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As blue states double down on renewables, a backlash is growing in red states.
The Inflation Reduction Act was the star of the show in statehouses across the United States this year. As state leaders wrapped up their legislative sessions, many not only tightened their own climate plans, but delivered an encore to the IRA by passing policies to maximize their share of the new federal clean energy funding.
But the applause hasn’t been universal. In a few key Republican-led legislatures, Biden’s climate maneuvers have produced a backlash. Lawmakers pushed through bills that could make cutting emissions a lot harder, making the map of U.S. climate policy start to look as polarized as that of abortion rights or gun control laws.
“There has been a tendency to think about the energy transition as almost automatic when the cost of clean energy technologies come down,” Matto Mildenberger, a political scientist at the University of California-Santa Barbara, told me. “But politics is a really important dimension that's often missed.”
Let’s look at a few examples. Back in February, Minnesota passed a law requiring the state’s utilities to use 100% carbon-free electricity by 2040. Democrats had just taken over the legislature, and they were just warming up. In April they created a $156 million “competitiveness fund” to help agencies and cities compete for the IRA’s clean energy programs. And last week, Democratic Governor Tim Waltz signed two additional laws, one earmarking funding for heat pumps and electric vehicles, and the other creating a new sales tax to support public transit.
Democrats took a similar approach in Colorado, passing new tax credits for many of the same technologies that the IRA funds to try and attract as much federal money into its economy as possible. Coloradans are now eligible for a $7,500 EV tax credit that can be stacked on the federal credit for a juicy $15,000 incentive.
Meanwhile, New York passed the first state-level ban on natural gas in new buildings in the country. Policymakers there also directed a state-run utility to start building renewable energy projects, taking advantage of a little-known provision in the IRA that enables public entities and nonprofits to cash in on federal tax credits.
But in other states, electeds are enacting what you could call anti-climate policies. Montana’s Republican Governor Greg Gianforte recently signed a law that bars state agencies from even considering greenhouse gas emissions when conducting environmental reviews for major projects. The legislature there also passed measures preempting local governments from requiring new buildings to be solar panel or EV-ready, and from placing any restrictions on the use of natural gas. At least 20 other states have enacted similar natural gas ban preemptions in recent years. A new anti-climate copycat bill also spread to a few states this year — Ohio and Tennessee each passed laws classifying natural gas as a source of clean energy.
In Texas, the Republican-controlled legislature is contemplating bills to publicly fund a fleet of new natural gas plants, while placing new, onerous regulations on wind and solar projects. Texas currently produces more wind and solar power than any other state, thanks to lax permitting requirements and an abundance of wind, sun, and undeveloped land. Now, lawmakers want developers of new wind and solar farms — as well as owners of existing projects — to do additional environmental reviews, get new approvals, and pay higher fees. Wind farms would have to be built at least 3,000 feet from neighboring property lines. The rules would not apply to fossil fuel plants.
Though the bill never made it out of committee, a group of Republican lawmakers in Wyoming even sought to “phase out” electric vehicle sales to protect the state’s oil and gas industry. The bill’s lead sponsor later said he supports electric vehicles, and was just trying to send a message to California, which made plans to eventually ban gas-powered vehicles last August.
And while Georgia is often held up as a leader in building a new clean economy, having attracted more clean energy investments since the IRA passed than any other state, Republican lawmakers there recently enacted a tax on public electric vehicle charging.
None of this is particularly surprising or new. To some extent, climate and clean energy policy has long followed party lines. As political scientist Leah Stokes documents in her book Short Circuiting Policy, states like Texas and Ohio have a history of enacting anti-climate policies that slowed the growth of renewables. Those were in large part driven by special interest groups backed by utilities and the fossil fuel industry.
Mildenberger said these efforts are ramping up now because the IRA has made the threat to these industries much more significant. “Increasingly, as some of these technologies are no longer cost competitive in a pure market competition framework, they need to use policy as a rearguard action to try and maintain their market share.”
There is evidence that at least some of these policies, like defining natural gas as clean energy and preempting any bans on the fuel, trace back to special interest groups like the American Legislative Exchange Council and the American Gas Association. What’s new is a push to turn these issues into culture wars by painting natural gas use as a matter of freedom or identity. Republican lawmakers have described a rash of anti-ESG bills, which also have roots with industry groups, as a crackdown on “woke” investing.
But Hanna Breetz, a political scientist at Arizona State University told me it would be a mistake to attribute the trend purely to industry influence or the usual reactionary politics. That view overlooks two other very real factors that she sees contributing to an increasingly polarized environment. One is that people in rural states are legitimately concerned about what a decarbonized future means for them in terms of land use and extraction. They are going to bear the brunt of landscape impacts from vast new solar and wind farms and lithium mines.
The second is genuine risks to reliability from a grid powered by increasing amounts of renewables and batteries that’s also serving an increasing number of electric appliances. “There are some very serious concerns that have yet to be dealt with, particularly in the face of climate change and weather-related issues,” said Breetz. She pointed to a recent report warning of blackouts in some parts of the country this summer, which highlighted diminished capacity from natural gas and coal plants as one potential cause. “I think there's a lot less ideological opposition within utilities than many people assume, and that they are scared to death about a lot of these reliability concerns.”
It’s hard to untangle the role of each of these components — industry influence, party politics, land use concerns, and technical challenges — when they all feed into one another. The effect could intensify as more and more people experience a bad blackout or are faced with a solar farm being built in a place they hold dear.
But also, it might not. If all goes according to Biden’s plan, the IRA will be a countervailing force that brings new jobs and economic growth to areas where political support for clean energy is in short supply. The majority of clean energy project announcements since the IRA was passed are in states like Georgia, Arizona, and South Carolina. Think of the new battery belt emerging in the South, or how many renewable energy projects are popping in Republican-held congressional districts.
“In three or five years that might make some of the extreme rhetoric and policy positions that we're seeing right now on the Republican side of the aisle a little bit more challenging to hold,” said Mildenberger. “My view is that even in some of the more fossil fuel intensive parts of the United States, the question of the energy transition is not if, but when. And to help manage the global climate crisis, that ‘when’ needs to be really soon.”
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It was a curious alliance from the start. On the one hand, Donald Trump, who made antipathy toward electric vehicles a core part of his meandering rants. On the other hand, Elon Musk, the man behind the world’s largest EV company, who nonetheless put all his weight, his millions of dollars, and the power of his social network behind the Trump campaign.
With Musk standing by his side on Election Day, Trump has once again secured the presidency. His reascendance sent shock waves through the automotive world, where companies that had been lurching toward electrification with varying levels of enthusiasm were left to wonder what happens now — and what benefits Tesla may reap from having hitched itself to the winning horse.
Certainly the federal government’s stated target of 50% of U.S. new car sales being electric by 2030 is toast, and many of the actions it took in pursuit of that goal are endangered. Although Trump has softened his rhetoric against EVs since becoming buddies with Musk, it’s hard to imagine a Trump administration with any kind of ambitious electrification goal.
During his first go-round as president, Trump attacked the state of California’s ability to set its own ambitious climate-focused rules for cars. No surprise there: Because of the size of the California car market, its regulations helped to drag the entire industry toward lower-emitting vehicles and, almost inevitably, EVs. If Trump changes course and doesn’t do the same thing this time, it’ll be because his new friend at Tesla supports those rules.
The biggest question hanging over electric vehicles, however, is the fate of the Biden administration’s signature achievements in climate and EV policy, particularly the Inflation Reduction Act’s $7,500 federal consumer tax credit for electric vehicles. A Trump administration looks poised to tear down whatever it can of its predecessor’s policy. Some analysts predict it’s unlikely the entire IRA will disappear, but concede Trump would try to kill off the incentives for electric vehicles however he can.
There’s no sugar-coating it: Without the federal incentives, the state of EVs looks somewhat bleak. Knocking $7,500 off the starting price is essential to negate the cost of manufacturing expensive lithium-ion batteries and making EVs cost-competitive with ordinary combustion cars. Consider a crucial model like the new Chevy Equinox EV: Counting the federal incentive, the most basic $35,000 model could come in under the starting price of a gasoline crossover like the Toyota RAV4. Without that benefit, buyers who want to go electric will have to pay a premium to do so — the thing that’s been holding back mass electrification all along.
Musk, during his honeymoon with Trump, boasted that Tesla doesn’t need the tax credits, as if daring the president-elect to kill off the incentives. On the one hand, this is obviously false. Visit Tesla’s website and you’ll see the simplest Model 3 listed for $29,990, but this is a mirage. Take away the $7,500 in incentives and $5,000 in claimed savings versus buying gasoline, and the car actually starts at about $43,000, much further out of reach for non-wealthy buyers.
What Musk really means is that his company doesn’t need the incentives nearly as bad as other automakers do. Ford is hemorrhaging billions of dollars as it struggles to make EVs profitably. GM’s big plan to go entirely electric depended heavily on federal support. As InsideEVsnotes, the likely outcome of a Trump offensive against EVs is that the legacy car brands, faced with an unpredictable electrification roadmap as America oscillates between presidents, scale back their plans and lean back into the easy profitably of big, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks. Such an about-face could hand Tesla the kind of EV market dominance it enjoyed four or five years ago when it sold around 75% of all electric vehicles in America.
That’s tough news for the climate-conscious Americans who want an electric vehicle built by someone not named Elon Musk. Hundreds of thousands of people, myself included, bought a Tesla during the past five or six years because it was the most practical EV for their lifestyle, only to see the company’s figurehead shift his public persona from goofy troll to Trump acolyte. It’s not uncommon now, as Democrats distance themselves from Tesla, to see Model 3s adorned with bumper stickers like the “Anti-Elon Tesla Club,” as one on a car I followed last month proclaimed. Musk’s newest vehicle, the Cybertruck, is a rolling embodiment of the man’s brand, a vehicle purpose-built to repel anyone not part of his cult of personality.
In a world where this version of Tesla retakes control of the electric car market, it becomes harder to ditch gasoline without indirectly supporting Donald Trump, by either buying a Tesla or topping off at its Superchargers. Blue voters will have some options outside of Tesla — the industry has come too far to simply evaporate because of one election. But it’s also easy to see dispirited progressives throwing up their hands and buying another carbon-spewing Subaru.
Republicans are taking over some of the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth.
When Republicans flipped the Senate, they took the keys to three critical energy and climate-focused committees.
These are among the most powerful institutions for crafting climate policy on Earth. The Senate plays the role of gatekeeper for important legislation, as it requires a supermajority to overcome the filibuster. Hence, it’s both where many promising climate bills from the House go to die, as well as where key administrators such as the heads of the Department of Energy and the Environmental Protection Agency are vetted and confirmed.
We’ll have to wait a bit for the Senate’s new committee chairs to be officially confirmed. But Jeff Navin, co-founder at the climate change-focused government affairs firm Boundary Stone Partners, told me that since selections are usually based on seniority, in many cases it’s already clear which Republicans are poised to lead under Trump and which Democrats will assume second-in-command (known as the ranking member). Here’s what we know so far.
This committee has been famously led by Joe Manchin, the former Democrat, now Independent senator from West Virginia, who will retire at the end of this legislative session. Energy and Natural Resources has a history of bipartisan collaboration and was integral in developing many of the key provisions in the Inflation Reduction Act — and could thus play a key role in dismantling them. Overall, the committee oversees the DOE, the Department of the Interior, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, so it’s no small deal that its next chairman will likely be Mike Lee, the ultra-conservative Republican from Utah. That’s assuming that the committee's current ranking member, John Barrasso of Wyoming, wins his bid for Republican Senate whip, which seems very likely.
Lee opposes federal ownership of public lands, setting himself up to butt heads with Martin Heinrich, the Democrat from New Mexico and likely the committee’s next ranking member. Lee has also said that solving climate change is simply a matter of having more babies, as “problems of human imagination are not solved by more laws, they’re solved by more humans.” As Navin told me, “We've had this kind of safe space where so-called quiet climate policy could get done in the margins. And it’s not clear that that's going to continue to exist with the new leadership.”
This committee is currently chaired by Democrat Tom Carper of Delaware, who is retiring after this term. Poised to take over is the Republican’s current ranking member, Shelley Moore Capito of West Virginia. She’s been a strong advocate for continued reliance on coal and natural gas power plants, while also carving out areas of bipartisan consensus on issues such as nuclear energy, carbon capture, and infrastructure projects during her tenure on the committee. The job of the Environment and Public Works committee is in the name: It oversees the EPA, writes key pieces of environmental legislation such as the Clean Air Act and Clean Water Act, and supervises public infrastructure projects such as highways, bridges, and dams.
Navin told me that many believe the new Democratic ranking member will be Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island, although to do so, he would have to step down from his perch at the Senate Budget Committee, where he is currently chair. A tireless advocate of the climate cause, Whitehouse has worked on the Environment and Public Works committee for over 15 years, and lately seems to have had a relatively productive working relationship with Capito.
This subcommittee falls under the broader Senate Appropriations Committee and is responsible for allocating funding for the DOE, various water development projects, and various other agencies such as the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
California’s Dianne Feinstein used to chair this subcommittee until her death last year, when Democrat Patty Murray of Washington took over. Navin told me that the subcommittee’s next leader will depend on how the game of “musical chairs” in the larger Appropriations Committee shakes out. Depending on their subcommittee preferences, the chair could end up being John Kennedy of Louisiana, outgoing Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, or Lisa Murkowski of Alaska. It’s likewise hard to say who the top Democrat will be.
Inside a wild race sparked by a solar farm in Knox County, Ohio.
The most important climate election you’ve never heard of? Your local county commissioner.
County commissioners are usually the most powerful governing individuals in a county government. As officials closer to community-level planning than, say a sitting senator, commissioners wind up on the frontlines of grassroots opposition to renewables. And increasingly, property owners that may be personally impacted by solar or wind farms in their backyards are gunning for county commissioner positions on explicitly anti-development platforms.
Take the case of newly-elected Ohio county commissioner – and Christian social media lifestyle influencer – Drenda Keesee.
In March, Keesee beat fellow Republican Thom Collier in a primary to become a GOP nominee for a commissioner seat in Knox County, Ohio. Knox, a ruby red area with very few Democratic voters, is one of the hottest battlegrounds in the war over solar energy on prime farmland and one of the riskiest counties in the country for developers, according to Heatmap Pro’s database. But Collier had expressed openness to allowing new solar to be built on a case-by-case basis, while Keesee ran on a platform focused almost exclusively on blocking solar development. Collier ultimately placed third in the primary, behind Keesee and another anti-solar candidate placing second.
Fighting solar is a personal issue for Keesee (pronounced keh-see, like “messy”). She has aggressively fought Frasier Solar – a 120 megawatt solar project in the country proposed by Open Road Renewables – getting involved in organizing against the project and regularly attending state regulator hearings. Filings she submitted to the Ohio Power Siting Board state she owns a property at least somewhat adjacent to the proposed solar farm. Based on the sheer volume of those filings this is clearly her passion project – alongside preaching and comparing gay people to Hitler.
Yesterday I spoke to Collier who told me the Frasier Solar project motivated Keesee’s candidacy. He remembered first encountering her at a community meeting – “she verbally accosted me” – and that she “decided she’d run against me because [the solar farm] was going to be next to her house.” In his view, he lost the race because excitement and money combined to produce high anti-solar turnout in a kind of local government primary that ordinarily has low campaign spending and is quite quiet. Some of that funding and activity has been well documented.
“She did it right: tons of ground troops, people from her church, people she’s close with went door-to-door, and they put out lots of propaganda. She got them stirred up that we were going to take all the farmland and turn it into solar,” he said.
Collier’s takeaway from the race was that local commissioner races are particularly vulnerable to the sorts of disinformation, campaign spending and political attacks we’re used to seeing more often in races for higher offices at the state and federal level.
“Unfortunately it has become this,” he bemoaned, “fueled by people who have little to no knowledge of what we do or how we do it. If you stir up enough stuff and you cry out loud enough and put up enough misinformation, people will start to believe it.”
Races like these are happening elsewhere in Ohio and in other states like Georgia, where opposition to a battery plant mobilized Republican primaries. As the climate world digests the federal election results and tries to work backwards from there, perhaps at least some attention will refocus on local campaigns like these.