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It’s okay if rural America doesn’t want EVs.

Where I am from, people worry about making good time. Nebraska small talk regresses not to what route you took — the California concern — but how fast you got there. Rather than get on a plane, people from the Great Plains will undertake a 10-hour drive to Cousin Rob’s in Dallas and rue that they could’ve done it in nine and a half if not for all the construction. Dads refuse to stop on long drives for this very reason.
Electric cars aren’t great for making great time. Even though charging speeds are getting faster, the leisurely pace of the EV break can’t compare to the Cannonball Run pit stop: pump gas, use the restroom, and get back on the road within five minutes. EVs are not (yet) ideal for other, more practical rural concerns. The punishing winter temperatures of North Dakota can sap a battery’s driving range. So does towing the boat to the lake. Flyover country is full of state highways where there is nary a fast-charger in sight.
Those are among the reasons the residents of rural America hesitate to embrace the EV. There is a tribal impetus, too: Rural areas are heavily Republican and more likely to reject electric cars on the basis of political identity. This fact may spell trouble for the Detroit auto giants trying to sell EV pickup trucks to die-hard combustion loyalists and for goals of making America an all-EV nation anytime soon. But when it comes to climate, maybe it’s not a crisis.
Like any environmental issue, the EV question is about scale. To reduce the carbon pollution of the transportation sector, it’s not enough for a few people to trade in their gas-guzzling Ford Expeditions for Mustang Mach-Es. Most people need to do it to take a chunk out of emissions.
Fortunately, electric vehicles work best where people are concentrated. City dwellers generally drive shorter distances than rural residents during errands and commutes, meaning an EV with decent range can cover their everyday needs. Even those at the exurban extents of major metropolitan areas are generally close enough to city centers to make a round trip without charging in the middle.
Charging infrastructure follows the population maps, too. As the country scales up its supply of level 3 fast chargers, it still makes the most sense to put the vast majority of those plugs in cities and along the Interstate System where those urbanites do most of their driving. This drives a feedback loop that will continue to make electric driving more enticing to city people than country people.
For those rooting for mass adoption of EVs, this is good news. According to sustainability researchers at the University of Michigan, 83% of Americans now live in urban areas, up from 64% in 1950. That number could approach 90% by mid-century. The United States, despite its small town self-mythologizing, is an urban country that grows more urban by the day, and that means most people live in a location where an EV could meet their daily driving needs.
(Also, urban areas should embrace EVs to reduce the health-damaging air pollution from ICE tailpipes, which concentrates in places with lots of people, and therefore cars. In rural places where people are spread out and dozens of cars don’t sit idling as a herd during freeway traffic, this is a less pressing concern.)
The fact that electric driving would prove more challenging for rural America sounds like grim news for climate change, since according to one study, they have a 20% larger carbon footprint compared to their urban counterparts, a difference largely attributed to home heating and to driving longer distances. But, again, the question is about scale. Even though living in the boonies necessitates emitting more carbon, there are just so many more metropolitan Americans. The best way to make a big dent in transportation emissions is to get metro residents — the 83% — to embrace the life electric.
Eventually, the EV revolution will reach the countryside, but those who prefer combustion driving will be able to keep doing so for a long time to come. Even if the nation followed the California goal of making the light-duty vehicle market 100% electric by 2035, that’s only new cars. (California banned the sale of gas-powered lawn equipment, but I still hear plenty of small-engine leaf blowers at work around Los Angeles every afternoon.) Vehicles are better-built than they’ve even been and last on the road for more than a decade, meaning there’ll be plenty of gas-burners on the highway deep into the 2040s. It will just become more expensive to fuel and to service them as the country’s infrastructure and mechanic shops finally move away from combustion.
Just like America’s presidential elections, the country’s EV battle may be won or lost in the suburbs.
Consider one recent research project, which found that while rural residents emit more carbon than city-dwellers, it’s suburbanites who are the very worst. They drive more than those who live in the center city and might have access to decent public transportation. And, on average, they earn more than truly rural residents, which is correlated with a higher carbon footprint. That project studied Austria, but the Brookings Institute found the same thing in the United States: “In metropolitan regions, suburbs emit up to four times the household emissions of their urban cores. While households located in more densely populated neighborhoods have a carbon footprint 50% below the national average, those in the suburbs emit up to twice the average.”
To put it another way: It’s suburbanites who could potentially do the most climate good by switching to EVs. Plus, they are potentially affluent enough to afford electric vehicles. They’re also likely to have garages and driveways to make charging at home a simpler affair compared to the apartment-dweller who has little control over whether their landlord puts plugs in the parking lot. (Mine didn’t.)
Certainly suburbia has its share of MAGA rank-and-file who dismiss EVs as the choice of the woke, as well as Towing Dads who’ll hold out until electric pickup range can match that of gas. Yet the politically purple ‘burbs may be ruled by the pragmatists, or people who’ll happily buy an EV — just as soon as they’re convinced it’s the right economic choice for their families, or, perhaps, as soon as everybody else at their kids’ school starts getting one.
Sources like David Rapson of the University of California, Davis have told me these buyers are the tipping point for the mass adoption of the electric vehicle. It makes sense: EVs may never convince their entrenched opponents to ditch internal combustion, but they don’t have to. If the bulk of Americans make the jump and begin driving the kids to practice on battery power, that’s an enormous chunk of carbon that’s simply not emitted.
Transportation is about the right technology for the right situation. EVs are a just-okay choice for dense urban centers — they’re better than gas cars, but thoughtful city planning could help people choose greener and better solutions such as cycling and mass transit. For car-reliant suburbs and exurbs, EVs hold the key to drastically reducing carbon emissions. In truly rural America, the best choice for years to come might be burning gasoline. And maybe that’s fine — as long as the country’s population centers get with the program.
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In seven years of owning an electric car, I’ve done practically no maintenance. My 2019 Tesla Model 3 has gotten a new set of tires and windshield wipers, but because an EV doesn’t require oil changes or many of the other occasional chores that come with gas cars, that’s about it.
The one thing I have had to fix is the battery, and no, I don’t mean the big one that makes the car go.
Twice in those seven years, I’ve replaced the car’s 12-volt battery. This is the toolbox-sized unit that’s familiar to millions — it’s what the phrase “car battery” used to mean back before electric vehicles. Lots of new or aspiring EV drivers may not even realize their car has a second, smaller battery borrowed from combustion days. But this crucial holdover — the most recycled object on the planet, by the way, at a rate of more than 100 million annually — has already been a source of annoyance for EV engineers and drivers.
The reason behind the weird setup is straightforward. Despite the fact that EVs are effectively giant batteries on wheels, they need a backup source to operate the power windows and doors. If you’re in a car accident that disables the main battery, for instance, you need power to the doors to escape, and also a way to disconnect the high-voltage battery. Thus, the old-fashioned 12-volt battery squirreled away deep inside the car to protect it during collisions.
It’s not just a matter of backup power, either. A large, high-voltage battery would have to step down its electrical output for applications other than pushing a car down the road; it’s simpler to power them with a 12-volt battery and use the big unit to recharge the smaller one. After all, legacy carmakers have decades of experience building this kind of electrical system for gasoline-powered cars. Some EVs also use the 12-volt setup to disconnect the high-voltage power supply when the car is simply parked for a long time.
All this makes solid engineering sense. It also means that a sleek, modern EV is reliant upon the clunky car battery of yesteryear. Some drivers, including those in new Kia EVs, have said they can’t drive their cars even though there’s plenty of juice in the big unit because something went wrong with the 12-volt. As one Reddit commenter wrote: “It seems absurd to design a car that can run out of electrons and not be able to start while it is carrying 70 kWh of energy in a giant battery.” Yet that’s exactly the reality.
There are a few reasons why. As InsideEVs has noted, the rugged old 12-volt keeps getting more and more responsibility. Nowadays, the constant cellular connectivity of modem EVs — as well as features that can be used while the car is parked, such as security systems that tap into the vehicle’s exterior cameras to monitor the surrounding area — can cause a continuous drain on the 12-volt battery. That requires the car’s big battery to “wake up” and recharge the smaller one, which not only bleeds the vehicle’s driving range while it’s sitting still but also causes lots of recharging cycles for the 12-volt, prematurely aging the small battery.
Rivian had notorious problems from this issue for the older R1T and R1S and had to engineer a fix. Hyundais and Kias, meanwhile, have had longstanding issues with their Integrated Charging Control Unit, the system that recharges the 12-volt battery, that have caused a variety of recalls and headaches widely documented in online posts and videos. Chevy and Toyota have endured their own growing pains trying to make a low-voltage electrical system work well inside an EV.
But the car companies are getting smarter. Rather than duplicating what works in gas cars, more of them are building EV-specific systems with this application in mind. For example, the 12-volt in an EV doesn’t need to provide the big single burst needed to start up a gas engine, but it does need to be able to survive being subjected to more recharging cycles. In other words, it’s not that using these batteries in modern EVs is a bad idea — we just need to be smarter about how.
Perhaps EV builders one day will engineer away the old battery. Rivian, for one, has filed a patent for an electrical architecture that would work without a low-voltage battery at all. But those workarounds are a long way out. For now, even the most futuristic-feeling electric cars are stuck with the same kind of battery your dad had to jump-start in the church parking lot that time you left the AC on and the engine wasn’t running. My big, high-voltage battery might keep running forever, even as its capacity continues to diminish. But inevitably, I’ll need another small, dumb battery when this one goes kaput.
GOP lawmakers know climate change is real. But they lack political incentives to do anything about it.
The New York Times recently profiled former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and his increasing engagement on climate change. Many of the online comments accused him of hypocrisy. Why, they asked, did he only become concerned about climate change after leaving Congress?
It’s an understandable question.
I have spent the better part of a decade discussing climate change with Republican members of Congress and can see a frequently overlooked part of the answer. During my hundreds of one-on-one conversations with Republican senators and representatives, almost none of them deny that climate change is occurring. Most understand the science well enough, and many acknowledge privately that it presents serious long-term risks.
They don’t lack knowledge. They lack political incentives.
Members of Congress have finite political capital. Every day they must decide which issues deserve their attention. Naturally, they devote their time to the issues that voters, donors, activists, staff, and party leaders tell them matter most.
Politics is a marketplace of incentives. For decades, climate advocates have devoted their efforts to changing Republicans’ minds, but have devoted little effort to changing the incentives for Republicans to act.
The political ecosystem for Democrats could not be more different. Democrats are surrounded by organizations that continually reinforce the importance of climate policy. Environmental groups, philanthropies, labor organizations, advocacy organizations, academics, campaign donors, think tanks, and congressional staff all create an environment in which climate engagement is expected and rewarded.
Republicans experience almost none of that.
When I was quoted in the New York Times article, I described the “eco right” as “a lonely place.” I meant it literally. There are remarkably few conservative organizations whose primary mission is helping Republican elected officials develop serious climate policy. Few donors make climate engagement a condition of support. Few advocacy groups reward constructive leadership. Few congressional staff have access to a deep bench of conservative climate experts. Climate is far more often presented as a political liability than a leadership opportunity.
In that environment, addressing climate change is rarely a priority. This largely explains what puzzles many observers — that Republican leaders often become noticeably more outspoken about addressing climate change after leaving office. The science has not changed. Their incentives have.
Freed from primary elections, fundraising pressures, and the constant competition for legislative attention, they’re able to think about problems whose consequences unfold over decades instead of election cycles.
That observation leads to an uncomfortable conclusion for those of us who want stronger climate policy: Persuading Republicans that climate change is real is not just unnecessary, it’s unproductive. They know it’s real. The more important task is building the institutions that make climate engagement a priority. That means investing in conservative policy organizations, developing Republican congressional staff expertise, supporting Republican governors and state legislators, encouraging business leaders to engage, creating donor networks that reward constructive center-right leadership, and giving Republican members credible partners they can trust.
In other words, we need to make the eco-right a much less lonely place.
Building institutions requires capital, both political and financial. Today, the overwhelming majority of climate-related political spending — whether by advocacy organizations, political action committees, or philanthropically supported campaigns — flows to Democratic candidates and causes. It’s understandable. Democrats have generally been more supportive of climate action, and donors naturally want to reward those who stand with them.
But rewarding allies isn’t the same as expanding the number of them.
If the objective is durable climate policy rather than simply electing more Democrats, then the current allocation of political spending deserves reconsideration. Congress writes laws, and lasting legislation almost always requires bipartisan support. A movement that invests overwhelmingly in one party shouldn’t be surprised when the other party lacks champions, expertise, and political incentives.
Climate philanthropists, advocacy organizations, and political action committees should explicitly seek to create Republican allies by committing a more significant portion of their electoral spending to Republican candidates. This support would send a powerful signal throughout Republican politics that constructive engagement on climate change will be rewarded. More Republican candidates would respond to those incentives, and the universe of viable partners would expand.
For Republicans, the greatest opportunity lies in primary elections. While general elections determine which party governs, primaries determine what kind of Republicans and Democrats will govern. Donors should identify Republican candidates who are willing to engage on a variety of climate-related topics — from adaptation and resilience to market-based policies that reduce emissions to energy innovation — and help them succeed. The objective isn’t ideological purity. It’s to demonstrate that constructive climate leadership is politically viable within today’s Republican Party, and to give those candidates the confidence that they aren’t alone.
Over time, this approach would accomplish something today’s funding model cannot. Rather than simply rewarding an existing coalition, it would create a larger one. It would produce more Republican members who see climate engagement as compatible with conservative principles. Climate change would still be a scientific and economic challenge, but politics would no longer preclude addressing it.
Rather than increasingly evident climate change adding to political division, it could drive both parties to act. America’s biggest policy achievements have generally occurred when a president elevated an issue as a national priority and Congress responded. Tax reform, welfare reform, civil rights, and other major agreements all required presidential leadership before they produced durable bipartisan legislation.
Climate policy has not yet reached that level. While voters increasingly care about it, it does not determine presidential elections or dominate governing agendas.
The closest climate change has come to being a top-tier issue was when President George H.W. Bush signed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change in 1992, but that was before addressing climate change became so partisan. More recently, President Joe Biden included clean energy tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. That modest success is noteworthy in part because it rode upon legislation to address inflation, a top-tier voter issue — and because the provisions were largely repealed less than three years later. Until climate change becomes a presidential-level issue — one that candidates in both parties believe they must address — Congress is unlikely to devote sustained attention to it.
That day will come. And when that moment arrives, the quality of the legislation will depend on the work being done now. If we want bipartisan climate policy tomorrow, we need to build bipartisan political capacity today.
The climate movement has spent decades rewarding allies. The next several decades should be spent adding more. Politics follows incentives more than information. If we want Republicans to lead on addressing climate change or at least become those allies, we must stop just trying to persuade them and start investing in the institutions, incentives, and people that make it possible.
Current conditions: Tropical Depression Two is set to strengthen into Tropical Storm Bertha as the system widens over the Gulf Coast from Texas to Tampa Bay, Florida • Temperatures will top 112 degrees Fahrenheit in Khartoum, the capital of war-ravaged Sudan • Canadian wildfire smoke may have largely cleared in the Northeastern United States, but nearly 900 blazes are still burning, and Chicago is still under an air quality warning.

Andy Burnham, the new leader of the British Labour Party and the likely next prime minister of the United Kingdom, has vowed to uphold a contentious ban on exploration licenses for oil and gas drilling in the North Sea. While deputy party leader Lucy Powell told the BBC on Sunday that fossil fuels from the North Sea would remain part of Britain's energy mix, the so-called “king of the north,” who previously led the industrial metropolis of Manchester as its mayor, has instead stuck by the party’s original plan. “If they don’t reverse the ban on new exploration then the industry will be very unhappy indeed,” one industry source told the Financial Times. The decision comes after rumors had swirled that Burnham may support increasing domestic fossil fuel production in a bid to bring down energy prices. In a post on his Truth Social network, Trump wrote: “The People of Aberdeen, in Scotland, are dancing in the streets because the new Prime Minister, Andy Burnham, has stated that he will be opening up, all the way, the invaluable North Sea Oil!”
Scotland is, on the other hand, getting more of Trump’s least favorite energy source. The American president’s antipathy toward offshore turbines, so goes the lore, began with an unsuccessful bid to block a project he considered unsightly off the coast of his golf course there. Last week, Renewables Now reported that offshore wind developer Ocean Winds secured the Scottish government’s approval for a 2-gigawatt offshore wind farm called Caledonia, the name Romans gave the area of Britain that ultimately became Scotland and its frontier with England. Located 25 miles off Moray Firth, the project is poised to begin construction in 2030.
In the U.S., the Trump administration has limited plans for carbon removal facilities. In Canada, as Emily has written, Prime Minister Mark Carney has opened the door to direct air capture companies looking for a new home base. But in the European Union, Brussels is already weaving carbon removal into the bloc's carbon-trading market. The EU’s highest governing body, the European Commission, proposed allowing carbon removal into its EU Emissions Trading System for the first time. “Under the current rules, companies cannot use carbon credits of any kind to comply with the regulations,” Emily wrote last week in a piece previewing the proposal. “But as 2040 grows closer, the EU plans to rely on carbon removal to offset some of the residual emissions from industries that are the most difficult to decarbonize.” For now, the scheme will be limited to direct air capture and bioenergy with carbon capture and sequestration.
Last month, New York Attorney General Letitia James headed a group of Democratic-led states in a lawsuit challenging the Trump administration’s deals to kill offshore wind projects, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has written. Now many of those same blue states are seeking to join private developers’ litigation seeking to thaw President Donald Trump’s freeze on approving wind projects. Last week, the states filed a motion to intervene on behalf of wind companies that accuse the administration of unfairly targeting their businesses. The states argue, according to Bloomberg Law, that the halt to federal permitting “pushes up electricity costs” and “hurts their attempts to curb fossil fuel emissions.”
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Claude-maker Anthropic is set to lease computing power for its artificial intelligence data centers from Meta, making what The New York Times described as “a potential step toward a new AI for the social networking company.” Under the deal, Anthropic would pay the Facebook parent company $10 billion over two years, in monthly increments. The agreement is roughly a third the size of the deal that the AI giant signed with Elon Musk’s xAI in May for $45 billion of computing power over three years. That deal has drawn blowback given the vast arrays of gas turbines that power xAI’s biggest data center, Colossus, which is the subject of an air pollution lawsuit filed by the NAACP. As for Meta, insiders Heatmap talked to at the end of last year put it in the bottom of hyperscalers based on its decarbonization efforts. One social scientist told us, “Google is the best, Meta is the worst. Evil corporation.”
Russia’s state-owned nuclear company has at least 18 new nuclear projects underway at home, Rosatom announced. The Kremlin-owned company said the projects are in “various stages of implementation” throughout Russia, and don’t count the more than two dozen under construction overseas in places such as Bangladesh, India, and Turkey. In a speech published in the company’s in-house magazine and shared with World Nuclear News, Rosatom Director General Alexei Likhachev said the firm aims to increase revenues to $51.3 billion by 2028 — a nearly 18% increase from this year. Improving profits, however, means reducing costs by 5% that same year.
Meanwhile, the Kremlin’s nuclear regulator, Rostekhnadzor, has issued licenses for the first two proposed units of the new Kola nuclear station in northwest Russia, near Finland. The plant is expected to begin construction next year, NucNet reported, and ultimately include four VVER-S medium-capacity pressurized water reactors.
Tesla has a fierce new competitor in the European market. The Chinese automaker Xpeng just released its compact L03 crossover. The starting price in the German market, $40,700, undercuts the Tesla Model Y’s $44,480. The vehicle, per InsideEVs, is the first Chinese car to be fully integrated with Google Maps.