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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 D.C. appeals court upheld an injunction preventing the Trump administration from clawing back $20 billion in climate grants.
One of the Biden administration’s most interesting — and contentious — climate programs might get a second lease on life.
Earlier this week, the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that the Trump administration could not end the $20 billion Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund program, which would have capitalized several national green banks. The court also ruled that the Environmental Protection Agency needed to give the nonprofits access to the funds while the case proceeded.
That would amount to a victory — if it holds. But the ball is now in the EPA’s court. If the agency appeals the ruling in the next week, then the case will go to the Supreme Court, setting up what could be a major battle over the program, according to The New York Times.
My colleague Emily Pontecorvo wrote about the background to the case last year, when the nonprofits looked more likely to lose:
Congress created the grants, known as the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund, as part of the Inflation Reduction Act in 2022. It authorized Biden’s EPA to award $20 billion to a handful of nonprofits that would then offer financing to individuals and organizations for emission-reduction projects, mostly geared toward low-income or otherwise disadvantaged communities. The agency fully obligated the funds last August to eight nonprofits that would “create a national financing network for clean energy and climate solutions across the country.
Then Trump took office and ordered his agency heads to pause and review all funding for Inflation Reduction Act programs. EPA Secretary Lee Zeldin targeted the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Program for termination, making a big show of a covert recording of a former agency employee comparing Biden’s efforts to get climate money out the door after the election to “throwing gold bars off the edge” of the Titanic. Never mind that this particular program had been fully obligated prior to the election, and recipients had already started to announce investments as early as October.
The nonprofit awardees sued the Trump administration, and the District Court for the District of Columbia issued a temporary injunction on the EPA’s grant terminations in mid-April, mandating that the funds continue to be paid out while the case proceeded.
That’s the injunction that 10 judges on the D.C. Circuit upheld this week.
I’m curious to see what would happen if the eight nonprofits do eventually get their money. As the Times notes, the ensuing months have been tough on the organizations — the chief executive of Climate United, which would have been one of the three national green banks, left the organization last year and hasn’t been replaced.
These green banks always ran the risk of being seen as a kind of out-of-government slush fund for the Biden administration’s favorite causes. But if implemented, they had the potential to unlock a virtuous cycle where successful green investments begat more green investments. Another promising scheme would have used them to bridge the U.S. economy’s “missing middle,” the lack of financing for first-of-a-kind projects and other innovations that require long-term investment but are more than five years out from market. Such a scheme would have helped technologies like fusion, hydrogen, or plain-old nuclear make their way to market. The Trump administration has since turned to other sources of government financing to boost nuclear.
Current conditions: South Korea’s heat wave has killed at least 16 people after the southeastern city of Yangsan recorded an all-time national temperature high of nearly 109 degrees Fahrenheit • Washington authorities arrested a man suspected of arson as the Pacific Northwest state struggles to contain wildfires around Spokane • Typhoon Dolphin intensified into a Category 4 storm as it barrels toward southern Japan, where the ongoing heat wave has killed three female lions at a Tokyo zoo.
The United States could reach a deal with Iran as early as today to reopen the Strait of Hormuz to commercial shipping, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent said. When asked during a Tuesday appearance on CNBC whether the agreement would allow Tehran to charge a toll to oil tankers, Bessent said the pact would include “freedom of movement.”
The announcement came as President Donald Trump faced a particularly grim economic milestone. Thanks to inflation from the Iran War, the price per gallon of diesel in the U.S. has averaged $4.09 since Trump returned to office in January 2025, according to a Financial Times analysis of Energy Information Administration data. That compares to $4.08 during Biden’s four years in office, when the Ukraine war triggered a price shock on diesel.
When the Trump administration brokered an $80 billion deal to support construction of at least 10 more Westinghouse AP1000 reactors in the U.S., the agreement came with a measure that would allow the federal government to request that the company’s owners offer shares of the legendary developer behind much of the American nuclear fleet on the stock market. It now appears that won’t be necessary. Last week, Westinghouse, a co-venture between Canadian uranium giant Cameco and Toronto-headquartered investment giant Brookfield, filed confidential paperwork with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission, laying the groundwork for a possible IPO.
The move came just two weeks after Holtec International, another long-standing stalwart in the industry that’s looking to play a central role in the next U.S. reactor buildout, filed its own S-1 paperwork with the SEC. At present, retail investors have limited options to bet on the nuclear renaissance. Startups such as X-energy, Oklo, and Hadron Energy — none of which has yet built a reactor or won Nuclear Regulatory Commission approval of its design — have dominated the market. Established firms such as the nuclear utility Constellation Energy, fuel maker Centrus Energy, and GE Vernova, whose joint venture with Japanese conglomerate Hitachi is a leading reactor developer, have also benefited. But Westinghouse and Holtec would be among the most serious “pure play” contenders on the market with real balance sheets.
British Prime Minister Andy Burnham took power last month after Labour leader Keir Starmer stepped down amid plummeting support within his own party, clearing the way for the populist former Manchester mayor’s democratic socialist reforms. Among the changes Burnham is expected to make on energy is giving the government an even greater role in developing fusion energy. “Because Burnham is committed to greater public control over utilities like energy, but within existing fiscal rules, his impact on fusion is likely to be about governance and ownership structures — for example stronger public or community stakes in fusion projects and more explicit links to regional development — rather than changing the headline national targets for fusion deployment themselves,” analyst Michael Heumann wrote in The Fusion Report.
It’s the type of intervention for which Japan’s fusion industry is pining. As you may recall, Japan’s conservative new “Iron Lady” Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi is going all in on reviving her country’s nuclear industry. But the FT reports that Japan’s fusion industry is now lobbying for more government support to get off the ground.
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Dominion Energy’s Coastal Virginia Offshore Wind project is progressing toward coming online by the end of next year. The timeline for the 2.6-gigawatt facility off Virginia’s shores to install its 176th and final turbine pushes back the start date from early 2027. But Dominion said the schedule “reflects additional contingency for weather, vessel maintenance, loadout operations, and extended jacking activities, rather than changes to the base turbine installation rate, which has been two days per turbine so far,” according to offshoreWIND.biz. The update comes after Trump conceded defeat in his battle to use the Department of Justice to wrestle back federal permits issued to offshore wind projects under the previous administration, my colleague Emily Pontecorvo wrote in June.
On Tuesday evening, meanwhile, 10 judges on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit upheld an earlier injunction that said the Environmental Protection Agency could not cancel $20 billion in climate grants, ruling in a split decision that recipients should have access to the funds.
Renewables made up 54.1% of Spain’s electricity generation in July — and it’s even higher when you count Spaniards who generated solar at home for self-consumption. That’s according to the latest data the national grid operator Red Electric de España published Tuesday. Generation from renewables surged nearly 6% year-over-year to a record 14,699 gigawatt-hours last month, according to Renewables Now. Solar made up by far the largest share for the fourth consecutive month, accounting for more than 28% of the mix in July.

I’m always fascinated by the parallels between Cuba and Puerto Rico, which — despite shared colonial histories and struggles — took divergent paths in the mid-20th Century, only to both end up with aging grids that can’t keep the lights on. I was reminded of conversations I have had with Boricuas who have spent nights sleeping on balconies and porches when the electricity is out, leaving air conditioners and fans idled on hot nights. In Cuba, that’s now happening en masse as the summer heat collides with the ongoing U.S. oil embargo. “Things are only getting worse. Tomorrow it’ll collapse again ... and we’ll be back to sleeping on the Malecón,” Alexey Ríos García told the Associated Press as he used a piece of yellow foam as a pillow to cushion his head from the tough concrete.
What’s next for electric cars? There’s no consensus.
Here’s the good news on electric cars in America: Sales in the second quarter of 2026 rose by 14% compared to the first quarter, which itself was an improvement on the preceding quarter. And here’s the bad: Even those good-looking Q2 sales numbers this year represent a 20% decrease from the same period in 2025.
Welcome to a confused moment in EV history. Electric vehicle sales in this country grew at a decent rate through the early part of the 2020s — right up until they fell off a cliff last fall when the federal tax credit disappeared and cars became $7,500 more expensive overnight. EVs have begun to recover in the intervening months, especially as Americans look for some respite from high gas prices. Yet the lineup of available EVs for them to purchase has been weakened by endless volatility. Car companies struggle to keep up with Chinese competitors abroad and the Trump administration’s relentless attacks on electric vehicles here. Meanwhile, EV makers have shifting visions of what they want electric cars to be.
In the long run, nothing has changed. The automotive industry is headed in one direction: toward a future dominated by battery-powered electric vehicles. But in the short run, even as EVs are setting sales records in dozens of countries and approaching 30% of the global car fleet, it feels like everyone involved in trying to sell EVs to Americans is driving in a different direction.
Just take a quick accounting of the players. At the start of the decade, Ford pinned its hopes on the F-150 Lightning pickup truck and the Mustang Mach-E, but never figured out how not to lose money on them. Last year, the company then blew up plans for its second-generation EV to go back to the drawing board. It stood up a skunkworks team at a far-flung California factory to learn how to slash manufacturing costs and make a mid-size electric truck in the $30,000s, set to emerge from the shadows next year.
Its Detroit rival, GM, looked to be in better shape. It bet its battery-powered fortunes on the Ultium platform that would underpin many vehicles across its lineup. In doing so, it rolled out a more ambitious lineup than Ford: Not just the Chevy Silverado, Blazer, Equinox, and Bolt, but several well-received Cadillac models that breathed some life into that atrophying brand.
In 2024, GM phased out the Ultium name, seemingly to make room for the next-generation architecture to follow. And then things started to get a little rocky. The Chevy Bolt, a hero of the late 2010s era of EVs, returned just in time to be canceled so GM could build more gas-guzzling Buick crossovers. General Motors is now stuck in a wait-and-see on battery power. It may update its existing EVs, particularly the Equinox, but reportedly has no plans to expand its electric offerings until at least 2030 — when, perhaps, some of the dust of the Trump presidency has settled.
GM’s fortunes look rosy next to those of Stellantis, the global giant that owns car brands like Jeep, Dodge, Chrysler, and Ram. Like competitors Ford and GM, Stellantis has had to take on eight-figure losses as it rejiggers its business to try to compete in the electric future. But unlike the Detroit duo, it has no particular success story even to hang its hat upon. Jeep EVs have been a struggle, and the planned Ram EV pickup never even saw the light of day. Now the great electric hope for pickup trucks is the planned Ram extended-range EV, a truck that would carry a gasoline engine simply to act as an onboard generator that recharges the battery.
Among Japan’s legacy automakers, the surprising insurgent is Toyota. The world’s biggest car company has been perhaps the most openly skeptical of electrification, with leadership arguing time and again against the economic feasibility of electric cars. Public statements make it sounds as if the company is being dragged away from the combustion age against its will. And yet, as the other car companies drift into limbo amid the chaotic current market, here is Toyota, slowly building up something rather than shifting its plans every couple of years.
Though its first true EV, the bZ4x, wasn’t up the standard of today’s best EVs, Toyota has stormed into 2026 with an improved version, the bZ, plus a revival of the C-HR small crossover in fully electric form. Toyota is in the midst of electrifying the Highlander SUV and even rolled out a concept car to tease a battery-powered makeover of the iconic Toyota Corolla. While the rest of the industry retreats from EVs to formulate a new plan, Toyota chose this moment to dive in headfirst. The same is true of its frequent design partner, Subaru, which has finally introduced multiple EVs to join the race.
Compare that with the turmoil at rival Honda. Like Subaru, it borrowed technology to accelerate its entry into the U.S. EV race — in Honda’s case, building the Prologue crossover on GM’s Ultium system. The company put several new EVs in the pipeline that would be Hondas from the ground up. Earlier this year, it killed them all, with leadership convinced its efforts just couldn’t compete, especially in non-U.S. markets where it would go up against the dirt-cheap offerings coming out of China.
Then, of course, there’s Tesla. Elon Musk’s brand is suddenly thriving again, thanks in large part to the vacuum created by the rest of the industry. Tesla, for all its bad press in some corners of the internet, still makes up more than half of EV sales in America, and the numbers soared in Q2 in spite of everything that’s been going on with Musk and his company (his focus on everything else that’s not human-driven cars, his political misadventures, and his reliance on just two aging car models, just to name a few issues).
That legacy car companies have stalled and flip-flopped on electrification as the political winds have changed has left the door open for the other EV-only startups. Rivian’s much-ballyhooed R2 arrived this summer and is off to an excellent start on its mission to make that company mainstream. Slate has finally taken the cover off its affordable electric small pickup. Lucid has been dogged by bankruptcy rumors as it tries to cross the startup’s valley of death, but for now, it’s still chugging.
With the car industry so scattered and disparate on its electrification efforts, it’s hard to know quite what to make of things. We’re a long way from the go-go Biden era, when government incentives for EV production gave automakers the confidence to make proclamations about going fully electric. Back then, it felt like we might be on the cusp of seeing an EV version of just about everything. Now it feels like the United States government is fighting another losing war — this one trying to singlehandedly save petroleum power while the rest of the world moves on.
Electric cars came to America slowly, and then fast. After decades of science experiments and sci-fi promises and Who Killed the Electric Car?, EVs gained a foothold remarkably quickly after the rise of Tesla. Millions of Americans now own one. But the leap from early adoption to mass adoption — which was first delayed by factors like high prices and unease with new technology — has been further forestalled by an antagonistic administration and an industry flailing about it keep up with its whims.
Electrification is coming. But this lull isn’t going away anytime soon.