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I got DER-pilled at DERVOS 2023.

The hottest ticket in Brooklyn last week wasn’t for an indie rock show or a buzzy new restaurant. It was for the most niche, nerdiest clean energy conference of the year — the sold-out DERVOS 2023.
The conference name — a satirical play on Davos, a stuffy, World Economic Forum event attended by governmental and business elites — tells you much of what you need to know about this irreverent subculture of the climate movement. A teaser video for DERVOS described it as a “rad clean energy summit … where youths get DER-pilled and the hot takes haven’t been approved by PR.”
To translate, DERVOS is for people who are stoked about a category of technologies known as “distributed energy resources,” or DERs. They encompass pretty much any device that can generate or store energy, or use energy flexibly, at the scale of a single building, like rooftop solar panels, batteries, and smart thermostats. This kind of tech has historically been written off as less important than big projects like wind farms — “nice-to-haves” but incapable of cutting emissions at climate-relevant scales. But once you get DER-pilled, another vision for the future emerges.
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Imagine a solar panel on every roof, a battery in every basement, and a smart thermostat in every home. Now imagine these devices being aggregated and synchronized across neighborhoods, cities, or entire regions. If 5,000 batteries discharge at the same time, you’ve got the equivalent of a new power plant. If 5,000 smart thermostats turn the temperature up by a few degrees on a hot summer day, you can prevent a natural gas “peaker” plant from firing up. In that sense, DERs offer a potentially faster option for growing the electric grid than large-scale projects, and could provide significant savings — around $10 billion in avoided infrastructure costs by 2030, according to a recent Department of Energy report.
But that’s not all. To the DER-pilled, this future will also be a “better world, a higher performing world,” as James McGinniss, one of the organizers of DERVOS, put it. It’s a world where your heating and cooling and EV charging are orchestrated seamlessly to utilize the cleanest power at the lowest cost; where solar panels and batteries aren’t called upon to keep your lights on when the power goes out, because they are preventing system-wide blackouts from occurring in the first place.
“How many industries can you work on that are going to completely change the way one of our foundational systems works and flip it entirely on its head?” Nathaniel Teichman, a DER-pilled former financial analyst, told me at the conference. “I don’t think there’s anywhere else with such importance or at such an inflection point.”
To kick things off at DERVOS, McGinniss painted a picture of an industry on the verge of an explosion. “It feels like if DERs were the internet, it’s 1995,” he told the roughly 250-person crowd. “We’re very, very early in this. And I think there’s massive, massive growth coming to this space.”
The event was held at Newlab, a startup incubator located in a renovated shipbuilding warehouse in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Unlike other energy summits, it’s not put on by a trade association or a professional organization. It’s organized by a loose collective called the DER Task Force, a bunch of enthusiasts who met on Twitter.
The story is a roadmap for movement-building in the modern age. It started in March 2019, when McGinniss posted a tweet asking if anyone in New York wanted to start a monthly happy hour to talk shop about distributed energy. “Like 30 people responded. And I had like 100 Twitter followers,” he told me.
The tweet led to a group message called “DG Beers” (for distributed generation) and eventually to a series of real life hangs. They got drinks. They went to see The Current War, a movie about the 19th century battle over which electrical current system would prevail. They had people give powerpoint presentations. When COVID-19 hit, they moved the monthly meetup to Zoom and started a podcast. The group blew up. “Suddenly we had people from like, South Africa and like, rural Alaska joining us,” said Duncan Campbell, another one of the original members.
Regulars at the meetups told me it was unlike other networking spaces. “What stands out the most is the atmosphere of strong opinions, weakly held,” said Kyle Baranko. “I think there’s a lot of people who are intellectuals, who like getting into the big picture and the small details. But they never take themselves too seriously.”
That’s also a fitting description of DERVOS, which covered broad, heady topics like the concept of “energy abundance” with a combination of deep expertise and lighthearted, often crude informality. “We need to double or triple the grid. That is crazy,” said Pier LaFarge, the CEO of a company called Sparkfund, during the first panel, which contemplated the potential for centralized grid planning. “That is like the technical challenge of the space race and the economic scale of the highway system. That is non-trivial, societal shit.”
During the next session, Andy Frank, founder of the home retrofit company Sealed, was talking about how DERs can help avoid the need to build transmission lines and power plants. “We need a — and this is a very technical term — a fuck-ton of DERs to try to avoid an even more fuck-ton of costs,” he said.
“Is it a metric fuckton?” Jesse Jenkins, an energy systems engineer from Princeton University and Heatmap contributor on the panel, shot back. The audience burst out laughing.
The conference skewed very white and male. Nicole Green, another founding member, speculated that it might be because that’s still the demographic at a lot of university engineering programs. Integrating DERs into the grid and into power markets is technologically complicated, and the community is largely made up of engineers.
When I asked other attendees to describe the vibe, one said it was “tech bro-ey, but better — not as toxic.” Another said “young and exciting.”
“It feels a little bit like the energy industry underground, in a way,” Baranko told me.
“There’s a rebellious, counter-establishment ethos within the DER community,” said Teichman, “both by the nature of what it is and the people it attracts.”
Part of that comes from the fact that these technologies challenge the monopoly utility model — the way that electricity has been generated and distributed and commoditized for decades through big, corporate power plants. The DER community also likes to push back on the narrative that tackling climate change requires sacrifice. “That’s also where the irreverence bleeds in,” said McGinniss. “It’s just like, this is an awesome, exciting future. That’s what we want people to feel.”
To illustrate the point, McGinniss and his friends organized a DERVOS afterparty with the first-ever “vehicle to rave” demonstration. Working with another group of DER-enthusiasts called the SOLARPUNKS, who specialize in sustainable event production, they used a Ford F-150 Lightning to power the sound system at an old fire station-turned-event space in lower Manhattan.
But this better, higher performing world is still mostly out of reach. “We’re mired in a lot of decades-old thinking at this point about DERs and how they can be a part of all of this,” Campbell told the audience at the start of the conference.
The obstacles preventing DERs from realizing their full potential was a major theme of the day. Frank talked about how DERs aren’t properly valued in energy markets. Leah Stokes, a political scientist from the University of California, lamented that utilities haven’t taken DERs seriously or integrated them into their resource planning. Jenkins suggested we regulate utilities differently so that they have more incentive to utilize DERs. Jen Downing, a senior advisor at the Department of Energy, said regulators need data showing that DERs are reliable.
Part of the problem is that there’s no DER industry association, no one advocating for funding or policy changes to support these solutions at the state or national level. During last year’s conference, Jigar Shah, a Department of Energy official and a sort of Godfather figure in the DER scene, pushed the community to be more ambitious. “You guys are left out of the narrative, and it’s just fun, it’s sort of like, 'oh that’s so cool, I’m glad that they’re doing that,’” he said, calling in to deliver the keynote speech from the car during his family vacation.
The DER Task Force took up Shah’s call to arms and decided to use its revenue from events and the podcast to hire Allison Bates Wannop, an energy lawyer, to work on policy full time. At this year’s DERVOS, Wannop announced the group’s initial plans, which include turning New York State into a DER “nirvana,” and a campaign to “occupy NARUC,” the association for utility regulators that holds triannual conferences, which are heavily attended by the natural gas industry.
Colleen Metelitsa, one of the founders of the Task Force, told me the current landscape for DERs was like the internet before the iPhone came out. There was a lot you could do with the existing technology, but the iPhone “proliferated so many things we do on the internet that we didn’t even think about.”
What else, besides raves powered by pick-up trucks, does the future hold?
Editor’s note: A previous version of this article misattributed a quote. It has since been corrected. We regret the error.
Read more about batteries and solar:
Why Batteries Might — Might! — Solve America’s Power-Line Shortage
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Timber companies think of them as pests, but new research indicates that stands of the slender tree can act as barriers against raging flames.
Colorado’s Aspen Acres Fire is named after a quiet RV campground located high in the San Isabel Mountains, about a five-hour drive due southeast of the state’s better-known Aspen. Both places, however, are named after the iconic deciduous tree known for its golden leaves in the fall. While the start of monsoon season may yet prevent the Aspen Acres Fire — the seventh-largest in Colorado’s history — from joining Utah’s Babylon Fire as the second 100,000-acre “megafire” of the season, the conflagration has been aided in its rampage not by aspens, but rather by dead, downed, and blighted ponderosa pines, spruce, and Douglas firs. The wildfire has now burned over 98,000 acres and nearly 300 homes, and is only 36% contained due to steep terrain that has hampered firefighting efforts, along with extreme drought conditions and beetle infestations that have greatly degraded the forest health of the region.
But what about its aspens? Though the extent of the damage at the campground remains unknown, according to a recent study of Populus tremuloides, Colorado’s iconic golden trees could be one of the keys to more wildfire-resistant forests in the future.
Flavie Pelletier, a recent PhD graduate of McGill University’s Natural Resource Sciences program, told me she first became interested in aspens while working as a tree planter in British Columbia. “The historical assumption on aspen is that stands are very good at stopping fire progression. But the paradox is that if you take an aspen by itself, it’s going to burn at high severity,” Pelletier, who published her findings in Forest Ecology and Management, told me.
By creating near-real-time maps of fires using satellites and comparing them against the Canadian Forest Service’s newly available maps of dominant tree species in the boreal, Pelletier and her colleagues discovered that aspen were almost two and a half times more common at the perimeter of a burned area than inside it. The finding suggests that despite the flammability of a single aspen with its thin bark, stands of aspen act as a kind of barrier when wildfire ran up against them, likely because they lack the flammable resins of conifers and their high foliage helps force running crown fires back toward the ground. Pine and spruce, by contrast, showed a near-zero or even negative effect.
When aspen stands did burn, Pelletier found they did so more slowly: A tree cover of 50% aspen burned at about 224 hectares per day, compared to 717 hectares per day in areas where aspen made up less than 10% of the cover. That’s the equivalent of about 1,000 FIFA-regulation soccer pitches per day in places where aspen are sparser — like Aspen Acres.
Even more surprising, though, was that the pattern held true in the early season, when the trees are still twiggy and have yet to grow their moisture-filled leaves, and despite the severity of fire weather. “Aspen still showed resilience even when the fire weather was very intense, [like in 2023, when] we had all the fires,” Pelletier said.
But she was also the first to admit that seasons are getting more extreme, and that there’s no guarantee the pattern will hold for the next 10 or 20 years.
Pelletier was reluctant to make a policy recommendation based on her research, noting that she’s not a forest manager. But in Alberta and British Columbia, timber companies spray hundreds of thousands of acres of timber with glyphosate, an herbicide, to kill off aspens because the trees outcompete the more commercially valuable conifers. Her findings are “a big argument to stop the spreading of herbicides because you’re increasing the risk of fire in your forest by removing aspen,” Pelletier said.
Despite her hesitation, Pelletier is explicit in her paper about one thing: that aspens “should be encouraged — specifically around key landscape positions, such as population centers” — given that they are a proven means of hardening the wildland-urban interface against wildfires. It might be too late for the idyllically named Aspen Acres, of course; any of the aspens that once drew tourists to the area are likely now ash.
But this not be Colorado’s last fire, either.
Current conditions: More than two dozen locations across the Mountain West and Midwest broke temperature records Sunday as the nation’s heat wave roasted the Central United States • At least 12 people died fleeing a sweeping wildfire in Spain as hundreds of firefighters battled the flames • In Colorado, the ongoing Aspen Acres Fire has destroyed 780 structures.
During President Donald Trump’s first term, his administration’s big fight over public lands centered on the last two national monuments approved by Barack Obama on the way out of office. In 2017, Trump signed executive orders slashing the size of Bears Ears National Monument by 85% and nearby Grand Staircase-Escalante, both located in Utah, by half. Legal challenges were still pending when President Joe Biden restored the reserves to their initial size in 2021. But ABC4 in Utah reported last week that Trump planned to announce a new executive order to shrink the boundaries of the monuments yet again, likely this afternoon. “The Antiquities Act was a one-way statute when Teddy Roosevelt signed it into law. It was a one-way statute when President Trump tried to ignore it in 2017. It’s still a one-way statute today,” Aaron Weiss, the executive director of the Center for Western Priorities, said in a statement. “Just last month, Congress had a chance to weaken the management plan for Grand Staircase-Escalante and declined.”
In April, the Senate approved a House resolution using the Congressional Review Act to clear the way for a mining operation near Minnesota’s Boundary Waters, in what my colleague Jeva Lange called a declaration of “open season on public lands.”
Over the past 12 months ending in July, 56 fusion companies raised a total of $4.5 billion, a 69% jump over 2025’s total. That’s according to the latest data from the Fusion Industry Association’s annual report. Total funding since 2021 now stands at $14.2 billion, a sevenfold increase. Twice as many companies are now competing as when the report was first published six years ago. This year’s figures include major financing rounds from Commonwealth Fusion Systems, which raised $863 million last August; Inertia Enterprises, which brought in $450 million in February; Helion Energy, which raked in $456 million last month; and the European champion Proxima Energy, which netted $518 million this month.

Back in January, I told you when the price of copper hit a record high. We kept track, too, of Chilean miners’ plans to ramp up production last month. But Chile’s output of copper fell sharply in May, according to a Mining.com analysis of data from Codelco, the country’s national miner. Production from major miners such as BHP dropped over 18% year-on-year to 106,300 metric tons. The fall comes as key mines in the South American nation face declining ore quality.
The move comes right as one of China’s biggest solar manufacturers switched from using silver to copper in its panels in response to what Bloomberg described as the surging prices of the precious metal.
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The world’s first commercial satellite powered by nuclear energy has launched into space after escaping the Earth’s atmosphere on a SpaceX Transporter-17 vessel. Miami-based City Labs, the company behind the launch, specializes in designing, developing, and manufacturing micro power technology based on the radioisotope tritium. The technology is meant to provide long-lasting, maintenance-free power for medical, industrial and space applications. “This is a historic step for commercial nuclear power in space,” City Labs CEO Peter Cabauy told World Nuclear News. The system “demonstrates that safe, compact, and regulatory-approved nuclear power systems are ready for routine commercial deployment.” The technology “enables persistent, always-on” operations “that are not constrained by sunlight or battery life.”
New York is behind on its development of clean energy. Its offshore wind buildout has stagnated. The state has limited space and sunlight for large-scale solar. And while Albany is positioning itself as the state leader on nuclear power with plans to construct more reactors upstate, those efforts are long term, and only just began. But one source of green power is expanding faster than expected: rooftop solar. New Yorkers installed 8 gigawatts of distributed solar capacity, putting the state ahead of schedule moving toward its legally-binding goal of 10 gigawatts by 2030. “New York continues to set the bar high as we mark another milestone for solar within our communities across the state,” New York Governor Kathy Hochul, a Democrat, said in a statement. “This is low-cost, reliable clean energy that is delivering cost savings for families and businesses while expanding the availability of renewable energy which benefits our environment, our economy and contributes to New York’s diverse energy resource mix.” That’s optimistic. But as Heatmap’s contributor Jesse Jenkins explained on our Shift Key podcast in 2023, there are limits to how big an impact rooftop solar can have on emissions.
China, as I told you last week, has been investing heavily in green hydrogen. The statement in Beijing’s latest Five-Year Plan confirms that green hydrogen, ammonia, and methanol “will play a significant role in decarbonizing China,” Hydrogen Insight reported.
Building a data center is also quite carbon-intensive.
When I helped start Heatmap News three years ago, I didn’t think I would be writing this much about big tech companies.
I knew that, sure, they were crucial to America’s ability to develop and scale some next-generation emissions-reducing technologies. (By then, Microsoft had already started its huge carbon removal purchasing program.) And, yes, I knew they bought a lot of renewables. But I still understood their clean energy programs chiefly as an employee perk — a way for some of the economy’s richest firms to show their largely urban, college-educated, and liberal employees that they cared.
Perhaps that was true once. It’s not true anymore. Over the past several years, the tech companies have become major electricity consumers and producers in their own right. Artificial intelligence has turned their electricity procurement and development businesses into core operational competencies. (Meta and Microsoft have even considered entering the electricity trading business.) Some of the thorniest questions in climate policy were first encountered by these tech companies.
More importantly, their hunger for electricity has transformed them into quasi-industrial companies — and given them enough heft in the market to sometimes counterbalance (and sometimes collaborate with) the utilities and fossil fuel firms that previously steered the sector. As such, they’re now crucial parts of the U.S. decarbonization story.
Three companies in particular dominate the artificial intelligence cloud business: Google, Amazon, and Microsoft.
The country’s best-known frontier labs, such as OpenAI and Anthropic, rely on these companies to provide their compute power; Amazon Web Services is the backbone of virtually the entire online software industry. Amazon, Google, and Microsoft account for more than half of the country’s data center power capacity, according to the investment firm Jeffries.
So these companies’ emissions are, in a sense, not only their own; they also give us a view into the AI industry’s carbon footprint more broadly.
Over the past two weeks, all three of these cloud providers released their energy and emissions data for the past year, and we’ve looked at the top line findings from these reports in past editions. Today I want to briefly dive into what they could mean together.
Let’s handle the part you already know: Everyone’s emissions are up.
Microsoft’s emissions grew by 25% last year, their largest year-over-year leap since the pandemic. Amazon’s emissions leapt by 16%, its largest one-year increase ever. Google’s emissions increased by 18%, rising above their pre-pandemic level.
This surge will make the companies’ climate goals increasingly difficult to meet — and some of them are coming up fast. Microsoft has pledged to become ‘carbon negative’ by 2030, meaning it must remove more climate pollution from the atmosphere than it emits in that year. Google has pledged to achieve net zero by 2030, a goal that requires — by its own estimate — cutting its emissions in half by that year, as compared to their 2019 level. Amazon, meanwhile, has pledged to achieve net-zero in its operations by 2040.
All three firms’ greenhouse gas emissions are up because of the AI data center boom. Microsoft consumes nearly four times as much electricity as it did before the pandemic; Google’s electricity use has more than doubled.
These companies’ energy use has swelled, too, but at least as of last year, nearly all of their energy demand still took the form of electricity. When we think about “electrification” in the national context, perhaps we should think at least as much about these AI megalodons as we do about heat pump or battery manufacturers.
Amazon, to its shame, does not publish recent electricity usage data, so it doesn’t appear on either of these charts.
But outsiders have estimated its power consumption based on the numbers it does publish. Hendrik Rood, an IT researcher and consultant in the Netherlands, calculates that Amazon’s data center business used 78,000 gigawatt-hours in 2025. That would mean it consumes nearly as much electricity as Microsoft and Google combined.
As I cautioned yesterday, some of these figures are already outdated. Although all three companies just released their 2025 sustainability data, Microsoft brackets its report to the fiscal year, which ended on June 30, 2025. Google and Amazon’s data covers the calendar year.
In what might be a quirk inherent to the genre, all three sustainability reports have a somewhat defensive tone (or at least a writing style that tries to anticipate quibbles). These companies know that their sustainability pledges, embraced in the heady flush of 2020 and 2021, have become much more difficult to fulfill in the AI era. And they want you to know that all of their emissions could be worse — if not for their corporate policies, pollution might be much higher.
I can’t say I find these counterfactuals entirely believable. We don’t know what Google or Microsoft or Amazon would do if, say, computing were more energy intensive or a certain process more environmentally damaging. And Jevon’s paradox suggests that every gain in efficiency — especially for a service as in-demand as AI — will make it cheaper to use AI, therefore raising its energy demand.
But I do think it’s worth sharing these claims to get some perspective. Google, for its part, says that its corporate emissions would be five times higher than they are if not for its total slate of policies:

Microsoft takes a more clinical approach. It selects four of its corporate policies: “carbon-free electricity, sustainable fuels, XBOX console efficiency,” as well as efforts to decarbonize its Surface tablet production. If not for these interventions, it says, it would have emitted 34 million tons of greenhouse gas into the atmosphere last year, not the 21 million tons that it did produce.
For all the focus on the difficulty of powering data centers (including by Heatmap), electricity does not drive most of these companies’ emissions — or it didn’t in the first half of last year, at least. The majority of Microsoft, Google, and Amazon’s greenhouse gas emissions came from what are dubbed “scope 3” emissions, a somewhat nebulous category that includes buildings, employee travel, and the full carbon footprint of their supply chain. This category reflects the AI boom in its own way.
(Skip this if you’re a sustainability nerd: In the classic schema used for corporate emissions accounting, “scope 1” emissions are direct fossil fuel pollution from an asset that the company owns or controls, “scope 2” emissions are pollution associated with the electricity, steam, or chilled water purchased by the company, and “scope 3” emissions are everything else — pollution from the company’s upstream supply chain and its downstream product use. I find this scheme makes somewhat more sense for businesses like airlines and automakers than it does for technology conglomerates. But that’s a different newsletter.)
It makes sense, then, that Amazon should have huge scope 3 emissions. The scope 3 subcategory called “Purchased Goods and Services” drives the largest share of its emissions; these include pollution from goods and services that Amazon buys for its employees to use, as well as all the embodied carbon in its line of Amazon Basics products.
But the biggest driver of scope 3 emissions — and thus for emissions overall — for Microsoft and Google came from “capital goods,” a category that covers new construction, physical assets and other fixed infrastructure used to produce products and services. More than 40% of Microsoft’s total emissions came from capital goods, and they made up more than 9 million metric tons of the company’s greenhouse gases. Google doesn’t fully aggregate out its “capital goods” category, combining it with the “use of sold products” subcategory, but it was responsible for almost 9 million tons as well.
These capital goods include the new data centers themselves: all the cement, steel, server racks, and silicon that actually make up the physical infrastructure supporting the AI boom. Here at Heatmap, we often focus on the electricity sector because it’s where so much change. But it’s good to remember that construction remains enormously carbon-intensive, and the literal buildings that house AI are, in many cases, still driving a disproportionate amount of emissions.