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The Inflation Reduction Act is already transforming America. But is it enough?

In the late spring, a scene happened that might have once — even a few years ago — seemed unimaginable.
Senator Joe Manchin and Energy Secretary Jennifer Granholm visited the town of Weirton, West Virginia, to celebrate the groundbreaking of a new factory for the company Form Energy. The factory will produce a new type of iron battery that could eventually store huge amounts of electricity on the grid, allowing solar and wind energy to be saved up and dispatched when needed.
Manchin was clear about why everyone was gathered in Weirton. “Today’s groundbreaking is a direct result of the Inflation Reduction Act, and this type of investment, in a community that has felt the impact of the downturn in American manufacturing, is an example of the IRA bill working as we intended,” he said.
It’s been nearly a year since the Inflation Reduction Act, President Joe Biden’s flagship climate law, passed. The law is successful. It is transforming the American energy system. And the Biden administration is implementing it as fast as it can: Since the law passed, the Treasury Department has published nearly three dozen pieces of complicated rules explaining how the IRA’s billions in subsidies can actually be used.
But is the IRA successful enough? The pace and scale of the climate challenge remains daunting. A recent report from the Rhodium Group, an energy-research firm, found that the United States would only meet its Paris Agreement goal of cutting carbon emissions in half by 2030 with more aggressive federal and state policy.
Here are some broad observations about how the IRA — and the broader project of American decarbonization — is going:
Politically, environmentally, no matter how you look at it: The power sector is the thumping heart of the I.R.A. Because engineers know how to generate electricity without producing carbon pollution — using wind turbines, solar panels, nuclear plants, and more — the sector is central to the law’s implicit plan to decarbonize the American economy, which requires, first, building as much zero-carbon electricity infrastructure as possible, while, second, shifting as much of the rest of the economy to using electricity — as opposed to oil, gas, or coal — as possible.
The electricity industry is also the site of perhaps the law’s most powerful climate policy — and its only policy tied to a national emissions-cutting goal. The law will indefinitely subsidize new zero-carbon electricity until greenhouse-gas pollution from the American power sector falls 75% below its 2022 levels. That means these tax credits could remain in effect until the 2060s, according to an analysis from the research firm Wood MacKenzie.
This was a first for American environmental law, and it remains poorly understood by the public. Even some experts claim that the electricity credits will phase out in 2032 with the I.R.A.’s other subsidies — when, in fact, 2032 is the earliest possible year that they could end.
Which is all to say that it’s early days for understanding the I.R.A.’s effect on the power sector. The data is provisional.
Yet the data is … good. Better than I expected when I started writing this article. The overwhelming majority of new electricity generation built nationwide this year — some 83% — will be wind, solar, or battery storage, according to federal data. Although that mostly reflects projects planned before the IRA was passed, it’s still a giant leap over previous years, and it suggests that the law might be giving clean electricity a boost at the margin:
The solar industry, in particular, is surging. The industry just had its best first quarter ever, with rooftop installations booming and some big utility-scale solar farms finally coming online.
But solar can’t power the entire grid, and other renewables are having more trouble. I’m particularly worried about offshore wind. To build a new offshore-wind project, companies bid for tracts of the ocean floor in a government-run auction. Yet many of those bids failed to account for 2021 and 2022’s rapid inflation, and some developers are now on the hook for projects that don’t pencil out. Most outside analysts now believe that the Biden administration will fall short of its goal to build 30 gigawatts of offshore wind by 2030.
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The boom in electric vehicle and battery manufacturing is clearly the I.R.A.’s brightest spot. (The two industries are one and the same: If you have a giant battery, you’re probably going to put it in an EV; and about a third of every EV’s value comes from the battery.)
Since the IRA passed, 52 new mining or manufacturing projects have been announced, representing $56 billion in new investment, according to a tracker run by Jay Turner, a Wellesley College professor. If you zoom out to all of Biden’s term, then more than $100 billion in EV investment has been announced, which will create more than 75,000 jobs, according to the Department of Energy.
It remains to be seen, however, whether this investment will produce the kind of durable, unionized voter base that the Biden administration hopes to form. So far, much of this investment has flowed to the Sunbelt — and in particular, to a burgeoning zone of investment from North Carolina to Alabama nicknamed the “Battery Belt.” These states are right-to-work states with a low cost-of-living, like much of the states that have absorbed manufacturing investment since the 1980s.
This might make Republicans think twice about undermining the IRA, but it might also be a missed opportunity.
In order to cheaply decarbonize its grid, America needs better power lines. Building long-range, interregional electricity transmission will allow the country to funnel clean energy to where it’s needed most. According to a team led by Jesse Jenkins, a Princeton engineering professor, 80% of the IRA’s carbon-reduction benefits could be lost if the United States doesn’t quicken the pace of new transmission construction. (Other models are less worried.)
Yet the effort to build more power lines — and the broader campaign to reform some rules governing permitting and land use, especially the National Environmental Policy Act — is probably over, at least in this Congress. Republican lawmakers figured out that Democrats are desperate for transmission reform, and they were prepared to make the party pay a high price for it — too high a price for much of the caucus. The bipartisan deal to raise the debt-ceiling also contained many of the moderate permitting reforms that Democrats might have accepted as part of a broader bargain over transmission.
Democrats are now stuck hoping that the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, or FERC, will make smaller, more technocratic improvements to the transmission process when they take a majority of the commission’s seats early next year.
The biggest programs in the IRA target mature technologies, like solar, wind, and EVs. But the law is full of unheralded programs meant to encourage the development of early-stage climate technologies, such as sustainable aviation fuel. By encouraging technological progress, these programs could abate hundreds of millions of tons of carbon a year in the decades after 2030. They may prove especially important at reducing emissions outside the United States, according to a new analysis from Rhodium Group.
Which is to say that they could be — from a world-historic perspective — some of the law’s most important policies. But for now, few of these programs have been implemented, and we don’t really know how they’re going to go.
Some of them may also be devilishly hard to set up. My colleague Emily Pontecorvo has reported on the difficulty of setting up the tax credits for green hydrogen, which are some of the law’s most generous. If successful, the credits could give the U.S. a major new industry to tackle the decarbonization challenge; if unsuccessful, they could screw up the American electricity system.
Right now, most of the law’s consumer-facing tax credits are continuations of old policies — such as the longstanding subsidy to install rooftop solar — rather than something new. Perhaps the most expansive subsidy that consumers have seen so far is the new $7,500 tax credit for leasing an electric vehicle.
But many more programs will eventually come, including the IRA’s rebates for heat pumps, induction stoves, and electric water heaters. Those programs, some of which must be administered by state offices, have largely yet to be set up. (Even so — and in keeping with other encouraging trends — heat pump sales outpaced furnace sales in the U.S. for the first time last year.)
The Department of Energy is an agency transformed. The IRA held out the opportunity that the agency could metamorphose from an R&D-focused nuclear-weapons storehouse into the federal government’s dynamo of decarbonization. The Biden administration — and Energy Secretary Jennifer Granholm — has seized that opportunity.
As I wrote earlier this year, the agency has stepped into the role of being America’s bureau of industrial policy, replete with its own in-house bank. It has published some of the most detailed and sophisticated federal industrial plans that I’ve ever seen.
And it is getting admirably specific about each of the technologies in its portfolio. In a recent report on the nascent hydrogen industry, for instance, the department said that companies might not build out enough infrastructure because they can’t count on future demand for clean hydrogen. (It’s impossible for firms to invest in making hydrogen if they can’t be sure anyone is going to buy it.) Then, earlier this week, the agency announced a new $1 billion program to buy hydrogen itself, thus providing that demand-side certainty that producers need.
Let’s return to renewables. The United States is striving — but will likely fail — to build 30 gigawatts of offshore wind by 2030. It is building a couple dozen gigawatts of new solar capacity every year. That may seem like a lot: One gigawatt of electricity is enough to power about 825,000 homes.
But annual power demand in the United States is closer to 4,000 gigawatts — and it’s on track to grow as we electrify more and more of the economy. While decarbonizing the grid isn’t as simple as switching one energy source for another, still, it would take more than a century to build 4,000 gigawatts of renewables electricity at our current rate.
It’s a similar story in electric cars. The growth is good: EV sales rose 50% year over year in the first half of 2023. But the challenge is daunting: Electric vehicles made up only 7% of all new car sales in the U.S. during the same period, and decarbonizing the car fleet will eventually require making virtually all new car sales EVs, and then — over the next decade — replacing the 275 million private vehicles on the road.
And that’s the story of the IRA — from renewables to EVs, geothermal to nuclear energy. The trends have never been better. The government has never tried to change the energy system so quickly or so thoroughly. That, by itself, is progress: For decades, the great obstacle of climate change was that the government wasn’t trying to solve it at all.
But decarbonization will require replacing hundreds of millions of machines that exist in the world — and doing it fast enough that we avoid dealing catastrophic damage to the climate system. The IRA is about to take on that challenge head-on. Now we find out if it’s up to the task.
The real work, in other words, is just beginning.
Read more from Robinson Meyer:
The East Coast’s Smoke Could Last Until October
The Weird Reasons Behind the Atlantic Ocean’s Crazy Heat
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We didn’t know days like this could happen. Then we learned how bad they really are.
When I woke up this morning in Chicago, the Air Quality Index was in the 300s, and I could barely see the top of the skyscraper across the street. The weather app on my phone featured a little image of a man wearing a World War I-style full-face gas mask. That’s fun, I thought. I didn’t know it could do that.
I went downstairs. Old photographs of the city were hanging in the hotel lobby — girls playing in bathing suits next to the lake — and I realized that the haze shrouding the old Lakeshore Drive condos was in fact haze, smoke, particulate matter, and not a lens artifact. It really used to be that smoky all the time, back before the Clean Air Act. Then I glanced up and saw that the haze out the window was far worse than the century-old pollution in the picture.
It’s significant, I think, that a mass smoke-out like this has now happened to the eastern U.S. for a second time. Second times matter. When exhaust from Canadian wildfires blanketed the Northeast and parts of the Midwest in June 2023, exposing more Americans to wildfire smoke than on any previous day in history, one could almost write it off as a freak occurrence. It was upsetting, sure, and reminiscent of California’s climate-addled amber skies. But didn’t wildfire smoke also descend on New England once in the 1780s? Even on a warmer planet, couldn’t this remain a once-in-a-century blip?
Twice in just over three years, though — that‘s more than a hiccup. That’s almost a trend. To get smoked out once may be regarded as a misfortune; for it to recur again, without any plan to respond, starts to look like carelessness. The federal government is doing roughly diddly squat about adaptation — President Trump can build a fan on the border and make Canada pay for it — but state and local governments across the eastern U.S. will now need to reckon with a new form of extreme weather. You grew up with snow days, but now we’ll have smoke days — and schools and sports leagues and concert venues will need rules about how to deal with them. When should games be canceled, tickets refunded? Is smoke more like a heat wave or a hurricane? Hotels and office buildings will need to review their ventilation policies and possibly upgrade their equipment; municipal emergency response plans will be revised and printed in triplicate.
All this will happen because the smoke has invaded a second time — and arguably a third, if you count last year’s minor episode — and that means it could come back again. For that reason, this event strikes me as a much bigger deal than what happened in 2023. The smoke is now a fact of life; institutions will need a policy about it. The tortious creep of litigation risk will enforce that outcome, even if no federal official enforces it.
So it goes. But to be clear, this new inconvenience is not what worries me most about today’s events. No, what frightens me instead is that today’s airborne toxic event is not something that was supposed to happen. Until a few years ago, we had not thought too hard about whether a major smoke exposure event like this could happen on the East Coast at all. It had not seemed possible.
For years, economists and climate scientists have simulated how global warming might affect the U.S. and global economies. They poured years of careful work into this modeling, and they simulated — with ever-increasing levels of statistical persnicketiness — what extreme heat and sea-level rise might do to agricultural yield, labor productivity, energy demand, heat mortality, and real estate values, among other potential sources of damage. This work was useful; it improved our practical understanding of coastal flooding, to name one example. It also helped calibrate U.S. regulatory policy, even if it never achieved the crowning heights of helping to set a national carbon tax.
Yet these careful models almost never accounted for mass smoke exposure days. Indeed, the kind of thing that happened this week — when heavy haze blows down from Canada and exposes more than 100 million people to hazardous air — was not countenanced by the simulations at all. Only in recent years did economists begin to study events like these, and only because mass exposure events like 2023’s happened first.
We’ve long known that the tiny shreds of particulate matter in wildfire smoke dance across the body’s barriers and penetrate its deep places, etching their way into lung, heart, and brain tissue. Inflammation follows. What makes days like today unique is the scale: Tens of millions of Americans inhaling wildfire smoke at the same time. As we’ve started studying this phenomenon, it’s become clear that the mortality effects of days like today, the deaths elevated above what you’d otherwise expect, can persist for years. That becomes extraordinarily expensive for society.
How costly? “When monetized,” a group of Stanford and Princeton economists wrote in Nature last year, in the first major study on the topic, “the climate-driven smoke deaths result in economic damages that exceed existing estimates of climate-driven damages from all other causes combined in the U.S.A.”
You read that right: The cost of climate-worsened wildfire smoke alone is larger than what earlier studies said every other estimated cost of climate change would be, combined.
To summarize, wildfire smoke did not appear in our economic simulations of climate change. As recently as a few years ago, we did not really know that days like today — or June 7, 2023; or September 15, 2020; or September 9, 2020 — could occur. Then they happened. And happened again. And then we studied them and discovered that, in fact, they may be more expensive for the U.S. economy than we once thought climate change itself would be.
That worries me. Now we know these smoke-out days can happen; now they are fast becoming a rare but predictable feature of summer life. But until recently they were unimaginable. What other ignominies, what other tail risks and airborne surprises, are lurking in the uncontrolled experiment we’re running on the biosphere? What else — unforecast, unmodeled, unstudied, unthought of — lies ahead? After 10 years of covering the climate system, I am not someone who lies sleepless fretting about atmospheric CO2. But I do wonder what else we don’t know enough about to ask.
“Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side!”
Protestors interrupted one of the final sessions of PNW Climate Week — a conference that brings together climate leaders across Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia — objecting to Microsoft’s rising carbon emissions from data centers and partnerships with oil and gas companies. The company’s Chief Sustainability Officer Melanie Nakagawa was having a one on one conversation with GeekWire climate reporter Lisa Stiffler at Seattle’s City Hall when protestors carrying signs reading “Microsoft’s AI pollutes” and other slogans began shouting from the audience.
I was there, having just moderated the prior panel on how to finance Washington’s clean energy ambitions. Early on there were some rumblings in the crowd from up front. “Climate leaders don’t build gas pipelines in Moses Lake,” was the first objection I heard clearly. It came shortly after Nakagawa kicked off the conversation by highlighting Microsoft’s partnership with sustainable aviation fuel startup Twelve, which recently opened its first commercial-scale SAF plant in Moses Lake, Washington. The tech giant has supported the project through a strategic investment from its Climate Innovation Fund, as well as an offtake agreement for the fuel that will help offset its emissions from employee travel.
Whether Microsoft is building a gas pipeline in this particular community I haven’t been able to determine, though it seems irrelevant to Twelve’s SAF facility, which doesn’t rely on natural gas. But it is true that Microsoft is one of the largest power consumers in Grant County, Washington, home to Moses Lake, where a natural gas pipeline operator is looking to expand its network to accommodate data center load growth.
Another audience interruption was more pointed. “How does signing a 20-year deal with Chevron help you reach your clean energy goals?,” one protestor asked, referring to Microsoft's recently announced power purchase agreement with Chevron for nearly 2.7 gigawatts of natural gas-fired power to supply a West Texas data center. The project represents one of the largest gas-powered artificial intelligence developments in the U.S., and Stiffler acknowledged that she had been planning to ask about it, herself.
Nakagawa answered the question. at least in part, saying “that project with Chevron is initially using natural gas and it’s a natural gas contract,” before emphasizing that the company has built “over 4.5 gigawatts of clean energy already today,” and remains committed to balancing speed-to-power with its clean energy goals. She added that, “with this deal in particular, we’re looking at a range of tools in our toolbox to ensure that we can continue to grow our power, but also do so in a way that is responsible and sustainable.” She stopped short, however, of making any commitments to transitioning the project to renewable energy over time.
The session became more chaotic from there. Another protestor stood up, shouting that “Microsoft is enabling genocide in Palestine.” Other activists joined in, while still other audience members shouted back. As Nakagawa recovered and resumed answering a question from Stiffler about Microsoft’s recent decision to pause its carbon removal purchases after years of dominating the nascent industry, protestors throughout the crowd began a chant of “Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side.” Security eventually shepherded many of them out.
Stiffler continued speaking with Nakawaga about the company’s clean energy efforts, touching on many of the protestors’ concerns as she asked about community opposition to data centers, the role of large corporations in the clean energy transition, and whether Microsoft can realistically achieve its goal of becoming carbon negative by 2030.
Nakawaga emphasized that the company must, “first and foremost, listen to where the communities are and what they are calling for.” Regarding the concerns she hears most often, she explained that “first has been transparency. Second has been around resource uses and what are we doing about those resource uses. We’re hearing about jobs and employment and investments in education, investments in housing.”
If this session was any indication, those concerns won’t go away anytime soon.
Heat kills more Americans than any other extreme weather event in the United States. But wildfire smoke — while not strictly “weather” — appears to kill even more. Current excess death estimates put American heat mortality at about 10,000 people per year, or possibly as high as 12,000. Recent studies on wildfire PM 2.5 exposure suggest a mortality of double that: 24,000 all-cause deaths every year.
Needless to say, wildfire smoke is definitely not something you want to inhale if you can avoid it. (And really, you should try to.) But for the 115 million Americans in the Great Lakes and Northeast regions of the country who’ve been exposed to hazardous air from the fires in Ontario and Minnesota this week, there’s a chance that the damage is already done. According to a wildfire smoke mortality estimation tool from Cornell University’s School of Public Health and the Northeast Regional Climate Center, the total mortality for this smoke event could already be as high as 424 people so far, including nearly 100 in Michigan and more than 50 in both New York and Wisconsin.
Alistair Hayden, an assistant professor of practice in Cornell’s Department of Public and Ecosystem Health, stressed to me that the tool is a “first draft,” and that his team is still working on getting it peer-reviewed. “We intend it as a hypothesis that people can test in the coming weeks or months to confirm our numbers,” Hayden told me. “I’m really hoping to be proven wrong.”
But Hayden also emphasized that while the West Coast might historically be where many smoke-related deaths have occurred, “this is the third out of four years [in the Northeast] that we’re having the smoke, so it seems like something we should be planning for,” he said. “It reminds me of that saying: ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”
Admittedly, the smoke this week is a bit of a freak occurrence. A cooler-than-average sea surface pattern across the North Pacific, known as a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation, helped produce weak low-pressure areas in the northwestern part of the United States, which in turn allowed for heat domes to develop across the Southwest and Plains. After one did just that earlier this month, the hot, high-pressure dome then shifted north, where it developed “dryness across Canada, followed by the lightning-producing thunderstorms,” Chad Merrill, a senior meteorologist at AccuWeather, told me. Then, boom: widespread fires.
“It is very unusual to have a combination of an El Niño and a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation,” Merrill went on. “That’s one of the unusual factors this year, which contributed to the heat dome being farther north in that particular position.” The heat dome and jet stream then worked together to direct the thick smoke down into some of the most populous regions of Canada and the U.S.
That’s what makes this particular smoke event so bad. Were the smoke blowing over remote regions of Canada, as it would under more usual conditions, “then the big cities and the Great Lakes wouldn’t experience the smoke; it would have gone north toward the Hudson Bay and then Greenland,” Merrill said. In fact, the Canadian fire season is tracking below average overall; it’s the meteorological conditions that made this week’s smoke events, as one outlet put it, “the perfect storm.”
Wildfire smoke in the region is not historically anomalous, however. A 1903 article in The New York Times describes a “yellow day” similar to smoky events in 1894, 1881, and earlier. But large-scale burns in Canada’s dense, remote boreal, which produce more smoke, are increasing. Though it’s difficult to attribute any one wildfire directly to climate change because of the complex nature of such events, we do know that fire weather is becoming more common with the warming of the atmosphere from greenhouse gas emissions. As modeled by Zeke Hausfather in the Friday edition of his newsletter The Climate Brink, “hotter, drier seasons burn the most” in Canada — and “recent years cluster there” as the country has outpaced the global average in warming.
But as Hausfather also writes, “While overall area burned is the climate-linked trend, who breathes the smoke on a given week in July is mostly driven by the weather.” This is similar to the way that, though it may be a quiet year in the Atlantic, it only takes one hurricane making landfall in the right (or wrong) spot for the season to be remembered as catastrophic.
On the other hand, as foolish as it might be for the Central Plains and East Coast to still believe smoke is the exclusive domain of Westerners, it is also a mistake to assume smoke only comes from without. As I reported earlier this year, the Eastern half of the country has seen a 10-fold jump in the frequency of large burns over the last 40 years. Nowhere is safe from the smoke.
Planning and preparation, then, should be paramount. But as Grist learned last month, there are no established Air Quality Index numbers that would trigger the postponement, relocation, or cancellation of, say, a FIFA World Cup game, including the final, which is set to be played in New Jersey on Sunday. White House officials are reportedly meeting with FIFA’s president on Friday to discuss contingencies, given the unhealthy air quality in the region.
Which brings us back to Hayden’s modeling. He offered a note of optimism in that research by Stanford’s Sam Heft-Neal and his colleagues indicates that emergency room visits do not rise in tandem with increasing wildfire smoke. “As smoke gets bad, the health impacts get bigger. But then as smoke gets worse and worse, the amount of health impacts actually goes down, measured for emergency room visits,” Hayden said. “The idea is that people modify their behavior in higher smoke” — say, by staying indoors, wearing masks, or canceling outdoor events.
It’s time to treat smoke as an East Coast phenomenon, in other words. Doing so will save lives. “Will [smoke events] become more frequent in the future? Most likely we will see a recurrence,” Merrill, the meteorologist, told me. “How often they happen is yet to be determined.”