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The president isn’t trying to cut emissions as fast possible. He’s doing something else.

Here’s the problem with President Joe Biden’s climate policy: From a certain point of view, it makes no sense.
Take his electricity policy. At the top level, Biden has committed to eliminating greenhouse-gas pollution from the power sector by 2035. He wants to accomplish this largely by making clean energy cheaper — that’s the goal of the Inflation Reduction Act, of course — and he has also changed federal rules so it’s slightly easier to build power lines and large-scale renewable projects. He has also added teeth to that goal in the form of new Environmental Protection Agency rules cracking down on coal and natural gas.
Yet at the same time, Biden has seemingly also made it more difficult to decarbonize. Last week, he raised tariffs on cheap solar panels and grid-scale batteries made in China. And he ended the two-year “solar bridge,” a tariff exemption for some Chinese-based solar manufacturers that operated in other countries. That means that as soon as next month, some eye-watering tariffs — possibly as high as 254% — could apply to many U.S. solar imports.
Then there’s Biden’s policy on electric cars. The president wants 50% of all new vehicles sold in the U.S. to be EVs or plug-in hybrids by 2030, and he has overseen billions of dollars of spending aimed at building a national charging network. His climate law discounts the price of many EVs by $7,500 and directly subsidizes virtually every battery and vehicle made in America. Yet he recently put 100% tariffs on EV imports from China, the country that makes some of the world’s cheapest and best electric cars.
This combination is, frankly, a little confusing. And it has confounded critics around the world: It can sometimes seem like the president is cutting the cost of clean energy with one hand while raising it with another. “The Biden effect will be to raise the U.S. domestic price of EVs, solar panels and other green inputs and delay America’s energy transition,” writes Edward Luce of the Financial Times. The Economist, in high dudgeon, lectured Biden for forgetting his David Ricardo.
There is certainly much to criticize about Biden’s climate policy, but reading coverage of it, I’m often struck by how little the commentator seems to understand what the policy is trying to do. There is, as Noah Smith and Matt Yglesias have written, a strong national-security component to the tariffs announced last week. But there’s more to these policies than national security alone. Although the president’s actions can sometimes seem contradictory, there is in fact a logic to what Biden is trying to do on climate change. And without defending the policy, I think it is important to describe it accurately.
Let’s back up. For the past 30 years, climate advocates tried to raise the cost of fossil fuels in America by imposing a carbon price. Taxing carbon pollution is the most elegant and economically efficient way to solve climate change, and — at least in theory — it doesn’t require the kind of fine-tuned economic tampering that the Biden administration is engaged in. Or at least that’s what the economists say — I remain skeptical that a carbon tax alone would have succeeded in decarbonizing the economy without additional policy.
And in any case, the point is moot: Climate advocates never succeeded in passing such a price. Voters were understandably resistant to raising the cost of energy, especially gasoline, and no coalition emerged to persuade politicians that the political costs of a carbon tax would be worth bearing. During many of those years, too, the American economy was so understimulated that passing a revenue-raising tax made little political sense: There was effectively no public constituency for deficit reduction.
By 2020, Democrats had largely given up on this approach. Although many still believe that a carbon tax could be an effective decarbonization tool, they instead adopted a new political economic philosophy. Simplified somewhat, it goes something like:
1. The biggest obstacle to passing American climate policy is the lack of a domestic coalition that supports the deep and continued decarbonization of the domestic economy.
2. Passing climate policy has been so hard historically because a powerful and geographically diverse set of companies, unions, state, and local officials, and political donors — largely but not entirely in the fossil fuel industry — don’t want to see the U.S. move away from oil and natural gas. They’re backed up by status-quo-favoring consumers.
3. The central aim of near-term climate policy, then, should be to create an enduring coalition to support the continued decarbonization of the U.S. economy.
This is the guiding logic of Biden’s climate policy: that American politics must have a powerful, durable, and flexible pro-decarbonization coalition if the U.S. is to succeed in reaching net zero. Achieving this coalition is the underlying aim of the IRA, the EPA rules, and — yes — the recent tariffs.
This is what I wish critics understood about the president’s climate strategy: Biden’s strategy won’t have succeeded if the U.S. makes some headway on emissions but imports all of its decarbonization tech from China. The U.S. actually has to develop its own supply chain and manufacturing base to build the kind of deep economic coalition that can sustain long-term decarbonization. This is why trade restrictions have become so central to the administration’s world view.
I should add that for all that the administration emphasizes “good-paying union jobs” in its messaging around climate policy, jobs alone aren’t necessarily the goal of this strategy. Critics of American industrial policy sometimes point out that, even in China, the labor share of manufacturing is falling; indeed, one of China’s great manufacturing advantages is the extent to which it has automated its assembly lines. But that may not necessarily matter to coalition politics: As the political scientist Nina Kelsey has shown in her research on the Montreal Protocol, companies tend to support environmental policy when doing so will help their large-scale, fixed investments — essentially, their factories — not their labor force.
There are big risks to Biden’s strategy. The next administration — which in this moment looks likely to be helmed by Donald Trump — could repeal the production and installation subsidies for renewables but leave the tariffs in place. That would devastate the finances of domestic solar manufacturers and significantly slow down the decarbonization of America’s grid, and it would mean that Americans who want to import cheap solar panels wouldn’t be able to. That would essentially freeze America’s decarbonization effort while the rest of the world races ahead.
Even if Biden wins, the kind of economic management that he’s trying to do may simply not be possible in the federal system — or, for that matter, with the existing Democratic coalition. There may be too many interest groups to placate or too many obstacles to building. California offers a warning about how well-intentioned liberal policy can prevent enough new infrastructure from getting built.
Still a third risk is that the American solar manufacturing industry meets domestic demand but doesn’t become very competitive, so it doesn’t reduce costs aggressively. A relatively small number of firms actually make solar panels in the United States, and they have to compete for engineering talent with more established industries like software. What has brought down the cost of solar in China isn’t subsidies per se, but an intensely competitive and very large domestic market. It isn’t clear that the American market for solar power will attain such scale or efficiency.
These would, obviously, be lasting setbacks for American decarbonization. But even in critiquing this set of policies, I hope the world notes what a different problem America faces when taking on climate change as compared to the rest of the world. Most countries import more oil than they produce, meaning their fossil-fuel addiction shackles their currencies and economies to a volatile global commodity. They are only too happy to move away from fossil fuels, and especially oil, provided that a cheap and acceptable alternative is available. In the United Kingdom, for instance, cross-partisan support for decarbonization policy has existed since the era of Margaret Thatcher.
In the United States, with our oil-drenched politics, the task is different. Only a sufficiently powerful pro-climate coalition will be able to unseat the fossil fuels enthroned atop our economy. Forging this coalition — even if it slows down decarbonization for a few years — is Biden’s true goal. Whether that’s worth it is another story.
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Governor Kathy Hochul says the state won’t approve new artificial intelligence data centers for one year.
We have our first state-level data center moratorium.
New York Governor Kathy Hochul has paused data center development in the state for one year, signing an executive order on Tuesday that prevents the state from approving permits for new large-scale computing facilities.
The order targets what Hochul called “hyperscale data centers,” which she defined as those that can consume 50 megawatts of electricity or more.
“New York will lead the way in creating the strongest standards in the nation for data center development, ensuring that when companies succeed because of New York, New Yorkers succeed too,” the governor said.
The state will spend the next year finalizing a program to make sure data centers either build their own power generation or pay a higher rate for electricity. It will also help local governments negotiate “community benefits” with data center developers, and it will require projects to complete a more stringent form of environmental review.
Practically speaking, the moratorium doesn’t affect many projects, Heatmap Pro data suggests. Of the eight large-scale data center projects recently proposed in New York state, three have already been canceled, and one was approved last year. The developer behind a potentially million-acre campus — which would have consumed as much as 1,000 megawatts of power — in the upper Hudson Valley canceled the project last month after the town imposed its own moratorium.
In fact, most of the towns or counties where an AI data center would be most attractive in New York have already banned or restricted the projects in some way, our data shows. Eight municipalities in New York have banned data center development outright, while three have passed a restrictive ordinance of some kind.
If anything, the new moratorium is more lenient than developers might have expected. Last month, the New York state legislature passed a bill that would have blocked approvals for data centers larger than 20 megawatts for a year. Hochul is sidestepping that legislation by issuing this executive order.
Perhaps the most important context: Hochul faces a re-election campaign this fall. The order reminds me of when she paused New York City’s congestion pricing program just before it would have gone into effect in June 2024 — which was, if I may be blunt, another election year. I was sharply critical of her decision then and considered it among the worst climate policy betrayals of the Biden era; everything I’ve learned since suggests that the tolling plan really was in peril. But lo, several months later — a few weeks into November, as it happens — Hochul and state lawmakers revived the scheme. The policy finally began in 2025 and has been a roaring success.
To be clear, I don’t think Hochul will reverse this one-year moratorium in December. But I suspect that it’s unlikely to get extended beyond its initial 12 months, in part because so many towns and cities have already passed their own restrictions. (Or perhaps that makes its eventual extension more likely.) Whether other Democratic-run states follow her lead, though — especially those where more data centers are likely to get built — is another question.
Microsoft says it bought nearly 3,500 acres of land near Cheyenne from the family of Wyoming Senator Cynthia Lummis.
The family of one of Congress’ biggest Big Tech boosters has reportedly sold thousands of acres of land to Microsoft for a new data center.
Late Monday night, the city council in Cheyenne, Wyoming approved a measure necessary for Microsoft to connect a new data center campus to city services, including water access. The council’s action annexes almost 3,500 acres that was owned by relatives of the state’s junior senator, Cynthia Lummis. A Microsoft representative testified to the council that the company acquired the land on June 26.
Honestly, it’s a surprise that the land annexation — reportedly one of the largest single additions of land to the city’s control in its history — was even approved. Just last week I confirmed local reports that officials had traced rare bacteria in the city’s municipal wastewater system to another data center project overseen by a subcontractor for Meta. This incident led the city to ban data center developers indefinitely from disposing wastewater from closed-loop cooling systems into the municipal wastewater system.
The land annexation was approved in the wee hours of the night by a 7-3 vote, after a nearly eight-hour marathon session of the city council that also included other much smaller land swaps for the Microsoft project. The state representative for the area where the property sits, Republican Ann Lucas, testified against the measure. Many Cheyenne residents who spoke in opposition to the project referenced the Meta-linked incident, and a handful of neighbors of the future data center complex got together to testify against it.
“I oppose this annexation, but I understand that Senator Lummis has a right to request it, just like she did for the land that my house is on,” testified Peggy Gates, who lives in a residential community called Sweetgrass that is adjacent to the property. “My sincere question to the city council is, why is it necessary for this annexation and rezoning vote to be completed tonight?”
Patrick Collins, Cheyenne’s mayor, told her the city faced a choice: either move forward with an annexation that would put the property under its control and let it connect to municipal services, or Microsoft would have to go its own way under solely county control.
“It’s a good question,” Collins replied from the dais. “I would guess if we postponed it for three months, people would say we should postpone it longer. At some point we just have to vote and say yes or no and give the people who want to develop that piece of property clearer direction of whether they can be in the city or not in the city. They already own the land. They’re either going to do it in the city or outside the city. We’re trying to give them direction as to how they should make their plan. Should they drill [water] wells or use city water and sewer?”
How much money the Lummis family may make from the data center land deal has not yet been made public, nor have the ways in which the senator or her family could profit. The family has reportedly held much of this land going back to the 1940s, and it now sits in the name of companies such as Arp and Hammond Hardware, Old Horse Pasture Inc., and Lummis Livestock Company LLC.
As far as I can tell, this is the first major data center deal ever involving a sitting member of the U.S. Congress. Lummis is also the “crypto queen” of the Senate, known as a policy thought leader in all things technology, artificial intelligence, and the digitization of human existence. She’s recently waded into the data center debate: In mid-June, after Microsoft disclosed its intent to acquire the Lummis properties, the senator introduced a bill requiring the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission to quickly craft new regulations making it easier for data centers using 100 megawatts or more to connect to the existing electrical grid.
Lummis announced in December that she will not be seeking re-election. Her office did not respond to requests for comment.
Microsoft told me in a statement that the senator’s connection to this land played no role in selecting this site for their project: “This expansion reflects our continued long-term investment in Cheyenne and builds on more than a decade of growth in the region. Senator Lummis’ political standing had nothing to do with our decision to continue growing in Cheyenne,” the company said.
“Geologic hydrogen” companies make up a hefty portion of the latest Activate Fellowship class, announced Tuesday morning — a reliable harbinger of investments to come.
The hype around clean hydrogen has come in waves, with investors and policymakers betting that the versatile molecule could help decarbonize everything from fertilizer production to long-haul shipping and heavy industry. Different production methods have come in and out of vogue: Around 2020 it was using carbon capture and storage, then electrolysis powered by clean electricity and subsidized by generous tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. More recently, venture capitalists have poured money into the search for naturally occurring deposits hidden underground.
So far, none of these approaches has delivered cheap, low-carbon at any kind of scale. Yet enthusiasm for this latest frontier — so-called geologic hydrogen — has continued to build.
Much of that excitement stems from an even newer concept, alternately known as engineered geologic hydrogen or engineered mineral hydrogen. This is the idea that if naturally occurring hydrogen deposits — which require a precise mixture of geologic conditions — prove too rare or difficult to find, scientists can engineer those subsurface conditions themselves, producing this valuable molecule straight from the earth wherever the right iron-rich rocks are found. Essentially, the approach trades exploration risk for engineering risk.
“I think it’s really a natural evolution,” Sophie Broun, CEO of the seed-stage engineered hydrogen company Anning Corporation, told me. “It’s the evolution that we’ve seen play out from oil and gas — conventional to unconventional — from geothermal to [enhanced geothermal systems], and now we’re seeing it in geologic hydrogen.”
Broun is a member of the new class of Activate Fellows announced on Tuesday morning. The two-year fellowship provides early-stage founders with funding for research and development, as well as a network of fellow founders, mentors, investors, and corporate partners. It’s helped seed cohorts of companies that have gone on to form brand new industries, from clean cement startups Brimstone and Sublime Systems to thermal energy players Antora Energy and Electrified Thermal Solutions.
Dan Recht, Activate’s chief fellowship officer, thinks that the nascent geologic hydrogen industry — which includes both natural and engineered deposits — is next. “This process of seeing these up and coming sectors and industries is routine for us at Activate,” he told me. “At the end of our selection process we now have a pretty good sense of, oh, the U.S. is going to have a geologic hydrogen industry.”
Of the 50 fellows selected this year, nine work in energy. Of those nine, three are hydrogen companies: geologic hydrogen startups Anning and Hydrify, as well as Brint Tech, which is developing hydrogen leak detectors. Anning is squarely an engineered hydrogen company, aiming to stimulate the production of the molecule underground using an undisclosed technology, while Hydrify is building tools to better locate where natural hydrogen deposits already exist.
Like Broun, Recht sees a clear parallel with the geothermal industry, where Fervo Energy is manipulating the subsurface to create the conditions necessary for geothermal power production and Zanskar is using artificial intelligence models to identify previously overlooked conventional geothermal resources. Anning could become the Fervo of hydrogen, while Hydrify could be its Zanskar, he told me. The parallels also extend beyond the companies themselves: The drilling techniques that underpin geothermal development — largely adapted from the oil and gas industry — stand to be just as critical to unlocking geologic hydrogen, which could give this emerging tech a similar bipartisan appeal.
Natural hydrogen company Koloma is by far the best capitalized startup in this space, having raised around $400 million from big-name backers such as Breakthrough Energy Ventures, Amazon’s Climate Pledge Fund, and Khosla Ventures. That said, it has yet to publish any results indicating it’s discovered commercially significant new deposits. That relative silence from the industry’s biggest player has helped fuel the dreams of the even-more-nascent engineered players such as Anning, Vema Hydrogen, Addis Energy, GeoKiln and Eden GeoPower, who think they can achieve quicker, more consistent breakthroughs.
“By being able to deploy the engineered solution, we’re able to be repeatable and scalable, and ultimately, that’s what customers and infrastructure providers need,” Broun told me. Being able to produce hydrogen closer to where it’s actually used could slash transportation costs, often one of the most expensive parts of the hydrogen value chain as the gas typically must be compressed or liquified before transport. “Being able to place that engineered system at a location that’s much more within your control, I think that that is a far stronger or more appealing business case in many cases,” she explained.
Anning raised a pre-seed round last year, and is now raising a $6 million seed round, which would put it more or less on par with other early players in the engineered hydrogen subsector. Vema has raised the most thus far, bringing in an oversubscribed $13 million seed round last February from a group of climate-focused investors including Extantia Capital and Propeller, and is now raising its Series A.
Vema drills its wells into iron-rich rock formations known as ophiolites, then injects water and a proprietary catalyst to trigger serpentinization, a natural geochemical reaction between water and iron minerals that produces hydrogen gas. While this process would typically unfold over millions of years, Vema says it’s aiming to speed up that reaction by a factor of 10,000 to generate commercial quantities of hydrogen on a human timeframe. The resulting hydrogen gas would then flow back to the surface through the well, where it would be purified before its delivery to customers.
The company’s senior vice president of operations, Colin McCulley, told me he expects that it can all be done for less than $1 per kilogram, the so-called “magic number where you start to compete with petroleum-derived hydrogen.” And Vema’s CEO, Pierre Levin, told TechCrunch that once the startup dials in its tech, the price will eventually drop to less than 50 cents per kilogram, making it definitively the cheapest form of hydrogen yet developed.
The company is currently conducting pilot testing in Quebec, home to the well-mapped Thetford Mines ophiolite deposits. But while Vema has yet to release any early results from this pilot, it’s already laying the groundwork for rapid commercialization. Late last year, Vema signed a conditional 10-year offtake agreement with the off-grid data center power startup Verne to supply up to 36,000 metric tons per year of hydrogen, with delivery expected to begin “as soon as 2028.” Then last week, the startup inked a nonbinding memorandum of understanding with Montreal-based sustainable aviation fuels developer SAF + International Group to supply 4,000 tons of hydrogen annually, also beginning “in approximately 2028.” The group will make that fuel at a facility co-located with Vema’s planned Quebec production site to minimize transport costs.
A report shared with me last month from the Cleantech Group, a San Francisco-based market intelligence and advisory firm, cast some doubts on that timeline, however. It called the 2028 target “over aggressive,” given that Vema will need to build a first of its kind facility to fulfill its deals with Verne and SAF + International Group.
“This is the Earth. This isn’t like your lab space where you can exactly control the pressure and temperature and conditions that exist downhole,” Diana Rasner, author of the report and the firm’s group lead for materials and chemicals, told me. “You’re going into territory you can’t see, or that you don’t know how it behaves day to day, let alone like on the scale of what you would think hydrogen production needs to be.”
Even McCulley admits that it’s a stretch, telling me that, “If we have realistic complexity in our project, it will be difficult to deliver on this timeline.” But he thinks the ambition is essential to demonstrate near-term demand and secure commitments for larger projects down the road. He expects the industry to really hit its stride between 2035 and 2040, by which point he says Vema could be looking at a fourth or fifth large-scale commercial project at costs competitive with fossil fuel-derived hydrogen.
But Vema is now facing competition from startups pursuing markedly different approaches to the same problem. Because heat is a natural accelerant of serpentinization, a company called GeoKiln is forgoing chemical catalysts altogether in favor of underground electric heaters designed to stimulate and speed up hydrogen production. Meanwhile, Eden GeoPower plans to apply high voltage electricity to fracture surrounding rocks, which also releases heat and exposes fresh reactive rock surfaces.
Then there’s Addis Energy, which is betting that ammonia production offers a stronger commercial proposition. Hydrogen is often an intermediate molecule in the process of producing ammonia, which is widely used in fertilizers and has become newly interesting for low-carbon shipping fuel. Addis aims to skip that conversion step entirely by injecting water, its own proprietary catalyst, plus a nitrogen-containing compound into the subsurface, triggering a chemical reaction that directly produces ammonia — a molecule that’s simple to transport using existing shipping infrastructure.
Eden raised a $12 million seed round in 2023, backed by a mix of oil and gas industry investors and sustainability-focused funds, while Addis raised a $8.3 million seed round late last year led by climate tech VC At One Ventures.
But investing in the space, Rasner told me, isn’t something everyone in the VC community is comfortable with these days. “It’s not to say that they didn’t believe in it,” she said of investors who did eventually pull the trigger. But it certainly wasn’t an easy decision. As promises of affordable, low-carbon hydrogen production have come and gone, there’s an undeniable aura of uncertainty around the industry, a feeling that has only grown stronger since the Trump administration curtailed clean hydrogen subsidies and froze funding for the previous Biden administration’s hydrogen hubs initiative.
With natural hydrogen players such as Koloma yet to deliver on their early momentum, Rasner told me many would-be backers are approaching the sector with a general attitude best summarized as, “You’re going to be able to do the thing that a lot of the big names in this space haven’t been able to prove out yet, but on your own terms? What’s the catch?”
Recht, however, naturally has a more optimistic outlook. The subsurface has long supplied the minerals that underpin our modern economy, and now it’s increasingly being tapped for geothermal energy as well. In his view, it’s only natural that it might be able to deliver the long-promised hydrogen economy.
“It turns out we’re really good at digging stuff up out of the ground cheaply. If you look at what has humanity decided to do with the past century, it’s to get good at that.”