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The state is poised to join California and Quebec in North America’s largest carbon market.

Washington State’s carbon market is about to get much bigger — and much cheaper.
In June, the state signed an historic agreement to link its cap-and-invest program with the California-Quebec market, which has operated jointly since 2014. The deal will further expand what’s already the world’s largest subnational carbon market, a move climate advocates are celebrating even as they expect it to lower Washington’s carbon price, and in turn the revenue it generates for statewide climate-related initiatives.
“Climate pollution does not stop at state borders or national borders, and so the more jurisdictions can work together, this is only a benefit for the climate,” Katelyn Roedner Sutter, California’s senior director at the Environmental Defense Fund, told me. “When you have a larger market, it is much more stable, it’s much more efficient, and you can achieve emission reductions at lower prices.”
At a moment when the Trump administration is actively rolling back federal climate policy, the linkage offers a glimpse of what states and regional governments can accomplish via cooperation. The newly expanded market is set to go live next year, once the jurisdictions complete a series of regulatory steps that will enable joint auctions. This involves regulators from all three regions selling an ever-declining number of emissions allowances — i.e. permits to emit a certain amount of greenhouse gas — at a single price to a shared pool of bidders spanning the U.S.-Canada border. Ultimately, the Western Climate Initiative — a name that’s stuck even as it’s expanded geographically — will cover 80% to 85% of each market’s total emissions, including those from transportation, heating, power plants, and industrial facilities.
While emitters aren’t thrilled by the idea of carbon pricing, Dallas Burtraw, a senior fellow at the nonpartisan think tank Resources for the Future, told me businesses in these regions are generally enthused by the market stability linkage provides. “They want reduced oscillations, reduced variability in what’s happening in climate policy,” he told me. “And I think linking with Washington adds a degree of credibility and certainty also to the California program.”
The idea is that the larger and more deeply integrated the markets become, the more durable they’ll be. Or as Burtraw put it, “it’s like joining rafts together in a storm.” Once businesses begin making long-term investments and building compliance strategies around a shared market — and state budgets come to depend on its expected revenue — it becomes much more difficult for a new leader to simply pull out.
Such a thing is not unprecedented — Ontario pulled out of the California-Quebec market at the beginning of 2018 after joining just six months earlier when a new conservative government took office and scrapped the program. But that type of political flip-flopping is unlikely in staunchly liberal Washington state, and the longer any jurisdiction remains part of a linked market, the more difficult it will become to unwind.
That’s proven true for the country’s only other major carbon market, the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative, which covers fossil fuel power plant emissions across 11 Northeastern and Mid-Atlantic states. The initiative, which has been in place since 2009, has weathered multiple gubernatorial transitions and party turnovers, as well as state exits and reentries. New Jersey and Virginia, for example, have each left only to later rejoin. But through all the churn, the core market has remained intact.
For its part, Washington has been ideologically committed to a regionally linked carbon market since it passed the Climate Commitment Act, its cap-and-invest law, in 2021. The legislation explicitly directed the state’s Department of Ecology to “seek to enter into linkage agreements with other jurisdictions” to expand emission-reduction opportunities and lower compliance costs. But because the market didn’t formally launch until 2023, after which the state spent years modeling the effects of linkage and gathering community input, the agency wasn’t ready to formalize the linkage agreement until this summer.
“We’ve never thought that Washington was a big enough economy on its own to sustain the kind of greenhouse gas reductions that our statute calls for,” Washington State Representative Joe Fitzgibbon told me. Those ambitious goals include complete decarbonization of the electricity sector by 2045 and a 95% cut in economy-wide emissions by 2050, compared to 1990 levels. “That was really only going to be possible in a linked market.”
Fitzgibbon, like most climate advocates in Washington, has been a vocal supporter of market linkage — even though it will mean less revenue for Washington. Analysts expect the state’s relatively high carbon price, which currently hovers around $60 to $70 per metric ton of greenhouse gas emissions, to converge with the much lower price in the California-Quebec market, which sits at around $28. Since the latter market is roughly five times larger than Washington’s, modeling indicates the combined price will settle far closer to California and Quebec’s current level than Washington’s.
Whatever the final figure, it is sure to be strikingly different from Resources for the Future’s estimate of the true social cost of carbon: $185 per metric ton. But while climate advocates might theoretically favor higher energy prices to incentivize emissions reductions, Burtraw argues that achieving climate targets as cheaply as possible is critical, particularly at a time when affordability concerns dominate the political conversation.
“Linking will help identify the most cost-effective way to achieve emission reductions, and that’s going to reduce the cost for households,” he told me.
Legislators like Fitzgibbon knew Washington’s model wasn’t tenable in the long run, which was why the state planned to link its market from the beginning. But in the meantime, it’s certainly enjoyed the revenue generated by these costly allowances, which have helped fund billions of dollars in clean energy and electrification projects, public transit, EV incentives, and targeted investments in the low-income communities hit hardest by pollution. Once linkage takes effect, a report by Resources for the Future indicates that Washington’s cap-and-invest revenue could fall by as much as $25 billion cumulatively by 2045, compared with a scenario in which the markets remained separate.
That’s something the state has long anticipated. “The goal of the program was always to be first and foremost an emissions reducing program, not a revenue generator,” Fitzgibbon told me. “We expected that the windfall that the state of Washington received in 2023 and 2024, when the program was new and when allowance prices were really high was a temporary thing, and we tried to spend the money on one-time expenditures.”
While he interprets the loss in revenue as a sign that the program is working as intended, he does acknowledge it will force some difficult decisions, likely involving cuts to the state’s Department of Transportation, which he told me has been the single largest beneficiary of allowance auction revenue.
The linkage tradeoff also extends to regional emissions. RFF projects Washington will emit an additional 8 million to 14 million metric tons by 2045 compared with an unlinked market, as lower prices encourage businesses to buy allowances rather than funding long-term emissions reductions strategies. The think tank forecasts that the state’s emissions will still decline overall, however. And because higher prices in California will drive deeper emissions cuts there, RFF estimates the linked markets will ultimately deliver more than 50 million additional tons of reductions overall, producing a substantial net climate benefit.
“Anything that one jurisdiction does by itself as an island will be important, will be valuable, but it will be insufficient to achieve the goal that motivates Washingtonians or Californians to take this policy initiative in the first place,” Burtraw told me, referring to slowing climate change overall. Progress on this front, he said, “can only be successful if these leadership jurisdictions are successful in propagating climate policy to other jurisdictions.” When I asked people which states they thought would be next to join, the most common answers were Oregon and New York.
Not all climate advocates are fully onboard with the linked market, though. Some environmental justice advocates argue it does little for the air pollution burdening their communities — because while regional CO2 emissions may improve overall, merging markets doesn’t guarantee reductions in pollutants with more localized effects, such as PM2.5, sulfur dioxide, or nitrogen oxides. That’s especially true in Washington, where emitters will soon have the option to purchase cheaper out-of-state allowances instead of cutting local carbon emissions — and the co-pollutants released alongside them.
The Department of Ecology’s report laying out the legal and technical case for market linkage states that the agency “did not find evidence that carbon markets exacerbate air quality disparities generally, nor that linkage specifically would exacerbate air quality disparities.” It also points out that Washington’s Climate Commitment Act still requires that at least 35% of its revenue benefits vulnerable populations in the communities most affected by pollution — though as noted, that revenue is set to decline sharply under the combined market.
At any rate, now that Washington, California, and Quebec have all signed the formal linkage agreement, the focus has largely shifted to the remaining regulatory to-do list. Washington’s rulemaking, which will make its program technically compatible with the shared market, is expected to wrap up next month. California has a longer process ahead: The governor must first certify that the state meets the legal requirements for linkage, triggering a review and rulemaking process at the California Air Resources Board, which could stretch into 2027. Quebec, meanwhile, must complete its own regulatory steps to formally recognize Washington’s allowances.
Legislators aren’t saying exactly when in 2027 they expect the market to launch. Caroline Halter, a communications manager at the Department of Ecology, told me it should happen before November, the deadline for Washington emitters to submit their allowances and offset credits from the previous four-year compliance period.
But the finish line is coming into view. And while debate over details remains, there’s broad agreement among market economists and most climate advocates that a larger, linked system is a net win for the planet. And the case for cooperation is only getting stronger.
“States and provinces working together to address climate pollution when we have this complete lack of leadership at the federal level — it is more important than ever,” EDF California’s Roedner Sutter told me. “This is the time for climate ambitious states to be joining forces.”
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If Democrats plan to restore the solar and wind tax credits, then passing BAAJA now suddenly looks like the savvy move.
This is Heatmap Daily, a weekday digest written by our executive editor. Subscribe here.
So here we are. The bipartisan permitting reform bill has cleared its first and most important procedural hurdle in the Senate. On Monday evening, 73 senators voted to end debate on the Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act, or BAAJA, which would broadly make it faster and easier to build federal infrastructure projects of all sorts, especially power lines.
The bill will still undergo what its backers call a “healthy amendment process,” and it will face procedural and substantive votes for the next week or two. But its path to passage, at least in the Senate, is getting clearer.
That’s more than a little surprising. Going into the midterm elections, the conventional wisdom in Washington was that the bigger the Democratic wave, the harder it would be to pass BAAJA. Supporters feared that Democrats, newly flush with confidence, would drop the compromise and choose to restart negotiations anew in the next Congress. That’s certainly what Representative Jared Huffman, the likely incoming chair of the House Natural Resources Committee, has pushed for on X over the past week. And soon after the scale of the electoral deluge for Republicans became clear, Heatmap reported that the bill’s odds of passage had gotten a little steeper.
And yet the bill has actually gotten closer to becoming law, not further, since last Tuesday. And as I pondered the situation over the weekend, I realized the original conventional wisdom was misguided. The midterm elections have strengthened the politics of permitting reform. Tuesday’s results can help explain why the Democratic Senate caucus is now speeding toward passage.
The first dynamic is obvious: This is an affordability bill — it’s right there in the name — and Democrats just won an affordability election. The bill’s projected energy affordability benefits are small but real, and proponents argue (plausibly) that the bill’s most important changes are impossible to quantify in an energy model. The bill will make federally funded public transit much faster to build, for instance, which will have big affordability and emissions implications but is essentially impossible to model.
What’s more, much of the incoming Democratic Senate class ran on a policy platform that looks a lot like BAAJA. James Talarico of Texas, Adam Hamilton of Kansas, Annie Andrews of South Carolina, and — if they win — Scott Colom of Mississippoi and Mary Peltola of Alaska all promised an all-of-the-above energy policy that would expand the supply of fossil fuels and clean energy. That is what BAAJA does, according to its supporters and detractors.
South Carolina’s Andrews even went one step further and explicitly committed to finding a permitting reform compromise with Republicans. “Nobody has the political will to get to work and pass this bipartisan plan. It’s embarrassing,” she wrote. “In the Senate, I'll work to bring members of both parties together to finally get this done.” Now Democrats can get it done before she even gets to the Hill.
BAAJA mirrors Democratic policy commitments in more specific ways, too. Seven of the incoming 11 Democratic senators campaigned on forcing data centers to pay the full cost of their electricity use; it was even one of Abdul El-Sayed’s mandatory “terms of engagement” for the facilities. The rest of the winning Senate class made more vague pledges that data centers should not make Americans’ power bills go up.
The permitting bill would accomplish this goal, too. BAAJA would force data centers and crypto miners to pay the full costs of their connection to the grid, and it would let states go even further in transferring additional system costs from other ratepayers onto data centers.
Last week’s elections could help ease specific data center worries around the bill, as well. Some of BAAJA’s critics have feared that the bill could accelerate the nationwide data center buildout. And in a world where data centers are growing fastest in Republican states, activists might be loath to surrender any federal tool — no matter how feckless — that would be useful to fighting them. But many of the states where data centers and behind-the-meter gas plants are growing most quickly — such as Texas, Ohio, New Mexico, and Pennsylvania — will now have new Democratic governors or outright trifectas next year. The most effective tool for slowing the data center buildout remains state, county, and municipal land use laws. BAAJA would not touch those ordinances. And its data center electricity provisions would actually expand the ways that incoming Democratic governors could make data centers pay for the rest of the grid or even build new infrastructure.
Likewise, BAAJA’s new utility oversight tools look far more powerful in a world where state politicians have promised to fight utilities. Democrats likely also find it easier to write those powers into law in a world where public utility commissions are trending Democratic.
And there is one more reason Democrats might feel more comfortable passing this bill now: Tuesday has made their odds of gaining even more power in the future look better, and this bill will improve as Democrats pass other clean energy or climate policies to augment it.
If Congress soon restores the wind and solar tax credits, for instance — as most every incoming congressional Democrats have vowed to do — then BAAJA’s transmission provisions will go from being merely somewhat good for the climate to being very good. When the Inflation Reduction Act fell short, it was because the United States could not build new power lines fast enough to hook new solar and wind farms to electricity demand. But marrying the IRA’s clean energy tax credits to BAAJA’s transmission mandates would supercharge them both. And if a future Democratic Congress chooses to fund and build a national macrogrid, then passing BAAJA now would make it much easier, because some of the hardest political aspects of such a task — such as creating a federal backstop siting mechanism for new power lines — will already be done. There’s a reasonable political argument that Democrats should eagerly welcome Republican co-ownership of BAAJA’s transmission provisions, so that the party does not have to own the political consequences of such a buildout alone in the future.
Likewise, BAAJA will disproportionately benefit the party that wins the next presidential election, because the bill’s greatest affordability benefits will start accruing to the president who follows Donald Trump. Like all big energy bills, BAAJA will take time to work its way through the energy system. Americans won’t immediately experience cheaper bills or faster projects; after BAAJA’s passage, independent agencies such as the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission will need to write rules governing the law’s new programs and communicate them to states, utilities, and grid managers.
Many of those effects will start to be felt right around the time the next president takes office in January 2029 — or even in the early 2030s. If Democrats feel better about their chances of taking the White House today than they did a week ago, then they may very well feel better about passing this bill now, too.
BAAJA survived its first test, but Trump says the bill “hasn’t been fully negotiated.”
The Senate on Monday night moved to open debate on the Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act — just after the president bizarrely threw cold water on the deal he struck for the bill.
Senators agreed to invoke cloture on a motion to proceed to the bill by a vote of 73–25, a forceful bipartisan tally that could bolster momentum behind the bill. Up next comes what Senator Sheldon Whitehouse, the Democrat from Rhode Island and one of the key sponsors of the bill, called a “healthy amendment process” at a press conference Monday morning. This will constitute the last remaining opening for senators and outside constituencies to try and change provisions they disagree with. How many amendments will make it to a vote, however, is not publicly known. Nor is how fast debate on the bill will move along, so best be patient.
I’m aware of pushes for at least two amendments to be considered — one ostensibly to remove the bill’s changes to the National Historic Preservation Act and another related to future administrations potentially revoking Trump-era permits. Some of the lawmakers who voted to proceed on the bill may become “nays” depending on how the amendment process goes.
In a normal world, this would be the clarifying moment for BAAJA, when the clouds would part and a pathway to passage and enactment would appear obvious. There are certainly rays of hope for the pro-BAAJA squad because a large bipartisan vote would help the legislation move briskly in the House.
But we still live in the Trump era, so instead, just as senators were preparing to vote, and after the White House released a formal statement endorsing the bill, the president told the world that actually, the deal wasn’t done.
Politico reported in September that the president told his aides he would direct the Pentagon to clear its queue of onshore wind projects to strike a deal on permitting. The White House has for weeks been telling reporters it’s been advancing wind projects through the Pentagon airspace clearance process in good faith. As we reported in late October, these claims have not always lined up with what the administration and renewable energy trade groups have been stating in federal court, where a judge months ago required the government to resume these once-routine height approvals.
For some reason, asked about this at a White House media briefing Monday evening, Trump told reporters from the press room podium that actually he won’t approve wind turbines even if the bill becomes law. Then he said, “The bill hasn’t been fully negotiated.” You can watch the full clip of the comments here.
It’s unclear whether these comments affected the bill’s odds at final passage, but they did lead to a very long all-caps post on X from Representative Jared Huffman, who’s in line to lead the House Committee on Natural Resources in the coming Congress. The White House has tried to clarify the president’s remarks, and Senator Whitehouse blamed the comments on Trump’s age. So just because we’re seeing legislative progress doesn’t mean the future will make sense.
Researchers, advocates, and funders gathered to discuss intervening in the global climate on purpose.
For decades, deliberately intervening in the Earth’s climate system was something most scientists and policymakers didn’t dare talk about. But last month, more than 250 people from six continents gathered in Reykjavik, Iceland for a three-day summit devoted entirely to willfully tinkering with the climate to make it more resilient.
The gathering served as a purposeful, if hesitant, coming out party for a field so controversial that just a few years ago, hundreds of researchers signed the Solar Geoengineering Non-Use Agreement, which called for an end to public funding for scientific research into the field. But this summit revealed that the sector — while still deeply divided over questions of money, governance, and deployment — is beginning to emerge from the shadows.
Why now? The consensus among climate scientists about our ability to mitigate warming is growing more dire by the day. The United Nations now acknowledges that limiting temperature to 1.5 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels is out of reach, putting more drastic adaptation solutions in play.
“It is increasingly clear to anyone who’s paying any attention that we are screwed, right? That we have blown past every possible reasonable threshold at which our existing theory of change can possibly lead to a safe and equitable climate future,” Joshua Elliott, chief scientist at Renaissance Philanthropy, told me. He directs the two-year-old nonprofit’s Advanced Research for Climate Emergencies initiative, which organized the event. “I feel like the second election of Trump was such a nail in the coffin.”
The three-day Global Risk and Stabilization Summit brought together scientists, engineers, funders, insurers, and at least one venture-backed startup to talk about everything from thickening Arctic sea ice to shielding Antarctic glaciers with underwater curtains to spraying reflective particles into the stratosphere to bounce a portion of incoming sunlight back into space. That last approach, a method of solar geoengineering known as stratospheric aerosol injection, tends to dominate geoengineering discussions, as it could theoretically cool the planet quickly and relatively cheaply.
That doesn’t mean it’s generally accepted, however. Far from it. The sessions at the ARC summit ran under Chatham House Rules, i.e. no reporting who said what — or even whether they were there at all — without explicit permission. ARC plans to release a synthesis report on the state of field next year, but in the meantime the conference website made clear: “Attending the summit does not imply that you endorse the report, any particular intervention, or the stabilization framing. Attending means you are taking part in the conversation and nothing more.”
This type of careful distancing is par for the course in geoengineering circles. Just as many mainstream climate advocates once viewed adaptation — and later carbon removal — as distractions from the need to cut emissions, geoengineering has suffered under the same criticisms. Its oftentimes sci-fi sounding interventions are already ripe conspiracy fodder. Add to that its underresearched environmental impacts and side effects, and some of these strategies could prove truly disastrous in the wrong hands.
But at least people are finally talking about it. In the weeks since the summit, attendees have published dozens of Substack and Linkedin posts about what they saw, heard, and took away from the conference. I talked to many of them about this first attempt to intentionally gather and grow the sector.
Naturally, they don’t all agree on the best path forward. Seemingly everyone acknowledges that conducting more research and designing better Earth monitoring systems is a no-lose situation. But big questions remain unresolved: what role private capital should play; how openly to discuss the possibility of near-term deployment; the somewhat uncomfortable overlap between climate engineering, defense, and national security; and how to educate policymakers and the general public about interventions that sound to some like nefarious overlords trying to control the weather.
The field doesn’t even yet agree on what to call itself. The conference organizers prefer “Earth systems stabilization” to “geoengineering,” arguing that a sector like this should be defined by its goal rather than how it gets there. The terminology remains unsettled, however, with one critic, University of Waterloo economist and former geoengineering researcher Juan Moreno-Cruz telling me in an email that the renaming “feels like a campaign” with the “objective of moving more towards action.”
At this nascent stage, any one individual can have an outsized voice. Based on the published speaker list, as well as various recaps posted during and after the event, the guest list featured some of the field’s biggest names. That included David Keith, founder of the direct air capture company Carbon Engineering and a pioneer of solar geoengineering, which involves releasing aerosols like sulfates into the atmosphere to reflect a small portion of sunlight back into space. Also in attendance were Columbia University climate economist Gernot Wagner, Paris Agreement architect Sue Biniaz, and J.P. Morgan climate advisor Sarah Kapnick, alongside delegates from some of the big environmental NGOs, including the Environmental Defense Fund and Natural Resources Defense Council.
More potentially polarizing attendees included Yanai Yedvab, the CEO of solar geoengineering startup Stardust Solutions — one of the first for-profit entities to enter the space — and Lowercarbon Capital, the climate tech venture firm that led its Series A round.
The function that private sector funding and venture-style startups could or should play in this field remains one of the biggest points of tension. Many strongly believe that the only appropriate customer for a globally consequential intervention like stratospheric aerosol injection is a coalition of national governments. But there seems to be a preemptive acknowledgement among those I spoke with that getting the United Nations itself to align on research and potential terms of deployment is unlikely.
Paul Gambill, an ARC fellow and co-founder of Nori, an early carbon removal marketplace, told me that one session at the summit was titled “The Future is Minilateral,” a nod to the growing interest in a small bloc of countries — “maybe six or so” — working together on the issue. Several people I spoke with described a model in which governments would buy technology from a company like Stardust, but retain control over if, when, and how to deploy it.
But even within the ARC set, that framing seems to have skeptics. Noah Deich, another ARC fellow and carbon removal veteran who co-founded the nonprofit Carbon180, sees the profit motive as inherently dangerous. There’s no guarantee that the science will ever advance to the point where governments are comfortable becoming customers, but investors always want to see returns. That disconnect, he argues, creates the incentive to commercialize the technology before either the research or the public is ready.
“That to me is very, very concerning, and shows a lack of judgment at a first order for the people who have invested in this, and for the people who have accepted that private sector money,” Deich told me. “That makes me very, very wary about what they’re going to do when faced with the choice of, hey no government wants to do this. Or these governments have said it is illegal, and this one says it’s fine. Like, will they actually respect the ones that say it’s illegal?”
Others see private capital as all but inevitable. Susan Su, a climate tech investor and analyst, thinks the sector would do best to engage with the private sector strategically rather than fearfully. “Money in general comes with ideas, and in my view, that’s okay,” she told me. If a venture backer has their own notions about how and where to deploy stratospheric aerosol injection, for instance, that need not dictate the agenda. “It’s the entrepreneur’s or the initiative’s job to push back against those ideas and to shape them.”
Su also thinks the field ought to be more open to discussing deployment as a possible outcome from both the research and conditions on the ground, rather than treating it as the third rail. “There’s a sentiment of caution that I think is rooted in a previous era, where it’s been a long road to reach whatever limited consensus there is today that we should even research this,” she explained to me in an email. “With that much caveating, it’s hard to imagine why a funder would get excited to back something that everyone’s saying shouldn't exist.”
Still, it’s not hard to imagine a near-term future in which climate change presents an increasingly urgent national security concern, and the instant governments start treating geoengineering as a defense priority, the money could be practically limitless. Private geoengineering companies could function essentially as defense contractors, with militaries as their primary customers.
The comparison makes some understandably uneasy, as it risks framing climate interventions as weapons to be wielded by states with the resources to develop and deploy them. But however you look at it, “people are starting to realize, there’s no scenario where this stuff doesn’t become geopolitical very very fast,” Gambill told me. And that makes an already controversial field considerably messier.
One way to sidestep some of the thorniest questions around global governance could be to start with a focus on more localized interventions. In the Arctic, for example, companies such as Real Ice and Arctic Reflections are testing ways to thicken sea-ice by pumping seawater onto its surface during the winter. In Antarctica, researchers are studying the feasibility of underwater “seafloor curtains” in front of the Florida-sized Thwaites Glacier to keep warm ocean water from melting it from below. If that glacier were to fully collapse, it could raise global sea levels by up to two feet. There are also some truly low-tech options on the table, too: One calls for reintroducing bison to the Alaskan tundra, where their heavy footsteps would compact the snow and help keep the underlying permafrost frozen.
There’s even a more localized version of solar geoengineering. Called marine cloud brightening, it involves spraying a fine mist of seawater into low-lying clouds over the ocean. The salt particles encourage the formation of smaller cloud droplets, making the clouds brighter and more reflective, cooling the ocean and surface below. Unlike stratospheric aerosol injection, the impacts of which could persist for a year or more, a single deployment of marine cloud brightening lasts mere days, making it readily reversible and easier to test. Australian researchers have piloted this tech over the Great Barrier Reef.
"It feels like people read Kim Stanley Robinson’s novels and are trying to actually figure out if any of that stuff makes sense,” Deich told me. In Robinson’s acclaimed 2020 novel The Ministry for the Future, he imagines efforts at stratospheric aerosol injection, glacier stabilization, and large-scale rewilding in response to a fictional — but readily imaginable — catastrophic heat wave.
Deich worries, however, that he didn’t hear enough emphasis at the summit on the ongoing role carbon removal — not just emissions cuts — would have to play in a world even temporarily reliant on an intervention like stratospheric aerosol injection. That’s because of the risk of “termination shock”: If scientists suddenly halted solar geoengineering, the warming it had been masking would likely return within just a few years unless carbon removal efforts could draw down significant CO2 in the interim.
“The [carbon dioxide removal] community from the very early days tried very hard to say, first priority is obviously stopping emissions, but we also need to do removal, and we can’t wait for one to do the other,” Deich told me. “And I don’t see that same type of drumbeat being articulated by the SRM crowd.”
He and others are well aware of the moral hazard argument that has long dogged carbon removal: that this tech will give fossil fuel companies cover to keep emitting, and politicians an excuse to avoid the harder work of decarbonization. With carbon removal, however, that concern is generally simple to rebut. All recent IPCC reports have concluded that removals will be necessary to keep warming anywhere near safe levels. And in many cases, cutting emissions is still far cheaper than removing carbon after the fact.
But it’s a different calculus for an intervention like stratospheric aerosol injection, which is cheap by comparison and could lower global temperatures without doing anything to address the underlying emissions buildup. It’s easy to see how policymakers and the public could say, “Let’s let future generations deal with this building up of greenhouse gasses. We don’t really have to care about that now, we can just keep the temperatures a bit lower and buy ourselves time,” Robert Höglund, a carbon removal advisor and co-founder of the market tracker CDR.fyi, told me. “I think that’s fair. It’s a real risk.”
For its part, ARC plans to publish a report early next year bringing together the work of roughly 40 authors to lay out the state of the field’s science, governance, and social legitimacy. This will come alongside an open map of the interventions being studied and tested as well as funding and research gaps that remain. Rather than immediately holding another global summit, the organization plans to convene regional meetings next year primarily in low- and middle-income countries to explore possibilities for local research efforts in climate vulnerable nations. The next global gathering might then be scheduled for 2028.
In the meantime, many hope ARC and others will help shepherd along myriad research and communications efforts. Because if any message dominated the inaugural summit, it was: Geoengineering isn’t yet ready for prime time. There’s much more research to do, and significant stakeholder groundwork to lay, especially as the field considers how to best invite policymakers into the conversation.
“You cannot create a field. Nobody can declare it into existence,” ARC director Joshua Elliott told me of the effort to bring together the disparate experts working on climate stabilization. What organizations like ARC can do is build the infrastructure for it to emerge. That looks like convening researchers, advocates, and even skeptics; synthesizing siloed knowledge; opening the arguments to debate; establishing academic journals; and creating funding streams within governments and other institutions. But from there, the big decisions belong to others.
“That’s where our theory of change stops,” Elliott told me. ARC won’t decide whether the aerosols are injected into the atmosphere or Arctic ice is thickened. “It is the governments and the multilateral institutions that we have charged with making these decisions, despite however functional you think those institutions might be.”