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Inside Climeworks’ big experiment to wrest carbon from the air

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

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

The air is more humid and sulfurous at the site in Iceland than in Switzerland, where Climeworks had built an earlier, smaller-scale model, so the team is also learning how to optimize the technology for different weather. Within all this troubleshooting, there’s additional trade-offs to explore and lessons to learn. If a part keeps breaking, does it make more sense to plan to replace it periodically, or to redesign it? How do supply chain constraints play into that calculus?
The company is also performing tests regularly, said Keusch. For example, the team has tested new component designs at Orca that it now plans to incorporate into Climeworks’ next project from the start. (Last year, the company began construction on “Mammoth,” a new plant that will be nine times larger than Orca, on a neighboring site.) At a summit that Climeworks hosted in June, co-founder Jan Wurzbacher said the company believes that over the next decade, it will be able to make its direct air capture system twice as small and cut its energy consumption in half.
“In innovation lingo, the jargon is we haven’t converged on a dominant design,” Gregory Nemet, a professor at the University of Wisconsin who studies technological development, told me. For example, in the wind industry, turbines with three blades, upwind design, and a horizontal axis, are now standard. “There were lots of other experiments before that convergence happened in the late 1980s,” he said. “So that’s kind of where we are with direct air capture. There’s lots of different ways that are being tried right now, even within a company like Climeworks."
Although Climeworks was willing to tell me about the goings-on at Orca over the last two years, the company declined to share how much carbon it has captured or how much energy, on average, the process has used.
Gosalvez told me that the plant’s performance has improved month after month, and that more detailed information was shared with investors. But she was hesitant to make the data public, concerned that it could be misinterpreted, because tests and maintenance at Orca require the plant to shut down regularly.
“Expectations are not in line with the stage of the technology development we are at. People expect this to be turnkey,” she said. “What does success look like? Is it the absolute numbers, or the learnings and ability to scale?”
Danny Cullenward, a climate economist and consultant who has studied the integrity of various carbon removal methods, did not find the company’s reluctance to share data especially concerning. “For these earliest demonstration facilities, you might expect people to hit roadblocks or to have to shut the plant down for a couple of weeks, or do all sorts of things that are going to make it hard to transparently report the efficiency of your process, the number of tons you’re getting at different times,” he told me.
But he acknowledged that there was an inherent tension to the stance, because ultimately, Climeworks’ business model — and the technology’s effectiveness as a climate solution — depend entirely on the ability to make precise, transparent, carbon accounting claims.
Nemet was also of two minds about it. Carbon removal needs to go from almost nothing today to something like a billion tons of carbon removed per year in just three decades, he said. That’s a pace on the upper end of what’s been observed historically with other technologies, like solar panels. So it’s important to understand whether Climeworks’ tech has any chance of meeting the moment. Especially since the company faces competition from a number of others developing direct air capture technologies, like Heirloom and Occidental Petroleum, that may be able to do it cheaper, or faster.
However, Nemet was also sympathetic to the position the company was in. “It’s relatively incremental how these technologies develop,” he said. “I have heard this criticism that this is not a real technology because we haven’t built it at scale, so we shouldn’t depend on it. Or that one of these plants not doing the removal that it said it would do shows that it doesn’t work and that we therefore shouldn’t plan on having it available. To me, that’s a pretty high bar to cross with a climate mitigation technology that could be really useful.”
More data on Orca is coming. Climeworks recently announced that it will work with the company Puro.Earth to certify every ton of CO2 that it removes from the atmosphere and stores underground, in order to sell carbon credits based on this service. The credits will be listed on a public registry.
But even if Orca eventually runs at full capacity, Climeworks will never be able to sell 4,000 carbon credits per year from the plant. Gosalvez clarified that 4,000 tons is the amount of carbon the plant is designed to suck up annually, but the more important number is the amount of “net” carbon removal it can produce. “That might be the first bit of education you need to get out there,” she said, “because it really invites everyone to look at what are the key drivers to be paid attention to.”
She walked me through a chart that illustrated the various ways in which some of Orca’s potential to remove carbon can be lost. First, there’s the question of availability — how often does the plant have to shut down due to maintenance or power shortages? Climeworks aims to limit those losses to 10%. Next, there’s the recovery stage, where the CO2 is separated from the sorbent, purified, and liquified. Gosalvez said it’s basically impossible to do this without losing some CO2. At best, the company hopes to limit that to 5%.
Finally, the company also takes into account “gray emissions,” or the carbon footprint associated with the business, like the materials, the construction, and the eventual decommissioning of the plant and restoration of the site to its former state. If one of Climeworks’ plants ever uses energy from fossil fuels (which the company has said it does not plan to do) it would incorporate any emissions from that energy. Climeworks aims to limit gray emissions to 15%.
In the end, Orca’s net annual carbon removal capacity — the amount Climeworks can sell to customers — is really closer to 3,000 tons. Gosalvez hopes other carbon removal companies adopt the same approach. “Ultimately what counts is your net impact on the planet and the atmosphere,” she said.
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Despite being a first-of-its-kind demonstration plant — and an active research site — Orca is also a commercial project. In fact, Gosalvez told me that Orca’s entire estimated capacity for carbon removal, over the 12 years that the plant is expected to run, sold out shortly after it began operating. The company is now selling carbon removal services from its yet-to-be-built Mammoth plant.
In January, Climeworks announced that Orca had officially fulfilled orders from Microsoft, Stripe, and Shopify. Those companies have collectively asked Climeworks to remove more than 16,000 tons of carbon, according to the deal-tracking site cdr.fyi, but it’s unclear what portion of that was delivered. The achievement was verified by a third party, but the total amount removed was not made public.
Climeworks has also not disclosed how much it has charged companies per ton of carbon, a metric that will eventually be an important indicator of whether the technology can scale to a climate-relevant level. But it has provided rough estimates of how much it expects each ton of carbon removal to cost as the technology scales — expectations which seem to have shifted after two years of operating Orca.
In 2021, Climeworks co-founder Jan Wurzbacher said the company aimed to get the cost down to $200 to $300 per ton removed by the end of the decade, with steeper declines in subsequent years. But at the summit in June, he presented a new cost curve chart showing that the price was currently more than $1,000, and that by the end of the decade, it would fall to somewhere between $400 to $700. The range was so large because the cost of labor, energy, and storing the CO2 varied widely by location, he said. The company aims to get the price down to $100 to $300 per ton by 2050, when the technology has significantly matured.
Critics of carbon removal technologies often point to the vast sums flowing into direct air capture tech like Orca, which are unlikely to make a meaningful difference in climate change for decades to come. During a time when worsening disasters make action feel increasingly urgent, many are skeptical of the value of investing limited funds and political energy into these future solutions. Carbon removal won’t make much of a difference if the world doesn’t deploy the tools already available to reduce emissions as rapidly as possible — and there’s certainly not enough money or effort going into that yet.
But we’ll never have the option to fully halt climate change, let alone begin reversing it, if we don’t develop solutions like Orca. In September, the International Energy Agency released an update to its seminal net-zero report. The new analysis said that in the last two years, the world had, in fact, made significant progress on innovation. Now, some 65% of emission reductions after 2030 could be accounted for with technologies that had reached market uptake. It even included a line about the launch of Orca, noting that Climeworks’ direct air capture technology had moved from the prototype to the demonstration stage.
But it cautioned that DAC needs “to be scaled up dramatically to play the role envisaged,” in the net zero scenario. Climeworks’ experience with Orca offers a glimpse of how much work is yet to be done.
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Microsoft dominated this year.
It’s been a quiet year for carbon dioxide removal, the nascent industry trying to lower the concentration of carbon already trapped in the atmosphere.
After a stretch as the hottest thing in climate tech, the CDR hype cycle has died down. 2025 saw fewer investments and fewer big projects or new companies announced.
This story isn’t immediately apparent if you look at the sales data for carbon removal credits, which paints 2025 as a year of breakout growth. CDR companies sold nearly 30 million tons of carbon removal, according to the leading industry database, CDR.fyi — more than three times the amount sold in 2024. But that topline number hides a more troubling reality — about 90% of those credits were bought by a single company: Microsoft.
If you exclude Microsoft, the total volume of carbon removal purchased this year actually declined by about 100,000 tons. This buyer concentration is the continuation of a trend CDR.fyi observed in its 2024 Year In Review report, although non-Microsoft sales had grown a bit that year compared to 2023.
Trump’s crusade against climate action has likely played a role in the market stasis of this year. Under the Biden administration, federal investment in carbon removal research, development, and deployment grew to new heights. Biden’s Securities and Exchange Commission was also getting ready to require large companies to disclose their greenhouse gas emissions and climate targets, a move that many expected to increase demand for carbon credits. But Trump’s SEC scrapped the rule, and his agency heads have canceled most of the planned investments. (At the time of publication, the two direct air capture projects that Biden’s Department of Energy selected to receive up to $1.2 billion have not yet had their contracts officially terminated, despite both showing up on a leaked list of DOE grant cancellations in October.)
Trump’s overall posture on climate change reduced pressure on companies to act, which probably contributed to there being fewer new buyers entering the carbon removal market, Robert Hoglund, a carbon removal advisor who co-founded CDR.fyi, told me. “I heard several companies say that, yeah, we wouldn't have been able to do this commitment this year. We're glad that we made it several years ago,” he told me.
Kyle Harrison, a carbon markets analyst at BloombergNEF, told me he didn’t view Microsoft’s dominance in the market as a bad sign. In the early days of corporate wind and solar energy contracts, he said, Microsoft, Google, and Amazon were the only ones signing deals, which raised similar questions about the sustainability of the market. “But what it did is it created a blueprint for how you sign these deals and make these nascent technologies more financeable, and then it brings down the cost, and then all of a sudden, you start to get a second generation of companies that start to sign these deals.”
Harrison expects the market to see slower growth in the coming years until either carbon removal companies are able to bring down costs or a more reliable regulatory signal puts pressure on buyers.
Governments in Europe and the United Kingdom introduced a few weak-ish signals this year. The European Union continued to advance a government certification program for carbon removal and expects to finalize methodologies for several CDR methods in 2026. That government stamp of approval may give potential buyers more confidence in the market.
The EU also announced plans to set up a carbon removal “buyers’ club” next year to spur more demand for CDR by pooling and coordinating procurement, although the proposal is light on detail. There were similar developments in the United Kingdom, which announced a new “contract for differences” policy through which the government would finance early-stage direct air capture and bioenergy with carbon capture projects.
A stronger signal, though, could eventually come from places with mandatory emissions cap and trade policies, such as California, Japan, China, the European Union, or the United Kingdom. California already allows companies to use carbon removal credits for compliance with its cap and invest program. The U.K. plans to begin integrating CDR into its scheme in 2029, and the EU and Japan are considering when and how to do the same.
Giana Amador, the executive director of the U.S.-based Carbon Removal Alliance, told me these demand pulls were extremely important. “It tells investors, if you invest in this today, in 10 years, companies will be able to access those markets,” she said.
At the same time, carbon removal companies are not going to be competitive in any of these markets until carbon trades at a substantially higher price, or until companies can make carbon removal less expensive. “We need to both figure out how we can drive down the cost of carbon removal and how to make these carbon removal solutions more effective, and really kind of hone the technology. Those are what is going to unlock demand in the future,” she said.
There’s certainly some progress being made on that front. This year saw more real-world deployments and field tests. Whereas a few years ago, the state of knowledge about various carbon removal methods was based on academic studies of modeling exercises or lab experiments, now there’s starting to be a lot more real-world data. “For me, that is the most important thing that we have seen — continued learning,” Hoglund said.
There’s also been a lot more international interest in the sector. “It feels like there’s this global competition building about what country will be the leader in the industry,” Ben Rubin, the executive director of the Carbon Business Council, told me.
There’s another somewhat deceptive trend in the year’s carbon removal data: The market also appeared to be highly concentrated within one carbon removal method — 75% of Microsoft’s purchases, and 70% of the total sales tracked by CDR.fyi, were credits for bioenergy with carbon capture, where biomass is burned for energy and the resulting emissions are captured and stored. Despite making up the largest volume of credits, however, these were actually just a rare few deals. “It’s the least common method,” Hoglund said.
Companies reported delivering about 450,000 tons of carbon removal this year, according to CDR.fyi’s data, bringing the cumulative total to over 1 million tons to date. Some 80% of the total came from biochar projects, but the remaining deliveries run the gamut of carbon removal methods, including ocean-based techniques and enhanced rock weathering.
Amador predicted that in the near-term, we may see increased buying from the tech sector, as the growth of artificial intelligence and power-hungry data centers sets those companies’ further back on their climate commitments. She’s also optimistic about a growing trend of exploring “industrial integrations” — basically incorporating carbon removal into existing industrial processes such as municipal waste management, agricultural operations, wastewater treatment, mining, and pulp and paper factories. “I think that's something that we'll see a spotlight on next year,” she said.
Another place that may help unlock demand is the Science Based Targets initiative, a nonprofit that develops voluntary standards for corporate climate action. The group has been in the process of revising its Net-Zero Standard, which will give companies more direction about what role carbon removal should play in their sustainability strategies.
The question is whether any of these policy developments will come soon enough or be significant enough to sustain this capital-intensive, immature industry long enough for it to prove its utility. Investment in the industry has been predicated on the idea that demand for carbon removal will grow, Hoglund told me. If growth continues at the pace we saw this year, it’s going to get a lot harder for startups to raise their series B or C.
“When you can't raise that, and you haven't sold enough to keep yourself afloat, then you go out of business,” he said. “I would expect quite a few companies to go out of business in 2026.”
Hoglund was quick to qualify his dire prediction, however, adding that these were normal growing pains for any industry and shouldn’t be viewed as a sign of failure. “It could be interpreted that way, and the vibe may shift, especially if you see a lot of the prolific companies come down,” he said. “But it’s natural. I think that’s something we should be prepared for and not panic about.”
America runs on natural gas.
That’s not an exaggeration. Almost half of home heating is done with natural gas, and around 40% — the plurality — of our electricity is generated with natural gas. Data center developers are pouring billions into natural gas power plants built on-site to feed their need for computational power. In its -260 degree Fahrenheit liquid form, the gas has attracted tens of billions of dollars in investments to export it abroad.
The energy and climate landscape in the United States going into 2026 — and for a long time afterward — will be largely determined by the forces pushing and pulling on natural gas. Those could lead to higher or more volatile prices for electricity and home heating, and even possibly to structural changes in the electricity market.
But first, the weather.
“Heating demand is still the main way gas is used in the U.S.,” longtime natural gas analyst Amber McCullagh explained to me. That makes cold weather — experienced and expected — the main driver of natural gas prices, even with new price pressures from electricity demand.
New sources of demand don’t help, however. While estimates for data center construction are highly speculative, East Daily Analytics figures cited by trade publication Natural Gas Intel puts a ballpark figure of new data center gas demand at 2.5 billion cubic feet per day by the end of next year, compared to 0.8 billion cubic feet per day for the end of this year. By 2030, new demand from data centers could add up to over 6 billion cubic feet per day of natural gas demand, East Daley Analytics projects. That’s roughly in line with the total annual gas production of the Eagle Ford Shale in southwest Texas.
Then there are exports. The U.S. Energy Information Administration expects outbound liquified natural gas shipments to rise to 14.9 billion cubic feet per day this year, and to 16.3 billion cubic feet in 2026. In 2024, by contrast, exports were just under 12 billion cubic feet per day.
“Even as we’ve added demand for data centers, we’re getting close to 20 billion per day of LNG exports,” McCullagh said, putting more pressure on natural gas prices.
That’s had a predictable effect on domestic gas prices. Already, the Henry Hub natural gas benchmark price has risen to above $5 per million British thermal units earlier this month before falling to $3.90, compared to under $3.50 at the end of last year. By contrast, LNG export prices, according to the most recent EIA data, are at around $7 per million BTUs.
This yawning gap between benchmark domestic prices and export prices is precisely why so many billions of dollars are being poured into LNG export capacity — and why some have long been wary of it, including Democratic politicians in the Northeast, which is chronically short of natural gas due to insufficient pipeline infrastructure. A group of progressive Democrats in Congress wrote a letter to Secretary of Energy Chris Wright earlier this year opposing additional licenses for LNG exports, arguing that “LNG exports lead to higher energy prices for both American families and businesses.”
Industry observers agree — or at least agree that LNG exports are likely to pull up domestic prices. “Henry Hub is clearly bullish right now until U.S. gas production catches up,” Ira Joseph, a senior research associate at the Center for Global Energy Policy at Columbia University, told me. “We’re definitely heading towards convergence” between domestic and global natural gas prices.
But while higher natural gas prices may seem like an obvious boon to renewables, the actual effect may be more ambiguous. The EIA expects the Henry Hub benchmark to average $4 per million BTUs for 2026. That’s nothing like the $9 the benchmark hit in August 2022, the result of post-COVID economic restart, supply tightness, and the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
Still, a tighter natural gas market could mean a more volatile electricity and energy sector in 2026. The United States is basically unique globally in having both large-scale domestic production of coal and natural gas that allows its electricity generation to switch between them. When natural gas prices go up, coal burning becomes more economically attractive.
Add to that, the EIA forecasts that electricity generation will have grown 2.4% by the end of 2025, and will grow another 1.7% in 2026, “in contrast to relatively flat generation from 2010 to 2020. That is “primarily driven by increasing demand from large customers, including data centers,” the agency says.
This is the load growth story. With the help of the Trump administration, it’s turning into a coal growth story, too.
Already several coal plants have extended out their retirement dates, either to maintain reliability on local grids or because the Trump administration ordered them to. In America’s largest electricity market, PJM Interconnection, where about a fifth of the installed capacity is coal, diversified energy company Alliance Resource Partners expects 4% to 6% demand growth, meaning it might even be able to increase coal production. Coal consumption has jumped 16% in PJM in the first nine months of 2025, the company’s Chairman Joseph Kraft told analysts.
“The domestic thermal coal market is continuing to experience strong fundamentals, supported by an unprecedented combination of federal energy and environmental policy support plus rapid demand growth,” Kraft said in a statement accompanying the company’s October third quarter earnings report. He pointed specifically to “natural gas pricing dynamics” and “the dramatic load growth required by artificial intelligence.”
Observers are also taking notice. “The key driver for coal prices remains strong natural gas prices,” industry newsletter The Coal Trader wrote.
In its December short term outlook, the EIA said that it expects “coal consumption to increase by 9% in 2025, driven by an 11% increase in coal consumption in the electric power sector this year as both natural gas costs and electricity demand increased,” while falling slightly in 2026 (compared to 2025), leaving coal consumption sill above 2024 levels.
“2025 coal generation will have increased for the first time since the last time gas prices spiked,” McCullagh told me.
Assuming all this comes to pass, the U.S.’s total carbon dioxide emissions will have essentially flattened out at around 4.8 million metric tons. The ultimate cost of higher natural gas prices will likely be felt far beyond the borders of the United States and far past 2026.
Lawmakers today should study the Energy Security Act of 1980.
The past few years have seen wild, rapid swings in energy policy in the United States, from President Biden’s enthusiastic embrace of clean energy to President Trump’s equally enthusiastic re-embrace of fossil fuels.
Where energy industrial policy goes next is less certain than any other moment in recent memory. Regardless of the direction, however, we will need creative and effective policy tools to secure our energy future — especially for those of us who wish to see a cleaner, greener energy system. To meet the moment, we can draw inspiration from a largely forgotten piece of energy industrial policy history: the Energy Security Act of 1980.
After a decade of oil shocks and energy crises spanning three presidencies, President Carter called for — and Congress passed — a new law that would “mobilize American determination and ability to win the energy war.” To meet that challenge, lawmakers declared their intent “to utilize to the fullest extent the constitutional powers of the Congress” to reduce the nation’s dependence on imported oil and shield the economy from future supply shocks. Forty-five years later, that brief moment of determined national mobilization may hold valuable lessons for the next stage of our energy industrial policy.
The 1970s were a decade of energy volatility for Americans, with spiking prices and gasoline shortages, as Middle Eastern fossil fuel-producing countries wielded the “oil weapon” to throttle supply. In his 1979 “Crisis of Confidence” address to the nation, Carter warned that America faced a “clear and present danger” from its reliance on foreign oil and urged domestic producers to mobilize new energy sources, akin to the way industry responded to World War II by building up a domestic synthetic rubber industry.
To develop energy alternatives, Congress passed the Energy Security Act, which created a new government-run corporation dedicated to investing in alternative fuels projects, a solar bank, and programs to promote geothermal, biomass, and renewable energy sources. The law also authorized the president to create a system of five-year national energy targets and ordered one of the federal government’s first studies on the impacts of greenhouse gases from fossil fuels.
Carter saw the ESA as the beginning of an historic national mission. “[T]he Energy Security Act will launch this decade with the greatest outpouring of capital investment, technology, manpower, and resources since the space program,” he said at the signing. “Its scope, in fact, is so great that it will dwarf the combined efforts expended to put Americans on the Moon and to build the entire Interstate Highway System of our country.” The ESA was a recognition that, in a moment of crisis, the federal government could revive the tools it once used in wartime to meet an urgent civilian challenge.
In its pursuit of energy security, the Act deployed several remarkable industrial policy tools, with the Synthetic Fuels Corporation as the centerpiece. The corporation was a government-run investment bank chartered to finance — and in some cases, directly undertake — alternative fuels projects, including those derived from coal, shale, and oil.. Regardless of the desirability or feasibility of synthetic fuels, the SFC as an institution illustrates the type of extraordinary authority Congress was once willing to deploy to address energy security and stand up an entirely new industry. It operated outside of federal agencies, unencumbered by the normal bureaucracy and restrictions that apply to government.
Along with everything else created by the ESA, the Sustainable Fuels Corporation was also financed by a windfall profits tax assessed on oil companies, essentially redistributing income from big oil toward its nascent competition. Both the law and the corporation had huge bipartisan support, to the tune of 317 votes for the ESA in the House compared to 93 against, and 78 to 12 in the Senate.
The Synthetic Fuels Corporation was meant to be a public catalyst where private investment was unlikely to materialize on its own. Investors feared that oil prices could fall, or that OPEC might deliberately flood the market to undercut synthetic fuels before they ever reached scale. Synthetic fuel projects were also technically complex, capital-intensive undertakings, with each plant costing several billion dollars, requiring up to a decade to plan and build.
To address this, Congress equipped the corporation with an unusually broad set of tools. The corporation could offer loans, loan guarantees, price guarantees, purchase agreements, and even enter joint ventures — forms of support meant to make first-of-a-kind projects bankable. It could assemble financing packages that traditional lenders viewed as too risky. And while the corporation was being stood up, the president was temporarily authorized to use Defense Production Act powers to initiate early synthetic fuel projects. Taken together, these authorities amounted to a federal attempt to build an entirely new energy industry.
While the ESA gave the private sector the first shot at creating a synthetic fuels industry, it also created opportunities for the federal government to invest. The law authorized the Synthetic Fuels Corporation to undertake and retain ownership over synthetic fuels construction projects if private investment was insufficient to meet production targets. The SFC was also allowed to impose conditions on loans and financial assistance to private developers that gave it a share of project profits and intellectual property rights arising out of federally-funded projects. Congress was not willing to let the national imperative of energy security rise or fall on the whims of the market, nor to let the private sector reap publicly-funded windfalls.
Employing logic that will be familiar to many today, Carter was particularly concerned that alternative fuel sources would be unduly delayed by permitting rules and proposed an Energy Mobilization Board to streamline the review process for energy projects. Congress ultimately refused to create it, worried it would trample state authority and environmental protections. But the impulse survived elsewhere. At a time when the National Environmental Policy Act was barely 10 years old and had become the central mechanism for scrutinizing major federal actions, Congress provided an exemption for all projects financed by the Synthetic Fuels Corporation, although other technologies supported in the law — like geothermal energy — were still required to go through NEPA review. The contrast is revealing — a reminder that when lawmakers see an energy technology as strategically essential, they have been willing not only to fund it but also to redesign the permitting system around it.
Another forgotten feature of the corporation is how far Congress went to ensure it could actually hire top tier talent. Lawmakers concluded that the federal government’s standard pay scales were too low and too rigid for the kind of financial, engineering, and project development expertise the Synthetic Fuels Corporation needed. So it gave the corporation unusual salary flexibility, allowing it to pay above normal civil service rates to attract people with the skills to evaluate multibillion dollar industrial projects. In today’s debates about whether federal agencies have the capacity to manage complex clean energy investments, this detail is striking. Congress once knew that ambitious industrial policy requires not just money, but people who understand how deals get done.
But the Energy Security Act never had the chance to mature. The corporation was still getting off the ground when Carter lost the 1980 election to Ronald Reagan. Reagan’s advisers viewed the project as a distortion of free enterprise — precisely the kind of government intervention they believed had fueled the broader malaise of the 1970s. While Reagan had campaigned on abolishing the Department of Energy, the corporation proved an easier and more symbolic target. His administration hollowed it out, leaving it an empty shell until Congress defunded it entirely in 1986.
At the same time, the crisis atmosphere that had justified the Energy Security Act began to wane. Oil prices fell nearly 60% during Reagan’s first five years, and with them the political urgency behind alternative fuels. Drained of its economic rationale, the synthetic fuels industry collapsed before it ever had a chance to prove whether it could succeed under more favorable conditions. What had looked like a wartime mobilization suddenly appeared to many lawmakers to be an expensive overreaction to a crisis that had passed.
Yet the ESA’s legacy is more than an artifact of a bygone moment. It offers at least three lessons that remain strikingly relevant today:
As we now scramble to make up for lost time, today’s clean energy push requires institutions that can survive electoral swings. Nearly half a century after the ESA, we must find our way back to that type of institutional imagination to meet the energy challenges we still face.