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The Department of Energy is giving the green light to Project Cypress, a cluster of facilities in southwest Louisiana that will filter carbon dioxide directly from the air and store it underground. The agency announced Wednesday that it will award the project $50 million for the next phase of its development, which will be matched by $51 million in private investment.
Before receiving any money, the Project Cypress team had to reach an agreement with the DOE regarding how they would engage with community and labor stakeholders. The result, also released Wednesday, was a series of commitments — for example, to assemble a community advisory board, to partner with local workforce development organizations, and to create a public website with project information.
The developers have yet to provide a list of more concrete, measurable benefits the project will bring to the community. This was more like a plan to make a plan that will have robust community input. That the project sits near Lake Charles, home to some of the most contested energy projects in the country, will not make the next steps easy, however.
The funding is part of a $3.5 billion program authorized by Congress in the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law to create four such “direct air capture hubs” around the country in an effort to help commercialize the nascent technology. This is the first award the DOE has handed out after selecting Project Cypress last August as one of two hubs it would consider supporting. A second hub under development by Occidental Petroleum in South Texas is still in negotiations with the agency and has yet to receive funding.
Once it’s fully operational, Project Cypress is designed to capture 1 million tons of carbon from the air per year, employing two different technological approaches to do so.
The first, developed by the Swiss startup Climeworks, uses fans to draw air into metal boxes containing a material called a sorbent that attracts carbon dioxide molecules. Then it heats the sorbent, which releases the CO2 so that it can be stored.
The second approach, pioneered by a California-based company called Heirloom, involves crushing and cooking limestone so that it becomes calcium oxide, a white powder that’s thirsty for CO2. Heirloom lays the powder out on trays, where it binds with carbon dioxide in the air. Then it bakes the powder in an electric kiln to remove the CO2.
Both companies say they will use renewable energy to power their respective processes. To lock the carbon away underground, they are partnering with a company called Gulf Coast Sequestration which has applied for permits to drill two CO2 storage wells on a vast, privately-owned cattle and horse ranch in West Calcasieu Parish. After the carbon is captured, it will be liquified and delivered by pipeline to a well, where it will be injected into porous sandstone about 10,000 feet below the Earth’s surface.
With this award, the project will enter the second of four implementation phases, during which the companies will finalize the project’s design, engage with area residents and stakeholders to complete a community benefits plan, and start on the permitting process.
Phase two will not be quick — it’s expected to last two to three years. Then the companies will begin negotiating with the DOE for funding for phases three — construction — and four — the ramp-up to full-scale operation. The DOE has structured the DAC Hubs program with off-ramps at the start of each phase, allowing the agency to deny additional funding to a project if it finds that it is not meeting previously agreed-upon objectives. But if all goes well, Project Cypress is eligible for up to $600 million.
The Carbon Removal Alliance, a group that lobbies for policies to support what it calls “high quality carbon removal,” sees this award as a “fresh start” for the Department of Energy in that it shows the agency moving beyond its traditional role of funding research and development to commercializing technologies.
“With official funding beginning to flow into states like Louisiana and backed by robust community benefits plans to ensure the highest standards, we’re about to see how technologies like direct air capture can provide positive benefits to our economies and environment,” said Giana Amador, the executive director of the Carbon Removal Alliance.
Members of the community, however, are skeptical that the project will benefit them.
The industrial history of Calcasieu Parish is both an asset and a curse for Project Cypress. The area is home to a high concentration of refineries, petrochemical plants, and liquified natural gas terminals. The developers chose the location because it had a local workforce with relevant skills and the right geology to trap carbon underground, but the residents’ trust will be hard-won after decades of living in one of the most polluted corridors in the country, where news of toxic spills and leaks is common. Many residents have spent the last few years furiously fighting the buildout of several new LNG plants that are expected to increase pollution even more.
One of those activists is James Hiatt, a former refinery worker based in Sulphur, Louisiana. About a year ago, Hiatt founded a group called For A Better Bayou because he wanted to build a grassroots movement to reimagine the future of Louisiana — to be for something, not just against heavy industry.
“I want people to really imagine and embrace an alternative future for ourselves,” he told me. But to him, direct air capture is not it. “I wish I was so sold on it, like this is the way forward and I could get behind it and we could be like oh yeah, let's do this,” he told me. “But it just does not add up for me.”
When the project developers and the DOE held a meeting for stakeholders last November, Hiatt said, even attendees who worked in the oil and gas and petrochemical industries expressed doubts about the plan.
Hiatt shared a few videos from the meeting with me. One speaker questioned whether the jobs created would truly go to people from the area. This is not the first time a company has come in promising jobs and economic growth, only to hire workers from Alabama or Texas. Another speaker called the idea of a community benefits plan a way to “distract the community” from the risks of the project, which the companies have yet to define. (A preliminary list published Wednesday included things like increased traffic and noise during construction, risk of leakage during the transport or storage of the CO2, and energy and water use.) Others implored the companies not to seek property tax breaks, which divert revenue away from schools and social services.
When Project Cypress was first announced, the developers said it would create “approximately 2,300 quality jobs and generate a billion-dollar economic stimulus in the region, with increased opportunities for local contractors, suppliers, and small businesses.” The project also has a stated goal of hiring at least 10% of its workforce from the local fossil fuel and plastics industries.
But beyond that, its intentions are vague. The list of commitments published on Wednesday included lots of plans — i.e., a plan to create a “Site Labor and Workforce Development plan” which will “describe plans to provide equal access to jobs for local residents for construction and operations” — but few concrete actions or outcomes, yet.
Hiatt is especially skeptical that the carbon will stay underground and is worried about leaks. But perhaps more than that, the math of it all doesn’t make sense to him. Project Cypress might capture a million tons of CO2 from the air per year, but Louisiana alone releases more than 200 million tons annually, and is still approving new emissions-intensive facilities like those LNG plants. “Even if we scale this up, we'd have to scale it up orders of magnitude higher than will ever be possible,” he told me. “It doesn't seem like it's worth the time or the money to be doing this when we should be reducing the emissions to start with.”
There are many hurdles to scaling up direct air capture, but overcoming this cognitive dissonance is one of the trickiest. Ultimately, the goal of the project is not to offset Louisiana’s emissions. It’s to demonstrate a technology that could eventually, if we develop the right incentives to support it, clean up carbon that’s already in the atmosphere. But believing in that vision demands that people also see a world where emissions will start to decline — one that’s perhaps not yet apparent in Lake Charles.
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We didn’t know days like this could happen. Then we learned how bad they really are.
When I woke up this morning in Chicago, the Air Quality Index was in the 300s, and I could barely see the top of the skyscraper across the street. The weather app on my phone featured a little image of a man wearing a World War I-style full-face gas mask. That’s fun, I thought. I didn’t know it could do that.
I went downstairs. Old photographs of the city were hanging in the hotel lobby — girls playing in bathing suits next to the lake — and I realized that the haze shrouding the old Lakeshore Drive condos was in fact haze, smoke, particulate matter, and not a lens artifact. It really used to be that smoky all the time, back before the Clean Air Act. Then I glanced up and saw that the haze out the window was far worse than the century-old pollution in the picture.
It’s significant, I think, that a mass smoke-out like this has now happened to the eastern U.S. for a second time. Second times matter. When exhaust from Canadian wildfires blanketed the Northeast and parts of the Midwest in June 2023, exposing more Americans to wildfire smoke than on any previous day in history, one could almost write it off as a freak occurrence. It was upsetting, sure, and reminiscent of California’s climate-addled amber skies. But didn’t wildfire smoke also descend on New England once in the 1780s? Even on a warmer planet, couldn’t this remain a once-in-a-century blip?
Twice in just over three years, though — that‘s more than a hiccup. That’s almost a trend. To get smoked out once may be regarded as a misfortune; for it to recur again, without any plan to respond, starts to look like carelessness. The federal government is doing roughly diddly squat about adaptation — President Trump can build a fan on the border and make Canada pay for it — but state and local governments across the eastern U.S. will now need to reckon with a new form of extreme weather. You grew up with snow days, but now we’ll have smoke days — and schools and sports leagues and concert venues will need rules about how to deal with them. When should games be canceled, tickets refunded? Is smoke more like a heat wave or a hurricane? Hotels and office buildings will need to review their ventilation policies and possibly upgrade their equipment; municipal emergency response plans will be revised and printed in triplicate.
All this will happen because the smoke has invaded a second time — and arguably a third, if you count last year’s minor episode — and that means it could come back again. For that reason, this event strikes me as a much bigger deal than what happened in 2023. The smoke is now a fact of life; institutions will need a policy about it. The tortious creep of litigation risk will enforce that outcome, even if no federal official enforces it.
So it goes. But to be clear, this new inconvenience is not what worries me most about today’s events. No, what frightens me instead is that today’s airborne toxic event is not something that was supposed to happen. Until a few years ago, we had not thought too hard about whether a major smoke exposure event like this could happen on the East Coast at all. It had not seemed possible.
For years, economists and climate scientists have simulated how global warming might affect the U.S. and global economies. They poured years of careful work into this modeling, and they simulated — with ever-increasing levels of statistical persnicketiness — what extreme heat and sea-level rise might do to agricultural yield, labor productivity, energy demand, heat mortality, and real estate values, among other potential sources of damage. This work was useful; it improved our practical understanding of coastal flooding, to name one example. It also helped calibrate U.S. regulatory policy, even if it never achieved the crowning heights of helping to set a national carbon tax.
Yet these careful models almost never accounted for mass smoke exposure days. Indeed, the kind of thing that happened this week — when heavy haze blows down from Canada and exposes more than 100 million people to hazardous air — was not countenanced by the simulations at all. Only in recent years did economists begin to study events like these, and only because mass exposure events like 2023’s happened first.
We’ve long known that the tiny shreds of particulate matter in wildfire smoke dance across the body’s barriers and penetrate its deep places, etching their way into lung, heart, and brain tissue. Inflammation follows. What makes days like today unique is the scale: Tens of millions of Americans inhaling wildfire smoke at the same time. As we’ve started studying this phenomenon, it’s become clear that the mortality effects of days like today, the deaths elevated above what you’d otherwise expect, can persist for years. That becomes extraordinarily expensive for society.
How costly? “When monetized,” a group of Stanford and Princeton economists wrote in Nature last year, in the first major study on the topic, “the climate-driven smoke deaths result in economic damages that exceed existing estimates of climate-driven damages from all other causes combined in the U.S.A.”
You read that right: The cost of climate-worsened wildfire smoke alone is larger than what earlier studies said every other estimated cost of climate change would be, combined.
To summarize, wildfire smoke did not appear in our economic simulations of climate change. As recently as a few years ago, we did not really know that days like today — or June 7, 2023; or September 15, 2020; or September 9, 2020 — could occur. Then they happened. And happened again. And then we studied them and discovered that, in fact, they may be more expensive for the U.S. economy than we once thought climate change itself would be.
That worries me. Now we know these smoke-out days can happen; now they are fast becoming a rare but predictable feature of summer life. But until recently they were unimaginable. What other ignominies, what other tail risks and airborne surprises, are lurking in the uncontrolled experiment we’re running on the biosphere? What else — unforecast, unmodeled, unstudied, unthought of — lies ahead? After 10 years of covering the climate system, I am not someone who lies sleepless fretting about atmospheric CO2. But I do wonder what else we don’t know enough about to ask.
“Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side!”
Protestors interrupted one of the final sessions of PNW Climate Week — a conference that brings together climate leaders across Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia — objecting to Microsoft’s rising carbon emissions from data centers and partnerships with oil and gas companies. The company’s Chief Sustainability Officer Melanie Nakagawa was having a one on one conversation with GeekWire climate reporter Lisa Stiffler at Seattle’s City Hall when protestors carrying signs reading “Microsoft’s AI pollutes” and other slogans began shouting from the audience.
I was there, having just moderated the prior panel on how to finance Washington’s clean energy ambitions. Early on there were some rumblings in the crowd from up front. “Climate leaders don’t build gas pipelines in Moses Lake,” was the first objection I heard clearly. It came shortly after Nakagawa kicked off the conversation by highlighting Microsoft’s partnership with sustainable aviation fuel startup Twelve, which recently opened its first commercial-scale SAF plant in Moses Lake, Washington. The tech giant has supported the project through a strategic investment from its Climate Innovation Fund, as well as an offtake agreement for the fuel that will help offset its emissions from employee travel.
Whether Microsoft is building a gas pipeline in this particular community I haven’t been able to determine, though it seems irrelevant to Twelve’s SAF facility, which doesn’t rely on natural gas. But it is true that Microsoft is one of the largest power consumers in Grant County, Washington, home to Moses Lake, where a natural gas pipeline operator is looking to expand its network to accommodate data center load growth.
Another audience interruption was more pointed. “How does signing a 20-year deal with Chevron help you reach your clean energy goals?,” one protestor asked, referring to Microsoft's recently announced power purchase agreement with Chevron for nearly 2.7 gigawatts of natural gas-fired power to supply a West Texas data center. The project represents one of the largest gas-powered artificial intelligence developments in the U.S., and Stiffler acknowledged that she had been planning to ask about it, herself.
Nakagawa answered the question. at least in part, saying “that project with Chevron is initially using natural gas and it’s a natural gas contract,” before emphasizing that the company has built “over 4.5 gigawatts of clean energy already today,” and remains committed to balancing speed-to-power with its clean energy goals. She added that, “with this deal in particular, we’re looking at a range of tools in our toolbox to ensure that we can continue to grow our power, but also do so in a way that is responsible and sustainable.” She stopped short, however, of making any commitments to transitioning the project to renewable energy over time.
The session became more chaotic from there. Another protestor stood up, shouting that “Microsoft is enabling genocide in Palestine.” Other activists joined in, while still other audience members shouted back. As Nakagawa recovered and resumed answering a question from Stiffler about Microsoft’s recent decision to pause its carbon removal purchases after years of dominating the nascent industry, protestors throughout the crowd began a chant of “Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side.” Security eventually shepherded many of them out.
Stiffler continued speaking with Nakawaga about the company’s clean energy efforts, touching on many of the protestors’ concerns as she asked about community opposition to data centers, the role of large corporations in the clean energy transition, and whether Microsoft can realistically achieve its goal of becoming carbon negative by 2030.
Nakawaga emphasized that the company must, “first and foremost, listen to where the communities are and what they are calling for.” Regarding the concerns she hears most often, she explained that “first has been transparency. Second has been around resource uses and what are we doing about those resource uses. We’re hearing about jobs and employment and investments in education, investments in housing.”
If this session was any indication, those concerns won’t go away anytime soon.
Heat kills more Americans than any other extreme weather event in the United States. But wildfire smoke — while not strictly “weather” — appears to kill even more. Current excess death estimates put American heat mortality at about 10,000 people per year, or possibly as high as 12,000. Recent studies on wildfire PM 2.5 exposure suggest a mortality of double that: 24,000 all-cause deaths every year.
Needless to say, wildfire smoke is definitely not something you want to inhale if you can avoid it. (And really, you should try to.) But for the 115 million Americans in the Great Lakes and Northeast regions of the country who’ve been exposed to hazardous air from the fires in Ontario and Minnesota this week, there’s a chance that the damage is already done. According to a wildfire smoke mortality estimation tool from Cornell University’s School of Public Health and the Northeast Regional Climate Center, the total mortality for this smoke event could already be as high as 424 people so far, including nearly 100 in Michigan and more than 50 in both New York and Wisconsin.
Alistair Hayden, an assistant professor of practice in Cornell’s Department of Public and Ecosystem Health, stressed to me that the tool is a “first draft,” and that his team is still working on getting it peer-reviewed. “We intend it as a hypothesis that people can test in the coming weeks or months to confirm our numbers,” Hayden told me. “I’m really hoping to be proven wrong.”
But Hayden also emphasized that while the West Coast might historically be where many smoke-related deaths have occurred, “this is the third out of four years [in the Northeast] that we’re having the smoke, so it seems like something we should be planning for,” he said. “It reminds me of that saying: ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”
Admittedly, the smoke this week is a bit of a freak occurrence. A cooler-than-average sea surface pattern across the North Pacific, known as a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation, helped produce weak low-pressure areas in the northwestern part of the United States, which in turn allowed for heat domes to develop across the Southwest and Plains. After one did just that earlier this month, the hot, high-pressure dome then shifted north, where it developed “dryness across Canada, followed by the lightning-producing thunderstorms,” Chad Merrill, a senior meteorologist at AccuWeather, told me. Then, boom: widespread fires.
“It is very unusual to have a combination of an El Niño and a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation,” Merrill went on. “That’s one of the unusual factors this year, which contributed to the heat dome being farther north in that particular position.” The heat dome and jet stream then worked together to direct the thick smoke down into some of the most populous regions of Canada and the U.S.
That’s what makes this particular smoke event so bad. Were the smoke blowing over remote regions of Canada, as it would under more usual conditions, “then the big cities and the Great Lakes wouldn’t experience the smoke; it would have gone north toward the Hudson Bay and then Greenland,” Merrill said. In fact, the Canadian fire season is tracking below average overall; it’s the meteorological conditions that made this week’s smoke events, as one outlet put it, “the perfect storm.”
Wildfire smoke in the region is not historically anomalous, however. A 1903 article in The New York Times describes a “yellow day” similar to smoky events in 1894, 1881, and earlier. But large-scale burns in Canada’s dense, remote boreal, which produce more smoke, are increasing. Though it’s difficult to attribute any one wildfire directly to climate change because of the complex nature of such events, we do know that fire weather is becoming more common with the warming of the atmosphere from greenhouse gas emissions. As modeled by Zeke Hausfather in the Friday edition of his newsletter The Climate Brink, “hotter, drier seasons burn the most” in Canada — and “recent years cluster there” as the country has outpaced the global average in warming.
But as Hausfather also writes, “While overall area burned is the climate-linked trend, who breathes the smoke on a given week in July is mostly driven by the weather.” This is similar to the way that, though it may be a quiet year in the Atlantic, it only takes one hurricane making landfall in the right (or wrong) spot for the season to be remembered as catastrophic.
On the other hand, as foolish as it might be for the Central Plains and East Coast to still believe smoke is the exclusive domain of Westerners, it is also a mistake to assume smoke only comes from without. As I reported earlier this year, the Eastern half of the country has seen a 10-fold jump in the frequency of large burns over the last 40 years. Nowhere is safe from the smoke.
Planning and preparation, then, should be paramount. But as Grist learned last month, there are no established Air Quality Index numbers that would trigger the postponement, relocation, or cancellation of, say, a FIFA World Cup game, including the final, which is set to be played in New Jersey on Sunday. White House officials are reportedly meeting with FIFA’s president on Friday to discuss contingencies, given the unhealthy air quality in the region.
Which brings us back to Hayden’s modeling. He offered a note of optimism in that research by Stanford’s Sam Heft-Neal and his colleagues indicates that emergency room visits do not rise in tandem with increasing wildfire smoke. “As smoke gets bad, the health impacts get bigger. But then as smoke gets worse and worse, the amount of health impacts actually goes down, measured for emergency room visits,” Hayden said. “The idea is that people modify their behavior in higher smoke” — say, by staying indoors, wearing masks, or canceling outdoor events.
It’s time to treat smoke as an East Coast phenomenon, in other words. Doing so will save lives. “Will [smoke events] become more frequent in the future? Most likely we will see a recurrence,” Merrill, the meteorologist, told me. “How often they happen is yet to be determined.”