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On the five lingering threats to President Biden's big climate law.

The big idea behind the Inflation Reduction Act, the historic U.S. climate package that became law one year ago this week, is simple: To beat fossil fuels, make the clean stuff cheaper.
The law is already working, in certain ways. There have been hundreds of announcements for new electric vehicles factories, solar and wind manufacturing plants, and clean generation facilities since the IRA passed, for example.
But the premise is also fundamentally flawed. Cost is only one piece of the puzzle. With the “green premium” on clean technologies out of the way, for now, a barrage of other obstacles to deploying them will be pushed to the fore.
“The moment we're in now is a decidedly much more diffuse set of challenges,” Sam Ricketts, the co-founder of a new climate consulting firm called S2 Strategies, told me.
There’s a public awareness challenge and a public opposition challenge, workforce shortages and supply chain issues, and a litany of other impediments that could prevent the IRA from fulfilling the Biden administration’s lofty promises of carbon reductions, job creation, and economic growth. There may not even be much of a chance to try if Republicans take over the White House in 2025.
Passing the IRA required lots of compromise, resulting in an insufficient, though still powerful set of tools to slow global warming. Now, progress requires figuring out how to maneuver around the law’s weaknesses in order to harness its strengths. “That brings different challenges than just finding 51 votes and 218 votes,” said Ricketts.
Let’s look at what lies ahead.
Not one Republican voted in favor of the IRA when it passed last year. Now, with a majority in the House, Republicans have already made multiple attempts to chip away at the law. Every major Republican presidential candidate, including frontrunner Donald Trump, has bashed it on the campaign trail. And a strategy document released by the Heritage Foundation, an influential conservative think tank, advises the next administration in the White House to support its repeal.
“It's not going to be a question of, are they going to repeal it?” Lori Lodes, executive director of Climate Power, a strategic communications group, told me. “It's going to be, what are they going to repeal?”
It also wouldn’t take repeal to damage the IRA. Without control of Congress, a conservative administration would not have infinite leeway to roll back the law, but it could certainly muck up the IRA’s implementation. A new president could ask his Treasury Department to revise the rules governing clean energy tax credits, making them harder to claim, or direct the Department of Energy to slow-walk or withhold loans and grants.
Ask any backer of the IRA about its potential demise and they will point to the same cause for optimism: The vast majority of investments spurred by the law are flowing into red states, and many Republican governors have embraced it. By 2025, the IRA’s programs could be so successful that it will be much harder for a future administration to roll them back.
The more of something you build, the easier and cheaper it becomes to build more, or so the conventional wisdom goes. When it comes to building wind and solar, though, this concept of “economies of scale” doesn’t totally track. The best locations — those with the most sun and wind — are the most economical and get developed first. As do the spots with the least resistance from neighbors. The more you build, the harder it gets to find viable places to build more.
While the IRA made renewables much more cost-competitive with natural gas power plants, that won’t matter if communities block projects from getting built. Columbia University’s climate law center recently found that there has been a 35% increase in local ordinances that restrict renewables in the last year alone.
Some states, like New York, are actively working to resolve these project siting challenges by weakening local authority over permitting. But others, like Ohio, have given local authorities full power to veto renewables.
Perhaps the most immediate obstacle to cutting emissions in the U.S. right now is that there aren’t enough power lines to deliver clean energy. Solar and wind projects currently wait four to five years to get permission to connect to the electric grid. New transmission lines can take upwards of a decade to build, because of a complex permitting process as well community opposition.
“It's not even just about unlocking the potential of renewables,” Tom Rowlands-Rees, the head of North America research for the clean energy analysis firm BloombergNEF, told reporters this week. The IRA will kickstart long-term growth in electricity demand as people swap their gas cars for EVs and install heat pumps. “Whatever you believe the ideal generation mix is in an energy transition, there just needs to be more grid, full stop.”
Solutions include giving the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission authority over where to build new power lines and deciding who should pay for them, which congressional Democrats are eager to do. The Biden administration also recently proposed making the Department of Energy a lead coordinating agency in permitting these projects and streamlining various federal approvals.
The discourse around the IRA will make or break the law. Right now, less than a third of Americans even know what it is. That’s a problem for Biden’s re-election campaign. It’s also an obstacle to getting the money out the door.
“The way we sort of think about it is the Inflation Reduction Act created an electric bank account for every household in America,” said Ari Matusiak, CEO of the electrification advocacy group Rewiring America. “But people need to know that it's available for them.”
Beyond the issue of awareness, the law is sprawling and confusing. State and local officials will need support navigating grants and designing programs. Consumers will need help sorting through the various tax breaks and rebates to help them pay for solar panels and heat pumps. Rewiring America is among a number of groups working on national campaigns and tools to help with this.
There’s also the challenge of building up the workforce and educating contractors about these solutions, many of whom have been hesitant to embrace heat pumps, under the wrong impression that they “don’t work in cold climates.”
That kind of misinformation is sure to be another obstacle. Will the American public embrace electrification? Or will it become a victim of the culture wars, as has already been foreshadowed by the fight over gas stoves earlier this year.
Many different research groups have analyzed the IRA, and while their models and findings vary, they all reach the same conclusion. Even in a best-case scenario, the IRA will not get the U.S. all the way toward fulfilling its commitment under the Paris Agreement to cut emissions in half by 2030 and to net-zero by 2050.
BloombergNEF, for example, finds that regulations on the power sector and heavy industry are essential. “Whatever comes next can't just take the form of more incentives,” said Rowlands-Rees. “We're at the point where we're pretty much maxed out on that.”
For other sectors, the IRA’s subsidies are too small. Electrifying all of the appliances in a home can cost tens of thousands of dollars. A $2,000 tax credit is unlikely to be enough for many families to make the switch, even if it’s supplemented with additional rebates.
For communities living in the shadow of fossil fuel facilities, the law could even prove counterproductive. After all, its compromises included continued oil and gas leasing and incentives for carbon capture and storage, which can extend the life of polluting plants.
“We have to do more. It's really a proof of concept,” said Lodes of Climate Power. “And if there is not that public support, if there is not that political will, then we won't be able to take the additional actions that we need to.”
Read more about the Inflation Reduction Act’s one-year anniversary:
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Cement, plywood, and some electronic equipment will face 50% levies. But the real cost is much higher.
Here we go again. The United States will impose new 50% tariffs on a slew of imports from Canada, the White House announced on Monday afternoon. The trade levies — which will hit more than 500 categories of goods, from anoraks, beer, and curtains, to yarn, wool, and whey protein — will take effect in 30 days.
The new tariffs don’t seem to be wildfire-related. President Trump threatened to impose new tariffs last week after smoke from Canadian wildfires drifted south over the northern U.S. border, but administration officials have claimed to CNN that these new levies were already in motion by then.
Even so, a few aspects of the announcement stand out. Most important, at least from a generalist perspective, is the legal mechanism that President Trump is using to apply them: Section 338 of the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act. This passage, which has never been used by a previous president to levy tariffs, allows the United States to tax trade from countries that the president says have “discriminated against” U.S. commerce.
Significant, too, is the fact the White House asserts this new kind of tariff could apply to any kind of product — even those that would normally be covered by the North American free trade pact, the U.S.-Mexico-Canada Agreement. So far, the “Big Three” automakers — whose supply chains cross the Mexican or Canadian borders half a dozen times before a car is finally assembled — have avoided major tariff danger because auto parts and other inputs fall under the USMCA’s auspices. If the White House now thinks it can levy taxes despite that pact, then the risks for Ford, General Motors, and their suppliers have increased.
Energy and critical minerals are exempt from the new tariffs, so Canadian crude oil, gasoline, diesel, natural gas, and electricity will presumably keep flowing into the United States. (That explicit carve-out might be ominous in its own right, because energy had been protected by USMCA so far, too.) By omitting energy, Trump and his officials may be calculating they can avoid major inflationary hazards from this round of tariffs.
Who knows. In any case, to my eye, these tariffs do seem like they could aggravate construction costs and possibly contribute to wider U.S. inflation. There’s already some evidence that data centers are driving a new wave of inflation, for instance, by hiking construction input and labor costs. Yet data centers use a lot of cement — and cement will now face a 50% tariff under the new regime. So too will plywood, plaster, and paperboard, as well as industrial cooling equipment, chemicals, and some circuit boards.
I could keep listing the potential economic costs here — I could point out that overall inflation risk is rising or that average U.S. gas prices rose to $4 a gallon today on the Iran war news — but I think it’s important to look at least one step beyond the hits to commerce alone.
I mentioned earlier that these tariffs are meant to punish “discrimination.” In this case, some of the “discrimination” appears to be what some Canadian provinces did to retaliate against the president’s earlier tariffs. The state-owned liquor stores in Quebec and Ontario, for instance, stopped buying U.S.-made booze after Trump slapped 25% tariffs on Canada in March 2025; those boycotts are mentioned by name in today’s proclamation. Canada, you see, is not supposed to respond to Trump’s tariffs. It is just supposed to take it — just like it’s supposed to take the constant stream of falsehoods, abuse, belittling, and invasion threat.
Over the past few years, politicians and pundits have learned to respond to Trump’s policies by appealing to U.S. self-interest — by explaining how the president’s policies are making Americans poorer. It is a sensible strategy for a morally denuded era. A recent statement from Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer about Canada, for example, criticized the president for hurting “our closest ally and partner … right when summer tourism season is arriving.” I get the move here — and I think, in some sense, Schumer is trying to avoid polarizing Trump’s treatment of Canada along partisan lines — but Canadians are more than their tourism dollars.
For the past several years, Trump has threatened to strip Canada of its sovereignty and its dignity. He has treated what was once a deep and secure relationship as something to be bartered and mined and dissipated. It is a mucilaginous approach to statecraft, and as recent reporting has made clear, its long-term costs will exceed any simple accounting. We Americans have been robbed of an honorable friendship. Some losses cannot be counted in dollars.
In seven years of owning an electric car, I’ve done practically no maintenance. My 2019 Tesla Model 3 has gotten a new set of tires and windshield wipers, but because an EV doesn’t require oil changes or many of the other occasional chores that come with gas cars, that’s about it.
The one thing I have had to fix is the battery, and no, I don’t mean the big one that makes the car go.
Twice in those seven years, I’ve replaced the car’s 12-volt battery. This is the toolbox-sized unit that’s familiar to millions — it’s what the phrase “car battery” used to mean back before electric vehicles. Lots of new or aspiring EV drivers may not even realize their car has a second, smaller battery borrowed from combustion days. But this crucial holdover — the most recycled object on the planet, by the way, at a rate of more than 100 million annually — has already been a source of annoyance for EV engineers and drivers.
The reason behind the weird setup is straightforward. Despite the fact that EVs are effectively giant batteries on wheels, they need a backup source to operate the power windows and doors. If you’re in a car accident that disables the main battery, for instance, you need power to the doors to escape, and also a way to disconnect the high-voltage battery. Thus, the old-fashioned 12-volt battery squirreled away deep inside the car to protect it during collisions.
It’s not just a matter of backup power, either. A large, high-voltage battery would have to step down its electrical output for applications other than pushing a car down the road; it’s simpler to power them with a 12-volt battery and use the big unit to recharge the smaller one. After all, legacy carmakers have decades of experience building this kind of electrical system for gasoline-powered cars. Some EVs also use the 12-volt setup to disconnect the high-voltage power supply when the car is simply parked for a long time.
All this makes solid engineering sense. It also means that a sleek, modern EV is reliant upon the clunky car battery of yesteryear. Some drivers, including those in new Kia EVs, have said they can’t drive their cars even though there’s plenty of juice in the big unit because something went wrong with the 12-volt. As one Reddit commenter wrote: “It seems absurd to design a car that can run out of electrons and not be able to start while it is carrying 70 kWh of energy in a giant battery.” Yet that’s exactly the reality.
There are a few reasons why. As InsideEVs has noted, the rugged old 12-volt keeps getting more and more responsibility. Nowadays, the constant cellular connectivity of modem EVs — as well as features that can be used while the car is parked, such as security systems that tap into the vehicle’s exterior cameras to monitor the surrounding area — can cause a continuous drain on the 12-volt battery. That requires the car’s big battery to “wake up” and recharge the smaller one, which not only bleeds the vehicle’s driving range while it’s sitting still but also causes lots of recharging cycles for the 12-volt, prematurely aging the small battery.
Rivian had notorious problems from this issue for the older R1T and R1S and had to engineer a fix. Hyundais and Kias, meanwhile, have had longstanding issues with their Integrated Charging Control Unit, the system that recharges the 12-volt battery, that have caused a variety of recalls and headaches widely documented in online posts and videos. Chevy and Toyota have endured their own growing pains trying to make a low-voltage electrical system work well inside an EV.
But the car companies are getting smarter. Rather than duplicating what works in gas cars, more of them are building EV-specific systems with this application in mind. For example, the 12-volt in an EV doesn’t need to provide the big single burst needed to start up a gas engine, but it does need to be able to survive being subjected to more recharging cycles. In other words, it’s not that using these batteries in modern EVs is a bad idea — we just need to be smarter about how.
Perhaps EV builders one day will engineer away the old battery. Rivian, for one, has filed a patent for an electrical architecture that would work without a low-voltage battery at all. But those workarounds are a long way out. For now, even the most futuristic-feeling electric cars are stuck with the same kind of battery your dad had to jump-start in the church parking lot that time you left the AC on and the engine wasn’t running. My big, high-voltage battery might keep running forever, even as its capacity continues to diminish. But inevitably, I’ll need another small, dumb battery when this one goes kaput.
GOP lawmakers know climate change is real. But they lack political incentives to do anything about it.
The New York Times recently profiled former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and his increasing engagement on climate change. Many of the online comments accused him of hypocrisy. Why, they asked, did he only become concerned about climate change after leaving Congress?
It’s an understandable question.
I have spent the better part of a decade discussing climate change with Republican members of Congress and can see a frequently overlooked part of the answer. During my hundreds of one-on-one conversations with Republican senators and representatives, almost none of them deny that climate change is occurring. Most understand the science well enough, and many acknowledge privately that it presents serious long-term risks.
They don’t lack knowledge. They lack political incentives.
Members of Congress have finite political capital. Every day they must decide which issues deserve their attention. Naturally, they devote their time to the issues that voters, donors, activists, staff, and party leaders tell them matter most.
Politics is a marketplace of incentives. For decades, climate advocates have devoted their efforts to changing Republicans’ minds, but have devoted little effort to changing the incentives for Republicans to act.
The political ecosystem for Democrats could not be more different. Democrats are surrounded by organizations that continually reinforce the importance of climate policy. Environmental groups, philanthropies, labor organizations, advocacy organizations, academics, campaign donors, think tanks, and congressional staff all create an environment in which climate engagement is expected and rewarded.
Republicans experience almost none of that.
When I was quoted in the New York Times article, I described the “eco right” as “a lonely place.” I meant it literally. There are remarkably few conservative organizations whose primary mission is helping Republican elected officials develop serious climate policy. Few donors make climate engagement a condition of support. Few advocacy groups reward constructive leadership. Few congressional staff have access to a deep bench of conservative climate experts. Climate is far more often presented as a political liability than a leadership opportunity.
In that environment, addressing climate change is rarely a priority. This largely explains what puzzles many observers — that Republican leaders often become noticeably more outspoken about addressing climate change after leaving office. The science has not changed. Their incentives have.
Freed from primary elections, fundraising pressures, and the constant competition for legislative attention, they’re able to think about problems whose consequences unfold over decades instead of election cycles.
That observation leads to an uncomfortable conclusion for those of us who want stronger climate policy: Persuading Republicans that climate change is real is not just unnecessary, it’s unproductive. They know it’s real. The more important task is building the institutions that make climate engagement a priority. That means investing in conservative policy organizations, developing Republican congressional staff expertise, supporting Republican governors and state legislators, encouraging business leaders to engage, creating donor networks that reward constructive center-right leadership, and giving Republican members credible partners they can trust.
In other words, we need to make the eco-right a much less lonely place.
Building institutions requires capital, both political and financial. Today, the overwhelming majority of climate-related political spending — whether by advocacy organizations, political action committees, or philanthropically supported campaigns — flows to Democratic candidates and causes. It’s understandable. Democrats have generally been more supportive of climate action, and donors naturally want to reward those who stand with them.
But rewarding allies isn’t the same as expanding the number of them.
If the objective is durable climate policy rather than simply electing more Democrats, then the current allocation of political spending deserves reconsideration. Congress writes laws, and lasting legislation almost always requires bipartisan support. A movement that invests overwhelmingly in one party shouldn’t be surprised when the other party lacks champions, expertise, and political incentives.
Climate philanthropists, advocacy organizations, and political action committees should explicitly seek to create Republican allies by committing a more significant portion of their electoral spending to Republican candidates. This support would send a powerful signal throughout Republican politics that constructive engagement on climate change will be rewarded. More Republican candidates would respond to those incentives, and the universe of viable partners would expand.
For Republicans, the greatest opportunity lies in primary elections. While general elections determine which party governs, primaries determine what kind of Republicans and Democrats will govern. Donors should identify Republican candidates who are willing to engage on a variety of climate-related topics — from adaptation and resilience to market-based policies that reduce emissions to energy innovation — and help them succeed. The objective isn’t ideological purity. It’s to demonstrate that constructive climate leadership is politically viable within today’s Republican Party, and to give those candidates the confidence that they aren’t alone.
Over time, this approach would accomplish something today’s funding model cannot. Rather than simply rewarding an existing coalition, it would create a larger one. It would produce more Republican members who see climate engagement as compatible with conservative principles. Climate change would still be a scientific and economic challenge, but politics would no longer preclude addressing it.
Rather than increasingly evident climate change adding to political division, it could drive both parties to act. America’s biggest policy achievements have generally occurred when a president elevated an issue as a national priority and Congress responded. Tax reform, welfare reform, civil rights, and other major agreements all required presidential leadership before they produced durable bipartisan legislation.
Climate policy has not yet reached that level. While voters increasingly care about it, it does not determine presidential elections or dominate governing agendas.
The closest climate change has come to being a top-tier issue was when President George H.W. Bush signed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change in 1992, but that was before addressing climate change became so partisan. More recently, President Joe Biden included clean energy tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. That modest success is noteworthy in part because it rode upon legislation to address inflation, a top-tier voter issue — and because the provisions were largely repealed less than three years later. Until climate change becomes a presidential-level issue — one that candidates in both parties believe they must address — Congress is unlikely to devote sustained attention to it.
That day will come. And when that moment arrives, the quality of the legislation will depend on the work being done now. If we want bipartisan climate policy tomorrow, we need to build bipartisan political capacity today.
The climate movement has spent decades rewarding allies. The next several decades should be spent adding more. Politics follows incentives more than information. If we want Republicans to lead on addressing climate change or at least become those allies, we must stop just trying to persuade them and start investing in the institutions, incentives, and people that make it possible.