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Adobe. Stilts. Concrete walls and ember-catching roofs. To adapt to a warming world, design has to relearn how to be local.
Blame architecture. Unreinforced buildings crumbled in Turkey’s earthquake. Heatwaves across the U.K. and India turned steel and glass high rises into greenhouses literally cooking people to death. One-size fits all architecture — a fallout of the industrial revolution and increased globalization — took advantage of inexpensive mass-produced materials, like concrete, steel, and glass, to standardize structures everywhere without consideration for local climate conditions.
From Mumbai to Tokyo to Vancouver to New York City, concrete tower blocks sprung up everywhere over the last century. Built without courtyards, natural air flow, or landscaping, the apartment blocks were vulnerable to extreme temperatures and created heat islands — increasing temperatures in these blocks by several degrees and requiring air conditioning when inhabitants could afford it.
Air conditioning is both a blessing and a curse for a warming planet. A blessing because it can literally save lives when temperatures spike. And a curse because millions of people cranking them up during heatwaves can push electricity grids past their breaking point, a problem that will only worsen as the world gets hotter. Air conditioning also literally warms outside temperatures by another 1 degree Celsius, creating a vicious cycle of heat.
Recently, UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres predicted that rising seas would affect more than a billion people and create mass exodus on a biblical scale. Is there a version of this climate narrative that results in a rebirth of adaptable, resilient, and habitable housing? Will the threat of climate migration and extreme weather herald a return to regional design, a trend that better tailors engineering, materials, and technology to local conditions?
Pioneering efforts to merge architecture and climate resilience into a form of regional design is 2023 Pritzer Prize winner David Chipperfield. He launched Fundacion IRA in Galicia with the city’s government and urban planners in response to the scale of challenges presented by global warming. In his acceptance statement for the award, Chipperfield said, “We know that, as architects, we can have a more prominent and engaged role in creating not only a more beautiful world but a fairer and more sustainable one too. We must rise to this challenge and help inspire the next generation to embrace this responsibility with vision and courage.”
And we already know how to do this.
Tropical Modernism is an architecture style that elevated the indigenous traditions of the tropics. Geoffrey Bawa in Sri Lanka and Vladimir Ossipof in Hawaii both connected indoors and outdoors, used overhanging roofs, local woods, and even lava to create structures in harmony with the tropical climate and way of life.
Like Tropical Modernist architects, Le Corbusier tempered climate extremes in Chandigarh, the planned city he designed in northern India, with architectural and landscape interventions — tree canopies, roof overhangs, shutters, verandas, and reflecting pool. The structures could protect from storms and bring in cooling breezes; invite in the daylight, but not the heat. But he also considered Chandigarh a living biological entity and designed the city to facilitate “breathing” in the region’s extreme climate. To do this, he prioritized thermo dynamic performance: prevailing winds, evaporative cooling and convection currents to maximize cooling and promote air circulation.
Pueblo-style adobe homes have historically responded well to harsh conditions — namely heat — but are also proving resistant to fire, hurricanes, and even earthquakes. Built typically in desert environments from Morocco to Spain to Central America to the U.S. Southwest, adobe homes have morphed into styles that include modern earthships made of clay, dirt, old tires, (and whatever else is laying around) and also the amorphously shaped cob homes. Conrad Rogue, who has taught earthen design for 20 years at House Alive in Oregon, insists adobe and cob homes are beautiful, not just for hippies and a good solution for the climate crisis, “Earthen homes, made of local clay soil and straw, have survived thousands of years and can be built in all climates in all parts of the world.”
There is no refuting the climatic benefits of clay and Pritzker Prize-winning architect Francis Kéré’s approach to regional adobe design is refreshingly modern. He combined recent engineering principles with traditional building techniques to create the stunning Gando Primary School in Burkino Faso, which stays cool without air conditioning even though temperatures are in the 90s year round.
A few other ways architects are responding to extreme weather beyond heat include building homes to withstand fire, flood risks, and even hurricanes.
Northern California-based Faulkner architects build in wildfire-prone zones and are gathering expertise in construction with non-combustible materials and using landscaping to limit the risk of igniting as well as providing "defensible space," by limiting the amount of highly flammable vegetation around it. One Faulkner project, a family house near Lake Tahoe, was only 25 miles away from the Caldor fire in 2021. After, they reinforced the home in a “fire-resistive shell” of concrete walls and a steel roof coated with an ember-catching membrane. They also installed window glazing that can withstand temperatures of 1500 degrees Fahrenheit and gives the house a real chance of surviving a wildfire.
And it’s becoming more and more possible to live in a flood zone. Stilts protect houses built on floodplains and from rising tides. The Insurance Institute for Business and Home Safety says, “There’s no real substitute for elevation. It's your best bet." U.K. architect Lisa Shell’s beach house is a great example. She built it out of cork on stilts over an estuary where high tide flows under the house.
More and more, architects are designing with climate in mind:
• Genzler Architects built a photovoltaic canopy that shades an entire office building.
• Copenhagen-based Snohetta partnered on Harvard HouseZero to experiment ways to maximize energy efficiency of an old house. They recently completed Under, an underwater restaurant built to withstand rough seas and destined to become part of the seabed.
• BIG architects, famous for Copenhill, their waste-to-energy ski slope in Copenhagen, completed the first fully sustainable factory that doubles as a public park in Norway for outdoor furniture company Vestre.
• Land on Water is a transportable floating housing community developed by Danish Maritime Architecture Studio MAST
• Cosmic pre-fab houses are built for climate extremes with heat pumps and solar panels.
• Buhaus prefabs are made with fire-resistant aluminum facades.
• London-based Hugh Broughton Architects designs for both Antarctica and Mars. His Halley VI remote mobile research station was in a movie with Cate Blanchett and has moveable hydraulic legs that can be raised over snow drifts and slid to a new location if the ice melts. The Martian house explores new ways of living resourcefully here on Earth or on Mars. But architecture will need to do more than just return to regional design to create habitable structures that will withstand the environmental volatility coming our way.
It’s probably more instructive to look to the work of Shigeru Ban who has been constructing disaster housing in response to earthquakes, wars, and floods since the Kobe earthquake in 1995. He invented a system of recycled paper tubes that allow for quick construction of emergency shelters that can transition to permanent housing. (His latest prototype for Ukraine is a flat-pack, lightweight, easy-to-assemble house.)
In her book, Atmosphere Anatomies: On Design, Weather and Sensation, Harvard Professor and architect Sylvia Benedito explores habitats and communities that have learned to live with extreme weather in a resourceful way.
She believes Le Corbusier’s approach at Chandigarh is even more relevant today, “Chandigarh budgets were low and they could not afford air conditioning and they had to find inventive ways to tackle the climate challenges. Operating just as an architect doesn't help us think about climatic amelioration. Landscapes are vehicles for transforming punitive and inhospitable environments into spaces capable of accommodating and nurturing human life.”
“That’s why it is so frustrating,” she continues, “to see architects cut down trees, put in glass. I believe the next decades will see a revolution in landscape management.”
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It was a curious alliance from the start. On the one hand, Donald Trump, who made antipathy toward electric vehicles a core part of his meandering rants. On the other hand, Elon Musk, the man behind the world’s largest EV company, who nonetheless put all his weight, his millions of dollars, and the power of his social network behind the Trump campaign.
With Musk standing by his side on Election Day, Trump has once again secured the presidency. His reascendance sent shock waves through the automotive world, where companies that had been lurching toward electrification with varying levels of enthusiasm were left to wonder what happens now — and what benefits Tesla may reap from having hitched itself to the winning horse.
Certainly the federal government’s stated target of 50% of U.S. new car sales being electric by 2030 is toast, and many of the actions it took in pursuit of that goal are endangered. Although Trump has softened his rhetoric against EVs since becoming buddies with Musk, it’s hard to imagine a Trump administration with any kind of ambitious electrification goal.
During his first go-round as president, Trump attacked the state of California’s ability to set its own ambitious climate-focused rules for cars. No surprise there: Because of the size of the California car market, its regulations helped to drag the entire industry toward lower-emitting vehicles and, almost inevitably, EVs. If Trump changes course and doesn’t do the same thing this time, it’ll be because his new friend at Tesla supports those rules.
The biggest question hanging over electric vehicles, however, is the fate of the Biden administration’s signature achievements in climate and EV policy, particularly the Inflation Reduction Act’s $7,500 federal consumer tax credit for electric vehicles. A Trump administration looks poised to tear down whatever it can of its predecessor’s policy. Some analysts predict it’s unlikely the entire IRA will disappear, but concede Trump would try to kill off the incentives for electric vehicles however he can.
There’s no sugar-coating it: Without the federal incentives, the state of EVs looks somewhat bleak. Knocking $7,500 off the starting price is essential to negate the cost of manufacturing expensive lithium-ion batteries and making EVs cost-competitive with ordinary combustion cars. Consider a crucial model like the new Chevy Equinox EV: Counting the federal incentive, the most basic $35,000 model could come in under the starting price of a gasoline crossover like the Toyota RAV4. Without that benefit, buyers who want to go electric will have to pay a premium to do so — the thing that’s been holding back mass electrification all along.
Musk, during his honeymoon with Trump, boasted that Tesla doesn’t need the tax credits, as if daring the president-elect to kill off the incentives. On the one hand, this is obviously false. Visit Tesla’s website and you’ll see the simplest Model 3 listed for $29,990, but this is a mirage. Take away the $7,500 in incentives and $5,000 in claimed savings versus buying gasoline, and the car actually starts at about $43,000, much further out of reach for non-wealthy buyers.
What Musk really means is that his company doesn’t need the incentives nearly as bad as other automakers do. Ford is hemorrhaging billions of dollars as it struggles to make EVs profitably. GM’s big plan to go entirely electric depended heavily on federal support. As InsideEVsnotes, the likely outcome of a Trump offensive against EVs is that the legacy car brands, faced with an unpredictable electrification roadmap as America oscillates between presidents, scale back their plans and lean back into the easy profitably of big, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks. Such an about-face could hand Tesla the kind of EV market dominance it enjoyed four or five years ago when it sold around 75% of all electric vehicles in America.
That’s tough news for the climate-conscious Americans who want an electric vehicle built by someone not named Elon Musk. Hundreds of thousands of people, myself included, bought a Tesla during the past five or six years because it was the most practical EV for their lifestyle, only to see the company’s figurehead shift his public persona from goofy troll to Trump acolyte. It’s not uncommon now, as Democrats distance themselves from Tesla, to see Model 3s adorned with bumper stickers like the “Anti-Elon Tesla Club,” as one on a car I followed last month proclaimed. Musk’s newest vehicle, the Cybertruck, is a rolling embodiment of the man’s brand, a vehicle purpose-built to repel anyone not part of his cult of personality.
In a world where this version of Tesla retakes control of the electric car market, it becomes harder to ditch gasoline without indirectly supporting Donald Trump, by either buying a Tesla or topping off at its Superchargers. Blue voters will have some options outside of Tesla — the industry has come too far to simply evaporate because of one election. But it’s also easy to see dispirited progressives throwing up their hands and buying another carbon-spewing Subaru.
Republicans are taking over some of the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth.
When Republicans flipped the Senate, they took the keys to three critical energy and climate-focused committees.
These are among the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth. The Senate plays the role of gatekeeper for important legislation, as it requires a supermajority to overcome the filibuster. Hence, it’s both where many promising climate bills from the House go to die, as well as where key administrators such as the heads of the Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency are vetted and confirmed.
We’ll have to wait a bit for the Senate’s new committee chairs to be officially confirmed. But Jeff Navin, co-founder at the climate change-focused government affairs firm Boundary Stone Partners, told me that since selections are usually based on seniority, in many cases it’s already clear which Republicans are poised to lead under Trump and which Democrats will assume second-in-command (known as the ranking member). Here’s what we know so far.
This committee has been famously led by Joe Manchin, the former Democrat, now Independent senator from West Virginia, who will retire at the end of this legislative session. Energy and Natural Resources has a history of bipartisan collaboration and was integral in developing many of the key provisions in the Inflation Reduction Act — and could thus play a key role in dismantling them. Overall, the committee oversees the DOE, the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, so it’s no small deal that its next chairman will likely be Mike Lee, the ultra-conservative Republican from Utah. That’s assuming that the committee's current ranking member, John Barrasso of Wyoming, wins his bid for Republican Senate whip, which seems very likely.
Lee opposes federal ownership of public lands, setting himself up to butt heads with Martin Heinrich, the Democrat from New Mexico and likely the committee’s next ranking member. Lee has also said that solving climate change is simply a matter of having more babies, as “problems of human imagination are not solved by more laws, they’re solved by more humans.” As Navin told me, “We've had this kind of safe space where so-called quiet climate policy could get done in the margins. And it’s not clear that that's going to continue to exist with the new leadership.”
This committee is currently chaired by Democrat Tom Carper of Delaware, who is retiring after this term. Poised to take over is the Republican’s current ranking member, Shelley Moore Capito of West Virginia. She’s been a strong advocate for continued reliance on coal and natural gas power plants, while also carving out areas of bipartisan consensus on issues such as nuclear energy, carbon capture, and infrastructure projects during her tenure on the committee. The job of the Environment and Public Works committee is in the name: It oversees the EPA, writes key pieces of environmental legislation such as the Clean Air Act and Clean Water Act, and supervises public infrastructure projects such as highways, bridges, and dams.
Navin told me that many believe the new Democratic ranking member will be Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island, although to do so, he would have to step down from his perch at the Senate Budget Committee, where he is currently chair. A tireless advocate of the climate cause, Whitehouse has worked on the Environment and Public Works committee for over 15 years, and lately seems to have had a relatively productive working relationship with Capito.
This subcommittee falls under the broader Senate Appropriations Committee and is responsible for allocating funding for the DOE, various water development projects, and various other agencies such as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
California’s Dianne Feinstein used to chair this subcommittee until her death last year, when Democrat Patty Murray of Washington took over. Navin told me that the subcommittee’s next leader will depend on how the game of “musical chairs” in the larger Appropriations Committee shakes out. Depending on their subcommittee preferences, the chair could end up being John Kennedy of Louisiana, outgoing Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, or Lisa Murkowski of Alaska. It’s likewise hard to say who the top Democrat will be.
Inside a wild race sparked by a solar farm in Knox County, Ohio.
The most important climate election you’ve never heard of? Your local county commissioner.
County commissioners are usually the most powerful governing individuals in a county government. As officials closer to community-level planning than, say a sitting senator, commissioners wind up on the frontlines of grassroots opposition to renewables. And increasingly, property owners that may be personally impacted by solar or wind farms in their backyards are gunning for county commissioner positions on explicitly anti-development platforms.
Take the case of newly-elected Ohio county commissioner – and Christian social media lifestyle influencer – Drenda Keesee.
In March, Keesee beat fellow Republican Thom Collier in a primary to become a GOP nominee for a commissioner seat in Knox County, Ohio. Knox, a ruby red area with very few Democratic voters, is one of the hottest battlegrounds in the war over solar energy on prime farmland and one of the riskiest counties in the country for developers, according to Heatmap Pro’s database. But Collier had expressed openness to allowing new solar to be built on a case-by-case basis, while Keesee ran on a platform focused almost exclusively on blocking solar development. Collier ultimately placed third in the primary, behind Keesee and another anti-solar candidate placing second.
Fighting solar is a personal issue for Keesee (pronounced keh-see, like “messy”). She has aggressively fought Frasier Solar – a 120 megawatt solar project in the country proposed by Open Road Renewables – getting involved in organizing against the project and regularly attending state regulator hearings. Filings she submitted to the Ohio Power Siting Board state she owns a property at least somewhat adjacent to the proposed solar farm. Based on the sheer volume of those filings this is clearly her passion project – alongside preaching and comparing gay people to Hitler.
Yesterday I spoke to Collier who told me the Frasier Solar project motivated Keesee’s candidacy. He remembered first encountering her at a community meeting – “she verbally accosted me” – and that she “decided she’d run against me because [the solar farm] was going to be next to her house.” In his view, he lost the race because excitement and money combined to produce high anti-solar turnout in a kind of local government primary that ordinarily has low campaign spending and is quite quiet. Some of that funding and activity has been well documented.
“She did it right: tons of ground troops, people from her church, people she’s close with went door-to-door, and they put out lots of propaganda. She got them stirred up that we were going to take all the farmland and turn it into solar,” he said.
Collier’s takeaway from the race was that local commissioner races are particularly vulnerable to the sorts of disinformation, campaign spending and political attacks we’re used to seeing more often in races for higher offices at the state and federal level.
“Unfortunately it has become this,” he bemoaned, “fueled by people who have little to no knowledge of what we do or how we do it. If you stir up enough stuff and you cry out loud enough and put up enough misinformation, people will start to believe it.”
Races like these are happening elsewhere in Ohio and in other states like Georgia, where opposition to a battery plant mobilized Republican primaries. As the climate world digests the federal election results and tries to work backwards from there, perhaps at least some attention will refocus on local campaigns like these.