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Here’s why Trump’s funding freeze created so much chaos.

A memo issued to federal agencies from the White House budget office on Monday landed like an atom bomb. The Trump administration ordered a pause on the obligation or disbursement of federal financial assistance. In laymen’s terms, that means an immediate freeze on payouts of federal grants — even those already awarded. The news sent a mushroom cloud of confusion and fear through state and local governments, schools, nonprofits, and companies that have set up programs and financed projects based on that funding.
Experts say the move is illegal and many groups moved quickly to sue. By Tuesday afternoon, a federal judge had temporarily blocked the funding freeze.
A 1974 law called the Impoundment Control Act prohibits the president from holding back congressionally appropriated funds indefinitely without permission from Congress. As Georgetown University law professor David Super explained in a blog post today, the law also prohibits presidents from deferring funds based on policy disagreements. The memo from the Office of Management and Budget makes Trump’s policy intent explicit — it specifically directs agency heads to pause activities that “may be implicated by the executive orders, including, but not limited to … DEI, woke gender ideology, and the green new deal.” It notes that the pause “will provide the Administration time to review agency programs and determine the best uses of the funding for those programs consistent with the law and the President’s priorities.”
Some have interpreted the memo as the first salvo in an attack on the separation of powers. But perhaps the most immediate reason the pause is so cataclysmic is because of the way federal grants work.
When an entity wins federal funds, be it $270 million to expand a copper recycling facility in Kentucky, or $1.2 billion to build a hydrogen hub on the Gulf Coast, or $149 million for the state of Wisconsin to set up home energy efficiency rebate programs, the awardee doesn’t just get the money transferred over to their bank account in a lump sum. Every federal grant program works slightly differently, but the majority of them are essentially pay-as-you-go.
The first thing that happens after an agency awards a grant to a given project is the two parties negotiate a contract, outlining the terms under which the award will be administered. What milestones does the project need to hit? What does the recipient need to report back to the agency? In the context of many Department of Energy programs, this contract is called a cooperative agreement, where federal staff continue to be involved in the project throughout its implementation.
After both parties sign the agreement, the money is considered “obligated,” which means the government has a legal duty to disburse those funds per the terms of the agreement. There might be some initial transfer of funds at this point to kickstart the project, depending on the program and contract. But the recipient may not get any money at all until they submit for reimbursement.
Yep, that’s right. If you win millions of dollars from the government, you still need to submit your receipts to get paid.
This is typically not a one-and-done process. A lot of grant programs fund years-long projects, and recipients regularly invoice the government for reimbursement throughout that time. In the case of the DOE, most programs also have a cost-share requirement, where the agency will reimburse a project developer for whatever portion of the expenses it has agreed to pay. For the Inflation Reduction Act’s Home Energy Rebates, where the funding is distributed to states to implement their own programs, the program is set up to transfer funds to state energy offices in four “tranches” as recipients hit certain benchmarks.
While some projects are fully obligated up front, meaning the grantee is entitled to the full amount, others are obligated in phases. For example, the Department of Energy has selected seven regional hydrogen hubs to receive up to $7 billion. But each of those seven hubs has only been awarded a portion of the funding for “phase 1,” which can be used to pay for “initial planning, design, and community and labor engagement activities.” When they are ready to move into phase 2, they’ll have to negotiate a new award for project development, permitting, and financing. Each advancement is subject to a go/no-go decision by the DOE.
Before Biden left office, his administration said it had obligated 85% of all grants from the Inflation Reduction Act. But as you can see, most of that money is not yet out the door.
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There is a heat wave in Europe, the world’s fastest warming continent. And so, as you may have heard, a perennial topic of online climate discourse has returned: Why don’t more Europeans have air conditioning?
I’m partially convinced this is psy op, or at least a figment of how social media organizes attention. I have a hypothesis that various “For You” page algorithms, especially that of the social network X, began to reward content that performed unusually well across national borders a few years ago. Since then, the amount of America vs. Europe content has surged. (Of course, writers have been comparing American and European lifestyles for much longer than that.)
Suffice it to say, though: It’s a fraught topic. I’ve assumed that as extreme heat gets worse as the climate changes, Europeans will simply get on with it and install AC, much as Americans in the Pacific Northwest have done. Yet there are cultural and regulatory obstacles to AC’s growth in Europe.
I’m sure I’ll write about it in the future, but for now I want to get a grip on the facts themselves. And so as a Friday special, I present to you — the facts about European AC, as I understand it:
Thanks so much for reading, and talk soon.
The movement against data centers is raising up a raison d'etre of the anti-renewables movement: protecting would-be farmland.
Farm owners and operators across the U.S. are winning national headlines almost every week for rejecting big dollar offers from data center developers. In Hanover County, Virginia, protestors are chanting “Grow Tomatoes, Not Data Centers.” In Pennsylvania and elsewhere, Republican legislators are mulling proposals to block the sale of so-called “prime farmland” for data center development. In Texas, the fight over data center development has engulfed the race for the state’s ag commissioner seat. In the Midwest, where agriculture reigns supreme, statewide races and congressional campaigns are slowly but surely being defined by the issue. Like in Nebraska where Austin Ahlman, an independent candidate running for Congress in Nebraska’s first district, told me he believes the data center backlash is reflective of a populist politics that broadly criticize elites and top-down control of the economy: “I think sometimes people misunderstand the anxieties of rural Americans when it comes to these data centers because a lot of their fears are about control long term.”
Unlike the farmland backlash around renewable energy development, the loudest critics are on the anti-monopolist left. On Wednesday, the prominent opposition group Food and Water Watch signaled farmland could soon be a watchword in the national data center debate – in a fashion analogous to what we’ve seen with renewable energy. The organization’s blog post entitled “The AI Data Center Boom Is Coming for Farmers” declared data centers verboten because of the threat they posed to “small and midsized family farmers.” Mitch Jones, deputy director of the campaign outfit, said he believes the threat to farmland is “a compelling reason to oppose data center development” but that his organization’s fight is primarily focused on protecting small business owners and an anti-monopoly sentiment.
“If data centers are coming into their areas, this puts even more pressure on them. It drives up the cost of their electricity, just as it does anyone else. It competes with them for water for crops, and it affects the value of their land in a perverse way,” Jones told me.
None of this should be surprising. An agricultural workforce has always been a good barometer for figuring out if a community will accept new infrastructure of any kind. We’ve seen as much time and time again with renewable energy, carbon capture, fossil energy and mining, just to name a few industries.
This same rule is true with data centers. In April, county commissioners in Kosciusko County, Indiana, unanimously rejected a Prologis data center; nearly 90% of acreage in Kosciusko County is being actively farmed, according to the Heatmap Pro database. Linn County, Iowa, in February enacted a rule severely restricting data center development in unincorporated areas; almost three-fourths of the land is used by the ag sector. A potential Amazon facility is causing heartburn in Clinton County, Ohio; nearly all land in the county is used for farming and utility-scale solar development has a recent history of conflict with landowners.
To be candid, I’m struck by the similarity in the backlash over siting data centers on farmland – a resemblance so close that some counties are starting to restrict renewable energy and data center development on farmland at the same time. This week, Eau Claire County, Wisconsin created a new “farmland preservation plan” discouraging utility-scale solar energy and data centers on any potential farmland. (More than 40% of land in this county is currently being used for farmland, according to Heatmap Pro.)
Jones at Food and Water Watch said his organization taking on the “protect farmland” mantle had nothing to do with the success this argument has had against renewable energy. “That thought never entered my head,” he told me, adding that if communities respond to the data center backlash by taking steps that short-circuit solar and wind too, that’s “a coincidence.”
I kept pressing. What if the pivot to farmland protection leads to more communities restricting renewable energy along with the data centers? “If you’re looking for a reason to oppose solar and wind, you can come up with that without having to attach data centers to it,” Jones said. “We’ve seen rural communities oppose solar and wind before data centers blew up across the country. It’s nothing new.”
And more of the week’s top news around project fights.
1. Virginia Beach, Virginia – The right-wing interest group lawsuit against Dominion Energy’s Coastal Virginia offshore wind is now dead, concluding one of the wackier tales of the Trump 2.0 energy era.
2. Box Elder County, Utah – Call it the Box Elder County massacre.
3. Davidson County, Tennessee – We have the latest updates in the Nashville Zoo data center drama and they’re a doozy and a half.
4. Clark County, Ohio – Yet another utility-scale solar farm is in the Ohio state permitting graveyard.