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I respect that it is still 2023 for three more days and that, as an act of self-love, you’ve permitted yourself not to think about the presidential election until next year, but bear with me for a moment. If you want to understand the biggest climate story of 2023, you’ve got to talk about 2024.
I watched an unhealthy number of Republican debates this year and spent way too much time trying to make sense of the words that came out of Donald Trump’s mouth, and because of this, I can report that a lot of what President Biden’s opposition has been talking about is climate. Some of this is because climate change is simply unignorable at this point: 2023 was the hottest year in over an epoch, and between the fires, floods, heat, and storms, if you weren’t talking about the weather, what were you talking about? (Actually, don’t answer that.)
But some of the climate chatter is also because Republicans are canny. They know that the Inflation Reduction Act is Biden’s signature piece of first-term legislation — and also broadly popular, even if most Americans don’t recognize it by name. And as Biden’s poll numbers have eroded in recent months due to his handling of everything from student loan forgiveness to the situation in Gaza, promoting the IRA is looking increasingly like his best chance to hold the White House. There will be plenty for both parties to tussle over in the coming months — crime, the economy, the very foundations of American democracy, etc. — but 2023 has shown that Republicans will happily use climate as their football.
For one thing, the right is starting to weaponize poorly understood climate buzzwords like “ESG” — or even just “the climate agenda” — the same way they’ve made bogeymen out of terms such as “critical race theory” and “woke.” In practice, that chisels off the actual substance of the climate conversation — the hard work of figuring out what the green transition will continue to look like and how to move forward in a way that does the most good and least harm — from the so-called “climate agenda,” words that conjure an image of a scowling, scruffy hippie who wants to take away your freedom. I mean, just look at how Florida Governor Ron DeSantis nearly squirmed out of his skin when Nikki Haley called him an environmentalist.
But you don’t even have to focus on the smallest, shoutiest Republicans to notice this. Trump is still the frontrunner in the Republican primary, after all — and in many polls, the frontrunner in the presidential election — and he’s been busy disparaging everything from electric vehicles to heat pumps. More alarming is that he’s used the environment to punish his political enemies before, and threats of retribution have characterized his 2024 campaign.
Meanwhile, “groups led by the Heritage Foundation and the America First Policy Institute are already making a ‘battle plan’ to block electricity-grid updates that would allow for solar and wind expansion, to prevent states from adopting California’s car-pollution standards, and to gut clean-power divisions at the Department of Energy, among other things,” The Atlantic recently reported.
It’s not hyperbole to say that the outcome of the 2024 presidential race will determine how fast the world’s second-biggest carbon polluter can change its course and, by grim consequence, the fate of vulnerable communities around the globe. Long gone are the days when the Republican Party pretended climate change wasn’t happening. What’s replaced the head-in-the-sand tactics is far worse (and right out of the Big Oil playbook): a muddying of the waters, a co-opting of the language, a bewildering of the facts.
The last 12 months were just a teaser. Now, the real show begins.
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Though the office says companies can still request to submit, the page has been scrubbed from LPO’s website.
Speaking in front of a roomful of journalists at CERAWeek in Houston this week, Secretary of Energy Chris Wright vowed to honor deals his agency made through the Loan Programs Office and “very selectively use” the in-house lender “to nudge things that ultimately can deliver more affordable, reliable, secure energy.”
"We inherit a loan book and follow the rule of law," Wright told the audience.
Yet, in an apparent violation of federal law, the Department of Energy has scrubbed the instructions and guidelines for how to apply for loans from its website, Heatmap has learned.
A link on a page outlining the application process now directs back to the agency’s homepage.
“They didn’t just close the front door, they removed it from the building,” a former LPO contractor, who spoke on condition of anonymity to avoid reprisals, told Heatmap.
The federal statute governing the LPO lays out specific rules for making applications available online. The LPO’s website “must include, at a minimum” the “method and further instructions for submission” of an application and “the programmatic, technical, financial, and other factors and criteria that DOE will use to evaluate” the request.
Until January, that information was easily accessible on the site. Snapshots from the Internet Archive show the link with instructions on the process was still live as of January 21, the day after President Donald Trump’s inauguration. By the end of that month, however, the page was no longer available.
A source with direct knowledge of the deletion said the page came down amid Trump officials’ hasty purge of references to Biden-era policies directing infrastructure funding to economically disadvantaged, polluted neighborhoods. The page in question referenced programs such as the Justice40 initiative, a policy to direct 40% of federal benefits to such neighborhoods, and community benefits plans, a requirement in the Inflation Reduction Act to develop strategies to benefit local residents and workers in places where federal dollars funded projects, and was swept up in the mass removal.
A spokesperson for the Energy Department said companies can receive a link to the application upon request and pointed to a link for pre-application consulting that remains live on the site.
Locking away vital public information is just one sign of how the once-bustling LPO has ground to a halt in the past two months.
The lender, which has nearly $400 billion of loan authority, formed the spear tip of the Biden administration’s approach to deploying money from the nation’s landmark climate spending laws. Over the past four years, the LPO invested over $100 billion through dozens of deals to modernize and expand the United States’ aging electrical grids, bring solar panel manufacturing back home, and finance the reopening of a shuttered nuclear power station for the first time in American history.
In a cease-and-desist letter sent in early December, House Republicans accused the LPO’s then-director Jigar Shah of “scrambling to close deals” as part of a “rush-to-green agenda” voters rejected when they re-elected Trump. Two weeks later, the Energy Department’s Trump-appointed inspector general issued a report urging the LPO to halt “all loan and loan guarantee packages.”
The job cuts undertaken by billionaire Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency slashed the LPO’s headcount by at least 10%, according to another former employee who was part of the office’s unionized workforce.
“These deals are complicated, and people were already in overdrive,” the former employee said. “I really do not see how LPO can manage these projects with a reduction in headcount.”
In mid-February, the Trump administration approved its first disbursement of funding through the LPO to a sustainable aviation fuel producer — but only after facing pressure from Montana Senator Steve Daines, a Republican in whose state the jet-fuel refinery is set to be built.
Other companies that were promised financing from the LPO aren’t waiting. In October, LPO granted Aspen Aerogels a conditional loan of $670 million to fund a factory in Statesboro, Georgia, to make thermal barriers for electric vehicle batteries. General Motors was expected to be an early offtaker.
But last month, the Massachusetts-based manufacturer told investors it had backed out of the loan process and decided instead to focus on its existing assembly line in Rhode Island — and increase production in China and Mexico.
Whether they can continue to do so depends on how long the green freeze lasts.
This story is part of a Heatmap series on the “green freeze” under Trump.
By now I’ve come to expect the responses. “We’re continuing to assess the situation and aren’t able to speak on it at this time.” “We are not able to provide comment on this matter.” Oftentimes, all I’ll receive is a Gmail prompt to an unanswered email: Sent 9 days ago. Follow up?
This week, my colleagues and I are covering the “green freeze,” an economy-wide trend of canceled clean energy projects, a retreat from climate tech investments, and a tightening of purse strings perhaps best epitomized by Breakthrough Energy’s pullback from grantmaking and policy advocacy. I aimed to look more closely at how nonprofits are navigating the new political and economic landscape — with climate no longer a key policy focus of the White House, would related causes lose their appeal to donors? Or would the opposite be true: Given the federal funding gap, would philanthropy surge to fill the vacuum? Would it even be prudent to do so?
“In my experience, when the government takes a step back from a particular impact area — and climate is no different — often philanthropists end up leaning in,” Amy Duffuor, a co-founder and partner at Azolla Ventures, told me. Azolla invests in climate tech start-ups using both traditional venture capital and catalytic capital, the latter of which comes primarily from philanthropists. But for many organizations, especially at the grassroots level or in the environmental justice space, it might not be that simple.
Talking about donors is always delicate and awkward, but I was still surprised by how closed-lipped local and national nonprofits became when I started asking these questions. Many groups that have spoken candidly with Heatmap News in the past declined to talk to me on the topic, even on background. One media relations manager for a conservation organization that receives federal grants delicately implied, while turning down my request for comment, that no one wants to stick their neck out when there’s a climate witch-hunt going on.
“Nonprofits have to be really conscious of where their support comes from and how they protect that,” Cyrus Wadia, the CEO of Activate, a nonprofit that offers fellowship support for early-stage science entrepreneurs looking to launch climate start-ups, told me when I explained what I was seeing.
He’s right that the wariness is understandable. The Trump administration is attempting to claw back some $20 billion in funds awarded to climate nonprofits under President Joe Biden, including hundreds of grants from the Environmental Protection Agency, many of which were earmarked for local environmental justice nonprofits. A number of these nonprofits are, as a result, facing unexpected funding shortfalls, forcing them to consider cuts to staff and programs in the weeks and months ahead. “If this lasts much longer … then we’re going to start seeing more organizations saying this program and that program have to shut down, they’re having to reduce capacity because they can’t make payroll, or they’re closing their doors,” Rick Cohen, the chief communications officer for the National Council of Nonprofits, recently told The Chronicle of Philanthropy.
There is a sense among some in the nonprofit space that the hesitation among donors might be more of a reassessment than an actual freeze. “There is definitely a ‘pause and wait and see and figure out our strategy and maybe start over’ moment that I think a couple of these foundations are having,” Lara Pierpoint, the managing director of Trellis Climate — a 501(c)(3) that helps philanthropists, donors, and foundations invest in climate opportunities that wouldn’t go forward without philanthropic support — told me. A policy director for a national policymaking and advocacy group similarly suggested to me that the election of Trump caught some of their donors flat-footed, adding that they “didn’t have strategies ready to go.”
That doesn’t necessarily indicate a broader trend. “The good news is that we aren’t seeing a huge amount of change just yet among our donor set,” she told me. “I think our donor set tends to be folks who are already very focused on climate,” she went on. “They are not only not afraid of the word ‘climate,’ but I think they really see the need to focus on it, particularly given what’s going on.”
She did note, however, that it’s still early, and that there are two main headwinds she and her peers are facing. “Some of the donors that we’ve spoken to have said, ‘Hey, we can’t really talk right now or commit to anything because we’re doing a wholesale reevaluation of our portfolio and how we approach giving,’” she said. Additionally, philanthropists who think of themselves more as investors might have questions about how viable their investments will be, given what’s happening with both federal priorities and the gyrating economy.
As my colleague Katie Brigham has reported, climate tech investment had already started to slow down from the frothy days of the early Biden administration; some companies had started to pivot away from promoting the clean, green climate perks of their business models even before Trump took office. (Bloomberg has labeled this semantic game “greenhushing”; the general wisdom is, “it’s still a great time to start a climate startup. Just don’t call it a climate startup.”) Anxieties about the economy can, as a rule, also impact the giving patterns of donors.
“At the end of the day, for very good reasons, philanthropists want to invest in projects and ideas that are likely to be successful and go forward and do the things they are meant to do,” Pierpoint said. “And all of that is under threat right now because climate tech is hard, it’s expensive, it’s competing with fossil fuels, and counting out government support and tax credits, the picture is daunting.”
Others were similarly cautiously optimistic about the days ahead. “There’s a gap, and philanthropy is often well-suited to close gaps,” said Duffuor, the partner at Azolla Ventures. (Both Azolla Ventures and Trellis Climate are part of Prime Coalition, a nonprofit focused on climate financing.)
Like Pierpoint, Duffuor expects to see a “doubling down” by philanthropists who are motivated by climate. Donors who were more on the cusp to begin with — who saw climate investment as en vogue, or were more driven by financial returns — might back away, she agreed. But it seems unlikely that people who genuinely believe in climate causes will be dissuaded by who’s in the White House. “I think people are waiting to see where the gaps are most effective,” she said.
Wadia, the CEO of the venture capital firm Activate, who spoke with me from the CERAWeek energy conference in Houston, agreed that while the language around giving may change, he is still seeing a “momentum for innovation.”
“If we all just step back, what are we really trying to do?” he said, speaking of nonprofits, philanthropists, and start-ups alike. “Everybody might have a different version of how we do it, but we’re all working towards trying to make the planet a better place for people — for all species on this planet. There’s a general consensus that’s a good thing.”
The nonprofit sector is large and diverse, and the impacts of the political and economic moment will not be felt equally. Local environmental justice nonprofits that relied on federal grants will undoubtedly be worse off than the better-insulated climate financing organizations like Activate, although the turbulence at Breakthrough suggests that even the deepest of pockets can still close to climate causes. (Tellingly, companies funded by Breakthrough’s investment arm, Breakthrough Ventures, do not appear to be affected.) The tension and anxiety aren’t likely to break soon; uncertainty and fear remain pervasive.
If anything can be counted on, though, it’s that climate causes — whether local, national, community-focused, or innovation-related — will need their donors more than ever. The people I spoke with expect them to step up. But is that even a good thing?
“It’s not just the immediate impact — the question mark around grant funding and things like that,” Pierpoint of Trellis Climate told me. “It’s also the question of, is this, in the long term, going to reduce trust in the federal government in a way that lowers investment when folks are trying to leverage dollars?” She paused. “I think it would be bluntly catastrophic for climate development if we get into that world.”
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect the fact that Activate is a nonprofit, not a venture capital firm.
Lee Zeldin is upending the mission of the agency largely in secret.
Environmental Protection Agency Administrator Lee Zeldin said earlier this week that he had canceled more than 400 grants “across nine unnecessary programs.”
What were those unnecessary programs? Why were they deemed unnecessary? The Trump administration refuses to say.
This is the fourth round of grant cancellations that Zeldin, working “hand-in-hand” with Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency, has announced, which together will “save” the American people more than $1.9 billion in funds. After contacting the EPA four times over the course of a week for more information on the grants in question and getting no response at all, the agency finally instructed me to “refer to the March 10 announcement,” which doesn’t contain any additional details about which grants were canceled, “and to the Department of Government Efficiency’s webpage for additional updates.”
The efficiency department website has not yet been updated to reflect the more than 400 grants that were canceled on Monday. The previous rounds of cancellations are listed by date and amount, but there is no information about which programs the funds were from or whether they were already under contract.
“The claims of these grants being unnecessary, or wasteful, or saving American taxpayers funding, in my mind, is complete misinformation,” David Cash, the former EPA regional administrator for New England under the Biden administration, told me. “These grants were created because of statutes passed by Congress.”
The Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and Inflation Reduction Act gave the EPA more than $100 billion to spend across more than 70 programs. By the end of last year, about 88% of appropriated funds had been awarded to cities, states, tribes, researchers, nonprofits, and companies. “The EPA was given both the authority and the requirement to invest federal taxpayer dollars into projects that are going to bring down energy costs for families, grow clean energy jobs, make the air cleaner for communities,” said Cash. “The real savings are in energy costs that families would have been able to benefit from.”
Zeldin’s announcements are an escalation of President Trump’s “freeze” and review of funding for climate change and DEI-related programs. Despite a federal judge issuing a temporary restraining order on the freeze in February, followed by a preliminary injunction last week, the administration has continued to lock out grant recipients from the government’s payment system, and now, apparently, cancel grants altogether with no explanation. In refusing to comply with the court’s orders, Trump is teeing up a Supreme Court challenge to the Impoundment Control Act, a 50-year-old law that says the president can’t revoke funds without requesting permission from Congress.
Without knowing which grants Zeldin is trying to cancel, we can’t know for sure whether they would have helped consumers save money, created jobs, or produced cleaner air. But Zeldin appears to be scrubbing that last goal — arguably the entire purpose of the EPA — from the agency’s mission statement. On Wednesday, he announced a plan to “reconsider” dozens of environmental rules in “the biggest deregulatory action in U.S. history.” Since its inception, the EPA’s mission has been to “protect human health and the environment;” Zeldin, by contrast, said his priorities were to “lower the cost of buying a car, heating a home and running a business.”
After scouring a social media-like feed on the efficiency department homepage, I found information on just two of the targeted grants:
Cash questioned the logic of canceling an effort to track spending. “That makes for efficient government. We should know where we’re spending our money and the impact that it’s having,” he said. “And shouldn’t we want to be investing in those areas that have suffered the highest asthma rates or have had a history of water pollution? Why wouldn’t we want to invest in those communities?”
The sudden cancellation of billions of dollars in government funding with no disclosure as to what the money was earmarked for is in stark contrast to President Trump’s pledge to have “the most transparent Administration in history,” as well as the EPA’s assertion that it “is committed to accountability and transparency for the American people.”
The grant cancellations come on top of Zeldin’s much-publicized termination of the $20 billion Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund, a program created by Congress to set up nonprofit lending authorities that would finance clean energy projects around the country. Zeldin claims to have “identified material deficiencies which pose an unacceptable risk to the lawful execution of these grants,” but has given no explanation as to what those deficiencies are. The closest thing to a suggestion of impropriety has been the fact that the money was being managed by an outside institution, an arrangement that the federal government has used to disburse funds for decades, including under the previous Trump administration.
In a letter to the Department of Justice and FBI on Tuesday, Senator Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island requested evidence predicating a criminal investigation of the GGRF. He accused the Trump administration of “purposefully misusing the tools of law enforcement, and pursuing false allegations of criminal conduct, with the improper purpose to wrongfully freeze assets appropriated by Congress and obligated to designated recipients.”
Whitehouse held a hearing on Trump’s funding freeze on Wednesday, during which he accused Trump and Musk of “stealing from the American people to pay for tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy” and deeming this “gangster government.”
During the hearing, Caley Edgerly, the president and CEO of a bus dealership in Virginia, described the “chaos” caused by a freeze on grants for electric school buses. His company ordered 48 buses for five school districts that had been awarded funding. He’s worried about interest on those orders piling up, his ability to make payroll, and being left holding the bag. He’s also worried about the impact on manufacturers, who have invested in the materials, batteries, transmissions, and inverters to deliver on these electric bus orders. “The entire industry, all school bus manufacturers, by my estimation, has about a billion dollars invested in these materials,” he said. “They’re sitting on the shelf.” On top of that, he said, the local utility, Dominion, has spent about a million dollars on chargers for the school districts to charge the buses.
It’s unclear whether the electric bus grants that Edgerly discussed are among those Zeldin is attempting to cancel.