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The long-delayed risk disclosure regulation is almost here.

A new era of transparency for corporate sustainability is coming — finally. After two years of deliberation, the Securities and Exchange Commission is expected to issue a final rule requiring public companies to make climate-related disclosures to investors. The decision could come as soon as next week.
The rule considers two categories of climate-related information relevant to investors: greenhouse gas emissions and exposure to climate-related risks like extreme weather or future regulations. While many companies voluntarily disclose this kind of information in other ways, the rules will both require and standardize climate-based reporting as a core part of a company’s fiduciary duty.
From almost the moment it appeared, the proposal has been the center of a lobbying firestorm. Some of the rule’s opponents write it off as part of an activist agenda — an indirect route to economy-wide carbon regulations. “The host of new requirements in this Proposed Rule are motivated by a small number of environmental activists who seek to steer the economy away from fossil fuels,” wrote twelve Republican attorneys general in a letter to the SEC responding to the proposal. The U.S. Chamber of Commerce, meanwhile, vowed to fight back against “unlawful and excessive government overreach.” (At a Chamber-sponsored event last October, SEC Chair Gary Gensler joked, “Wait, are you already suing us? I just walked in.”)
Certainly there are environmentalists who do see the rule as a tool to undermine the oil and gas industry. But proponents primarily make the case that the stakes are less about the atmosphere and more about protecting investors and the entirety of the financial system.
While we’re still waiting on the final rule — which was originally expected in the fall of 2022 and has been repeatedly delayed — here’s a catch-up on what we know so far.
At a basic level, the SEC makes rules saying what companies have to disclose and how so that investors can make well-informed decisions. The two types of information this particular rule covers — climate-related risks and greenhouse gas emissions — are distinct, but related.
The former is pretty straightforward. From the growing number of billion-dollar weather- and climate-related disasters in the United States to the ongoing exodus of insurance companies from fire and flood-prone areas to trade delays in the drought-stricken Panama Canal, it’s clear that climate change poses a substantial financial risk to businesses. It makes sense that investors would want to know how exposed a company’s warehouses or data centers or trucking routes are to wildfires and floods.
But why should investors care about a company’s emissions? Because they are an indicator of another type of risk.
“A shareholder is not necessarily concerned with whether a company is ‘on target’ with any climate commitment,” Boston University law professor Madison Condon writes, “but rather in assessing how exposed an asset may be to changes in global or local climate policy, energy prices, or shifts in consumer and investor sentiments.”
These changes are already in motion around the world, and are generally accelerating. Companies that aren’t preparing could be disadvantaged, or alternatively, could miss lucrative opportunities. Steven Rothstein, a managing director at the nonprofit Ceres, gave the example of the steel industry. If you think that, in the next several years, customers are going to ask for low-emission steel — which some already are doing — or that there might be a regulatory cost put on steel-related emissions, then a company with lower emissions will be better positioned to grow, while a company with higher emissions might have to spend a bunch of money to retrofit its factories.
Part of the SEC’s rationale for the rule is the proliferation of investor-led initiatives calling for government-mandated climate risk disclosure. “These initiatives demonstrate that investors are using information about climate risks now as part of their investment selection process and are seeking more informative disclosures about those risks,” the Commission wrote in its proposal. (Oil giant Exxon filed suit against the sponsors of one such proposal in January, having lost patience with proposals it said were “calculated to diminish the company’s existing business.”)
After the draft rule was released in March 2022, the SEC was bombarded by thousands of comments from investors, academics, NGOs, politicians, trade associations, and companies. One analysis of those comments by legal researchers found that investors were the most supportive group, with more than 80% in favor of the rule.
The most contentious aspect of the proposal invited criticism even from parties that were generally supportive of the rule. The SEC had taken a strong stance on emissions reporting, asking companies to disclose emissions indirectly related to their business, known as“scope 3” emissions. That means a company like Amazon wouldn’t just have to report the emissions from its warehouses and delivery trucks, but also an estimate of the emissions associated with producing and using all the products it sells. A company like Ford wouldn’t just have to report the emissions from its factories, but also from the production of the raw materials it uses, as well as from all the gasoline burned in the cars it sells.
Those in support of scope 3 reporting point to the fact that for many companies, including the two I just named, the number would vastly exceed their direct emissions.
In a legal review of why scope 3 emissions reporting matters, Condon warned that without it, companies could begin outsourcing their most emissions-intensive processes to third parties in order to appear greener than they actually are. She also argued that leaving out scope 3 obscures climate risks. She gave the example of electric vehicles, which can involve higher emissions during production than conventional cars but result in much lower emissions over their lifecycle. “When excluding Scope 3, an EV manufacturer is penalized, even though from the perspective of considering transition risk and climate impact, this makes little sense,” she wrote.
But companies and their trade associations threw every excuse at the idea of a scope 3 requirement: It would cost too much to gather the data; the data on supply chain emissions is unreliable and impossible to verify; since companies don’t directly produce these emissions, they aren’t relevant; etc.
And by all accounts, they won. The SEC is expected to drop requirements to report scope 3 emissions in the final rule.
However, that’s unlikely to satisfy opponents, many of whom, like the Republican attorneys generals who wrote letters to the Commission, say the SEC doesn’t have the legal authority to require climate-related disclosures at all. If there’s one thing that critics and supporters agree on, it’s that the rule, whatever it says, is going to be challenged in court.
A lot of companies are going to have to report their scope 3 emissions anyway. The European Union’s Corporate Sustainability Reporting Directive includes scope 3 and is expected to cover more than 50,000 companies, with some starting to report as soon as this year; U.S.-based businesses on EU-regulated exchanges, or with subsidiaries or parent companies in Europe, will be expected to comply. A similar rule voted into law in California last year also requires scope 3 emissions disclosures and covers any company doing business in the state — whether private or public — giving it broader reach than the SEC. However, Governor Gavin Newsom did not include any funding for the law in his budget proposal this year, creating concern that it will be delayed.
Danny Cullenward, a climate economist and legal expert, said the fate of the California regulations are important in light of the likely Supreme Court challenge to the SEC rule. “It's a lot harder to mount comparably broad challenges to state laws on this front,” he told me.
Despite the SEC’s narrow focus on protecting investors, the mandatory disclosure of corporate emissions and climate risks would have widespread effects — even some that regular people might feel. Suddenly, consumers would have better tools to compare the relative sustainability of different companies and products. Activists would have more documentation to hold companies accountable for greenwashing or failing to live up to their public climate commitments.
The rule is also set to spark an explosion in the businesses of corporate emissions accounting and climate risk analysis. Most companies don’t have the staff or expertise to track their emissions, and thus will have to turn either to specialized climate-specific firms like Watershed or all-purpose corporate accountants like Deloitte to manage the disclosure process for them. Similarly, analytics giants like Moodys and S&P Global will also be called upon to feed company data into climate models and spit out risk reports.
Both exercises come with inherent challenges and uncertainties. Climate risk researchers have warned that rating services keep their methodologies in a black box, making it hard to know whether they are using climate models appropriately. “The misuse of climate models risks a range of issues, including maladaptation and heightened vulnerability of business to climate change, an overconfidence in assessments of risk, material misstatement of risk in financial reports, and the creation of greenwash,” wrote the authors of a 2021 article in the journal Nature Climate Change.
“When you ask, ‘What is my exposure to future climate risks?,’ you're asking for a projection of future climate states and probabilities of different future climate outcomes and extreme weather events. There's an enormous amount of scientific uncertainty and complexity in getting to that,” Cullenward told me.
But while neither emissions accounting nor climate risk assessment may be perfectly up to the task yet, Cullenward argued that’s all the more reason for the SEC to get these rules in place.
“If you don't ask people to disclose what's going on, it's just sticking your head in the sand,” he said. “No one will ever know how to do it perfectly, getting out of the gate. To me that is not a reason to stop or to slow down, that is a reason to get started.”
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If Democrats plan to restore the solar and wind tax credits, then passing BAAJA now suddenly looks like the savvy move.
This is Heatmap Daily, a weekday digest written by our executive editor. Subscribe here.
So here we are. The bipartisan permitting reform bill has cleared its first and most important procedural hurdle in the Senate. On Monday evening, 73 senators voted to end debate on the Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act, or BAAJA, which would broadly make it faster and easier to build federal infrastructure projects of all sorts, especially power lines.
The bill will still undergo what its backers call a “healthy amendment process,” and it will face procedural and substantive votes for the next week or two. But its path to passage, at least in the Senate, is getting clearer.
That’s more than a little surprising. Going into the midterm elections, the conventional wisdom in Washington was that the bigger the Democratic wave, the harder it would be to pass BAAJA. Supporters feared that Democrats, newly flush with confidence, would drop the compromise and choose to restart negotiations anew in the next Congress. That’s certainly what Representative Jared Huffman, the likely incoming chair of the House Natural Resources Committee, has pushed for on X over the past week. And soon after the scale of the electoral deluge for Republicans became clear, Heatmap reported that the bill’s odds of passage had gotten a little steeper.
And yet the bill has actually gotten closer to becoming law, not further, since last Tuesday. And as I pondered the situation over the weekend, I realized the original conventional wisdom was misguided. The midterm elections have strengthened the politics of permitting reform. Tuesday’s results can help explain why the Democratic Senate caucus is now speeding toward passage.
The first dynamic is obvious: This is an affordability bill — it’s right there in the name — and Democrats just won an affordability election. The bill’s projected energy affordability benefits are small but real, and proponents argue (plausibly) that the bill’s most important changes are impossible to quantify in an energy model. The bill will make federally funded public transit much faster to build, for instance, which will have big affordability and emissions implications but is essentially impossible to model.
What’s more, much of the incoming Democratic Senate class ran on a policy platform that looks a lot like BAAJA. James Talarico of Texas, Adam Hamilton of Kansas, Annie Andrews of South Carolina, and — if they win — Scott Colom of Mississippoi and Mary Peltola of Alaska all promised an all-of-the-above energy policy that would expand the supply of fossil fuels and clean energy. That is what BAAJA does, according to its supporters and detractors.
South Carolina’s Andrews even went one step further and explicitly committed to finding a permitting reform compromise with Republicans. “Nobody has the political will to get to work and pass this bipartisan plan. It’s embarrassing,” she wrote. “In the Senate, I'll work to bring members of both parties together to finally get this done.” Now Democrats can get it done before she even gets to the Hill.
BAAJA mirrors Democratic policy commitments in more specific ways, too. Seven of the incoming 11 Democratic senators campaigned on forcing data centers to pay the full cost of their electricity use; it was even one of Abdul El-Sayed’s mandatory “terms of engagement” for the facilities. The rest of the winning Senate class made more vague pledges that data centers should not make Americans’ power bills go up.
The permitting bill would accomplish this goal, too. BAAJA would force data centers and crypto miners to pay the full costs of their connection to the grid, and it would let states go even further in transferring additional system costs from other ratepayers onto data centers.
Last week’s elections could help ease specific data center worries around the bill, as well. Some of BAAJA’s critics have feared that the bill could accelerate the nationwide data center buildout. And in a world where data centers are growing fastest in Republican states, activists might be loath to surrender any federal tool — no matter how feckless — that would be useful to fighting them. But many of the states where data centers and behind-the-meter gas plants are growing most quickly — such as Texas, Ohio, New Mexico, and Pennsylvania — will now have new Democratic governors or outright trifectas next year. The most effective tool for slowing the data center buildout remains state, county, and municipal land use laws. BAAJA would not touch those ordinances. And its data center electricity provisions would actually expand the ways that incoming Democratic governors could make data centers pay for the rest of the grid or even build new infrastructure.
Likewise, BAAJA’s new utility oversight tools look far more powerful in a world where state politicians have promised to fight utilities. Democrats likely also find it easier to write those powers into law in a world where public utility commissions are trending Democratic.
And there is one more reason Democrats might feel more comfortable passing this bill now: Tuesday has made their odds of gaining even more power in the future look better, and this bill will improve as Democrats pass other clean energy or climate policies to augment it.
If Congress soon restores the wind and solar tax credits, for instance — as most every incoming congressional Democrats have vowed to do — then BAAJA’s transmission provisions will go from being merely somewhat good for the climate to being very good. When the Inflation Reduction Act fell short, it was because the United States could not build new power lines fast enough to hook new solar and wind farms to electricity demand. But marrying the IRA’s clean energy tax credits to BAAJA’s transmission mandates would supercharge them both. And if a future Democratic Congress chooses to fund and build a national macrogrid, then passing BAAJA now would make it much easier, because some of the hardest political aspects of such a task — such as creating a federal backstop siting mechanism for new power lines — will already be done. There’s a reasonable political argument that Democrats should eagerly welcome Republican co-ownership of BAAJA’s transmission provisions, so that the party does not have to own the political consequences of such a buildout alone in the future.
Likewise, BAAJA will disproportionately benefit the party that wins the next presidential election, because the bill’s greatest affordability benefits will start accruing to the president who follows Donald Trump. Like all big energy bills, BAAJA will take time to work its way through the energy system. Americans won’t immediately experience cheaper bills or faster projects; after BAAJA’s passage, independent agencies such as the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission will need to write rules governing the law’s new programs and communicate them to states, utilities, and grid managers.
Many of those effects will start to be felt right around the time the next president takes office in January 2029 — or even in the early 2030s. If Democrats feel better about their chances of taking the White House today than they did a week ago, then they may very well feel better about passing this bill now, too.
BAAJA survived its first test, but Trump says the bill “hasn’t been fully negotiated.”
The Senate on Monday night moved to open debate on the Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act — just after the president bizarrely threw cold water on the deal he struck for the bill.
Senators agreed to invoke cloture on a motion to proceed to the bill by a vote of 73–25, a forceful bipartisan tally that could bolster momentum behind the bill. Up next comes what Senator Sheldon Whitehouse, the Democrat from Rhode Island and one of the key sponsors of the bill, called a “healthy amendment process” at a press conference Monday morning. This will constitute the last remaining opening for senators and outside constituencies to try and change provisions they disagree with. How many amendments will make it to a vote, however, is not publicly known. Nor is how fast debate on the bill will move along, so best be patient.
I’m aware of pushes for at least two amendments to be considered — one ostensibly to remove the bill’s changes to the National Historic Preservation Act and another related to future administrations potentially revoking Trump-era permits. Some of the lawmakers who voted to proceed on the bill may become “nays” depending on how the amendment process goes.
In a normal world, this would be the clarifying moment for BAAJA, when the clouds would part and a pathway to passage and enactment would appear obvious. There are certainly rays of hope for the pro-BAAJA squad because a large bipartisan vote would help the legislation move briskly in the House.
But we still live in the Trump era, so instead, just as senators were preparing to vote, and after the White House released a formal statement endorsing the bill, the president told the world that actually, the deal wasn’t done.
Politico reported in September that the president told his aides he would direct the Pentagon to clear its queue of onshore wind projects to strike a deal on permitting. The White House has for weeks been telling reporters it’s been advancing wind projects through the Pentagon airspace clearance process in good faith. As we reported in late October, these claims have not always lined up with what the administration and renewable energy trade groups have been stating in federal court, where a judge months ago required the government to resume these once-routine height approvals.
For some reason, asked about this at a White House media briefing Monday evening, Trump told reporters from the press room podium that actually he won’t approve wind turbines even if the bill becomes law. Then he said, “The bill hasn’t been fully negotiated.” You can watch the full clip of the comments here.
It’s unclear whether these comments affected the bill’s odds at final passage, but they did lead to a very long all-caps post on X from Representative Jared Huffman, who’s in line to lead the House Committee on Natural Resources in the coming Congress. The White House has tried to clarify the president’s remarks, and Senator Whitehouse blamed the comments on Trump’s age. So just because we’re seeing legislative progress doesn’t mean the future will make sense.
Researchers, advocates, and funders gathered to discuss intervening in the global climate on purpose.
For decades, deliberately intervening in the Earth’s climate system was something most scientists and policymakers didn’t dare talk about. But last month, more than 250 people from six continents gathered in Reykjavik, Iceland for a three-day summit devoted entirely to willfully tinkering with the climate to make it more resilient.
The gathering served as a purposeful, if hesitant, coming out party for a field so controversial that just a few years ago, hundreds of researchers signed the Solar Geoengineering Non-Use Agreement, which called for an end to public funding for scientific research into the field. But this summit revealed that the sector — while still deeply divided over questions of money, governance, and deployment — is beginning to emerge from the shadows.
Why now? The consensus among climate scientists about our ability to mitigate warming is growing more dire by the day. The United Nations now acknowledges that limiting temperature to 1.5 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels is out of reach, putting more drastic adaptation solutions in play.
“It is increasingly clear to anyone who’s paying any attention that we are screwed, right? That we have blown past every possible reasonable threshold at which our existing theory of change can possibly lead to a safe and equitable climate future,” Joshua Elliott, chief scientist at Renaissance Philanthropy, told me. He directs the two-year-old nonprofit’s Advanced Research for Climate Emergencies initiative, which organized the event. “I feel like the second election of Trump was such a nail in the coffin.”
The three-day Global Risk and Stabilization Summit brought together scientists, engineers, funders, insurers, and at least one venture-backed startup to talk about everything from thickening Arctic sea ice to shielding Antarctic glaciers with underwater curtains to spraying reflective particles into the stratosphere to bounce a portion of incoming sunlight back into space. That last approach, a method of solar geoengineering known as stratospheric aerosol injection, tends to dominate geoengineering discussions, as it could theoretically cool the planet quickly and relatively cheaply.
That doesn’t mean it’s generally accepted, however. Far from it. The sessions at the ARC summit ran under Chatham House Rules, i.e. no reporting who said what — or even whether they were there at all — without explicit permission. ARC plans to release a synthesis report on the state of field next year, but in the meantime the conference website made clear: “Attending the summit does not imply that you endorse the report, any particular intervention, or the stabilization framing. Attending means you are taking part in the conversation and nothing more.”
This type of careful distancing is par for the course in geoengineering circles. Just as many mainstream climate advocates once viewed adaptation — and later carbon removal — as distractions from the need to cut emissions, geoengineering has suffered under the same criticisms. Its oftentimes sci-fi sounding interventions are already ripe conspiracy fodder. Add to that its underresearched environmental impacts and side effects, and some of these strategies could prove truly disastrous in the wrong hands.
But at least people are finally talking about it. In the weeks since the summit, attendees have published dozens of Substack and Linkedin posts about what they saw, heard, and took away from the conference. I talked to many of them about this first attempt to intentionally gather and grow the sector.
Naturally, they don’t all agree on the best path forward. Seemingly everyone acknowledges that conducting more research and designing better Earth monitoring systems is a no-lose situation. But big questions remain unresolved: what role private capital should play; how openly to discuss the possibility of near-term deployment; the somewhat uncomfortable overlap between climate engineering, defense, and national security; and how to educate policymakers and the general public about interventions that sound to some like nefarious overlords trying to control the weather.
The field doesn’t even yet agree on what to call itself. The conference organizers prefer “Earth systems stabilization” to “geoengineering,” arguing that a sector like this should be defined by its goal rather than how it gets there. The terminology remains unsettled, however, with one critic, University of Waterloo economist and former geoengineering researcher Juan Moreno-Cruz telling me in an email that the renaming “feels like a campaign” with the “objective of moving more towards action.”
At this nascent stage, any one individual can have an outsized voice. Based on the published speaker list, as well as various recaps posted during and after the event, the guest list featured some of the field’s biggest names. That included David Keith, founder of the direct air capture company Carbon Engineering and a pioneer of solar geoengineering, which involves releasing aerosols like sulfates into the atmosphere to reflect a small portion of sunlight back into space. Also in attendance were Columbia University climate economist Gernot Wagner, Paris Agreement architect Sue Biniaz, and J.P. Morgan climate advisor Sarah Kapnick, alongside delegates from some of the big environmental NGOs, including the Environmental Defense Fund and Natural Resources Defense Council.
More potentially polarizing attendees included Yanai Yedvab, the CEO of solar geoengineering startup Stardust Solutions — one of the first for-profit entities to enter the space — and Lowercarbon Capital, the climate tech venture firm that led its Series A round.
The function that private sector funding and venture-style startups could or should play in this field remains one of the biggest points of tension. Many strongly believe that the only appropriate customer for a globally consequential intervention like stratospheric aerosol injection is a coalition of national governments. But there seems to be a preemptive acknowledgement among those I spoke with that getting the United Nations itself to align on research and potential terms of deployment is unlikely.
Paul Gambill, an ARC fellow and co-founder of Nori, an early carbon removal marketplace, told me that one session at the summit was titled “The Future is Minilateral,” a nod to the growing interest in a small bloc of countries — “maybe six or so” — working together on the issue. Several people I spoke with described a model in which governments would buy technology from a company like Stardust, but retain control over if, when, and how to deploy it.
But even within the ARC set, that framing seems to have skeptics. Noah Deich, another ARC fellow and carbon removal veteran who co-founded the nonprofit Carbon180, sees the profit motive as inherently dangerous. There’s no guarantee that the science will ever advance to the point where governments are comfortable becoming customers, but investors always want to see returns. That disconnect, he argues, creates the incentive to commercialize the technology before either the research or the public is ready.
“That to me is very, very concerning, and shows a lack of judgment at a first order for the people who have invested in this, and for the people who have accepted that private sector money,” Deich told me. “That makes me very, very wary about what they’re going to do when faced with the choice of, hey no government wants to do this. Or these governments have said it is illegal, and this one says it’s fine. Like, will they actually respect the ones that say it’s illegal?”
Others see private capital as all but inevitable. Susan Su, a climate tech investor and analyst, thinks the sector would do best to engage with the private sector strategically rather than fearfully. “Money in general comes with ideas, and in my view, that’s okay,” she told me. If a venture backer has their own notions about how and where to deploy stratospheric aerosol injection, for instance, that need not dictate the agenda. “It’s the entrepreneur’s or the initiative’s job to push back against those ideas and to shape them.”
Su also thinks the field ought to be more open to discussing deployment as a possible outcome from both the research and conditions on the ground, rather than treating it as the third rail. “There’s a sentiment of caution that I think is rooted in a previous era, where it’s been a long road to reach whatever limited consensus there is today that we should even research this,” she explained to me in an email. “With that much caveating, it’s hard to imagine why a funder would get excited to back something that everyone’s saying shouldn't exist.”
Still, it’s not hard to imagine a near-term future in which climate change presents an increasingly urgent national security concern, and the instant governments start treating geoengineering as a defense priority, the money could be practically limitless. Private geoengineering companies could function essentially as defense contractors, with militaries as their primary customers.
The comparison makes some understandably uneasy, as it risks framing climate interventions as weapons to be wielded by states with the resources to develop and deploy them. But however you look at it, “people are starting to realize, there’s no scenario where this stuff doesn’t become geopolitical very very fast,” Gambill told me. And that makes an already controversial field considerably messier.
One way to sidestep some of the thorniest questions around global governance could be to start with a focus on more localized interventions. In the Arctic, for example, companies such as Real Ice and Arctic Reflections are testing ways to thicken sea-ice by pumping seawater onto its surface during the winter. In Antarctica, researchers are studying the feasibility of underwater “seafloor curtains” in front of the Florida-sized Thwaites Glacier to keep warm ocean water from melting it from below. If that glacier were to fully collapse, it could raise global sea levels by up to two feet. There are also some truly low-tech options on the table, too: One calls for reintroducing bison to the Alaskan tundra, where their heavy footsteps would compact the snow and help keep the underlying permafrost frozen.
There’s even a more localized version of solar geoengineering. Called marine cloud brightening, it involves spraying a fine mist of seawater into low-lying clouds over the ocean. The salt particles encourage the formation of smaller cloud droplets, making the clouds brighter and more reflective, cooling the ocean and surface below. Unlike stratospheric aerosol injection, the impacts of which could persist for a year or more, a single deployment of marine cloud brightening lasts mere days, making it readily reversible and easier to test. Australian researchers have piloted this tech over the Great Barrier Reef.
"It feels like people read Kim Stanley Robinson’s novels and are trying to actually figure out if any of that stuff makes sense,” Deich told me. In Robinson’s acclaimed 2020 novel The Ministry for the Future, he imagines efforts at stratospheric aerosol injection, glacier stabilization, and large-scale rewilding in response to a fictional — but readily imaginable — catastrophic heat wave.
Deich worries, however, that he didn’t hear enough emphasis at the summit on the ongoing role carbon removal — not just emissions cuts — would have to play in a world even temporarily reliant on an intervention like stratospheric aerosol injection. That’s because of the risk of “termination shock”: If scientists suddenly halted solar geoengineering, the warming it had been masking would likely return within just a few years unless carbon removal efforts could draw down significant CO2 in the interim.
“The [carbon dioxide removal] community from the very early days tried very hard to say, first priority is obviously stopping emissions, but we also need to do removal, and we can’t wait for one to do the other,” Deich told me. “And I don’t see that same type of drumbeat being articulated by the SRM crowd.”
He and others are well aware of the moral hazard argument that has long dogged carbon removal: that this tech will give fossil fuel companies cover to keep emitting, and politicians an excuse to avoid the harder work of decarbonization. With carbon removal, however, that concern is generally simple to rebut. All recent IPCC reports have concluded that removals will be necessary to keep warming anywhere near safe levels. And in many cases, cutting emissions is still far cheaper than removing carbon after the fact.
But it’s a different calculus for an intervention like stratospheric aerosol injection, which is cheap by comparison and could lower global temperatures without doing anything to address the underlying emissions buildup. It’s easy to see how policymakers and the public could say, “Let’s let future generations deal with this building up of greenhouse gasses. We don’t really have to care about that now, we can just keep the temperatures a bit lower and buy ourselves time,” Robert Höglund, a carbon removal advisor and co-founder of the market tracker CDR.fyi, told me. “I think that’s fair. It’s a real risk.”
For its part, ARC plans to publish a report early next year bringing together the work of roughly 40 authors to lay out the state of the field’s science, governance, and social legitimacy. This will come alongside an open map of the interventions being studied and tested as well as funding and research gaps that remain. Rather than immediately holding another global summit, the organization plans to convene regional meetings next year primarily in low- and middle-income countries to explore possibilities for local research efforts in climate vulnerable nations. The next global gathering might then be scheduled for 2028.
In the meantime, many hope ARC and others will help shepherd along myriad research and communications efforts. Because if any message dominated the inaugural summit, it was: Geoengineering isn’t yet ready for prime time. There’s much more research to do, and significant stakeholder groundwork to lay, especially as the field considers how to best invite policymakers into the conversation.
“You cannot create a field. Nobody can declare it into existence,” ARC director Joshua Elliott told me of the effort to bring together the disparate experts working on climate stabilization. What organizations like ARC can do is build the infrastructure for it to emerge. That looks like convening researchers, advocates, and even skeptics; synthesizing siloed knowledge; opening the arguments to debate; establishing academic journals; and creating funding streams within governments and other institutions. But from there, the big decisions belong to others.
“That’s where our theory of change stops,” Elliott told me. ARC won’t decide whether the aerosols are injected into the atmosphere or Arctic ice is thickened. “It is the governments and the multilateral institutions that we have charged with making these decisions, despite however functional you think those institutions might be.”