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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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The overwhelming majority of the ordinances were enacted this year, a Heatmap Pro review shows. They’re helping to drive an unprecedented surge of data center cancellations.
America’s data center backlash is gaining steam.
Anti-data-center protesters briefly interrupted President Trump’s speech at a General Motors facility in Michigan earlier this week. A day later, the country music legend Willie Nelson called on Americans to “fight against data centers invading our land.”
Washington has yet to pass major data center regulation. But the backlash is already reshaping local zoning and land use codes across the country, according to an extensive review of public records conducted by Heatmap Pro. A surge of new restrictions and bans have killed dozens of proposed data centers this year.
More than 500 counties or municipalities now actively restrict or block new data centers, according to the review. This tally includes only the most severe constraints — such as steep setback requirements, impossible noise limits, or outright bans on permit approvals — that all but forbid the construction of a data center.
The overwhelming majority of these restrictions have been enacted since the beginning of the year. Nearly 190 have been passed since June 1.
The pace of moratoriums is “accelerating,” Peter Freed, a founding partner at the Near Horizon Group and the former director of energy strategy at Meta, told me.
Broadly, these new local restrictions seem to be succeeding. More than 50 data centers have been canceled so far this year after facing local pushback of some kind, according to a Heatmap Pro review of press accounts, public records, and project cancellations.
That’s more than twice as many projects as were canceled under similar circumstances in all of 2025, according to our data. Eight projects were canceled in July alone.
Ominously for developers, the rate of projects facing cancellations seems to be increasing over time.
More than 200 pending data center projects are now being fought at the local level nationwide. This could mean that a project faces lawsuits, physical protests, contentious public hearings, or an ad campaign.
About 430 data center projects have been contested over the past five years, including the roughly 200 that are currently being fought, the data shows. Roughly 40% of data center projects that faced some kind of local challenge over that period were eventually canceled, according to Heatmap Pro data.
But that figure has gone up in recent months. Today, a data center project that’s challenged by local activists has about a 50% chance of being canceled. A contested data center now has roughly the same odds as a contested solar or wind farm of getting canceled, Heatmap Pro data suggests.

Data center proposals of every size have faced major delays and cancellations this year. Earlier this month, a sprawling campus that would have built 37 data center buildings near Manassas National Battlefield Park in Virginia was canceled after sustained local protest.
Even the economy’s largest companies have abruptly withdrawn major projects following opposition. Amazon, Microsoft, and Google each canceled large-scale proposals after sustained pushback in Arizona, Wisconsin, and Indiana in the past year. Susan Li, the chief financial officer at Meta, described the infrastructure building environment as “dynamic and uncertain” on a quarterly earnings call this week.
Some analysts have cautioned that the worsening development environment — and snarled supply chains — could imperil the overall artificial intelligence boom. Earlier this year, a JPMorgan report warned that 60% of data center capacity slated to open in 2027 had yet to start construction as of early June.
“Even the major developers are having trouble with projects, but you always have trouble with projects,” Freed said. The question is whether developers have enough proposals in their pipeline to keep up with surging demand, he said.
“I think the answer is mostly still yes. But it’s getting harder to find,” he added. “The impact is increasingly that developers are stopping efforts in those communities [that pass restrictions] and shifting their attention elsewhere.”
State-to-state cancellation rates can vary significantly. Some 71% of contested data center proposals in Michigan are eventually canceled, as are 56% of challenged projects in Indiana, according to Heatmap Pro data.
By comparison, about 17% of challenged data center projects in Texas are canceled.
Polling suggests that Americans want much more strict data center regulation than is in place right now. About six in 10 Americans would support a data center moratorium at the national, state, or local level, according to Heatmap Pro polling.
Majorities of self-identified Democrats and MAGA Republicans would support a ban at all three levels of government. So far only one state, New York, has adopted a moratorium on new data center permit approvals. That one-year ban is not included in this survey of county and municipal restrictions.
The hundreds of laws restricting data centers may not be a permanent feature of U.S. land use laws. Many of the ordinances are — at least on paper — set to expire in the coming year to give local officials time to create their own schemes for regulating data centers in the absence of federal regulation.
But many restrictions on wind and solar energy were also initially described as temporary. Officials have still renewed them year after year in order to avoid dealing with a controversial issue.
Even when local moratoriums do not always kill projects, they can ensure that an already troubled project gets the boot.
Last year, the housing developer Deltona Corp. sought to build a 1,300-acre data center campus roughly 50 miles north of Tampa. Citrus County commissioners passed a 12-month moratorium on new data centers, but that law didn’t apply to the proposal, which was already pending and therefore exempt.
But when the county planning commission rejected a rezoning proposal for the site months later, it effectively killed the proposal, which could not file a new application without becoming subject to the moratorium.
“The people are not ok with this and clearly some, if not all, of the commissioners are also not ok with this,” Holly Davis, a county commissioner, told the local paper at the time.
Even relatively small data centers can face obstacles. After the University of Michigan bought 120 acres in a light-industrial area of Ypsilanti Township, Michigan, to build a data center, local residents — and municipal officials — vowed to battle the project.
Residents worried about the data center’s energy use, noise levels, environmental impact and its potential security risks. (The facility will be run with Los Alamos National Lab.) But the facility, at its largest, will demand 110 megawatts of electricity — much smaller than most artificial intelligence data centers.
“There’s literally not a conversation that I have, not a stop that I make, where data centers and AI don’t come up,” Abdul El-Sayed, a Democratic candidate for Michigan’s U.S. Senate seat, said earlier this month. He has not endorsed a data center moratorium, but has said projects should have mandatory “terms of engagement.”
The public’s turn against data centers has been swift. In just nine months, Americans swung 49 points against supporting a data center in their area, according to Heatmap Pro polling from the spring. Other polls have shown similar shifts.
A majority of Republicans, Democrats, and independents now say they would oppose a data center proposal in their area.
Yet even with the new surge of bans, most of America remains open — to some degree — for business. More than 90% of counties nationwide have not banned or significantly restricted data centers.
“I don’t think we’re anywhere close to a breaking point yet,” Freed said. “It’s still a big country.”
On ‘precariously low’ oil stockpiles, China’s ammonia milestone, and a PFAS destroyer
Current conditions: The wildfires in France and Europe are slowing, but three firefighters have died and the looming heat wave could bring yet more disaster • New York and New Jersey are facing flash floods as a storm system makes its way across the Northeast United States • Days of thunderstorms are causing floods across Vientiane, Laos’ sprawling capital.
Last month, I toured Commonwealth Fusion Systems’ headquarters in small-town central Massachusetts. The place was abuzz in activity. On the factory floor side, workers were assembling the magnets needed to ultimately form the torus-shaped reactor — think a giant doughnut with an interior that curves like the core of an apple — called the tokamak. On the actual reactor side, SPARC — the prototype that CFS expects will make history next year as the first private enterprise and only tokamak to ever generate more energy that it took to start the fusion reaction — was starting to look like a functional machine from my view on a second-story walkway overlooking the sterile assembly room. The old joke that fusion is the energy source of tomorrow — and always will be — certainly didn’t ring as funny now. I’ll tell you who isn’t laughing: All the new investors that just poured another $1 billion into CFS. The company announced its latest funding round early this morning, which brings the startup’s total fundraising since its launch as a spinout from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 2018 to $4 billion. CFS now accounts for 30% of all the private capital that has flowed into fusion. What distinguishes this round, my colleague Katie Brigham wrote, is that the money is coming from a bunch of institutional investors, such as pension funds and sovereign wealth funds, rather than venture capitalists. On a call with reporters this week, CFS’s newly-named chief financial officer, Lorence Kim, said it’s the first-time institutional investors comprised the majority of the new funding. When I asked the company’s spokeswoman for a percentage estimate breaking down the new versus old investors in this round, she declined to comment. Kim cautioned that the funding isn’t the kind of capital you raise before launching on a stock market. But his hire is notable. The former Goldman Sachs banker famously helped take the pharmaceutical giant Moderna public and held the top financial role through the start of the Covid-19 pandemic.
Meanwhile, a federal Superfund site at a facility in Kentucky once used to enrich uranium for atomic bombs is being transformed into a data center. On Wednesday, the Department of Energy announced a deal between investment giant Brookfield, utility behemoth NextEra Energy, and three local power providers to redevelop portions of the Paducah site into a $100 billion data center campus. “By transforming former DOE sites into engines of innovation and economic growth, we can revitalize communities with increased tax revenue and thousands of jobs, while also strengthening America’s energy security,” Secretary of Energy Chris Wright said in a press release.
The Federal Reserve held the country’s benchmark interest rate steady at Wednesday’s meeting of the U.S. central bank’s top brass. But three bank presidents voted to increase rates as renewed fighting in Iran sent energy prices upward. The dissent “underscored officials’ fraying patience with looking past another price shock on the heels of tariff-related increases last year and with robust demand stemming from the artificial-intelligence buildout,” The Wall Street Journal reported. That is, of course, bad news for renewables and other clean energy developers who rely on cheap upfront money to build, as my colleague Matthew Zeitlin has written.
But there are potentially bigger problems afoot for American energy consumers. U.S. crude stockpiles fell sharply last week as American refineries ramped up production to seize on surging fuel prices as fighting erupted in Iran. The stocks have now reached “precariously low” levels, analysts told the Financial Times, meaning there’s far less cushion if the war worsens the supply shock.
Last month, the energy team at the liberal policy shop Third Way assembled 100 swing voters from across the country to talk about the data centers that poll after poll shows are becoming less and less popular, to put it mildly. The conclusion of the discussions was this: “America’s opposition to data centers has less to do with their feelings about artificial intelligence and more to do with their anger and distrust of large corporations and government.” The findings, shared with me exclusively in advance, showed that most participants were open to a new data center if they believed it would come with tangible benefits for their communities. While some investors, such as “Shark Tank” star Kevin O’Leary, have tried to present those offerings, “the trust isn’t there.” While Emily Becker, the director of Communications for Third Way’s Climate and Energy Program, told me she was “not surprised by how much opposition there was, what was heartening is people understood that benefits were possible. They just didn’t think they would receive them.”
Speaking of data centers and the public trust: NV Energy has accused one of the biggest developers of data centers in Nevada of attempting to illegally bypass state regulators to determine through private arbitration how and when the Berkshire Hathaway-owned utility should provide power to its operations. The lawsuit, filed Friday in Washoe County’s Second Judicial District Court, alleges that the developer, Tract, is trying to skirt the usual process by which the state Public Utilities Commission determines what share of the utility’s electricity should go to the large power user. Tract, according to the complaint, “wants NV Energy to reserve and provide enormous amounts of power for Tract's private development while shifting the infrastructure and energy costs to Nevada families, small businesses, and existing customers who did not cause them.” Sorting out those questions through arbitration would help to “keep these issues hidden” from state regulators and the public, NV Energy said, according to The Nevada Independent.
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When the Biden administration attempted to overhaul regulations on electrical transformers to make the key grid components more efficient, the proposal drew fierce bipartisan pushback amid a years-long nationwide shortage of the equipment. Ultimately, the Biden administration backed down and changed the proposal after receiving public comments. That would have seemed to provide some certainty for factories. But just two years after the final rule won acclaim from across the industry, the Trump administration is now considering revising the requirements for rules set to take effect in 2029. “We’re not aware of anyone asking for this,” Andrew deLaski, executive director of the Appliance Standards Awareness Project, told Utility Dive. The group supported the 2024 transformer rule and other stricter efficiency requirements DOE finalized during the Biden administration.
China has signaled it’s planning to take on what Bloomberg described as a bigger role in steering global negotiations over climate change. The 15th five-year plan published Monday by the Ministry of Ecology and Environment and other key agencies outlines how Beijing “will constructively lead the multilateral governance process to address climate change” and states that “China’s influence, guiding capacity, shaping power, and moral appeal in global climate governance will be significantly enhanced” through the end of the decade. Beijing is already looking to increase how much renewable energy it consumes, as I told you last week.
As you may recall, China is going all in on figuring out how to make green hydrogen work, especially now that the People’s Republic is throwing everything at the wall to diversify its domestic supply of fuels as the Iran War chokes off its regular supply of hydrocarbons. One of the trickier questions with green hydrogen is how to ship the world’s small molecules without leaks. A popular solution is to convert the hydrogen into green ammonia. On Tuesday, SPIC Green Energy announced the successful loading of 3,750 metric tons of green ammonia produced in Jilin Province onto a vessel at the Lianyungang Port in Jiangsu Province and shipped to South Korea. “The shipment represents the world’s largest single-batch delivery of green ammonia,” analyst Jian Wu wrote in his China Hydrogen Bulletin newsletter. “It marks China’s transition from technical demonstration to large-scale international commercial delivery.”
A company promising to put an expiration date on so-called forever chemicals just raised a bunch of money to bring its technology to market. Claros Technologies is developing a proprietary system that can break down the per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS, contaminating millions of Americans’ drinking water systems. This week, the startup closed a $55 million Series B financing round. “Over the past year, Claros has crossed the threshold from breakthrough technology to successful commercial reality,” CEO Michelle Bellanca said in a statement.
Risk-averse but deep-pocked institutional investors join the party.
When the Fusion Industry Association surveyed the sector earlier this month, it found that the industry’s 56 active companies had collectively raised more than $14.2 billion over the past five years. But an ever-larger share of that money is ending up in the hands of one startup: Commonwealth Fusion Systems.
With its latest $1 billion funding round, announced today, the MIT spinout now accounts for nearly 30% of all capital in the industry. The new financing, led by a wave of institutional investors entering the sector for the first time, will support construction of the company’s first commercial power plant in Chesterfield County, Virginia, which CEO Bob Mumgaard says is on track to come online in the early 2030s.
In a media briefing, Mumgaard noted that this latest raise marks “the largest single funding round among fusion energy companies since our last large round of $1.8 billion in 2021.” It brings the total capital raised by CFS to an even $4 billion as the company races to complete construction of SPARC, its demo reactor. If all goes according to plan, it should begin operating sometime next year, proving out the physics and engineering approach underpinning ARC, the planned commercial plant.
The new financing deviates from the typical venture capital round, as it brings in a broad but unnamed mix of “large pension funds, sovereign wealth funds, infrastructure funds doing project finance, and industrial corporates.” These risk-averse investors would typically steer clear of expensive, first-of-a-kind facilities, demonstrating the degree to which CFS has succeeded in building confidence in an industry long critiqued for overpromising and underdelivering.
The company credits the trust it built to its extensive peer-reviewed research as well as its decision to build a tokamak — widely regarded as the most mature fusion reactor design. “I don’t think there’s any other company that’s been as transparent and open with their physics and how it actually works,” Katie Rae, CEO and managing partner at Engine Ventures, told me. Rae has participated in every one of CFS’s funding rounds, and while she says her firm has evaluated virtually every startup in the sector, the company remains its only fusion investment.
But even flush with institutional capital, Mumgaard is clear that the company will need billions more to fully finance ARC and the numerous reactors to follow. It’s unclear where exactly that money will come from, though he’s pushing for government involvement. Alongside the Fusion Industry Association, Mumgaard is advocating for a one-time, roughly $10 billion federal infusion of cash into the broader industry to expand public-private partnerships, build shared research infrastructure, and help finance first-of-a-kind plants in an effort to keep pace with China’s rapidly growing fusion program.
According to reporting from Politico, a Department of Energy official told CFS and other fusion companies that such a level of federal funding is “unrealistic in this environment.” But though insiders argue it’s what the industry needs to scale, Rae says CFS doesn’t depend on it. “I think it is the right kind of investment to make, but we didn’t count on it from an investor perspective,” she told me.
One obvious alternative is the public markets. The IPO window for climate tech has reopened, with geothermal giant Fervo and nuclear fission startup X-energy both completing successful public offerings in recent months. SPACs have also made a comeback, as numerous nuclear companies are opting for this faster, though riskier, path to the public markets. But CFS’s newly appointed CFO, Lorence Kim, said during the briefing that this latest round proves “that the private markets have a lot of capital to deploy toward our mission.” Whether an IPO is in the company’s near future remains an open question, though he cautioned against interpreting his hiring as any indication of “IPO prep in a specific way.”
For what it’s worth though, Kim has taken another high-profile, pre-revenue startup public before: Moderna. As CFO from 2014 to 2020, he helped the company scale its mRNA platform and lead its blockbuster $600 million IPO in late 2018 — the largest ever in the biotech industry at the time. Notably, this all happened before Moderna had an approved product or the Covid pandemic made its signature vaccine a household name, similar to where Commonwealth finds itself today.
“Moderna was in this moment in time where the science worked, and the strategy was focused on execution and scale and deploying capital in a way that could enable real impact on the world,” Kim explained. CFS is now at the same juncture, he said. “And so in the same way that Moderna industrialized mRNA and made it inevitable and made it ubiquitous, it was really clear to me that CFS could do the same for fusion.”
Of course, CFS is not alone in its confidence — other fusion companies are equally bullish on their own approach. Take Inertia Enterprises, a Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory spinout, which last week unveiled its own commercial roadmap for a laser-driven fusion reactor. The company emphasized it’s the only one to have definitively demonstrated the viability of its underlying physics in a real-world experiment, rather than through theoretical work or simulations.
Or take Helion, which has raised $1.5 billion and secured a highly ambitious power purchase agreement with Microsoft to supply electricity to the tech giant by 2028. Or Pacific Fusion, which netted a staggering $900 million Series A to be doled out in milestone-based tranches. There are dozens of others — many with hundreds of millions in funding — pursuing a range of approaches that some of the field’s brightest minds consider technically feasible.
But when I mused to Rae about how exciting it is that institutional investors now appear willing to back an industry once viewed as bordering on science fiction, she was quick to correct me.
“They’re willing to bet on Commonwealth Fusion — that’s what you mean.”