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From the national to the state to the local level, the state is about to hold some of the country’s most crucial elections.

In 2022, the Arizona Republic published a sentence many Democrats had dreamed of reading for decades: “Arizona,” the paper announced, “is a blue state.”
At the time, it felt true. In 2020, Joe Biden won the Grand Canyon State — only the second time a Democrat had done so since Arizona broke for Harry Truman in 1952 — and Democrat Mark Kelly defeated Republican Sen. Martha McSally in a special election to fill the late John McCain’s Senate seat, a victory that helped the Inflation Reduction Act get over the finish line. The 2022 midterm elections confirmed that the Democrats’ wins in the state hadn’t just been a one-time occurrence: Kelly successfully defended his seat, securing a full term; Katie Hobbs won the governorship; and Adrian Fontes beat a January 6 participant to become the secretary of state, Democrats all.
With the 2024 election still a little more than a week away, it’s too soon to tell whether the blue state proclamations of 2022 were premature. But Arizona hasn’t been looking terribly cerulean. In 2023, the Republican-held state legislature passed eight of 16 anti-environment bills introduced and stranded 22 pro-environment bills without committee hearings. Republican voter registration in the state has also swelled since 2016 as Democratic rolls stayed relatively stagnant, giving the GOP an edge in a place where 10,457 votes can make all the difference.
Arizona is just one state out of 50 (or 11 electoral votes out of 538, if you prefer), but it represents a curious microcosm of the high-stakes climate and energy elections happening all over the country this November. Or perhaps it is not so curious: Arizona is on the front lines of the climate-related impacts of droughts, longer and nastier heat waves, ozone pollution, and wildfires, while also being in a position to weigh the trade-offs of crucial clean energy developments like building new energy transmission, critical mineral mining, and utility-scale solar. “It’s like an incubator. There’s just so much happening here, it’s ready to burst,” Jane Conlin, a co-leader of the Tucson chapter of the Citizens' Climate Lobby, which has been engaging in get-out-the-vote efforts with the Environmental Voter Project, told me.
Aside from its electoral college allocations, the most consequential race in Arizona this cycle will be for outgoing Independent Senator Kyrsten Sinema’s seat. The state is currently leaning slightly toward Democratic Representative Ruben Gallego, who could help stem a total hemorrhaging of blue seats from the Senate — which, in turn, would have implications for the passage of any decarbonization legislation in the next administration.
Two U.S. House elections in Arizona could similarly help determine the balance of power on Capitol Hill come January. AZ-01 is the wealthiest congressional district in the state, in the northeastern corner of Phoenix’s Maricopa County, where a former E.R. doctor is trying to unseat a seven-term Republican incumbent in a battle that has centered on abortion access. (The district is also home to the Rio Verde Foothills, which made national headlines in 2022 when Scottsdale cut off its water supply due to drought-related shortages.)
But it’s the other race, in the sixth congressional district spanning the suburbs of Tucson, that looks more like a proxy battle between different climate ideologies. Kirsten Engel — who previously worked for the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and serves as the co-director of the Environmental Law Program at the University of Arizona — is challenging Juan Ciscomani, a Trump-endorsed moderate conservative who has backed residential solar projects, promoted himself as an advocate for a “secure water future,”and, earlier this year, co-sponsored a bill seen as a first step toward a carbon border tax. (As his opponents quickly point out, he also voted against the IRA; Ciscomani has also been tied to a groundwater scandal involving a Saudi Arabian-owned alfalfa farm.)
Engel previously lost a tight election against Ciscomani in 2022, and has made abortion a centerpiece of her campaign, too. But she has also gone aggressively after the Republican for his alignment with the mining industry, including his support for a proposed open-pit copper mine that opponents say will pollute Tucson’s air and waterways; supporters, meanwhile, say it’s critical to create a domestic supply chain for the energy transition. The League of Conservation Voters, which identified the sixth congressional district election as one of its priority races, is running ads in the state playing up this pollution angle.
Engel herself has slammed the proposed mine, which would be built on public lands, as a “giveaway” to a foreign mining company, and touted the need to protect the region’s “spectacular scenic vistas and the tourism economy.” She has also sought to go toe-to-toe with Ciscomani on water conservation, though as Grist has reported, drought and water rights can be tricky for Arizona politicians to run on because voters don’t have a firm grasp of how the complicated policies work.
The future of climate policy at the regional and municipal levels in Arizona is also in play. Democrats could potentially flip the balance of power in the state House and Senate, each branch currently having just a one-seat Republican advantage, and restart movement on the slate of stalled pro-environmental bills. (The Democratic governor’s term runs through 2026.) “The state legislature in Arizona is so critical,” John Qua, the campaign manager of Lead Locally, told me. “Not only does building a democratic trifecta get the state closer to passing policy that tackles climate change in some of the ways we might more typically understand it — like moving towards clean energy — but it also makes it much likelier that the state legislature will pass water conservation policy.”
The 11 races are “all at a razor-thin margin,” Qua told me, though climate is unlikely to be the issue that tips the balance in any of them. That goes for just about any race in Arizona — except the state’s Corporation Commission, which Heatmap’s Emily Pontecorvo covered earlier this week. Currently, the ACC is operating with a four-to-one Republican majority, but with three Democrats, two Green party candidates, and three Republicans (including an incumbent) running to fill three seats, there’s a wide-open chance that candidates sympathetic to clean energy policy, including the state’s massive solar opportunity, could take control.
“Arizona could lead the world in solar power if politicians would only let it,” Nathaniel Stinnett, the founder and executive director of the Environmental Voter Project, told me. “But that isn’t going to happen unless the climate movement starts showing up in unstoppable numbers whenever there’s an election.”
Conlin, who co-leads the Tucson chapter of the Citizens’ Climate Lobby, has been working on the ground to reach the 230,000 potential first-time environmental voters that Stinnett and his team have identified in the state. (EVP numbers released earlier this week showed that those who vote based on climate issues were about 20% more likely to have submitted an early vote than the average voter.) During a recent folklife festival CCL volunteers attended, “I think about only 25% of people [we engaged with] were really aware of the Arizona Corporation Commission,” Conlin told me. But she’s excited nevertheless: This year, the ACC poll is on the front of Arizonans’ ballots, rather than the back, making it harder for even low-information voters to overlook.
The state is also a case study of how an elected body as small and seemingly insignificant as a school board can make a difference in the progress toward decarbonization. The Tucson Unified School District board of governors will vote next week on a climate action plan that would set a goal of reaching net-zero emissions by 2045. If successful, TUSD would be one of the first school districts in the nation to have implemented such a plan.
Arizona is not the only state in the country that, as Colin put it, feels “on this cusp of being able to reach out — not only to see a 50% cut in emissions but 100%. It’s doable, it’s within reach.” Pennsylvania and Michigan voters will also have opportunities to elect politicians who will advance climate legislation, and voters in Washington, California, and New York can defend their states’ progress. But it’s Arizona where the stakes seem especially immediate — and high. “It’s supposed to be 96 [degrees Fahrenheit] here today,” Conlin marveled when we spoke this week, at the end of October.
I could hear the weariness in the voices of the organizers I spoke to after a long, hard-fought season; candidates are set to make their final pitches to voters next week. Early-voting ballots are already in the mail or in hand. The CCL has just one final day of canvassing planned, on November 2. The polls will close three days later, at 7 p.m. local time, and then the count will begin.
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What happens when one of energy’s oldest bottlenecks meets its newest demand driver?
Often the biggest impediment to building renewable energy projects or data center infrastructure isn’t getting government approvals, it’s overcoming local opposition. When it comes to the transmission that connects energy to the grid, however, companies and politicians of all stripes are used to being most concerned about those at the top – the politicians and regulators at every level who can’t seem to get their acts together.
What will happen when the fiery fights on each end of the wire meet the broken, unplanned spaghetti monster of grid development our country struggles with today? Nothing great.
The transmission fights of the data center boom have only just begun. Utilities will have to spend lots of money on getting energy from Point A to Point B – at least $500 billion over the next five years, to be precise. That’s according to a survey of earnings information published by think tank Power Lines on Tuesday, which found roughly half of all utility infrastructure spending will go toward the grid.
But big wires aren’t very popular. When Heatmap polled various types of energy projects last September, we found that self-identified Democrats and Republicans were mostly neutral on large-scale power lines. Independent voters, though? Transmission was their second least preferred technology, ranking below only coal power.
Making matters far more complex, grid planning is spread out across decision-makers. At the regional level, governance is split into 10 areas overseen by regional transmission organizations, known as RTOs, or independent system operators, known as ISOs. RTOs and ISOs plan transmission projects, often proposing infrastructure to keep the grid resilient and functional. These bodies are also tasked with planning the future of their own grids, or at least they are supposed to – many observers have decried RTOs and ISOs as outmoded and slow to respond. Utilities and electricity co-ops also do this planning at various scales. And each of these bodies must navigate federal regulators and permitting processes, utility commissions for each state they touch, on top of the usual raft of local authorities.
The mid-Atlantic region is overseen by PJM Interconnection, a body now under pressure from state governors in the territory to ensure the data center boom doesn’t unnecessarily drive up costs for consumers. The irony, though, is that these governors are going to be under incredible pressure to have their states act against individual transmission projects in ways that will eventually undercut affordability.
Virginia, for instance – known now as Data Center Alley – is flanked by states that are politically diverse. West Virginia is now a Republican stronghold, but was long a Democratic bastion. Maryland had a Republican governor only a few years ago. Virginia and Pennsylvania regularly change party control. These dynamics are among the many drivers behind the opposition against the Piedmont Reliability Project, which would run from a nuclear plant in Pennsylvania to northern Virginia, cutting across spans of Maryland farmland ripe for land use conflict. The timeline for this project is currently unclear due to administrative delays.
Another major fight is brewing with NextEra’s Mid-Atlantic Resiliency Link, or MARL project. Spanning four states – and therefore four utility commissions – the MARL was approved by PJM Interconnection to meet rising electricity demand across West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. It still requires approval from each state utility commission, however. Potentially affected residents in West Virginia are hopping mad about the project, and state Democratic lawmakers are urging the utility commission to reject it.
In West Virginia, as well as Virginia and Maryland, NextEra has applied for a certificate of public convenience and necessity to build the MARL project, a permit that opponents have claimed would grant it the authority to exercise eminent domain. (NextEra has said it will do what it can to work well with landowners. The company did not respond to a request for comment.)
“The biggest problem facing transmission is that there’s so many problems facing transmission,” said Liza Reed, director of climate and energy at the Niskanen Center, a policy think tank. “You have multiple layers of approval you have to go through for a line that is going to provide broader benefits in reliability and resilience across the system.”
Hyperlocal fracases certainly do matter. Reed explained to me that “often folks who are approving the line at the state or local level are looking at the benefits they’re receiving – and that’s one of the barriers transmission can have.” That is, when one state utility commission looks at a power line project, they’re essentially forced to evaluate the costs and benefits from just a portion of it.
She pointed to the example of a Transource line proposed by PJM almost 10 years ago to send excess capacity from Pennsylvania to Maryland. It wasn’t delayed by protests over the line itself – the Pennsylvania Public Utilities Commission opposed the project because it thought the result would be net higher electricity bills for folks in the Keystone State. That’s despite whatever benefits would come from selling the electricity to Maryland and consumer benefits for their southern neighbors. The lesson: Whoever feels they’re getting the raw end of the line will likely try to stop it, and there’s little to nothing anyone else can do to stop them.
These hyperlocal fears about projects with broader regional benefits can be easy targets for conservation-focused environmental advocates. Not only could they take your land, the argument goes, they’re also branching out to states with dirtier forms of energy that could pollute your air.
“We do need more energy infrastructure to move renewable energy,” said Julie Bolthouse, director of land use for the Virginia conservation group Piedmont Environmental Council, after I asked her why she’s opposing lots of the transmission in Virginia. “This is pulling away from that investment. This is eating up all of our utility funding. All of our money is going to these massive transmission lines to give this incredible amount of power to data centers in Virginia when it could be used to invest in solar, to invest in transmission for renewables we can use. Instead it’s delivering gas and coal from West Virginia and the Ohio River Valley.”
Daniel Palken of Arnold Ventures, who previously worked on major pieces of transmission reform legislation in the U.S. Senate, said when asked if local opposition was a bigger problem than macro permitting issues: “I do not think local opposition is the main thing holding up transmission.”
But then he texted me to clarify. “What’s unique about transmission is that in order for local opposition to even matter, there has to be a functional planning process that gets transmission lines to the starting line. And right now, only about half the country has functional regional planning, and none of the country has functional interregional planning.”
It’s challenging to fathom a solution to such a fragmented, nauseating puzzle. One solution could be in Congress, where climate hawks and transmission reform champions want to empower the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission to have primacy over transmission line approvals, as it has over gas pipelines. This would at the very least contain any conflicts over transmission lines to one deciding body.
“It’s an old saw: Depending on the issue, I’ll tell you that I’m supportive of states’ rights,” Representative Sean Casten told me last December. “[I]t makes no sense that if you want to build a gas pipeline across multiple states in the U.S., you go to FERC and they are the sole permitting authority and they decide whether or not you get a permit. If you go to the same corridor and build an electric transmission that has less to worry about because there’s no chance of leaks, you have a different permitting body every time you cross a state line.”
Another solution could come from the tech sector thinking fast on its feet. Google for example is investing in “advanced” transmission projects like reconductoring, which the company says will allow it to increase the capacity of existing power lines. Microsoft is also experimenting with smaller superconductor lines they claim deliver the same amount of power than traditional wires.
But this space is evolving and in its infancy. “Getting into the business of transmission development is very complicated and takes a lot of time. That’s why we’ve seen data centers trying a lot of different tactics,” Reed said. “I think there’s a lot of interest, but turning that into specific projects and solutions is still to come. I think it’s also made harder by how highly local these decisions are.”
Plus more of the week’s biggest development fights.
1. Franklin County, Maine – The fate of the first statewide data center ban hinges on whether a governor running for a Democratic Senate nomination is willing to veto over a single town’s project.
2. Jerome County, Idaho – The county home to the now-defunct Lava Ridge wind farm just restricted solar energy, too.
3. Shelby County, Tennessee - The NAACP has joined with environmentalists to sue one of Elon Musk’s data centers in Memphis, claiming it is illegally operating more than two dozen gas turbines.
4. Richland County, Ohio - This Ohio county is going to vote in a few weeks on a ballot initiative that would overturn its solar and wind ban. I am less optimistic about it than many other energy nerds I’ve seen chattering the past week.
5. Racine County, Wisconsin – I close this week’s Hotspots with a bonus request: Please listen to this data center noise.
A chat with Scott Blalock of Australian energy company Wärtsilä.
This week’s conversation is with Scott Blalock of Australian energy company Wärtsilä. I spoke with Blalock this week amidst my reporting on transmission after getting an email asking whether I understood that data centers don’t really know how much battery storage they need. Upon hearing this, I realized I didn’t even really understand how data centers – still a novel phenomenon to me – were incorporating large-scale battery storage at all. How does that work when AI power demand can be so dynamic?
Blalock helped me realize that in some ways, it’s more of the same, and in others, it’s a whole new ballgame.
The following chat was lightly edited for clarity.
So help me understand how the battery storage side of your business is changing due to the rise in data center development.
We’re really in the early stages for energy storage. The boom is really in generation – batteries aren’t generators. They store, they shift, they smooth power, but they don’t generate the power from fuel. In this boom right now, everyone is trying to find either grid connections or on-site power generation. Those are the longest lead time items – they take a while – so we’re still in the early stages of those types of projects coming back and saying, we need to start procuring batteries. We need to start looking at the controls and how everything’s going to work together. That’s still a little bit in the future.
Are you seeing people deploy batteries responsibly, in an integrated way, or is it people unsure what they need?
There’s definitely uncertainty as to what they need. The requirements are still hard to nail down. A lot of the requirements come from the load curve of the AI workloads they’re doing, and that’s still a bit of a moving target. It’s the importance of knowing the whole system and planning that out in the modeling space.
The biggest space of all this is the load profile. Without a load profile, there’s uncertainty about what you’re going to need –
When you say load profile, what do you mean?
The AI workload. The GPUs. The volatility. In a synchronized training load, all of the GPUs are generally doing the same thing at the same time. They all reach a pause state at the same time, and you’re close to full power on the data center, and then they say, okay now we go idle. It has a little bit of a wait and then starts back up again.
It’s that square wave, very sharp changes in power – that’s the new challenge of an AI data center. That’s one of the new uses of BESS that’s being added compared to the traditional data center doing data storage. They’re more stable which use less power and are more stable.
The volatility is where some of the friction comes in, and that has to be handled by some technology.
So what you’re telling me is that data center developers do not know how much they need in terms of battery storage? Simply put, they don’t know how much power they need?
Traditionally, utility-scale batteries – the projects we’ve been doing – come from a PPA, an interconnect agreement. There’s something in place where they know exactly how many batteries they can install. They know how many megawatts they’re allowed to install. Then they come to us and they say, I need a 4-megawatt battery for two hours. Tell me how many batteries you’re going to give me.
In a data center, they don’t know that first number. They don’t know how many megawatts they need. So that’s the first question: well, how big of a battery do you need?
If you have a 1-gigawatt data center that means the load change is 60% of that – 600 megawatts is the step up-and-down. The starting point is 600 megawatts for two hours. That’s the starting point that’ll cover being able to take care of that volatility. The duration is a part of it, too. From there you get into more detailed studies.
When it comes to transmission, how much of a factor is it in how much storage a data center needs?
The first thing is whether it’s connected at all. The battery is a shock absorber for the whole system. If you are grid-connected, the BESS is still a stability asset – it’s still improving the power quality and stability at an interconnect. If you’re doing on-site generation, it becomes vital because you have only one system being controlled.
As far as when you talk about permitting and transmission, the details of that don’t really play that much into the BESS, but it’s tangentially related. The BESS is an important part of how you handle that situation. Whether you get to interconnect or not, it’s an extremely important asset in that mix.
With respect to the overall social license conversation, how does battery storage fit into the conversations around energy bills and strain on the grid?
Bias aside, I think it’s the most important piece.
If you look at the macro scale, it’s like transitioning to renewables where they’re intermittent; batteries turn intermittent generation from renewables into firm, dispatchable power. It’s still not going to be available all the time – you’re not going to turn a solar plant into a 24-hour baseload plant – but a battery allows you to shift the energy. It greatly alleviates the problem.
The other aspect is it’s a stability asset. The short version of that is you have big thermal plants – rotating metal masses that have momentum to them that stabilize everything on the grid. As you take those offline, the coal plants and the gas plants, the grid itself loses that inertia so it is more susceptible to spikes and failures because of small events. Batteries are able to synthesize that inertia.