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If the global shipping industry were its own nation, it would be the sixth largest emitter of carbon dioxide, belching about a billion tons of the stuff into the atmosphere every year. And not to state the obvious, but the sector isn’t going anywhere. Not only is cargo shipping the means by which 80% of global trade is carried out, but transporting goods via ship is actually much more fuel-efficient than the alternatives.
That means that slashing shipping emissions, which account for nearly 3% of the global total, is 100% necessary for a decarbonized future. But unlike most other industries, there’s a global regulatory body — the International Maritime Organization — that can set goals and mandates to ensure that decarbonization happens on schedule. The IMO is targeting net-zero shipping emissions by 2050, with a 40% reduction in the carbon intensity of international shipping by 2030 compared to 2008. And while these goals aren’t binding, forthcoming measures set to be developed and adopted late next year will be.
Shipping decarbonization is still in its early infancy though, meaning the pathway to net zero remains highly unclear — and that there’s lots of room for technological innovation. One company that’s gained traction in the past few years is aiming more at the “net” than the “zero” part of that equation — rather than develop clean fuels, UK-based startup Seabound is retrofitting ships with onboard carbon capture devices. The process uses a technology called calcium-looping that allows the company to capture carbon from the ship’s exhaust system, essentially locking it up in a limestone rock, and then process it later on land.
Though it’s relatively unproven, onboard carbon capture has the potential to gain ground quickly if it can be shown to work at scale. But precisely because the technology is unproven, the industry is far from unified in the idea that it will play a consequential role in the final decarbonization picture. “Alternative fuels are probably going to be the dominant solution,” Aparajit Pandey, shipping decarbonization lead at the think tank RMI, told me.
Indeed, low and zero-carbon fuels made from green methanol or ammonia (which are themselves made from green hydrogen) are widely considered the leading contenders in this space — while methanol does produce some CO2 when burned, it’s much cleaner than fossil fuels due to its low carbon and high oxygen content, and ammonia contains no carbon at all. But it could take a while to ramp up production to meet the industry’s ravenous fuel demand. Plus, repowering an existing ship with ammonia or methanol requires an expensive and time-consuming engine retrofit, and turning over the entire global fleet could take decades.
Other ideas and approaches abound. Biofuels? They come with a familiar host of concerns, plus fuel production is inherently limited by the amount of biomass that’s available. Solar-powered ships? Folks are trying, but current panels aren’t nearly energy dense enough to power a freighter on their own. Electrifying ships? It definitely makes sense for smaller vessels like ferries and tugboats, but batteries also take up a lot of space that could otherwise be used for freight. They also need to be either charged or swapped, requiring infrastructure that just doesn’t exist yet.
“Carbon capture is probably the only way that you can get a meaningful amount of emissions reduction in any near term way,” Clea Kolster, partner and head of science at Lowercarbon Capital, told me, referring to the cargo shipping industry. Lowercarbon led Seabound’s $4.4 million seed round two years ago.
This is not a zero sum calculation, however. Seabound CEO Alisha Fredricksson told me that she believes both methanol and ammonia fuels have a significant role to play. “They’re just taking a long time to develop. And so we won't have sufficient supply for another 10, 20 years or so.”
Seabound’s system works by reacting the CO2 in a ship’s exhaust gas with calcium oxide to form solid calcium carbonate (aka limestone). This essentially locks the carbon away in small pebbles, which are unloaded when the ship docks. Because Seabound doesn’t purify or compress the CO2 onboard, the company says its system requires “negligible” amounts of additional fuel to operate. Once on land, the plan is for Seabound to either sell the limestone for use as a building material or to separate the CO2 and calcium oxide; the latter could then be reused to capture more carbon, while the former could either be used to produce methanol shipping fuel or geologically sequestered.
There are other companies attempting onboard carbon capture: Value Maritime, Mitsubishi, and Wartsila, among others, all of which rely on amine-based systems, a well-proven technology for carbon removal on land. But Fredricksson told me that miniaturizing these systems to work on ships is much more capital and energy intensive than Seabound’s decoupled approach, which allows the company to capture the CO2 at sea and process it later on land. This older tech also produces liquified CO2, which she says ports are less equipped to handle than a solid material like limestone.
Seabound completed its maiden voyage earlier this year, leaving from Turkey and traveling around the Middle East in a months-long trip that put their tech to the test in the real world for the first time. The system was installed on a freighter from Lomar Shipping, and was able to capture carbon at 78% efficiency and sulfur, a pollutant that can cause respiratory problems and acid rain, at about 90% efficiency while it was running.
Fredricksson and the company’s backers deemed the voyage a great success. “We hit the results we were looking for,” she told me. But in the grand scheme of things, the pilot was still quite small-scale. Seabound’s system only captured about 1 metric ton of carbon per day, a tiny percent of the ship’s overall emissions. That’s because the system was only running for a total of around 100 hours during the two months it was at sea. The objective, Fredricksson told me, was not to capture as much CO2 as possible, but to demonstrate the technical feasibility of the system and prepare for future scale-up.
Ultimately, the company hopes to capture up to 95% of a ship’s carbon emissions. But similar to batteries, this involves a space-related tradeoff. A larger, more effective carbon capture system would mean less room for cargo. “So I think the main goal for our engineering team over time will be to increase the efficiency to pack more and more tons of CO2 into each container,” Fredricksson told me. Right now, she says that 10- to 14-day voyages are Seabound’s sweet spot, given the size of its systems. The company hopes to build its first full scale system by the end of this year and start delivering to commercial customers in 2025.
The degree of interest in Seabound’s systems will depend in no small part on forthcoming directives from the IMO. As of now, there’s a rule mandating that ships calculate their energy efficiency and report it to the organization. Fredricksson says it’s already getting harder to sell ships with lower ratings. Pandey said he thinks future regulations could resemble the FuelEU initiative, which requires a steady decrease in the emissions intensity of shipping fuels over time, from 2% in 2025 to up to 80% by 2050.
While it’s unclear how a rule like this would incorporate onboard carbon capture into its framework, Pandey told me that if Seabound can prove out its tech on a larger scale, the approach is promising. “Of the carbon capture solutions that are out there, they’re probably the most innovative,” he told me. But he’s not sure that the company’s aim to commercialize by next year is realistic. “From now to prove it out to scale, who knows? Five years, six years, seven years, something like that,” Pandey guessed, “I think it could be viable, but it's so early.”
A recent report on the potential of onboard carbon capture from DNV, an organization that maintains technical standards for ships, agrees that a longer timeline is more likely, stating that, “With the wider [carbon capture, utilization, and storage] infrastructure in development, scaling up of the maritime carbon capture network will take time and is expected to reach a broader uptake after 2030.”
Since returning from its first voyage, Seabound has reconfigured its system to fit into modified shipping containers that are intended to reduce retrofit time and costs. Now, if a shipowner wants to use Seabound’s system, the primary modification involves installing pipes to route exhaust from the ship’s smokestack or funnel to the company’s carbon capture device. Fredricksson estimates installation costs will be on the order of $100,000 per ship, though that will vary greatly depending on vessel size and type.
But if that estimate is in the right ballpark, it would be orders of magnitude cheaper than retrofitting a ship with an engine built for ammonia or methanol fuels. And yet Pandey isn’t so sure ship operators will be keen on either upgrade. “My strong guess is if they’re not going to retrofit a vessel for a new engine, they’re also not going to retrofit it for carbon capture,” Pandey told me.
Fredricksson expects Seabound will raise a Series A round later this year or early next, to help get its first commercial units off the line. And apparently, there’s been loads of investor interest. “Shipping and maritime is new for the climate tech ecosystem,” Fredricksson told me, meaning there’s lots to be gained by moving quickly and early. “There is so much CO2 out there being emitted by ships,” Fredricksson said, “and not a lot of solutions yet going after them.”
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The startup’s system builds on a vessel’s existing engine and makes it effectively fuel-agnostic.
The shipping industry has a dilemma. The European Union and other jurisdictions are increasingly requiring vessels to cut their carbon emissions, pushing shipowners toward lower-carbon fuels and away from traditional bunker fuel or diesel. But it’s still anybody’s guess which cleaner fuel — ammonia, methanol, or liquified natural gas — will prove most economical and efficient at scale. That leaves shipowners facing an uncomfortable choice: They must decide on a technology around which to build new engines and retrofit existing ones without knowing whether the fuel they bet on today will still be the best option a few years from now.
Blaze Energy says that its product will eliminate that choice. The startup, which announced a $6.5 million seed round on Tuesday — is making a compact fuel “reformer,” a device that uses a heated catalyst to split various alternative fuels into a hydrogen-rich gas. That gas can then be combined with the original fuel and conventional shipping fuel to power existing engines. With Blaze’s bolt-on retrofit, which the startup aims to make less than a tenth the size of the engine itself, shipping companies “can adjust their assets based on how the global energy landscape, regulation, as well as their company direction is changing,” the company’s CEO and co-founder, Rok Sitar, told me. For example, maybe LNG looks cheapest in the short term given its established supply chain, but ammonia could win out down the road.
So far, Blaze has conducted small scale demonstrations showing that its proprietary catalyst can reform ammonia, methanol, and LNG. The resulting hydrogen-rich mixture is extremely fast-burning, which helps the other fuels to burn more completely and efficiently than they otherwise would.
Blaze’s first product, however, focuses solely on ammonia reformation. The system works by diverting a portion of the liquid ammonia to flow over the startup’s electrically-heated catalyst, which breaks it down into hydrogen and nitrogen. The resulting gas goes directly into the engine, where the nitrogen passes through and exits via the exhaust, while the hydrogen helps the remaining ammonia burn more efficiently alongside conventional shipping fuel. No burners or complex gas separation systems required.
As Sitar explained, “a certain composition of ammonia and hydrogen burns just like diesel,” allowing Blaze to essentially “trick the engine” into operating like it’s burning just diesel or standard bunker fuel rather than a blend that includes hydrogen and ammonia. That means the startup can add its retrofit system onto an existing ship engine without modifying the engine itself. And if the reformer fails for any reason, the ship can simply revert to running on conventional fuel alone. Sitar said this fail-safe feature lowers the risk for shipowners considering Blaze’s tech.
The company’s strategic partners include vessel owner and operator Lomar Shipping, which expects to pilot the system at sea beginning sometime next year, and ship management consultancy Link Marine, which plans to offer it to tanker operators. Blaze is aiming for commercial rollout in 2028.
Retrofitting the existing global fleet represents “an enormous opportunity” for Blaze, Sitar told me. As he explained, there are roughly 100,000 vessels in the global commercial fleet, but the industry only builds about 1,500 new ships each year. And because shipping companies are unlikely to choose alternative-fuel engines for every new vessel they order, a company in Blaze’s position pretty much has to drum up demand among the ships already in the water. The startup aims to install its system when vessels enter “dry dock” for routine inspection and maintenance, which typically happens at least once every five years.
Blaze is also developing a version of its product for new-builds, however, working with engine manufacturers to integrate its fuel reformer hardware into both conventional ship engines as well as those already designed to run on ammonia. Even in ammonia-burning engines, Sitar said Blaze’s system will improve fuel efficiency thanks to the fast-burning hydrogen in its blend.
The startup has ambitious goals for its seed round, which Sitar says should carry it through the next 18 months. Those include proving out its ammonia reformer on land with unnamed “leading” engine manufacturers, validating its performance at sea with Lomar, securing the maritime certifications needed to launch its first commercial product, and expanding its operations and headcount in the U.S. and Norway.
Blaze will likely look to raise again around 2028, at which point the International Maritime Organization expects to have its Net-Zero Framework in place. This would establish legally binding requirements for the entire shipping industry to reduce its emissions intensity, with the goal of reaching net-zero by 2050. The agency expected to adopt the framework last October, but delayed a final vote to approve the measure after the Trump administration strong-armed nations into withdrawing their support. The framework will come up for a vote again this December.
While the ongoing ambiguity has become a headache for the industry as a whole, Sitar sees it as something of an advantage for Blaze, which, he said, “thrive[s] in uncertainty.” Around 2028, the startup aims to begin piloting its broader multi-fuel technology, which can reform not just ammonia, but also methanol and LNG, for use in diesel engines. Blaze also expects to begin delivering its first commercial ammonia retrofit systems at this time.
From there on, the company sees a path to adapting the technology across numerous other industries reliant on combustion engines, such as heavy equipment, mining, industrial heat, and diesel power generation for data centers. “By proving our system in maritime engines, we can very easily translate this into other hardware sectors,” he said. Shipping, in his view, is perhaps the most challenging but strategically useful beachhead market of all, from both a technical and regulatory perspective.
As he put it to me, “if you prove it on maritime shipping, you basically have a product that can be deployed anywhere else, because everything else is simpler and has less regulation.”
The global vehicle market is splitting into two — with just a few exception.
The past three months have been crucial for Rivian, America’s biggest all-electric car company not run by Elon Musk.
The California-based automaker debuted the R2, its long-awaited and somewhat more affordable sport utility vehicle. (Our reviewer gave it high marks.) Rivian also formally took out a nearly $6.6 billion loan from the Department of Energy to finance its new Georgia factory. And it finally unveiled the plans for that facility, which will include a rail tie-in and a 1,000-acre preserved woodland.
All that was well and good, but the crucial question remained: How is the R2 selling? And the answer is: Pretty well, seemingly! Rivian delivered 19,248 vehicles last quarter, beating analyst expectations and setting a new all-time quarterly sales record. More importantly, its vehicle deliveries have now recovered above where they stood in the third quarter of last year — a key milestone, since President Trump and Congress ended the federal government’s consumer-side EV incentives last September.
Tesla is seemingly also about to clear that threshold, although nobody outside the firm knows for sure. Elon Musk’s company doesn’t break out its sales by continent or model, but it delivered 486,532 vehicles last year — just about 2% below last year’s third quarter results. (Although a few of Rivian’s Amazon delivery vans have made their way into fleets abroad, the company only sells its consumer R1 and R2 vehicles in the United States and Canada, so its sales data is mostly U.S. by default.)
Alas, those two stand alone for now. No other automaker is close to breaking its quarterly EV sales record in the United States, and Ford, General Motors, and Hyundai all saw their domestic EV sales crumble last quarter. The new Chevrolet Bolt, GM’s most affordable EV — and its only American-made vehicle of any kind priced below $30,000 — has sold abysmally, moving just 8,090 units since the year began. The company is now likely to cap its production run at 35,000 units sold; it initially planned to produce 150,000.
Looking at these trends, I think you can see two different phenomena taking place.
The first is a big and growing divergence between America’s transportation sector and the rest of the world’s. The oil supply shock triggered by America’s war in Iran (and the resulting closure of the Strait of Hormuz) may be driving a long-term shift, encouraging consumers and countries to move away from oil. But for now, the crisis’s high prices have hit parts of Europe, Africa, and Asia far worse than they’ve impacted much of North America. Global EV sales reached a record high in the spring, for instance — just not in the United States.
The second is that we’re seeing demand destruction without decarbonization. According to new Nikkei data, gasoline-only cars made up less than half of global new car sales during the six months of 2026.
That’s never happened before, and it is a remarkable change: Gasoline-only cars have lost about a quarter of their global market share in less than five years. But as consumers switched away from gasoline, they didn’t move only to battery-only cars — instead, more than half of them shifted to hybrids or plug-in hybrids. That shift is good news, in that it will depress global oil use and therefore global greenhouse-gas emissions. But it won’t allow for the possibility of zeroing out emissions in the same way that EVs can.
But sometimes demand destruction will cut emissions significantly. If want to see that in the United States, check out the diesel market. As my colleague Alexander Kaufman wrote about this morning, FedEx has responded to eye-watering domestic diesel prices by placing an order for 2,000 electric box trucks with the California-based automaker Harbinger Motors. The shipper believes that the move will save it $800 million in fuel costs over time. When I talked to John Henry Harris, Harbinger’s CEO, last year, he told me the company didn’t need tax credits to sell vehicles — the math justified it on its own. Seems like FedEx agrees.
How the bill would have affected (or not affected) the Keystone XL pipeline, the Lava Ridge wind farm, and other major project proposals.
O ne of the non-negotiables for Senate Democrats in putting together a bipartisan permitting bill was to limit the president’s ability to reverse federal project approvals or otherwise gum up the works for developments they simply dislike. The authors’ goal was to prevent a situation like the one we’re in now, where Trump has revoked permits for wind farms, refused to permit new ones, and tried to stop construction of fully permitted offshore wind projects.
But the language on “project certainty” in the Bipartisan American Affordability and Jobs Act is technology neutral — it would protect fossil fuels as much as clean energy. While Trump has perhaps gone the furthest of any president in using the authorities of the executive branch to enact his preferences, his Democratic predecessors have taken similar steps to stop mines, pipelines, and oil and gas drilling — often in the name of stopping climate change.
“This bill is clearly looking backwards at five to 10 years of case studies in how an executive branch can delay or revoke permits, and it is targeted at those case studies,” Travis Annatoyn, the former deputy solicitor for energy and mineral resources at the Interior Department under Biden, told me.
The bill section in question contains two key provisions. The first would make it illegal for a federal agency to rescind, terminate, or alter a federal authorization or permit, or to prevent the construction or operation of a project that has all of its necessary federal approvals — though there are exceptions for cases involving a court ruling, violation of a permit’s terms, fraud, or new environmental harms or threats to national security.
The second big provision would give companies a course of action if they suspect the federal government is discriminating against certain types of projects or unduly dragging out the permitting process. An applicant can sue the government for displaying a “pattern of disparate treatment,” defined as a “substantial increase” in delays or “improper” denials for a given project type compared to the previous five years. Applicants also have the right to sue if the government takes longer than a year to issue a decision on a permit after all of the applicant’s paperwork is deemed complete.
Environmental nonprofits, particularly those that work on public lands issues, are extremely worried about these provisions, as illustrated by a transcript of several groups discussing the bill on a conference call that was leaked to Punchbowl News last week. “A future administration will not be able to challenge anything that is in fact permitted during the presidency of the Trump administration,” Erik Shlenker-Goodrich of the Western Environmental Law Center said on the call, “which is going to create an incentive for all these data centers and fossil fuel companies to rush through a process, hoard leases, permits and authorizations, and then basically tell a future administration to go fly a kite.”
But constraining the power of the executive branch is tricky. Even if the bill passes as written, and its provisions work as intended, there will probably still be some ways by which a president could throttle permits if they are motivated enough to do so, Annatoyn said.
Case in point: The laws as written haven’t stopped Trump from testing their limits. The main advantage to these provisions would be clearer consequences in the courts, giving affected parties more confidence to file a suit, and compensation if they win. On the other hand, those affected parties would still need to have the resources to sue the government.
It’s helpful to apply BAAJA to past examples of executive energy decisions to see how they would fare under the law. I walked through some case studies with Annatoyn and Ben Schiffman, the former attorney-adviser at the Interior Department’s Office of the Solicitor under Biden, to get a better understanding of what these provisions would do.
First proposed in 2008, the Keystone XL pipeline would have brought Canadian crude oil from the Alberta tar sands into the U.S. Almost immediately it attracted fierce opposition from environmental advocates, indigenous groups, and even Midwestern farmers, who eventually formed a coalition that staged attention-grabbing protests aimed at convincing the federal government not to approve the plans.
In a presidency-defining move, Barack Obama sided with opponents and rejected the project’s permit in 2015, stating that to prevent the worst of climate change, “we're going to have to keep some fossil fuels in the ground.” Trump later reversed that decision, however, approving Keystone in 2019. Then the project got held up in litigation brought by the Northern Plains Resource Council, a Montana environmental group, over one of its Clean Water Act permits.
When Biden took office in 2021, he signed an executive order reversing Trump’s reversal. Leaving the permit in place, he wrote, “would not be consistent with my Administration’s economic and climate imperatives.” A few months later, Keystone XL’s developer, TC Energy, officially canceled the pipeline.
Keystone is unique, however, because it would have crossed an international border, which requires direct presidential approval. Had BAAJA been in effect, Biden still would have been able to revoke the permit, Schiffman told me. “Keystone is a really unusual example,” he said. “The president is not considered an agency under the Administrative Procedure Act, so it’s just not subject to review in the way an action by the Secretary of Interior or other agencies are,” he said.
This bill’s effect is more ambiguous in this example. Trump’s 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act required the Interior Department to hold two oil and gas lease sales on the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge’s coastal plain. Trump held a sale in January 2021, just before he left the White House, issuing nine leases. When Biden took office later that month, he signed an executive order directing his Interior Secretary, Deb Haaland, to conduct a new environmental analysis of the entire leasing program, citing “alleged legal deficiencies underlying the program.”
That June, Haaland concluded that there had been “insufficient analysis under the National Environmental Policy Act, including failure to adequately analyze a reasonable range of alternatives in the environmental impact statement,” and suspended the previously sold leases. Two years later, after completing a new environmental review, she canceled all the remaining leases in the Refuge. Biden’s Bureau of Land Management also later issued a new Record of Decision significantly downsizing the leasing program from 1.6 million acres to the minimum 400,000 required under the law.
When Trump began his second term, he directed his own Interior Secretary, Doug Burgum, to consider reversing the cancellation of the leases and to reinstate the Record of Decision that his first administration had issued in 2020. Ultimately, Burgum did not have to reverse the cancellations because the lessees had sued the government and a federal court sided with them, vacating the terminations in March 2025. (Alaska Native and environmental groups are currently appealing that decision.) Meanwhile, Trump’s Interior Department has issued a new Record of Decision reinstating the leasing program’s original 1.6 million acres.
There’s nothing in BAAJA that would seem to have prevented the Biden administration from conducting a new environmental analysis and issuing a new Record of Decision on the leasing program. It’s less clear whether it would have prohibited Haaland from terminating the leases. The word “lease” is conspicuously absent from the definition of a “federal authorization or permit” in this section of the bill, which would seem to have supported Haaland’s decision. But it’s an open question, Annatoyn told me, because the bill’s definition of federal authorization contains the catch-all phrase “or any other approval or order that is necessary … for the construction or operation at full capacity of a project.”
“I imagine if something like this gets passed, someone will make the argument that it includes leases,” Annatoyn said. It will be a question for the courts.
In 2011, Barack Obama’s Environmental Protection Agency rescinded a key Clean Water Act permit for Spruce No. 1, which would have been the largest mountaintop-removal coal mine in West Virginia. The type of permit, known as Section 404, was for the discharge of dredged material, and it had initially been approved by George Bush’s Army Corps of Engineers in 2007. Under that section of the Clean Water Act, however, the Environmental Protection Agency administrator has broad authority to reject the Corps’ decisions about discharge sites “whenever” he or she determines, after notice and public hearings, that there would be unacceptable adverse environmental effects. The move was extremely controversial, as the EPA’s reversal came four years after the Corps approved the permit.
BAAJA contains an amendment to Section 404 that would seem to prevent exactly this kind of thing from happening again. It establishes a limited window during which the EPA can review and veto a given site for a discharge permit, beginning when the applicant first submits their complete application for the permit, and ending when the Corps approves it. That means a Section 404 veto post-permit would have been off the table.
BAAJA appears tailor-made to prevent what happened here. In December 2024, Biden’s Interior Department issued a Record of Decision to approve the Lava Ridge wind farm in Idaho, set to be one of the largest such developments in the country. When Trump stepped into office in January, he issued an executive order asking his Interior Department to review that decision. Secretary Burgum canceled the permit last August, again citing unspecified “legal deficiencies in the issuance of the approval.”
Schiffman said the Interior Department would not have been able to do this if BAAJA was the law of the land unless it provided evidence that fit one of those exceptions I mentioned earlier, such as a court order, or if Lava Ridge violated its permit.
Annatoyn agreed, but added that this is not a totally foregone conclusion. “The agencies can still inadvertently or deliberately choose to press on the limits of that prohibition — you know, test it or even violate it outright,” he said. At the end of the day, he added, Trump could still do this under BAAJA, and the burden would fall on the project developer to undertake a lengthy, expensive court fight to undo it.
In December 2025, Burgum ordered the five offshore wind farms that were already under construction off the east coast to pause their work. He cited “national security risks identified by the Department of War in recently completed classified reports.”
While the courts quickly rejected those orders, BAAJA may have prevented them in the first place. The bill prohibits agencies from taking any action “to interfere with or prevent the construction or operation” of a project that has all necessary permits. And if the administration had chosen to issue the orders anyway, BAAJA would have at least given the affected companies the right to recover costs attributed to the delay, which in this case was millions of dollars per day. On top of that, the companies would be entitled to payment of 25% to 50% of their project’s total costs up to the time the government intervened.
Another reason BAAJA would have likely prevented Burgum’s December order, Annatoyn said, is that it contains a provision to bar serial attempts of the same action. Burgum had issued stop work orders on two of the five wind farms earlier in the year, both of which were struck down by courts. Under BAAJA, the companies would be entitled to injunctive relief preventing the government from taking the same action again unless it obtained a court order condoning the action from the same judge.
The Trump administration has stopped permitting offshore wind projects altogether, and has kept onshore wind projects in a holding pattern despite a court’s order to resume the permitting process. Under BAAJA, wind companies would have new ammo to challenge this inaction and delay. They might be able to identify a “pattern of disparate treatment” or cite other language in the bill that limits the number of days the government can sit on a permitting decision. At the same time, the discrimination language is a new area of law, Schiffman told me, so there’s some uncertainty as to how it would apply. And again, the burden would be on the company to bring a lawsuit.