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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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Plus a startup harvesting energy from roadways nabs a new funding round and more of the week’s big money moves.
Uncertainty may have dried up venture funding for early stage climate, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still deals getting done — or past commitments now coming to light as funding rounds close. This week, for example, brings early-stage backing for a European startup working to convert wasted kinetic energy from braking vehicles into power at ports, as well as a software company helping utilities visualize and manage the increasingly complex electrical grid. Meanwhile, nuclear company Deep Fission proved that the private markets aren’t the only game in town — after going public via SPAC, it’s now planning to list its shares on the Nasdaq stock exchange.
There’s also some promising news for companies looking to scale up, with thermal battery company Antora turning on its first commercial plant in South Dakota this week. That project was made possible in large part by backing from one Australian billionaire. But there’s also S2G Investments, which last week closed a $1 billion fund focused on growth-stage companies and will perhaps help more climate technologies reach that critical commercial milestone.
Every day, hundreds of millions of vehicles travel the world’s roads, converting fuel into motion and exerting mechanical force on the roads’ surface. Much of that kinetic energy is shed as heat when a vehicle throws on the brakes to navigate curves, intersections, ramps, and traffic signals. Austria-based startup REPS plans to capture some of that wasted energy, raising $23.6 million to “turn roads into power plants” by embedding hydraulic plates into road surfaces in braking zones, converting a vehicle’s momentum into clean electricity.
The mechanism is straightforward: As cars and trucks drive over the plates, they compress hydraulic cylinders built into the system, generating pressure that drives an onsite generator. The resulting electricity is routed to on-site battery storage systems, where it’s put to use powering on-site operations or feeding directly back into the local grid, turning high-traffic roads, ports, industrial sites, and other logistics hubs into their own small power sources. The company claims that capturing the energy lost through traffic could account for about 5% of global electricity demand, at least in theory.
REPS isn’t the first to attempt this form of so-called "energy harvesting,” but it says past efforts have failed due to the inferior efficiency and durability of existing mechanical energy converters. The company says its proprietary system, however, can operate for over 20 years. It’s already got one commercial system up and running in the Port of Hamburg, and says that if it were to install hundreds of such systems around the port, costs could be recovered in under four years. Now the startup is engaging with ports around the world and looking to build installations in other logistics hubs and cities.
At the end of last year, I identified Deep Fission, a startup looking to build small nuclear reactors inside underground, water-filled boreholes, as one of the wackiest recent bets in climate tech. Now the company has announced plans to go public at a target valuation of roughly $1.7 billion, seeking to raise $156 million in the process. Its thesis is that placing car-sized, 15-megawatt reactors about a mile underground could dramatically reduce both costs and safety risks. The surrounding rock would effectively serve as a natural barrier and containment vessel, negating the need for many of the bulky structures typically required to house reactors and prevent radioactive leaks.
The planned Nasdaq listing comes less than a year after the company’s somewhat unusual SPAC merger, which listed Deep Fission on the lesser-known and lightly traded OTCQB stock exchange and netted just $30 million. According to an SEC filing, the stock never actually traded, and at the time of the offering, it read as a quick attempt to secure cash. The startup had been attempting to raise a $15 million seed round earlier in the year that never panned out, and to date has raised only a modest $4 million in venture funding.
Deep Fission’s fortunes might be shifting, however, given that it’s transferring its listing to a major national exchange. The company’s public markets strategy does appear to be working as of late — In February, the startup raised $80 million by selling over 5 million restricted shares directly to investors. Whether this will all be enough to achieve its goal of beginning commercial operations in 2027 or 2028 remains to be seen, however. As a part of the Department of Energy’s Reactor Pilot Program, Deep Fission initially aimed to reach criticality — the point at which a nuclear chain reaction becomes self-sustaining — by this July, a target that now looks highly unlikely.
As utilities scramble to keep pace with surging electricity demand, expanding grid-scale renewables, increasingly extreme weather while also coordinating new, distributed resources coming online, modern grid management is getting too complex for traditional software to keep up. Texture, the startup billing itself “the operating system for the energy grid,” wants to simplify the ecosystem by giving utilities, virtual power plant operators, and grid service companies a unified view of every device and associated data sources across their network — and it just raised a $12.5 million Series A to scale this solution further.
Texture’s software aggregates data from various sources — everything from smart meters to battery storage systems, electric vehicles, and smart thermostats — and consolidates it into a single layer for grid operators, flagging problems such as voltage irregularities or outage risks in real time. The platform sits atop an operator’s legacy software infrastructure, thus avoiding the need for utilities to overhaul their existing systems or implement customized and expensive enterprise solutions that require dedicated engineering teams to maintain.
The tech has gained traction among utility cooperatives — customer-owned nonprofits that often serve rural communities and maintain smaller staffs and tighter budgets than investor-owned utilities. With this latest raise, the startup is looking to access greater scale in the co-op market through a partnership with the National Rural Telecommunications Cooperative, a network of 850 utility cooperatives across the country which will now gain access to some of Texture’s software. As Texture’s CEO Sanjiv Sanghavi said about its co-op customers in the company’s press release, "They wanted to run modern grid programs but didn't have software built for their scale or budget. A co-op serving 15,000 members shouldn't have to build custom technology to launch a battery program or manage transformer load. We built Texture so they don't have to."
I was off last week, which means I missed the chance to bring you a piece of news that I’m particularly excited about: The sustainability-focused firm S2G Investments closed a $1 billion fund in what managing partner Aaron Rudberg described in a post on the firm’s website as “one of the most difficult fundraising environments in over a decade.” What’s more, this fund is specifically designed to help growth-stage companies bridge the persistent capital gap that emerges for climate tech companies after early-stage venture rounds but before institutional investors deem them bankable. This void often prevents startups from building first-of-a-kind facilities or deploying their solutions broadly enough to prove out their tech and drive down costs.
This fund is also a milestone for S2G itself, marking the firm’s first close after spinning off two years ago from Builder’s Vision, a family office managing investments for Walmart heir Lukas Walton. According to Rudberg, the fund is writing checks in the $25 million to $100 million range, and has already invested $300 million across 10 companies, largely in food and agriculture, energy, and ocean systems. The various recipients include the agricultural input startup Exacto, maritime battery supplier Echandia, and the industrial power optimization company ANA, Inc.
So-called missing middle financing is difficult precisely because it often involves technologies that, at least initially, carry a green premium or depend on policy support. But S2G is adamant that there are plenty of competitive startups, even in a political environment where climate policy is on the outs and affordability is a top concern.
“We believe some of the most attractive investment opportunities are in growth-stage businesses that deliver economic superiority through improved efficiency, margins, and resilience in industries fundamental to the global economy,” Rudberg wrote, as companies with unfavorable economics are being weeded out. “What remains are businesses with genuine commercial advantage, and those are the companies this Fund is built to back.”
Bonus: Antora Turns On Colossal 5 Gigawatt-Hour Thermal Battery in South Dakota
Over two years ago, I wrote about how super hot rocks — that is, thermal batteries — were one of the coolest things in climate tech. Since then, the companies I profiled, Rondo Energy and Antora Energy, have both brought their first commercial plants online, with the latter reaching that milestone this week. On Tuesday, as we covered in Heatmap AM, Antora turned on its 5 gigawatt-hour project in South Dakota, which stores excess wind power as heat for a bioethanol plant operated by POET, the world’s largest biofuel producer. Once the facility ramps to full capacity later this year, it will rank among the world’s largest energy storage projects, relying on over 200 of Antora’s thermal batteries.
Antora’s tech works by absorbing surplus wind power that would otherwise go to waste in windy South Dakota, where generation often outpaces what the region’s congested transmission lines can handle. The startup converts that renewable electricity to heat using resistive heating, essentially the same technology as a toaster. That’s then stored in insulated carbon blocks for later use, where it can be delivered as direct heat to power high-temperature industrial processes, or converted back into electricity. In this case, the heat is transferred to a circulating fluid that carries it to the POET plant, where it’s then delivered as steam to power boilers, distillers, and other machinery used in ethanol production.
Neither POET nor Antora have disclosed the value of this long-term offtake agreement. The sole external investor providing project-level financing was Australian firm Grok Ventures, a climate-focused investment company bankrolled by Mike Cannon-Brookes, co-founder and CEO of enterprise software company Atlassian. One of Australia’s richest people, Cannon-Brookes has emerged as one of world’s foremost climate investors, pledging $1.5 billion of his wealth to climate projects by 2030. Perhaps its telling of the investment environment at large that an Australian billionaire — rather than the U.S. government or institutional investors — had to push this first-of-a-kind project over the finish line.
On Exxon’s Venezuela flipflop, SpaceX’s fears, and a nuclear deal spree
Current conditions: U.S. government forecasters project just one to three major storms in the Atlantic this hurricane season • The Meade Lake Complex, a wildfire that scorched 92,000 acres in southwest Kansas, is now largely contained • Temperatures in Vientiane, the sprawling capital of Laos, are nearing 100 degrees Fahrenheit amid a week of lightning storms.
A years-long megadrought. Reduced snowpack in the northern mountains. Rising water demand from southwestern farms and cities whose groundwater is depleting. It is no wonder the water levels in Lake Mead are getting low. Now the Trump administration is giving the Hoover Dam money for a makeover to make do in the increasingly parched new normal. The Great Depression-era megaproject in the Colorado River’s Black Canyon boasts the largest reservoir capacity among hydroelectric dams. But the facility’s actual output of electricity — already outpaced by six other dams in the U.S. — is set to plunge to a new low if drought-parched Lake Meade’s elevation drops below 1,035 feet, the level at which bubbles start to form damage the turbines. At that point, the dam’s output could drop from its lowest standard generating capacity of 1,302 megawatts to a meager 382 megawatts. Last night, federal data showed the water level perilously close to that boundary, at 1,052 feet. The Bureau of Reclamation’s $52 million injection will pay for the replacement of as many as three older turbines with new, so-called wide-head turbines, which are designed to operate efficiently at levels below 1,035 feet. Once installed, the agency expects to restore at least 160 megawatts of hydropower capacity. “This action ensures Hoover Dam remains a cornerstone of American energy production for decades to come,” Andrea Travnicek, the Interior Department’s assistant secretary for water and science, said in a statement.
Like geothermal, hydropower is a form of renewable energy that President Donald Trump appreciates, given its 24/7 output. Last month, the Department of Energy’s recently reorganized Hydropower and Hydrokinetic Office announced that it would allow nearly $430 million in payments to American hydropower facilities to move forward after stalling the funding for 293 projects at 212 facilities. Last year, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission proposed streamlining the process for relicensing existing dams and giving the facilities a categorical exclusion from the National Environmental Policy Act. The Energy Department also withdrew from a Biden-era agreement to breach dams in the Pacific Northwest in a bid to restore the movement of salmon through the Columbia River.
Shortly after the U.S. capture of Venezuelan leader Nicolas Máduro in January, Exxon Mobil CEO Darren Woods told CNBC the South American nation would need to embark on a serious transition to democracy before the largest U.S. energy company could invest in production in a country the firm exited two decades ago amid the socialist government’s crackdown. Five months later, he may be changing his tune. On Thursday, The New York Times reported that Exxon Mobil was in talks to acquire rights to start drilling for oil in Venezuela. If finalized, such a deal would mark what the newspaper called “a victory for President Trump, who has declared the country’s vast natural wealth open to American businesses.”
It’s not just Elon Musk’s xAI data centers that brace for the data center backlash that Heatmap’s Jael Holzman clocked last fall as the thing “swallowing American politics.” In its S-1 filing to the Securities and Exchange Commission ahead of one of the country’s most anticipated stock market debuts this year, SpaceX warned that mounting public skepticism over AI could harm the growth of America’s leading private space firm. “If AI technologies are perceived to be significantly disruptive to society, it could lead to governmental or regulatory restrictions or prohibitions on their use, societal concerns or unrest, or both, any of which could materially and adversely affect our ability to develop, deploy, or commercialize AI technologies and execute our business strategy,” the company disclosed in the filing, a detail highlighted in a post on X by Transformer editor Shakeel Hashim. “Our implementation of AI technologies, including through our AI segment’s systems, could result in legal liability, regulatory action, operational disruption, brand, reputational or competitive harm, or other adverse impacts.”
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Yesterday, I told you that corporate energy buyers last year inked deals for more nuclear power than wind energy. But if you needed more proof that, as Heatmap’s Katie Brigham called last summer, “the nuclear dealmaking boom is real,” just look at this week:
Separately, this week saw two projects take big steps forward:
It’s been the year of Chinese automotives. Ford’s chief executive admits he can’t get enough of his Xiaomi SU7. Chinese auto exports are booming. And now Beijing’s ultimate automotive champion, BYD, is accelerating talks to enter Formula 1. On Thursday, the Financial Times reported that the company had met with former Red Bull Racing chief Christian Horner in Cannes. “Following talks between Stella Li, executive vice-president at BYD, and Horner last week, BYD intends to hold further meetings with senior figures involved in F1 and at the FIA, the governing body,” the newspaper reported.
China’s hydrogen boom continues. The country’s electrolyzers are quickly going the way of batteries and solar panels by securing global export deals that reflect their efficiency and competitive prices. On Thursday, Hydrogen Insight reported that Chinese manufacturer Sungrow Hydrogen inked a deal to supply a 2-megawatt alkaline electrolyzer to a Spanish cement facility. That same day, another Chinese manufacturer, Hygreen Energy, announced an agreement to supply a 1.3-megawatt system to a green hydrogen project in Nova Scotia.
With both temperatures and electricity prices rising, many who are using less energy are still paying more, according to data from the Electricity Price Hub.
In 135 years of record-keeping, Tampa, Florida, has never been hotter than it was last July.
Though often humid, the city on the bay is typically breezy, even in summer. But on July 27, it broke 100 degrees Fahrenheit on the thermometer for the first time ever; two days later, it hit its highest-ever heat index, 119 degrees. The family of Hezekiah Walters, the 14-year-old who died of heat stroke during football practice in Tampa in 2019, urged neighbors at a local CPR certification event to take the heat warnings seriously. Local HVAC companies complained about the volume of calls. Area hospitals struggled to keep their rooms and clinics comfortable. Experts later said the record temperatures were made five times more likely by climate change.
But according to data from Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub, Tampa Electric customers used 14% less electricity in July 2025 than they did in the same month of 2020, which was Tampa’s previous hottest July on record — about 216 kilowatt-hours per household less, roughly the equivalent of running a central AC a couple hours fewer per day for an entire month. Tellingly, Tampa Electric raised rates over that period by 84%, with the average bill growing from $111 to $190 per month.
Though there are many instances in many places around the country where usage has dropped as rates rose, the correlation doesn’t necessarily mean people were rationing their electricity. Climate-related factors like anomalously cool summers can lower summer bills, while energy efficiency upgrades can also result in changes to residential consumption. Southern California Edison customers, for example, used 24% less electricity in 2025 than they did in 2020, at least in part due to the widespread adoption of rooftop solar.
Thanks to recent efforts by the Energy Information Agency to track energy insecurity and utility disconnections, however, we can start to tease out deficiency from efficiency. By cross-referencing that data with rate and usage statistics from the Electricity Price Hub, we find a handful of places like Tampa, where people have seemingly reduced their electricity usage because they couldn’t afford the added cost, even during a deadly heatwave. (Tampa Electric did not return our request for comment.)
The EIA’s tracking program, known as the Residential Energy Consumption Survey, tells a clear story: Across the country, people are struggling to absorb the rising costs of electricity. In 2020, nearly one in four Americans reported some form of energy insecurity, meaning they were either unable to afford to use heating or cooling equipment, pay their energy bills, or pay for other necessities due to energy costs. By 2024, the most recent data available, that number had risen to a third — and two-thirds of households with incomes under $10,000. In 2024 alone, utilities sent 94.9 million final shutoff notices to residential electricity customers.
Since 2020, 98% of the more than 400 utilities in the Heatmap-MIT dataset have raised their rates — more than half of them by greater than 20%; about one in 10 utilities have raised their rates by 50% or more. And 219 of those utilities raised rates even as usage in their service area fell, meaning that as customers used less, they still paid more.
“I don’t feel like [the rates have] ever been all that affordable, but they have steadily increased more and more and more,” Janelle Ghiorso, a PG&E customer in California who recently filed for bankruptcy due to the debt she incurred from her electricity bills, told me. She added: “When do I get relief? When I’m dead?”
The people hit hardest by rate increases tend to be those already struggling the most. For example, about 30% of Kentucky residents reported going without heat or AC, leaving their homes at unsafe temperatures, or cutting back on food or medicine to pay energy bills, per the EIA’s 2020 RECS report. Since then, Kentucky Power has raised rates in the eastern part of the state by 45%, adding about $64 to the average monthly bill in a service area where the median monthly household income can be less than $4,000.
The Department of Energy’s Low-income Energy Affordability Data, which measures energy affordability patterns, actually obscures some of this burden. It reports that for all of Kentucky, annual electricity costs account for about 2% of the state’s median household income, which is about average for the nation. But in Kentucky Power’s Appalachian service area specifically, many households live under 200% of the poverty level, and $15 of every $100 someone earns might go toward their energy costs, Chris Woolery, the residential energy coordinator at Mountain Association, a nonprofit economic development group that serves the region, told me. “The situation is just dire for many folks,” he said.
Kentucky Power is aware of this; its low-income assistance charge has grown by 110% since 2020, the Heatmap-MIT data shows. Woolery also noted that the utility agreed to voluntary protections against disconnections, such as a 24-hour moratorium during extreme weather, in a rate case settlement with the Kentucky Public Service Commission. The commission rejected the proposal, but the utility kept the protections anyway, Woolery told me.
Customers in other areas are not so lucky.
In states like Oklahoma, where one in three households reported energy insecurity in 2020, rates rose about 30% from 2020 to 2025, according to our data. Per the EIA survey, Oklahoma’s monthly disconnection rate is more than three times the national average. Oklahoma doesn’t have the highest electricity rates in the country — far from it. But median incomes there are low enough that even moderate rate increases leave some with hard choices.
Interestingly, in bottom-income-quartile states, where median household incomes are below $81,337, only about 30% of utilities show a pattern of rising bills and falling electricity usage, which would suggest energy rationing. The other 70% of utilities show the opposite effect: usage is rising despite electricity rates becoming a bigger burden of customers’ incomes. In Kentucky Power’s service area, for example, bills may be up $64 a month, but usage remained essentially flat.
“Think of it this way: The electric company goes to the front of the line,” Mark Wolfe, the executive director of the National Energy Assistance Directors Association, a policy group for administrators of the Low-Income Home Energy Assistance Program, told me of how households triage their bills. If you need to buy something from the grocery store, the drug store, or pay your electricity bill, then “the utility goes to the front of the line because they can shut off your power, which causes lots of other problems.”
Wolfe added, “Plus, if you’re really in dire straits, you can go to the food bank. You can’t go to the ‘other’ utility company.”
Even as resource-strapped households put a higher share of their income toward electricity, they’re also least able to afford energy efficiency upgrades like newer appliances, smart thermostats, or solar panels. The pattern is prevalent in places with extreme climates, such as Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, where turning off the AC in the middle of summer could mean death. It shows up most starkly among the most extreme rate examples in our data set, like the utilities serving remote Alaska villages — despite astronomical electricity prices, usage hasn’t fluctuated much because its customers are already using it as little as they can afford. The elderly and other individuals living on fixed incomes are also often unable to cut their electricity usage beyond what little they’re already using.
In middle-income states like Florida, roughly 60% of the utilities in our dataset show rising bills and falling electricity use — more than twice the rate we see in the lowest-income states. While the poorest Americans have already reduced their electricity use to the bare minimum and are cutting groceries and medicine in order to keep the heat and AC on, in places like Tampa, where the median income is $96,480, the electricity rate shocks have caused even middle- and even high-earning households to start worrying about their bills. According to a new survey released Tuesday by Ipsos and the energy policy nonprofit PowerLines, 74% of respondents with household incomes over $100,000 said they are worried about their utility bills increasing.
“People are seeing their utility bill as one of the few things that changes so much month to month, that is so unpredictable, and that they don’t have any control over,” Charles Hua, the founder and executive director of PowerLines, told me.
Wolfe, the executive director at NEADA, agreed, saying that for the first time, the association has begun hearing from families with incomes above the threshold who need assistance. “An extra $100 a month for a family, but they’re middle class — that shouldn’t push them over the edge,” at least in theory, Wolfe said. But for those with no flexibility in their budgets, anything additional or unpredictable “pushes them close to the edge — from going from middle class to lower middle class — and I think that’s why this affordability crisis is becoming such an issue.”
We can also see this phenomenon in the explosion of line items on utility bills going toward funding assistance programs. Appalachian Power Co.’s low-income surcharge, for instance, is up 3,200% for customers in Virginia; Puget Sound Energy’s low-income program is up 970% for customers in Washington; and PacifiCorp Oregon’s low-income cost-recovery charge, up 879%.
The EIA data, too, bears this out: Florida had one of the highest rates of people reporting they were “unable to use air conditioning equipment” due to costs in the RECS data, and in 2024, there were 186,202 disconnections in the state in July alone — every one of which would have meant people no longer had the power to run their ACs. (FPL and Duke Energy Florida also show usage declines as rates rose, although neither raised rates as much as Tampa.)
The data also shows places where higher-income earners have aggressively pursued efficiency upgrades to lower their usage. In the LA Department of Water and Power service area in California, usage is down more than 11% overall between 2020 and 2025, one of the biggest drops in our dataset. But the lower usage is more evenly distributed month to month, indicating that things like solar adoption and efficiency programs are likely behind the drop, rather than cost pressures. (Rates there still rose more than 28%, or about $15 per month.)
Even doing everything right wasn’t enough to save customers in the end — households that cut their electricity use still saw their bills rise by an average of $20 a month, our data shows.
Perhaps most concerning, though, is the relentless upward trajectory. PowerLines reports that utilities have submitted $9.4 billion in new requests in the first quarter of 2026 alone. Heatmap and MIT’s numbers show that 79% of utilities raised rates in 2025, and 55% have raised them again already this year.
But the advocates I talked to stressed that utilities have more agency than they get credit for. Take Kentucky Power, for example, with its voluntary disconnection protections. “It just shows that you don’t necessarily have to make disconnections to be financially solvent,” Woolery of the Mountain Association pointed out. Or take Ouachita Electric in Arkansas, which passed a 4.5% rate decrease after investing in efficiency upgrades in consumers’ homes through a pay-as-you-save model.
But that’s the rare exception. For most customers, relief is not obviously on the way. Signs increasingly point to the imminent onset of a super El Niño, which could bring punishing, climate-change-intensified heat waves across the United States. The July 2025 record in Tampa will almost certainly not stand; someday, it’ll be the second-hottest summer, or the third. In a few decades, it might even look cool.
And still there will be bills to pay.