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Lawmakers today should study the Energy Security Act of 1980.

The past few years have seen wild, rapid swings in energy policy in the United States, from President Biden’s enthusiastic embrace of clean energy to President Trump’s equally enthusiastic re-embrace of fossil fuels.
Where energy industrial policy goes next is less certain than any other moment in recent memory. Regardless of the direction, however, we will need creative and effective policy tools to secure our energy future — especially for those of us who wish to see a cleaner, greener energy system. To meet the moment, we can draw inspiration from a largely forgotten piece of energy industrial policy history: the Energy Security Act of 1980.
After a decade of oil shocks and energy crises spanning three presidencies, President Carter called for — and Congress passed — a new law that would “mobilize American determination and ability to win the energy war.” To meet that challenge, lawmakers declared their intent “to utilize to the fullest extent the constitutional powers of the Congress” to reduce the nation’s dependence on imported oil and shield the economy from future supply shocks. Forty-five years later, that brief moment of determined national mobilization may hold valuable lessons for the next stage of our energy industrial policy.
The 1970s were a decade of energy volatility for Americans, with spiking prices and gasoline shortages, as Middle Eastern fossil fuel-producing countries wielded the “oil weapon” to throttle supply. In his 1979 “Crisis of Confidence” address to the nation, Carter warned that America faced a “clear and present danger” from its reliance on foreign oil and urged domestic producers to mobilize new energy sources, akin to the way industry responded to World War II by building up a domestic synthetic rubber industry.
To develop energy alternatives, Congress passed the Energy Security Act, which created a new government-run corporation dedicated to investing in alternative fuels projects, a solar bank, and programs to promote geothermal, biomass, and renewable energy sources. The law also authorized the president to create a system of five-year national energy targets and ordered one of the federal government’s first studies on the impacts of greenhouse gases from fossil fuels.
Carter saw the ESA as the beginning of an historic national mission. “[T]he Energy Security Act will launch this decade with the greatest outpouring of capital investment, technology, manpower, and resources since the space program,” he said at the signing. “Its scope, in fact, is so great that it will dwarf the combined efforts expended to put Americans on the Moon and to build the entire Interstate Highway System of our country.” The ESA was a recognition that, in a moment of crisis, the federal government could revive the tools it once used in wartime to meet an urgent civilian challenge.
In its pursuit of energy security, the Act deployed several remarkable industrial policy tools, with the Synthetic Fuels Corporation as the centerpiece. The corporation was a government-run investment bank chartered to finance — and in some cases, directly undertake — alternative fuels projects, including those derived from coal, shale, and oil.. Regardless of the desirability or feasibility of synthetic fuels, the SFC as an institution illustrates the type of extraordinary authority Congress was once willing to deploy to address energy security and stand up an entirely new industry. It operated outside of federal agencies, unencumbered by the normal bureaucracy and restrictions that apply to government.
Along with everything else created by the ESA, the Sustainable Fuels Corporation was also financed by a windfall profits tax assessed on oil companies, essentially redistributing income from big oil toward its nascent competition. Both the law and the corporation had huge bipartisan support, to the tune of 317 votes for the ESA in the House compared to 93 against, and 78 to 12 in the Senate.
The Synthetic Fuels Corporation was meant to be a public catalyst where private investment was unlikely to materialize on its own. Investors feared that oil prices could fall, or that OPEC might deliberately flood the market to undercut synthetic fuels before they ever reached scale. Synthetic fuel projects were also technically complex, capital-intensive undertakings, with each plant costing several billion dollars, requiring up to a decade to plan and build.
To address this, Congress equipped the corporation with an unusually broad set of tools. The corporation could offer loans, loan guarantees, price guarantees, purchase agreements, and even enter joint ventures — forms of support meant to make first-of-a-kind projects bankable. It could assemble financing packages that traditional lenders viewed as too risky. And while the corporation was being stood up, the president was temporarily authorized to use Defense Production Act powers to initiate early synthetic fuel projects. Taken together, these authorities amounted to a federal attempt to build an entirely new energy industry.
While the ESA gave the private sector the first shot at creating a synthetic fuels industry, it also created opportunities for the federal government to invest. The law authorized the Synthetic Fuels Corporation to undertake and retain ownership over synthetic fuels construction projects if private investment was insufficient to meet production targets. The SFC was also allowed to impose conditions on loans and financial assistance to private developers that gave it a share of project profits and intellectual property rights arising out of federally-funded projects. Congress was not willing to let the national imperative of energy security rise or fall on the whims of the market, nor to let the private sector reap publicly-funded windfalls.
Employing logic that will be familiar to many today, Carter was particularly concerned that alternative fuel sources would be unduly delayed by permitting rules and proposed an Energy Mobilization Board to streamline the review process for energy projects. Congress ultimately refused to create it, worried it would trample state authority and environmental protections. But the impulse survived elsewhere. At a time when the National Environmental Policy Act was barely 10 years old and had become the central mechanism for scrutinizing major federal actions, Congress provided an exemption for all projects financed by the Synthetic Fuels Corporation, although other technologies supported in the law — like geothermal energy — were still required to go through NEPA review. The contrast is revealing — a reminder that when lawmakers see an energy technology as strategically essential, they have been willing not only to fund it but also to redesign the permitting system around it.
Another forgotten feature of the corporation is how far Congress went to ensure it could actually hire top tier talent. Lawmakers concluded that the federal government’s standard pay scales were too low and too rigid for the kind of financial, engineering, and project development expertise the Synthetic Fuels Corporation needed. So it gave the corporation unusual salary flexibility, allowing it to pay above normal civil service rates to attract people with the skills to evaluate multibillion dollar industrial projects. In today’s debates about whether federal agencies have the capacity to manage complex clean energy investments, this detail is striking. Congress once knew that ambitious industrial policy requires not just money, but people who understand how deals get done.
But the Energy Security Act never had the chance to mature. The corporation was still getting off the ground when Carter lost the 1980 election to Ronald Reagan. Reagan’s advisers viewed the project as a distortion of free enterprise — precisely the kind of government intervention they believed had fueled the broader malaise of the 1970s. While Reagan had campaigned on abolishing the Department of Energy, the corporation proved an easier and more symbolic target. His administration hollowed it out, leaving it an empty shell until Congress defunded it entirely in 1986.
At the same time, the crisis atmosphere that had justified the Energy Security Act began to wane. Oil prices fell nearly 60% during Reagan’s first five years, and with them the political urgency behind alternative fuels. Drained of its economic rationale, the synthetic fuels industry collapsed before it ever had a chance to prove whether it could succeed under more favorable conditions. What had looked like a wartime mobilization suddenly appeared to many lawmakers to be an expensive overreaction to a crisis that had passed.
Yet the ESA’s legacy is more than an artifact of a bygone moment. It offers at least three lessons that remain strikingly relevant today:
As we now scramble to make up for lost time, today’s clean energy push requires institutions that can survive electoral swings. Nearly half a century after the ESA, we must find our way back to that type of institutional imagination to meet the energy challenges we still face.
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Chicago-based Clean Core is set to announce a pilot deal to manufacture thorium-based fuel.
Thorium bulls are rare. Of all the competing visions for what kind of technology should dominate a global nuclear renaissance, thorium-fueled reactors have remained avant garde even as other once-experimental concepts such as high-temperature gas-cooled reactors and molten salt reactors found their champions.
But unlike its proponents, thorium itself is not rare. In fact, it’s as much as four times more abundant than uranium, the fuel used in every one of the 415 commercial reactors in operation worldwide today.
Back in the 1960s, when the rapid growth of the world’s fleet of atomic power stations spurred fears that uranium would run out, scientists in the U.S., Germany, and India began experimenting with thorium reactors. Then the post-war electricity demand surge spurred by next-generation electric appliances and booming factories eventually plateaued, curbing the need for more reactors — just as the meltdowns at Three Mile Island and Chernobyl reduced public support for the industry. Following a brief resurgence in the early 2000s, thorium fever mostly subsided. That is, until this past fall, when China made a major breakthrough in developing a thorium-fueled molten salt reactor.
India, meanwhile, stayed set on transitioning to a thorium-fueled fleet, which, given its large deposits of the metal and virtually nonexistent reserves of uranium, would give the subcontinent greater energy independence.
Now an American startup — which last year became one of the first U.S. companies granted permission to export nuclear materials to India — is taking a major step toward helping India realize its 72-year-old thorium dream. On Thursday, Chicago-based Clean Core Thorium Energy plans to announce a pilot manufacturing deal with the Canadian National Laboratories, Heatmap has learned.
“This is the biggest advance toward commercializing thorium in recent history,” Milan Shah, Clean Core’s chief operating officer, told me.
Thorium is “fertile” but not “fissile,” meaning it cannot sustain a chain reaction on its own, which creates an obvious challenge. But when exposed to neutron radiation, the material converts into fissile uranium-233. Rather than build a new type of reactor designed to run on thorium, as the Chinese government is now doing, Clean Core blends thorium fuel with a small amount of high-assay, low-enriched uranium, or HALEU, the type of fuel many next-generation reactor companies aim to use, which kicks off the reaction.
The proprietary fuel assemblies Clean Core manufactures are made to be used in the reactors that make up the bulk of the Indian and Canadian nuclear fleets without any upgrades or changes needed to go from enriched uranium to this new material. While the company waits for the units — they’re expected to be ready to go sometime around the second quarter of next year — it has begun talks with utilities in Canada, Romania, South Korea, and India about taking one of the assemblies for a test run.
Combined, Canada and India operate more than three quarters of the world’s pressurized heavy water reactors. Heavy water absorbs far fewer neutrons than the light water used in most reactors, resulting in a better “neutron economy” that allows the chain reaction to continue using lower concentrations of fissile uranium. That’s a big part of the reason why Canada chose the technology for its pioneering CANDU reactor, one of the world’s first widely built PHWRs, as the reactors are known. Using heavy water as a coolant makes it possible to burn up raw, natural uranium instead of the enriched fuel most reactors use, allowing Canada to divorce its CANDU fleet from the mid-century industrial complex pumping out atomic weapons.
The International Atomic Energy Agency’s data shows 46 PHWRs operating in the world today: 19 in India, 17 in Canada, three each in Argentina and South Korea, and two each in China and Romania.
“We’re looking at Canada, Romania, South Korea, and India — in that order,” Mehul Shah, Clean Core’s founder and chief executive (and Milan’s father), told me. That ranking, he said, is according to the perceived priorities of the U.S. government. Canada is a natural place to test Clean Core’s material because it’s right over the border; the Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission works closely with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission; and much of the world’s PHWR fleet is based on Canuck technology.
At a moment when HALEU is rare, the Canadian government is providing the material to Clean Core for its debut fuel bundles. But the U.S. has made Romania a high priority for nuclear exports, facilitating several high-profile deals with American vendors such as Westinghouse and GE Vernova Hitachi Nuclear Energy and offering federal financial support.
While Canada has some of the world’s richest reserves of uranium, India’s push for thorium means that it is likely the biggest near-term market for Clean Core. The elder Shah’s connections have helped win strong support. Anil Kakodkar, the former chairman of India’s Atomic Energy Commission, was his mentor. The country’s regulators have already embraced Clean Core’s technology.
Demonstrating that the fuel bundles work effectively and safely in a full-scale reactor is “the last step to commercialization,” Mehul Shah said.
If successful, Clean Core’s effort could have geopolitical ramifications for an industry that — by dint of its unique global regulations, and the fact that it’s dominated by the adversarial superpowers such as Russia, China, and the U.S. — is always subject to the travails of foreign affairs.
For one thing, the company’s technology represents one of, if not the most serious gamble in the democratic world on the future of thorium after China’s experimental reactor successfully converted thorium into fuel in a reaction. The Swiss startup Transmutex has promised to build a thorium reactor, but hasn’t announced anything significant in the past year. A rival developer, Copenhagen Atomics, has pledged to build its own thorium reactor, but has — aside from a modest European Union award — has announced little progress in the past year and is based in a country that still bans nuclear energy and only started officially reconsidering atomic power this year. Thor Energy, an early-stage Norwegian venture, has said it plans to follow Clean Core’s path in devising a thorium-based fuel for existing reactors. But the company’s website shows it hasn’t issued a press release since 2018, and a government commission in Norway just advised against pursuing atomic energy in the hydropower-rich Nordic nation.
For another, Clean Core could chart a path for other American companies into India. For years, India was effectively closed off to foreign nuclear companies due to a law that was written to avoid a scenario like the 1984 Bhopal disaster, where an accident at the Union Carbide plant killed thousands while the American corporation largely avoided liability. With that much liability on the vendors, however, the only overseas nuclear vendor willing to roll the dice was Russia’s state-owned Rosatom. But in December, as I wrote over in the Heatmap AM newsletter at the time, India passed legislation to reform the liability law and open the market for American, European, and Asian reactor developers.
If Clean Core can make India’s thorium ambitions a reality, American reactor exporters may have a new reason to start taking the fuel seriously again.
The administration reinstated previously awarded grants worth up to $1.2 billion total.
The Department of Energy is allowing the Direct Air Capture hub program created by the Biden administration to move forward, according to a list the department submitted to Congress on Wednesday.
The program awarded up to $1.2 billion to two projects — Occidental Petroleum’s South Texas DAC Hub, and Climeworks and Heirloom’s joint Project Cypress in Louisiana — both of which appeared on a list of nearly 2,000 grants that have passed the agency’s previously announced review of Biden-era awards.
This fate was far from certain. The DAC Hubs program originally awarded 21 projects, most of them smaller in scale or earlier in development than the Louisiana and Texas hubs. The DOE terminated 10 of those awards last October. A few days after the news of the cancellations broke, the Louisiana and Texas hubs both appeared on a leaked list of additional projects slated for termination. The companies never received termination letters, however, and now the DOE has notified the developers that the projects will be allowed to proceed.
A spokesperson for Battelle, the lead project developer for Project Cypress, told me the company has been “advised that the DOE project team with oversight of Project Cypress will be contacting us soon to begin the process of moving the project forward.”
Wright has signaled that many of the projects that made it through the review process had to be modified, but it is unclear which ones or how the DAC hubs will be affected. Neither Battelle nor the other companies responded to questions about whether their plans have changed.
The award amount is also up in the air. Originally, each project was awarded about $50 million for early development, with the opportunity to receive up to $600 million each. The spreadsheet of retained projects lists each of the DAC hubs at $50 million, but that may just be the amount that has been obligated so far. The DOE’s budget request for 2027 suggests it could be planning to pay out the full amount: The agency wants to rescind $2.3 billion from the $3.5 billion DAC Hubs program, which, if approved, would still leave $1.2 billion, the amount earmarked for the Project Cypress and South Texas hubs.
In an email, Climeworks spokesperson Tristan Lebleu told me the company “looks forward to engaging with the Department of Energy and our partners on next steps to advance our project in Louisiana."
Vikram Aiyer, the head of policy for Heirloom, said the project has strong support from local leaders, including Louisiana's Congressional Delegation and Governor Jeff Landry. He said the startup looks forward to working with the DOE on “unlocking the appropriated and obligated monies to create high-quality jobs, strengthen domestic supply chains, and pair industrial growth with advanced carbon management and utilization.”
A spokesperson from Occidental declined to comment, advising me to contact the DOE. The DOE has not responded to a request for comment.
While the companies are painting this as positive news, they must now contend with a new challenge: raising private investment for these projects in a very different environment than when the projects were first proposed. Carbon removal purchases are down and investors are not as keen on the industry as they once were.
“This is a step in the right direction but what’s important now is that these projects get built,” Giana Amador, the executive director of the Carbon Removal Alliance, wrote on LinkedIn. “That means steel in the ground, agreements honored, and clarity so our companies can do what they do best: build.”
The Senate approved a House resolution using the Congressional Review Act to allow a mining operation near Minnesota’s Boundary Waters wilderness area.
In a 50-49 vote on Thursday, the Senate approved opening a national forest just outside the Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness Area in Minnesota to a copper-nickel mining operation, a move that environmentalists and conservationists say will pollute the downstream watershed and set a precedent for future rollbacks on protected public lands.
The upper chamber’s decision follows a near-party-line House vote in January and months of subsequent protests, op-eds, and pleas to senators to preserve the wilderness expanse and recreation area. The level of mobilization has been reminiscent of the early days of the second Trump administration, when public outrage erupted against the efficiency department’s gutting of the beloved National Park Service. This time, the focus was on House Joint Resolution 140, which had made its way onto a Senate calendar already crowded with debates over funding for the Department of Homeland Security and the limits of war powers.
The Boundary Waters is America’s most heavily visited wilderness area, supporting an estimated $16 billion recreation-based economy in the region. Minnesota’s Democratic Senator Tina Smith, who held the floor on Wednesday night in protest of revoking the protections, said that a poll by her office found that 70% of residents in the state believe preventing pollution from the mine should be a top priority for their elected officials.
Democratic presidents had managed to stave off the copper-nickel mining operation on the Boundary Waters’ doorstep for almost 20 years by way of a mineral withdrawal. Then, this winter, the House utilized the Congressional Review Act to reopen consideration of the withdrawal. With Thursday’s vote, Senate Republicans handed a victory to the Chilean mining company Antofagasta and its subsidiary, Twin Metals Minnesota, which has a plethora of connections to Trump administration officials. President Trump is expected to sign the bill. (Twin Metals did not respond to a request for comment.)
Because of the use of the CRA, though, it wasn’t just the fate of the Boundary Waters watershed that was decided swiftly — and perhaps permanently — on Thursday, just days before the 60-day clock would have expired. The vote is “the tip of the spear in terms of setting a precedent,” Ingrid Lyons, the executive director of Save the Boundary Waters, had told me prior to the Senate’s vote.
Justin Meuse, the government relations director at The Wilderness Society, was even more direct when I spoke to him last month. “I can’t stress enough how much it’s freaking us out,” he said.
The Congressional Review Act was originally a bipartisan bill passed in 1996 as a mechanism for the legislative branch to oversee agency rulemaking. The law requires that federal agencies submit final rules to Congress and, in doing so, triggers a 60-day window for the House and Senate to pass a joint resolution of disapproval of those rules via a simple majority. If the president signs the resolution, then the agency’s rule is void, and the agency is further barred from issuing a “substantially similar” rule in the future.
“It wasn’t used for a long time, and people thought it was dead,” Susan Dudley, the former director of the George Washington University Regulatory Studies Center, told me of the CRA. “Then people, including me, said, ‘Okay, the only time we’ll be seeing it used is during transitions, so an incoming president of a different party or with different policy preferences can undo last-minute regulations of the prior president” — so-called midnight regulations such as a Clinton-era Occupational Safety and Health Administration rule that would have established ergonomic protections for workers, and that Congress and President George W. Bush blocked in early 2001.
Opponents had taken to calling the CRA “secretive,” “archaic,” and “obscure.” Then, during the first Trump administration, Republicans passed 15 joint resolutions of disapproval to void late-term Obama rules that would have established fair pay, mandated recordkeeping on workplace injuries, and environmental protections, among other lefty goals. The Biden White House also used the mechanism against three Trump-issued rules — including one that loosened methane emission limits —and paced its own rulemaking with the ticking CRA clock in mind.
Under Trump 2.0, Republicans have stretched the CRA’s deregulatory powers. In defiance of the Senate Parliamentarian last year, conservative members of Congress used the CRA to overturn a waiver that allowed California to preempt the Clean Air Act by setting its own stricter-than-federal emissions standards for cars and trucks. Opponents were outraged. A “waiver” is a state- and site-specific authorization, they argued, distinct from agency “rules” as defined by the CRA.
Most alarming to conservationists, though, is the fact that Republicans are now using the CRA to attack public land protections in myriad ways. Congress has already used the act to target resource management plans, which are the Bureau of Land Management’s guidelines for allowable land use ranging from oil and gas leases to renewable energy rights-of-way. Last summer, the Government Accountability Office determined that an RMP banning coal leases across millions of acres of eastern Montana counted as a “rule,” a determination that Dudley told me was in keeping with the original intent of the CRA, which defined “rule” expansively. But it also created a loophole that allows Republicans to submit any RMPs enacted since the CRA became law in 1996 for consideration by the GAO. Each time they do so, it resets the 60-day clock to submit a resolution of disapproval, even if the resource management plan was established decades ago.
“We literally have hundreds of land use plans that have been finalized over the last 30 years,” John Ruple, a research professor of law at the University of Utah’s Wallace Stegner Center for Land Resources and the Environment, told me. “The fact that none of those were submitted to Congress — even though Congress had these GAO opinions in front of them that said, ‘Yeah, technically, these are probably rules,’ they never objected. I think that should tell us something: RMPs were meant to be treated differently.”
In the case of the Boundary Waters, the CRA voids a 20-year-old withdrawal of watershed lands from mineral leasing, which the BLM finalized in 2023 but only submitted to Congress earlier this year.
Though many of the conservationists I spoke to argued that a mineral withdrawal doesn’t qualify under the CRA to begin with because it’s not federal rulemaking, Todd F. Gaziano — who served as the chief counsel of the subcommittee on regulatory affairs during its passage in 1996, and was the primary staffer who drafted the final version of the legislation — disagreed. He told me that CRA was always intended to have a broad mandate in order to prevent circumvention by agencies — say, by issuing “guidance” rather than a formal “rule.” As Gaziano put it to me, “If people outside government care about it, and it’s an agency statement that’s going to have a future effect, that sounds like a rule covered by the Congressional Review Act.”
Ruple stressed to me that focusing on what is or is not a rule misses the greater point. Whether it’s legal or not, using the CRA to undo land management plans is a “really bad idea,” he said. “It’s really dangerous, it’s really destabilizing, and it injects tremendous uncertainty into the land management process.”
A major concern is that, because of the CRA’s provision barring a federal agency from issuing a “substantially similar” rule in the future, a resolution of disapproval effectively salts the earth behind it. “It’s a sledgehammer rather than a tool to tweak a regulation that Congress might think should be better,” is how Dudley, the former Regulatory Studies Center director, put it to me. That’s also Ruple’s point — there are many other avenues Congress can pursue if it disagrees with an agency, from sending letters to calling in staff to testify, before the nuclear option of the CRA.
Nevertheless, there are fears about what Republicans in Congress will target next — the party appears poised to test the CRA against a national monument. Republican Representative Celeste Malloy and Republican Senator Mike Lee, both of Utah, introduced a joint resolution to undo the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument Management Plan under the CRA after getting the GAO’s go-ahead this winter. “It’s a really big escalation to go from knocking off land‑management plans versus tackling a national monument,” Steve Bloch, the legal director of the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance, told me earlier this year. “There are lots of monument management plans in the country that would be at risk if this one falls.”
There will likely be a regrouping in the aftermath of Thursday’s defeat on Boundary Waters to reconsider how to protect public lands. Jim Pattiz, a co-founder of the website and public lands newsletter More Than Just Parks, told me ahead of the vote that he expected a lawsuit to follow in short order if the vote didn’t go conservationists’ way. “Hopefully they can get an injunction, they can get a class action, and at least put a hold on this, and it can play out in courts,” he said.
But Ruple seemed to believe the crisis is even more existential — not just a case of micromanaging, but a sign of how far the legislative branch has drifted from its intended purpose in the name of party politics. “Congress can’t even pass a budget. Do we really expect them to delve into the minutiae of hundreds of land management plans?” he said.
Gaziano had a different take: “Congress may not want responsibility,” he argued, “but it’s got it.”
As the Boundary Waters vote makes clear, though, even tremendous outcry isn’t enough to sway this Congress from its attack on public lands. “I don’t want to speculate, but I’m not sure what type of action they’re going to go after next because it keeps getting more and more granular,” Meuse, of The Wilderness Society, said. “It really does seem like, as long as there is a willing majority in both chambers, there isn’t an end in sight.”