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Despite what some climate change apologists might have you think.

Does everything actually suck right now? Or is it just the end of January?
It can be difficult to tell. We’re officially in the thick of what Americans consider to be the worst time of year, when complaining about the weather is an acceptable salutation and feeling “blah” is the basic condition of being alive. Even setting aside seasonal affective disorder — a condition linked to limited daylight, and thus not directly affected by climate change — studies have shown that people have a lower quality diet in the winter, and body weight usually reaches its peak this time of year. Physical activity, which is also important for mental health, dips as the weather gets worse, and research has even shown that people with Alzheimer’s disease experience more severe symptoms when the planet is tilted away from the sun.
Some have taken these winter blues as an opportunity to question the basic premise that climate change is bad. “The chief benefits of global warming” include “fewer winter deaths” and lower heating bills, Matt Ridley argued in The Spectator in 2013. Former President Donald Trump even has a quasi-annual tradition of tweeting something like “Wouldn’t be bad to have a little of that good old fashioned Global Warming right now!” during cold snaps this time of year.
Winter is, in fact, warming faster than any other season in the United States, with some parts of the country on track to lose over a month of freezing days as soon as 2050. Even if you do believe — correctly — that climate change is a global catastrophe, unless you’re a skier or snowboarder, this might sound like a good thing. So, as sacrilegious as it feels to ask, could a warmer planet make us healthier in the wintertime?
When I asked Leslie Davenport, a climate psychology educator at the California Institute of Integral Studies, if she expected milder winters to impact people psychologically, she answered immediately. “Oh, one hundred percent!,” she told me. That doesn’t mean she thinks the impact will be positive. She said she has heard people “who are a little more on the climate denial end of things” make comments like “this is great, it used to be so cold and now I can go golfing,” she told me, but “I can’t honestly call that an upside.”
Far more often, Davenport said she hears from people experiencing a sense of “unsettling” as they notice winter isn’t as cold or as snowy as they remember it being. Some might even express a feeling of “solastalgia,” a neologism that describes the sense of displacement or nostalgia that arises when a place changes environmentally. “Whether it’s the loss of snow, or areas that are drier or hotter or wetter, it is like, ‘Well, this is not the town I grew up in or the place I chose to move to because it has changed so much,’” Davenport said.
While there might be an abstract appeal to the Los Angelesification of winter nationwide, it would be a mistake to count on climate change making the season “better.” Quite the opposite, actually — warmer winters could make winter much worse, especially for those living in midlatitude cities like New York, London, or Amsterdam. “I have observed, in my travels and my research and in talking to people, that it is often much easier and more pleasant to cope with winter weather that is slightly below freezing consistently than weather that is slightly above freezing consistently,” Kari Leibowitz, a health psychologist who is working on a book about winter mindsets, told me.
Cold temperatures can actually improve our lives in several ways, Leibowitz argued. For one thing, snowfall “opens up a whole bunch of winter opportunities” like sledding, snowmobiling, snowshoeing, and all those winter sports that get people out of the house. That helps combat some of the bluesiness that otherwise comes from moping around indoors when it’s too gray and rainy to do anything active. Frozen lakes offer opportunities for skating and hockey, plus “there’s also a lot of beauty and intrigue in ice — you know, icicles and frozen rainstorms,” Leibowitz went on.
Snow, meanwhile, “reflects the light, so it makes the darkness of winter feel much, much brighter,” Leibowitz said. “And most people think it’s really beautiful — it’s clean and fresh and it smells good.”
Of course, winter weather can be dangerous, too, but “places that are colder and have really frozen winters have good infrastructure for dealing with that, and houses tend to be better insulated and heated more efficiently,” Leibowitz said. Bad winter weather can also give us much-needed permission to rest.
While there are certain places further in the south, such as Atlanta, where winter might genuinely become more pleasant as the planet warms, “there are far more places where the end of winter is just going to mean places are dark and wet,” without the upsides that come with the snow and freezing temperatures, Leibowitz stressed.
Michael Varnum, the head of the Culture and Ecology Laboratory at Arizona State University and a specialist in seasonal psychology, did find one positive. “Nobody likes to feel down, or to look at their waistline and see it’s grown,” he told me. “So potentially, there could be some upsides there.”
Naturally, much of how you feel about winter will depend on the climate where you live. In general, though, “we are somewhat more insulated from the changes in temperature that come with the seasons than we were, say, 10,000 years ago or even a couple hundred years ago,” Varnum said. Feelings of climate anxiety and distress tend to be highest in Indigenous communities in or near the Arctic, where the cold weather is a part of cultural identity and inheritance. Likewise, Davenport told me, in “places where there tends to be a lot of snow” like Japan or Finland, “there’s talk about things like ‘winter grief,’” where a milder winter makes it so that “certain rituals or holidays that have been planned in the past can’t happen anymore or as consistently.”
Many Americans, too, lose a sense of themselves when winter gets milder. “It’s what a lot of us love about living here: our winters,” Erich Osterberg, a Dartmouth climate scientist, told The New Hampshire Bulletin in 2022. “It’s more than changes to the climate,” he added, “it’s changes to our livelihood and our culture.” I encountered similar comments from Minnesotans when I was looking into how an unseasonably dry winter is imperiling this year’s cross country ski season: “Spiritually, this is terrible,” Claire Wilson, the executive director of Minneapolis’ Loppet Foundation, recently told the Star Tribune.
Winter doesn’t have to be dreaded, Leibowitz said — much of one’s enjoyment of the season comes down to mindset. But it does seem to matter that winter is actually, well, wintery, too. Whether that’s a question of our evolutionary seasonal biology (winter appears to be an important trigger for the human reproductive cycle, for one thing), or a matter of our cultural practices, or something as simple as snow being more fun than rain, it’s hard to make the case that warming winters will leave us better off.
“If you want me to find the psychological upside of anything, I could maybe do it,” Leibowitz confessed. She added, though, that “a lot of people think, ‘I hate winter, I hate the cold, I would be happy if it was warmer all year round.’ But people underestimate how much there is to be lost in losing winter.”
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Most Americans still say they would oppose a data center being built near where they live, but the facilities’ standing has improved among Republicans, a new Heatmap Pro poll finds.
The American public’s backlash against data centers may finally be starting to slow down, although the facilities remain staggeringly unpopular, a new poll finds.
Seventy-one percent of Americans said they would oppose a data center being built near where they live, according to a new Heatmap Pro poll conducted by Embold Research earlier this month.
That is an abysmal finding for technology companies and would-be developers of the computing facilities. But it actually represents an improvement from previous polling, and it suggests one of the fastest shifts in public opinion in recent memory may be tapering off.
That shift has been swift. As recently as September of last year, about 43% of Americans said they would support a data center being built near where they live, and Americans broadly appeared to be evenly split on the infrastructure, according to Heatmap Pro polling. Eleven months later, 75% of Americans told the same poll that they would oppose a nearby data center — a 32 point shift. That monumental turnaround helped make data centers a defining issue in this election cycle.
That backlash has transformed the economics of the data center boom, the largest infrastructure buildout in recent U.S. history. The overwhelming majority of data center projects now face some degree of community opposition, Heatmap Pro reporting suggests. More than $260 billion in proposed data centers have been canceled this year after meeting local opposition. The artificial intelligence company Anthropic even flagged the infrastructure slowdown on Monday when it filed for its initial public offering, which is widely expected to be among the largest ever.
Now our new survey shows that Americans’ rejection of the enormous computing facilities may itself be slowing. The small observed drop, which only slightly exceeds the survey’s margin of error, was driven by a four-point decline in the share of Americans who said they would “strongly oppose” the technology.

While Americans of all parties improved their view of data centers, the change was most pronounced among Republicans. In August, 23% of GOP voters said that they would support a data center being built near where they live. In the new poll, conducted after weeks of favorable campaigning by President Trump, 34% of Republicans said they would support a data center slated for their area, while the share of Republicans who said they would oppose it fell from 66% to 58%. Data centers’ standing among independents improved by nine points during the same period.
Democrats remain largely unified against the infrastructure, and data centers’ improvement among that group was just outside the margin of error.
While Americans of every age, race, gender, and partisan ID remain more opposed to local data center development than in favor of it, their standing has also improved among men since the summer. In August, 21% of men said they would support a data center being built near where they live. Now, 28% of men would support one.
Will America be the land of opportunity for AtkinsRéalis’ tried-and-true CANDU?
Unruffled by President Trump’s taunts of turning Canada into the 51st state, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney has vowed to regain leverage over Washington by remaking his nation as an “energy superpower.” Instead of building pipelines from the oil fields of Alberta to American refineries, Ottawa will run them to its West Coast ports to sell crude directly to Asia. Rather than importing electricity from offshore wind farms in the American Northeast, Nova Scotia will build its own turbines and sell the power back to energy-starved New England as the Trump administration thwarts the region’s own buildout.
But Canada’s path to reviving its nuclear industry may run — counterintuitively — through the United States.
Last week, Montreal-based AtkinsRéalis inked a deal with utility Hoosier Energy and the Indiana government to explore building up to 6 gigawatts of reactors in the state. The agreement is only a memorandum of understanding to kick off a study examining potential sites across the state. But it marks the first real effort to export Canada’s unique pressurized heavy-water reactors, called CANDUs, to the U.S., and highlights how America’s domestic nuclear industry has atrophied to the point that foreign developers of large-scale units are racing to establish a beachhead in the world’s largest atomic power market.
“If the Americans had created the CANDU, everyone in the world would know about it,” Joe St. Julian, the American-born president of AtkinsRéalis, told me. “There’s just a cultural difference in the way that the Canadians go about things and the way the Americans do.”
Pronounced “CAN-do,” the upbeat acronym stands for Canada Deuterium Uranium and evokes the government’s post-war, can-do spirit, mustered to help protect its sovereignty during the bipolarity of the Cold War. Developed in the 1950s by Canadian government scientists and now used across the country’s entire nuclear fleet, CANDUs rely on deuterium, a version of hydrogen with an extra neutron, as their “heavy water” coolant to sustain their chains of split atoms. Uranium powers virtually all commercial nuclear reactors, but CANDUs are distinct in that they can run on the raw stuff, rather than enriched uranium. That’s their real advantage: By forgoing the costly and heavily scrutinized enrichment process, Canada can tap its vast resources of mined uranium without facing the bottleneck of the expensive enrichment facilities or attracting the intensive oversight of global regulators monitoring for the production of atomic weapons.
The 17 reactors that provide 15% of Canada’s electricity today are all CANDUs. India’s fleet largely borrowed the technology, and Argentina, China, Romania, and South Korea have all imported their own CANDUs. But the buildout largely stopped in the last century. Canada built its last CANDU in Romania in 2007. The last Canadian CANDU — Unit 4 of the Darlington nuclear plant in Ontario — came online in 1993.
Two years ago, Canada sought to restart its reactor buildout by commissioning its first American-designed unit. Construction began last year on the world’s first BWRX-300, a small modular reactor that uses enriched uranium as fuel. The U.S. plans to build the second version of the same reactor at the Tennessee Valley Authority’s Clinch River site. Whether it can deliver the cost savings SMRs promise remains an open question, given that nuclear developers have historically improved economics by making reactors bigger, not smaller.
But Chris Keefer, a Toronto physician-cum-nuclear advocate who hosts the in-depth energy podcast Decouple, told me he believes Canada’s real error is in benching the CANDU. While Ontario’s government-owned utility “got their backs slapped endlessly for having the courage to go first” in building the inaugural SMR on the continent, “they’re idiots to be investing $21 billion of Canadian ratepayers’ money to prop up an American company with American technology,” he said, colorfully characterizing the move as a massive error and “the result of dis-coordinated decision-making.” (Converted from loonies to U.S. dollars, that figure is about $14.9 billion.)
While Keefer added that he opposes the trade war between Washington and Ottawa, he also recognizes it as a potential opening. “Part of me loves it and this deglobalization moment we’re in, where strategic autonomy and national interest matter,” he said.
The Carney administration has yet to set clear rules on what kind of reactor technology it will support domestically, but it could, in theory, limit access to federal subsidies for provinces and utilities that opt for non-CANDU technologies. For now, however, there appears to be quiet agreement between the U.S. and Canada on bringing the technology south. St. Julian said the Canadian Ministry of Energy has been “very supportive” in talks about providing financing for CANDU exports to the U.S. AtkinsRéalis is also in talks with the U.S. Department of Energy, though a source familiar with that agency’s thinking cast doubt over the possibility that the Trump administration would ultimately fund a Canadian project in the U.S.
None of this was a part of AtkinsRéalis’ long game, St. Julian told me. “The U.S. had four or five of its own reactor technologies,” he said. “Why would it build a foreign technology?” But shortly after Trump returned to office, “We looked at it and realized the U.S. is down to a single large reactor technology: Westinghouse. The other three or four are no longer in business.”
That was the opening AtkinsRéalis needed. “The U.S. made clear it had the aspiration to build 300 new nuclear power stations,” St. Julian went on. “Between Westinghouse and new technologies coming online with SMRs, we said they couldn’t possibly reach their aspiration no matter how optimistic they are about the capacity and supply chain of first-of-a-kind technologies.”
So the company applied to the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission for approval of the CANDU. In June, AtkinsRéalis sent the regulator a formal heads-up about its plans to file an application this past summer, and it expects to complete its second topical report for the NRC by the end of this month.
The CANDUs aren’t the only foreign reactors making a play in the U.S., though. Last month, South Korea unveiled a deal with the Trump administration to fund construction of up to six AP1000s and two APR1400s.
The CANDU does have some drawbacks that the APR1400 doesn’t. The same characteristics that let its reactors sustain fission using raw uranium also cause wear and tear that requires a significant refurbishment every 35 years. (Canada is already funding a campaign of repairs domestically.) And while a typical refueling outage for a light water reactor lasts up to two months and renovations ahead of a relicensing can take up to a year, the refurbishment process for a CANDU can take the unit offline for two years or more.
AtkinsRéalis declined to comment on its internal estimates of the cost of such a refurbishment, which is — among industry experts — widely criticized as costly. But St. Julian said the company guarantees at least two refurbishments in a CANDU’s lifetime, giving each unit a 105-year lifespan. Amortizing the costs over more than a century of electricity production, not to mention the company’s experience building units all over the world, means a CANDU is “a lot less expensive” than rival technologies, he said.
“The APR1400’s biggest advantage is the Korean industrial ecosystem,” Nana Menya Ayensu, a non-resident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council who worked on energy policy in the Biden White House, told me. “But the CANDU has lots of advantages that are specific to the technology in terms of not needing enriched fuel.”
Keefer highlighted another upside he’s acutely aware of due to his day job as an emergency-room doctor: CANDUs are particularly well-suited to batch-producing “enormous amounts” of medical isotopes, such as cobalt-60, used in cancer chemotherapy and the sterilization of surgical instruments, among other uses.
The technology is certainly attracting attention. Last month, Argentina and Romania agreed to work together on more CANDU projects. Weeks later, as I reported, Poland’s state-backed nuclear developer approved a tender for a second nuclear power station, for which it’s considering the CANDU. Last week, Turkey signed an agreement with Carney to cooperate on civilian nuclear energy, putting the CANDU in contention for the country’s second atomic power station.
And earlier this month, Atlas Atomics, a startup backed by Ohio’s Republican gubernatorial candidate Vivek Ramaswamy, raised $400 million in a Series A to commercialize its own pressurized heavy water reactor, in what Keefer dubbed in his newsletter the “AmeriCANDU.”
St. Julian said the new competition shows the unique value of the CANDU. “The difference is, we’ve been doing it for 70 years, and we spent tens of millions of dollars to perfect this technology; they’re just starting,” he said. Then he cracked a half smile. “They have the benefit of being a second movement,” he added. “But, man, we have a big head start.”
Plus, one big opportunity for climate change.
Anthropic is worried about its ability to power data centers.
While much of the company’s more-than-330-page filing for its planned initial public offering focuses on the mundane (executive compensation) and the extraordinary (“existential risks” are mentioned three times), considerable space is devoted to the problems of power.
The word “energy” appears 14 times in the section of the document laying out risks to Anthropic’s business, while “climate” or “climate change” is mentioned four times.
The overarching concern the company has is that it might not get enough power for data centers running its large language models. “Delays in securing energy, water, and other critical services for these facilities could further slow the pace at which newly commissioned compute becomes available for use,” is one representative sample from its risk factors section. The document later notes that “our business may face increased scrutiny related to these activities … including from the investment community and the local communities in which we operate,” in a later section on environmental, social, and governance standards.
Anthropic is also concerned with the pace of the energy infrastructure build-out more generally, noting “the construction of the generation and transmission infrastructure on which we depend is itself capital-intensive and exposed to labor shortages, supply chain disruptions, permitting delays, changes in interest rates, tariffs, other cost overruns, and financing constraints.” These concerns will be familiar to anyone following the debate in Washington, D.C., over permitting reform, which is also centered on making transmission easier and cheaper to build.
Later in the document, Anthropic writes that electricity policy is both highly varied across the country — “Grid-tied electrical supply, for instance, is subject to the jurisdiction of federal and state energy regulators, regional grid operators, and public utility commissions” — and also evolving, noting specifically that “environmental standards applicable to power generation continue to evolve, including as a result of changing governmental priorities and shifting public and political views regarding climate change and the appropriate treatment of various power generation sources.”
The risk of these policies is that they could result in “failure to secure access to adequate electrical power,” which could then “adversely affect our cost structure and limit our ability to scale our compute infrastructure, develop and deploy our models, and service our customers.”
Anthropic also acknowledges energy can be quite expensive, writing that costs are “largely outside of our control” and can “rise sharply during periods of peak demand or constrained supply, and such increases in energy costs could adversely affect our results of operations.”
Anthropic is the charter member of an industry group, along with Nvidia and Google, to promote and enable demand flexibility, which would reduce peak demand — and thus bring down electricity prices and alleviate the need for additional new infrastructure — by having data centers draw down their power usage when demand was at its highest. The company notes that it has also signed on to “voluntary commitments to offset the impact of our data center energy consumption on local communities and electricity ratepayers.” Already, the document says, “these commitments have increased, and we expect will continue to increase, our operating costs.”
And while the document has little to say about climate change per se and even less about sustainability and renewables, it does note that “the physical effects of climate change may increase our operating costs over time, as higher average temperatures can increase the power consumption and water usage required to cool equipment at the facilities on which we depend.”
Climate change also acts as an amplifier for potential disasters that could affect the company. “The impact of climate change may increase these risks,” the company says of “war, terrorist attacks, and other acts of political violence, or any significant natural disaster, such as an earthquake, fire, hurricane, tornado, flood, or significant power outage.”
Specifically, Anthropic calls out climate-related risk specific to the Bay Area, where it is headquartered. Or, as it bloodlessly describes it, “a region known for seismic activity and increasingly for the threat of fires.”
Otherwise, climate change and sustainability policy is largely seen as a regulatory and cost burden. For example, “regulations relating to [environmental, social, and governance] matters, including environmental sustainability and climate change, are under consideration, being adopted, or being rolled back or revised, which may impact our necessary disclosures and increase compliance costs,” and “sustainability initiatives, goals, or commitments could be difficult to achieve or costly to implement.”
It notes a variety of California, European Union, and United Kingdom climate disclosure laws “will require the dedication of significant time and resources” while also observing that “across the United States ... enacted or proposed ‘anti-ESG’ policies or legislation or have issued related legal opinions,” which could “expose any sustainability, employment, governance, or other corporate practices we adopt to the risk of litigation, antitrust investigations or challenges by federal or state authorities, and result in injunctions, penalties, and reputational harm.”
The document is far less detailed about what Anthropic and its products could do to alleviate or prevent climate change and its effects. This is not surprising for a regulatory filing concerned with disclosing corporate information and outlining risks to investors — but the filing is also supposed to explain the business opportunities it sees as well. In that regard, climate is relegated to a laundry list of potential scientific projects Anthropic’s products could be helpful with. “Claude is also being applied to pressing global problems in scientific research, drug discovery, education, and climate analysis,” it writes.
If its S-1 is any indication, there will be a lot of work to do.