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Pennsylvania is out, Virginia wants in, and New Jersey is treating it like a piggybank.

The Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative has been quietly accelerating the energy transition in the Mid-Atlantic and Northeast since 2005. Lately, however, the noise around the carbon market has gotten louder as many of the compact’s member states have seen rising energy prices dominate their local politics.
What is RGGI, exactly? How does it work? And what does it have to do with the race for the 2028 Democratic presidential nomination?
Read on:
The Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative is a cap and trade market with roots in a multistate compact formed in 2005 involving Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, and Vermont.
The goal was to reduce emissions, and the mechanism would be regular auctions for emissions “allowances,” which large carbon-emitting electricity generators would have to purchase at auction. Over time, the total number of allowances in circulation would shrink, making each one more expensive and encouraging companies to reduce their emissions. The cap started at 188 million short tons of carbon and has been dropping steadily ever since, with an eventual target of under 10 million by 2037.
By the time of the first auction in 2008, six states were fully participating — Delaware, New Hampshire, New Jersey, and New York were out; Maryland, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island were in — and together they raised almost $39 million. By the second auction later that year, 10 states — the six from the previous auction, plus New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire, and Delaware — were fully participating.
Membership has grown and shrunk over the years (for reasons we’ll cover below) but the current makeup is the same as it was at the end of 2008.
When carbon pricing schemes were first dreamt up by economists, the basic thinking was that by taxing something bad (carbon emissions) you could reduce taxes on something good (like wages or income). Real existing carbon pricing schemes, however, have tended to put their proceeds toward further decarbonization rather than reducing taxes or other costs.
In the case of the RGGI, the bulk of revenue goes to fund state climate programs. About two-thirds of investments from RGGI revenues in 2023 went to energy efficiency programs, which have received 56% of the system’s cumulative investments. By contrast, 15% of the 2023 investments (and 15% of the all-time investments) went to “direct bill assistance,” i.e. lowering utility bills.
Carbon dioxide emissions from the power sector have fallen by 40% to 50% in the RGGI territory since the program began — faster than in the U.S. as a whole.
That’s in part because the areas covered by RGGI have seen some of the sharpest transitions away from coal-fired power. New England, for instance, saw its last coal plant shut down late last year.
But it’s not always easy to figure out what was the effect of RGGI versus broader shifts in the energy industry. In the emissions-trading system’s early years, allowance prices were very low, and actual emissions fell well below the cap. That was largely due to factors affecting the country as a whole, including sluggish demand growth for electricity. The fracking boom also sent natural gas prices plunging, accelerating the switch from coal to gas and decelerating carbon dioxide emissions from the power sector (although this effect may have been more limited in the RGGI region, much of which has insufficient natural gas pipeline capacity).
That said, RGGI still might have helped tip the scales, Dallas Burtraw, a senior fellow at Resources for the Future, told me.
“It takes only a modest carbon price to really push out coal,” he said, pointing to the experience of RGGI and arguing that it could be replicated in other states. A 2016 paper by Man-Kuen Kim and Taehoo kim published in Energy Economics found “strong evidence that coal to gas switching has been actually accelerated by RGGI implementation.”
That trick doesn’t work as well now as it used to, though. “For the first 10 years or so, the primary margin for achieving emission reductions was substitution from coal to gas,” Burtraw told me. Then renewables prices began to drop “precipitously” in the early 2010s, opening up the opportunity for more thoroughgoing decarbonization beyond just getting rid of coal. “Going forward, I think program advocates would say that now you’re seeing the move from gas to renewables with storage,” he said.
When RGGI went through its regular program review in 2012 (these happen every few years; the third was completed last year), the target had to be wrenched downward to account for the actual path of emissions, which had dropped far more quickly than the cap.
“Soon after the start of RGGI, it became apparent that the number of allowances in the emissions budget was higher than actual emissions. Allowance prices consequently dropped, making it particularly inexpensive to purchase allowances and bank them for use in later periods,” a case study published by the Environmental Defense Fund found. In other words, because there was such a gap between the proscribed cap and actual emissions, generators had been able to squirrel away enough allowances to make future caps ineffective.
The arguments against the RGGI have been relatively constant and will be familiar to anyone following debates over energy and climate policy: RGGI raises prices for consumers, its opponents say. It pushes out reliable and cheaper energy sources, and thereby threatens jobs in fossil fuel generation and infrastructure. Also the particulars of how a state joins or exits the group have often come up for debate.
Three states have proved troublesome, including one original member and two later joiners: New Jersey, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. All three states are sizable energy consumers, and Virginia and Pennsylvania have substantial fossil fuel infrastructure and production.
New Jersey quickly expressed its discontent. In 2011, New Jersey’s Republican Governor Chris Christie decided to take the state out of the market, saying that it was unnecessary and costly. Democrat Phil Murphy, Christie’s successor, brought it back in 2020 as part of a broader agenda to decarbonize New Jersey’s economy.
Pennsylvania attempted to join next, in 2019, but ran into legal hurdles almost immediately. Governor Tom Wolf, a Democrat, issued an executive order in 2019 to set up carbon trading in the state, and state regulators got to work drawing up rules to allow Pennsylvania to link up with RGGI, formally joining in 2022.
But the following year, a Pennsylvania court ruled that the state was not able to participate because the regulatory work ordered by Wolf had been approved by the legislature. The case worked its way up to the state’s highest court last spring, but got tossed in January after Governor Josh Shapiro, a Democrat, made a budget deal with the state legislature late last year removing Pennsylvania from RGGI once and for all — more on that below.
Virginia was the last new state to join in 2020, under Democratic Governor Ralph Northam, who said that by joining, Virginia was “sending a powerful signal that our commonwealth is committed to fighting climate change and securing a clean energy future.” A year later, however, Democrats lost the governorship to Republican Glenn Youngkin, who defeated former governor Terry McAuliffe in the 2021 election. Youngkin then removed Virginia from RGGI at the end of 2023.
Youngkin described the exit — technically a choice made by state regulators — as a “commonsense decision by the Air Board to repeal RGGI protects Virginians from the failed program that is not only a regressive tax on families and businesses across the Commonwealth, but also does nothing to reduce pollution.”
Pennsylvania fits uneasily into the Northeastern–blue hue of the RGGI’s core states. It’s larger than any state in the system besides New York, right down the center politically, and is a substantial producer and exporter of electricity, much of it coming from fossil fuels (and nuclear power). It also has lower electricity costs than its neighbors to the east.
Pennsylvania’s governor, Josh Shapiro, is widely expected to run for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2028, and has put reining in electricity costs at the center of his messaging of late. He sued PJM, the mid-Atlantic electricity market at the end of 2024, and won a settlement to cap costs in the system’s capacity auctions. He also helped negotiate a “statement of principles” with the White House in order to potentially get those caps extended. And earlier this month, he met with utility executives “to discuss steps they can take to lower utility costs and protect consumers,” Will Simons, a spokesperson for the governor, said.
Pennsylvania’s permanent and undisputed inclusion in the RGGI system would be a coup. Unlike its neighbor RGGI states, including Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, and New York, Pennsylvania still has a meaningful coal industry, meaning that its emissions could potentially fall substantially with a modest carbon price. It would also provide some relief to the rest of the system by notching significant emissions reductions at lower cost, meaning that electricity prices would likely be minimally affected or even go down, according to research done in 2023 by Burtraw, Angela Pachon, and Maya Domeshek.
“Pennsylvania is the source of a lot of low-cost emission reductions precisely because it still retains that coal-to-gas margin,” Burtraw said. “It looks the way the Northeastern states looked 15 years ago.”
But alas, it won’t happen. As part of a budget deal with Republicans reached late last year, Pennsylvania exited RGGI. That Shapiro would be willing to sacrifice RGGI isn’t shocking considering his record — when he ran for governor in 2021, he often put more emphasis on investing in clean energy than restricting fossil fuels. As governor, he has pushed for regulatory reforms, and even a Pennsylvania-specific cap and trade program, but Senate Republicans made RGGI exit the price of any energy policy talks.
Virginia may be ready to return to the fold.
“For me, this is about cost savings,” newly installed governor Abigail Spanberger said in her inaugural address. “RGGI generated hundreds of millions of dollars for Virginia — dollars that went directly to flood mitigation, energy efficiency programs, and lowering bills for families who need help most.” Furthermore, “withdrawing from RGGI did not lower energy costs,” she said. “In fact, the opposite happened — it just took money out of Virginia’s pocket,” referring to lost gains from RGGI auctions. (Research by Burtraw, Maya Domeshek, and Karen Palmer found that RGGI participation was the “lowest-cost way” of achieving the state’s statutory emissions reductions goals and that the funded investments in efficiency will likely drive down household costs.)
Virginia’s newly elected Attorney General Jay Jones also reversed the position of his Republican predecessor, signing on to litigation against Youngkin’s withdrawal from the program, arguing that the governor lacked the legal authority to withdraw from the program in the first place —the inverse of Pennsylvania’s legal tangle over RGGI.
New Jersey, too, has a new governor, Democrat Mikie Sherrill. In a set of executive orders, signed before she had even finished her inaugural address, Sherrill directed New Jersey economic, environment, and utility regulatory officials to “confer about the use of Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative … proceeds for ratepayer relief,” and “include an explanation of how they intend to address ratepayer relief in the 2026-2028 RGGI Strategic Funding Plan.”
Ratepayers are already due to receive RGGI funding under New Jersey’s current strategic funding plan, as are environmental protection and energy efficiency programs, renewable and transmission investments, and a grab-bag of other climate related projects. New Jersey utility regulators last fall made a $430 million distribution to ratepayers in the form of two $50 bill credits, with additional $25 a month credits for low-income ratepayers.
The evolution of RGGI — and its use by New Jersey to reduce electricity bills in particular — shows how carbon mitigation programs have had to adapt to political realities.
“In the political context of the moment, I think it’s totally fair,” Burtraw told me of Sherrill’s plan. “It’s the worst good idea of what you can do with the carbon proceeds. Everybody in the room can come up with better ideas: Oh, we should be doing this investment, or we should be doing energy efficiency, or we should subsidize renewables. Show me that those ideas are a higher value use for that money and I’m all in. But we could at least be doing this.”
What remains to be seen is whether other states pick up the torch from Sherrill and start using RGGI as a way to more directly combat electricity price hikes. Her actions “could create ripple effects for other states that may face similar concerns,” Olivia Windorf, U.S. policy fellow at the Center for Climate and Energy Solutions, told me.
While RGGI tends to be in the news in the individual states only when there’s some controversy about entering or exiting the program, “the focus on electricity prices and affordability is putting a new spotlight on it,” Windorf said.
More aggressive or creative uses of the proceeds would put RGGI closer to the center of debates around affordability. “I think it will help address affordability concerns in a way that's really tangible,” Windorf said. “So it’s not abstract how carbon markets and RGGI can help through this time of load growth and energy transition. It can be a tool rather than a burden.”
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to correct the candidates for the governorship of Virginia in 2021.
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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.