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Why permitting reform could break the political alliance that produced America’s most significant climate law

The U.S. climate coalition is under serious strain.
The tension has been brought to a head by last month’s debt-ceiling compromise, which enacted a variety of reforms to the National Environmental Policy Act and exempted the long-debated Mountain Valley Pipeline from federal environmental review. While environmental groups have decried the concessions as “a colossal error … that sacrifices the climate,” clean-energy trade groups are praising them “an important down payment on much-needed reforms.” This gulf now threatens to disintegrate the political alliance that, less than a year ago, won the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA), its most tangible accomplishment and by far the country’s most significant climate law.
The differences over permitting reform aren’t just a disagreement about tactics. Rather, they reflect fundamental changes within three of the most important factions within the climate coalition — the environmental movement, the clean energy industry, and the Washington-centric group I’ve termed the green growthers. Facing these changes and their implications is critical to preserving the political foundations of federal climate action.
Ever since passage of the IRA unlocked massive fiscal resources for decarbonization, the climate coalition has been split on how best to put that money to work. While nearly everyone recognizes the need to substantially increase the pace at which clean energy infrastructure gets deployed, division centers on the question of permitting reform. To even name the debate is to invoke a factional diagnosis: the view that environmental laws are hobbling decarbonization by preventing clean energy infrastructure from getting built quickly enough — or even at all. This perspective has rapidly gained momentum across a bipartisan community that includes self-styled centrists within the climate coalition.
Permitting reform is unraveling the climate coalition because it reawakens a fundamental, unresolved disagreement over how to decarbonize. Its timing adds to these tensions: bipartisan legislation to curtail national environmental law has arrived, not accidentally, just as the clean energy industry has become most capable of splitting from the broader climate coalition that helped create it.
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The oldest faction in today’s climate coalition, and the most diffuse, is the environmental movement. Its mainstream wing has roots in the principles of preservation, and its largest organizations have spent multiple generations fighting for clean air and water, and ecologically healthy lands and species.
Its environmental justice wing, by contrast, emerged as racial justice activists combined civil-rights and environmental-protection principles to address historically unequal pollution burdens that have concentrated health risks and environmental damages in disempowered communities of color. Only in the last few years, after decades of discoordination, disinterest, and exclusion, have preservationist institutions become more attentive to the legacy of environmental racism. The movement has now coalesced, however incompletely, around a broader and more inclusive environmental vision.
Though preservationist and environmental-justice approaches can still lead to different priorities, the new environmental movement is at its most unified when it opposes fossil fuel production. The movement’s history of civil disobedience and legal combat have taught it to keep fossil fuels in its crosshairs — not only because of the social and environmental harm fossil fuel projects cause, but also because fights against fossil fuels mobilize the public, clarify the stakes, and yield tangible improvements for local communities and environments.
Though both wings of the environmental movement fought hard for the IRA, the law does almost nothing to directly constrain fossil fuel production. Instead, the IRA largely aims to reduce greenhouse gas emissions not by preventing those emissions, but rather by boosting the production and use of low-carbon energy — along with generous subsidies for storing carbon dioxide, often in conjunction with oil production or fossil fuel combustion. Accordingly, the environmental movement has redoubled its efforts to pair the law’s clean energy subsidies with new fossil fuel restrictions.
The environmental movement’s discomfort with a subsidies-only approach to decarbonization is probably better known than the shifting politics of the clean energy industry. As the new environmental movement has coalesced, clean energy has matured into a fully-fledged industry, both in the U.S. and around the world. Until the past few years, the nascent clean energy industry wielded little political muscle, depending instead on the political support and lobbying assistance of environmental groups. Not that long ago, renewable energy was more expensive, less familiar to regulators, and supported by fewer subsidies than fossil energy systems. As a result, clean energy companies depended heavily on the environmental movement’s political support to survive and grow.
Over the past half a decade, technological progress and policy victories achieved in coalition with the environmental movement have vaulted key technologies like wind, solar, and batteries into commercial maturity. Those gains are now locked in. The IRA provides at least 10 years of new federal clean energy tax credits, ending the boom-and-bust cycle of short-term extensions that held the clean energy industry together for most of the previous two decades. With falling costs and fiscal tailwinds, the clean energy industry no longer relies on the environmental movement’s lobbying muscle for commercial success.
The clean energy industry’s maturation has led to more profound differences with the environmental movement that eclipse a simple re-alignment in relative power. As the clean energy industry has grown, it has come to share the fossil energy industry’s preference for more permissive regulatory regimes and fewer environmental protections. In the pre-commercial era, climate-conscious jurisdictions like California drove clean energy development through supportive environmental policy. In recent years, though, the clean energy industry has grown faster and profited more in places like Texas, and for the same reason the fossil fuel industry has: because Texas offers open markets and few restrictions on energy development. As the clean energy industry’s policy priorities have shifted, its growing lobbying apparatus has followed suit, leading groups like the American Clean Power Association to collaborate with fossil fuel companies in pursuit of environmental deregulation.
Activists and policymakers focused on rapid, massive clean energy development make up a third critical faction of the national climate movement. Many in this group work in and around the Biden administration and have come to the climate fight not from the environmental movement, but from other areas such as industrial policy, national defense, some strands of organized labor, and electoral politics. They have brought their prior priorities — job creation, domestic manufacturing, and stable energy prices — to their climate politics. In the wake of the IRA, they remain focused on lowering the remaining barriers to rapid clean energy development.
These often center-left climate actors have only cohered into a distinct faction in the past five years, as enthusiasm for so-called “supply-side progressivism” has given them a common language with which to articulate a set of climate solutions founded on proactive government support for private reindustrialization. For some green growthers, deregulation is a necessary precondition to decarbonization, and since many also believe that clean energy will — with the IRA’s help — outcompete fossil fuels, they see fewer risks to reforming environmental law than the environmental movement does.
In part, the conflict over permitting reform has grown bitter because the term gets used to refer to many different policy proposals. Depending on the speaker and the audience, it can mean sweeping changes to how environmental laws govern new infrastructure projects; tailored tweaks to environmental review; more resources to strengthen administrative capacity and expedite permitting reviews; or changes to the process for building transmission lines and connecting power plants to the grid. This tangle of meanings has undermined the climate coalition’s ability to negotiate its internal differences and prioritize consensus solutions to the challenge of rapid clean-energy development.
More fundamentally, though, the environmental movement, the clean energy industry, and the green growthers are clashing over permitting reform because it has forced them to confront their ongoing disagreement about how to achieve decarbonization.
To many in the environmental movement, and especially on the climate left, most permitting reform proposals double down on what they see as a worrying tenet of the IRA: its dependence on competition and market dynamics to slash fossil fuel production. The environmental movement is familiar from long experience with this kind of market thinking, which promises that present development and the damage it entails will eventually unlock future benefits. As the environmental movement as a whole has become more concerned with historical pollution burdens, that bargain looks worse, and less trustworthy, than ever.
Many permitting reform proposals, including the newly-enacted language of the debt-ceiling deal, exacerbate these concerns by targeting the environmental movement’s oldest and most effective legal tools for defeating fossil fuel projects. At the same time, these proposals still omit any of the constraints on fossil fuels that the environmental movement believes necessary for decarbonization.
The environmental movement has responded with deployment-focused proposals of its own that aim to speed clean energy development without weakening environmental law. However, even the most straightforward of these proposals — such as appointing a fifth commissioner to the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission — have repeatedly been deprioritized by clean-energy groups and green growthers. In the wake of the debt ceiling deal, which included none of the environmental movement’s reform priorities but substantially weakened environmental review, the movement is mobilized and angry.
To the green growthers, by contrast, rapid decarbonization cannot happen without permitting reform. According to the IRA’s market-decarbonization logic, the best and most politically plausible way to drive fossil fuels out of American energy markets is to displace them with cheaper and more abundant clean energy. At the same time, events such as the gas-price shock of 2021 — and its damage to Biden’s popularity — has reinforced their existing belief that suppressing fossil fuel extraction without first creating massive new clean energy production will risk serious political backlash. This theory of change has led green growthers to be simultaneously sympathetic to the clean energy industry’s deregulatory wishlist, and skeptical of the environmental movement’s focus on constraining fossil fuel production.
These factions’ divergent theories of decarbonization have offered a wedge to those within the climate coalition who believe rapid, effective clean energy development has become incompatible with rigorous environmental and social protections. Anti-coalitional voices, especially within portions of the clean energy industry, increasingly see permitting reform as an opportunity to split the climate coalition, excising the environmental movement from the climate coalition and creating a new, climate-inflected industrial alliance.
Most green growthers understand that such a split would deprive the existing coalition of its popular wing at a critical moment, threatening the political viability of climate progress. Though the growthers believe that the IRA’s clean-energy manufacturing boom will build a powerful new political coalition in favor of decarbonization, that coalition does not yet exist.
Environmental protection, by contrast, is extremely popular across America today, and the environmental movement has repeatedly proven its ability to mobilize public support. Though the clean energy industry no longer needs the environmental movement’s political muscle to turn a profit, the climate coalition as a whole may struggle to maintain political support for decarbonization without it, especially as climate change destabilizes the country’s energy systems and the right continues to oppose rapid decarbonization.
To understand why, you don’t need to look farther than Texas, which is something of a proving ground for the three factions’ competing beliefs about how deregulation may shape decarbonization.
In recent years, Texas provided strong evidence for the clean energy industry’s assertions that, whatever the environmental and social costs, less regulation can speed the deployment of renewable energy. It likewise bolstered green growthers’ claims that cheap, plentiful renewables can displace fossil energy.
But suddenly, Texas is also proving the environmental movement’s counter-argument. The state’s legislature has just created a new set of generous rules and tax subsidies that support new gas-fired power plants while hampering clean energy development. Though state lawmakers are transparently motivated by gas-industry lobbying and culture-war fixations, they have justified the legislation by arguing that Texas’ increasingly unreliable grid needs more gas plants to keep the lights on.
Such claims, however dishonest, will only grow more plausible to many voters as climate-exacerbated disasters and the energy transition itself strain infrastructural systems in the years to come. Without permitting structures or robust state environmental laws, Texan climate activists are ill-equipped to fight a possible new wave of gas plants, and Texas’ future decarbonization is now in peril.
Whereas last year, Texas’ clean energy boom seemed likely to continue driving fossil fuels out of the market and emissions down, now Texas’ new IRA-style subsidies and weak environmental protections look more likely to leave the state with more energy production of all kinds. Though Texas will continue to add clean energy, its decarbonization remains in doubt.
Permitting reform is threatening the national climate coalition because it cuts to the heart of a longstanding philosophical disagreement about what it will take to actually achieve decarbonization. It has arrived as the climate coalition’s major factions are transforming in ways that themselves sharpen the conflict. Good-faith advocates of decarbonization in all camps should be concerned that, in the wake of the debt-ceiling deal, a new round of fractious permitting-reform fights will split the climate coalition into separate camps with irreconcilable theories of climate action.
The result, though ideologically purifying, would be politically disastrous.
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A dispatch from Day 1 of New York Climate Week.
It’s the first day of New York Climate Week, and I spent the morning attending events hosted by companies and nonprofits focused on carbon dioxide removal, i.e. sucking greenhouse gas out of the atmosphere. The vibes were, somewhat surprisingly, optimistic — not about the state of the planet or politics or climate change, per se, but about the future of an industry with a very uncertain fate.
Senator Brian Schatz of Hawaii struck a high note opening the first event I attended, a panel hosted by the Carbon Removal Alliance titled “Progress, Politics, and the Path Forward.” “It’s not a secret that for those of us who care about climate, these are challenging times,” he told the audience. “But the momentum behind CDR is real.”
Schatz cited the nearly $1 billion fund that Frontier Climate, a coalition of carbon removal buyers, pledged earlier this year to put toward supporting the industry, as well as the fact that Congress has continued funding carbon removal on a bipartisan basis through the 45Q tax credit for carbon capture and storage, which survived last year’s clean energy policy purge.
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During the panel that followed, a lot of the discussion centered on what the industry needs from federal policy and how to build a bigger tent of supporters to lobby for those changes. It was moderated by Ella Nilsen, a former CNN climate reporter who recently became the vice president of Echo Communications. She started by acknowledging that carbon removal has a lot of skeptics in the climate movement — many are concerned that it’s a waste of money compared to investing in emission reductions, or that it’s become a justification to continue using fossil fuels. How do you change their minds?
I was interested to hear Joanna Klitzke, the head of market development at Frontier, recommend that the industry be honest about methods and projects that are not working. A few of the companies Frontier has purchased carbon removal from have failed, she said, including one trying to do carbon mineralization using steel slag on roads. “It just doesn’t work. The economics don’t pencil, The technical feasibility isn’t there,” she said. (I followed up with Klitzke by email to ask for clarification on which companies have failed, but I hadn’t heard back as of press time.) Being transparent about the failures might help convince skeptics to support the things that are working, she argued.
Broadening the tent also means getting more members of Congress interested in supporting carbon removal. Cristina Shoffer, the cofounder and director of the Clean Economy Project, stressed that carbon removal companies should be building relationships with their members of Congress before they need something. When it came to defending the tax credits during the passage of Trump’s One Big Beautiful Bill Act, she said, a lot of the companies that were trying to make their case to Congress didn’t have an existing with their representatives. Jeremy Harrell, the CEO of the conservative clean energy nonprofit Clearpath, added that we are about to be in a historic turnover point for federal policymakers, so it’s an opportune time to go to new members elected in November’s midterms, teach them about the industry, and “foster new champions.”
And what, pray tell, should the industry ask of these members? That part is still a little fuzzy. The industry’s biggest challenge is, and has long been, a lack of customers. Giana Amador, the executive director of the Carbon Removal Alliance, was optimistic that Frontier’s fund and other voluntary buyers will carry the industry forward for the next few years, but “we need to be thinking about, what is that baton pass?” she said. I heard this expression a few times today, and it refers to the moment when buying carbon removal moves from the hands of volunteers to the hands of government.
Amador mentioned potentially embedding carbon removal into California’s cap and trade market, passing federal tax credits that support a broader range of CDR methods, or expanding the federal carbon removal purchase prize — a Biden-era program to have the Department of Energy vet and buy carbon removal that is still technically alive but that, by all accounts, Trump’s Department of Energy has not carried on. “The field really needs to come together around, what is our big ask around carbon removal demand? How can the U.S. federal government create these opportunities for demand?”
Later in the day, at a summit hosted by the carbon removal registry Puro.Earth, there was more talk about how various voluntary and government frameworks are shaping demand. Kyra Power, the engagement manager for North America for the Science Based Targets Initiative, addressed some potential disappointment in the room around the Initiative’s recent Net-Zero Standard update.
In the absence of regulatory requirements that compel companies to buy carbon removal, SBTi’s standard is the next closest thing. The latest version of its standard for what counts as a “science-based” corporate net zero plan, released in June, introduced guidance requiring larger companies in higher-income countries to begin offsetting their ongoing emissions with carbon removal beginning in 2035, later than the CDR industry — which is desperate for more buyers — hoped. SBTi will also encourage companies to purchase carbon removal before that date by creating an optional “recognition program.” It hasn’t spelled out all the details yet, but it would essentially mean giving companies that buy CDR early a gold star.
Power explained that corporate buyers told SBTi that starting the requirement earlier, in 2030, was “not feasible.” But she tried to reassure the audience, noting that SBTi is already fielding inquiries from companies about how they can go after the optional recognition program.
“I hope at some point that we’re able to publish some of those reflections and insights that we’re gaining internally,” she said, “but I think it is more like an indicator that there is interest in this recognition program, there’s interest in this above and beyond framework.”
A few other quick notes on big CDR announcements before I go:
It became remarkable by being pretty normal.
Quick: What’s the most successful EV in America that’s not a Tesla? At various points over the years, vehicles such as the Toyota Bz, Chevy Bolt, and Chevy Equinox EV have claimed the title. But the most popular non-Tesla in the first half of 2026 was the Hyundai Ioniq 5 — a car that looks essentially the same as it did at its debut in 2021. It also just finished first in Edmunds’ testing of the top electric SUVs, a smidge ahead of the Tesla Model Y and the much-lauded Rivian R2.
In a market as volatile as electric cars, it’s odd for a standout vehicle to be one that hasn’t changed much in half a decade. But Ioniq 5’s sales have been slowly ticking up over the past several years because of some smart choices that allowed Hyundai to navigate the chaos of the EV transition in the U.S. Ioniq 5 has always just been there, in plain sight. So this week, I finally drove it on a California road trip — the Los Angeles to San Francisco journey I use to test many electric vehicles — to see what it does so right.
First, that look. The Ioniq 5 hasn’t changed its appearance much since 2021 because it remains so distinctive. Angular details on the doors and Ioniq’s signature pixelated taillights feel futuristic, but the overall shape is familiar. It scans more like a hatchback from the old days than an SUV, but scaled up to the high riding height Americans love in their crossovers.
The shape also makes Ioniq 5 more practical. What’s underneath the quirky exterior is essentially a five-seat crossover, the most popular vehicle type in the U.S., with a decently spacious cargo area underneath the rear liftgate. Compare that to its stablemate, the Ioniq 6. That lovely car has been discontinued in the U.S. in part because its low-riding sedan shape and small trunk didn’t appeal enough to Americans. Ioniq 5 is also just the right size, not a battleship like the gorgeous but enormous three-row Ioniq 9 I drove last summer.
Inside its EVs, Hyundai has struck an admirable balance between old and new. The central touchscreen isn’t up to the size or sophistication of what’s in a Tesla or Rivian. It does, however, incorporate EV route planning into its built-in navigation, and the driver can scan through nearby compatible chargers. The interface can be frustrating to use — it’s more of a drop-down list of stations, not the map in a Tesla that lets you tap into a Supercharger station to get its real-time information. But Hyundai gets points for trying, since I’ve criticized the likes of Toyota and Subaru for omitting the feature.
Compared to offerings by the EV-only carmakers, Ioniq 5 does, at times, feel like an EV built by a company that doesn’t specialize in electric cars. But while that leads to some annoyances and missing features, it’s not always a bad thing. For example, Ioniq 5 retains plenty of physical buttons to please the analog crowd. A row of physical buttons can put the touchscreen into map, media, or other modes. It’s a helpful touch, allowing you to change what you’re seeing on the display without the need to tap the screen. Climate control runs through a smaller touchscreen located below, and while it may not use physical buttons, it is a simple and straightforward menu that never changes.
Range delivers what you need. Longer-range versions can top 300 miles on their official Environmental Protection Agency rating, while all-wheel drive versions score in the high 200s. Our tester in the high-end “Limited” trim is rated at just 269, but that was enough to get well over 200 real-world miles while driving 75 miles per hour down the interstate. The real key here — and what made Ioniq stand out in Edmunds’ testing — is Hyundai’s 800-volt electrical architecture that allows it to charge much faster than most U.S. EVs, adding 100 miles of range in as little as eight minutes. Remember: Once you reach a good amount of range, charging speed is perhaps more important since it gets you back on the road fast.
Efficiency-wise, ours eked out a respectable 2.5 to 2.7 miles per kilowatt despite enduring some headwinds and 100-degree temperatures thanks to California’s insufferable El Niño summer. On the more temperate trip home from San Francisco, it scored more than 3 miles per kilowatt, pushing its range well above 200 real highway miles. At slower speeds and in better conditions, Ioniq 5 is efficient enough to make your electricity dollar go pretty far.
The price is right, too. A few years ago, Ioniq 5s started in the $40,000s. Since then, however, Hyundai has aggressively slashed prices and offered cheap leases to make up for the loss of the $7,500 tax credit for EV purchases last year and to keep this car competitive in the market. Today you can get the entry-level Ioniq 5 with 245 miles of range for $35,000, while a stepped-up version that can achieve 318 miles in rear-wheel drive configuration starts at $37,500. (Plus, Hyundai has sold more than 175,000 of these in the U.S. and Canada, so you could probably score a good deal on a used one, especially given the accelerated depreciation of EVs.)
Though it has been around for a long time in EV terms, Ioniq 5 looks to be Hyundai’s signature EV for America for years to come. As noted, the Ioniq 6 sedan is going away in the U.S. Hyundai has revealed a compact and affordable Ioniq 3 that might sell in big numbers in the U.K. and Europe, but it isn’t coming to America, a size-first country where small $30,000 EVs like the new Chevy Bolt just can’t gain a foothold. The other EV that will remain in the American lineup is the three-row Ioniq 9. It’s a lovely car for big families, but with a starting price just under $60,000, it prices out many buyers.
Happily for Hyundai, Ioniq 5 still sits right in the sweet spot of what we do want.
Current conditions: Tropical Storm Fay just became the sixth named storm of the 2026 Atlantic hurricane season, but it’s not expected to make landfall • A new tropical storm is brewing in the Pacific, threatening Mexico with flooding and dangerous swells • It’s a hot, sunny day in Tzfat, the mountain enclave in Israel known for giving rise to the Jewish mystic movement of Kabbalah, where much of the population is marking Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year for Jews.

When Denmark fell to the Nazi blitzkrieg in April 1940, the still-neutral United States — fearing a German military expansion into North America — invaded the Danish kingdom’s island territory of Greenland. After the war ended, as part of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, Washington and Copenhagen agreed to a mutual defense pact that granted the U.S. the right to build and maintain military bases across the world’s largest island. Now President Donald Trump has announced an update to that agreement that would permanently bar foreign adversaries such as China or Russia from setting up rival bases in Greenland, “completely addressing all of our many U.S. concerns.” In a post on his Truth Social platform Friday evening, the president said the U.S. would have veto power over any foreign military base or “sensitive investments” in Greenland. “For over 100 years, presidents have known the strategic importance of Greenland, but none of them were able to do anything about it,” Trump said. “I am proud to be the president that permanently and conclusively addressed this very important situation.” British Prime Minister Andy Burnham hailed the deal as a win for Arctic security. “You had an agreement already,” one Greenlander told CBS News in Nuuk, the capital. “Why not just put more troops here? It’s a little weird.”
The move comes a month after the Greenlandic government rebuked a Trump-linked company called Greenland Energy that has told investors it plans to drill exploratory wells seeking oil. Just two weeks ago, a U.S. company called Greenland Mines inked a deal to buy the Sarfartoq Rare Earths Project in southwest Greenland for over $35 million. But for all the hype over the potential to extract minerals from lands recently made accessible by retreating glaciers, the logistics of producing and exporting material out of the rugged North continue to represent a significant hurdle to commercialization.
The Trump administration is reviewing proposals for at least a dozen data centers and related infrastructure projects on federal lands spanning at least six states. The Bureau of Land Management is considering applications for at least 17,600 acres of public land across Arizona, Idaho, Nevada, Oregon, Utah, and Wyoming, according to right-of-way proposals reviewed by The Washington Sun. Valar Atomics, the next-generation microreactor developer, later confirmed to the news outlet that it had submitted an application for survey access at a 10,200-acre site in Utah, but said it had abandoned the plans.
Three-quarters of Americans now oppose nearby data center construction, according to Heatmap Pro polling. In response, the Trump administration has sought to speed up construction by using federal lands that aren’t subject to the whims of local and state officials. That effort began with a proposal to site a project at a former Department of Energy nuclear weapons site in Kentucky.
The hundreds of millions of gallons of toxic wastewater the fracking industry has disposed of in Ohio over the years is now bubbling to the surface. That’s happening in a literal sense: As The New York Times exposed in a July investigation, wastewater thought to contain radioactive materials is spewing from injection wells meant to store it underground indefinitely. It’s also happening in a figurative sense, with the state’s toxic import now becoming a political issue. Last week, Democratic gubernatorial candidate Amy Acton pledged to back a moratorium on fracking wastewater disposal during a campaign stop in Marietta, a town where the water has been resurfacing, according to the latest reporting from the nation’s newspaper of record.
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For much of my lifetime, flat electricity demand meant that transformers — the devices that works like locks in a canal to keep electricity flowing smoothly along distribution wires and step the intense voltage down to the levels needed to flow into your home — were in low but predictable demand, too. That’s all changed. The grid is aging, and the U.S. is finally doing something about it, which means swapping out old transformers for now ones. At the same time, increasingly frequent extreme weather is wiping out dozens of transformers at a time, forcing big bulk orders after a disaster. And data centers and electrification are hiking demand even higher. Meanwhile, manufacturers have struggled to keep pace, wrangling with costly assembly line upgrades, uncertain regulations, and high tariffs.
Now, however, factories are getting up and running. As my colleague Katie Brigham wrote in April, a whole new wave of startups is promising to innovate the industry. And more industrial behemoths are investing in more capacity. Hitachi Energy plans to more than double its U.S. production capacity of small- and medium-sized power transformers with a new, $528 million factory in Mississippi, Utility Dive reported last week.
The world’s biggest battery maker is betting that the U.S. market will still have plenty of demand for stuff made in China. CATL, based in Fujian province, has developed new battery technology for American pickup trucks despite U.S. tariffs all but banning Chinese automotive equipment and other electronics over security concerns. The company told the Financial Times the batteries had already been tested by U.S. carmakers, but did not specify which ones. The remarks came ahead of Sunday’s meeting between U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent and his Chinese counterpart He Lifeng in New York, where trade was a top issue. That discussion set the stage for talks in Washington between Trump and Chinese President Xi Jinping, which are scheduled for Thursday.
The fleet of electric vehicles powered by CATL batteries in China can now depend on a slightly cleaner grid. The People’s Republic brought its 61st power reactor online last week. The Changjiang-3 reactor — a Hualong One, the country’s flagship designed that cribs from America’s Westinghouse AP1000 — entered into commercial operation, according to NucNet.
California’s big virtual power plant experiment just notched a record. During the heatwave on September 9, Sunrun and Tesla dispatched more than 580 megawatts of peak power to the California grid, making “the largest distributed power plant dispatch event on record.” That’s enough capacity to power all households in Sacramento County during peak hours. “Sunrun’s distributed home batteries are operating at a scale larger than many peaker power plants combined,” Sunrun CEO Mary Powell said in a statement. “Families depend on their Sunrun energy systems for outage protection and energy independence. This historic dispatch shows that the benefits of distributed energy go well beyond individual households as we help control the cost of electricity for all Californians and reduce the need for new costly poles and wires.”