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Keep an eye on the public utilities commission races in Arizona, Montana, and Louisiana.

On November 5, voters in a handful of states will cast their ballots not just for their next president and state and local lawmakers, but also for the members of an obscure body with outsized influence on the country’s energy mix.
It’s called a public utilities commission. Every state has one, usually composed of three to five officials who regulate the private companies that deliver water, power, gas, and other services to residents and businesses. Their job is to secure reliable energy at affordable rates, which means these power players also preside over how quickly utilities adopt clean energy and adapt to extreme weather, and how much companies can raise customers’ rates to do so. In most of the U.S., utility commissioners are appointed by the governor or legislature. But 10 states leave filling these roles up to the electorate.
Utility commissions are famous for being ignored by the public — until there’s a rate increase. But if the U.S. is to have any chance of cutting emissions in line with its global commitments, ensuring fossil fuel communities aren’t left behind, or improving our resilience to increasing heat waves, fires, and floods, these gatekeepers have to be paid more attention — and held accountable.
Charles Hua, the founder of a new nonprofit called Powerlines that aims to raise awareness about the importance of these regulators, told me his group has found that over the last decade, about one in 10 voters in states with utility commission elections skipped that part of the ballot. “In many of these elections where the margins are only a couple percent, the one in 10 that sit out are deciding the election,” he said.
Apathy or ignorance about utility commissions isn’t unique to states where commissioners are elected, but it’s not helped by the fact that many of these states are deeply red, and the races aren’t much of a competition. This year, although seats are opening up in eight states, many of them are unlikely to see a change from the status quo.
In Alabama and Nebraska, three current commissioners are running for re-election unopposed. There’s a clear frontrunner among the three candidates vying for one open seat in Oklahoma: a former Republican state lawmaker named Brian Bingman, who is endorsed by the governor and has raised nearly $450,000, much of which was donated by energy PACs and oil and gas company executives, according to state filings. He’s up against a lesser-known Libertarian candidate who, as of the last reporting period, had raised less than $2,000, and a 90-year-old Democrat who has raised zero dollars and already run for and lost commission races three times.
Whoever is elected to open seats in North and South Dakota will have a say in approving the permits for a contentious carbon dioxide pipeline — a project that has drawn opposition from both sides of the aisle and could have raised the stakes for the elections — but environmental advocates in those states told me they expected incumbent candidates to win.
But there are three races that are being closely watched by climate and clean energy advocates. In Louisiana, a swing voter on the commission is stepping down, throwing into question recent momentum against business-as-usual operations in the gas-heavy state. In Arizona and Montana, the current commissions have been skeptical of, if not outright hostile to supporting the development of the two states’ big untapped solar and wind resources. In each state, however, momentum is building behind candidates who could change that paradigm.
“If you can unlock Montana's renewable energy potential, you can help the western part of the country decarbonize,” Anne Hedges, the director of policy and legislative affairs at the Montana Environmental Information Center told me. “This is a really important race.”
Here’s what’s at stake.
During the two years since the last election for the Arizona Corporation Commission, the confusing name of the body in Arizona that regulates utilities, its four-to-one Republican majority has been on a tear dismantling what little clean energy policy there was in the state. In February, the group voted to scrap the state’s meager Renewable Energy Standard, which was enacted in 2006 and required utilities to get 15% of their energy from renewables by 2025, as well as energy efficiency standards. According to Autumn Johnson, executive director of the Arizona Solar Energy Industries Association, the commission has been more resistant to renewable energy than the utilities. She told me that in a recent proceeding to plan for the closure of the Four Corners coal plant in 2031, the commission tried to prevent the state’s biggest utility from considering renewables paired with batteries as part of the replacement mix.
Solar development has been obstructed at every level. The commission quashed efforts to create a market for community solar, small-scale photovoltaic installations that offer low-income customers and renters access to low-cost clean energy. It adopted a community solar policy that “had so many poison pills in it that it made it impossible for a market to actually form,” said Johnson. “We should for sure have a community solar market. I think it's kind of crazy we wouldn't do that in the sunniest state in the country.” It also gummed up the economics of rooftop solar by decreasing the amount homeowners get paid for exporting solar to the grid and burdening them with fixed fees. Johnson said the market is down 40%, and that “a whole bunch of companies are going bankrupt” because of the commission’s policies.
Whoever lands on the commission come January will have a big opportunity to change course. The renewable energy and efficiency standards have not yet been fully repealed, and will see another vote early next year. Johnson said the new commission will vote on rules for virtual power plants, which could help get more distributed solar and batteries on the grid. As in many states, Arizona utilities are anticipating large load growth in the coming years and proposing a lot of new natural gas power plant development to meet it — but the commission has a chance to get them to consider alternatives.
The race is competitive, with three Democrats, two Green party candidates, and three Republicans, including one incumbent, running to fill three seats. During a recent debate, the main split between the two major political parties was over support for renewables. Five of them took public funding for their campaigns through the state’s Clean Elections fund, so they're nearly all working with the same amount of capital, which means there is little to help signal who's likely to come out on top. The AFL-CIO has endorsed the three Democrats in the race, but Arizona has one of the lowest union densities in the country. The state Chamber of Commerce, meanwhile, has endorsed the Republicans running, and one of them, Rachel Waldman, has been endorsed by three current commissioners.
Voters can choose three candidates, and the three with the most votes will be elected.
Montana also has three seats opening up on its five-member Public Service Commission, but the elections there are divided by district, and all eyes are on one of the races in particular. Elena Evans, a geologist who works as the environmental health manager for Missoula County, is running as an Independent to unseat Jennifer Fielder, a Republican incumbent running for her second term. Evans has raised nearly $100,000 since she registered to run in April, while Fielder has raised less than $10,000 since January.
The headline issue in the race is affordability. Last year, the commission approved a 28% rate increase for Northwestern Energy, the biggest utility in the state. Molly Bell, political director for Montana Conservation Voters, told me regulators have been “asleep at the wheel.” She said the commission has been “rubber stamping rate increases, not asking questions about [our utilities’] resource plans, and really not holding our energy companies accountable to making plans for the future.”
Environmental advocates are also worried about Northwestern’s recent decision to acquire a larger stake in the Colstrip power plant, a coal-fired facility built in the 1970s and 80s. Northwestern called the plant “a dependable bridge to a cleaner energy future,” but it will require nearly $200 million in retrofits to comply with new federal air pollution regulations, a cost that Northwestern is now trying to recoup from ratepayers with a new 26% rate increase.
Hedges, of the Montana Energy Information Center, told me the rate increases aren’t just hurting customers — major manufacturers like REC Silicon are leaving the state due to rising energy costs. She wants the commission to force Northwestern to invest in building out the transmission system so that more wind energy can get onto the grid. “We have a ton of wind energy, we have developers who are just clamoring to access that, but they can't because we don't have the transmission system,” she said. “Northwestern has no desire to build out that transmission system because that means competition for them. That’s why our rates are so high.”
Elena Evans isn’t campaigning on a platform of cutting down on fossil fuels or expanding renewables; she’s mainly telling voters she wants to bring costs down and increase transparency. But in interviews, she’s talked about the importance of ensuring utilities are prepared for climate impacts, criticized the sitting commission for being anti-technology, and expressed an interest in solutions such as reconductoring transmission lines to increase their capacity and installing batteries to make the grid more resilient against outages.
The commission is currently fully Republican, and switching out just one of those seats will not bring change overnight. But Stephanie Chase, a researcher at the Energy and Policy Institute, said that having even one person to ask different questions and bring new information to the public record can be meaningful. “Even if they don't have the votes, they still have a platform and ability to raise issues, which I think is really important in states where climate hasn't been at the forefront.”
Louisiana’s recent history proves the value of dissenting voices, even if they don’t have decisive influence. The state’s historically utility-friendly commission saw a big shakeup two years ago when Davante Lewis, a young progressive candidate, dethroned a Democratic incumbent who had held his district’s seat for nearly two decades. Close to 80% of Louisiana’s electricity comes from natural gas, and Lewis campaigned on transitioning the state to renewables, in addition to hardening the grid against storms and lowering fees for customers. He has already made a few small inroads on clean energy, such as advancing an energy efficiency program that had been held up in negotiations with the utilities for more than a decade. The commission also recently approved the biggest expansion of renewable energy in state history.
But Lewis is one of two Democrats on the commission, and has been helped by a swing voter — a moderate Republican named Craig Greene — who’s stepping down this year.
Three candidates are vying for Greene’s spot, but one — State Senator Jean Paul Coussan — has a clear fundraising advantage. The big question around the election seems to be less about who will win, and more about what Coussan would do on the commission. In interviews with local media outlets, he has said he wants to ensure the state can keep pace with demand growth while keeping rates down. He’s expressed openness about renewables but also emphasized the importance of the state’s “abundant supply of natural gas.”
The clean energy advocates I spoke to weren’t sure what to make of him. “You just can’t tell based on what Coussan’s saying now,” Daniel Tait, who researches Southern utilities for the Energy and Policy Institute, a consumer watchdog, told me. He said that of the two Republicans running, Coussan seemed more willing to talk about clean energy and find common ground. But it’s unclear how he will compare to the outgoing commissioner.
Hua, of PowerLines, emphasized that whatever happens, it will have ripple effects through the region. “What Louisiana does is an indicator, in some ways, of what the rest of the Southeast can do,” he told me. “And the Southeast is a particularly important region because that's where we're seeing all this load growth, this gas build out, energy burden and environmental injustice challenges. What the Southeast does will make or break what the U.S. does in terms of the clean energy transition.”
Editor's note: A previous version of this article misstated the percentage of voters who skip utility commission elections. It also misidentified the party of the incumbent whom Davante Lewis defeated. Both mistakes have been fixed. We regret the errors.
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Though the tech giant did not say its purchasing pause is permanent, the change will have lasting ripple effects.
What does an industry do when it’s lost 80% of its annual demand?
The carbon removal business is trying to figure that out.
For the past few years, Microsoft has been the buyer of first and last resort for any company that sought to pull carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. In order to achieve an aggressive internal climate goal, the software company purchased more than 70 million metric tons of carbon removal credits, 40 times more than anyone else.
Now, it’s pulling back. Microsoft has informed suppliers and partners that it is pausing carbon removal buying, Heatmap reported last week. Bloomberg and Carbon Herald soon followed. The news has rippled through the nascent industry, convincing executives and investors that lean years may be on the way after a period of rapid growth.
“For a lot of these companies, their business model was, ‘And then Microsoft buys,’” said Julio Friedmann, the chief scientist at Carbon Direct, a company that advises and consults with companies — including, yes, Microsoft — on their carbon management projects, in an interview. “It changes their business model significantly if Microsoft does not buy.”
Microsoft told me this week that it has not ended the purchasing program. It still aims to become carbon negative by 2030, meaning that it must remove more climate pollution from the atmosphere than it produces in that year, according to its website. Its ultimate goal is to eliminate all 45 years of its historic carbon emissions from electricity use by 2050.
“At times, we may adjust the pace or volume of our carbon removal procurement as we continue to refine our approach toward sustainability goals,” Melanie Nakagawa, Microsoft’s chief sustainability officer, said in a statement. “Any adjustments we make are part of our disciplined approach — not a change in ambition.”
Yet even a partial pullback will alter the industry. Over the past five years, carbon removal companies have raised more than $3.6 billion, according to the independent data tracker CDR.fyi. Startups have invested that money into research and equipment, expecting that voluntary corporate buyers — and, eventually, governments — will pay to clean up carbon dioxide in the air.
Although many companies have implicitly promised to buy carbon removal credits — they’re all but implied in any commitment to “net zero” — nobody bought more than Microsoft. The software company purchased 45 million tons of carbon removal last year alone, according to its own data.
The next biggest buyer of carbon removal credits — Frontier, a coalition of large companies led by the payments processing firm Stripe — has bought 1.8 million tons total since launching in 2022.
With such an outsize footprint, Microsoft’s carbon removal team became the de facto regulator for the early industry — setting prices, analyzing projects, and publishing in-house standards for public consumption.
It bought from virtually every kind of carbon removal company, purchasing from large-scale, factory-style facilities that use industrial equipment to suck carbon from the air, as well as smaller and more natural solutions that rely on photosynthesis. One of its largest deals was with the city-owned utility for Stockholm, Sweden, which is building a facility to capture the carbon released when plant matter is burned for energy.
That it would some day stop buying shouldn’t be seen as a surprise, Hannah Bebbington, the head of deployment at the carbon-removal purchasing coalition Frontier, told me. “It will be inevitable for any corporate buyer in the space,” she said. “Corporate budgets are finite.”
Frontier’s members include Google, McKinsey, and Shopify. The coalition remains “open for business,” she said. “We are always open to new buyers joining Frontier.”
But Frontier — and, certainly, Microsoft — understands that the real point of voluntary purchasing programs is to prime the pump for government policy. That’s both because governments play a central role in spurring along new technologies — and because, when you get down to it, governments already handle disposal for a number of different kinds of waste, and carbon dioxide in the air is just another kind of waste. (On a per ton basis, carbon removal may already be price-competitive with municipal trash pickup.)
“The end game here is government support in the long-term period,” Bebbington said. “We will need a robust set of policies around the world that provide permanent demand for high-quality, durable CDR funds.”
“The voluntary market plays a critical role right now, but it won’t scale, and we don’t expect it will scale to the size of the problem,” she added.
Only a handful of companies had the size and scale to sell carbon credits to Microsoft, which tended to place orders in the millions of tons, Jack Andreasen Cavanaugh, a researcher at the Center on Global Energy Policy at Columbia University, told me on a recent episode of Heatmap’s podcast, Shift Key. Those companies will now be competing with fledgling firms for a market that’s 80% smaller than it used to be.
“Fundamentally, what it will mean is just an acceleration of something that was going to happen anyway, which is consolidation and bankruptcies or dissolutions,” Cavanaugh told me. “This was always going to happen at this moment because we don’t have supportive policy.”
Friedmann agreed with the dour outlook. “We will see the best companies and the best projects make it. But a lot of companies will fail, and a lot of projects will fail,” he told me.
To some degree, Microsoft planned for that eventuality in its purchase scheme. The company signed long-term offtake contracts with companies to “pay on delivery,” meaning that it will only pay once tons are actually shown to be durably dealt with. That arrangement will protect Microsoft’s shareholders if companies or technologies fail, but means that it could conceivably keep paying out carbon removal firms for the next 10 years, Noah Deich, a former Biden administration energy official, told me.
The pause, in other words, spells an end to new dealmaking, but it does not stop the flow of revenue to carbon removal companies that have already signed contracts with Microsoft. “The big question now is not who will the next buyer be in 2026,”’ Deich said. “It is who is actually going to deliver credits and do so at scale, at cost, and on time.”
Deich, who ran the Energy Department’s carbon management programs, added that Microsoft has been as important to building the carbon removal industry as Germany was to creating the modern solar industry. That country’s feed-in tariff, which started in 2000, is credited with driving so much demand for solar panels that it spurred a worldwide wave of factory construction and manufacturing innovation.
“The idea that a software company could single-handedly make the market for a climate technology makes about as much sense as the country of Germany — with the same annual solar insolation as Alaska — making the market for solar photovoltaic panels,” Deich said, referencing the comparatively low amount of sunlight that it receives. “But they did it. Climate policy seems to defy Occam’s razor a lot, and this is a great example of that.”
History also shows what could happen if the government fails to step up. In the 1980s, the U.S. government — which had up to that point been the world’s No. 1 developer of solar panel technology — ended its advance purchase program. Many American solar firms sold their patents and intellectual property to Japanese companies.
Those sales led to something of a lost decade for solar research worldwide and ultimately paved the way for East Asian manufacturing companies — first in Japan, and then in China — to dominate the solar trade, Deich said. If the U.S. government doesn’t step up soon, then the same thing could happen to carbon removal.
The climate math still relied upon by global governments to guide their national emissions targets assumes that carbon removal technology will exist and be able to scale rapidly in the future. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change says that many outcomes where the world holds global temperatures to 1.5 or 2 degrees Celsius by the end of the century will involve some degree of “overshoot,” where carbon removal is used to remove excess carbon from the atmosphere.
By one estimate, the world will need to remove 7 billion to 9 billion tons of carbon from the atmosphere by the middle of the century in order to hold to Paris Agreement goals. You could argue that any scenario where the world meets “net zero” will require some amount of carbon removal because the word “net” implies humanity will be cleaning up residual emissions with technology. (Climate analysts sometimes distinguish “net zero” pathways from the even-more-difficult “real zero” pathway for this reason.)
Whether humanity has the technologies that it needs to eliminate emissions then will depend on what governments do now, Deich said. After all, the 2050s are closer to today than the 1980s are.
“It’s up to policymakers whether they want to make the relatively tiny investments in technology that make sure we can have net-zero 2050 and not net-zero 2080,” Deich said.
Congress has historically supported carbon removal more than other climate-critical technologies. The bipartisan infrastructure law of 2022 funded a new network of industrial hubs specializing in direct air capture technology, and previous budget bills created new first-of-a-kind purchasing programs for carbon removal credits. Even the Republican-authored One Big Beautiful Bill Act preserved tax incentives for some carbon removal technologies.
But the Trump administration has been far more equivocal about those programs. The Department of Energy initially declined to spend some funds authorized for carbon removal schemes, and in some cases redirected the funds — potentially illegally — to other purposes. (Carbon removal advocates got good news on Wednesday when the Energy Department reinstated $1.2 billion in grants to the direct air capture hubs.)
Those freezes and reallocations fit into the Trump administration’s broader war on federal climate policy. In part, Trump officials have seemed reluctant to signal that carbon might be a public problem — or something that needs to be “removed” or “managed” — in the first place.
Other countries have started preliminary carbon management programs — Norway, the United Kingdom, and Canada — have launched pilots in recent years. The European carbon market will also soon publish rules guiding how carbon removal credits can be used to offset pollution.
But in the absence of a large-scale federal program in the U.S., lean years are likely coming, observers said.
“I am optimistic that [carbon removal] will continue to scale, but not like it was,” Friedmann said. “Microsoft is a symptom of something that was coming.”
“The need for carbon removal has not changed,” he added.
What happens when one of energy’s oldest bottlenecks meets its newest demand driver?
Often the biggest impediment to building renewable energy projects or data center infrastructure isn’t getting government approvals, it’s overcoming local opposition. When it comes to the transmission that connects energy to the grid, however, companies and politicians of all stripes are used to being most concerned about those at the top – the politicians and regulators at every level who can’t seem to get their acts together.
What will happen when the fiery fights on each end of the wire meet the broken, unplanned spaghetti monster of grid development our country struggles with today? Nothing great.
The transmission fights of the data center boom have only just begun. Utilities will have to spend lots of money on getting energy from Point A to Point B – at least $500 billion over the next five years, to be precise. That’s according to a survey of earnings information published by think tank Power Lines on Tuesday, which found roughly half of all utility infrastructure spending will go toward the grid.
But big wires aren’t very popular. When Heatmap polled various types of energy projects last September, we found that self-identified Democrats and Republicans were mostly neutral on large-scale power lines. Independent voters, though? Transmission was their second least preferred technology, ranking below only coal power.
Making matters far more complex, grid planning is spread out across decision-makers. At the regional level, governance is split into 10 areas overseen by regional transmission organizations, known as RTOs, or independent system operators, known as ISOs. RTOs and ISOs plan transmission projects, often proposing infrastructure to keep the grid resilient and functional. These bodies are also tasked with planning the future of their own grids, or at least they are supposed to – many observers have decried RTOs and ISOs as outmoded and slow to respond. Utilities and electricity co-ops also do this planning at various scales. And each of these bodies must navigate federal regulators and permitting processes, utility commissions for each state they touch, on top of the usual raft of local authorities.
The mid-Atlantic region is overseen by PJM Interconnection, a body now under pressure from state governors in the territory to ensure the data center boom doesn’t unnecessarily drive up costs for consumers. The irony, though, is that these governors are going to be under incredible pressure to have their states act against individual transmission projects in ways that will eventually undercut affordability.
Virginia, for instance – known now as Data Center Alley – is flanked by states that are politically diverse. West Virginia is now a Republican stronghold, but was long a Democratic bastion. Maryland had a Republican governor only a few years ago. Virginia and Pennsylvania regularly change party control. These dynamics are among the many drivers behind the opposition against the Piedmont Reliability Project, which would run from a nuclear plant in Pennsylvania to northern Virginia, cutting across spans of Maryland farmland ripe for land use conflict. The timeline for this project is currently unclear due to administrative delays.
Another major fight is brewing with NextEra’s Mid-Atlantic Resiliency Link, or MARL project. Spanning four states – and therefore four utility commissions – the MARL was approved by PJM Interconnection to meet rising electricity demand across West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. It still requires approval from each state utility commission, however. Potentially affected residents in West Virginia are hopping mad about the project, and state Democratic lawmakers are urging the utility commission to reject it.
In West Virginia, as well as Virginia and Maryland, NextEra has applied for a certificate of public convenience and necessity to build the MARL project, a permit that opponents have claimed would grant it the authority to exercise eminent domain. (NextEra has said it will do what it can to work well with landowners. The company did not respond to a request for comment.)
“The biggest problem facing transmission is that there’s so many problems facing transmission,” said Liza Reed, director of climate and energy at the Niskanen Center, a policy think tank. “You have multiple layers of approval you have to go through for a line that is going to provide broader benefits in reliability and resilience across the system.”
Hyperlocal fracases certainly do matter. Reed explained to me that “often folks who are approving the line at the state or local level are looking at the benefits they’re receiving – and that’s one of the barriers transmission can have.” That is, when one state utility commission looks at a power line project, they’re essentially forced to evaluate the costs and benefits from just a portion of it.
She pointed to the example of a Transource line proposed by PJM almost 10 years ago to send excess capacity from Pennsylvania to Maryland. It wasn’t delayed by protests over the line itself – the Pennsylvania Public Utilities Commission opposed the project because it thought the result would be net higher electricity bills for folks in the Keystone State. That’s despite whatever benefits would come from selling the electricity to Maryland and consumer benefits for their southern neighbors. The lesson: Whoever feels they’re getting the raw end of the line will likely try to stop it, and there’s little to nothing anyone else can do to stop them.
These hyperlocal fears about projects with broader regional benefits can be easy targets for conservation-focused environmental advocates. Not only could they take your land, the argument goes, they’re also branching out to states with dirtier forms of energy that could pollute your air.
“We do need more energy infrastructure to move renewable energy,” said Julie Bolthouse, director of land use for the Virginia conservation group Piedmont Environmental Council, after I asked her why she’s opposing lots of the transmission in Virginia. “This is pulling away from that investment. This is eating up all of our utility funding. All of our money is going to these massive transmission lines to give this incredible amount of power to data centers in Virginia when it could be used to invest in solar, to invest in transmission for renewables we can use. Instead it’s delivering gas and coal from West Virginia and the Ohio River Valley.”
Daniel Palken of Arnold Ventures, who previously worked on major pieces of transmission reform legislation in the U.S. Senate, said when asked if local opposition was a bigger problem than macro permitting issues: “I do not think local opposition is the main thing holding up transmission.”
But then he texted me to clarify. “What’s unique about transmission is that in order for local opposition to even matter, there has to be a functional planning process that gets transmission lines to the starting line. And right now, only about half the country has functional regional planning, and none of the country has functional interregional planning.”
It’s challenging to fathom a solution to such a fragmented, nauseating puzzle. One solution could be in Congress, where climate hawks and transmission reform champions want to empower the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission to have primacy over transmission line approvals, as it has over gas pipelines. This would at the very least contain any conflicts over transmission lines to one deciding body.
“It’s an old saw: Depending on the issue, I’ll tell you that I’m supportive of states’ rights,” Representative Sean Casten told me last December. “[I]t makes no sense that if you want to build a gas pipeline across multiple states in the U.S., you go to FERC and they are the sole permitting authority and they decide whether or not you get a permit. If you go to the same corridor and build an electric transmission that has less to worry about because there’s no chance of leaks, you have a different permitting body every time you cross a state line.”
Another solution could come from the tech sector thinking fast on its feet. Google for example is investing in “advanced” transmission projects like reconductoring, which the company says will allow it to increase the capacity of existing power lines. Microsoft is also experimenting with smaller superconductor lines they claim deliver the same amount of power than traditional wires.
But this space is evolving and in its infancy. “Getting into the business of transmission development is very complicated and takes a lot of time. That’s why we’ve seen data centers trying a lot of different tactics,” Reed said. “I think there’s a lot of interest, but turning that into specific projects and solutions is still to come. I think it’s also made harder by how highly local these decisions are.”
Plus more of the week’s biggest development fights.
1. Franklin County, Maine – The fate of the first statewide data center ban hinges on whether a governor running for a Democratic Senate nomination is willing to veto over a single town’s project.
2. Jerome County, Idaho – The county home to the now-defunct Lava Ridge wind farm just restricted solar energy, too.
3. Shelby County, Tennessee - The NAACP has joined with environmentalists to sue one of Elon Musk’s data centers in Memphis, claiming it is illegally operating more than two dozen gas turbines.
4. Richland County, Ohio - This Ohio county is going to vote in a few weeks on a ballot initiative that would overturn its solar and wind ban. I am less optimistic about it than many other energy nerds I’ve seen chattering the past week.
5. Racine County, Wisconsin – I close this week’s Hotspots with a bonus request: Please listen to this data center noise.