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Only somebody like Elon Musk could have built Tesla. Now he could destroy it.

Tesla suffered yet another media black eye this week, when Reuters reported that the automaker had built deliberately false range estimates into its electric vehicles. According to the article, under the personal direction of CEO Elon Musk, the range estimation was rigged to exaggerate how far it could go, only triggering more realistic numbers when it got below 50 percent so the car could make it to a charging station. Then when that triggered mass repair requests from customers who thought their cars were broken, the company allegedly set up a “Diversion Team” to automatically close them out as quickly as possible.
This kind of thing is just par for the course for Tesla. Hyperbole, exaggeration, spin, and occasional outright dishonesty were how Musk built the company into a major force in the auto industry. But now his brand of careening irresponsibility is a threat to the company’s future.
Some good background on Tesla’s condition can be found in Ludicrous, an excellent book by automotive journalist Edward Neidermeyer, published back in 2019. He argues convincingly that Tesla’s initial success was precisely because Elon Musk is hilariously unsuited to the auto manufacturing industry. Building cars is an exceptionally challenging business, because of the huge capital requirements, strict safety regulations, and resulting low unit margins.
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Automakers also have to predict both what customers might like to buy several years in advance and predict how many sales they might make of each model, meaning heavy capital risk. And as the industry has evolved — particularly under competition from Japanese manufacturers — customers have come to expect extremely high quality and reliability even from cheaper mass-market vehicles, making success even more difficult.
In short, efficiency, standardization, and consistency are the name of the auto game. As Neidermeyer writes: “Successful automakers are giant, process-driven bureaucracies that rely on rigidly systematized cultures to manage a continent-spanning ballet of manufacturing operations, supply chains, service infrastructure, and regulatory compliance.”
Needless to say, Tesla was not anything like this. It came out of the freewheeling culture of Silicon Valley, with its motto of “move fast and break things,” its dogmatic ideology that every other institution in society but the tech industry is riddled with inefficiency and incompetence, and its belief that any problem can be solved by genius innovators hacking together solutions on the fly.
Musk viewed the stodgy, hyper-bureaucratic auto industry procedures with contempt, and assumed he could do better and cheaper with some good old Silicon Valley magic. He made wild-eyed promises, instructed his team to build factories that would move far faster than the deliberate pace at a traditional factory, and set impossible targets. As a result, Tesla consistently failed to meet its production goals, consistently struggled with factory operations, and suffered consistent quality problems. While Teslas are sleek and fancy-looking, customers have regularly complained of poor body panel alignment, leaks, rattles or other noises, bad service experiences, poor reliability, and other problems.
But Musk is — or was, at least — an hype man. He made grandiose promises about upcoming products and features — often shading into flagrant dishonesty, as shown in the range story above or the time when he oversaw a staged video of Tesla’s Autopilot feature. At the same time, he viciously attacked critics, often singling out journalists by name or even threatening to sue them, stifling much criticism. All this inspired a fervent cult of personality, heroic effort from key workers (though also high employee turnover), and a large cult-like community of investors who boost Tesla’s stock.
Musk also got lucky. He had the advantage that electric drive trains are dramatically simpler than internal-combustion ones, with far fewer parts and far less maintenance required, and also produce maximum torque at idle for breathtaking acceleration. He also got a large, low-interest loan from the federal government under the Obama administration, plus numerous other state and federal subsidies for producing zero-emission cars.
All this allowed Musk to keep raising money and selling stock to fund a consistently unprofitable business for years. His Silicon Valley-brained approach was terrible for actual factory production, but it helped him create a legend. And this really does seem to be the only way you could have built a mass market electric car startup. Realistic promises, careful engineering, and truthful marketing would have run headlong into the nearly impossible economics of the business. Nissan found this out when its Leaf project, in which it invested heavily, failed to live up to expectations, because it was a boringly useful appliance without any utopian dreams attached.
The problem for Tesla was that propaganda is not a sustainable business model. To keep the hype train going, Musk had to keep making more and more fantastical promises, and eventually his credibility started to erode. Meanwhile, the rest of the auto industry got into the EV game, including established fancy brands who took direct aim at Tesla’s aging luxury sedan and SUV models.
Neidermeyer thus predicted that Tesla would eventually stumble into bankruptcy, like every other major car startup since the 1920s. And this wasn’t an implausible idea at the time. Up through mid-2019, the company had posted a quarterly profit on just three occasions in its entire existence.
But a funny thing has happened since then. Starting in 2020, and accelerating through 2022, Tesla has posted consistent large profits, reaching a peak of $3.7 billion in the last quarter of 2022. There are two obvious explanations. The first is the subsidies in the Inflation Reduction Act. Tesla had previously run through its allotment of federal tax credits for its cars, but the law restored them for many of its models, boosting demand. The IRA also has a large subsidy for battery production, which granted the company between $150-250 million in the second quarter of this year.
The second explanation is that Musk is now spending most of his time running Twitter into the ground instead of fiddling with Tesla’s factories and models. As The Wall Street Journal reported back in May, Tesla’s Chief Financial Officer Zach Kirkhorn is now de facto running the company in Musk’s stead. By all accounts, Kirkhorn is exactly the kind of cool-headed, logical, spotlight-averse type of executive the company badly needs. Under his guidance over the last couple years Tesla seems to have focused on the boring nitty-gritty details of factory production, ironed out most of its production kinks, and is now delivering consistent numbers of vehicles. The company’s brand, meanwhile, remains strong enough that a critical mass of customers automatically turn to Tesla when considering an EV, despite it not releasing a new consumer model for the last three years.
Perhaps Musk’s Twitter purchase will be Tesla’s salvation. He’s already lost tens of billions of dollars on the deal, and his increasingly erratic antics on the platform have torched most of what remained of his reputation as a genius innovator. Most recently, he tweeted that he had reinstated the account of a QAnon conspiracy theorist who was banned for, in Musk’s words, “posting child exploitation pictures.” That’s an excuse for the Tesla board to give him the boot if ever there was one.
As a business, Tesla needed Musk’s megalomania and cult of personality to get off the ground. But now he is an existential threat. He remains CEO, and he’s gotten markedly more unhinged since spending hours and hours per day bantering online with antisemitic trolls. He could take back control at any time, demanding disruptive new changes to its factories or promising a new car that will, I dunno, fly into space. (The upcoming new Roadster — which Musk promised in 2017 to be delivered in 2020 and hasn’t been seen since — is supposed to have a package including “cold gas thrusters” from SpaceX.)
If Tesla wants to survive over the long term, it’s time for the adults to take charge.
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Most Americans still say they would oppose a data center being built near where they live, but the facilities’ standing has improved among Republicans, a new Heatmap Pro poll finds.
The American public’s backlash against data centers may finally be starting to slow down, although the facilities remain staggeringly unpopular, a new poll finds.
Seventy-one percent of Americans said they would oppose a data center being built near where they live, according to a new Heatmap Pro poll conducted by Embold Research earlier this month.
That is an abysmal finding for technology companies and would-be developers of the computing facilities. But it actually represents an improvement from previous polling, and it suggests one of the fastest shifts in public opinion in recent memory may be tapering off.
That shift has been swift. As recently as September of last year, about 43% of Americans said they would support a data center being built near where they live, and Americans broadly appeared to be evenly split on the infrastructure, according to Heatmap Pro polling. Eleven months later, 75% of Americans told the same poll that they would oppose a nearby data center — a 32 point shift. That monumental turnaround helped make data centers a defining issue in this election cycle.
That backlash has transformed the economics of the data center boom, the largest infrastructure buildout in recent U.S. history. The overwhelming majority of data center projects now face some degree of community opposition, Heatmap Pro reporting suggests. More than $260 billion in proposed data centers have been canceled this year after meeting local opposition. The artificial intelligence company Anthropic even flagged the infrastructure slowdown on Monday when it filed for its initial public offering, which is widely expected to be among the largest ever.
Now our new survey shows that Americans’ rejection of the enormous computing facilities may itself be slowing. The small observed drop, which only slightly exceeds the survey’s margin of error, was driven by a four-point decline in the share of Americans who said they would “strongly oppose” the technology.

While Americans of all parties improved their view of data centers, the change was most pronounced among Republicans. In August, 23% of GOP voters said that they would support a data center being built near where they live. In the new poll, conducted after weeks of favorable campaigning by President Trump, 34% of Republicans said they would support a data center slated for their area, while the share of Republicans who said they would oppose it fell from 66% to 58%. Data centers’ standing among independents improved by nine points during the same period.
Democrats remain largely unified against the infrastructure, and data centers’ improvement among that group was just outside the margin of error.
While Americans of every age, race, gender, and partisan ID remain more opposed to local data center development than in favor of it, their standing has also improved among men since the summer. In August, 21% of men said they would support a data center being built near where they live. Now, 28% of men would support one.
Will America be the land of opportunity for AtkinsRéalis’ tried-and-true CANDU?
Unruffled by President Trump’s taunts of turning Canada into the 51st state, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney has vowed to regain leverage over Washington by remaking his nation as an “energy superpower.” Instead of building pipelines from the oil fields of Alberta to American refineries, Ottawa will run them to its West Coast ports to sell crude directly to Asia. Rather than importing electricity from offshore wind farms in the American Northeast, Nova Scotia will build its own turbines and sell the power back to energy-starved New England as the Trump administration thwarts the region’s own buildout.
But Canada’s path to reviving its nuclear industry may run — counterintuitively — through the United States.
Last week, Montreal-based AtkinsRéalis inked a deal with utility Hoosier Energy and the Indiana government to explore building up to 6 gigawatts of reactors in the state. The agreement is only a memorandum of understanding to kick off a study examining potential sites across the state. But it marks the first real effort to export Canada’s unique pressurized heavy-water reactors, called CANDUs, to the U.S., and highlights how America’s domestic nuclear industry has atrophied to the point that foreign developers of large-scale units are racing to establish a beachhead in the world’s largest atomic power market.
“If the Americans had created the CANDU, everyone in the world would know about it,” Joe St. Julian, the American-born president of AtkinsRéalis, told me. “There’s just a cultural difference in the way that the Canadians go about things and the way the Americans do.”
Pronounced “CAN-do,” the upbeat acronym stands for Canada Deuterium Uranium and evokes the government’s post-war, can-do spirit, mustered to help protect its sovereignty during the bipolarity of the Cold War. Developed in the 1950s by Canadian government scientists and now used across the country’s entire nuclear fleet, CANDUs rely on deuterium, a version of hydrogen with an extra neutron, as their “heavy water” coolant to sustain their chains of split atoms. Uranium powers virtually all commercial nuclear reactors, but CANDUs are distinct in that they can run on the raw stuff, rather than enriched uranium. That’s their real advantage: By forgoing the costly and heavily scrutinized enrichment process, Canada can tap its vast resources of mined uranium without facing the bottleneck of the expensive enrichment facilities or attracting the intensive oversight of global regulators monitoring for the production of atomic weapons.
The 17 reactors that provide 15% of Canada’s electricity today are all CANDUs. India’s fleet largely borrowed the technology, and Argentina, China, Romania, and South Korea have all imported their own CANDUs. But the buildout largely stopped in the last century. Canada built its last CANDU in Romania in 2007. The last Canadian CANDU — Unit 4 of the Darlington nuclear plant in Ontario — came online in 1993.
Two years ago, Canada sought to restart its reactor buildout by commissioning its first American-designed unit. Construction began last year on the world’s first BWRX-300, a small modular reactor that uses enriched uranium as fuel. The U.S. plans to build the second version of the same reactor at the Tennessee Valley Authority’s Clinch River site. Whether it can deliver the cost savings SMRs promise remains an open question, given that nuclear developers have historically improved economics by making reactors bigger, not smaller.
But Chris Keefer, a Toronto physician-cum-nuclear advocate who hosts the in-depth energy podcast Decouple, told me he believes Canada’s real error is in benching the CANDU. While Ontario’s government-owned utility “got their backs slapped endlessly for having the courage to go first” in building the inaugural SMR on the continent, “they’re idiots to be investing $21 billion of Canadian ratepayers’ money to prop up an American company with American technology,” he said, colorfully characterizing the move as a massive error and “the result of dis-coordinated decision-making.” (Converted from loonies to U.S. dollars, that figure is about $14.9 billion.)
While Keefer added that he opposes the trade war between Washington and Ottawa, he also recognizes it as a potential opening. “Part of me loves it and this deglobalization moment we’re in, where strategic autonomy and national interest matter,” he said.
The Carney administration has yet to set clear rules on what kind of reactor technology it will support domestically, but it could, in theory, limit access to federal subsidies for provinces and utilities that opt for non-CANDU technologies. For now, however, there appears to be quiet agreement between the U.S. and Canada on bringing the technology south. St. Julian said the Canadian Ministry of Energy has been “very supportive” in talks about providing financing for CANDU exports to the U.S. AtkinsRéalis is also in talks with the U.S. Department of Energy, though a source familiar with that agency’s thinking cast doubt over the possibility that the Trump administration would ultimately fund a Canadian project in the U.S.
None of this was a part of AtkinsRéalis’ long game, St. Julian told me. “The U.S. had four or five of its own reactor technologies,” he said. “Why would it build a foreign technology?” But shortly after Trump returned to office, “We looked at it and realized the U.S. is down to a single large reactor technology: Westinghouse. The other three or four are no longer in business.”
That was the opening AtkinsRéalis needed. “The U.S. made clear it had the aspiration to build 300 new nuclear power stations,” St. Julian went on. “Between Westinghouse and new technologies coming online with SMRs, we said they couldn’t possibly reach their aspiration no matter how optimistic they are about the capacity and supply chain of first-of-a-kind technologies.”
So the company applied to the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission for approval of the CANDU. In June, AtkinsRéalis sent the regulator a formal heads-up about its plans to file an application this past summer, and it expects to complete its second topical report for the NRC by the end of this month.
The CANDUs aren’t the only foreign reactors making a play in the U.S., though. Last month, South Korea unveiled a deal with the Trump administration to fund construction of up to six AP1000s and two APR1400s.
The CANDU does have some drawbacks that the APR1400 doesn’t. The same characteristics that let its reactors sustain fission using raw uranium also cause wear and tear that requires a significant refurbishment every 35 years. (Canada is already funding a campaign of repairs domestically.) And while a typical refueling outage for a light water reactor lasts up to two months and renovations ahead of a relicensing can take up to a year, the refurbishment process for a CANDU can take the unit offline for two years or more.
AtkinsRéalis declined to comment on its internal estimates of the cost of such a refurbishment, which is — among industry experts — widely criticized as costly. But St. Julian said the company guarantees at least two refurbishments in a CANDU’s lifetime, giving each unit a 105-year lifespan. Amortizing the costs over more than a century of electricity production, not to mention the company’s experience building units all over the world, means a CANDU is “a lot less expensive” than rival technologies, he said.
“The APR1400’s biggest advantage is the Korean industrial ecosystem,” Nana Menya Ayensu, a non-resident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council who worked on energy policy in the Biden White House, told me. “But the CANDU has lots of advantages that are specific to the technology in terms of not needing enriched fuel.”
Keefer highlighted another upside he’s acutely aware of due to his day job as an emergency-room doctor: CANDUs are particularly well-suited to batch-producing “enormous amounts” of medical isotopes, such as cobalt-60, used in cancer chemotherapy and the sterilization of surgical instruments, among other uses.
The technology is certainly attracting attention. Last month, Argentina and Romania agreed to work together on more CANDU projects. Weeks later, as I reported, Poland’s state-backed nuclear developer approved a tender for a second nuclear power station, for which it’s considering the CANDU. Last week, Turkey signed an agreement with Carney to cooperate on civilian nuclear energy, putting the CANDU in contention for the country’s second atomic power station.
And earlier this month, Atlas Atomics, a startup backed by Ohio’s Republican gubernatorial candidate Vivek Ramaswamy, raised $400 million in a Series A to commercialize its own pressurized heavy water reactor, in what Keefer dubbed in his newsletter the “AmeriCANDU.”
St. Julian said the new competition shows the unique value of the CANDU. “The difference is, we’ve been doing it for 70 years, and we spent tens of millions of dollars to perfect this technology; they’re just starting,” he said. Then he cracked a half smile. “They have the benefit of being a second movement,” he added. “But, man, we have a big head start.”
Plus, one big opportunity for climate change.
Anthropic is worried about its ability to power data centers.
While much of the company’s more-than-330-page filing for its planned initial public offering focuses on the mundane (executive compensation) and the extraordinary (“existential risks” are mentioned three times), considerable space is devoted to the problems of power.
The word “energy” appears 14 times in the section of the document laying out risks to Anthropic’s business, while “climate” or “climate change” is mentioned four times.
The overarching concern the company has is that it might not get enough power for data centers running its large language models. “Delays in securing energy, water, and other critical services for these facilities could further slow the pace at which newly commissioned compute becomes available for use,” is one representative sample from its risk factors section. The document later notes that “our business may face increased scrutiny related to these activities … including from the investment community and the local communities in which we operate,” in a later section on environmental, social, and governance standards.
Anthropic is also concerned with the pace of the energy infrastructure build-out more generally, noting “the construction of the generation and transmission infrastructure on which we depend is itself capital-intensive and exposed to labor shortages, supply chain disruptions, permitting delays, changes in interest rates, tariffs, other cost overruns, and financing constraints.” These concerns will be familiar to anyone following the debate in Washington, D.C., over permitting reform, which is also centered on making transmission easier and cheaper to build.
Later in the document, Anthropic writes that electricity policy is both highly varied across the country — “Grid-tied electrical supply, for instance, is subject to the jurisdiction of federal and state energy regulators, regional grid operators, and public utility commissions” — and also evolving, noting specifically that “environmental standards applicable to power generation continue to evolve, including as a result of changing governmental priorities and shifting public and political views regarding climate change and the appropriate treatment of various power generation sources.”
The risk of these policies is that they could result in “failure to secure access to adequate electrical power,” which could then “adversely affect our cost structure and limit our ability to scale our compute infrastructure, develop and deploy our models, and service our customers.”
Anthropic also acknowledges energy can be quite expensive, writing that costs are “largely outside of our control” and can “rise sharply during periods of peak demand or constrained supply, and such increases in energy costs could adversely affect our results of operations.”
Anthropic is the charter member of an industry group, along with Nvidia and Google, to promote and enable demand flexibility, which would reduce peak demand — and thus bring down electricity prices and alleviate the need for additional new infrastructure — by having data centers draw down their power usage when demand was at its highest. The company notes that it has also signed on to “voluntary commitments to offset the impact of our data center energy consumption on local communities and electricity ratepayers.” Already, the document says, “these commitments have increased, and we expect will continue to increase, our operating costs.”
And while the document has little to say about climate change per se and even less about sustainability and renewables, it does note that “the physical effects of climate change may increase our operating costs over time, as higher average temperatures can increase the power consumption and water usage required to cool equipment at the facilities on which we depend.”
Climate change also acts as an amplifier for potential disasters that could affect the company. “The impact of climate change may increase these risks,” the company says of “war, terrorist attacks, and other acts of political violence, or any significant natural disaster, such as an earthquake, fire, hurricane, tornado, flood, or significant power outage.”
Specifically, Anthropic calls out climate-related risk specific to the Bay Area, where it is headquartered. Or, as it bloodlessly describes it, “a region known for seismic activity and increasingly for the threat of fires.”
Otherwise, climate change and sustainability policy is largely seen as a regulatory and cost burden. For example, “regulations relating to [environmental, social, and governance] matters, including environmental sustainability and climate change, are under consideration, being adopted, or being rolled back or revised, which may impact our necessary disclosures and increase compliance costs,” and “sustainability initiatives, goals, or commitments could be difficult to achieve or costly to implement.”
It notes a variety of California, European Union, and United Kingdom climate disclosure laws “will require the dedication of significant time and resources” while also observing that “across the United States ... enacted or proposed ‘anti-ESG’ policies or legislation or have issued related legal opinions,” which could “expose any sustainability, employment, governance, or other corporate practices we adopt to the risk of litigation, antitrust investigations or challenges by federal or state authorities, and result in injunctions, penalties, and reputational harm.”
The document is far less detailed about what Anthropic and its products could do to alleviate or prevent climate change and its effects. This is not surprising for a regulatory filing concerned with disclosing corporate information and outlining risks to investors — but the filing is also supposed to explain the business opportunities it sees as well. In that regard, climate is relegated to a laundry list of potential scientific projects Anthropic’s products could be helpful with. “Claude is also being applied to pressing global problems in scientific research, drug discovery, education, and climate analysis,” it writes.
If its S-1 is any indication, there will be a lot of work to do.