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Elon Musk is chasing his shiny object.
While channel-surfing over Thanksgiving weekend, I stumbled upon The Aviator — specifically, the scene in which Leonardo DiCaprio’s Howard Hughes maniacally scrambles a fleet of biplanes to capture the greatest air combat scenes even filmed, and rants that he doesn’t care if the conservative suits at his company worry he’s squandering his fortune in pursuit of a mad dream. It’s hard to watch these scenes and not think of Elon Musk, Hughes’ heir apparent (with apologies to Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos) as the leading air-and-space-obsessed billionaire man-child of his era. That’s doubly true this week, with the long-awaited official launch of the Tesla Cybertuck.
Bold pursuit of the big dream has always been Musk’s calling card. Before his rise to prominence, onlookers said it would be impossible to start a new space launch company that could outcompete established giants like Boeing and Lockheed Martin or start a new car company that could outmaneuver giants like Ford and GM, much less do both at the same time. Musk’s self-marketing as the real-world Tony Stark helped to sell his electric vehicles and kept tech enthusiasts tuned in to his attempts to land reusable space rockets on ocean-going platforms. The man and his mad science were the message.
But the Tesla Cybertruck seemed like a turning point. Instead of chasing another sci-fi dream of a better tomorrow, Musk in 2019 revealed a boyhood cartoon: an all-metal, supposedly bulletproof tank that would feel at home as an armored personnel carrier in some PlayStation theatre of warfare. In the four years since, Cybertruck has swallowed much of Musk’s focus as Tesla tried to bring the vehicle to fruition, which he recently admitted has been a much bigger struggle than he anticipated. The first 10 Cybertrucks will finally be delivered to their very patient owners on November 30.
In light of this misadventure, it’s worth asking: Is it time for Tesla to get boring?
I am on record as saying Cybertruck could succeed. Despite the jeers of auto journalists and onlookers who think Tesla’s truck is ill-conceived, poorly constructed, and, well, stupid, it’s clear that Musk’s cult of personality will sell some of these EVs. Plenty of buyers with the same man-boy fantasy of owning a pointy tank as a daily driver will see the appeal. So will shoppers whose main priority is feeling safe and protected on the highway.
Still, the case for the Cybertruck is eroding. Musk initially teased single- and double-motor versions that would start at $40,000 and $50,000, respectively, bringing the EV in well below the price of some electric truck competitors. After all the time and trouble it took to realize the Cybertuck, though, Tesla will reportedly begin sales by offering only double- and triple-motor versions, and at prices estimated to be $70,000 to $80,000. That puts them on par with pricey trucks like the Rivian R1T.
The biggest trouble with the Cybertruck, though, is the opportunity cost of what Tesla could’ve been doing with all this time and industrial energy. That’s not to say the EV maker is struggling, exactly — the Model Y became the world’s best-selling car during this time, and Tesla has revealed what will become the redesign of the very successful Model 3.
During the development of Cybertruck, however, Tesla seems to have deprioritized the redesign of the Model X, which has looked basically the same on the outside since 2015, for example. It has made slow progress on the promise to build a truly affordable EV in the $25,000 range, which could have entrenched for Tesla a leading position in the entry-level EV market that will soon emerge. Tesla could’ve tried to fill out its lineup with crossovers of other sizes, the way a boring legacy company would have done to keep its huge advantage in market share from slipping away. But Musk chased the shiny steel object instead, allowing his rivals to get back into the game in the process.
Such is the tension inherent in any successful startup. The mercurial, damn-the-torpedoes founder or CEO leads the firm to the promised land, but somewhere along the way to true success comes the pressure to button down and grow up, and to start making sound, sane business decisions instead of building the Spruce Goose.
Musk himself seems to realize this, at times. He once called the gullwing-doored Model X a “technology bandwagon” into which Tesla poured all the whiz-bang technology ideas it could think of. This led to an admittedly wild vehicle, but one that never sold in huge numbers. He seemed to learn his lesson with the simpler and more affordable Model 3 and Y, which led to enormous sales numbers and made Tesla the most valuable car brand in the world. Here in California, Teslas went from exotic to ordinary. Every time I drive my Model 3 down the freeway, there are at least two more within view.
But with those volume successes in hand, the devil on Musk’s shoulder made itself heard once more. Musk’s obsession with making the exterior from stainless steel led to long production delays. And Cybertruck clearly follows the Model X pattern, with Tesla including every possible feature from bulletproof windows to a slide-out tailgate for loading your Tesla ATV in the back.
Maybe Musk got afraid of getting old and becoming boring. Maybe nobody was around with the authority to tell him “no.” Maybe the Cybertruck, once it emerges from its production quagmire, will be another rousing success. But if it’s not, it will be remembered (along with Musk’s ill-advised purchase of Twitter) as the vanity project that ate Tesla's attention right when it had the whole EV world by the tail.
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And it’s doing so in the most chaotic way possible.
The Trump administration filed a rule change this past weekend to remove key implementation regulations for the National Environmental Policy Act, a critical environmental law that dates back to 1969. While this new rule, once finalized, wouldn’t eliminate NEPA itself (doing so would take an act of Congress), it would eliminate the authority of the office charged with overseeing how federal agencies interpret and implement the law. This throws the entire federal environmental review process into limbo as developers await what will likely be a long and torturous legal battle over the law’s future.
The office in question, the Council on Environmental Quality, is part of the Executive Office of the President and has directed NEPA administration for nearly the law’s entire existence. Individual agencies have their own specific NEPA regulations, which will remain in effect even as CEQ’s blanket procedural requirements go away. “The argument here is that CEQ is redundant and that each agency can implement NEPA by following the existing law,” Emily Domenech, a senior vice president at the climate-focused government affairs and advisory firm Boundary Stone, told me. Domenech formerly served as a senior policy advisor to current and former Republican Speakers of the House Mike Johnson and Kevin McCarthy.
NEPA has been the subject of growing bipartisan ire in recent years, as lengthy environmental review processes and a barrage of lawsuits from environmental and community groups have delayed infrastructure projects of all types. While the text of the pending rule is not yet public, the idea is to streamline permitting and make it easier for developers to build. In theory that would include expediting projects such as solar farms and clean energy manufacturing facilities; in reality, under the Trump administration, the benefits could redound to fossil fuel infrastructure first and foremost.
On his first day back in office, Trump issued an executive order entitled Unleashing American Energy, which instructed CEQ to provide new, nonbinding guidance on NEPA implementation and “propose rescinding” its existing regulations within 30 days. The order also instructed agencies to “undertake all available efforts to eliminate all delays within their respective permitting processes.”
But gutting CEQ’s regulatory capacity via this so-called “interim final rule” is a controversial move of questionable legality. Interim final rules generally go into effect immediately, thus skirting the requirement to gather public comment beforehand. Expediting rules like this is only allowed in cases where posting advance notice and taking comments is deemed “impracticable, unnecessary, or contrary to the public interest.”
It’s almost certain that this interim rule will be challenged in court. Sierra Club senior attorney Nathaniel Shoaff certainly thinks it should be. “This action is rash, unlawful, and unwise. Rather than making it easier to responsibly build new infrastructure, throwing out implementing regulations for NEPA will only serve to create chaos and uncertainty,” Shoaff said in a statement. “The Trump administration seems to think that the rules don’t apply to them, but we’re confident the courts will say otherwise.”
Thomas Hochman, director of infrastructure at the center-right think tank Foundation for American Innovation, disagrees. “I think environmental groups will sue, and I think they’ll lose,” he told me. Hochman cited a surprising decision issued by the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals last November, which stated that CEQ did not have the authority to issue binding NEPA regulations, and that it was never intended to "act as a regulatory agency rather than as an advisory agency.” This ruling ultimately made it possible for Trump to so radically reimagine CEQ’s authority in his executive order.
“I would expect environmentalists on the left to challenge any Trump administration actions on NEPA,” Domenech told me. “But I actually think that the Trump team welcomes that, because they'd love to get quicker, decisive rulings on whether or not CEQ even had this authority to begin with.”
NEPA, which went into effect before the Environmental Protection Agency was even created, is a short law with the simple goal of requiring federal agencies to take the environmental impact of their work into account. But responsibility for the law’s implementation has always fallen to CEQ, which created a meticulous environmental review and public input process — perhaps too meticulous for an era that demands significant, rapid infrastructure investment to enable the energy transition.
Recognizing this, the Biden administration tried to rein in NEPA and expedite environmental review via provisions in the 2023 Fiscal Responsibility Act, which included imposing time limits on Environmental Assessments and Environmental Impact Statements and setting page limits for these documents. But as Hochman sees it, these well intentioned reforms didn’t make much of a dent. "It was up to CEQ to take the language from the Fiscal Responsibility Act and then write their interpretation of it,” he told me. “And what CEQ basically did was they grafted it back into the status quo.” Now that those regulations are kaput, however, Hochman thinks the Fiscal Responsibility Act’s amendments will have much more power to narrow NEPA’s mandate.
Trump’s executive order requires the yet-to-be-announced chair of CEQ to coordinate a revision of each individual agency’s NEPA regulations. But that will take time, and developers can’t afford to sit around. “My guess is that most project developers will go through NEPA as if the old system still exists,” Hochman told me. That said, chaos and confusion are also always an option. As Hochman explained, many current agency regulations reference the soon-to-be defunct CEQ regulations, which could create legal complications.
Hochman told me he still thinks CEQ has an important role to play in a scaled-down NEPA landscape. “CEQ ideally will define pretty clearly the framework that agencies should abide by as they write their new regulations,” he explained. For example, he told me that CEQ should be responsible for interpreting critical terms such as what constitutes a “major federal action” that would trigger NEPA, or what counts as an action that “normally does not significantly affect the quality of the human environment,” which would exempt a project from substantial environmental review.
No doubt many of these interpretations will wind up in court. “You will probably see up front litigation of these original definitions, but once they’ve been decided on by higher courts, they won’t really be an open question anymore,” Hochman told me. Basically, some initial pain for lots of future gain is what he’s betting on. Once the text of the interim rule is posted and the lawsuits start rolling in, we’ll check in on the status of that wager.
Trump called himself “king” and tried to kill the program, but it might not be so simple.
The Trump administration will try to kill congestion pricing, the first-in-the-nation program that charged cars and trucks up to $9 to enter Manhattan’s traffic-clogged downtown core.
In an exclusive story given to the New York Post, Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy said that he would rescind the U.S. Transportation Department’s approval of the pricing regime.
“The toll program leaves drivers without any free highway alternative, and instead, takes more money from working people to pay for a transit system and not highways,” Duffy told the Post.
He did not specify an end date for the program, but said that he would work with New York to achieve an “orderly termination” of the tolls. But it’s not clear that he can unilaterally end congestion pricing — and in any case, New York is not eager to work with him to do so.
The attempted cancellation adds another chapter to the decades-long saga over whether to implement road pricing in downtown New York. And it represents another front in the Trump administration’s war on virtually any policy that reduces fossil fuel use and cuts pollution from the transportation sector, the most carbon-intensive sector in the U.S. economy.
“CONGESTION PRICING IS DEAD. Manhattan, and all of New York, is SAVED,” Trump posted on Truth Social, the social network that he owns. “LONG LIVE THE KING!”
The Metropolitan Transit Authority, the state agency that oversees New York’s tolling and transit system, has filed to block the cancellation in court. In a statement, New York Governor Kathy Hochul said that Trump didn’t have the authority to kill the tolling program.
“We are a nation of laws, not ruled by a king,” Hochul said. “We’ll see you in court.”
Since it started on January 5, congestion pricing has charged drivers up to $9 to drive into Manhattan south of 60th Street. With its launch, New York joined a small set of world capitals — including London, Singapore, and Stockholm — to use road pricing in its central business district.
Even in its first weeks in Gotham, congestion pricing had seemingly proven successful at its main goal: cutting down on traffic. Travel times to enter Manhattan have fallen and in some cases — such as driving into the Holland Tunnel from New Jersey — have been cut in half during rush hour, according to an online tracker built by economics researchers that uses Google Maps data.
Anecdotally, drivers have reported faster drive times within the city and much less honking overall. (I can affirm that downtown is much quieter now.) City buses zoomed through their routes, at times having to pause at certain stops in order to keep from running ahead of their schedules.
The program has been so successful that it had even begun to turn around in public polling. Although congestion pricing was incredibly unpopular during its long gestation, a majority of New Yorkers now support the program. In early February, six of 10 New Yorkers said that they thought Trump should keep the program and not kill it, according to a Morning Consult poll.
That matches a pattern seen in other cities that adopt congestion pricing, where most voters hate the program until they see that it successfully improves travel times and reduces traffic.
While Trump might now be claiming regal powers to block the program, the toll’s origin story has been democratic to a fault. Although congestion pricing has been proposed in New York for decades, the state’s legislature approved the program in 2019 as part of its long-running search for a permanent source of funding for the city’s trains and buses.
The federal government then studied the program for half a decade, first under Trump, then under Biden, generating thousands upon thousands of pages of environmental and legal review. At long last, the Biden administration granted final approval for the program last year.
But then congestion pricing had to clear another hurdle. In June, Hochul paused the program at the last moment, hoping to find another source of permanent funding for the city’s public transit system.
She didn’t. In November, she announced that the program would go into effect in the new year.
It’s not clear whether the Trump administration can actually kill congestion pricing. When the Biden administration approved the program, it did so essentially as a one-time finding. Duffy may not be able to revoke that finding — just like you can’t un-sign a contract that you’ve already agreed to.
In his letter to Hochul, Duffy argues that congestion pricing breaks a longstanding norm that federally funded highways should not be tolled. “The construction of federal-aid highways as a toll-free highway system has long been one of the most basic and fundamental tenets of the federal-aid Highway Program,” he says.
That argument is surprising because federal highways in Manhattan — such as the West Side Highway — are excluded from the toll by design. Drivers only incur the $9 charge when they leave highways and enter Manhattan’s street grid. And drivers can use the interstate highway system but avoid the congestion charge by entering uptown Manhattan through Interstate 95 and then parking north of 60th Street.
Duffy also argues that the tolling program is chiefly meant to raise revenue for the MTA, not reduce congestion. The federal government’s approval of pilot congestion pricing programs is aimed at cutting traffic, he says, not raising revenue for state agencies.
In its lawsuit, the MTA asserts that Duffy does not have the right to revoke the agreement. It also says that he must conduct the same degree of environmental review to kill the program that the first Trump administration required when the program was originally proposed.
“The status quo is that Congestion Pricing continues, and unless and until a court orders otherwise, plaintiffs will continue to operate the program as required by New York law,” the MTA’s brief says.
Whether they will or not depends on whether all politics really are local, anymore.
JD Vance had a message recently for Germans uneasy about the way Elon Musk has been promoting the far-right Alternative für Deutschland party ahead of their country’s upcoming elections: “If American democracy can survive 10 years of Greta Thunberg’s scolding, you guys can survive a few months of Elon Musk,” Vance said at the Munich Security Conference. It was supposed to be a joke, but apparently the vice president of the United States is still peeved at the fact that he had to see a Swedish teenager on his TV saying that we ought to do something about climate change.
Just a throwaway line meant to convey the Trump administration’s general belligerence and contempt for Europeans? Perhaps. But it also communicated that the administration has had it with scolding, not to mention any government actions meant to confront planetary warming; in its first month in power, it has moved swiftly and aggressively to suspend or roll back just about every climate-related policy it could find.
Now congressional Republicans have to pass a budget, and in so doing decide what the law — and not just a bunch of executive orders — will do about all the existing programs to promote clean energy and reduce emissions. That means we’re headed for an intra-GOP conflict. On one side is ideology, in the form of a desire by the administration and many Republicans in Congress to eviscerate government spending in general and climate spending in particular. On the other side are the parochial interests of individual members, who want to make sure that their own constituents are protected even if it means their party doesn’t get everything it wants.
Climate hawks got optimistic last summer when 18 House Republicans sent a letter to Speaker Mike Johnson imploring him not to push for wholesale repeal of the Inflation Reduction Act, the landmark 2022 climate law filled subsidies for clean energy, since their districts are benefiting from the boom in manufacturing the law helped spur. About 80% of the green energy funding from the IRA is going to Republican districts; in some places that means thousands of local jobs depend on the free flow of federal funds.
While some of the largest spending is concentrated in the South, especially the areas that have come to be known as the “Battery Belt,” there are hundreds of congressional districts around the country that benefit from IRA largesse. That’s an old best practice of policy design, one the defense industry has used to particularly good effect: The wider you spread the subcontracts or subsidies, the more members of Congress have jobs in their district that rely on the program and the safer it will be from future budget cuts.
The IRA could have some other allies in its corner; for instance, automakers that are struggling to bring the prices of their electric models to an affordable level will be lobbying to retain the tax subsidy that can reduce the sticker price of an electric vehicle by $7,500. There is already a backlash brewing to the administration’s freeze on climate-related programs in rural areas. Many farmers entered into contracts with the federal government in which they would be reimbursed for land conservation and renewable energy projects; after taking loans and laying out their own money believing the government would honor its part of the agreement, they’ve been left holding the bag.
So will Congress step in to ensure that some climate funding remains? This is the point in the story where we inevitably invoke former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill’s dictum that “All politics is local.” No matter what issue you’re working on, O’Neill insisted, what matters most is how it affects the folks back home, and the most successful politicians are those who know how to address their constituents’ most immediate problems.
Like many such aphorisms, it’s often true, but not always. While there are many members of Congress whose careers live or die on their ability to satisfy the particular needs of their districts, today national politics and party loyalty exert a stronger pull than ever. The correlation between presidential and House votes has grown stronger over time, meaning that voters overwhelmingly choose the same party for president and their own member of Congress. Even the most attentive pothole-filling representative won’t last long in a district that doesn’t lean toward their party.
Which is perfectly rational: Given the limited influence a single House member has, you might as well vote for the party you hope will control Washington rather than splitting your ticket, no matter who is on the ballot. That doesn’t mean members of Congress have stopped working to bring home the bacon, but it does mean that the pressure on them to deliver concrete benefits to the voters back home has lessened considerably. And when the congressional leadership says, “We really need your vote on this one,” members are more likely to go along.
There will be some horse-trading and pushback on the administration’s priorities as Congress writes its budget — for instance, farm state members are already angry about the destruction of the U.S. Agency for International Development, which buys billions of dollars of agricultural products from American farmers to distribute overseas, and will press to get that funding restored. And with a razor-thin majority in the House, individual members could have more leverage to demand that the programs that benefit their districts be preserved.
On the other hand, this is not an administration of compromisers and legislative dealmakers. Trump and his officials see aggression and dominance as ends in and of themselves, apart from the substance of any policy at issue. Not only are they determined to slash government spending in ways never seen before, they seem indifferent to the consequences of the cuts. For their part, Republicans in Congress seem willing to abdicate to Trump their most important power, to determine federal spending. And if Trump succeeds in his goal of rewriting the Constitution to allow the president to simply refuse to spend what the law requires, Congress could preserve climate spending only to see it effectively cancelled by the White House.
Which he would probably do, given that it is almost impossible to overstate the hostility Trump himself and those around him have for climate-related programs, especially those signed into law by Joe Biden. That’s true even when those programs support goals Trump claims to hold, such as revitalizing American manufacturing.
What those around Trump certainly don’t want to hear is any “scolding” about the effects of climate change, and they’re only slightly more open to arguments about the parochial interests of members of Congress from their own party. As in almost every budget negotiation, we probably won’t know until the last minute which programs survive and which get the axe. But there are going to be casualties; the only question is how many.