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Thea Riofrancos, a professor of political science at Providence College, discusses her new book, Extraction, and the global consequences of our growing need for lithium.

We cannot hope to halt or even slow dangerous climate change without remaking our energy systems, and we cannot remake our energy systems without environmentally damaging projects like lithium mines.
This is the perplexing paradox at the heart of Extraction: The Frontiers of Green Capitalism, a new book by political scientist and climate activist Thea Riofrancos, coming out September 23, from Norton.
Riofrancos, a professor at Providence College, has spent much of her academic career studying mining and oil production in Latin America. In Extraction, she traces the lithium boom of the past five or so years, as the aims of the Global North and Global South began to resemble an inverted mirror. Countries in the latter group that have long been sites of mineral extraction — with little economic benefit — are now seeking to manufacture the more lucrative high tech products further down the supply chain. Meanwhile, after decades of offshoring, Europe and the U.S. suddenly want to bring mining back home in pursuit of “green dominance,” she writes. All of this is happening against the backdrop of China’s geopolitical rise, the war in Ukraine, the COVID-19 pandemic, and worsening effects of climate change.
The book also spends time with the indigenous communities and environmental defenders fighting the lithium industry in Chile, Portugal, and the American West. Riofrancos doesn’t shy away from difficult questions, such as whether there is such a thing as a “right place” for a lithium mine. But she’s optimistic that there’s a better path than the one we’re on now. “The energy transition has presented a fork in the road for the entire economic and social order,” she writes. Down one road, we entrench existing power structures. Down the other, we capitalize on the energy transition to create a more just society.
Green capitalism, Riofrancos argues, is an oxymoron. While we can’t avoid extraction, we can reduce the need for it, for example through better public transit, smaller EV batteries, and minerals recycling, she concludes.
This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.
Are there notable differences between lithium and the extraction of other natural resources?
Yes and no. Whether it’s copper or lithium or gold or cobalt — and even I would include hydrocarbons in this, to a degree — whether we look at the economics, the way that they have boom and bust cycles, the fact that governments, even neoliberal governments, tend to take a pretty concerted interest in extractive sectors within their jurisdiction, environmental concerns and direct forms of violence that are meted out at environmental defenders — no, it’s not different. Which should raise alarm bells because a lot of those dynamics are not positive.
What’s different, though, is that precisely because mining companies and host governments claim that the extraction of lithium is urgent and essential for the energy transition, what ends up happening is that these big claims are made — like, “We are now a sustainable mining company because we’re extracting lithium,” or, “This is part of our green industrial policy.” This toxic and dirty extractive sector is now greenified because of its role in the energy transition. On the one hand, that’s greenwashing. On the other, it’s an opening. When companies make those claims, it’s something to hold them accountable to.
I was somewhat surprised by the issues you describe with the way lithium mining is regulated in Chile — the companies do their own environmental monitoring, there’s a lack of transparent data, the brine they mine in the Atacama is not considered water under Chilean law, etc. It seems like the state could change a lot of this. Why hasn’t it?
States in the Global South, although not exclusively there, lack geological and hydrological data about their own territory. In ways that we can trace to colonialism and neocolonialism in terms of who controls the territory and who has knowledge about it, the actors that have the basic data about deposits, how they interact with water sources, all of that, are the companies. And so to even regulate these companies better, you first need to set up independent and objective sources of data collection — and that’s something that any state might struggle with, but especially in the Global South, given the kind of legacy under which these companies operated, with little oversight of the state.
The [U.S. Geological Survey] doesn’t exist everywhere in the world. Not every state has a surveying agency with that level of expertise. And even in the U.S., the USGS actually has quite partial knowledge of what’s here. And there are many examples of companies in the U.S. hiding proprietary knowledge from the government.
What about after Gabriel Boric became president in Chile, in 2022, and created this new public-private partnership between the mining giant SQM and the government. Wouldn’t that have given the Chilean government more visibility and more control?
I think in some ways he’s made strides. He has set aside many salt flats for conservation. A right wing government wouldn’t have done that. He also is inserting the state, via the state-owned copper company Codelco, entering into public-private partnerships with companies, including SQM. If all goes according to plan, that will help the state learn more about lithium extraction, or maybe even set up their own lithium company, which was the initial goal of this government.
I’ll just point out two things to show how this is difficult. According to indigenous communities and environmental activists that have been organizing around this, they were excluded from the initial moment where that memorandum of understanding between SQM and Codelco was signed, and so they felt like it was a reenactment of historic injuries by a government that they had cautiously supported or thought would be different. Now they’re back at the negotiating table and indigenous communities are being consulted again. But there was a critical moment where the MOU was signed and indigenous communities were not present, and actually learned about it from the media. These historic patterns are really hard to change because companies hold a lot of power.
Even a progressive government is balancing indigenous rights and ecological protection with a desire to not lose market share. Argentina is starting to catch up with Chile — is Chile still going to remain the number two producer globally? Does it need to change its regulations to attract more companies? This is the kind of double bind that Global South societies find themselves in.
You write about this tension between expanding extraction and minimizing environmental and community impacts. Do you believe there are actually ways to minimize these impacts?
Absolutely. You can do anything better. I believe in human ingenuity and science and figuring out how to improve processes. There are ways to extract using less water, using a smaller land footprint, using fewer polluting energy sources. One of the reasons emissions from mining are not insignificant is a lot of it happens off-grid, and for now, that means diesel generators or gasoline-powered mining vehicles, let alone the cargo ships that are shipping the stuff around the world. So we could think about localizing or regionalizing supply chains.
The question is, how do we get companies to change their practices? They might do it if a regulator tells them they have to, if civil society puts so much pressure on them that it just becomes reputational harm if they don’t do it, if perhaps activist shareholders ask or tell the company to change its practices.
But the company, if it’s a shareholder-owned company, has one main obligation, which is to maximize the value of their shares. Changing your technological setup and your physical plant arrangement is costly, and it may not immediately produce more profits. And so you have to think about, what are the crude economic dynamics that keep companies on a particular technological path in terms of how they do their physical operations? And then think, using the power of policy, of economics, of consumer pressure, whatever it is, how to get them to make a decision that may not be in their immediate shareholder interest.
One theme in the book is that countries in the West are making a case for domestic mining by arguing that it will be greener than mining in the Global South. Is there any evidence for that? What’s the logic?
This was honestly one of the most surprising things in my research as someone that primarily has worked in Latin America. I heard some rumblings — and this was in 2019, before the pandemic — of EU officials wanting to onshore. It confused me because mining is toxic, it’s low value-added. And what I learned is that it had come to a point where Western policymakers saw the whole supply chain as a domain of geostrategic power.
And then, probably some people really feel this way, and other people are using it as nice rhetoric, but Western policymakers also started to come to the idea that it would be more “responsible” to mine in the West. This is in no small part due to the fact that the mining industry has deservedly gotten a lot of negative coverage for, in some cases, outright killing people. In other cases, you have an avalanche that destroys a village. You have water contamination. There are issues around forced labor, how the Uyghurs are treated in China. So there was a lot of bad press on the industry. I think they thought, We can solve a few problems at once. We can increase our geopolitical power by having domestic supply chains for the most important 21st century technologies, and we can also make the claim to consumers, regulators, and the media that this is better if you care about responsible, ethical, green mining.
The reality is, of course, more complex than that. Our mining law in the U.S. that governs hard rock mining on public lands is from 1872, which tells you everything you need to know. It’s extremely out of date with the modern mining industry and the scale of harm that mining poses, and it also literally was implemented during the westward expansion and dispossession of indigenous peoples to serve that end.
In fact, countries in Latin America tend to have better — on paper — governance of mining than the U.S., though they may not have the state capacity to always implement it. In Europe, there’s even more dependence on imports. A lot of the European countries have almost no regulations on the books for basic things like, how do you deal with mining waste? And so in the Global North, what we have to fight for is a mining governance regime and a set of legal codes and regulations that is up to date.
This book is pretty critical of the way communities have been treated in the lithium boom so far. What are some of the ways community engagement can be done better?
We see better outcomes when communities are organized, when they actually identify as a community, have some meetings, maybe set up a group to coordinate themselves. Like, who’s going to go to the public hearing? Who’s going to contact a lawyer? Who’s going to contact the water expert? Because communities need a lot of outside help. The companies have lawyers, they have experts, they probably have friends in government. A lot of lawyers and experts that companies hire used to work for the government, and they know these processes inside out, and so the community needs to be as or more organized. They’re already on the losing end of a power imbalance.
In a way, none of this is about what companies can do, because I presume that companies are responsive to pressure. Multinationals, insofar as they’re shareholder-owned, their main goal is to maximize value, and that’s it. It’s that simple. And so in order to get them to behave differently towards communities, outside forces need to take a role. The first outside force is the community itself. A second is, how involved is the government? And how objective and public-serving is the government? Where governments take a more objective role and help protect the baseline rights of communities, make sure that those rights are not being violated by companies, help distribute more culturally sensitive and appropriate information about the mine, we could get better outcomes that way.
You had activists tell you, “I support lithium mining, but this is the wrong place for it.” Do you think there is such a thing as a right or wrong place, or even a better or worse place for a lithium mine?
This was honestly the most vexing question that I had to contemplate in my own research. I often think about how these communities are called NIMBYs, and there’s two reasons that’s a really inappropriate term. First of all, the “my backyard” — not every person has private property, or that’s not their stake in the matter. It’s not about, this is going to decrease the value of my property, or this is going to disrupt my ocean view. It’s about the land that they have a deep relationship with.
The second thing is, I don’t think most of the people that call these communities NIMBYs would really want to live next to a large-scale mine, either. They are just enormous scars on the landscape. I understand that they are necessary, to some degree, to provide for the technologies that we enjoy, including life-saving and planet-saving technology. Even in my perfect world, where everyone is riding an electric bus or bike or walking around, some lithium is still needed in the near term. In the future, we could conceivably enter into a circular economy, but we don’t have the level of feedstock for that yet.
So the question remains, where are we going to mine? I don’t have an easy answer to that, but I will say that in the entire process of land use planning, the corporation is the protagonist. In the U.S., a place that I think most political scientists would say has more state capacity than a country in Africa or Latin America, we do not use that capacity to proactively plan land use. I think it would make sense to really rearrange the process such that governments plan with substantial community input, and then corporations, if we want to have private corporations doing this, get the ability to compete for contracts. I know that would be a big lift to change that policy dynamic, but I think we need to have the conversation.
You write a lot about this difficult dance between supply and demand in mining. What are you seeing right now in how the lithium industry is reacting to Trump’s dismantling of EV policy?
With Trump, it’s particularly interesting and bizarre because on the list of fast-tracked mines, you have several lithium mines and some lithium processing along with other “critical minerals.” He really wants to expand mining, to the point that the Pentagon is now the No. 1 investor in our only rare earth mine in the U.S. They bought 15% of MP Materials’ shares, the company that manages the Mountain Pass mine. And so Trump is fast-tracking mines, he’s sending huge amounts of public money to financially underwrite these mining companies. But yet, he’s destroying demand for rare earths. He loves to talk about AI and military tech — that’s a small slice of demand. It’s really about wind turbines and electric vehicle motors. That’s really where the demand is. With lithium, it’s even clearer.
That all seems like a recipe for prices to crash.
The thing is, they already had crashed because of a supply glut. But at the same time, the market will likely pick back up because we’re seeing so much action elsewhere in the world. It’s very easy to focus on the U.S., especially because the U.S. government is such a basket case right now. But if we zoom out, there’s been a bunch of recent reporting, including in Heatmap, on how rapidly the energy transition is going in other parts of the world, with China playing an enormous role not only on the trade side, but also in foreign direct investment, in setting up solar and EV manufacturing hubs in the Global South.
And so I think that Trump can dismantle EVs as much as he wants in the U.S., and that’s a shame given that transportation is our most polluting sector. I mean, that pains me as a climate activist. But the world is bigger than the U.S.
The last thing I’ll say — and this is another interesting contradiction — in the Big, Beautiful Bill, it’s not across the board against all green technologies. There’s this distinction that conservatives increasingly like to make called “clean, firm power.” So they put nuclear, geothermal, and battery storage in that. Now, battery storage, what is that made of? Lithium. So in a weird way, they like lithium mining, they like batteries for storage, they just don’t like electric vehicles. We’re still going to have lithium demand in the U.S., and lots of individual people will still buy electric cars, and blue states will still procure them for their public fleets. He’s not going to kill the market. He’s just going to slow its growth, primarily by making it less affordable for working and middle class people.
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Plus news on cloud seeding, fission for fusion, and more of the week’s biggest money moves.
From beaming solar power down from space to shooting storm clouds full of particles to make it rain, this week featured progress across a range of seemingly sci-fi technologies that have actually been researched — and in some cases deployed — for decades. There were, however, few actual funding announcements to speak of, as earlier-stage climate tech venture funds continue to confront a tough fundraising environment.
First up, I explore Meta’s bet on space-based solar as a way to squeeze more output from existing solar arrays to power data centers. Then there’s the fusion startup Zap Energy, which is shifting its near-term attention toward the more established fission sector. Meanwhile, a weather modification company says it’s found a way to quantify the impact of cloud seeding — a space-age sounding practice that’s actually been in use for roughly 80 years. And amidst a string of disappointments for alternate battery chemistries, this week brings multiple wins for the sodium-ion battery sector.
One might presume that terrestrial solar paired with batteries would prove perfectly adequate for securing 24/7 clean energy moving forward, as global prices for panels and battery packs continue to fall. But the startup Overview Energy, which uses lasers to beam solar power from space directly onto existing solar arrays, thinks its space-based solar energy systems will prove valuable for powering large loads like data centers through the night. Now Meta is backing that premise, signing a first-of-its-kind agreement with Overview this week that secures early access for up to a gigawatt of capacity from the startup’s system.
Initial orbital demonstrations are slated for 2028, with commercial power delivery targeted for 2030. It’s an ambitious timeline, and certainly not the first effort to commercialize space-based solar, though prior analyses have generally concluded that while the physics check out, the economics and logistics don’t. Overview Energy thinks its found the core unlocks though: “geographic untethering,” which allows it to direct its beam to ground-based solar arrays anywhere in the world based on demand, and high-efficiency lasers capable of converting near-infrared light into electricity much more efficiently than pure sunlight.
The startup is targeting between $60 and $100 per megawatt-hour by 2035, at which point the goal is to be putting gigawatts of space solar on the grid. “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” Marc Berte, founder and CEO of Overview Energy, told me when I interviewed him last December. “You’re profitable at $100 bucks a megawatt-hour somewhere, instantaneously, all the time.”
Launch costs have also fallen sharply since the last serious wave of space-solar research, and Overview has already booked a 2028 launch with SpaceX. Solar power beamed from space also sidesteps two earthly constraints — land use and protracted grid interconnection timelines. So while this seemingly sci-fi vision remains unproven, it might be significantly more plausible than it once appeared. And Meta’s certainly not alone in taking that bet — Overview has already raised a $20 million seed round led by Lowercarbon Capital, Prime Movers Lab, and Engine Ventures.
Fusion startups are increasingly looking to nearer-term revenue opportunities as they work toward commercializing the Holy Grail of energy generation. Industry leader Commonwealth Fusion Systems is selling its high-temperature superconducting magnets to other developers, while other companies including Shine Technologies are generating income by producing nuclear isotopes for medical imaging. Now one startup, Zap Energy, is pushing that playbook a step further, announcing this week that it plans to develop fission reactors before putting its first fusion electrons on the grid.
Specifically, the startup is now attempting to develop small modular reactors — hardly a novel idea, as companies like Oklo, Kairos, and TerraPower have already secured significant public and private funding and struck major data center deals. Zap, however, thinks it can catch up to these new competitors in part by leveraging design commonalities between fission and fusion systems, including the use of liquid metals, engineered neutron environments, and high-power-density systems. “Fission and fusion are two expressions of the same underlying physics," Zap’s co-founder Benj Conwayby said in the press release. "This isn’t a pivot — by integrating them into a single platform, we can move faster, reduce risk, and build a more enduring company."
As the company outlines on its website, pursuing both pathways could eventually manifest in the development of a hybrid fusion-fission system, while also giving Zap practical experience interfacing with regulators and securing approvals. As The New York Times reports, the company is targeting an early 2030s timeline for its fission reactors, although Zap has yet to specify a timeline for fusion commercialization. Like so many of its peers, the company is eyeing data centers as a promising initial market, though bringing its first units online will likely require a significant influx of additional capital.
For all the concern surrounding geoengineering fixes for climate change such as solar radiation management, there’s one form of weather modification that’s been in use since the 1940s — cloud seeding. This practice typically involves flying planes into the center of storms and releasing flares that disperse a chemical called silver iodide into the clouds. This causes the water droplets within the clouds to freeze, increasing the amount of precipitation that falls as either rain or snow.
Alarming as it may sound for the uninitiated, there’s no evidence that silver iodide causes harm at current usage levels. But what has been far more difficult to pin down is efficacy — specifically, how much additional precipitation cloud seeding actually creates. That’s where the startup Rainmaker comes in. The company, which deploys unmanned drones to inject the silver iodide, says that its advanced radar and satellite systems indicate that its operations generated over 143 million gallons of additional freshwater in Oregon and Utah this year — roughly equivalent to the annual water usage of about 1,750 U.S. households. The findings have not yet been peer reviewed, but if accurate, they would make Rainmaker the first private company to quantify the impact of its cloud seeding operations.
Cloud seeding is already a well-oiled commercial business, with dozens of states, utility companies and ski resorts alike using it to increase snowfall in the drought-stricken American West and worldwide — China in particular spends tens of millions of dollars per year on the technology. Rainmaker has a particular aspiration: to help restore Utah’s Great Salt Lake, which has been shrinking since the 1980s amid rising water demand and increased evaporation driven by warmer temperatures.
In a press release, the company’s 26-year-old founder and CEO Augustus Doricko said, “With the newfound capability to measure our yields and quantify our results, Rainmaker will go forward and continue our mission to refill the Great Salt Lake, end drought in the American West and deliver water abundance wherever it is needed most around the world."
Sodium-ion batteries have long been touted as an enticing alternative — or at least complement — to lithium-ion systems for energy storage. They don’t rely on scarce and costly critical minerals like lithium, nickel, or cobalt, and have the potential to be far less flammable. The relatively nascent market also offers an opening for the U.S. to gain a foothold in this segment of the battery supply chain. But especially domestically, the industry has struggled to gain traction. Two sodium-ion startups, Natron and Bedrock Materials, both closed up shop last year as prices for lithium-iron-phosphate batteries cratered, eroding sodium-ion’s cost advantage, while the cost of manufacturing batteries in the U.S. constrained their ability to scale.
But one notable bright spot is the startup Alsym Energy, which announced this week that it has signed a letter-of-intent with long-duration energy storage company ESS Inc. for 8.5 gigawatt-hours of sodium-ion cells and modules, marking ESS’s expansion into the short and medium-duration storage market. Alsym’s CEO, Mukesh Chatter, told me this represents the largest deal for sodium-ion batteries in the U.S. to date — although it’s not yet a binding contract. Notably, it came just a day after the world’s largest-ever order for these batteries, as CATL disclosed a 60 gigawatt-hour sodium-ion agreement with energy storage integrator HyperStrong. Taken together, these partnerships suggest the sector is finally picking up durable traction both domestically and abroad.
ESS, however, is facing its own operational headwinds, nearly shuttering its Oregon manufacturing plant last year before securing an unexpected cash infusion and pivoting to a new, longer-duration storage product. Chatter remains exuberant about Alsym’s deal with the storage provider, however, telling me it represents a major proof point in terms of broader industry acceptance and an acknowledgement that “the benefits [sodium-ion] brings to the table are significant enough to overcome any stickiness” and hesitation around adopting new battery chemistries.
Chatter said that interest is now pouring in from all sides, citing inquiries from lithium-ion battery manufacturers, utilities, and defense companies and highlighting use cases ranging from data centers to apartment buildings and mining operations as likely early deployment targets.
A handful of startups are promising better, cheaper, safer water purification tech.
The need for desalination has long been clear in water-scarce regions of the planet. But with roughly a quarter of the global population now facing extreme water stress and drought conditions only projected to intensify, the technology is becoming an increasingly necessary tool for survival in a wider array of geographies.
Typically, scaling up desalination infrastructure has meant building costly, energy-intensive coastal plants that rely on a process called reverse osmosis, which involves pushing seawater through semi-permeable membranes that block salt and other contaminants, leaving only fresh water behind. Now, however, a number of startups are attempting to rework that model, with solutions that range from subsea facilities to portable desalination devices for individuals and families.
They could find potential customers across the globe. Many countries in the Middle East — including Saudi Arabia, Israel, Bahrain, Kuwait, and Qatar — rely on desalination for the bulk of their municipal water. Meanwhile, drought-prone regions from Australia to the Caribbean and California have also turned to the technology to shore up supply. But as the Iran war has underscored, this vital infrastructure is increasingly being treated as a military target, exposing a significant vulnerability in a resource relied upon by hundreds of millions.
One more resilient alternative is to move the plants underwater — making them more difficult to target while also harnessing subsurface pressure to do some of the energy-intensive work of desalination.
“I came up with the idea of using natural pressure to run the process,” Robert Bergstrom, a veteran of the water industry and CEO of the desalination startup OceanWell, told me. That meant “putting the membranes in a place where it’s already 800 pounds [of pressure] per square inch” — e.g. inside pods on the ocean floor, each capable of producing 1 million gallons of freshwater daily. By using the natural pressure of the ocean to drive the reverse osmosis process, this approach cuts energy use by about 40%, he said, thus slashing the system’s largest operating cost: electricity.
OceanWell’s design maintains a lower internal pressure within each pod than the surrounding environment, causing seawater to flow passively inside and push through membranes — just like on land, but without the high-pressure pumps. Compact pumps inside the pods then push the freshwater up a pipeline to the shore, while the resulting brine dissipates in the deep ocean.
The method also helps solve another problem with conventional desalination: environmental impact. Today’s facilities typically produce a more concentrated brine that they discharge at the ocean’s surface, which is more disruptive to marine ecosystems. The plants also frequently cause damage to organisms large and small by either trapping them against water intake screens or pulling them into the plant itself. That’s been a big sticking point when it comes to permitting these facilities, especially in California where the startup is based. OceanWell’s system, Bergstrom said, is able to filter out larger organisms while allowing microscopic ones to pass through the pods and return to the ocean.
The company began a trial last year in partnership with Las Virgenes Municipal Water District in southern California, testing its system in a freshwater reservoir full of marine life to verify its safety. Next it will test its pods in the ocean before undertaking a pilot in a to-be-determined location — California, Hawaii, and Nice in southern France are all contenders. If all goes according to plan, OceanWell will follow that up with a full-fledged commercial system targeted for 2030.
But it’s not the only startup pursuing underwater desalination — or even the one with the most aggressive timeline. Two years ago, Norwegian startup Flocean spun out of the subsea pump specialist FSubsea with a similar technical approach and a plan to deploy its first commercial system off Norway’s western coast this year. Flocean has already logged over a year of testing in the deep ocean, a stage OceanWell has yet to reach.
OceanWell thinks it can differentiate itself by meeting the unusually stringent permitting required in California. “If we can get it done in California, then the rest of the world will follow,” Bergstrom told me, meaning more resilient, more energy-efficient freshwater infrastructure for all. But it’s a high bar. The last major effort to build a desalination facility in the state led to a long-running fight that ended in 2022 with a rejection. Over 100 groups opposed the facility proposed for Orange County, citing risks to marine life, as well as high energy requirements and costs, with many arguing that alternatives — such as conservation and wastewater treatment — would be more superior options.
Megan Mauter, an associate professor of civil engineering at Stanford, thinks the groups may have a point, especially when it comes to overall system costs. The high capex of desalination can be hard to justify in California, she told me, since the state doesn’t need it 100% of the time, only in bad drought years. For example, just a few weeks ago, The Wall Street Journal reported that San Diego County’s desalination plant, by far the largest in California, now has a surplus of desalinated water that it’s looking to sell to drought-ridden Western states such as Nevada and Arizona.
And while desalination startups purport to cut overall system costs, she has her doubts about that. “The energy savings that they’re going to get are offset by some pretty high increased costs of the other elements of their plant designs,” Mauter told me. “In a subsea system, you’ve got these unproven and not mass-manufactured skids. You’ve got subsea installation, and then mooring it, and putting in pipelines that you’ve got to maintain all the way to land. You’ve got to convey water back to shore, which takes energy, and you are going to have significantly higher maintenance burdens in an open ocean environment.”
Despite her reservations, she certainly sees the appeal of non-traditional water sources, “even at costs that would have been totally infeasible a decade ago.” Municipal planners are staring down a future of worsening drought at the same time that states in the Colorado River basin remain locked in contentious negotiations over water rights, debating how to allocate cuts as river flows have declined nearly 20% since 2000. California’s narrow continental shelf also makes it an ideal environment for subsea desalination, as having deep water close to shore allows the system to harness pressure depths while minimizing the length of the pipeline needed to transport freshwater to land. Norway is also favored in this way.
“I don’t know whether the cost gaps can be solved, but I bet that the technology gaps could be solved,” Mauter told me.
Ultimately, she thinks the binding constraint is likely to be regulatory rather than technical. “Permitting is going to be a nightmare unless something fundamentally changes,” she said. Bergstrom told me that OceanWell is currently working with the California State Water Resources Control Board to revise its rules that govern desalination facilities in order to account for new technologies, though how long that process will take is anyone’s guess.
There’s one idea emerging in this ecosystem that largely sidesteps the regulatory constraints that control our land and seas. The startup Vital Lyfe has developed a portable desalination unit roughly the size of a small cooler that allows individuals and households to produce freshwater on demand with reverse osmosis — effectively decentralizing the desalination industry in the same way that the startup’s founders, former SpaceX engineers, helped decentralize internet infrastructure with Starlink.
“We’ve seen this paradigm shift coming out of Starlink that traditional, large, centralized, systems are very expensive,” Vital Lyfe CEO Jon Criss told me. “They’re hard to deploy and hard to scale up when you really need them.”
After raising a $24 million seed round in December, the startup launched its first product a few weeks ago, which retails for $750. At that price point, it’s a great deal for sailors spending days or weeks at sea, but likely too expensive for the individuals in remote communities far from water infrastructure that might need it most. Criss’s goal is to quickly iterate on this first product to bring more affordable models to the market in short order.
Portable desalination devices aren’t anything new in and of themselves — they’ve been used in military, maritime, and humanitarian scenarios for decades. The startup’s breakthrough, Criss explained, is more about manufacturing efficiency than technology. “We went all the way back, looked at why every component was designed and how to redesign it for high rate manufacturing. So we were able to substantially drop the cost of ownership and operation of these things.”
You’ll soon find Vital Lyfe’s product in big box retail stores, Criss said, though he also aims to partner with large-scale desalination facilities and utilities to help boost their output. Either way, the startup is already generating buzz — it’s seen significant inbound interest as of late, as the inherent resilience of its small system stands in sharp contrast to the vulnerability of conventional desalination infrastructure now being targeted in the Middle East.
The company is scaling up to meet the moment, building out a facility in Los Angeles county that Criss said will eventually produce 120 portable units per hour. He’s aiming to start production by summer’s end, ramping to full capacity by October. “Within the next three years we plan to account for about 10% of total membrane production at Vital Lyfe alone,” he told me, referring specifically to the production for the desalination industry.
The future of the industry, of course, could look like any combination of all of these approaches — portable devices, conventional plants on land, and modular systems at sea. What seems certain is that as the globe continues to heat up, so will desalination tech.
Why local governments are getting an earful about “infrasound”
As the data center boom pressures counties, cities, and towns into fights over noise, the trickiest tone local officials are starting to hear complaints about is one they can’t even hear – a low-frequency rumble known as infrasound.
Infrasound is a phenomenon best described as sounds so low, they’re inaudible. These are the sorts of vibrations and pressure at the heart of earthquakes and volcanic activity. Infrasound can be anything from the waves shot out from a sonic boom or an explosion to very minute changes in air pressure around HVAC systems or refrigerators.
Knowing some of these facilities also have the capacity to produce significant audible noise, growing segments of the population’s more tech-skeptical and health-anxious corners are fretting some data centers could be making a lot of infrasound, too. The whizzing of so many large computational machines combined with cooling fans and other large devices creating so many new columns of air flow. Add onto that any rotational onsite power generation – think natural gas turbines, for example – and you get quite a lot of movement that could potentially produce what they say is infrasound.
Some of the virality of this chatter about infrasound and data centers comes from a video about infrasound created by audio engineer and researcher Benn Jordan. Currently sitting at more than 1 million views, this short YouTube film documents claims that some data centers are operating like “acoustic weapons” through infrasound and harming people. Andy Masley, an “effective altruist” writer, has become the chief critic of the Jordan video, getting into a back-and-forth that’s raised the issue to Internet discourse territory.
The Jordan-Masley infrasound debate is honestly a bit of a mess. So I want to be clear: I’m not going to get into the science of whether or not infrasound poses any kind of public health risk in this article. We can get to that later. It’s worth saying that this subject may need more study and that work is ongoing. Also, talking about infrasound at all can make you honestly sound a little wacky (see: this study blaming people seeing ghosts on infrasound). It might also remind you of another panic in the Electric Age: electromagnetic fields, also known as EMFs. Developers of transmission lines and solar projects have long had to deal with people worried about transmission lines and large electrical equipment potentially glowing with invisible, unhealthy radiation.
In late 2024, I wrote about how an RFK Jr. supporter worried about this form of electrical emission was helping lead the fight against a transmission line in New Jersey for offshore wind. Maybe that’s why it didn’t surprise me one bit when the Health and Human Services secretary himself told a U.S. Senate Committee last week that he was asking the Surgeon General’s office to “do either meta reviews” or “base studies” on noise pollution and EMF radiation from data centers “so we can better inform the American public.”
“There’s a range of injuries that are very, very well documented. They’re neurological – very, very grave neurological injuries, cancer risk,” Kennedy Jr. told the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions Committee on April 22 in response to a request from Sen. Josh Hawley of Missouri to study the issue. “The risks, to me, are tremendous.”
There’s also the unfortunate reality that infrasound impacts have previously been a cudgel to slow down renewable energy deployment. Wind turbines create infrasound because of the subharmonic frequencies created when one turbine rotates at a slightly different pace than another, producing a slightly dissonant low frequency noise. Groups like the Heartland Institute proudly list this infrasound as one of the reasons wind energy “menaces man and nature.”
But regardless of merit, this concern is already impacting local government decisions around data center projects, much like how one Michigan county sought to restrict solar energy on the same basis.
In February Adrian Shelley, the Texas director for environmental group Public Citizen, implored the city of Red Rock to study changing their noise ordinance to take into account infrasound. “It has effects on sleep patterns, on stress, on cardiovascular health, and it is potentially a very serious concern,” Shelley said at a February 11 city council discussion on data center rules. “It will not be covered by the city’s noise ordinance, which only deals with audible sound.”
Earlier this month in Calvert County, Maryland, a volunteer for their environmental commission recently told the county government that infrasound needs to be factored into their future data center planning. “It will have significant impacts on our region and the Chesapeake and the Patuxent because infrasound isn’t stopped by walls,” commission member Janette Wysocki, a proud land conservationist, said at an April 15 hearing. “It will keep going, it will move through anything. It’s a very long wavelength. So we need to protect our ecosystem.” Wysocki implored the county to consider whether to adjust its noise regulations.
Around the same time, similar concerns were raised in Lebanon, a small city in east-central Pennsylvania. “It permeates through concrete walls, it permeates through the ground,” Thomas Dompier, an associate professor at Lebanon Valley College, said at an April 16 Lebanon County commission hearing on data centers.
Lastly, last week I explained how Loudon County wants to rethink its noise ordinance to deal with low-frequency “hums” from data centers – a concern echoing those who fret infrasound.
Ethan Bourdeau, executive director of standards at Quiet Parks Intentional and a career acoustician and building standards writer, told me that what makes data centers unique is the “constant drone” of noise that could potentially carry subharmonic frequencies. Bourdeau said cities or counties could possibly factor concerns about infrasound into noise ordinances to address those who are most concerned. One way they could do it is by changing how decibels are weighted in the government’s measurements. A-weighting decibel meters are a common form of sound measurement geared toward perceptible noise. Using different systems, like C-weighting or G-weighting, would avoid ways that A-weighting can filter out sub-hearing frequencies.
“These are reporting and weighting systems where a sound level meter taking background noise receives all the unweighted sound and then you apply all these filters afterwards, like an EQ curve,” Bourdeau said.
So I guess if those most concerned about infrasound have their way, a lot of country commissioners and local elected leaders will be heading to the mixing booth.