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What happened to the American Climate Corps?
In 1933, with unemployment running at 25%, President Franklin Roosevelt established the Civilian Conservation Corps, an idea with both practical and symbolic significance. It put young men to work (at a wage of $30 per month, $25 of which would be sent to their families); by the time it was shut down during World War II, 3 million volunteers had participated. They planted trees, created trails, fought fires, aided in flood control and soil erosion, and shored up infrastructure around the country. The program helped show the public that a dynamic, aggressive federal government could work to solve problems large and small.
The CCC was so popular that creating a new version of it has long been a feature of ambitious climate proposals like the Green New Deal. Can we recapture that spirit, with an army of young people fanning out through the country to work on today’s key environmental challenges at the same time as they remind us that government can be the solution, not the problem? Wouldn’t that be a boon not just to achieving climate goals but also to the entire progressive project?
It might be. But now that the Biden administration has finally rolled out the American Climate Corps (with explicit inspiration from the CCC) three-and-a-half years into the president’s term, everything about the program — from the number of people it’s supposed to employ to the manner in which it was launched — seems awfully modest. It’s a start, but only that — and it’s a good bet that just a tiny portion of the public has heard about it.
Given how important job creation is to Biden’s governing philosophy and reelection effort, one might think he’d be trumpeting the ACC in campaign ads, interviews, and at every speech he gives. And yet he has not. The administration announced this week that the ACC is now underway, with a website people can visit to find climate-related jobs. The program will deploy 9,000 workers initially, with a target of 20,000 in the first year. Those numbers are pretty small, especially compared to what the CCC looked like in its heyday. To a great extent, though there is a program now in place, it remains mostly aspirational.
The original ambitions for a climate corps were much grander. One bill introduced in 2021 by Massachusetts Sen. Ed Markey and New York Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (Democrats both) sought to employ 1.5 million workers. Just days after taking office, Biden issued an executive order on climate that instructed agencies to create a plan for a “Civilian Climate Corps Initiative.” Democrats wanted to include it in the Inflation Reduction Act, but by the time that bill worked its way through the legislative meat-grinder and passed in 2022, the funding had been dropped. So the administration cobbled together the ACC from existing climate initiatives, announcing last fall that it would finally come to fruition; this week’s swearing-in was virtual. While the launch got some write-ups in news outlets devoted to the environment (see here or here), it was hardly front-page news.
And where the ACC meets the ground, it will likely not have much of a recognizable identity. The federal government is channeling the money through multiple cabinet departments and then on to a network of public and private organizations, meaning that someone who got a job through the ACC will, as far as anyone in local communities can see, be working for the Michigan Department of Agriculture, the Appalachian Mountain Club, or whichever organization is their ultimate destination. There hasn’t been any American Climate Corps uniform unveiled, so you may not be able to spot an ACC worker in your town even if they’re there.
That has its benefits: Local organizations are connected to their communities, and they could avoid the kind of backlash a program explicitly associated with Joe Biden might produce in some places. One wouldn’t want to see young people in official ACC jackets getting harassed by locals telling them to get Biden’s radical left agenda to destroy America out of their town. Sometimes, the best way to get support for a project is to depoliticize it as much as possible.
That’s true even if on its face the ACC seems so unobjectionable. Who could be against giving young people jobs putting up solar panels or maintaining forests? The basic idea of hiring people to work on environmental projects is almost absurdly popular; one 2020 poll from the Yale Program on Climate Change Communication found 85% of respondents in favor of “Reestablish[ing] the Civilian Conservation Corps, which would employ workers to protect natural ecosystems, plant trees in rural and urban areas, and restore the soil on farmlands.”
But conservative elites are not on board. After the White House released its 2025 budget request proposing $8 billion in funding over the next decade for the ACC to expand it to create 50,000 jobs per year, Republicans pounced. Oklahoma Rep. Josh Brecheen called it “a radical green energy training program,” and Texas Rep. Dan Crenshaw said “It’s just some big, useless government agency with no real direction.” Crenshaw has sponsored a bill, the Canceling Climate Crusaders Act, to prohibit the government from creating anything like the ACC; another GOP bill to do the same is called the No American Climate Corps Act.
Those bills are purely symbolic, representing opposition not just to the ACC but to whatever this administration wants to do on climate, or anything else for that matter. Biden could declare August to be “Puppies Are Cute Month” and Fox News would do a dozen segments on the terrifying conspiracy to turn your dog woke. That kind of opposition may be inevitable — but not necessarily persuasive to the average voter.
There’s also a cost to depriving the ACC of a visible identity. Building and maintaining support for strong government action on climate means convincing people that government is capable of doing important things, and doing them right. When it succeeds, it makes it easier to create the next program, and the one after that. The more visible those initiatives are to people, especially right where they live, the more they’ll be favorably inclined toward other programs to address climate change. It’s why you don’t see many activists talking about the loss of polar bear habitat anymore: They realized that manifestations of climate change that seem remote and abstract are less meaningful to people than what they can see in their own communities and their own lives.
The ACC can’t be a true successor to the CCC unless it scales up, and that means significant independent funding. Even the $8 billion in the 2025 Biden budget would be just a down payment to get to 50,000 ACC workers; multiply that by 10, and you might achieve something people could really see working.
That’s what made the New Deal so powerful: At a time of crisis, Americans understood that their government was doing monumental things to save the country, and the programs it created could be seen everywhere they looked. If the ACC affects enough lives and communities, the public will see its value. The trick is getting it big enough — and singing its praises loudly enough — so they’ll notice.
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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.
And more of the week’s most important conflicts around renewable energy.
1. Madison County, Missouri – A giant battery material recycling plant owned by Critical Mineral Recovery exploded and became engulfed in flames last week, creating a potential Vineyard Wind-level PR headache for energy storage.
2. Benton County, Washington State – Governor Jay Inslee finally got state approvals finished for Scout Clean Energy’s massive Horse Heaven wind farm after a prolonged battle over project siting, cultural heritage management, and bird habitat.
3. Fulton County, Georgia – A large NextEra battery storage facility outside of Atlanta is facing a lawsuit that commingles usual conflicts over building these properties with environmental justice concerns, I’ve learned.
Here’s what else I’m watching…
In Colorado, Weld County commissioners approved part of one of the largest solar projects in the nation proposed by Balanced Rock Power.
In New Mexico, a large solar farm in Sandoval County proposed by a subsidiary of U.S. PCR Investments on land typically used for cattle is facing consternation.
In Pennsylvania, Schuylkill County commissioners are thinking about new solar zoning restrictions.
In Kentucky, Lost City Renewables is still wrestling with local concerns surrounding a 1,300-acre solar farm in rural Muhlenberg County.
In Minnesota, Ranger Power’s Gopher State solar project is starting to go through the public hearing process.
In Texas, Trina Solar – a company media reports have linked to China – announced it sold a large battery plant the day after the election. It was acquired by Norwegian company FREYR.