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Russ Vought could jeopardize the next decade of climate science. But who is he?

It is my sincere belief that, as with many aspects of governance, thinking about climate policy bores former President Donald Trump. He is not without his hobbyhorses — wind turbines are ugly bird-killers; it’s freezing in New York, so where the hell is global warming? — but on the whole, I tend to agree with the assessment that he basically believes “nothing” on climate change. Trump simply isn’t all that interested. He prefers to let the others do the thinking for him.
This isn’t a knock on Trump, per se; part of leading a bureaucracy as big and as complicated as the United States government is surrounding yourself with people who can offload some of that thinking for you. But the crucial question then becomes: Who is doing that thinking?
The answer, to a large extent, is Russ Vought.
The name might not immediately ring a bell. Biographical details of the 48-year-old career bureaucrat can be hard to find (“a native of Trumbull, Connecticut,” “the youngest of seven children,” “a die-hard Yankees fan”), giving the impression that Vought came out of nowhere. In a sense, he did: For years, Vought dealt mainly with spreadsheets as he worked first as a budget staffer for Texas Republican Sen. Phil Gramm and Rep. Jeb Hensarling, then later for then-Rep. Mike Pence, and eventually the Heritage Foundation. It was Gramm, though, who gave Vought his outlook on the world: “If you do budget, you do everything.”
After a stint with the Trump transition team, Vought became deputy director of the Office of Management and Budget in 2018, and took over entirely in 2019. At OMB, he famously held up military aid to Ukraine in what became the subject of Trump’s first impeachment. Described as “ideological in the extreme,” “adversarial” with his colleagues, and having an “aggressive personal style” — incongruous, perhaps, with his somewhat nerdy, bespectacled appearance — Vought would reportedly go too far in proposed budget cuts sometimes even for his boss.
After Biden’s win in 2020, Vought launched the Center for American Restoration, a pro-Trump think tank with the mission of renewing “a consensus of America as a nation under God,” and has otherwise kept busy with appearances on conservative-friendly talk shows on One America News Network and Fox News. Steve Bannon has approvingly dubbed him “MAGA’s bulldog,” though he rarely speaks to the mainstream press. (I received a failed delivery message in response to an email to the address listed on the website for the Center for American Restoration; other attempts to contact Vought went unanswered.)
Vought is all but assured to take up a powerful position in a potential incoming Trump cabinet. He “trained up during the first Trump administration, and he is looking to apply those skills that he learned in a second,” said Alex Witt, the senior advisor for oil and gas at Climate Power, a strategic communications group that shared its research on Vought with me.
Vought may not be the most obvious architect for the project of dismantling climate progress, however. In Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation’s roadmap for the next Republican president, Vought authored the chapter on the Office of the President of the United States — hardly the most climate-y section, given that there are also chapters on reforming the Environmental Protection Agency, the Department of Energy, and the Department of the Interior. A flurry of new articles about Vought describe him as a Christian nationalist crusader preoccupied with fending off big government and orchestrating an expansion of presidential powers.
But just as Trump advisor Stephen Miller shaped far-right immigration policies from behind the scenes, Vought would be a hidden hand in a future administration dismantling climate progress. In his chapter in Project 2025, for example, Vought proposes moving the National Defense Strategy from under the purview of the Defense Department to the White House and its National Security Council — normal “expansion of presidential powers” stuff. But Vought goes even further, directing the NSC then to “rigorously review” the staff with an eye for “climate change … and other polarizing policies that weaken our armed force.”
Erin Sikorsky, the director of the Center for Climate and Security, told me that such a proposal indicates “a misunderstanding of how connected climate hazards are to the core duties of what the military is focused on.” It could also put the U.S. armed forces on the back foot in conflicts around the world if it’s followed through. As just one example, if the military isn’t engaging with its Indo-Pacific partners “and helping those countries build resilience to climate change, then China is more than happy to step in and address that,” Sikorsky warned. At home, NSC analyses of the domestic impacts of climate change will likely come to a halt, scuttling future coordination between the military and local governments after disasters and hampering mitigation efforts around the country.
The most significant blow on the climate front, however, would come from Vought’s proposal to reinstate Schedule F, a job classification that aims to convert at least 50,000 career civil servants to “at-will” political employees. (Trump used an executive order to implement Schedule F at the very end of his term; President Biden unimplemented it soon after taking office.) The employment classification ostensibly aims to make it easier to replace “rogue” or “woke” civil servants and would-be whistleblowers, a.k.a. “the deep state,” with party-line faithful. But in the words of Vought himself, Schedule F is also necessary because Biden’s “climate fanaticism will need a whole-of-government unwinding.”
The effects of such a decision, experts told me, could range from very bad to disastrous self-sabotage. Schedule F is “designed to be a tool to purge federal agencies of nonpartisan experts” and replace them with “partisan loyalists who would willingly follow any order without question, regardless of whether it was legal, constitutional, or the right thing to do for the people,” Joe Spielberger, the policy counsel at the Project on Government Oversight, an independent and nonpartisan watchdog group, told me. In practice, that might mean firing longtime civil servants perceived as not loyal enough, or even just “creating and perpetuating a climate of fear and intimidation where people are not able or willing to speak out when they see abuse of power and other corruption happening.”
Such a scenario is concerning for employees at agencies like the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration who work on climate modeling. But the expertise of the U.S. civil service is broad and deep; Schedule F could impact everyone from the economists, lawyers, and engineers who work on something like the Corporate Average Fuel Economy standards to the people who sit on the Clean Air Scientific Advisory Committee.
“Civil service positions are not classified as political appointees for a reason, which is so that staff, especially scientists, can do work that spans administrations because it is so fundamental to public health and welfare,” Chitra Kumar, the Union of Concerned Scientists’ managing director for climate and energy, told me in an email. The people made fireable under Schedule F, in other words, are the ones who actually know what is going on, whereas “elected officials come and go, often taking a year or more to understand the latest underlying science.”
Reimplementing and expanding Schedule F, however, is apparently one of Vought’s greatest ambitions. Earlier this year, the National Treasury Employees Union obtained documents via a Freedom of Information Act request that showed Vought’s intent to apply the status to much of OMB’s workforce in 2020. As justification for taking an implicit machete to his staff, Vought writes in Project 2025 that “it is the president’s agenda that should matter to the departments and agencies that operate under his constitutional authority,” but that instead, the U.S. civil service is “all too often … carrying out its own policy plans and preferences — or, worse yet, the policy plans and preferences of a radical, supposedly ‘woke’ faction of the country.”
Ann Carlson, the former acting administrator of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration and a professor of environmental law at UCLA, strongly refutes Vought’s claim. For one thing, she told me that the great irony of the Schedule F proposal is that it would make it more difficult for the Trump administration to carry out its goals in the long run.
“Part of the problem for a conservative administration is, if you want to roll back policies that are in place, you need people who know how to do that,” Carlson pointed out. She also bristled at the suggestion that civil servants are unable to check their biases at the door: Carlson’s team at NHTSA helped put together the Biden administration’s rules to strengthen fuel economy standards, but it also worked to roll back the Obama administration’s regulations and replaced them with the SAFE standards under Trump. “I don’t actually know, for most of them, which one they preferred,” Carlson said.
Carlson wasn’t the only former political appointee I spoke with who fiercely defended the integrity of her staff. Ron Sanders, a three-year Trump appointee, so vehemently opposed Schedule F when it was briefly implemented in 2020 that he resigned as chairman of the Federal Salary Council. Today, he represents a group of Republican former national security officials who are imploring Congress to find a middle ground between the current status quo and the extreme political loyalty demanded by Schedule F.
When I read Sanders the part of Vought’s Project 2025 chapter that calls for weeding out the “radical, supposedly ‘woke’ faction of the country,” he told me that such thinking is “myopic.” “This is potentially a Republican administration coming in and finding ‘Democrats’ in place,” Sanders said. “You could say the same thing about the Biden administration, but they knew better — they knew that senior career officials appointed in the Trump administration are still politically neutral. It just happened to be a matter of timing.”
It likewise struck me as curious that Vought would push so hard for a policy that would not only hamstring the Trump administration but might also allow future Democratic presidents to carry out purges of perceived conservative government operatives.
The Biden administration has made moves to prevent Schedule F from potentially returning under a different president. Still, Spielberger from the Project on Government Oversight told me that short of a legislative fix by Congress, such actions will only delay reimplementation of the policy by “a matter of months” should Trump be reelected. The damage to climate science from four years of Schedule F, however, could be drastic.
“What we’re going to end up with is an executive branch that’s just uninformed,” Daniel Farber, the director of the Center for Law, Energy, and the Environment at the University of California, Berkeley, stressed to me. Farber’s fear is not just that “a bunch of uninformed ideologues” would be running the show, but also that once government experts are kicked out, it will be difficult to replace them or entice them to return.
“Even after we go back to a Democratic president, you can’t wave a wand and get all those people back,” Farber said. In the first nine months of the Trump administration, for example, the EPA lost more than 700 employees — and that was due to poor morale and high turnover even without the threat of Schedule F.
Schedule F doesn’t just chase out climate-related experts from the government. It also accelerates the revolving door that allows anti-climate zealots actors in. Both the Heritage Foundation and Vought’s think tank, the Center for American Restoration, have taken money from Big Oil groups and executives. Trump has already made his own transactional assurances to the industry if it funds his return to the White House. Schedule F, meanwhile, would open up hundreds if not thousands of positions for unqualified political operatives — essentially creating a “spoils system” where the lines between government and private industry would blur more than they already do.
“Russ Vought is not the problem,” Witt, of Climate Power, told me. “The problem is Donald Trump: Donald and the GOP are bought out by Big Oil, and Vought and other bad actors are a cog in that machine.”
It’s a metaphor that works well for the federal government, too: What happens when you have 50,000 cogs, but the person you’ve deferred to run the machine has fired all the mechanics?
“You take out all that expertise, all the people who understand how the system works?” Carlson, the former NHTSA director, said. “Good luck to you.”
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SoftBank’s error and Nvidia’s scandal suggest data centers may have already peaked as an economic and energy trend.
This is Heatmap Daily, a weekday digest written by our executive editor. Subscribe here.
Covering energy and climate change sometimes means seeing certain stories in a different light than others. And a particularly vivid hue illuminated The Wall Street Journal’s report today that the Japanese conglomerate SoftBank Group is taking a $3.7 billion loss on several gigawatts’ worth of natural gas turbines.
For the Journal, the big news is that SoftBank and its billionaire founder, Masayoshi Son, are failing to capitalize on the artificial intelligence boom. But at Heatmap, we’re thinking about the turbines.
The data center boom and the return of electricity load growth has depleted the world’s supply of natural gas turbines. SoftBank had purchased reservations for about 13 gigawatts of turbines, according to the Journal. That’s a staggering amount of electricity — it could meet New York City’s maximum power draw on the hottest part of a summer’s day. The conglomerate now seems set to dump reservations for about four gigawatts’ worth. Keeping a reservation, it turns out, really is harder than making it.
Most of those rotors were reportedly from GE Vernova, one of the world’s largest producers of gas turbines. GE Vernova’s order list for gas turbines has been filled for nearly two years and the waiting list now stretches into 2031. That has led data center developers, hungry to get power as soon as possible, to reach for ever dirtier forms of electricity generation, including diesel generators and even old jet engines.
On that front, SoftBank’s failure to sell the turbines to a higher bidder suggests (albeit weakly) that demand for energy-producing assets might not be as strong as the AI boom’s backers once thought. SoftBank was already set to send about 9 gigawatts of turbines to the enormous Trump-backed OpenAI data center in Pike County, Ohio. The roughly remaining four gigawatts will be released back their manufacturers. (One thing this news can’t quite tell us, alas, is what type of turbine set-up will be used in the Pike County facility, which will be the world’s largest gas-fired power plant if it is build to completion. Recent public filings have suggested the facility isn’t planning on using any turbines in the more efficient combined-cycle configuration, which would mean the plant’s carbon intensity will be worse than most other new natural gas plants. But we’d love to hear any tips on this front.)
To zoom out for a second, I’m struck by how the AI bubble has been replaced by an AI muddle. As I wrote this, news emerged that Nvidia is preparing to fire its CEO, Jensen Huang, for his affair with a Chinese woman who is alleged to be a spy. (He had at least one more affair with another Nvidia executive, according to The New York Times.) Under Huang’s leadership, Nvidia has invested in a sprawling and sometimes circular network of energy-related companies, including Emerald AI, a startup that helps data centers flex their electricity consumption, and Redwood Materials, a battery recycler and producer led by the former Tesla executive J.B. Straubel. Huang has used Nvidia’s enormous balance sheet to buy down the risk of other AI and AI-related companies, propelling the overall AI trade to become the biggest story in American markets.
Now that balance sheet is in peril: Nvidia’s stock is already down 11% over the past five days, and it has fallen another 8% in after-hours trading since news broke of Huang’s ouster. If the chip designer’s financial network began to fray — or even if the next CEO had a lower risk appetite than Huang — then its demise could impact a much larger set of firms.
Even before the Huang scandal broke, companies at the center of the AI trade were showing signs of weakness. Alphabet, Meta, and Microsoft are all down on the month. Nvidia was already lagging by about 10% on the month before its hebdomas horribilis began, too. The memory and chip makers Micron and Applied Materials are both down more than 25% in about the same period, and GE Vernova and Oklo have fallen nearly 20%. Although the data center company Coreweave rebounded on an earnings beat today, it’s still down 24% on the month and nearly 50% since May.
The market rout isn’t total — Anthropic seems likely to enjoy one of the largest IPOs ever in the next week (although perhaps not with quite as large a valuation as its investors once imagined). And the underlying technology of AI seems to be getting worryingly better all the time. But even though the politics of data centers and AI seem set to dominate the new Washington, I’m wondering if data centers as a mainstream economic trend might have already peaked. Americans voted for a more subdued AI boom in the midterms. Now it seems like they might get it ahead of schedule.
Lunar Energy’s latest AI-powered system aims to integrate EVs into the automated demand response mix.
In theory, it’s straightforward to assemble the smart energy home: Solar panels, home backup batteries, and electric vehicles, plus smart thermostats, heat pumps, and water heaters — all the individual pieces can be had for the homeowner who can afford the up-front cost. The challenge is getting all those pieces to talk to one another.
Bay Area-based Lunar Energy is one of the tech firms that’s been trying to crack this problem. Today, it announced an upgraded version of its artificial intelligence-powered home energy control system, which not only integrates all those separate systems but also responds tactically to energy markets. CEO Kunal Girotra told me Lunar AI saves its users money by monitoring their home 24/7 and making decisions to charge, not to charge, or discharge so that they save the most money.
“Utilities are all moving to almost-real-time changes of rates,” he said. “You need software to handle that for you. I think that the race is on for who has the best AI machine learning algorithms to save the most amount of money. And so far, we seem to have a head start.”
Lunar’s first-generation system focused on generation, storage, and control. In other words, it connected elements like a home’s rooftop solar panels with the backup battery the residents might keep in the garage, using the AI to decide when to meet the home’s real-time energy needs with solar versus grid energy versus stored power. What it didn’t have was the ability to work with electric vehicles to manage charging and use the car’s battery as a bonus source of energy.
To fix this, Lunar has built its own bidirectional EV charger — one that can charge up the battery or discharge the car’s battery for a secondary use, like backing up the home’s power supply. Girotra, formerly the head of Tesla Energy, told me the problem with that functionality to this point has been the connection point between the car and the home electrical system. Carmakers and other companies in the space didn’t have the deep experience with electrical certifications to make the process seamless, he tells me. That led to setups like the original Ford Charge Station Pro, which required several different wall-mounted electrical boxes to connect the F-150 Lightning EV to the home.
Lunar’s charger is built to connect to its customers’ existing home Lunar energy system, which includes a microgrid interconnect device they call Lunar Bridge that islands the home in case of a power outage on the grid. In that way, the power stored in the EV battery is ready to back up the home in case of a blackout without any additional work — or to be optimized as part of a fully smart home that’s making money as part of a virtual power plant.
The company’s setup allows for another fun feature: “slow” charging that’s not slow at all, but actually two or three times as fast as the Level 2 charging most EV owners use to recharge their batteries overnight. Electric cars in the U.S. can typically take on only about 11 kilowatts of AC power from one’s home because of the limitations of their on-board hardware. Because Lunar’s system is fully DC, however, Girotra said the company decided to build a DC home charger, one that — like a Tesla Supercharger or other DC fast chargers out in the world — isn’t limited by that power cap. Lunar said it could use a combination of power from the grid, home solar, or home batteries to charge an EV at up to 25 kilowatts. That’s enough to recharge an EV in three to four hours rather than six to eight.
“If the standards get high, and if everybody sees cars can get charged in three hours, then all of a sudden people are like, ‘Wow, this is how I want it,’” he said. “Especially for 25% of the users who are like me, who always are running low on charge and they don’t mind a boost every now and then.”
Some of the other improvements in the second-gen system are more incremental. An inverter that’s 40% more powerful helps Lunar get its system up to enterprise scale. That’s crucial, as the world moves toward a place where more homes and businesses employ battery backup systems. Lunar’s new batteries come in modular 5 kilowatt-hour blocks ranging from 10 kilowatt-hours to 30 kilowatt-hours in a single unit and scale up to 300 kilowatt-hours for home or small commercial use; there’s also new pad-mounted configurations with capacity up to 1 megawatt-hour.
Batteries, though, are the simple part. Everyone from EV makers like Rivian to utilities like Octopus Energy is racing to make a person’s or a business’s batteries and solar panels and electric cars work for them, using the power of AI to account for moment-to-moment changes in energy prices and supply. Lunar’s new tech makes the case that the most important element is a single brain to integrate every last smart, electrified thing in your house.
The fundraise comes on the heels of a $50 million grant from the Department of Energy.
Almost all lithium-ion batteries on the market rely on graphite for their anodes, more than 90% of which is processed in China. That concentration has created a chokepoint in the Pentagon’s supply chain as the military increasingly turns to batteries to help its transportation network operate more quietly and reduce reliance on complex refueling logistics.
So when Congress passed the latest National Defense Authorization Act at the end of 2025, barring Chinese-linked battery materials from military use starting in 2028, Coreshell saw an opening. While the California-based silicon-anode battery startup had previously focused on automakers as its beachhead customers, it’s now shipping its first battery cells to the military for use on Navy ships and Army ground vehicles. On Wednesday, Coreshell announced a $30 million Series B to scale up manufacturing operations to meet the needs of this growing customer base.
“We’re entering a new stage where we’re no longer, I would say, demand limited,” Coreshell’s CEO Jonathan Tan told me. “This year we’ve had to put on second and third shifts, work nights and weekends, just to get the product out the door.”
Coreshell sets itself apart by going a step further than the NDAA requires. The law doesn’t make suppliers trace battery materials all the way back to the mine, which would be exceedingly difficult given China’s dominance across the battery supply chain. But Coreshell has nevertheless eliminated Chinese sourcing from its anodes by replacing graphite with silicon mined and refined in the U.S. by Ferroglobe, one of its Series A investors.
Ferroglobe and global investment firm Access Industries led the latest round, with defense contractor ADS also joining as a new strategic investor. The financing comes on the heels of a $50 million Department of Energy grant that Coreshell secured in August as part of a program to strengthen the domestic battery supply chain. That funding will support the company’s first commercial-scale facility, a 2-gigawatt-hour factory.
That’s about 20 times the size of the 100-ish-megawatt-hour plant the startup had originally envisioned, as the DOE grant has allowed Coreshell to “expand much further than we were originally expecting,” according to Tan. The company is now evaluating several potential U.S. sites and expects to announce its selection early next year. For now, it relies on unnamed contract manufactures, along with its small pilot line in San Leandro, to produce its cells. But once the gigafactory gets up and running, the startup plans to bring electrode production in house by 2028, followed by full cell assembly in 2029.
Building this plant will ultimately require significant additional capital. But Tan believes this latest vote of confidence from the federal government will help Coreshell to diversify its capital stack as it continues to fundraise. “That’s one of the great things about having such a notable DOE award is that it also allows us to attract multiple forms of capital,” he told me.
Silicon has long been recognized as a promising alternative material for battery anodes, as it can store far more energy than graphite. The catch is that it tends to swell during charging, causing it to break down quickly and ultimately leading to a much shorter cycle life. Coreshell says it’s extended its anode’s lifespan by giving it a proprietary coating, which Tan told me back in April essentially means “painting the inside of your battery” with an ultra-thin protective layer.
Other companies, such as Sila Nanotechnologies and Group14 Technologies, are also working to commercialize silicon anodes. But Coreshell says many of its competitors rely on more highly engineered, expensive forms of silicon, such as silane gas. By contrast, Coreshell uses metallurgical silicon, a cheap, raw commodity already widely used in aluminum alloys. That, Tan argues, gives the company a cost advantage not only over its competitors, but potentially Chinese graphite too.
Coreshell hasn’t yet demonstrated that its cells can meet the performance demands of the automotive industry, however. When the company raised its Series A in early 2025, it said it expected its automotive cells to exceed 1,000 charge cycles while retaining 80% of their original capacity. But Tan told me many defense applications don’t require such demanding performance targets, as Navy ships and ground vehicles are “not intending to have as many miles or missions or use cases on that same battery” as a consumer EV would.
That doesn’t mean the company is abandoning its automotive ambitions. As Tan pointed out, electric vehicles remain by far the largest source of global and domestic battery demand. “It’s natural for us to obviously utilize the security supply chain first,” he told me. “That allowed us to really get to commercialization, revenue, and production faster, because automotive qualification is this longer journey. But ultimately, we want to do both of those and more.”