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Renewables are really popular. That’s not the problem.
Renewables are popular, and most Americans don’t mind living near them. That’s the message of an interesting new poll from The Washington Post and the University of Maryland, which found that about 70% of Americans would be comfortable living near a wind or solar farm “in their community.” Now, Americans slightly prefer solar over wind, and there’s a partisan gap among the respondents — 79% of Democrats are comfortable living near a wind farm, while only 59% of Republicans are — but overall the message is clear: Americans as a whole don’t mind living near a new renewables project.
It’s great to see this poll, and it adds to a growing and now, I think, unimpeachable body of research that shows renewables remain broadly popular in the United States. In March, a Heatmap poll found that 72% and 76% of Americans, respectively, would welcome utility-scale wind and solar in their communities. We found that the only more popular form of electricity generation was rooftop solar (which can’t solve climate change by itself), backed by nearly 9 in 10 Americans:
In June, the Pew Research Center found similar majorities in its polling, although it also noted that the partisan gap over renewables was continuing to widen. Only 60% of Republicans favor building more wind power today, according to Pew, as compared to 80% in 2016. (Over the same period, Democrats have become modestly more supportive of expanding wind.)
These polls are important. They demonstrate that renewable advocates can draw on a broad base of public support — or, at least, indifference — when fighting for policy. But I worry that they send the wrong message to environmentalists who are wondering about how best to move forward in the fight against climate change. Both the Post and Heatmap polls ask almost identical questions: Would you welcome a wind or solar farm in your community? But neither poll clarifies exactly what “your community” means.
Luckily, a recent study examines the question more deeply. In 2021, a team of researchers asked 4,500 people in America, Germany, and Ireland whether they would accept a new solar, wind, or fossil-fuel plant near them. Unlike other studies, it got specific: Would you accept a solar farm less than a mile from where you live? How about one to five miles away? How about more than five miles?
The study found very big majorities in support of wind and solar: 89% and 92% of Americans would welcome a new wind or solar facility near them at all. But the closer that the project got to their house, the less they favored it. Only 17% of Americans would welcome wind turbines within a mile of their home. About half would approve of wind turbines within five miles. By comparison, about a third of Germans would welcome wind turbines within 0.6 miles of their home (that is, a kilometer), and two-thirds of Germans would within three miles.
In the study, solar was more popular than wind — 57% of Americans would welcome solar panels within five miles of their home — but, still, it didn’t see the kind of commanding majorities you’d expect from Heatmap and the Post’s polling. In fact, I think this study tells an entirely different story from those polls: that Americans are pretty skeptical of new renewable projects in their backyards. (The bright spot for climate advocates is that a much smaller ratio of Americans support the construction of a new natural gas plant within five miles of their homes.)
That 2021 study suggests that a small minority — and in some cases, an outright majority — might oppose a given renewable project depending on how close it is to a residential area. And as I’ve previously written, American laws today give even a small, well-resourced minority plenty of tools to block a project. They can hold up a project in lawsuits or bog it down in paperwork. And what’s more, once that small group starts campaigning against a project, the public’s broad but shallow support for, say, a general technology can crater. That’s what happened recently in New Jersey, where a once broadly pro-wind public has turned against four proposed offshore wind farms.
Is this the biggest problem for renewable advocates? I’m not sure: America will build plenty of new solar projects this year anyway. But it is a problem. And it should be clear by now that broad public opinion does not mean much for our land-use politics. The problem is not that the public opposes wind and solar; the problem is that a few dozen people can block or waylay a project no matter how the broader public feels. If that feels anti-democratic, then climate advocates need to do something about it.
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We didn’t have to wait long for climate to come up during tonight’s vice presidential debate between VP hopefuls Republican JD Vance and Democrat Tim Walz — the night’s second question was about the devastation caused by Hurricane Helene and fueled by warmer air and waters due to climate pollution.
Vance started off his answer innocuously enough, extending his thoughts and prayers to those affected by the hurricane and then proceeding to some campaign boilerplate. “I think it’s important for us, first of all, to say Donald Trump and I support clean air and clean water,” Vance said up top, echoing Trump’s claim that he wants “absolutely immaculate clean water and … absolutely clean air,” from the presidential debate back in June. (It’s worth noting, of course, that his policy choices tell a different story.)
Vance then proceeded to hedge the climate change question in a way that wound up backing him right into it. “One of the things that I've noticed some of our Democratic friends talking a lot about is a concern about carbon emissions, this idea that carbon emissions drives all of the climate change,” Vance said. “Well, let’s just say that's true — just for the sake of argument, so we’re not arguing about weird science. Let’s just say that’s true.”
He then went on to describe an America-first all-of-the-above energy and manufacturing policy that sounded more than a little familiar.
If Hurricane Helene were the only memorable storm to make landfall in the U.S. in 2024, this would still be remembered as an historically tragic season. Since its arrival as a Category 4 hurricane late Thursday night in Florida’s Big Bend region, Helene has killed more than 100 people and caused more than $160 billion across six states. Recovery efforts are expected to last years, if not decades, in the hardest-hit regions of Western North Carolina, some 300 miles inland and 2,000 feet above the nearest coastline. “Helene is going to go down as one of the most impactful hurricanes in U.S. history,” AccuWeather’s senior director of forecasting operations, Dan DePodwin, told me when we spoke on Friday.
As of Monday morning, the National Hurricane Center is tracking five additional systems in the Atlantic basin. Two of those storms reached named status on Friday — Joyce and Isaac — though their paths appear to keep them safely in the middle of the Atlantic. A third storm, Kirk, reached tropical storm strength on Monday and is expected to strengthen into a major hurricane, but is likewise likely to turn north and stay out at sea.
But the two other systems could potentially make U.S. landfall. The first and most concerning is an area of low pressure in the Caribbean “similar to where Helene developed,” DePodwin told me. “We’re going to be monitoring that from the middle to end of [this] week. All options are open with where it could go — anywhere along the Gulf Coast, from Mexico to Florida.”
Directly behind Kirk, in the eastern Tropical Atlantic and out toward the Cape Verde islands, another tropical depression is likely forming. “Anytime you get a tropical wave coming off of Africa this time of year, in late September or early October,” you want to keep an eye on it, DePodwin went on. Sometimes, depending on the weather patterns, those storms stay far out at sea, like Joyce or Kirk. “But the next one probably has a better chance of making it farther west across the Atlantic” because of the prevailing weather patterns, DePodwin said. “So we’ll keep an eye on that one” — though forecasters are still days away from knowing if it could make it as far west as the East Coast.
Let this be a lesson in speaking too soon. Although the 2024 hurricane season went through a long lull at the end of the summer, it’s about to definitively silence any talk of it being a “quiet” year. “We’re predicting at least [five] more named storms to get to that 16 to 20 named storm range that we have for the season,” DePodwin told me. Many of those would likely come in October, which “can be a pretty active month,” but due to the “La Niña pattern we’re moving into and the very warm waters of the [Atlantic] Basin, we think we could get a couple of named storms in November, which is not always the case.”
Finishing the season with 16 to 20 named storms would put 2024 well above the 1991-2020 average of 14 named storms per year. But as hurricane forecasters are always quick to point out, all it takes is one destructive storm making landfall for it to be a “bad” hurricane year. In that case, there’s no debate: 2024 is already bad. Now we must wait, prepare, and hope it doesn’t get any worse.
Ocean-based storms are increasingly affecting areas hundreds of miles from the coasts.
After a hurricane makes landfall comes the eerie wait for bad news. For Hurricane Helene — now a tropical storm as it barrels toward Nashville — that news came swiftly on Friday morning: at least 4 million are without power after the storm’s Thursday night arrival near Florida’s Big Bend region; more than 20 are dead in three states; and damage estimates are already in the billions of dollars.
But that’s just the news from the coasts.
As Helene is set to illustrate yet again, hurricanes are not just coastal events — especially in the era of our warming climate. The National Weather Service warned towns in the Blue Ridge Mountains of South Carolina and Georgia that Helene will be “one of the most significant weather events” in the region in “the modern era,” while the Appalachians are in store for a “catastrophic, historic flooding disaster” according to AccuWeather’s Chief Meteorologist Jonathan Porter during a briefing with reporters Friday morning. He added for good measure: “This is not the kind of language we use very often.”
Helene’s dangerous inland impacts are precisely what the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration sounded the alarm over earlier this year. Ninety percent of hurricane fatalities result from water, and almost 60% of those are freshwater deaths caused by heavy rainfall. Such fatalities often occur hundreds of miles from the shore in flash floods fueled by the warmer atmosphere, which can hold and dispense far more moisture in a short period than would have been possible in the pre-industrial era.
With Helene specifically, “there are going to be communities that are cut off” as bridges are compromised and roadways wash out, Porter said. Especially in mountain communities that might have only one or two ways in and out of town, that kind of rain raises the level of difficulty for any sort of emergency response and can make evacuation impossible. There have already been reports of 12 to 15 inches of rain in some parts of North Carolina.
“This is steep terrain,” Porter said. “When you get rain rates of 2 to 4 inches per hour, that is going to result in very significant flash flooding that can go from a dangerous situation to a life-threatening emergency over the matter of just a few minutes.” Rivers could exceed record levels by tonight, with more than 2 million under flash flood warnings around Raleigh and Fayetteville. Landslides are also a possibility in the mountains, where just 5 inches of rain from a single storm can be enough to trigger a disaster, the National Hurricane Center warned; two interstates near Asheville, North Carolina, are already closed due to slides.
It’s certainly not unheard of for the remnants of tropical storms to pass over the Carolinas and Appalachian Mountains — hurricanes such as Katrina in 2005 and Lee in 2011 were deadly billion-dollar disasters even as far inland as Tennessee. But as storms get bigger and wetter like Helene, “even people who have lived in a community for decades may see water flowing fast and rising rapidly in areas that they’ve never seen flood before,” Porter said.
It’s time to adjust expectations — and preparedness plans — accordingly. Louisiana, Texas, and Florida still stand for “Hurricane Country” in the popular imagination, but the mountain states of the southeast are rapidly joining that list. The National Hurricane Center is already monitoring a new low-pressure area in the Gulf of Mexico — in nearly the exact same spot that birthed Helene.