profit structure isn’t uncommon in the tech industry. The encrypted messaging app Signal, for instance, is owned by a foundation, as is the company that makes the cheap, programmable microchip Raspberry Pi. The open-source browser Firefox is overseen by the Mozilla Foundation.
But OpenAI’s structure is unusually convoluted, with two nested holding companies and a growing split between who was providing the money (Microsoft) and who ostensibly controlled operations (the nonprofit board). That tension between the nonprofit board and the for-profit company is what ultimately ripped apart OpenAI, because when the people with control (the board) tried to fire Altman, the people with the money (Microsoft) said no. As I write this, Microsoft seems likely to win.
This may all seem remote from what we cover here at Heatmap. Other than the fact that ChatGPT devours electricity, OpenAI doesn’t obviously have anything to do with climate change, electric vehicles, or the energy transition. Sometimes I even have the sense that many climate advocates take a certain delight in high-profile AI setbacks, because they resent competing with it for existential-risk airtime.
Yet OpenAI’s schism is a warning for climate world. Strip back the money, the apocalypticism, the big ideas and Terminator references, and OpenAI is fundamentally a story about nonprofit governance. When a majority of the board decided to knock Altman from his perch, nobody could stop them. They alone decided to torch $80 billion in market value overnight and set their institution on fire. Whether that was the right or wrong choice, it illustrates how nonprofit organizations — especially those that, like OpenAI, are controlled solely by a board of directors — act with an unusual amount of arbitrary authority.
Why does that matter for the climate or environmental movement? Because the climate and energy world is absolutely teeming with nonprofit organizations — and many of them are just as unconstrained, just as willfully wacky, as OpenAI.
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Let’s step back. Nonprofits can generally be governed in two ways. (Apologies to nonprofit lawyers in the audience: I’m about to vastly simplify your specialty.) The first is a chapter- or membership-driven structure, in which a mass membership elects leaders to serve on a board of directors. Many unions, social clubs, and business groups take this form: Every few years, the members elect a new president or board of directors, who lead the organization for the next few years.
The other way is a so-called “board-only” organization. In this structure, the nonprofit’s board of directors leads the organization and does not answer to a membership or chapter. (There is often no membership to answer to.) When a vacancy opens up on the board, its remaining members appoint a replacement, perpetuating itself over time.
OpenAI was just such a board-only organization. Even though Altman was CEO, OpenAI was led officially by its board of directors.
This is a stranger way of running an organization than it may seem. For a small, private foundation, it may work just fine: Such an organization has no staff and probably meets rarely. (Most U.S. nonprofits are just this sort of organization.) But when a board-only nonprofit gets big — when it fulfills a crucial public purpose or employs hundreds or thousands of people — it faces an unusual lack of institutional constraints.
Consider, for instance, what life is like for a decently sized business, a small government agency, and a medium-sized nonprofit. The decently sized business is constantly buffeted by external forcing factors. Its creditors need to be repaid; it is battling for market share and product position. It faces market discipline or at least some kind of profit motive. It has to remain focused, competitive, and at least theoretically efficient.
The government agency, meanwhile, is constrained by public scrutiny and political oversight. Its bureaucrats and public servants are managed by elected officials, who are themselves accountable to the public. When a particularly important agency is not doing its job, voters can demand a change or elect new leadership.
Nonprofits can have some of the same built-in checks and balances — but only when they are controlled by members, and not by a board. If a members association embarrasses itself, for instance, or if it doesn’t carry out its mission, then its membership can vote out the board and elect new directors to replace them. But stakeholders have no such recourse for a board-only nonprofit. Insulated from market pressure and public oversight, board-only nonprofits are free to wander off into wackadoodle land.
The problem is that board-only nonprofits are only becoming more powerful — in fact, many of the nonprofits you know best are probably controlled solely by their board. In 2002, the Harvard political scientist Theda Skocpol observed that American civic life had undergone a rapid transformation: where it had once been full of membership-driven federations, such as the Lions Club or the League of Women Voters, it was now dominated by issues-focused advocacy groups.
From the late 19th to the mid-20th century, she wrote, America “had a uniquely balanced civic life, in which markets expanded but could not subsume civil society, in which governments at multiple levels deliberately and indirectly encouraged federated voluntary associations.” But from the 1960s to the 1990s, that old network fell apart. It was “bypassed and shoved to the side by a gaggle of professionally dominated advocacy groups and nonprofit institutions rarely attached to memberships worthy of the name,” Skocpol wrote.
The sheer number of groups exploded. In 1958, the Encyclopedia of Associations listed approximately 6,500 associations, Skocpol writes. By 1990, that number had more than tripled to 23,000. Today, the American Society of Association Executives — which is, just so we’re clear here, literally an association for associations — counts almost 1.9 million associations, including 1.2 million nonprofits.
This new network includes some nonprofits that claim to have members but are not in fact governed by them, such as the AARP. It includes “public citizen” or legal-advocacy groups, which watchdog legislation or fight for important precedents in the courts, such as Earthjustice, the Center for Biological Diversity, or Public Citizen itself. And it includes independent, mission-driven, and board-controlled nonprofits — such as OpenAI.
There is nothing wrong with these new groups per se. Many of them are inspired by the advocacy and legal organizations that won some of the Civil Rights Movement’s biggest victories. But unlike the member federations and civic associations that they largely replaced, these new groups don’t force Americans to engage with what their neighbors are thinking and feeling. So they “compartmentalize” America, in Skocpol’s words. Instead of articulating the views of a deep, national membership network, these groups essentially speak for a centralized and professionalized leadership corps — invariably located in a major city — who are armed with modern marketing techniques. And instead of fundraising through dues, fees, or tithes, these new groups depend on direct-mail operations, massive ad campaigns, and foundation grants.
This is the organizational superstructure on which much of the modern climate movement rests. When you read a climate news story, someone quoted in it will probably work for such a nonprofit. Many climate and energy policy experts spend at least part of their careers at some kind of nonprofit. Most climate or environmental news outlets — although not this one — are funded in whole or part through donations and foundation grants. And most climate initiatives that earn mainstream attention receive grants from a handful of foundations.
There is nothing necessarily wrong with this setup — and, of course, an equivalent network devoted to stopping and delaying climate policy exists to rival it on the right. But the entire design places an enormous amount of faith in the leaders of these nonprofits and foundations, and in the social strata that they occupy. If a nonprofit messes up, then only public attention or press coverage can right the ship. And there is simply not enough of either resource to keep these things on track.
That leads to odd resource allocation decisions, business units that seem to have no purpose (alongside teams that seem perpetually overworked), and decisions that frame otherwise decent policies in politically unpalatable ways. It regularly burns out people involved in climate organizations. And it means that much of the climate movement’s strategy is controlled by foundation officials and nonprofit directors. Like any other group of executives, these people are capable of deluding themselves about what is happening in the world; unlike other types of leaders, however, they face neither an angry electorate nor a ruthless market that will force them to update their worldview. The risk exists, then, that they could blunder into disaster — and take the climate movement with them.
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Rob and Jesse talk with Heatmap senior reporter Jael Holzman.
Donald Trump’s second term has now entered its second month. His administration is doing much to slow down renewables, and everything it can to slow down offshore wind. Jael Holzman is a senior reporter at Heatmap and the author of our newsletter, “The Fight,” about local battles over renewable permitting around the country.
On this week’s episode of Shift Key, Rob and Jesse talk to Jael about the bleak outlook for offshore wind, the use of presidential authority to impede energy development, and why solar has been spared — so far. Shift Key is hosted by Jesse Jenkins, a professor of energy systems engineering at Princeton University, and Robinson Meyer, Heatmap’s executive editor.
Subscribe to “Shift Key” and find this episode on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon, or wherever you get your podcasts.
You can also add the show’s RSS feed to your podcast app to follow us directly.
Here is an excerpt from our conversation:
Robinson Meyer: It seems like there’s a mix here of, you know, some projects are now facing active legal trouble because they still had major permits to secure and the Trump administration is now denying those permits. But some projects, as you were saying, seemed safe, but now they’re not. They’re worried about getting these kind of iterative findings from the government that you need to conduct any major work in federal waters.
How much of the chill that we’re seeing is about active permitting denials, versus how much of it is developers being like, we don’t want to risk getting a permit denied, or asking for something that would be very normal to get a normal approval in the course of normal business operations, getting it rejected and then just being stuck. And so we’d rather just pause, not ask for anything for four years, and then come back and start asking again?
Jael Holzman: Offshore wind industry executives won’t say this on the record, but they have anonymously told me, in many words, that they view what is happening to them in the federal permitting system as not only a barometer check for where the energy transition is, but even broader, it is a risk, it is a challenge, it is a threat to integrity.
With respect to our federal permitting processes, generally what we’re seeing here is, I’ve had some folks in conservative energy circles compare it to the Keystone XL-ification of the energy sector, where the political party that doesn’t like a particular technology weaponizes the permitting system against one particular sector. Now, obviously, it’s politically advantageous for conservatives to describe it this way, but I actually find it to be very useful because what it means is as the politics becomes more fraught for the party in power around a technology, there’s increasingly a willingness to step beyond the realm of what the permitting system is legally supposed to do. And that’s a danger if it’s weaponized against an entire sector.
You know, Keystone pipeline, that was one project. It was exemplary — there was a lot of fervor around that one project — that is not an entire sector having the thumb put on its scale by political officials to derail it, especially one that had been a decade-plus in the works and is required for the energy grids to remain stable in various parts of our country. You know, what we’re seeing here is federal officials not even being willing to schedule meetings for permitting processes that are legally required under the law.
For example, my reporting indicated that at least one project that was prioritized under a permitting reform law to have at least an idea public and put out there for when they would expect to get all their permits — this was the Blue Point Wind offshore wind proposal off the coast of New England and New Jersey, New York. And what we’re seeing here is essentially the obscuring of even what permitting reform ostensibly was supposed to do, right?
There was this conversation in D.C. before Trump took office that maybe if you couple statutory reforms that streamline the processes that currently exist, and you put some sort of timetable into the statute, and you combine that with some gimmes to the oil and gas people, right, at least you could grease the skids enough to have everyone benefit. But my reporting on what’s happened to offshore wind has truly revealed that in many respects, “all of the above” is really a Lucy-with-the-football moment for many proponents of an energy transition.
Music for Shift Key is by Adam Kromelow.
The EV-maker is now a culture war totem, plus some AI.
During Alan Greenspan’s decade-plus run leading the Federal Reserve, investors and the financial media were convinced that there was a “Greenspan put” underlying the stock market. The basic idea was that if the markets fell too much or too sharply, the Fed would intervene and put a floor on prices analogous to a “put” option on a stock, which allows an investor to sell a stock at a specific price, even if it’s currently selling for less. The existence of this put — which was, to be clear, never a stated policy — was thought to push stock prices up, as it gave investors more confidence that their assets could only fall so far.
While current Fed Chair Jerome Powell would be loath to comment on a specific volatile security, we may be seeing the emergence of a kind of sociopolitical put for Tesla, one coming from the White House and conservative media instead of the Federal Reserve.
The company’s high-flying stock shed over $100 billion of value on Monday, falling around 15% and leaving the price down around 50% from its previous all-time high. While the market as a whole also swooned, especially high-value technology companies like Nvidia and Meta, Tesla was the worst hit. Analysts attributed the particularly steep fall to concerns that CEO Elon Musk was spending too much time in Washington, and that the politicization of the brand had made it toxic to buyers in Europe and among liberals in the United States.
Then the cavalry came in. Sean Hannity told his Fox News audience that he had bought a Model S, while President Donald Trump posted on Truth Social that “I’m going to buy a brand new Tesla tomorrow morning as a show of confidence and support for Elon Musk, a truly great American.” By this afternoon, Trump had turned the White House lawn into a sales floor for Musk’s electric vehicles. Tesla shares closed the day up almost 4%, while the market overall closed down after Trump and his advisors’ furious whiplash policy pronouncements on tariffs.
Whether the Tesla put succeeds remains to be seen. The stock is still well, well below its all-time highs, but it may confirm a new way to understand Tesla — not as a company that sells electric vehicles to people concerned about climate change, but rather as a conservative culture war totem that has also made sizable investments in artificial intelligence and robotics.
When Musk bought Twitter and devoted more of his time, energy, money, and public pronouncements to right wing politics, some observers thought that maybe he could lift the dreadful image of electric vehicles among Trump voters. But when Pew did a survey on public attitudes towards electric vehicles back in 2023, it found that “Democrats and Democratic-leaning independents, younger adults, and people living in urban areas are among the most likely to say they would consider purchasing an EV” — hardly a broad swathe of Trump’s America. More than two-thirds of Republicans surveyed said they weren’t interested in buying an electric car, compared to 30% of Democrats.
On the campaign trail, Trump regularly lambasted EVs, although by the end of the campaign, as Musk’s support became more voluminous, he’s lightened up a bit. In any case, the Biden administration’s pro-electric-vehicle policies were an early target for the Trump administration, and the consumer subsidies for EVs passed under the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act are widely considered to be one of the softest targets for repeal.
But newer data shows that the tide may be turning, not so much for electric vehicles, but likely for Tesla itself.
The Wall Street Journalreported survey data last week showing that only 13% of Democrats would consider buying a Tesla, down from 23% from August of 2023, while 26% of Republicans would consider buying a Tesla, up from 15%. Vehicle registration data cited by the Journal suggested a shift in new Tesla purchases from liberal urban areas such as New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, towards more conservative-friendly metropolises like Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, and Miami.
At the same time, many Tesla investors appear to be mostly seeing through the gyrations in the famously volatile stock and relatively unconcerned about month-to-month or quarter-to-quarter sales data. After all, even after the epic fall in Tesla’s stock price, the company is still worth over $700 billion, more than Toyota, General Motors, and Ford combined, each of which sells several times more cars per year than Tesla.
Many investors simply do not view Tesla as a luxury or mass market automaker, instead seeing it as an artificial intelligence and robotics company. When I speak to individual Tesla shareholders, they’re always telling me how great Full Self-Driving is, not how many cars they expect the company to sell in August. In many cases, Musk has made Tesla stockholders a lot of money, so they’re willing to cut him tremendous slack and generally believe that he has the future figured out.
Longtime Tesla investor Ron Baron, who bought hundreds of millions of dollars worth of shares from 2014 to 2016, told CNBC Tuesday morning, that Musk “believes that digitization [and] autonomy is going to be driving the future. And he thinks we’re … on the verge of having an era of incredible abundance.”Baron also committed that he hasn’t, won’t, and will never sell. “I’m the last in, I’ll be the last out. So I won’t sell a single share personally until I sell all the shares for clients, and that’s what I’ve done.”
Wedbush Securities’ Dan Ives, one of the biggest Tesla bulls on the street, has told clients that he expects Tesla’s valuation to exceed $2 trillion, and that its self-driving and robotics business “will represent 90% of the valuation.”
Another longtime Tesla bull, Morgan Stanley’s Adam Jonas, told clients in a note Monday that Tesla remained a “Top Pick,” and that his price target was still $430, compared to the stock’s $230.58 close price on the day. His bull case, he said, was $800, which would give the company a valuation over $2.5 trillion.
When the stock lags, Jonas wrote, investors see Tesla as a car company. “In December with the stock testing $500/share, the prevailing sentiment was that the company is an AI ‘winner’ with untapped exposure to embodied AI expressions such as humanoid robotics,” Jonas wrote. “Today with the stock down 50% our investor conversations are focused on management distraction, brand degradation and lost auto sales.”
In a note to clients Tuesday, Ives beseeched Musk to “step up as CEO,” and lamented that there has been “little to no sign of Musk at any Tesla factory or manufacturing facility the last two months.” But his bullishness for Tesla was undaunted. He argued that the scheduled launch of unsupervised Full Self-Driving in June “kicks off the autonomous era at Tesla that we value at $1 trillion alone on a sum-of-the-parts valuation.”
“Autonomous will be the biggest transformation to the auto industry in modern day history,” Ives wrote, “and in our view Tesla will own the autonomous market in the U.S. and globally.”
The most effective put of all may not be anything Trump says or does, but rather investors’ optimism about the future — as long as it’s Elon Musk’s future.
The uncertainty created by Trump’s erratic policymaking could not have come at a worse time for the industry.
This is the second story in a Heatmap series on the “green freeze” under Trump.
Climate tech investment rode to record highs during the Biden administration, supercharged by a surge in ESG investing and net-zero commitments, the passage of the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act and Inflation Reduction Act, and at least initially, low interest rates. Though the market had already dropped somewhat from its recent peak, climate tech investors told me that the Trump administration is now shepherding in a detrimental overcorrection. The president’s fossil fuel-friendly rhetoric, dubiously legal IIJA and IRA funding freezes, and aggressive tariffs, have left climate tech startups in the worst possible place: a state of deep uncertainty.
“Uncertainty is the enemy of economic progress,” Andrew Beebe, managing director at Obvious Ventures, told me.
The lack of clarity is understandably causing investors to throw on the brakes. “We’ve talked internally about, let’s be a little bit more cautious, let’s be a little more judicious with our dollars right now,” Gabriel Kra, co-founder at the climate tech firm Prelude Ventures, told me. “We’re not out in the market, but I would think this would be a really tough time to try and go out and raise a new fund.”
This reluctance comes at a particularly bad time for climate tech startups, many of which are now reaching a point where they are ready to scale up and build first-of-a-kind infrastructure projects and factories. That takes serious capital, the kind that wasn’t as necessary during Trump’s first term, or even much of Biden’s, when many of these companies were in a more nascent research and development or proof-of-concept stage.
I also heard from investors that the pace of Trump’s actions and the extent of the economic upheaval across every sector feels unique this time around. “We’re entering a pretty different economic construct,” Beebe told me, citing the swirling unknowns around how Trump’s policies will impact economic indicators such as inflation and interest rates. “We haven’t seen this kind of economic warfare in decades,” he said.
Even before Trump took office, it was notoriously difficult for climate companies to raise funding in the so-called “missing middle,” when startups are too mature for early-stage venture capital but not mature enough for traditional infrastructure investors to take a bet on them. This is exactly the point at which government support — say, a loan guarantee from the Department of Energy’s Loan Programs Office or a grant from the DOE’s Office of Clean Energy Demonstrations — could be most useful in helping a company prove its commercial viability.
But now that Trump has frozen funding — even some that’s been contractually obligated — companies are left with fewer options than ever to reach scale.
One investor who wished to remain anonymous in order to speak more openly told me that “a lot of the missing middle companies are living in a dicier world.” A 2023 white paper on “capital imbalances in the energy transition” from S2G Investments, a firm that supports both early-stage and growth-stage companies, found that from 2017 to 2022, only 20% of climate capital flowed toward companies at this critical inflection point, while 43% went to early-stage companies and 37% towards established technologies. For companies at this precarious growth stage, a funding delay on the order of months could be the difference between life and death, the investor added. Many of these companies may also be reliant on debt financing, they explained. “Unless they’ve been extremely disciplined, they could run into a situation where they’re just not able to service that debt.”
The months or even years that it could take for Trump’s rash funding rescission to wind through the courts will end up killing some companies, Beebe told me. “And unfortunately, that’s what people on the other side of this debate would like, is just to litigate and escalate. And even if they ultimately lose, they’ve won, because startups just don’t have the balance sheets that big companies would,” he explained.
Kra’s Prelude Ventures has a number of prominent companies in its portfolio that have benefitted from DOE grants. This includes Electric Hydrogen, which received a $43.3 million DOE grant to scale electrolyzer manufacturing; Form Energy, which received $150 million to help build a long-duration battery storage manufacturing plant; Boston Metal, which was awarded $50 million for a green steel facility; and Heirloom, which is a part of the $600 million Project Cypress Direct Air Capture hub. DOE funding is often doled out in tranches, with some usually provided upfront and further payments tied to specific project milestones. So even if a grant has officially been awarded, that doesn’t mean all of the funding has been disbursed, giving the Trump administration an opening to break government contracts and claw it back.
Kra told me that a few of his firm’s companies were on the verge of securing government funding before Trump took office, or have a project in the works that is now on hold. “We and the board are working closely with those companies to figure out what to do,” he told me. “If the mandates or supports aren’t there for that company, you’ve got to figure out how to make that cash last a bunch longer so you can still meet some commercially meaningful milestones.”
In this environment, Kra said his firm will be taking a closer look at companies that claim they will be able to attract federal funds. “Let’s make sure we understand what they can do without that non-dilutive capital, without those grants, without that project level support,” he told me, noting that “several” companies in his portfolio will also be impacted by Trump’s ever-changing tariffs on imports from Canada, Mexico, and China. Prelude Ventures is working with its portfolio companies to figure how to “smooth out the hit,” Kra told me later via email, but inevitably the tariffs “will affect the prices consumers pay in the short and long run.”
While investors can’t avoid the impacts of all government policies and impulses, the growth-stage firm G2 Venture Partners has long tried to inoculate itself against the vicissitudes of government financing. “None of our companies actually have any exposure to DOE loans,” Brook Porter, a partner and co-founder at G2, told me in an email, nor have they received government grants. If you add up the revenue from all of the companies in G2’s portfolio, which is made up mainly of sustainability-focused startups, only about 3% “has any exposure to the IRA,” Porter told me. So even if the law’s generous clean energy tax credits are slashed or the programs it supports are left to languish, G2’s companies will likely soldier on.
Then there are the venture capitalists themselves. Many of the investors I spoke with emphasized that not all firms will have the ability or will to weather this storm. “I definitely believe many generalist funds who dabbled in climate will pull back,” Beebe told me. Porter agreed. “The generalists are much more interested in AI, then I think in climate,” he said. It’s not as if there’s been a rash of generalist investors announcing pullbacks, though Kra told me he knows of “a couple of firms” that are rethinking their climate investment strategies, potentially opting to fold these investments under an umbrella category such as “hard tech” instead of highlighting a sectoral focus on energy or climate, specifically.
Last month, the investment firm Coatue, which has about $70 billion in assets under management, raised around $250 million for a climate-focused fund, showing it’s not all doom and gloom for the generalists’ climate ambitions. But Porter told me this is exactly the type of large firm he wouldexpect to back out soon, citing Tiger Global Management and Softbank as others that started investing heavily during climate tech’s boom years from 2020 to 2022 that he could imagine winding down that line of business.
Strategic investors such as oil companies have also been quick to dial back their clean energy ambitions and refocus their sights on the fossil fuels championed by the Trump administration. “Corporate venture is very cyclical,” Beebe told me, explaining that large companies tend to make venture investments when they have excess budget or when a sector looks hot, but tighten the purse strings during periods of uncertainty.
But Cody Simms, a managing partner at the climate tech investment firm MCJ, told me that at the moment, he actually sees the corporate venture ecosystem as “quite strong and quite active.” The firm’s investments include the low-carbon cement company Sublime Systems, which last year got strategic backing from two of the world’s largest building materials companies, and the methane capture company Windfall Bio, which has received strategic funding from Amazon’s Climate Pledge Fund. Simms noted that this momentum could represent an overexuberance among corporations who just recently stood up their climate-focused venture arms, and “we’ll see if it continues into the next few years.”
Notably, Sublime and Windfall Bio both also have millions in DOE grants, and another of MCJ’s portfolio companies, bio-based chemicals maker Solugen, has a “conditional commitment” from the LPO for a loan guarantee of over $200 million. Since that money isn’t yet obligated, there’s a good chance it might never actually materialize, which could stall construction on the company’s in-progress biomanufacturing facility.
Simms told me that the main thing he’s encouraging MCJ’s portfolio companies to do at this stage is to contact their local representatives — not to advocate for climate action in general, but rather “to push on the very specific tax credit that they are planning to use and to talk about how it creates jobs locally in their districts.”
Getting startups to shift the narrative away from decarbonization and climate and toward their multitudinous co-benefits — from energy security to supply chain resilience — is of course a strategy many are already deploying to one degree or another. And investors were quick to remind me that the landscape may not be quite as bleak as it appears.
“We’ve made more investments, and we have a pipeline of more attractive investments now than we have in the last couple of years,” Porter told me. That’s because in spite of whatever havoc the Trump administration is wreaking, a lot of climate tech companies are reaching a critical juncture that could position the sector overall for “a record number of IPOs this year and next,” Porter said. The question is, “will these macro uncertainties — political, economic, financial uncertainty — hold companies back from going public?”
As with so many economic downturns and periods of instability, investors also see this as a moment for the true blue startups and venture capitalists to prove their worth and business acumen in an environment that’s working against them. “Now we have the hardcore founders, the people who really are driven by building economically viable, long-term, massively impactful companies, and the investors who understand the markets very well, coming together around clean business models that aren’t dependent on swinging from one subsidy vine to the next subsidy vine,” Beebe told me.
“There is no opportunity that’s an absolute no, even in this current situation, across the entire space,” the anonymous climate tech investor told me. “And so this might be one of the most important points — I won’t say a high point, necessarily — but it might be a moment of truth that the energy transition needs to embrace.”