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Let’s talk more about Denali ... that is, Mt. McKinley.

President Donald Trump signed 46 presidential actions during his first 12 hours in office, including overturning 78 of former President Joe Biden’s executive orders. Between Trump’s moves with major ramifications (like ending all wind permits) and those that seem to represent more personal grievances (like free-flowing showerheads), there has been much confusion over what they all mean.
Some would argue that is the entire point: “The more bizarreness Trump generates,” the journalist Edward Luce wrote last year for The Financial Times, “the less people notice.” Steve Bannon, Trump’s chief strategist during his rise to power in 2015 and 2016, memorably described this as a deliberate technique of “flood[ing] the zone with shit.”
Whatever way you frame it, though, where there’s Trump, there’s noises, which means news can fall through the cracks. Here’s our list of what you might have missed during Trump’s first hours as president and what might happen next.
In one of his first actions in office, Trump repealed almost seven-dozen Biden-era executive orders, including Executive Order 13985, “Advancing Racial Equity and Support for Underserved Communities Through the Federal Government.”
Signed on Biden’s Inauguration Day, the policy called for the government to take a “comprehensive approach to advancing equity for all, including people of color and others who have been historically underserved, marginalized, and adversely affected by persistent poverty and inequality.” That meant that the Environmental Protection Agency considered things like race and socioeconomic status — given the historic burdens put on frontline communities — during its permitting processes. Trump also signed a new executive order, “Ending Illegal Discrimination and Restoring Merit-Based Opportunity,” which limits government agencies from considering the impacts on disadvantaged communities. The administration has reportedly gone as far as to warn government employees that they could face consequences for failing to report on colleagues whose diversity and inclusion efforts might slip past its notice.
As Dan Farber writes for Legal Planet, however, to carry out this anti-diversity, equity, and inclusion executive order, “agencies will have to eliminate their own environmental justice regulations. At that point, the door will be open to judicial review. I think agencies will have a hard time justifying the repeals.”
Trump further overturned Executive Order 14008, “Tackling the Climate Crisis at Home and Abroad,” another first-week Biden policy. In addition to declaring climate change a national security risk, the order also created the Justice40 initiative, directing 40% of federal climate spending to disadvantaged communities.
Jillian Blanchard, the Climate Change and Environmental Justice Program director at Lawyers for Good Government, told me this was also legally dubious. “There’s already existing infrastructure and policies in place that can’t be undone by an executive order,” she said — for example, grants for ongoing efforts to install EV chargers in disadvantaged communities, or clean-up projects in coal mining communities in Appalachia. “I think it’s important to take a minute and say, okay, what does this mean in practice?”
Blanchard added that, in particular, Trump’s moves on environmental justice “make me question what this administration plans to do with Title VI of the Civil Rights Act,” which prohibits race-based discrimination in programs that receive federal funding. “There’s really important questions here that are being raised that everyone should be paying attention to.”
Trump also repealed Executive Order 14030, “Climate-Related Financial Risk,” signed by Biden in May 2021. The executive order called for government-wide assessment and disclosure of climate-related financial risks to U.S. programs, and ordered the Secretary of Labor to submit a report on actions to protect U.S. workers’ savings and pensions from those same threats. Executive Order 14030 also established the Federal Flood Risk Management Standard, which called for government agencies to be more conservative when siting projects that could face sea-level rise or flood threats.
In addition to government agencies no longer being required to consider how extreme weather and climate risks might threaten their operations, Trump’s executive order “Ending Illegal Discrimination and Restoring Merit-Based Opportunity” also takes aim at diversity, equity, and inclusion hiring practices, or the “social” aspect of ESG.
Though you’ve probably already heard about Trump’s attempt to spangle the Gulf of Mexico with a new name, the “ Restoring Names That Honor American Greatness” executive order also calls for reverting the name of North America’s highest peak, Denali, back to Mt. McKinley.
The political effort to change the mountain’s name to Denali, backed by the state’s Republican politicians, dates back to the 1970s. (It took until 2015 for the name to be changed to the Alaskan Athabaskan word meaning “the high one” because of the Ohio delegation’s insistence on honoring its native president.) Trump’s decision to restore the mountain’s colonial name is a pointed brush-off of Alaskan Natives and represents a troubling precedent by his administration of undermining promises made to Indigenous partners by the federal government.
Tribal partners have historically assisted the U.S. government on issues of land use, resource management, and climate resiliency, and can prove formidable opponents to projects that lack their support. By disregarding Alaskan Natives’ support of the name Denali, Trump risks alienating the greater Indigenous community and starting off on a contentious footing with one of the government’s most valuable allies.
When the Los Angeles County fires began earlier this month, Trump launched a renewed crusade against the “essentially worthless” Delta smelt, a nearly extinct two-inch-long fish. Per the then-president-elect, California’s Democratic Governor Gavin Newsom had supposedly refused to sign a “water restoration declaration” that would have “allowed millions of gallons of water … from the North to flow daily into many parts of California,” where it allegedly could have helped to fight the devastating fires.
Only, there was no “water restoration declaration.” The vast majority of Los Angeles’ water doesn’t come from northern California, and the smelt have nothing to do with the water shortages some fire crews faced. That didn’t prevent Trump from issuing a memorandum to “stop radical environmentalism” and put “people over fish.” Still, it is so vague that it appears to be more of a nod to the Trump-supporting farmers in California’s Central Valley, who occasionally face water restrictions during droughts to protect the smelt.
“It’s all political posturing — it’s all an attempt to shock and awe,” Blanchard told me of the executive orders taken in sum. She added that “it’s going to be really important for people to take a deep breath and recognize that many of these things are not legal and challenges will be put in place.”
“Don’t become too distracted by fear and uncertainty,” she went on, “because that is one of their main goals.”
With plenty more to come.
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Investment in zero-carbon energy and transportation surged this spring, driven by consumer EV and battery buying.
This is an edition of Heatmap Daily, an evening review of the day’s news written by our executive editor. Sign up for it here.
Ready to be surprised? Clean energy and transportation investment surged in the second quarter of this year, rising to more than $75 billion in total, according to new data released earlier this week.
In fact, this spring was the second biggest quarter for U.S. clean investment in nominal terms since at least 2018, when data started to be kept. More than 5% of overall investment in the United States went into a clean energy or transportation industry.
That’s according to the Clean Investment Monitor, a joint project of the MIT Center for Energy and Environmental Policy Research and the Rhodium Group, a private research firm. The monitor tracks nationwide investment across a number of sectors that make up the new electricity economy, including critical mineral refining, battery manufacturing, solar and wind installation, and electric vehicle and heat pump purchases by consumers (among other variables).
Outside of a promising headline number, the story is a mixed one. Investment in America’s clean manufacturing sector started growing again last quarter after falling for 18 months; it remains about 24% below where it was a year earlier, according to the project. The new growth came overwhelmingly from investment in the EV supply chain — defined as “critical minerals, batteries, vehicle assembly, and charging equipment” — driving a staggering 88% of all clean manufacturing investment. That subsector alone made up more than 9% of all U.S. clean investment.
The more interesting story — and what leaps out from the chart — is that retail activity drove the spring resurgence. High gasoline prices helped here, pushing consumers to buy all-electric and plug-in hybrid vehicles in larger numbers. (Rivian, Tesla, and other automakers started to see an EV rebound last quarter, too, after Republicans ended EV incentives in 2025.) But the real boom came in residential batteries, which surged to an all-time high of $11 billion in quarterly sales. Consumer activity hasn’t made up such a large share of national clean investment since 2023.
This trend wasn’t just happening in the United States. We’ve talked a lot at Heatmap about whether the Strait of Hormuz crisis will drive a clean energy boom. But it's now clear the oil price shock really did encourage global EV adoption. Some 50 countries set new EV sales records in 2026’s second quarter, according to Kelley Blue Book. India, Brazil, and Australia all set record highs. That's a lot of demand destruction.
As costs rise, more proceeds from the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative are going to direct bill relief.
A carbon price can be a tough sell when electricity costs are rising.
That’s what governors up and down the eastern seaboard are facing as they decide what to do with revenues from the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative, an 11-state cap-and-trade program for the electricity sector that operates from Virginia to Maine.
In Virginia and New Jersey, two states where Democratic governors won last year amidst a maelstrom of concern about rising electricity prices, the program has been at least partially reoriented around putting dollars back into the pockets of ratepayers.
Virginia only recently rejoined the group this year after having left under the leadership of Republican Glenn Youngkin in 2023. When Virginia was last a member of RGGI, the proceeds from the auctions for emissions allowances largely went to an energy efficiency program for low-income households and a flood resilience fund. Today, having rejoined RGGI, some 45% of the revenue will be earmarked for rate relief, thanks to a budget amendment passed in June.
In New Jersey, meanwhile, Governor Mikie Sherrill has used money raised through to help fulfill the rate freeze pledge on which she centered her campaign for Drumthwacket by directly reducing bills.
Conservatives in RGGI states have for years tried to make a stink about the up-front costs it imposed on ratepayers. Now as electricity costs balloon, Democratic governors and state legislatures are looking to RGGI to help balance their emissions goals and efforts to keep electricity bills under control.
In New Hampshire, for instance, the most conservative state to be a consistent RGGI member, nearly all the state’s proceeds from the program now go to rate relief, compared to about three-quarters historically. In its latest report on how RGGI funds get used, the organization reported that in 2024, the last year for which comprehensive data is available, some 23% of RGGI proceeds went to direct bill assistance, compared to 16% over the 17-year lifetime of the system.
“The affordability narrative is the leading political narrative of 2026. And the albatross around the neck of carbon pricing has been that it’s going to raise energy prices,” Dallas Burtraw, a senior fellow at Resources for the Future, told me.
Seen holistically, Burtraw told me, “carbon pricing is built for affordability.” That’s because, one, economists generally consider carbon pricing the cheapest and most efficient way to hit a given emissions reduction goal (assuming, that is, that you want to reduce emissions in the first place), and secondly because the proceeds from the carbon price can be invested and distributed in ways that mitigate price hikes.
“Carbon pricing raises tremendous proceeds, and the question comes down to the distributional impacts of carbon pricing. It always comes down to how you use those carbon proceeds,” Burtraw told me.
The current pressure for rate relief comes as RGGI prices have risen as the same time electricity prices up and down the East Coast are at or near all-time highs. The clearing price in the latest quarterly auction for carbon dioxide allowances was $35 per ton, the highest price in the history of the program, bringing in some $642 billion to be distributed among the states. By contrast, the third quarter auction in 2025 had a clearing price of $19.63 and raised some $300 million.
At the same time, electricity bills have risen across the RGGI system, including an 18.5% rise in New Jersey by 12.5% rise in New Hampshire just over the past year, according to Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub.
Because every state in the RGGI system besides Virginia operates in a restructured wholesale electricity market, it’s hard to say exactly how much RGGI prices affect ratepayer bills. In Virginia, Dominion, the dominant utility, has requested permission for a rider on bills of $10 to $13 per month, compared to monthly added costs under $3 when Youngkin began the process of withdrawing Virginia from the system in 2022.
In a New Jersey regulatory filing, meanwhile, the state’s Board of Public Utilities recommended using RGGI proceeds to fund $150 million of rate relief for moderate- and low-income households that Sherrill announced in June, citing an update to the state’s three-year strategic plan for RGGI that directly the NJBPU “to provide direct bill credits on residential energy bills for NJ’s most vulnerable residents.” There is precedent for this in the Garden State: In 2025 Governor Phil Murphy helped deliver rate relief by shifting some RGGI money around.
The trend toward using RGGI funds for rate relief has caused disquiet among environmental groups that support carbon pricing and want to see the dollars largely go to energy efficiency programs, not ratepayers.
In 2025, a coalition of Virginia environmental groups that supported rejoining RGGI called for revenue to go to the “low-income energy efficiency fund and the Community Flood Preparedness Fund.” The Flood Preparedness Fund issues grants to local governments for flood mitigation and resiliency projects, while the energy efficiency programs fund things like home weatherization.
“The case we’ve made to our environmental advocates in Virginia is that we have taken 45% towards RGGI credits, but we’ve left 55% of the revenue. That leaves each of the programs with record levels of funding,” Josephus Allmond, Virginia’s chief energy officer, told me, referring to the flood and energy efficiency programs that have historically been funded by RGGI.
“We were able to take what could have been a pretty negative impact to residential customer bills and turn it into something we can basically hold customers harmless.”
While the Natural Resources Defense Council has said it supports temporary rate relief to low-income ratepayers, it also has also mounted a defense of using RGGI revenues “to fund energy and environmental programs.”
“Several states are using larger amounts of program proceeds to provide households with bill credits or rebates that immediately lower monthly electricity bills, which means less investment in programs that provide long-term benefits,” Jo Gardias and Dawone Robinson wrote for the NRDC.
To me, Gardias framed the debate between energy efficiency programs and bill credits as between up-front and long-term benefits.
“Energy efficiency programs not only save the households that are getting the upgrade money, but every other customer through avoided transmission and distribution and generation costs,” Gardias told me. “On the far end there’s energy efficiency where you’re getting lifetime savings, on the shorter or more immediate end there’s the bill credit on energy savings.”
RGGI itself has estimated that every $1 of investments funded by the auction results in a lifetime bill savings of just over $4. In 2024 alone, RGGI claims that investments “are associated with approximately $363.9 million in annual energy bill savings and $2.6 billion in lifetime bill savings.”
“The question of how you spend proceeds is a large question of tradeoffs,” Gardias said. “What we’re seeing now is that because we have price spikes that are happening from data centers and other factors, there’s more interest in spending money on bill credits that provide immediate relief.”
Of course, this is the dilemma with all climate policy. The costs are immediate and upfront, while the benefits accrue over time and are more difficult to attribute to any one program or investment.
“There’s a lot of priorities for ways that you should use carbon proceeds to address the challenges of climate change,” Burtraw said. “But in 2026, given the affordability narrative and the populist sentiment in politics today, it makes sense to use carbon proceeds to reduce electricity prices.”
While an economist could draw up a cost benefit analysis that shows any number of uses of the proceeds could be more efficient for the economy or the environment — using the money to reduce taxes on investment, say, or using the money to fund energy efficiency programs — any of those would assume certain baseline of support for carbon pricing in the first place.
“For 25 years we’ve argued about this with the expectation that carbon pricing was inevitable because it was so much more efficient than any other type of approach. But we’ve seen after 25 years that carbon pricing is not inevitable,” Burtraw said. “We have to face the realities of what it takes to make it possible to do carbon pricing.”
Misan Lychee is made with “some” carbon dioxide captured “directly from the air,” along with 14.6 grams of added sugar.
I believe life should be a little bit silly, which is why I’m a sucker for a gimmick. A hotel just for napping? Sign me up. A “convenience store” full of items made of felt? I now own a bag of inedible Fritos. Hot sauce packaged to look like dynamite? Cute, add to cart.
And when I found out that you can buy soda carbonated with CO2 obtained via direct air capture, I said, Take my sixteen American dollars and put it on ice.
Misan Lychee (which yes, only comes in lychee flavor “at the moment”) represents the distant hopes and dreams of DAC. Currently, there isn’t demand for carbon dioxide at direct air capture prices; it’s much, much cheaper just to buy the concentrated byproduct of, say, natural gas- and coal-fired ammonia plants to carbonate your soda than to go through the trouble of sucking the 0.04% of the air that is CO2 out of the atmosphere for a few bubbles. That’s why the carbon removal industry is propped up by offtake agreements and credits, at least until Brutalism comes back in a big way and dramatically increases the demand for concrete manufactured with stored CO2.
Still, that hasn’t stopped companies from trying. You can buy carbon-sequestered beer, DAC vodka, CO2-captured perfume, and recycled-emission yoga pants. But unlike other consumer products that are, in many cases, made from waste gas captured during industrial processes rather than from true atmospheric CO2, Misan claims on the can to be made from “some” carbon dioxide pulled “directly from the air using a technology called direct air capture.” The bottle sports the logo of Bay Area-based AirMyne, a DAC start-up, which, on further investigation, turns out to own Misan.
My order arrived rattling around in a cardboard box, with three of the cans having popped loose from the six-pack in transit. As someone with no impulse control (which, upon reflection, might be related to my love of gimmicks), I immediately opened a can. Over my laptop. We both got drenched by the resulting geyser. CO2’s presence: confirmed.
What happened next was, admittedly, also user error. I took a sip and immediately went, “Yuck, what?” That’s because after a summer of drinking my way through every Waterloo flavor, I was expecting Misan Lychee to be a seltzer, too. Despite its website describing it as a “climate-forward sparkling water,” it is not, and you can taste all 14.6 grams of its added sugar. It has a moderately cloying, perfumy flavor that my dad described as “strawberry, but disturbing?” when I asked him to do a blind taste test. I think it’s perhaps closer in taste to pear, and I remain optimistic that someone who has more free time than me could come up with a recipe to turn it into a “sustainable” spritz.
Actually, to that point — is it sustainable? It notably doesn’t claim to be, and it has its skeptics. Richard Waite of the World Resources Institute pointed out on Bluesky that carbon dioxide is only “sequestered” until it leaves our metabolic system the usual way, via exhalation or burps. Still, his questions about the energy source of AirMyne’s direct air capture — and thus the carbon-emitting or -removing properties of the soda — generated lots of good puns in the replies. “Run out of polar before we run out of Polar” comes to us courtesy of Costa Samaras.
The second Misan Lychee I cracked also soaked me, although I was prepared this time and at least opened it out of range of electronics. I also paid more attention to the can, which has an unusual but not unpleasant matte feel. The list of ingredients on the back seems surprisingly long for the supposed golden age of “gut sodas” that advertise such things as the inclusion of “plant fibers.” Rather than prebiotics, Misan contains “xanthan gum” and an ominous concoction identified as “cloudy agent.”
If Misan isn’t healthier for me or the planet, then what is it for, exactly? I returned to the six lines of all-caps text printed on the front of the can:
Some of the CO2 in this can was pulled directly from the air using a technology called direct air capture (DAC). If scaled, DAC could do more than just carbonate your water. It could remove millions of tons of CO2 from the atmosphere, fighting climate change.
Gimmicks are, ultimately, ways to sell you something. Water gets packaged to look more “manly;” you might buy a Coca-Cola instead of a Pepsi if it has your name on it. But Misan isn’t ultimately selling itself with the promise of bubbles brought to you by DAC. It’s the other way around: Misan is the marketing vehicle for AirMyne. They want you to drink the DAC Kool-Aid.
Will I buy Misan Lychee again? Not likely: I have De La Calle! Mango Chili Mexican sodas to drink, made from the fermented rind of pineapples — BYOCO2, if you will.
Then again, never say never. If I learn about the existence of Misan Chikoo or Misan Pistachio-Rosewater during a weak moment, I’ll probably be down another $16. But I’ll open it over the sink this time.