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A counter-proposal for the country’s energy future.

American electricity consumption is growing for the first time in generations. And though low-carbon technologies such as solar and wind have scaled impressively over the past decade, many observers are concerned that all this new demand will provide “a lifeline for more fossil fuel production,” as Senator Martin Heinrich put it.
In response, a few policy entrepreneurs have proposed novel regulations known as “additionality” requirements to handle new sources of electric load. First suggested for electrolytic hydrogen, additionality standards would require that subsidized hydrogen producers source their electricity directly from newly built low-carbon power plants; in a Heatmap piece from September, Brian Deese and Lisa Hansmann proposed similar requirements for new artificial intelligence. And while AI data centers were their focus, the two argued that additionality “is a model that can be extended to address other sectors facing growing energy demand.”
There is some merit to additionality standards, particularly for commercial customers seeking to reduce their emissions profile. But we should be skeptical of writing these requirements into policy. Strict federal additionality regulations will dampen investment in new industries and electrification, reduce the efficiency of the electrical grid through the balkanization of supply and demand, and could become weapons as rotating government officials impose their views on which sources of demand or supply are eligible for the standards. The grid and the nation need a regulatory framework for energy abundance, not burdensome additionality rules.
After decades of end-use efficiency improvements, offshoring of manufacturing, and shifts toward less material-intensive economies, a confluence of emerging factors are pushing electricity demand back up again. For one, the nation is electrifying personal vehicles, home heating, and may do the same for industrial processes like steel production in the not-too-distant future, sparked by a combination of policy and commercial investment. Hydrogen, which has long been a marginal fuel, is attracting substantial interest. And technological innovation is leading to whole new sources of electric load — compute-hungry artificial intelligence being the most immediate example, but also large-scale critical minerals refining, indoor agriculture like alternative protein cultivation and aquaculture, and so on.
In recent years, clean energy has seemed to be on an unstoppable path toward dominating the power sector. Coal-fired generation has been in terminal decline in the United States as natural gas power plants and solar and wind farms have become more competitive. Flexible gas generation, likewise, is increasingly crowded out by renewables when the wind is blowing and the sun shining. These trends persisted in the context of stable electricity load. But even as deployment accelerates, low-carbon electricity supply may not be able to keep up with the surprisingly robust growth in demand. The most obvious — though not the exclusive — way for utilities and large corporates to meet that demand is often with new or existing natural gas capacity. Even a few coal plants have delayed retirement, reportedly in response to rising demand and reliability concerns.
Given the durable competitiveness of coal and especially natural gas, some form of additionality requirement might make sense for hydrogen production in particular, since hydrogen is not just a nascent form of electric load but a novel fuel in its own right. Simply installing an electrolyzer at an existing coal or natural gas plant could produce hydrogen that, from a lifecycle perspective, would result in higher carbon emissions, even if it displaces fossil fuels like gas or oil in final consumption. Even so, many experts caution that overly strict additionality standards for hydrogen at this stage are overkill, and may smother the industry in its crib.
Likewise, large corporate entities and electricity customers adopting additionality requirements for their own operations can bolster investment in so-called “clean firm” generation like nuclear, geothermal, and fossil fuels with carbon capture. In just the past month, Google announced plans to back the construction of new small nuclear reactors, and Microsoft announced plans to purchase electricity for new data centers from the shuttered Three Mile Island power plant, the plant made famous by the 1979 meltdown but which only closed down in 2019. Three Mile Island’s $100-per-megawatt-hour price tag would have been unthinkable just a few years ago but is newly attractive.
Notice the problem Microsoft is trying to solve here: a lack of abundant, reliable electricity generation. Outdated technology licensing, onerous environmental permitting processes, and other regulatory barriers are obstructing the deployment of renewables, advanced nuclear energy, new enhanced geothermal technologies, and low-carbon sources. Additionality fixes none of these issues. Of course, Deese and Hansmann propose “a dedicated fast-track approval process” for verifiably additional low-carbon generation supplying new sources of AI load. Yet this should be the central effort, not the after-the-fact add-on. The back and forth over additionality rules for the clean hydrogen tax credit is a case in point. The rules for the tax credit will (likely) be finalized by January, but lawsuits already loom over them. Expanding this contentious additionality requirement to apply to broad use cases will be even more contentious without solving the actual shortage data center companies care about. Conversations about additionality are a distraction and misplace the energies of policymakers and staff.
Substituting one regulatory thicket for another is a recipe for stasis. Instead of adding more red tape, we should be working to cut through it, fast-tracking the energy transition and fostering abundance.
With such broad requirements, what’s to stop future administrations from expanding them to cover electric vehicle charging, electric arc furnace steelmaking, alternative protein production, or any politically disfavored source of new demand? Could a second Trump Administration use additionality to punish political enemies in the tech industry? Could a Harris Administration do the same? What if a future administration maintained additionality standards for new sources of load, but required that the electricity come from fossil fuels instead of low-carbon sources?
Zero-sum regulatory contracts between sources of electricity supply and demand are not simply at risk of becoming a tool for handing out favors on a partisan basis — they already are one. Two pieces of model legislation proposed at the July meeting of the American Legislative Exchange Council, an organization of conservative state legislators that collaborate to write off-the-shelf legislative measures, would require public utility commissions to prioritize dispatchable generation and formally discourage intermittent renewable sources like solar and wind. One of the proposals suggests leaning on state attorneys general to extend the lifespans of coal plants threatened with retirement.
These proposals did not move forward this year, but it is unlikely that the motivating force behind them is exhausted. And whatever one thinks of the relative merits of intermittent versus firm generation, ALEC’s proposals demonstrate just how easily gamed regulations like additionality could be and the risks of relying on administrative discretion instead of universal, pragmatic rules.
This is not how the electric grid is supposed to work. The grid is, if not an according-to-Hoyle public good, a shared public resource, providing essential services to customers large and small. Homeowners don’t have to sign additionality contracts with suppliers when they buy an electric car or replace their gas furnace with an electric heat pump. Everyone understands that such requirements would slow the pace of electrification and investment in new industries. The same holds for corporate customers and novel sources of load.
The real problem facing the AI, hydrogen, nuclear, geothermal, and renewables industries is an inability to build. There are more than enough clean generators queueing to enter the system — 2.6 terawatts at last count, according to the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. The unfortunate reality, however, is that just one in five of these projects will make it through — and those represent just 14% of the capacity waiting to connect. Still, this totals about 360 gigawatts of new energy generation over the next few years, much more than the predicted demand from AI data centers. Obstacles to technology licensing, permitting, interconnection, and transmission are the key bottlenecks here.
Would foregoing additionality requirements and loosening regulatory strictures on technology licensing and permitting increase the commercial viability of new or existing fossil fuel capacity, as Deese and Hansmann warn? Perhaps, on some margin. But for the foreseeable future, the energy projects and infrastructure most burdened by regulatory requirements will be low-carbon ones. Batteries, solar, and wind projects make up more than 80% of the queue added in 2023. Meanwhile, oil and gas benefit from categorical exclusions under the National Environmental Policy Act, while low-carbon technologies are subject to stricter standards (although three permitting bills recently passed the House, including one that waives these requirements for new geothermal projects).
Consider that 40% of projects supported by the Inflation Reduction Act are caught up in delays. That is $84 billion of economic activity just waiting for the paperwork to be figured out, according to the Financial Times. Additionality requirements are additional boxes to check that almost necessarily imply additional delays. Permitting reform makes them redundant and unnecessary for a cleaner future.
This underscores perhaps the most essential conflict between strict additionality requirements and clean energy abundance. Ensuring that every new policy and every new source of demand allows for absolutely zero additional fossil fuel consumption or emissions will prove counterproductive to global decarbonization in the long run. Natural gas is still reducing emissions on the margin in the United States. Over the past decade, in years with higher natural gas prices, coal generation has ticked up, indicating that the so-called “natural gas bridge” has not yet reached its terminus. Even aggressive decarbonization scenarios now expect a substantial role for natural gas over the coming decades. And in the long term, natural gas plants may prove wholly compatible with abundant, low-carbon electricity systems if next-generation carbon capture technologies prove scalable.
The United States is the world’s energy technology R&D and demonstration laboratory. If policies to prune marginal fossil fuel consumption here stall domestic investment and scaling of low-carbon technologies — as current permitting regulations already do, and proposed additionality requirements would do — then we will not only slow U.S. decarbonization, but also inhibit our ability to export affordable and scalable low-carbon technologies abroad.
Environmental progress’s surest path is in speeding up. For that to happen, we need processes that allow for rapid deployment of clean energy solutions. Expediting technology licensing, fast-tracking federal infrastructure permitting, and finding opportunities for quicker and more rational interconnections should be first and foremost.
The real solution lies in building a regulatory environment where energy abundance can flourish. Clearing the path for clean energy development, we can achieve a future where energy is affordable, reliable, and abundant—a future where the United States leads in both decarbonization and economic growth. It’s time to stop adding barriers and start speeding up progress.
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Facing down a sea change, the automaker has staked its next EV bet on a compact, sporty pickup.
“Full fathom five, your father lies,” the invisible spirit Ariel sings early in The Tempest, as a handsome and grieving prince listens, rapt. The song tells of a shipwrecked skeleton transforming into something else — its eyes have become pearls, and its bones pink coral — as it undergoes, yes, a “sea change.” It is the first time that phrase appears in the English language.
Ford is now facing its own kind of sea change. Over the past decade, the automaker has doubled down on its most profitable and exciting vehicles — pickups, SUVs, and the Mustang muscle car — and dropped from its line-up the cheap, boring cars that once made it famous. It embraced, then backed off, the transition to electric vehicles, in part because it failed to make money from them; and it began to reckon with the surge of cheaper, cleaner, and “far superior” EVs from Chinese producers that are transforming global auto markets around the world.
Locked into its aging but reliable line-up, yet unable to innovate at the low end, Ford might seem like the epitome of a company facing disruptive innovation. No wonder its stock has traded flat from where it was five years ago — even as the broader market has surged by more than 70%.
Its solution is an EV skunkworks, run by Tesla alumni, where it can develop a new “universal EV platform” to undergird future vehicles. Today, we got a peek at the first car to emerge from that secret shop: an all-electric compact pickup that will hit the roads by the end of next year. Its name? The Ford Fathom.
We know very little about the Fathom, as our correspondent Andrew Moseman wrote today. It will retail for just over $28,000, and even with mandatory delivery costs and other add-ons will stick to this side of $30,000. That makes it only a smidge more expensive than the gas-burning Ford Maverick, a sporty, compact, and popular pickup that starts around $27,000.
Ford promises that the Fathom will have as much seating capacity as Toyota’s RAV4, America’s best-selling car that isn’t a truck. (Ford’s own F-150, of course, holds the true No. 1 spot.) Those dimensions suggest the Fathom will sport a four-door crew cab, like the Maverick, making it more acceptable to families with kids — or young professionals who want to give their friends rides on the weekend. It will also have a frunk.
Beyond that, though, we don’t know much. We don’t know its range, for instance, and its price point shouldn’t inspire too much confidence on that front. Nor do we know, frankly, whether Ford can pull it off: When the automaker announced its first electric truck, the F-150 Lightning, in 2021, it claimed a price point of less than $40,000. Eighteen months of inflation later, it actually sold them for closer to $55,000 — and it still lost money on every EV that it made. Fixing the latter problem is part of why the skunkworks exists in the first place, and Ford now has an additional half-decade of experience making EVs. But consumers hoping for a miraculously priced electric pickup from the Blue Oval have been burned before.
If the Fathom disappoints, though, then consumers will soon have other options. The American car market is about to be deluged with sporty, compact pickup trucks — a welcome change from just a few years ago, when the segment was almost entirely dominated by mid-size and half-ton models. The Jeff Bezos-backed startup Slate will start delivering two-door, all-electric pickups starting at $25,000 at the end of this year. The automaker Stellantis, which owns the Dodge and Jeep brands, says it wants to bring another compact pickup — it’s almost more of a ute — called the Rampage to North America soon.
That’s welcome news for me — I love these little trucks — but I’m a little worried I’ll be outside my pickup-buying years by the time they actually make it to market. In the meantime, I’ll keep you posted on other updates about the Fathom. Will “sea nymphs hourly ring its knell”? No, but it will have Apple CarPlay and Android Auto.
The company confirmed its plans to market research company Cleanview.
The data center buildout has hit a new inflection point. It has long been true that artificial intelligence is fueling climate change by driving up power demand; more recently, tech companies have started directly financing new natural gas plants in their quest for AI glory. Now one is backing the biggest fossil fuel-fired power plant ever to exist in the United States — exclusively to power an AI data center complex.
That company is Amazon, according to the market research company Cleanview, which reported on Friday that the tech giant is building an AI data center campus in Texas powered by an up to 7.65-gigawatt off-grid natural gas plant.
That’s larger than any other power plant in the country — fossil or otherwise. The next biggest plant is the Grand Coulee hydroelectric plant in Washington State, at 7 gigawatts, followed by Arizona’s 4-gigawatt Palo Verde nuclear plant, and the West Count Energy Center, a 3.7-gigawatt natural gas plant in Florida.
The new power plant’s developer, Pacifico Energy, announced in January that it had secured permits from Texas regulators for the project, dubbed “GW Ranch.” The site is also permitted for up to 750 megawatts of solar and 1.8 gigawatts of battery energy storage.
It was not clear who the customer for all this energy would be until earlier this week, when Cleanview uncovered construction permits Amazon filed showing that the company owned the GW Ranch site. The company confirmed to Cleanview that it acquired the site and planned to buy power from Pacifico’s plant.
Not only will this natural gas plant be larger than the one in Florida, it will also use far less efficient technology. Pacifico’s permit says it plans to build 35 “simple cycle” generating units, which are typically installed in rarely-used peaker power plants and waste a lot more fuel potential than the modern “combined cycle” natural gas plants that serve as baseload power for the grid today. These more efficient turbines are essentially on backorder for years, and power-hungry developers have increasingly turned to the simpler versions as a quick fix as they race to bring facilities online.
According to its permit, the GW Ranch plant is allowed to emit as much as 33 million tons of CO2 per year. That’s twice as much as the most-polluting power plant in the country, the James H. Miller Jr. coal plant in Alabama, emitted in 2023, the most recent year for which data is available.
In a statement to Cleanview, an Amazon spokesperson said the company “believes in paying the full costs of powering our operations,” and that this Texas project “does just that: it’s powered by new on-site generation that won’t raise electricity costs for Texas families and designed to transition to grid-connected service as interconnection timelines allow.”
Some researchers disagree on that point, however. In an opinion piece for Utility Dive, Energy Innovation director Jeffrey Rissman and senior fellow Eric Gimon argue that the proliferation of off-grid natural gas generation for data centers will increase costs for regular people more than if the data centers connected to the grid, because they will be competing with utility companies for gas supply. “Data centers can buy gas in bulk and sign long-term contracts (as we’ve seen in Texas, Pennsylvania and New Mexico), giving them access to cheap gas, even if this unfairly drives up prices for everyone else,” they write.
Jane Flegal, a senior fellow at the Searchlight Institute, has also argued that building off-grid natural gas plants to serve data centers locks in emissions for decades because the plants don’t face competitive pressure from other resources. When a new natural gas plant is hooked up to the grid, by contrast, there’s a far greater chance that cheaper, cleaner resources will displace its generation over time.
The Rhodium Group recently developed a scoring system to help investors differentiate between projects that are likely to accelerate the energy transition, those that will have little effect one way or the other, and those that will actively slow it down. They used it to assess options for powering data centers, and found that off grid natural gas plants scored the worst, falling at the bottom of the latter category.
Regardless, Amazon still, somehow, asserts that it is committed to achieve net zero emissions by 2040.
The smoke pouring into Seattle from Spokane is particularly bad, but there’s also no such thing as good smoke.
I wrote this story from inside a cloud of smoke. Owing to some funky meteorology in the Seattle area this week — a pressure ridge paired with a thermal trough — the region’s usual westerly winds reversed, causing smoke from the fires burning in the eastern half of the state to pour through the mountain passes and river valleys of the Cascades and pool over the populous Puget Sound lowlands, where I live.
Though it’s cleared up some today, I’m still running my air purifier on full blast because I know what’s in the lingering smoke. Unlike the still blazing wildfires in Ontario that are burning through mostly uninhabited forests, the smoke in the Seattle area this week came to us partially from Spokane, where the Old Trails fire razed at least 700 buildings and homes last weekend. That means that beyond the usual organic matter associated with wildfire smoke, the pollution that has hung over Seattle has likely also contained particles and chemicals from burned plastics, batteries, cars, and household appliances.
But how can the average person be sure whether their wildfire smoke is the bad kind or the worse kind? (At least assuming that well-adjusted people do not obsessively watch the animations on AirNow.Gov, as I do.) I turned to Coty Jen, an associate professor of chemical engineering, and Albert Presto, a research professor of mechanical engineering, both of Carnegie Mellon University, to learn more about the chemistry of wildfire smoke.
“There is no safe smoke,” Jen said, setting me straight immediately. “It’s all bad. It will piss your body off.”
While it’s true that some smoke is more toxic than other smoke, what you might call the “all natural, organic” variety will still spike hospital emission rates and exacerbate pre-existing respiratory diseases, even if it is mostly burning trees.
Under ideal conditions, when cellulose or lignin — the main structural components of trees and plants as well as leaf litter and soil, the largest sources of carbon during a forest fire — heat up and combust, the chemical reaction creates carbon dioxide, water, heat, and light. But wildfires don’t burn cleanly, and the chemical reactions often stall midway through that process due to things like oxygen availability and temperature variation, producing intermediate products like carbon monoxide or partially broken-down bits of carbon, often called soot. The tiniest of these particles can be smaller than 2.5 micrometers across — 30 or more could fit across the width of a human hair — and are measured collectively as PM2.5, a catch-all term that refers to the size of the particle rather than what it is. What’s important, though, is that these particles are small enough to penetrate deep into our lungs and potentially enter our bloodstream, factors that add to the known mortality associated with PM2.5 exposure.
Different kinds of forests create different emissions — heavy duff, or leaf litter, which is common in pine forests, creates some of the densest smoke conditions. Wetter fuels also burn “dirtier,” creating more pollution. Different topographies also impact air quality in myriad ways; it’s no surprise that some of the worst pollution from the Spokane wildfires pooled in mountain valleys as a warm overhead layer of air trapped the particles near the ground.
Even “natural” wildfires can be extra toxic; burning eucalyptus, which grows in Southern California, is not something you want to inhale. Pine smoke can cause mutations in bacterial DNA, a common lab test for a substance’s potential to cause cancer. Wildfires that smolder are worse than those that burn fast; researchers have found that PM2.5 can be up to 70 times higher when fuels aren’t actively on fire. “You can even see this if you’ve ever built a fire yourself,” Presto explained. “There’s a period where everything is big and flaming, and then, if you’re burning a log, it eventually goes down to smoldering. The emissions are different.”
In the case of something like a house burning down in a wildfire, however, it’s not only cellulose and lignin combusting. “We’re good at engineering materials that are extremely robust, but when they burn, they release very exotic compounds,” Jen said. She pointed to the common plastic PVC, which is used for everything from exterior siding to plumbing and window frames. When it combusts, PVC releases chlorine, “which is very bad for you,” Jen told me. “It’s like how bleach is bad for you — it’s a pretty nasty chlorine compound. PVC isn’t releasing bleach, but it is releasing radical chlorine molecules that produce some crazy compounds.”
If you’re following a smoke event at home, the answer is “not really.” PM2.5 is measured in micrograms per cubic meter, which tells us how much small stuff is floating around, but not what that small stuff is. “It is pretty difficult to measure all the different compounds that wildfires, or broadly any pollution, will emit,” Jen said. “The easiest way to quantify it is to literally suck air onto a filter and measure how heavy it got.”
Measuring what exactly is in that mass requires instruments that cost in the ballpark of half a million dollars, which is not financially feasible at every air monitoring station, Jen went on. But while there are certainly academic applications for that kind of knowledge, a person trying to decide whether or not to go for their run in wildfire smoke doesn’t need that level of granularity.
“Some smoke is definitely more dangerous,” Jen said. “But as innocent bystanders, it’s not like we can pick and choose what smoke floats over to us. You just have to live with it, so the best mentality is to treat all smoke as bad.”
In a 2026 Science Advances study that attributed more than 24,000 deaths per year to wildfire smoke in the U.S., researchers found no safe threshold for PM2.5 exposure. Every 0.1 microgram per cubic meter increase in a county’s average annual PM2.5 from smoke was associated with nearly 5,600 excess deaths nationwide, even though most counties saw only trace amounts of smoke — about 0.4 micrograms per cubic meter a year. While it’s “orange sky” days, when the pollution spikes into triple-digit AQI numbers, that get the most media attention, even low exposure that you can’t smell or even see can be affecting your health.
PM2.5 is just one component of wildfire smoke — the other is gases, including benzene and formaldehyde. Many gases chemically transform as they move from where the fire is to where you inhale them. “The atmosphere is extremely oxidizing — it likes to add oxygen molecules onto compounds,” Jen said.
Some of those compounds react faster than others, “so it depends how downwind you are,” Jen went on. That’s why people closer to a wildfire — maybe a day or less downwind — get the distinctive campfire smell, mainly from the “young” vapors and volatile organic compounds. But for people on the East Coast who were subject to the Ontario smoke several weeks ago, the smoke had to travel several days to reach places like Pittsburgh and New York, and by then the sharper-smelling compounds had transformed into new pollutants like ozone.
The AQI only measures a few specific gases that are considered “criteria pollutants” under the Clean Air Act, which means, as Presto told me, “during these fires, you could emit a whole bunch of different other gases that don’t have an AQI number.”
Instead, you can look at the PM2.5 number to get the gist of how prevalent wildfire gases are. “If your PM 2.5 is high, it’s impossible for the bad gasses to be low,” Jen said. “The way we think about it is, there’s a bunch of junk on the particle, and if the same junk’s not also in the gas, it will evaporate off the particle into the gas. They always exist together.”
You might notice by now that I’ve written little about the actual AQI number, that score that appears on your weather app and runs from zero to 500 (or, confusingly, even higher). That’s because while the AQI is a great communication tool, it doesn’t offer us much in the way of the science of wildfire smoke.
The AQI measures five different pollutants — PM2.5, ozone, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and nitrogen dioxide — with the EPA setting specific concentration thresholds for each one, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has explained. “If local concentrations of any one of them tick up above those protective standards, the AQI will jump from green to a more alarming color,” she wrote. “The higher the level of pollution is, the higher the AQI and the darker the color will be.”
If you want to impress your friends, though, you ought to zero in specifically on the PM2.5 concentration — again, because the prevalence of the tiniest particulates is a good indicator of all the other gunk you can assume is in the air, too. (You can find the specific PM2.5 concentration usually by clicking for more information about the AQI on your weather app or checking IQ Air’s widget.) For example, at the time of this writing, my local PM2.5 concentration is 50 micrograms per cubic meter, more than triple the World Health Organization’s 15 micrograms per cubic meter threshold for 24-hour exposure. (The EPA’s 24-hour threshold is much more lenient, at 35 micrograms per cubic meter.)
When I asked Jen how she stays sane knowing all she knows about smoke exposure, she laughed. “I have just generally become more terrified of all campfires and all barbecues, but people already think I’m weird, so I might as well add to it,” she told me.
In all seriousness, though, she told me the answer is air filters, and her confidence in their ability to work. When wildfire smoke rolled through Pittsburgh, she had two running that she moved from room-to-room with her family, as well as a whole-house air filter. “We were getting PM2.5 concentrations in our house of about 80 micrograms per cubic meter when it was 150 outside,” she said. “But with the air filter on, we could drop that down to less than eight.”
Jen pointed out, though, that many people do not run their air filters properly. Filters are rated at their highest blower level, “so for them to be effective, you need to crank them to their highest setting to get all the air through,” she said. Most people keep their filters on auto or low because they’re so loud — myself included, until I learned otherwise.
Additionally, while an air filter is a rather large appliance, it really ought to be placed in the center of your room to be the most efficient, rather than up against a wall. (Again, my bad.) “When these wildfire events happen, the most effective place for the air filter is where you are, and you have to run it loud, which kind of sucks,” Jen said. “But it is better than breathing in gross air.”