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Who needs new models when you have chargers and price cuts?
“It doesn't matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning's winning.”
I’m reluctant to call Vin Diesel’s Dominic Toretto one of the great philosophers of our time, but his line in the inaugural Fast & Furious movie is as true about street racing as it is about anything else. And in the current electric vehicle sales race, Tesla is the clear winner in mid-2023—this, despite an aging lineup of vehicles, tactics that make the rest of the car business nervous and a dependence on non-car products to entice buyers.
Things could’ve gone very differently this year. I certainly thought so about six months ago. This was supposed to be the year that Tesla’s slew of increasingly dated cars faced real, direct competition for the first time ever; when its CEO’s objectively disastrous foray into social media ownership took attention away from his core business; and when most other car companies got truly serious about creating a future without gasoline.
But now that we have insight into what EVs people bought — or didn’t buy — in the first and second quarters of this year, the numbers tell a different story. Tesla is still the clear leader in EV sales, moving almost half a million cars globally in just the past three months. The Model Y is the best-selling car in the world. The rest of the competition that was supposed to show up and eat Elon Musk’s lunch? Not even remotely close.
According to data from Automotive News, the rest of the EV landscape looks sad by comparison. After the Model Y and Model 3, the bronze medal finish went to the Chevrolet Bolt — an EV that’s generally excellent and affordable but outdated and soon to be discontinued. (By the way, Tesla sold almost six times as many Model Ys as Chevy sold Bolts.)
Right below the Bolt, there’s the expensive and also aging Model S, followed by the Volkswagen ID.4, finally hitting its stride somewhat due to EV tax incentives. After that, the Ford Mustang Mach-E, which has had a slew of production problems this year; then the Hyundai Ioniq 5, a superb EV but one that does not qualify for any tax breaks unless it’s leased; and then Tesla’s own Model X, also long in the tooth.
Keep in mind that the freshest product in Tesla’s lineup these days is the Model Y, which went on sale in 2020, followed by the Model 3, which is now six years old — at the point when another car company would replace it with an entirely new model. The point is, the hottest-selling EVs in the world aren’t fresh, new products at all. (And to be fair, Tesla’s had its own share of headaches with the Cybertruck, which has been pushed back so much it’s starting to feel like the Half-Life 3 of cars.)
Finally, questions are arising about EV demand in general. Monday morning, Axios reported on “the growing mismatch between EV supply and demand,” meaning that while EV sales are steadily climbing and making up more and more of the U.S. market, those sales aren’t matching what car companies are actually building and putting up for sale. In fact, the time EVs spend sitting on dealer lots — a measurement of demand for a car, traditionally — is now nearly double the industry average, Axios reports. In other words, they’re sitting there, unpurchased, about twice as long as gasoline cars.
That’s disheartening news for the climate, especially given how palpably horrific the heat and weather events have been this summer. The world cannot wait for people to switch to electrified and lower-emission vehicles. But there are a lot of reasons this is happening, and the biggest factor is still cost.
With rising interest rates, an uncertain economy ahead and the average EV still costing almost $60,000 — which actually went up this year despite Tesla’s price cuts and all the new cars on the road — can you really blame buyers for sitting this out until things get cheaper?
Simply put, Tesla is offering the best deals right now. As old as the Model 3 and Model Y are, they’re still fun to drive, high-range EVs boasting the best charging network in the business (we’ll get to that in a bit.) They’re also still cutting-edge in most ways that count for EV newcomers; they just don’t look new and are beginning to lack key features offered by many new competitors like bidirectional charging or more predictable automated driving assistance.
This year, Tesla has dramatically slashed their prices and positioned them to take advantage of the full EV tax credits when other car companies cannot. Tesla’s lead remains a solid one in 2023; it has the experience, production capacity, and scale to slash prices on these cars while remaining profitable. Other automakers are sweating their ability to make money on EVs at all right now.
Generally, car companies are wary of slashing prices too much or relying too heavily on discounts. They tend to water down a brand’s image while cutting into profit margins, and the auto industry is very much a business of margins. Now, Tesla has taken a hit to its gross profit margins amid these price cuts, but it’s still doing well and Musk doesn’t seem to care. In the meantime, more than likely, a person’s first EV will be a Tesla.
And then there’s America’s new EV tax credit scheme, which may actually be backfiring to some degree right now.
In short, to get the full $7,500 tax credit on an EV, a car and its batteries must be now made in North America. On a long enough timeline that will help build a robust electric car and battery manufacturing infrastructure here, so that both aren’t dependent on China — exactly the goal of the law. The problem is, local battery factories alone will take years to set up; it’s going to be a long time before the majority of EVs Americans can buy meet both qualifications.
At the beginning of this year, EV demand seemed to be booming because those “buy local” rules hadn’t taken effect yet. Now, a bunch of automakers, including BMW, Volvo, and Hyundai, are left out of the credits because their EVs aren’t made here yet. While well-intentioned, the stringent rules of the tax credit scheme run the risk of dampening EV demand and killing the momentum the car industry had in January.
Finally, car companies now seem to be struggling to reconcile their big environmental promises — you know, vowing to go all-electric by 2035 — with the cold, hard realities of public-company capitalism.
Take General Motors, for example. While it’s made that all-electric commitment, its promised EV lineup has barely materialized yet; the Bolt is the best representation of this promise and it’s on the way out. The Cadillac Lyriq? MIA. The other EVs? Delayed. And the GMC Hummer EV is so environmentally unfriendly, they may as well have just given it a V8 engine. Speaking of, GM has said it’s committed to making gasoline heavy-duty trucks and SUVs for a long time to come; they’re far too profitable to phase out, planet be damned.
Or take the Volkswagen Group, the original “pivot to EVs” automaker in penance for its diesel-cheating sins. It’s dealt with a ton of delays, production problems, and software issues, and it too is reluctant to phase out its most profitable ICE vehicles. And both companies are due to have massive fights with their labor unions over EVs and jobs soon enough.
Essentially, pivoting to EVs is hard. It’s not just about making battery-powered cars. Automakers must retool how cars are designed, built, and sold while focusing on software and revamping their entire supply chains. Deep down, most auto executives would probably rather not do this. It will be an expensive, messy, and complicated process that runs counter to just making shareholders happy each quarter with the status quo until you comfortably retire.
And Tesla’s most powerful weapon keeps proving to be its charging network. There’s perhaps no greater signifier of car companies’ EV trepidation than their willingness to say “You know what? You deal with this” while handing the charging keys to Tesla. GM, Ford, Volvo, Rivian, Volvo, and now Mercedes-Benz have all said they’ll switch to Tesla’s charging standard in North America, giving EV buyers access to that network in the coming years. Perhaps that will drive up EV purchases and make buyers consider things that aren’t Teslas. I think that it probably will.
But in doing so, Tesla will reap significant income in public funding for EV charging stations made possible by the 2021 infrastructure law. It’s unclear whether doing that — and getting revenue from the charging itself — will outweigh potential lost future sales to Mercedes or Volvo or whoever, but one thing seems clear: the biggest winner of the Biden-era tax incentives so far is Tesla.
Short of dramatic price cuts — which are unlikely to happen because these things are so unprofitable as-is — or radically new cheaper battery technologies, it feels unlikely that Tesla will lose the lead in the electric drag race this year or anytime soon.
Who cares if it’s winning on price cuts and its charging network? Ask Dom; a win’s a win.
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Current conditions: Bosnia’s capital of Sarajevo is blanketed in a layer of toxic smog • Temperatures in Perth, in Western Australia, could hit 106 degrees Fahrenheit this weekend • It is cloudy in Washington, D.C., where lawmakers are scrambling to prevent a government shutdown.
The weather has gotten so weird that the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is holding internal talks about how to adjust its models to produce more accurate forecasts, the Financial Timesreported. Current models are based on temperature swings observed over one part of the Pacific Ocean that have for years correlated consistently with specific weather phenomena across the globe, but climate change seems to be disrupting that cause and effect pattern, making it harder to predict things like La Niña and El Niño. Many forecasters had expected La Niña to appear by now and help cool things down, but that has yet to happen. “It’s concerning when this region we’ve studied and written all these papers on is not related to all the impacts you’d see with [La Niña],” NOAA’s Michelle L’Heureux told the FT. “That’s when you start going ‘uh-oh’ there may be an issue here we need to resolve.”
There is quite a lot of news coming out of the Department of Energy as the year (and the Biden administration) comes to an end. A few recent updates:
Walmart, the world’s largest retailer, does not expect to meet its 2025 or 2030 emissions targets, and is putting the blame on policy, infrastructure, and technology limitations. The company previously pledged to cut its emissions by 35% by next year, and 65% by the end of the decade. Emissions in 2023 were up 4% year-over-year.
Walmart
“While we continue to work toward our aspirational target of zero operational emissions by 2040, progress will not be linear … and depends not only on our own initiatives but also on factors beyond our control,” Walmart’s statement said. “These factors include energy policy and infrastructure in Walmart markets around the world, availability of more cost-effective low-GWP refrigeration and HVAC solutions, and timely emergence of cost-effective technologies for low-carbon heavy tractor transportation (which does not appear likely until the 2030s).”
BlackRock yesterday said it is writing down the value of its Global Renewable Power Fund III following the failure of Northvolt and SolarZero, two companies the fund had invested in. Its net internal rate of return was -0.3% at the end of the third quarter, way down from 11.5% in the second quarter, according toBloomberg. Sectors like EV charging, transmission, and renewable energy generation and storage have been “particularly challenged,” executives said, and some other renewables companies in the portfolio have yet to get in the black, meaning their valuations may be “more subjective and sensitive to evolving dynamics in the industry.”
Flies may be more vulnerable to climate change than bees are, according to a new study published in the Journal of Melittology. The fly haters among us might shrug at the finding, but the researchers insist flies are essential pollinators that help bolster ecosystem biodiversity and agriculture. “It’s time we gave flies some more recognition for their role as pollinators,” said lead author Margarita López-Uribe, who is the Lorenzo Langstroth Early Career Associate Professor of Entomology at Penn State. The study found bees can tolerate higher temperatures than flies, so flies are at greater risk of decline as global temperatures rise. “In alpine and subarctic environments, flies are the primary pollinator,” López-Uribe said. “This study shows us that we have entire regions that could lose their primary pollinator as the climate warms, which could be catastrophic for those ecosystems.”
“No one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded.” –Heatmap’s Jeva Lange writes about the challenges facing climate cinema, and why 2024 might be the year the climate movie grew up.
Whether you agree probably depends on how you define “climate movie” to begin with.
Climate change is the greatest story of our time — but our time doesn’t seem to invent many great stories about climate change. Maybe it’s due to the enormity and urgency of the subject matter: Climate is “important,” and therefore conscripted to the humorless realms of journalism and documentary. Or maybe it’s because of a misunderstanding on the part of producers and storytellers, rooted in an outdated belief that climate change still needs to be explained to an audience, when in reality they don’t need convincing. Maybe there’s just not a great way to have a character mention climate change and not have it feel super cringe.
Whatever the reason, between 2016 and 2020, less than 3% of film and TV scripts used climate-related keywords during their runtime, according to an analysis by media researchers at the University of Southern California. (The situation isn’t as bad in literature, where cli-fi has been going strong since at least 2013.) At least on the surface, this on-screen avoidance of climate change continued in 2024. One of the biggest movies of the summer, Twisters, had an extreme weather angle sitting right there, but its director, Lee Isaac Chung, went out of his way to ensure the film didn’t have a climate change “message.”
I have a slightly different take on the situation, though — that 2024 was actuallyfull of climate movies, and, I’d argue, that they’re getting much closer to the kinds of stories a climate-concerned individual should want on screen.
That’s because for the most part, when movies and TV shows have tackled the topic of climate change in the past, it’s been with the sort of “simplistic anger-stoking and pathos-wringing” that The New Yorker’s Richard Brody identified in 2022’s Don’t Look Up, the Adam McKay satire that became the primary touchpoint for scripted climate stories. At least it was kind of funny: More overt climate stories like last year’s Foe, starring Saoirse Ronan and Paul Mescal, and Extrapolations, the Apple TV+ show in which Meryl Streep voices a whale, are so self-righteous as to be unwatchable (not to mention, no fun).
But what if we widened our lens and weren’t so prescriptive? Then maybe Furiosa, this spring’s Mad Max prequel, becomes a climate change movie. The film is set during a “near future” ecological collapse, and it certainly makes you think about water scarcity and our overreliance on a finite extracted resource — but it also makes you think about how badass the Octoboss’ kite is. The same goes for Dune: Part Two, which made over $82 million in its opening weekend and is also a recognizable environmental allegory featuring some cool worms. Even Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, a flop that most people have already memory-holed, revisitedThe Day After Tomorrow’s question of, “What if New York City got really, really, really cold?”
Two 2024 animated films with climate themes could even compete against each other at the Academy Awards next year. Dreamworks Animation’s The Wild Robot, one of the centerpiece films at this fall’s inaugural Climate Film Festival, is set in a world where sea levels have risen to submerge the Golden Gate Bridge, and it impresses on its audience the importance of protecting the natural world. And in Gints Zilbalodis’ Flow, one of my favorite films of the year, a cat must band together with other animals to survive a flood.
Flow also raises the question of whether a project can unintentionally be a climate movie. Zilbalodis told me that making a point about environmental catastrophe wasn’t his intention — “I can’t really start with the message, I have to start with the character,” he said — and to him, the water is a visual metaphor in an allegory about overcoming your fears.
But watching the movie in a year when more than a thousand people worldwide have died in floods, and with images of inundated towns in North Carolina still fresh in mind, it’s actually climate change itself that makes one watch Flow as a movie about climate change. (I’m not the only one with this interpretation, either: Zilbalodis told me he’d been asked by one young audience member if the flood depicted in his film is “the future.”)
Perhaps this is how we should also consider Chung’s comments about Twisters. While nobody in the film says the words “climate change” or “global warming,” the characters note that storms are becoming exceptional — “we've never seen tornadoes like this before,” one says. Despite the director’s stated intention not to make the movie “about” climate change, it becomes a climate movie by virtue of what its audiences have experienced in their own lives.
Still, there’s that niggling question: Do movies like these, which approach climate themes slant-wise, really count? To help me decide, I turned to Sam Read, the executive director of the Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, an advocacy consortium that encourages environmental awareness both on set and on screen. He told me that to qualify something as a “climate” movie or TV show, some research groups look to see if climate change exists in the world of the story or whether the characters acknowledge it. Other groups consider climate in tiers, such as whether a project has a climate premise, theme, or simply a moment.
The Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, however, has no hard rules. “We want to make sure that we support creatives in integrating these stories in whatever way works for them,” Read told me.
Read also confirmed my belief that there seemed to be an uptick in movies this year that were “not about climate change but still deal with things that feel very climate-related, like resource extraction.” There was even more progress on this front in television, he pointed out: True Detective: Night Country wove in themes of environmentalism, pollution, mining, and Indigenous stewardship; the Max comedy Hacks featured an episode about climate change this season; and Industry involved a storyline about taking a clean energy company public, with some of the characters even attending COP. Even Doctor Odyssey, a cruise ship medical drama that airs on USA, worked climate change into its script, albeit in ridiculous ways. (Also worth mentioning: The Netflix dating show Love is Blind cast Taylor Krause, who works on decarbonizing heavy industry at RMI.)
We can certainly do more. As many critics before me have written, it’s still important to draw a connection between things like environmental catastrophes and the real-world human causes of global warming. But the difference between something being “a climate movie” and propaganda — however true its message, or however well-intentioned — is thin. Besides, no one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded; we want to be moved and distracted and entertained.
I’ve done my fair share of complaining over the past few years about how climate storytelling needs to grow up. But lately I’ve been coming around to the idea that it’s not the words “climate change” appearing in a script that we need to be so focused on. As 2024’s slate of films has proven to me — or, perhaps, as this year’s extreme weather events have thrown into relief — there are climate movies everywhere.
Keep ‘em coming.
They might not be worried now, but Democrats made the same mistake earlier this year.
Permitting reform is dead in the 118th Congress.
It died earlier this week, although you could be forgiven for missing it. On Tuesday, bipartisan talks among lawmakers fell apart over a bid to rewrite parts of the National Environmental Policy Act. The changes — pushed for by Representative Bruce Westerman, chairman of the House Natural Resources Committee — would have made it harder for outside groups to sue to block energy projects under NEPA, a 1970 law that governs the country’s process for environmental decisionmaking.
When those talks died, they also killed a separate deal over permitting struck earlier this year between Senator Joe Manchin of West Virginia and Senator John Barrasso of Wyoming. That deal, as I detailed last week, would have loosened some federal rules around oil and gas drilling in exchange for a new, quasi-mandatory scheme to build huge amounts of long-distance transmission.
Rest in peace, I suppose. Even if lawmakers could not agree on NEPA changes, I think Republicans made a mistake by not moving forward with the Manchin-Barrasso deal. (I still believe that the standalone deal could have passed the Senate and the House if put to a vote.) At this point, I do not think we will see another shot at bipartisan permitting reform until at least late 2026, when the federal highway law will need fresh funding.
But it is difficult to get too upset about this failure because larger mistakes have since compounded the initial one. On Wednesday, Republican Speaker Mike Johnson’s bipartisan deal to fund the government — which is, after all, a much more fundamental task of governance than rewriting some federal permitting laws — fell apart, seemingly because Donald Trump and Elon Musk decided they didn’t like it. If I can indulge in the subjunctive for a moment: That breakdown might have likely killed any potential permitting deal, too. So even in a world where lawmakers somehow did strike a deal earlier this week, it might already be dead. (As I write this, the House GOP has reportedly reached a new deal to fund the government through March, which has weakened or removed provisions governing pharmacy benefit managers and limiting American investments in China.)
The facile reading of this situation is that Republicans now hold the advantage. The Trump administration will soon be able to implement some of the fossil fuel provisions in the Manchin-Barrasso deal through the administrative state. Trump will likely expand onshore and offshore drilling, will lease the government’s best acreage to oil and gas companies, and will approve as many liquified natural gas export terminals as possible. His administration will do so, however, without the enhanced legal protection that the deal would have provided — and while those protections are not a must-have, especially with a friendly Supreme Court, their absence will still allow environmental groups to try to run down the clock on some of Trump’s more ambitious initiatives.
Republicans believe that they will be able to get parts of permitting reform done in a partisan reconciliation bill next year. These efforts seem quite likely to run aground, at least as long as something like the current rules governing reconciliation bills hold. I have heard some crazy proposals on this topic — what if skipping a permitting fight somehow became a revenue-raiser for the federal government? — but even they do not touch the deep structure of NEPA in the way a bipartisan compromise could. As Westerman toldPolitico’s Josh Siegel: “We need 60 votes in the Senate to get real permitting reform … People are just going to have to come to an agreement on what permitting reform is.” In any case, Manchin and the Democrats already tried to reform the permitting system via a partisan reconciliation bill and found it essentially impossible.
Even if reconciliation fails, Republicans say, they will still be in a better negotiating position next year than this year because the party will control a few more Senate votes. But will they? The GOP will just have come off a difficult fight over tax reform. Twelve or 24 months from now, demands on the country’s electricity grid are likely to be higher than they are today, and the risk of blackouts will be higher than before. The lack of a robust transmission network will hinder the ability to build a massive new AI infrastructure, as some of Trump’s tech industry backers hope. But 12 or 24 months from now, too, Democrats — furious at Trump — are not going to be in a dealmaking mood, and Republicans have relatively few ways to bring them to the table.
In any case, savvy Republicans should have realized that it is important to get supply-side economic reforms done as early in a president’s four-year term as possible. Such changes take time to filter through the system and turn into real projects and real economic activity; passing the law as early as possible means that the president’s party can enjoy them and campaign on them.
All of it starts to seem more and more familiar. When Manchin and Barrasso unveiled their compromise earlier this year, Democrats didn’t act quickly on it. They felt confident that the window for a deal wouldn’t close — and they looked forward to a potential trifecta, when they would be able to get even more done (and reject some of Manchin’s fossil fuel-friendly compromises).
Democrats, I think, wound up regretting the cavalier attitude that they brought to permitting reform before Trump’s win. But now the GOP is acting the same way: It is rejecting compromises, believing that it will be able to strike a better deal on permitting issues during its forthcoming trifecta. That was a mistake when Democrats did it. I think it will be a mistake for Republicans, too.