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The American oil industry wasn’t built for Canadian tariffs.

Since his re-election, President Trump has repeatedly threatened to impose big tariffs on imports from Canada and Mexico.
And in recent days, he’s made it clear: Yes, he really means all imports.
“We don’t need them to make our cars, we make a lot of them. We don’t need their lumber because we have our own forests,” he told Davos attendees last week. “We don’t need their oil and gas, we have more than anybody.”
The president is mistaken about the American fossil fuel industry — at least in its current structure. Even though the United States is the world’s No. 1 producer of oil and natural gas, the industry really does depend on oil imported from its neighbors, especially Canada. If Trump makes good on his threats to tariff oil imports from Canada and Mexico, then he will cost the American oil and gas industry tens of billions of dollars while causing gasoline prices to rise across much of the country.
That’s because not all petroleum is created equal. The type of crude that oozes out of wells in Alberta and Saskatchewan is not identical to what’s extracted by frackers in Texas and Oklahoma. But the types of petroleum now produced in Canada and in America pair especially well together — meaning that if the price of Canadian oil goes up, then American refineries, as well as American consumers, will pay the price.
That could hurt the president’s ability to fulfill one of his core promises. In his inaugural address, Trump promised to “rapidly bring down costs and prices” in part by fighting “escalating energy costs.” Levying tariffs on Canadian oil imports would likely raise energy prices.
But it could have more complicated environmental effects. Western Canadian petroleum has a higher carbon intensity than other crude oils, and American climate activists fought last decade to keep it from entering the United States. Trump, counterintuitively, could succeed more thoroughly than they did.
To understand why, you have to know a little bit of chemistry — and a bit of history, too.
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We often talk about oil as an homogenous and fungible commodity, but that’s not really true. In reality, oil and natural gas usually come out of the ground as a slurry of hydrocarbons.
A hydrocarbon is a chain of hydrogen and carbon atoms bonded together. Sometimes those chains are relatively short — as in methane, the major component of natural gas — and sometimes they’re longer — as in octane, a liquid and a major component of gasoline. As the number of carbon atoms keeps growing, the substance starts to get waxier until the chains get absolutely enormous and become the kind of molecule you find in coal. Nitrogen, oxygen, and sulfur atoms are sometimes jammed into the hydrocarbon chains too.
In other words, all fossil fuels exist on a spectrum — and crude oil, a melange of hydrocarbons of different lengths and properties, occupies the messy middle. Those properties can vary based on how and why in the past a crude field formed. Petroleum engineers classify it along two axes:
American fracking wells tend to produce light, sweet crude. The oil from Alberta is heavy and sour.
Normally, heavy and sour oil trades at a discount compared to light and sweet oil. That’s because the highest volume products that come out of a refinery — gasoline or jet fuel, for instance — are made of short hydrocarbons, not long ones. Light, sweet crudes are closer to the finished product, and thus require less refining.
Yet heavy, sour crudes are crucial to the U.S. oil industry anyway. American refiners use heavy crudes to bring down their input costs for refined products such as gasoline, diesel, and jet fuel.
Why? That’s where the history comes in.
Nearly two decades ago, as oil prices reached painful highs as global demand outstripped supply, many refineries across the United States began to invest in technologies that would let them break down heavier, sour petroleum into something more commercially viable. They built coking refineries, expensive pieces of equipment that use extreme heat to break down long hydrocarbon chains into shorter ones. The cost of such a refinery can exceed $10 billion. Many were purpose-built for breaking down the sludgy, sour oil coming from Canada.
In the early 2010s, as the fracking revolution turned the United States into an oil-drilling superpower, those coking refineries remained important. They helped stretch the value out of the light, tight crude coming out of fracking wells, Rory Johnston, an oil markets analyst and the author of the Commodity Context newsletter, told me last week.
It does not make sense to use the coking refineries on oil from fracking wells, because that oil is already largely composed of short-chain hydrocarbons. But by breaking down Canadian oil in coking refineries, and blending it with American oil, the industry can make a wider blend of producers at a lower cost.
“Heavy crude’s cheaper, and they want to refine this into valuable end products,” Johnston said in a separate conversation recorded this week on Heatmap’s Shift Key podcast. “And so because of this, to just run light crude through that, you would instantly render economically worthless all of this very, very expensive equipment.”
Many of America’s refineries — especially those in the Midwest — are now tuned specifically to process light fracking oil and heavy Canadian sludge together, he said. What this means in practice is that the United States exports as a finished product much of the crude oil that it imports from Canada. Under the current situation, the U.S. earns more money selling refined products made from Canadian crude than it spends importing raw petroleum from Canada, Johnston added.
Tariffs will collapse the price relationships that allow for that mutually beneficial situation to persist. It will boost the cost of Canadian oil by at least $5 a barrel on each side of the border, raising pump prices by about 13 cents in the Midwest, Johnston told me.
That may not sound so bad for consumers. But it would be terrible for refiners. “The total effect of Trump’s actions so far is to nuke the economics of U.S. coking refineries. It’s truly magnificent,” he said. “You couldn’t create a better scenario to destroy the economics of U.S. coking refineries.”
If U.S. oil companies lose access to cheap Canadian oil, they will struggle to replace it. That’s because the next best place to get heavy, sour crude is Mexico — and Mexican imports, too, would likely face 25% tariffs under most scenarios where Canada is levied. The next places to get heavy, sour crude are Venezuela (where the Trump administration wants to tighten sanctions) and Colombia (where Trump nearly imposed tariffs last weekend).
One reason Canadian oil is so cheap in the United States is that companies have invested billions integrating the two countries’ oil infrastructure. A network of pipelines and storage tanks bring millions of barrels of oil from Canada down to the U.S. Gulf Coast every day. The countries — and especially their fossil fuel industries — are interdependent.
Meanwhile, only one pipeline system — the Trans Mountain pipeline — connects Alberta’s oil fields to the Pacific coast.
If you begin to play out how each country might react to a tariff, Johnston said, “you get into these completely absurd scenario discussions,” Johnston said. “The result is everyone would be poorer in that scenario.”
None other than the U.S. oil industry itself has opposed the tariffs.
“We import a lot of oil from both Mexico and Canada, and we refine it here in the most sophisticated refinery system in the world,” Mike Sommers, the CEO of the American Petroleum Institute, said at an event in Washington last week. “We’re going to continue to work with the Trump administration on this so that they understand how important it is that we continue these trade relationships.”
On Monday, The Wall Street Journal reported that some Trump aides are eager to hit Canada and Mexico with tariffs this weekend, even though the president has yet to reopen talks — or even describe his demands — for a reworked U.S.-Mexico-Canada free trade agreement. Canadian and Mexican officials have said that they are not sure what Trump actually wants in the talks.
One irony of this fracas is that the tariffs would have a more uncertain environmental effect. Western Canadian crude is unusually carbon-intensive to extract and refine. If its price rose — or if Canadian officials responded to tariffs in part by shutting down production — then Trump could accidentally, if marginally, decrease carbon emissions. American refineries might also respond to tariffs by importing heavy, sour crude oil from abroad, essentially just shifting production around the planet.
Still, it remains ridiculous that Trump, who has spent his first days in the White House attacking a “Green New Deal” agenda that never actually passed Congress, might succeed in raising the cost of oil consumption and production in the U.S. where a decade of climate activism has largely failed.
Perhaps that’s why many still doubt it would happen. On Wednesday morning, President Claudia Sheinbaum of Mexico said that she did not think Trump would ultimately impose sanctions on her country. And even within the oil industry, tariffs on Canadian oil seem unthinkable. A 25% tariff would whack the industry hardest, even though it has allied itself closely with Trump. Trump’s likely energy secretary, Chris Wright, is the CEO of Liberty Energy, an oilfield services company.
“A lot of the people I’m hearing on the Canadian side are saying, ‘Maybe we should try to speak with these people around Trump. Maybe Wright or [Trump’s energy czar Doug] Burgum understand what’s happening,’” Johnston said.
But Trump has already made demands that strike the North American oil industry as bizarre. At the same Davos meeting where he said the United States didn’t need Canadian oil, Trump demanded that OPEC and Saudi Arabia cut global oil prices so that global interest rates could fall. Such a move would cut profits in the American oil industry while hampering Trump’s goal of increasing U.S. oil production.
The irony that a Republican president would push off Canadian crude to increase America’s reliance on OPEC is hard to comprehend, Johnston said.
“I don’t know that anyone has a great sense of where Trump’s true philosophical anchor is,” he said, “other than that we are now getting a clear picture that he views any and all trade deficits as a sin unto themselves.”
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The seminal global climate agreement changed the world, just not in the way we thought it would.
Ten years ago today, the world’s countries adopted the Paris Agreement, the first global treaty to combat climate change. For the first time ever, and after decades of failure, the world’s countries agreed to a single international climate treaty — one that applied to developed and developing countries alike.
Since then, international climate diplomacy has played out on what is, more or less, the Paris Agreement’s calendar. The quasi-quinquennial rhythm of countries setting goals, reviewing them, and then making new ones has held since 2015. A global pandemic has killed millions of people; Russia has invaded Ukraine; coups and revolutions have begun and ended — and the United States has joined and left and rejoined the treaty, then left again — yet its basic framework has remained.
Perhaps you can tell: I am not among those who believe that the treaty has been a failure, although it would be difficult — in this politically arid moment — to call it a complete success. Yet the ensuing decade has seen real progress in limiting global temperature rise. When negotiators gathered to finalize the agreement, it seemed likely that global average temperatures could rise by 4 degrees Celsius by 2100, as compared to their pre-industrial level. Today, a rise from 2.5 to 3 degrees Celsius seems more likely.
And for a document that is often described as non-binding, or even as hortatory, Paris has had a surprisingly material influence on global politics in the ensuing years. During the negotiations, the small-island states — the three dozen or so countries most affected by near-term sea-level rise — successfully got the final text to recognize a “stretch goal” of limiting warming to just 1.5 degrees above pre-industrial levels. They also tasked the United Nations’ advisory scientific body to prepare a special report on the virtues of avoiding 1.5 degrees of warming. When that report was released in 2018, it catalyzed a new wave of global climate action, spawning the European Green Deal — and eventually the U.S. Inflation Reduction Act.
Yet there is at least one way that Paris did not go as imagined.
Cast your mind back to Paris 10 years ago, right as diplomats filed in and began to applaud the final text’s completion. “This is a tremendous victory for all of our citizens — not for any one country or any one bloc, but for everybody here who has worked so hard to bring us across the finish line,” John Kerry, then the U.S. secretary of state, declared to his fellow diplomats.
It was a strange kind of victory. After decades in which western liberals had attempted to secure a globally binding climate treaty — an agreement that would limit each country’s greenhouse gas emissions — the world finally won a non-binding alternative. Under the Paris Agreement, each country would pledge to cut its emissions by as much as it could manage. Countries would then meet regularly to review these pledges, encourage each other to get more ambitious, and gradually ratchet the world into a lower-carbon future.
Kerry was reasonably direct about how such a mechanism would work: capital markets. “We are sending literally a critical message to the global marketplace,” he said. “Many of us here know that it won’t be governments that actually make the decision or find the product, the new technology, the saving grace of this challenge. It will be the genius of the American spirit.”
He was right, in a way: The Paris Agreement did send a signal to the global marketplace— and it did so in part because governments did shape policy and investment outcomes, not because they resisted doing so. But it did not reveal the genius of the American spirit, per se.
In the years running up to and following the Paris Agreement, China rolled out a series of important policies to boost its new energy sectors — a roadmap encouraging “new energy vehicle” sales in 2012, billions of consumer subsidies beginning in 2014, and a domestic content mandate for electric-vehicle batteries in 2015. These programs — along with canny decisions made by Chinese entrepreneurs and engineers, and no small amount of demand pull from companies and policies in the West — have transformed the world’s approach to decarbonization. They have begun to change even what decarbonization means — in the United States, in the western democracies, and around the world.
Ten years ago, Kerry could assume that any eventual solution to climate change would be geopolitically neutral, if not advantageous to the United States. But in 2025, to a degree that commentators still hesitate to describe, the climate story has become the China story. Across a range of sectors, how a country approaches its near-term decarbonization goals depends on how it understands and relates to the Chinese government and Chinese companies.
Consider the power sector, which generates just under a third of all greenhouse gas emissions globally. For many countries, the best way to cut carbon pollution — and to add more power generation to the grid — will be to build new utility-scale solar and battery projects. That will all but require working with Chinese firms, which dominate 80% of the solar supply chain. (They command up to 98% market share for some pieces of equipment, according to the International Energy Agency.)
It is much the same story in the grid-scale battery industry. China produces more than three-quarters of the world’s batteries, and it refines most of the minerals that go into those batteries. Its batteries are at least 20% cheaper than those made in Europe or North America. Most of the world’s top battery firms are Chinese — in part because they have more experience than anyone else; the country’s firms have manufactured 70% of all lithium-ion batteries ever produced. Nearly two dozen countries have bought at least $500 million in Chinese-made batteries this year, according to the think tank Ember.
What if a country wants to build wind turbines, not batteries? Even then, it will have to work to buy non-Chinese products. Although European and American firms have long led among turbine makers, six of the top 10 wind turbine manufacturers are now in mainland China, according to BloombergNEF. And for the first time since analysts’ rankings began in 2013, none of the world’s top three turbine makers are North American or European.
Transportation generates another 13% of global climate emissions. If a country wants to tackle that sector, then it will find itself (again) working with China — which made more than 70% of the world’s EVs in 2024. Thanks to the country’s sprawling battery and electronics-making ecosystem, its home-grown automakers — BYD, Geely, Xiaomi, and others — can produce more affordable, innovative, and desirable EVs at greater scale and at lower cost than automakers anywhere else. “The competitive reality is that the Chinese are the 700-pound gorilla in the EV industry,” Jim Farley, the CEO of Ford, said recently. As the scholar Ilaria Mazzocco put it in a recent report: “Chinese companies are ubiquitous in the value chain for EVs and battery components, meaning that for most countries, climate policy is now at least in part linked to policy toward China, and more specifically trade with China.”
That insight — that climate policy is now linked to policy toward China — will apply more and more, even when countries wish to tackle the remaining third of emissions that come from energy-related sources. Earlier this year, China approved a plan to build roughly 100 low-carbon industrial parks by 2030, where its firms will develop new ways to capture carbon, make steel, and refine chemicals without carbon pollution. (The Trump administration revoked funding for similar low-carbon projects in the U.S. earlier this year.) At the same time, China is building more conventional nuclear reactors than the rest of the world combined, and it may be pulling ahead of the United States in the race to develop commercial fusion.
This wasn’t inevitable. It happened because Chinese politicians, executives, and engineers decided to make it happen — choices owing as much to the government’s focus on energy security as to its concern for the global environmental commons. But it was also the result of American business leaders and politicians squandering this country’s leadership in climate technologies — and especially the result of choices made by Trump administration officials, who at nearly every opportunity have regarded batteries and electric vehicles as a technological sideshow to the more profitable oil and gas sector.
It was the Trump administration, after all, that licensed and then eventually gave U.S.-funded research on flow batteries to a Chinese company in 2017. It was the Trump administration that gutted fuel economy and clean car rules in 2018 and 2019, setting the American car industry back compared to its Chinese and European competitors. And it was the Trump administration and congressional Republicans that killed electric vehicle tax credits earlier this year, further choking off investment.
For progressives, this all might suggest a pleasant parable: China embraced the energy transition, and America didn’t, and now America is paying for it. Nowadays, commentators often invoke China’s clean energy dominance to inspire awe at its accomplishments. And how can you not, in truth, be impressed? China’s industrial miracle — its move to the frontier of global technological development — is the most important story of the past quarter century. The scale of the Chinese consumer market and the success of Chinese industrial policy (or, at least, its success so far) has wrenched world history in new directions. And Chinese companies have done humanity a great service by bringing down the cost of solar panels, batteries, and EVs on the supply side, even if they did so at first with demand-side assistance from policies in California or Europe.
But climate advocates in North America and Europe cannot be completely sanguine about what this development means globally. For environmentalists and other western liberals who have worked in decarbonization for decades, it will in particular require some rhetorical and political adjustment. We cannot pretend that we are playing by the 1990s’ rules, nor that environmental activism is but one part of a post-1970s progressive coalition, which is free to make demands and ignore inconvenient trade-offs. Basic questions of decarbonization policy now have patent geopolitical significance, which environmental groups attempt to side-step at their own peril.
Yet it isn’t only Americans or Europeans who must answer these questions. China’s dominance of decarbonization technology means that for the time being, every country on Earth must address this dynamic. When the scholar Mazzocco looked at how six countries around the world are approaching Chinese EVs, she found an uneven landscape, she told me on a recent podcast. Costa Rica, which has long embraced climate policy, has welcomed Chinese-made EVs; Brazil opened its doors to them but has now begun to close it.
Most major countries have some form of domestic automaking industry; no country will be able to sit back and passively allow Chinese exports to drive their local automakers out of business. At the same time, China’s manufacturing primacy is already making conventional export-driven growth less attractive for countries. And that will only be the beginning of the dilemmas to come. As long as going green requires buying and integrating Chinese technologies into critical infrastructure, environmental policymakers will be wagering decarbonization’s success on some of the world’s highest stakes geopolitical bets.
Environmentalists have long insisted climate change is a national security issue, but are we ready to think and act like it is? Do Western anxieties about a large and globalized war — either a Chinese invasion of Taiwan, a Russian invasion of the EU, or both — reflect a reasonable response to a real and growing menace, or an elite panic driven by our declining economic primacy? If China were to invade Taiwan, what would that mean for climate and energy policy — not only in the West, but around the world? Would American or European environmentalists even get a vote on that question — and if they do, how would they balance emissions reduction against other goals? If the unthinkable happens, we will all be called to account.
A decade ago, I remember watching the live stream of the world’s diplomats applauding their own success in Paris and realizing that I would be seeing that video in documentaries and news reels for the rest of my life. How will I see it then? I wondered. Would it strike me as the naivete of a simpler time, an era when liberal internationalism still seemed possible? Or would it really reflect a turning point, the moment when the world took the climate challenge seriously, pragmatically, and began to decarbonize in earnest? A decade later, I still don’t know. Perhaps the answer is both.
The electric vehicle-maker’s newly unveiled, lidar-equipped, autonomy-enabled R2 is scheduled to hit the road next year.
When Rivian revealed the R2 back in the spring of 2024, the compelling part of the electric SUV was price. The vehicle looked almost exactly like the huge R1S that helped launch the brand, but scaled down to a true two-row, five-seat ride that would start at $45,000. That’s not exactly cheap, but it would create a Rivian for lots of drivers who admired the company’s sleek adventure EV but couldn’t afford to spend nearly a hundred grand on a vehicle.
But at the company’s “Autonomy and AI Day,” held on Thursday at Rivian’s Palo Alto office in the heart of Silicon Valley, company leaders raised the expectations for their next vehicle. R2 wouldn’t just be the more affordable Rivian — it would be the AI-defined car that vaults them into the race to develop truly self-driving cars.
First, the hardware. Rivian said that the R2 will come with 11 camera and five radar units spread around the vehicle to improve the car’s ability to comprehend the world around it. But the crucial, headline-grabbing addition is a lidar, or light-based radar, unit. Lidar shoots laser pulses and measures the time it takes for the reflected light to return, thereby building a three-dimensional picture of the environment it surveys.
Those twirling bobs you might have seen on the top of Waymo’s driverless cars as they roam the streets, mapping the world around them, are lidar. The technology’s ability to see the world in detail across distances is necessary for the upper levels of automotive autonomy — the ones where the car can basically do it all and the humans can take their hands off the wheel and their eyes off the road.
Lidar units to date have been large and expensive, which is one reason they’re seen in pods that protrude from the top of a vehicle. Rivian, however, figured out how to mount one within the vehicle, in the area at the top of the front windshield near the rear-view mirror. The forward-facing lidar gives the vehicle 300 meters of forward vision. Demos the company showed during autonomy day revealed just how much more a constellation of cameras, radar, and lidar can see than a system without lidar, especially in dark or foggy conditions.
The other “wow” reveal on Thursday was that the R2 will process all that camera data on a chip that Rivian built from scratch to handle the AI and autonomous driving workload of its vehicles, rather than sourcing chips from some other tech company. CEO R.J. Scaringe said during his presentation to open the event that this kind of vertical integration was meant to allow the company to keep pace with the AI race as opposed to having to work with whatever third-party components it could get.
The result is a leap forward in capability over what Rivian offered with the R1S SUV and R1T pickup truck. Those vehicles had a hand-free system that let the EVs drive themselves with minimal human oversight on a little more than 100,000 miles of roads that were well-marked and well-mapped. James Philbin, the vice president of autonomy and AI, promised on Thursday that the lidar and processing improvements would allow hands-free driving on more than 3 million miles of roads — basically anywhere that the lines on the highway are clear enough for the R2’s cameras to see. And what’s next, Rivian promises, is true autonomy. The SUV will drive itself entirely from point to point when the conditions allow, and as the AI continuously improves over time, you might eventually see driverless Rivians out there competing with the likes of Waymo.
All this stuff costs money, of course. The Rivian Autonomy+ package would add $2,500 or a monthly fee of $50 to the purchase price. But the fact that this tech is coming to a car that starts in the $40,000s is telling. It is how many people will get their first taste of true vehicle autonomy.
Thursday’s event wasn’t all about self-driving, either. Rivian also built an AI software assistant for the cabin that can be summoned with a “Hey Rivian” and perform all kinds of in-car functions, such as changing the driving mode or adjusting the climate control. The achievement here is one of natural language. In Rivian’s demos, the assistant could ably fulfill the driver’s wishes with a command like “make it a little toastier in here” as opposed to formal instructional language like “turn the driver’s temperature to 70 degrees and set the seat heater to level one.”
At times this feels unnecessary, like AI looking for something to do to justify its existence. It doesn’t take that many button-pushes to alter the climate, after all. I admit, though, that having test-driven Rivians on road trips this summer, one of their weak points is my struggle to remember exactly which menu contains which controls. AI, in a way, helpfully solves a problem created by the modern EV that has amazing capability, but routes that capability through a large touchscreen that’s annoying (and dangerous) to navigate while driving.
Rivian is playing catch up with Tesla when it comes to autonomy, of course, as Elon Musk’s company has been touting its Full Self Driving feature for years and is now building the Cybercab, which is meant to be a car that humans will never drive. But Tesla has struggled to meet its timelines and targets for autonomous systems, giving rivals like Rivian a window to develop their own technology.
And so, what’s clear after Rivian’s event is that car companies, especially EV makers, are going to be key players in this autonomy and AI age. Nowhere was it written that electric vehicles had to be synonymous with self-driving vehicles. Battery-powered cars could be dumb and not smart, ruled by buttons instead of touchscreens. It just so happens that EVs are finally coming of age during the simultaneous ascent of artificial intelligence — and that the leading EV-only startups are Silicon Valley tech companies, or at least started out that way.
Tesla has forgotten about acting like a car company and staked its future on being the one that will crack true self-driving and reap the windfall. Rivian, which hadn’t made nearly as much noise about AI and autonomy before this week, has put forth a compelling case for its in-house autonomous systems and AI models, ones that will continue to improve as they’re trained on data provided by thousands of R2s hitting the road starting in 2026.
The market is reeling from a trio of worrisome data center announcements.
The AI industry coughed and the power industry is getting a cold.
The S&P 500 hit a record high on Thursday afternoon, but in the cold light of Friday, several artificial intelligence-related companies are feeling a chill. A trio of stories in the data center and semiconductor industry revealed dented market optimism, driving the tech-heavy NASDAQ 100 down almost 2% in Friday afternoon trading, and several energy-related stocks are down even more.
Here’s what’s happening:
Taken together, the three stories look like an AI slowdown, at least compared to the most optimistic forecasts for growth. If so, expectations of how much power these data centers need will also have to come down a bit. That has led to notable stock dips for companies across the power sector, especially independent power producers that own power plants, many of whose shares have risen sharply in the past year or two.
Shares in NRG were down around 4.5% on the day on Friday afternoon; nuclear-heavy Constellation Energy was down over 6%; Talen Energy, which owns a portfolio of nuclear and fossil fuel plants, was down almost 3% and Vistra was down 2%. Shares in GE Vernova, which is expanding its gas turbine manufacturing capacity to meet high expected demand for power, were down over 3.5%.
It’s not just traditional power companies that are catching this AI chill — renewables are shivering, as well. American solar manufacturer First Solar is down over 5%, while solar manufacturing and development company Canadian Solar is down over almost 9%.
Shares of Blue Owl, the investment firm that is helping to fund the big tech data center buildout, were down almost 4%.
The fates of all these companies are deeply intertwined. As Heatmap contributor Advait Arun wrote recently, ”The commercial potential of next-generation energy technologies such as advanced nuclear, batteries, and grid-enhancing applications now hinge on the speed and scale of the AI buildout.” Many AI-related companies are either invested in or lend to each other, meaning that a stumble that looks small initially could quickly cascade.
The power industry has seen these types of AI-optimism hiccups before, however. In January, several power companies swooned after Chinese AI company DeepSeek released an open source, compute-efficient large language model comparable to the most advanced models developed by U.S. labs.
Constellation’s stock price, for example, fell as much as 20% in response to the “DeepSeek Moment,” but are up over 45% this year, even factoring in today’s fall. GE Vernova shares have doubled in value this year.
So it looks like the power sector will still have something to celebrate at the end of this year, even if the celebrations are slightly less warm than they might have been.