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Dear Leslie, 

A lot of my work in therapy for anxiety has focused on recognizing catastrophic thinking and assessing what is more realistic. How would you suggest adapting this for a world where reality itself is increasingly becoming more catastrophic, and science suggests things will get worse in the future? 

—  Anonymously Anxious

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Dear Anonymously Anxious,

Your question points to something I’ve had to reckon with in my own practice as a therapist. Before I became more aware of the impacts of climate change, I used the same framework you describe — I helped clients recognize their distorted thinking and recalibrate toward what’s realistic. 

But as I came to understand the actual science, I had a striking realization: For climate-aware clients, their anxiety isn’t distorted at all. It’s a healthy response to real destruction and the inadequate efforts to address it. Shifting toward “what’s realistic” isn’t what we’re after to manage climate anxiety. Instead, it’s about navigating high-stakes uncertainty by developing new skills — helping people stay grounded and functional while channeling their distress into meaningful action with others. 

Ask a Climate Therapist tackles your questions about how to navigate the emotional side of climate change, with leading climate-aware therapist Leslie Davenport. Have a question? Ask it here!

I think part of what you’re asking is how to distinguish a clear-eyed view of the climate crisis from catastrophizing. First, we need to understand the human tendency to catastrophize. Part of what shapes our perception of reality is something less visible than the daily news. We all have cognitive biases operating mostly beneath our conscious awareness. One in particular is relevant here: the negativity bias, which causes us to register threatening situations three to five times more intensely than positive ones. That might have been useful for our evolutionary survival, but it can also have a distorting effect — especially in the age of doomscrolling, when it’s altogether too easy to overwhelm ourselves with bad news.

That’s why a balanced view also requires staying current on the real progress being made: dam removals, renewable energy growth, youth litigation wins, communities building resilience. This kind of news often gets less attention, so finding it can take some effort. But seeking out these stories may help to remind you that there are answers to the problems we face.

Still, these advances don’t diminish the urgency of the genuine crisis we’re facing, and for now, our climate problems are still outpacing solutions. Watching that unfold, watching the status quo persist, can be agonizing. In therapy terms, the cognitive goal has to shift from “accurate assessment” to “functional clarity.” Accurate assessment asks, “How bad is it?” Functional clarity asks, “Given what I understand, what can I do?” The first question keeps you spinning while the second moves you forward. It can help you channel your emotions into motivation — to get involved with a local organization, lobby your elected officials, or change your own behavior.

Learn to distinguish between threat awareness, which is necessary and healthy, and threat rumination, which exhausts without informing. When your mind is cycling through worst-case futures with no path forward, that’s your signal to use the tools you’ve been building in therapy: Take a walk, do a breathing exercise, seek out a story about climate progress.

This is also where therapy offers something that information alone can’t. Climate anxiety lives in the body as much as the mind. Therapeutic tools (somatic practices, working through grief, reining in the runaway thoughts that keep you up at night, and building confidence to act) strengthen your capacity to stay present with the shifting climate reality without being overwhelmed by it. That’s not “coping” in the familiar sense of managing symptoms until life returns to normal. It’s developing the inner resources to keep showing up, keep caring, and keep acting with an open mind and heart. That kind of resilience makes sustained engagement possible.

In this with you,
Leslie

I’m Leslie Davenport, a licensed therapist, educator, speaker, consultant, and internationally recognized voice on the emotional and psychological dimensions of climate change. If you’ve got a question about climate and mental health, please consider submitting it for a future column. Submit a question for a future Ask a Climate Therapist column More from Ask a Climate Therapist

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Ask a Climate Therapist: Is it still ‘catastrophizing’ if the threat is real? on May 29, 2026.

As a college sophomore with an internet connection during the Obama era, I was instantly intrigued by the promise of the new direct-to-consumer clothing brand Everlane. I don’t remember how or when I found out about the fashion startup exactly; I just remember getting the emails. Launched around 2011 with venture capital funding, Everlane styled itself in a sort-of minimalist, pro-consumer ethos. The idea was simple: sell beautiful clothing made really well — so-called “modern basics” — at reasonable prices. The company made it all the more enticing by amping up the exclusivity factor; like the early days of Gmail, you needed an invitation to shop.  

By forgoing brick-and-mortar stores, Everlane, co-founded by Michael Preysman, advertised itself as cutting out the middleman and allowing the consumer to reap the benefits. Initially, Everlane promised its wares — it started with boxy T-shirts — would always be priced at less than $100.

The company embodied a decidedly millennial spirit: the idea that change was not only possible, but possible via simply buying better things. I spent hours pouring over the brand’s email marketing and clothing collections. I got off the waitlist in the fall of 2011 (“You’re one of the first in the door!”, the email read), but for months, I just browsed. Even at their heavily discounted prices, I wondered if $25 was too much to pay for a pocket tee, when Urban Outfitters was just down the street — or if the quality of a $15 box-cut tee would hold up, especially if I couldn’t see or touch it before buying. In the early days, by Preysman’s own assessment, Everlane was operating almost as more of a branding exercise. “I have seen, candidly with Everlane, we’ve had periods where we had okay product when we launched, and the brand carried all the weight,” he told a business podcast in 2024. “Then we had great products, and we had really high engagement.”  

From the author’s email inbox. Frida Garza / Grist

Indeed, over time, the company’s aesthetic and business model shifted as it grew in popularity and reach, and its price point changed with it. In 2017, Everlane announced that its first brick-and-mortar store would open in New York City, where shoppers can still browse $148 jeans and $268 cashmere sweaters today. Its mission also became more ambitious: Everlane announced plans in 2021 to reach net-zero emissions by 2050. The company sought to “empower people to live their best lives with the least impact on the planet — and leave the apparel industry cleaner than we found it.” In its latest sustainability report, Everlane stated the company has reduced Scope 1, 2, and 3 emissions by 60 percent since 2019, and reduced per-product carbon emissions by 42 percent. 

The brand has signaled its commitment to the planet in other ways throughout the years, including its focus on using certified organic cotton and attempting to eliminate virgin plastic from its supply chain. Additionally, the company has taken the public inside its factories, publishing glossy-looking photos from its facilities in Vietnam, China, Italy, and other countries and tracking which ones use renewable energy and pay living wages. 

For these and other reasons, the company mystified consumers last week, when it was sold to the e-commerce giant Shein, which ranked as the biggest polluter in fast fashion last year. Shein offers clothing, jewelry, home goods, and accessories, all for sometimes shockingly cheap prices — the true cost of which is its carbon-intensive supply chain. The sale was orchestrated by L Catterton, the company’s majority owner, according to fashion reporter Laura Sherman who broke the story. (Preysman, who stepped down as CEO in 2022, wrote on LinkedIn that he “found out at the same time as everyone,” and has since announced he would launch another Everlane-esque business with no venture capital or private equity money.) Fashion magazines balked, asking if Everlane’s acquisition spells the end of the fashion industry’s sustainability aspirations writ large. But the sale of Everlane to this particular buyer should turn the inquiry around: Of what use are sustainability goals in the face of hyper-consumerism? Put another way: Was it ever the case that simply buying (more) different things would ever yield a more livable planet?

Consumers, it seems, only want to shop sustainably if it means they can, in fact, keep shopping: A study from 2025 found that even when shoppers are buying secondhand fashion, they’re also still buying new clothes. 

The companies’ offerings are, of course, different: Preysman famously told the New Yorker magazine, “You do not get laid in Everlane.” Shein, meanwhile, is a one-stop shop for plunging necklines, revealing cut-outs, sheer fabrics, and ruffles on ruffles. And the methods are different, too: Shein is less of a fashion brand and more of an everything store — a no-man’s land of AI-powered nanotrends — akin to Amazon or Temu. Hop on over to the Shein website, and you can just as easily find a halter top that makes you look like a ladybug or a pair of oversized jorts or buckets of slime. But, for all the hoopla around the acquisition, there are glimpses of Shein’s story in Everlane’s initial pitch, now adjusted for a new generation of shoppers accustomed to ultra-convenience. 

They were both, at one point, online-only stores offering clothes people wanted at seemingly unbeatable prices. And Shein has also apparently taken pages out of Everlane’s marketing playbook, by offering limited glimpses into its factories — albeit, heavily filtered through its influencer-fueled PR machine. In 2023, the platform invited a group of content creators on an all-expenses-paid trip to tour its facilities in Guangzhou, China. One influencer documented the visit in a video, noting that at least one worker was “surprised” about the rumors that Shein factories’ poor working conditions. (The video has since been deleted.) The publicity move was immediately met with criticism for attempting to sanitize Shein’s reputation. 

Everlane’s store in San Francisco. Liz Hafalia / The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images

In fairness, fifteen years after it launched, Everlane is nowhere near the scale of Shein, which reportedly produces 10,000 new items per day. But the question around whether the fashion world can ever truly become sustainable is something of a red herring, and even Preysman knows this — or knew it, at one point. “The word sustainability has been completely greenwashed,” he told Forbes in 2021. He went on: “Show me a fashion brand that claims it is sustainable, and I will show you a fashion brand that is not honest. One can be ‘more sustainable’ but nothing is truly sustainable.” In the end, the future of fashion retail relies on consumers buying more clothes. 

I did eventually buy multiple things from Everlane: a canvas backpack that held up really nicely for years; a silk button-down I wore just as much to graduate school classes as I did on vacation. I bought a pair of bootcut jeans after a long, painstaking discussion with a salesperson and a third woman in the dressing room who butted into the conversation. 

But I never shop at the Everlane store or website anymore, and that’s because I don’t have to — the thrift stores of New York City are filled with the brand’s clothes. It’s not the only one: On the racks at Goodwill, I can always dependably find at least one Shein top these days.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Everlane, Shein, and the myth of sustainable fashion on May 28, 2026.

They never thought the fires would reach them. They lived in cities, after all, far from the parched, combustible wilderness.

There’s the woman who never expected to have to grab her 1-year-old out of her bed in the middle of the night, shielding her soft head from a hailstorm of flaming embers as she dashed to the car. Or the mom of two who wound up on the beach holding her youngest, a 9-week-old baby, wondering how she would swim if the fires bearing down on her from the hills above forced her into the ocean. Or the pregnant asthmatic who had to decide where to put her air purifier as suffocating smoke blanketed her neighborhood — in her own bedroom, or the bedroom of her eldest child. The women don’t know each other, but they share the same instinctive feeling that they didn’t know enough — and didn’t do enough — to keep their children safe.

As urban sprawl encroaches on wilderness — and as the planet grows drier in many places and hotter almost everywhere — wildfires are becoming more dynamic, unpredictable, and far-reaching, affecting broader and broader swaths of the world’s population. On the east coast of Australia and the west coast of the United States, two of the planet’s most densely populated wildfire hotspots, millions now find themselves in the midst of a public health crisis that is not yet fully understood. Even fires that are limited to wilderness can blanket major cities in levels of pollution that are without recent precedent, leaving residents to guess how to protect themselves and their families. And when wildfires push through city limits, they incinerate synthetic materials, vehicles, and buildings, producing a mix of pollutants more toxic than the smoke that comes from burning vegetation. 

None of this is theoretical. It’s been six years since Australia’s so-called Black Summer coated the country’s east coast in choking smoke, three years since 100 million Americans were exposed to deadly pollution from Canadian wildfires, and just one year since fires decimated neighborhoods in Los Angeles, destroying about 13,000 residential properties and killing 31. But Australian and U.S. public health systems are ill-prepared for the inevitable return of such blazes. Nowhere is the lapse more clear than in the paucity of guidance provided to pregnant people. Scientists are just beginning to study how pollution from fires affects babies in the womb, and warnings from public officials and doctors consistently fail to account for the most vulnerable. 

Years after prolonged exposure to wildfire smoke during pregnancy, parents are left wondering whether asthma, developmental delays, and other health problems suffered by their children began with what was in the air before they were born — and whether it’s safe to raise a family in a place where every summer brings the same threat back to their doorsteps.

Smoke shrouds the Sydney Harbour Bridge during the Australian bushfires in November 2019. Bai Xuefei / Xinhua via Getty Images

Anneke French was excited for her maternity leave. A nurse at Canberra Hospital in Australia’s capital city, French was in her third trimester in the spring of 2019. Many in her tight-knit group of childhood best friends were also preparing to give birth or already had babies of their own.

“We were really looking forward to getting out and having lots of free time to go and have ladies’ lunches, or do some things by ourselves to treasure our time before we had a newborn to care for,” she remembered.

But by the time her leave began, French was preparing for a very different kind of summer.   

Earlier that year, in the depths of Australia’s winter, parts of Queensland and northern New South Wales began to burn — an ominous start to what is typically the country’s quietest fire season. By spring, new blazes were flaring along the east coast, feeding on vegetation desiccated by years of drought. Strong winds pushed flames across parched forests and grasslands, while dry lightning strikes sparked new fires faster than crews could contain them. Summer brought unprecedented heat waves; temperatures rose higher than most Australians had experienced in their lifetimes, cresting to 120 degrees Fahrenheit (49 degrees Celsius) in some areas. Hundreds of fires broke out across southeastern Australia, burning millions of hectares of land. More than two-thirds of Australians were exposed to flames or smoke, making it the most far-reaching environmental disaster in the young nation’s history. 

While fire never touched central Canberra itself, the city endured some of the most prolonged and suffocating air pollution in the country, at times registering the worst urban air pollution in the world. Any air quality reading above 300 is considered hazardous, the index’s highest category of warning. Canberra’s reading exceeded 5,000 on New Year’s Day 2020.

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Throughout the crisis, pregnant women and new parents in smoke-affected areas, tasked with the responsibility of protecting both themselves and their infants, were largely given the same public health guidance as other sensitive groups (the elderly, asthmatics, and people with diabetes): Stay indoors as much as possible. 

Even French, a nurse, couldn’t find reliable guidance on what more she could do to protect herself and her baby from the smoke. At a prenatal appointment several weeks before her due date, French’s obstetrician told her to avoid going outside. She stayed indoors as best she could, preparing the house for its newest arrival. But the smoke worried her. “The smell was strong enough that it felt dangerous,” she said, “like you would feel if you were too close to a bushfire and felt it was time to evacuate.”

One night when she was a little more than 35 weeks pregnant, French felt a stabbing pain in her stomach so severe she could hardly take a breath. She and her husband, James, rushed to the hospital, where their obstetrician quickly discovered that French had a placental abruption, meaning the placenta was partially or fully removed from the walls of the uterus, cutting the baby off from its source of oxygen. The condition is usually preceded by either sudden trauma like a severe fall or chronic maternal cigarette smoking. French had not fallen, and she didn’t smoke.

She was rushed into an operating room for an emergency cesarean. 

Stephen Robson, French’s obstetrician, smelled smoke in the operating room that night and realized that the pollution from the fires had penetrated through to the very center of the hospital, into the rooms that doctors are trained to keep sterile at all costs.

French’s daughter, Margot, was born nearly five weeks early and underweight. It wasn’t until later that French began to wonder whether her placental abruption had anything to do with the bushfires surrounding Canberra. She was never told that the smoke might affect the timing of her birth or the health of her baby. She was never given a mask to use. 

As the summer continued and the fires only got worse, French began to notice the smoke in her home as she cared for Margot. She could see blue bands swirling beneath the overhead lights in her house. And even when she couldn’t see it, the stench was always there.

Margot’s birth wasn’t the only abnormal delivery Robson witnessed that summer. He remembers seeing smoke floating in the beam of light cast by an overhead medical spotlight during what was otherwise a routine birth. “It looked like the bat signal,” he said. “It was truly extraordinary.” 

It’s not just the placental abruption that bothers French now, six years later. She had two more children in the years after giving birth to Margot, none of whom endured the kind of bushfire season her firstborn weathered in utero in 2019. Margot is the only one of the three who struggles with asthma, a chronic, non-curable respiratory disease that afflicts neither French nor her husband, and eczema, an itchy and recurrent skin condition. 

Many of the children born to French’s friend group during the Black Summer have also developed asthma and eczema. “Her early months of life were in the Black Summer, and I worry about that for her as she grows,” she said. 

Anneke French sits with her daughter Margot. French worries that early-life smoke exposure may have contributed to some of Margot’s health conditions, like asthma. Jess Davis / ABC News

The evidence connecting chronic conditions suffered by babies born during the Black Summer to the smoke their mothers inhaled is largely anecdotal. That’s part of the problem; the scale of smoke exposure in recent years is unprecedented, so evidence-gathering is still in relatively early stages. But treating the harms of wildfire smoke as an open question is less about waiting for the science to settle, and more about ignoring what we already know about the risks of very similar pollution. In other words, not preparing for wildfire smoke is a policy choice.

General air pollution from trucks, factories, and other industrial sources is one of the most extensively studied environmental health risks in the world. It’s been the subject of sustained scientific inquiry since the 1970s, when governments began regulating and measuring air pollutants like sulfur dioxide, nitrogen dioxide, and carbon monoxide. This research shows that fine particulate matter seeps deep into the lungs and circulates through the bloodstream, touching nearly every organ system in the body. 

The resulting inflammation, clotting, and blood vessel damage is linked to coronary heart disease and a higher risk of stroke and heart attacks in adults. Lungs chronically exposed to air pollution are more likely to develop cancer. Brains show signs of neuroinflammation, cognitive decline, and dementia. Immune systems are more fragile and susceptible to disease. In total, the World Health Organization estimates that indoor and outdoor air pollution from all sources combined kills some 7 million people every year — more than the number of people who die from diabetes, tuberculosis, and in car accidents combined. 

In pregnancy, fine particulate matter is particularly damaging. A baby developing in the womb is uniquely vulnerable to disruption. Every organ in the body is rapidly developing. The health of the person carrying the baby is closely connected to narrow developmental windows; reduced lung function in the mother, for example, can restrict the flow of oxygen that’s crucial to brain development and overall growth. Studies show that particles in polluted air can enter the bloodstream and migrate across the placenta and even into placental tissue, where they disrupt oxygen and nutrient exchange with the fetus. Across large epidemiological studies, higher exposure to general air pollution has been consistently associated with increased risks of preterm birth, low birth weight, and stunted fetal growth — outcomes that already affect millions of pregnancies worldwide each year. 

“The exposures in utero, during gestation periods, have an impact on life and the development of children when they’re born,” said Sotiris Vardoulakis, director of the Health Research Institute at the University of Canberra. “It can have consequences for many years — the rest of their lives.”

Sotiris Vardoulakis, director of the Health Research Institute at the University of Canberra, holds an air quality monitor in his office. While fire never touched central Canberra itself, the city endured some of the most prolonged and suffocating air pollution in the country, at times registering the worst urban air pollution in the world. Any air quality reading above 300 is considered hazardous, the index’s highest category of warning. Canberra’s reading exceeded 5,000 on New Year’s Day 2020. Jess Davis / ABC News

There is some early evidence that wildfire smoke — which also contains fine particular matter — carries similar risks for babies and their mothers. A 2024 study that looked at a large cohort of births in the southwestern U.S. found that particulate matter from wildfires was linked to higher risk of preterm birth and low birth weight. An Australian cohort study of pregnant asthmatic women found that exposure to bushfire smoke was associated with asthma in their babies. Two studies published this year using large sample sizes provided by hospital systems in California found a novel connection between wildfire smoke and autism diagnoses in children exposed in utero. 

Examining the health consequences of breathing in wildfire smoke remains, however, a nascent area of scientific study — largely because, until recently, wildfire smoke was viewed as a periodic byproduct of disaster rather than a chronic public health threat that could match the scale of other sources of pollution. In the U.S., for example, wildfire smoke is still treated differently than other sources of air pollution by the Clean Air Act, and the Environmental Protection Agency considers pollution from wildfires as natural “exceptional events.” The agencies tasked with air quality protection in other countries, including Australia, largely view the issue similarly. 

But the research landscape is changing as global warming lengthens the frequency and intensity of fire weather and wildfire smoke starts to affect more people. Exposure to wildfire smoke, while variable year to year, is trending upward in the U.S., Australia, Indonesia, Brazil, Europe, Russia, Canada, and parts of South Africa, among other places. In the U.S., smoke from wildfires has contributed up to a quarter of the total particulate matter pollution nationwide in some recent years, unraveling the air quality gains the country has made since 2000. Some research indicates that wildfire smoke might be more damaging than general air pollution — up to 10 times more harmful than the compounds in car exhaust, according to one study.

Luke Wright takes a rest after putting out spot fires at his brother’s home near Sydney in December 2019.
ABC News

Emergency department records in areas affected by fires show that these intense episodes have the same consequences as background air pollution, but on shorter timescales. They boost hospitalizations for respiratory stress and cardiovascular conditions, and cause premature death. More than 400 people died from indirect smoke inhalation during the Black Summer, and several thousand more were hospitalized. Asthma-related emergency department visits across New York state spiked 82 percent at the peak intensity of the Canadian wildfire smoke event in 2023. Emergency room visits for heart attack symptoms rose 46 percent in the three months following the Los Angeles wildfires. 

The problem is set to get worse as the world moves deeper into the 21st century. Already, particulate matter from forest, grass, and peat fires kills an estimated 339,000 people a year worldwide. And climate-driven wildfire conditions are expanding across Australia, South America, Europe, and boreal Asia. A recent analysis found that millions of people at the edges of Australia’s biggest cities could experience urban wildfires similar to the devastating blazes that beset Los Angeles in the winter of 2025.

The Black Summer was a golden opportunity to extract valuable information about the health effects of wildfire smoke on major population centers, but Australia’s government at the time appeared more interested in downplaying the severity of the crisis. “We’ve had fires in Australia since time began,” Deputy Prime Minister Michael McCormack, leader of the right-wing National Party of Australia, said as the fires burned in 2019, calling the push to study the role climate change may have played in fueling the blazes the “the ravings of some pure, enlightened, and woke capital city greenies.”

The federal government ultimately committed just 5 million Australian dollars for bushfire-related health research across nine projects: AU$3 million for smoke exposure, and AU$2 million for the mental health consequences of the event. The sum was only enough to scratch the surface of the work required to understand the full scope of the smoke’s effects. (A single large epidemiological study in the U.S. can cost $3 million alone.) The health ramifications of the Black Summer were quickly eclipsed by the COVID-19 pandemic, which struck as the fires were ebbing. The biological samples — blood, tissue, placental cells, and other clues that could have laid the groundwork for long-term analyses of the health consequences of smoke exposure — were never collected and studied. 

“Initially, we had grand plans of going and getting blood samples and doing respiratory tests,” said Christopher Nolan, an endocrinologist in Canberra who conducted surveys of pregnant women in 2020 to assess the impact of the fires on maternal and fetal health. The onset of the pandemic complicated those plans, and Nolan never ended up getting funding at the scale necessary to collect samples. After a series of public meetings, the Australian Parliament published an interim report in 2020 concluding that “long‑term funding and research is needed to more definitively determine the impact of hazardous smoke exposure and inhalation on individuals and the community.”

“We had a missed opportunity in Australia to invest in [understanding] the long-term consequences,” said Arnagretta Hunter, a cardiologist based in Canberra who is part of Doctors for the Environment Australia, a network of medical professionals that advocates for climate action. 

Robson, the obstetrician who was working at Canberra Hospital during the Black Summer, feels similarly. “When babies were born, I noticed many of the placentas had changes that often you only see in severe disease, like severe blood pressure, or women with immunological diseases,” he said. “It was striking and it occurred for months afterwards, because I presume women had been affected by the smoke when it was there and it played out across the rest of the pregnancy for them.”

Stephen Robson worked as an obstetrician at Canberra Hospital during Australia’s Black Summer wildfires.
Jess Davis / ABC News

Both Hunter and Robson say they fear Australia’s capacity to respond to smoke events hasn’t improved since. Robson envisions a protected area inside the country’s hospitals that can keep smoke out — a sort of citadel deep inside medical facilities where surgeons and other specialists can do their work without fear of smoke creeping in. Hunter would like placentas and other biological samples that may have been preserved in hospital freezers from that time to be thawed and studied. But the institutional will to take that on hasn’t materialized.

“I don’t think we’re any better prepared to deal with an environmental catastrophe like this than we were the last time around,” Robson said. 

Arnagretta Hunter, a cardiologist based in Canberra, looks at lung scans.
Jess Davis / ABC News

Even in the U.S., the country that produced the bedrock research on fine particulate matter underpinning global air quality standards, the dynamics of fire are changing so quickly that parents are still being left in the dark. 

Irene Farr could hear cars exploding somewhere in the distance on the night of January 7, 2025, near her house in northern Pasadena, California. When she poked her head out of her front door, she smelled thick smoke in the air. There was a red glow in the sky around Eaton Canyon, a nature preserve a few miles to the east. Farr thought she might get an alert telling her to evacuate or see fire trucks racing down her street. But the neighborhood was eerily quiet. Her neighbors were indoors. It seemed like just another night in Pasadena.

Reddit, the social media site, told a different story. People were putting pins on a live map that showed where flames were erupting. Every time Farr checked the map, the pins were closer to her house. At 3 a.m., she reached her breaking point. She roused her daughter, Azul, and rallied her husband, David, and his parents, who live on the same property. They drove to David’s brother’s house half an hour away and stayed awake the rest of the night, wired and anxious for news about their neighborhood. The sun never rose that morning; the smoke was so thick that 6 a.m. looked like midnight. 

Smokes and flames overwhelm a commercial area during the Eaton Fire near Altadena, California, on January 8, 2025.
Josh Edelson / AFP via Getty Images

The Eaton Fire, one of two devastating wildfires that struck the Los Angeles area that January, ultimately killed 19 people and destroyed 9,000 buildings. Most of the deaths occurred west of a prominent north-south thoroughfare called Lake Avenue, where Farr’s house is located. Evacuation orders from the city arrived late — hours after residents on the east side of Lake Avenue had been told to leave. 

The Farr’s house was spared, but more than a year later the family still hasn’t moved back home. Azul was just 11 months old when the fires broke out — too young, Irene figured, to risk her being exposed to whatever the fires left behind. Schools, hospital clinics, supermarkets, warehouses, appliances, and plastics had been burned to ash. People online were saying that the affected areas would be toxic for at least a year. 

“We decided that we would wait until we had more data and information,” Farr said. “What ended up being a two-week wait ended up being a one-month wait, ended up being a three-month wait …”

Whenever she went back to check on the old house, Farr felt a burning in the back of her throat, a “bubbling up.” There was something lingering in the air, she thought, but she didn’t know what it was.

Irene Farr holds her daughter Azul. They evacuated their home during the Eaton Fire in January 2025.
Zoya Teirstein / Grist

Frankly, no one knew — not even local air pollution researchers who have spent years studying the health dangers of wildfire smoke in the American West. “It was unprecedented,” said Yifang Zhu, an air pollution researcher at the University of California, Los Angeles. Air monitoring stations across the country installed by the federal government are often designed to monitor general air quality. They take measurements every few days, data that helps states determine whether they are compliant with federal regulations. When the fires broke out, stations in Los Angeles continued to collect routine data on urban air pollutants, but the sensors weren’t equipped to capture the novel mix of compounds produced by burning cars, buildings, and asphalt. Many of the sensors were themselves lost to the fires.

“One big lesson we learned is if something gets burned that’s not a traditional wildfire compound, if you don’t specifically look for it, you’re not going to find it,” Zhu said. “It’s as if it didn’t exist.” The problem is that designing and deploying air quality monitors that can capture the heady mix of pollutants released by urban wildfires is expensive and requires a lot of technical expertise. 

Yifang Zhu is an air pollution researcher at the University of California, Los Angeles. Zoya Teirstein / Grist

Zhu’s colleague Mike Kleeman, an air pollution researcher at the University of California, Davis, drove around the Los Angeles burn zone in April last year, when cleanup crews were hauling away material, and took air samples with an expensive specialized air sampling instrument. He was looking for hexavalent chromium, a very toxic form of chromium used in industrial welding and manufacturing that’s linked to lung cancer. Air monitoring stations, and even air pollution research laboratories like Zhu’s, don’t measure the toxin because it requires unique equipment and it’s unstable, meaning you only have a short while to get it to the lab before it disappears. 

Kleeman found hexavalent chromium in the samples he collected at levels that were 200 times higher than they would be on a normal day in the city — not high enough to warrant a public health emergency, but illuminating for air pollution researchers who quickly realized that these urban blazes had introduced a new set of unknown variables.

“We are facing an entirely new challenge when wildfires burn into major cities,” Kleeman said. 

Zhu and Kleeman are members of the Los Angeles Fire Human Exposure and Long-Term Health Study, a collaboration between eight universities across the U.S. aimed at studying the short- and long-term health effects of the Los Angeles fires. The collaboration, funded by the Spiegel Family Fund, a philanthropic foundation formed by the creator of Snapchat, collected some of the biological data that researchers in Australia largely couldn’t obtain during and after the Black Summer. 
An initial study found peculiar trends in sodium and protein levels in the blood of people affected by the fires, an outcome experts still don’t understand. More research on those abnormalities and other findings is coming. Researchers involved in the initiative were focused initially on measuring the contaminants the fires produced and recruiting cohorts of people to study. Now, they’re turning to the work of investigating the long-term health impacts of the fires on those people, including subgroups like first responders and pregnant women.

More in this series

• In Arizona, a fight against a deadly fungus is under threat from Trump’s health policies
• As aid dries up in Kenya, millions are threatened by the climate-driven disease kala-azar
• Rising heat, failing kidneys: Climate’s hidden toll on migrant workers
• In Bangladesh, thousands of volunteers are battling climate-fueled disease at its source
• A hotter, wetter South is becoming a breeding ground for mold
• The frantic, high-tech fight to stop climate-fueled dengue fever

But the funding that rolled in from ultra-wealthy Los Angeles philanthropists in the immediate aftermath of the fires is starting to dry up. The federal government, beyond failing to fill the void, is cutting resources needed to understand the conditions that fuel wildfires in the first place. In April, the Trump administration announced a reorganization plan that includes closing 57 of 77 Forest Service research stations across the country, many of which study fire risk. 

There’s not much more momentum in Australia. Despite a change in government in 2022, no new major federal funding has been earmarked for bushfire smoke exposure research since the Black Summer, perhaps in part because a smoke event of that scale hasn’t happened since. 

As countries around the globe begin to grapple with the health consequences of smoke exposure, tens of millions of data points are entering the public record. But the way researchers in different countries conduct research — even the way scientists define the term “smoke exposure” — is highly variable. Some scientists use satellites to study smoke exposure, while others use computer modeling. For pregnant populations, some scientists choose to analyze smoke exposure by trimester, others look at the total number of “fire days” pregnant women live through. Efforts to identify long-term health trends are often scrambled by this lack of standardization, delaying the kind of unequivocal findings that prompt hospitals and governments to quickly implement new policies. 

The American and Australian co-authors of a 2024 global meta analysis of the research on wildfire smoke exposure in pregnant women found just 31 studies of a high enough caliber to include in their review. Their analysis was inconclusive because the studies, conducted in various countries with different methods, couldn’t be appropriately compared. In the end, the authors were forced to conclude that they had found “suggestive evidence of harm from exposure to wildfire smoke during pregnancy” and that more research was needed. 

Nolan, the Australian endocrinologist, thinks there should be a scientific protocol that experts all over the globe use as they conduct research on the effects of smoke exposure on natal health. A universal standard that harmonizes datasets would allow researchers to share data between institutions and hone in on the biggest risks more quickly. “[When] different groups around the world collect the data the same way, well, then you get statistical power,” Nolan said. 

Epidemiological standardization is what formed the basis of general air pollution regulations. The World Health Organization created global air quality guidelines in 1987 and established a benchmark for particulate matter pollution in 2005. Researchers were then able to draw concrete conclusions: A 2015 study, for example, found that for every 10 micrograms per cubic meter increase in fine particulate pollution, all-cause mortality rises by 4 percent. 

We know that wildfire smoke is bad for pregnant women. But answers to more specific questions — should women evacuate when particulate matter reaches a certain threshold? How many days of smoke exposure meaningfully increase the risk of preterm birth? — are still out of reach 

Read Next An early-life wildfire exposure sickened these monkeys for decades Jesse Nichols

It’s not a matter of if the fires will come again, but when. Much of the American West just had one of its warmest winters on record. More than half the region is in a drought at a time of year when snowpack should have hit its peak, priming the landscape for fire. “We are facing a very challenging fire year,” Mike Morgan, director of the Colorado Division of Fire Prevention and Control, said in April. “Our resources will be tested not only in Colorado, but across the West.” 

Earlier this year, southeastern Australia experienced the most intense heat wave it has seen since the Black Summer — an event made five times more likely by climate change. The heat fueled a spate of bushfires across the state of Victoria that burned hundreds of homes and killed one person and thousands of livestock. 

In Canberra, where temperatures approached 110 degrees F, the smell of smoke from prescribed burning this fall brought French back to 2019. “As soon as you see that plume of smoke or smell it on the air, you want to know: Where? How close? Is it in control? Is it accidental?” she said. 

French can find the answers to those questions on the Australian Capital Territory Parks website. But there is nowhere she can go for resolution about the long-term effects of the Black Summer on Margot’s health.

“I don’t know how that will affect her,” she said. “I still don’t know.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Wildfire smoke engulfed their cities. Did it make their babies sick? on May 28, 2026.

A sprawling, 40,000-acre data center planned for northern Utah has stirred up controversy across the state over the past month, partly because of the pollution it’s expected to contribute to a region that already struggles with smog.

Officials with the quasi-governmental Military Installation Development Authority, or MIDA, which approved the project and created tax incentives to spur its development, have become de facto cheerleaders for the data center campus, called the Stratos Project. They say Kevin O’Leary, the Canadian TV personality and the main backer of Stratos, specifically selected a remote valley north of the Great Salt Lake because a gas pipeline runs through it.

The plant that will generate electricity for the data complex would be powered “100 percent off the Ruby Pipeline,” a MIDA official said in April. 

But after weeks of protests, reams of comments against the project, and disgruntled Utahns digging into state leaders’ finances and family businesses, the state’s Republican governor has now asserted the project will “never” be solely powered by natural gas.

“That’s never going to happen,” Governor Spencer Cox told The Salt Lake Tribune last week. “The very first phase will be natural gas, but the other phases should not be. They should be nuclear, and they should be geothermal, and solar and other technology.”

The proposed Stratos Project is light on details so far. O’Leary has said that at full build, it will be one of the biggest data centers in the world, as large as Washington, D.C. Scientists, environmental advocates and some residents have raised alarms about the impact that the project — and the possibility of a massive natural gas plant to power it — could have on air quality, greenhouse gas emissions, and water supplies near the shrinking Great Salt Lake.

According to some estimates, a 9-gigawatt power plant entirely powered by natural gas could raise Utah’s carbon emissions by 64 percent. Although it’s still unclear how much water the facility would need, the project’s developers have said they’re working to secure 13,000 acre-feet in Hansel Valley and the surrounding area, which is mostly agricultural. That’s enough water to meet the needs of more than 20,000 households in Utah.

The north end of the Great Salt Lake and Hansel Valley, the planned site for the Stratos Project. Trent Nelson / The Salt Lake Tribune

Opposition to the proposal has been intense. A water right filed to support the data center and power plant received nearly 4,000 letters of protest this month. Opponents held a rally at Utah’s Capitol last week and delivered a letter to Cox with more than 6,000 signatures urging him to take “binding action” to preserve the Great Salt Lake instead of issuing platitudes over social media.

During a news conference on Wednesday announcing a geothermal partnership with the neighboring states of Arizona, Colorado, and New Mexico, Cox acknowledged problems with the rollout of the Stratos Project in Box Elder County, saying future decisions like it should involve his office and elected representatives.

“There’s no question, the process was not good,” Cox told reporters. “It’s something I’ve worried about for a long time with that entity that made that decision.” 

Cox appeared to be referring to MIDA, a development authority ostensibly meant to fund projects to support the military. Its biggest developments in recent years, however, include a hotel at the Deer Valley luxury ski resort and a swanky ski village. MIDA officials and other Stratos supporters have called the project a matter of national security.

“That was not a decision that was made by me or the Legislature,” Cox said. “In the future, those are decisions that should be made by us, so that we can do these types of things ahead of time to make sure people understand what’s actually happening out there. That did not happen, and it should happen.”

When he made his comments, Cox was hosting the final workshop in his “Energy Superabundance” initiative as chair of the Western Governors Association, part of a broader push that complements his “Operation Gigawatt” goal to more than double Utah’s energy production over the next decade.

Electricity use across the country has held relatively steady for decades, but a surge in demand for artificial intelligence computing and data centers is putting a strain on the electric grid. That’s left Western states scrambling to build new energy supplies.

At the same time, public skepticism toward large data center developments appears to be growing, particularly over concerns involving water use, noise, energy costs, and pollution.

“It feels like the future is here,” Cox said during his opening remarks at the workshop. “It’s coming quicker than people asked for, and there are so many amazing things that can come from that future, and some pretty awful ones as well.”

Read Next Utah’s fragile desert could feel like the Sahara if America’s biggest data center gets built Leia Larsen

Cox has also pushed for faster permitting timelines for large energy and infrastructure projects, arguing that environmental review processes often take too long. “This whole idea of being rushed — I’m so tired of our country taking years to get stuff done,” he said in April. “It’s the dumbest thing ever. We think that taking time makes things better or safer. It absolutely does not.”

Last week, Cox struck a more measured tone as criticism of the project continued to mount. “One of the things people are worried about, and rightfully so, is air quality,” he said in a brief interview as he left the workshop. “That’s a yearlong [permitting] process. … We’re not speeding those up. Those are really important, and we want to make sure that things are done the right way.”

Earlier this month, O’Leary, who was featured on the reality show “Shark Tank,” also seemed to suggest that renewables could help power the Stratos Project. He described other technological advances — such as turbines cooled with air rather than water — before turning to the natural gas power causing a stir.

“We can also put a percentage of the power generation through solar, wind, and batteries, because the battery technology is 10x more efficient than it was just five years ago,” O’Leary posted on X on May 5. “So that’s very helpful, because it makes the cost of energy lower.”

But he stopped short of fully endorsing renewables for his project.

Logan Mitchell, a climate scientist and analyst with Utah Clean Energy, calculated that a 9-gigawatt natural gas power plant will produce around 35 million metric tons of carbon emissions each year. By comparison, the entire state of Utah generates 55 million metric tons annually, according to the U.S. Energy Information Administration. So the Stratos Project could raise Utah’s emissions by about 64 percent.

“That’s massive,” Mitchell said. But it could be even more, because his estimate didn’t account for “any additional methane leakage” from piping and using the natural gas, he said.

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The world’s largest data center was supposed to run on 100% natural gas. Utah’s Republican governor says ‘never.’ on May 28, 2026.

In June, athletes from 16 countries will kick off the World Cup wearing other people’s used clothing.

Well, maybe. They’ll be sporting uniforms made from recycled fabric, potentially including a mix of scraps and old clothes. It’s the latest initiative from Nike, one of the world’s largest apparel companies, to incorporate more recycled material into the attire it makes. This time, the garment giant said it used “advanced chemical recycling” to produce its first elite performance apparel from 100 percent textile waste. 

Nike executives and some media coverage have implied that the outfits represent a turning point for sustainable fashion — that “circular” clothing, capable of being recycled over and over again, could soon reach everyday consumers.

The real picture, as you might expect, is a bit more complicated.

Nike has indeed signed deals with two chemical recycling companies, but no one is saying much about their technology or how scalable it is. Despite increasing investments from fashion brands, experts said not to expect to find sales racks lined with chemically recycled clothing anytime soon. 

“Yeah, it’s technically possible,” said Veena Singla, an environmental health researcher at the University of California, San Francisco. “But is it going to happen in reality?” She and others who study chemical recycling don’t think so — at least not in any way consumers might expect. The day when they can buy chemically recycled clothes, wear them, then return them for another trip through the cycle isn’t nigh. 

What seems more likely is the fashion industry expands its use of this recycling technique with industrial scrap fabric — and at nothing approaching the level needed to address projected increases in textile production.

Nike is right that the fashion industry has a sustainability problem. Apparel companies produce more than 100 billion articles of clothing every year. In the process they generate up to 10 percent of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions and an unfathomable amount of waste; the vast majority of textiles are eventually landfilled, incinerated, or sent to unofficial dump sites in poor countries. And all of this is made possible by fossil fuels, with nearly 70 percent of clothes made from oil-derived fabrics. The most common is polyester, a type of plastic also used in water bottles.

Rather than easing up on production, Nike and many of its competitors have pledged to boost the “circularity” of polyester — mostly through recycling.

The push to do so through chemical means is a response to the shortcomings of other strategies they’ve tried. Traditional mechanical recycling through shredding and grinding causes fibers to break down. The resulting fabric must be blended with 70 to 80 percent virgin material so anything made with it doesn’t pill and tear. 

The much more prevalent strategy involves turning discarded plastic bottles into new polyester. Patagonia pioneered this approach in the early ‘90s, and by the start of this decade virtually all recycled polyester was sourced from old bottles. Today, however, companies have increasingly faced lawsuits and regulatory scrutiny from those who would rather see bottles turned back into bottles.

Chemical recycling is supposed to be the next best thing. The term refers to using solvents to dissolve fibers into their base chemical units — building blocks that can be spun into new fabrics. On its face, this is a truly “circular” solution, because it doesn’t depend on bottles, and proponents say it can turn your used polyester shirts or running shorts into new ones over and over again, with no loss in fabric quality. 

That’s the vision now being promoted by fast-fashion brands like Gap, H&M, and Levi’s, many of which have signed multi-year agreements with a handful of chemical recycling startups. Last fall, Nike agreed to source “circular” polyester from two of them: the Swedish firm Syre and Loop Industries here in the U.S.

Research does bear out some of the hype. Technically, chemical recycling can produce virgin-quality polyester, and at least one method, called methanolysis, is capable of preserving that quality through repeated rounds of recycling. But there are significant constraints.

Diana Ferreira, a textile researcher at the University of Minho in Portugal, said textile-to-textile chemical recycling remains limited by the availability of suitable fabric to work with. “If we are dealing with clean, well-sorted, polyester-rich waste streams, chemical recycling can in principle produce material with properties comparable to virgin polyester,” she said. “However, if we are talking about post-consumer textile waste, the situation is much more complex.”

Read Next Your ‘widely recyclable’ Starbucks cup is still trash Joseph Winters

In other words, chemical recycling works best with industrial scraps, which are more uniform than piles of used clothes. The latter may include blends of cotton, nylon, wool, spandex, and acrylics, not to mention dyes, chemical coatings, thread, labels, and zippers. All of this stuff makes chemical recycling much less feasible — at least, not without meticulous sorting and repeated rounds of pre-treatment to chemically remove all of those contaminants.

“If we wanted it to work, we would have to have our clothes … be 100 percent polyester, and we’d need to get rid of so many toxic chemicals,” Singla said. 

Beth Jensen, of the nonprofit Textile Exchange, is more sanguine. She said “all solutions,” including chemical recycling, are needed to reduce the fashion industry’s dependence on fossil fuels. But she agreed that establishing the infrastructure required for companies to accept used clothing and use technologies like methanolysis to make it into new apparel remains a ways away. Plus, it’s not clear who will build it. Companies like Nike? Governments? Recyclers? Some combination of those entities working collaboratively? 

Even if the industry can hit its optimistic targets for chemically recycled polyester by the early 2030s — whether from scrap or from people’s old clothes — production of “circular” fabric would likely pale in comparison to the more than 169 million metric tons of polyester projected to be manufactured annually by then. Dionisios Vlachos, a professor of chemical engineering at the University of Delaware, said Syre’s goal to produce even 3 million metric tons by 2032 is “too aggressive.”

Instead, companies need to “reverse the trend of fast fashion,” said Nusa Urbancic, CEO of the nonprofit Changing Markets Foundation. That means making less clothing overall, whether it contains recycled or virgin materials.  Last year, growth in recycled polyester — mostly from bottles — was dwarfed by an even larger increase in the production of fossil fuel-based polyester.

Urbancic sees chemical recycling as “an excuse to keep producing plastic clothes” and advocates for a shift away from polyester altogether; the material sheds microfibers and may expose consumers to hazardous chemicals.

Nike, Syre, and Loop Industries did not respond to interview requests or detailed lists of questions, highlighting a transparency problem flagged by Singla, Vlachos, and others Grist spoke with. Industry confidentiality makes it difficult to know what’s actually going on in these firms — and whether “#TheGreatTextileShift” they promise will be different from failed chemical recycling initiatives in the past.

It’s worth noting that Loop Industries has never turned a profit since its founding in 2010. The company is under investigation by the SEC following a 2020 report accusing it of systematically misrepresenting its technology to regulators and investors, and in 2022, it settled a class-action lawsuit over similar accusations. Syre, for its part, has not said how the “gigascale” factory it plans to build in Vietnam will be able to process consumers’ old clothes, given the country’s ban on used apparel imports.

“It remains to be seen whether [Nike’s announcement] amounts to anything,” Singla said. For the foreseeable future, it seems chemically recycled polyester will be limited to niche products like World Cup uniforms.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Nike’s recycled World Cup uniforms reveal the limits of ‘circular’ fashion on May 27, 2026.

When it comes to California’s climate future, the most important figure in the state’s chaotic governor’s race may not be any of the candidates on the debate stage. It may not even be outgoing governor Gavin Newsom or President Donald Trump. 

Instead, it might just be Chevron, the multinational oil company that was founded in the Golden State more than 100 years ago. It is among the largest producers, refiners, and sellers of petroleum products in a state rapidly shifting toward electric vehicles. Depending on which candidate is talking, the company is an example of how Big Oil is strangling consumers or an example of how climate regulations are strangling the state economy. 

The behemoth — it reported $12.3 billion in profit last year — took the spotlight last month when an interviewer asked leading Democratic candidate Xavier Becerra about Chevron’s contributions to his campaign. The former state attorney general and Biden-era health secretary gave what seemed to be a candid response:

“Chevron, that’s the problem with politics. They’re not the bad guy. Does everybody here drive an electric vehicle? You need Chevron. I need Chevron. My people of the state of California need Chevron … Chevron wants to give me a check, that’s — that’s their prerogative.”

The phrase “I need Chevron” soon appeared in anti-Becerra videos by the likes of climate hawk Jane Fonda, implying that the candidate was saying he needs Chevron to get elected. Progressive billionaire Tom Steyer, Becerra’s lead Democratic opponent, urged him to return the contribution and said he is “doing [the] bidding” of Big Oil. Representative Katie Porter, another leading Democrat, said in a statement that she “hasn’t made millions off Big Oil or taken their checks.”

Becerra is not entirely wrong. California consumes around 13 billion gallons of gasoline annually, all of it specifically formulated to meet the state’s stringent clean air standards. Most of it comes from just six refineries, and Chevron owns two that account for one-third of the state’s production. That gives the company and its peers tremendous leverage. But California’s gas consumption has declined by about 15 percent from a peak in 2004 due to improved fuel economy in conventional vehicles and growing adoption of electric vehicles. It could fall by half over the next two decades. 

The primary is June 2. The challenge for the next governor will be to continue the energy transition while retaining the infrastructure needed to move and refine oil. This has never been accomplished in a place as large as California, which was the world’s fifth-largest economy in 2025. The risks are tremendous: If the state moves too quickly, it could create shortages and price spikes for drivers already paying the highest prices in the country. If it moves too slowly, it could lock in decades of air pollution and hinder global climate progress.

“It’s messy,” said Emily Grubert. She is a civil engineer and sociologist at Notre Dame who has studied fossil fuel transitions and advised the state government on oil infrastructure. “As soon as you realize that actually transitioning away from fossil fuels means you have to close things, people get really freaked out.”

Newsom spent much of his governorship going after Big Oil, an effort that included a series of executive actions to restrict fracking in Kern County oil fields. When the war in Ukraine sent gas prices surging, Newsom and Democrats in the Legislature passed a series of bills to stop what he called “price gouging.” These laws empowered a new oil-focused watchdog agency, created a tool that could impose refinery price caps, and required refineries to maintain certain storage reserves, all of which cut profit margins for Chevron and others. The new refinery rules added to multiple carbon taxes that make selling gasoline in California more expensive.

However, there is some evidence refiners have overcharged Californians. Even after accounting for state taxes, environmental fees, and production costs, a gap remains between gas prices in the Golden State and everywhere else. This gap appeared in 2015 after a refinery fire in Torrance and has come to be known as the “mystery gasoline surcharge.” It now averages about $1. Last fall, a state regulator concluded that refiners’ monopoly power may be the reason for the price spikes.

Oil companies accused Newsom of trying to regulate them out of existence, and many threatened to leave. Two major refiners, Wilmington and Benicia, announced last year that they would close their operations, forcing a state that already imports about 60 percent of its oil to rely on imports of gasoline refined in Asia. Chevron relocated its corporate headquarters from the San Francisco suburb of San Ramon to Houston in 2024, and it has delivered a series of ominous warnings this year as climate regulators have revised the state’s almost 15-year-old carbon tax.

“The proposed regulation will cripple the survivability of the state’s remaining refineries, which will result in California losing the entire industry,” Andy Walls, the president of Chevron’s refinery business, wrote in an open letter to Newsom in March. The implication was clear: unless you relax your regulations, we will leave the state and strand you without gasoline. That would mean paying Asian refiners to produce more of the state’s specific blend, at significant cost.

The Newsom administration spent much of 2025 trying to work out a grand bargain with the industry. The Legislature eased rules governing drilling in Kern County oil fields, helping maintain a stable supply of crude to refineries. It also delayed implementing a refinery profit cap and allowed the temporary sale of gasoline with higher concentrations of ethanol. The state’s climate regulator has also suggested giving refineries free allowances under the state’s cap-and-trade system, even if it means less money for big projects like high-speed rail and sustainable housing. The idea is to give investors enough certainty that they’re willing to remain in California even as the state uses less gasoline.

Experts believe it will take a lot more than that to manage inevitable changes.

“You actually can’t have a smooth and safe and effective transition without some form of coordinating function for that decline,” said Grubert. She believes a degree of state ownership of refineries will be necessary to keep facilities open if they stop being profitable. The wrong approach, she says, would be to respond to each potential refinery closure with ad hoc subsidies and state support, since that would allow refiners to extort the state one by one. 

That point was reinforced this month by a report from the California Energy Commission that has not received much notice. The analysis of the state’s shaky fuel system found that “California cannot sustainably manage this transition through repeated crisis interventions at an asset-by-asset level.” It suggested options that included “legal obligations to operate,” “centralized planning of closures,” and “direct state management or ownership of assets.”

The Iran war will accelerate a decline in both the supply of, and demand for, oil. Gas retailers like Chevron are already struggling to find additional imports of refined fuel, and some experts predict shortages if the Strait of Hormuz does not open within weeks. Meanwhile, electric vehicles continue gaining market share, and Newsom plans to roll out subsidies for them this year. Wider adoption of these vehicles, and hybrids, will further crimp demand, making any remaining refineries more likely to shutter. 

Chevron’s Kern River Oil Field near Bakersfield is one of the largest oil fields in California. The state’s climate policies have helped reduce gasoline demand by more than 15 percent over the past decade. Mark Ralston / AFP via Getty Images

All of this helps explain the showdown between the leading Democrats in the governor’s race, who are each trying to find a lane in a field that at one time included more than 50 candidates.

Becerra has given lip service to clean energy, but many public statements suggest a friendliness toward oil producers. As attorney general, he initiated a few lawsuits against petroleum companies, and supported other state climate lawsuits, but punted on major investigations. He has focused his gubernatorial campaign on vows to fight Donald Trump and protect healthcare, and has made controversial promises to freeze utility and insurance rates. On decarbonization, he has noted that “climate action only succeeds if it is affordable, reliable, and fair.”

After the chaos of the early primary, many oil producers have decided that Becerra is their candidate. Chevron last month contributed the maximum allowable amount of $39,200 to his campaign, the first time in a decade it has backed a gubernatorial candidate. Last week, the company contributed another $500,000 to an independent political committee supporting Becerra. California Resources Corporation, the state’s largest driller, also gave $500,000 to a Becerra committee. And gas companies like Sempra are among the donors to an anti-Steyer political committee that has raised more than $24 million.

Steyer, meanwhile, has made attacking Big Oil the focus of his campaign, as it was during his 2020 presidential run. He says he would lower gas prices by activating the refining profit cap that Newsom has declined to use, investigating what is causing high gas prices (something the state has already done), and taxing private jet fuel. When refineries “inevitably” close, he says he will stockpile an oil reserve and import more refined fuel for as long as California needs it.

Steyer has also had to address his own fossil fuel ties. The hedge fund he founded, Farallon Capital, remains a major player in coal power finance abroad, including in Indonesia and Australia. Steyer still holds a stake in the firm, which he left in 2012, but his campaign says he no longer receives dividends from its fossil fuel investments. 

California uses a “jungle primary” in which the top two candidates advance to the general election, regardless of party. The latest poll shows Becerra essentially tied with former Fox News host Steve Hilton, a Republican, with Steyer trailing at around 15 percent. The most likely outcome is that Becerra or Steyer will make it to the general election. (The other Democrats, including Porter and San Jose Mayor Matt Mahan, trail behind in the double digits.)

Railing against Big Oil has long proven to be good politics in California. But in the wake of Trump’s second election victory, Democrats have sought to downplay climate issues and focus instead on affordability. The question in the governor’s race is how best to achieve that in the long run. Is it better to use a bully pulpit against companies like Chevron in an effort to break their market power, or conciliate them in the hope that they don’t flee?

Mike Madrid, a veteran California political operative, believes Becerra’s approach will resonate more with the young and Latinos, both of whom often decide statewide elections.

“This attack on Chevron, it works for the base Steyer already has,” he said. “Young Latino working-class men are the demographic most affected by gas prices. Do you think they’re saying we need to get rid of Chevron? Of course not.”

Steyer’s campaign may not get him over the line in the primary, but he has at least been consistent. In a 2013 blog post for this very publication, he celebrated the result of the Virginia governor’s race, where a climate-focused Democrat beat a fossil-fuel-friendly Republican with help from Steyer’s own war chest.

“A new political dynamic is emerging,” he wrote at the time. “Climate change is a winner, not a loser,” and is “no longer electoral Kryptonite.”

If Chevron has its way, next week’s primary results will prove otherwise.

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline ‘I need Chevron’: The oil company at the center of the California governor’s race on May 26, 2026.

Hawaiʻi has some of the freshest air in the nation, but in some parts of the state hazy skies can impact tourism and public health. 

Now, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency has pumped the brakes on a multi-decade effort to improve visibility and reduce fine particulates and other man-made pollutants.

On May 15, the agency announced it had partially denied Hawaiʻi’s 2024 Regional Haze State Implementation Plan, a detailed proposal that lays out the state’s intention to comply with the federal Clean Air Act. The plan was designed specifically to reduce haze in two iconic places: Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park on the Big Island and Haleakalā National Park on Maui.

Because the two parks are designated as Class I under the Clean Air Act, their air quality is legally entitled to the highest level of protection. 

Although the EPA is leaving some aspects of the haze plan intact, it is jettisoning its main thrust: the state’s long-term strategy, which included shutting down at least two of Hawaiian Electric Co.’s oil-fired electricity generating units in the Kanoelehua-Hill and Kahului power plants by 2028. The units are the dinosaurs of the industry; the Kahului unit was commissioned in 1948. 

The agency referred to the closures as “unconsented” and said in a press release that they could make Hawaiʻi’s grid less reliable and “violate the Takings Clause of the U.S. Constitution for the taking of private property without just compensation.” 

Determining to what degree natural and man-made emissions contribute to the overall air quality in the region requires a series of complex, evolving math equations. Erin Nolan / Civil Beat

The decision isn’t the first of its kind for the agency; in Colorado, it rejected a similar plan that involved closing a coal plant. But it is one of the first from the current EPA to impact Hawaiʻi, and part of a larger plan by EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin to execute on President Donald Trump’s executive orders to promote what he calls “energy dominance.” 

“This is one of the biggest bombs to drop in Hawaiʻi so far from the EPA,” Isaac Moriwake, managing attorney of Earthjustice’s mid-Pacific office, told Civil Beat. 

Earthjustice is part of a group of 10 national environmental advocacy groups, which also includes the National Parks Conservation Association, Natural Resources Defense Council, and Center for Biological Diversity, to respond to the decision, saying it will harm Hawaiʻi communities and result in dirtier air in the parks. 

Mike DeCaprio, vice president of power supply at HECO, describes the situation as a trade-off. He said the company still plans to retire the aging plants. But to do so by the end of 2028, DiCaprio said more biofuel plants and more solar farms and battery storage have to first come online.

“We felt that having a contingency to run these units longer if needed was in our interest, and in our customers’ interest, so that we don’t end up in a grid reliability issue,” he said. 

“Reliability on an island grid is a really tough issue, right? They’re very small grids. With size comes stability, and they don’t have size,” DeCaprio said. “Making sure that the lights stay on is the most important part.”

Regulation or ‘total regulatory taking’?

In a detailed 67-page comment on an earlier draft of the EPA’s decision, the environmental advocates accused HECO of exploiting the Trump administration’s fossil fuel agenda. 

The advocates asserted that the Clean Air Act was written in such a way that it already allowed for contingency plans if renewable energy wasn’t available. They also said that HECO had previously agreed to retire three of its oldest oil-fired generating units in the Hill, Kahului, and Māʻalaea plants after it was asked by the health department to submit a plan to upgrade the technology to improve air quality.  

“HECO was the one coming to Department of Health and saying, ‘Hey, we will commit to shutting down these plants in lieu of having to spend all kinds of money, which the ratepayers are going to pay for at the end of the day, to upgrade these plants to try to clean them up. It’s cheaper, it’s more reliable, it’s more affordable for our ratepayers to just shut them down,’” Moriwake said. 

Then, last August, Karin Kimura, director of the environmental division at HECO, sent a letter to the EPA’s regional administrator saying the company had been “forced under the SIP to accept enforceable retirement deadlines.” 

Read Next What’s behind your eye-popping power bill? We broke it down, region by region. Naveena Sadasivam & Clayton Aldern

Kimura said the retirement deadlines were no longer viable because of “actual or potential cancellations and delays” in renewable energy sources coming online to replace the power plants. Those projects had slowed down due to permitting challenges, changes in tax incentives and supply chain changes, she added. 

“Following this notification, Hawaii … needed to provide assurances that EPA’s approval of the unconsented source closure would not amount to a taking without just compensation under the Takings Clause of the U.S. Constitution,” the EPA press office told Civil Beat in an emailed statement. “Hawaii did not provide such assurances, and EPA was therefore required to partially disapprove the state’s long-term strategy.” 

The haze plan process had been overseen by the Department of Health, but HECO sent the letter without the Department of Health’s involvement.  

The health department did not respond to a request for comment from Civil Beat but it noted this omission in its own letter to the EPA in April — once it was clear that the EPA was responding to HECOs request by shutting down the plan. In it, the state’s director of health, Kenneth Fink, said the EPA’s response was “not consistent with the purpose of Clean Air Act Section 169A which was enacted to protect visibility in national parks and wilderness areas” and “directly conflicts with EPA’s previous guidance” for developing such plans. 

The company also has already signaled it is raising its customers’ rates, in part to compensate for the plant closures, Moriwake noted. 

“HECO has a pending request right now,” he said. “It’s sitting in front of the PUC to increase customer rates by $45 million a year for this purpose.” 

Read Next Trump’s EPA vows to fight ‘forever chemicals’ by loosening regulations Zoya Teirstein

Jeff Mikulina, executive director of Climate Hawai‘i, acknowledged that renewable energy in Hawaiʻi is facing headwinds, thanks in large part to the Trump administration’s tariffs and choice to cut tax credits and other federal support. But he believes Hawaiʻi will continue to lead on renewables. And he’s particularly optimistic about what’s happening on Kauaʻi, where local lawmakers just approved two new solar-and-storage projects that could get them to 90 percent renewable energy by 2030.

“It’s important to look at the long-term signal as opposed to the near-term noise, and that long-term signal tells us that this technology is getting cheaper by the day, particularly energy storage, which is really that secret sauce that’s going to allow us to achieve our 100 percent renewable energy future.”

In its email, the EPA press office said it is “committed to working with the state of Hawaii to revise the SIP, in order to both follow the law and achieve clean air for all in the state.”

And yet the legal argument that the agency is using to justify its move away from a haze rule with teeth concerns the environmental advocates as much, if not more, than this one decision. In its legal rationale, the federal agency argued that the haze plan would unfairly restrict HECO’s use of its private property, in what it called “a total regulatory taking.”

“By asserting that the retirement deadlines in the 2024 SIP are now ‘forced,’ EPA opens a massive loophole in the Act’s requirements, allowing facilities to entirely evade compliance with the Regional Haze Program,” they wrote in their comments in April. They say they are concerned  that the agency could dismantle other parts of the Clean Air Act, such as the National Ambient Air Quality Standards Program.

“They are signaling that they want to overhaul this entire regulatory scheme,” Moriwake said.

Not to be confused with vog

When the Kīlauea volcano is erupting, vog — volcanic smog — adds sulfur dioxide and fine particulate matter to the air, particularly on the southern side of Hawaiʻi island. The Hawaiʻi Department of Health warns that even brief exposure can cause shortness of breath, chest tightness, and other respiratory problems.

Power plants and other industrial facilities — such as the Mauna Loa processing facility named in the state’s 2024 SIP — also emit sulfur dioxide as well as nitrogen oxides, which has been shown to aggravate lung and heart conditions. 

Determining to what degree these natural and man-made emissions contribute to the overall air quality in the region requires a series of complex, evolving math equations. EPAs under previous administrations have used specific tools to calculate the region’s “natural visibility conditions” while accounting for episodic volcanic events. 

But when the current EPA proposed its disapproval of the haze rule in February, it asserted that no methodology “has been developed that is able to fully screen out the volcanic impacts and thus isolate the visibility impairment caused by anthropogenic air pollution.”

The environmental groups disagree. In their comments they called the agency’s assertions “arbitrary and capricious.”

Civil Beat’s coverage of climate change and the environment is supported by The Healy Foundation, the Marisla Fund of the Hawai‘i Community Foundation, and the Frost Family Foundation.

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The EPA just walked back Hawai‘i’s plan to retire its dinosaur power plants on May 24, 2026.

The Texas sun keeps rising, as Texas coal wanes.

For the first time ever, solar is set to generate more electricity than coal in the power market managed by the Electric Reliability Council of Texas, or ERCOT. Nobody is building new coal power plants in the state, but developers are adding more solar there than anywhere else in the country. As a result of those diverging trajectories, the federal government expects ERCOT will receive 78 billion kilowatt-hours from solar in 2026 and just 60 from coal.

This trend does have seasonal variations. Last year, solar output beat coal on a monthly basis from March through August, and this year it is expected to do so from March through December, per the U.S. Energy Information Administration, or EIA, at the Department of Energy.

Nationally, the combination of wind and solar surpassed coal generation in 2024, as noted in an analysis by Ember, a think tank that conducts research on clean energy. In other words, the solar industry is further along in Texas than it is nationwide.

The Texas solar surge undercuts the prevailing energy narratives coming out of the Trump administration, which has attempted to boost coal and gas as tools of ​“energy dominance,” while blocking or canceling American energy that comes from renewables. The Department of Energy, for instance, is keeping struggling coal plants on life support at great expense to taxpayers. Meanwhile, the Department of the Interior is blocking wind and solar developments that intersect with public lands.

Read Next How deep-red Utah helped launch a portable plug-in solar movement Leia Larsen

Trump officials have argued that coal is more reliable than solar because it can generate power around the clock. But even with that advantage, coal plants in Texas can’t keep up with the total annual and monthly production from the rapidly growing solar fleet. This has not damaged grid reliability, because ERCOT meets evening demand with a diverse portfolio, including gas plants, nuclear, wind, and, increasingly, batteries, which store all that excess solar power for use when the sun stops shining.

Of course, Texas leaders did not set out to disprove the Trump administration’s energy claims. The maverick Lone Star State kept its electricity system out of the hands of federal regulators, and in the 1990s and early 2000s reformed it to promote free market competition instead of centralized planning by monopoly utilities. That market, coupled with lots of space and lax building regulations, has made an ideal environment for wind, solar, and batteries to flourish. Now, Texas is fortified with tens of gigawatts of new capacity with which to tackle heat waves and temper price spikes.

Deep-red Texas offers lessons for the liberal states that have committed to lofty climate goals yet failed to build much solar or batteries so far. They can’t immediately switch over to an ERCOT-style market, but they can take steps to speed up the time it takes to get permits and grid connection, dial back the level of deference to habitually conservative legacy utilities, and make sure that clean energy gets a fair shot in the race to serve surging energy needs. And it’s always a good time to reexamine old market rules that subtly privilege entrenched players at the expense of new entrants that would make cheaper and cleaner power.

After more of the rapid-fire solar buildout, EIA expects ERCOT will produce 99 billion kilowatt-hours of solar power in 2027, up 27 percent from 2026. At that point, the upstart industry will have left its well-established coal competition in the dust.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Solar to overtake coal on Texas grid for the first time ever this year on May 23, 2026.

Even as gas prices continued to rise across the United States, sales of electric vehicles fell in April. That is in contrast to strong growth elsewhere in the world, such as Europe. But American drivers are gravitating toward at least one more efficient powertrain: hybrids. 

Sales of new EVs fell roughly 18 percent from March to April, according to the latest data from Edmunds, an auto research firm. Another company, Cox Automotive, pegged the drop at closer to 6 percent. Either way, experts said it’s clear that high gas prices aren’t leading to a significant shift toward EVs. 

“There was a lot of window shopping,” said Ivan Drury, director of insights at Edmunds, noting that searches for electrified vehicles on the company’s site were strong. “It did not translate to tire-kicking and purchases.” 

Price remains the steepest barrier for most people, said Drury. While electric vehicles can be less expensive to operate over the long-term — especially when gas prices are high — the upfront costs remain significant. The average transaction price for an EV in April was $6,214 higher than for vehicles with internal combustion engines, Cox reported.

“It’s still a cost hurdle,” said Stephanie Brinley, a principal automotive analyst at S&P Global Mobility. “You don’t know how long it’s going to take to get that back.” 

At Thursday’s average gas price of $4.56 per gallon, an EV buyer would have to drive more than 40,000 miles to make up the difference with a car that gets 30 mpg. Savings on maintenance, like oil changes, could accelerate that timeline, but factors such as higher insurance prices and having to install a home charger could make the payback period even longer. If fuel prices fall, the advantage of an EV also shrinks. 

“It’s very difficult for people to wrap their head around, ‘Hey, if I spend this $55,000, I might over time save’,” said Drury. “It requires a bit more math than most people want to go through.” 

The calculus is much simpler for hybrid vehicles, which utilize batteries that can improve fuel economy by 25 to 45 percent without needing to plug in. A Honda CR-V, for example, gets around 29 mpg while the hybrid version gets 37. More and more popular models are only available as hybrids, a strategy that Toyota has perhaps embraced most notably. Last year, it ditched the gas-only version of the Camry sedan. The 2026 RAV4 followed suit.

Overall, Edmunds data shows that sales of hybrids are up 20 percent year-over-year and nearly 50 percent since February, when the U.S.-Iran conflict began. Sales of gas-powered gas are up about 11 percent over those same two months. 

“I think this is going to be a hybrid moment,” said Stephanie Valdez Streaty, director of industry insights at Cox Automotive. “There are a lot of options.”

Used EVs provided another somewhat bright spot, she said. The segment saw a 3 percent increase in sales from March to April and a price premium of only $1,096 over used internal combustion vehicles. Used EVs also sold faster than their used gas-powered counterparts. “They’re really selling efficiently,” said Valdez Streaty, who added that there should be a glut of EVs available throughout the year as leases end. “I don’t think the inventory will be an issue.”

With Iran maintaining its hold over the Strait of Hormuz and summer travel season looming, gas prices appear set to keep climbing — which would only make an EV more appealing. Other parts of the world have seen significant jumps in sales since the conflict began, with Europe experiencing a surge and China setting an export record in April, according to BloombergNEF. 

In the United States, though, it seems that only people already in the market for EVs are making the leap. “Edge-case people,” as Brinley called them. Dramatic pump readings “might nudge them because they were already in that direction,” she said. “But what we’re unlikely to see is a shift in current [internal combustion car] owners just fundamentally making that change simply because of gas prices.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Why hybrids — not EVs — are winning over US consumers on May 22, 2026.

About six years ago, law students at the University of the South Pacific convinced the government of the small island nation of Vanuatu to take the harms wrought by climate change all the way to the International Court of Justice, the world’s highest legal authority. Vanuatu, along with the students, waged a campaign to convince the court that climate change was a human rights issue and that countries have a legal duty to protect the planet for future generations. In 2025, the court sided with them unanimously. In a legally nonbinding advisory opinion, it ruled that the failure of countries to tackle climate change is a “wrongful act” and that other nations harmed by a warming planet may seek reparations. 

Now, the effort has notched another win. On Wednesday, an overwhelming majority of countries in the United Nations voted to adopt a resolution backing the court’s ruling. The historic decision signals the political support behind the court’s finding that countries have a legal responsibility to address climate change, reduce its impact, and offer reparations to those it has harmed. More than 140 countries voted in favor of the resolution. Just eight  — including the United States, Iran, Israel, Saudi Arabia, and Russia — voted against (28 countries abstained from the vote).

“This must be a turning point in accountability for damaging the climate,” said Vishal Prasad, director of the Pacific Islands Students Fighting Climate Change and one of the law students who campaigned to take the case to the International Court of Justice, or ICJ. “The journey of this idea from classrooms in the Pacific to The Hague and the United Nations gives us continued hope that when people organize, the world can be moved to act.”

The near-unanimous decision is a strong signal that multilateral cooperation on climate change has not completely unraveled. Over the past year, global unity on reducing greenhouse gas emissions has proven shaky. After Donald Trump’s administration announced it would withdraw from the Paris Agreement, the United States has actively opposed climate action. Last year, it derailed countries that were close to setting a carbon tax on the shipping industry, which is responsible for about 3 percent of the world’s carbon emissions. A deal to regulate the industry’s emissions now seems uncertain. The U.S. has also helped kill a cap on plastics production and berated the International Energy Agency into projecting future energy demand under a scenario that climate action will stall out. 

“The unity and clarity expressed by the vote was striking,” said Nikki Reisch, director of the Center for International Environmental Law’s climate and energy program. Reisch said the resolution puts “political weight behind legal norms” and will help translate the international court’s conclusions into practical action. “It will become another pillar and proof of political backing for action and accountability.”

The Trump administration also mounted a campaign to block the United Nations from adopting the landmark international court ruling. In February, the State Department sent a missive to all consulates and embassies noting that it “strongly opposed” the U.N. resolution and that its adoption “could pose a major threat to U.S. industry.” In remarks ahead of the vote, Tammy Bruce, a former conservative radio host and now deputy representative to the U.N. in New York, said that the resolution is “problematic” and that “the United States continues to have serious legal and policy concerns” about it. 

“The resolution singles out certain groups for preferential treatment and makes alarmist political statements, such as the idea that climate change is an unprecedented challenge of civilizational proportions,” Bruce said. “Such hyperbolic statements are not appropriate in a resolution on an ICJ advisory opinion.” 

Tammy Bruce, deputy representative of the United States to the U.N. in New York, said the resolution is “problematic” and “makes alarmist political statements.” John Lamparski / Getty Images

The resolution reiterates the International Court of Justice’s core findings and calls on countries to implement measures to keep global temperature rise to 1.5 degrees Celsius (2.7 degrees Fahrenheit) while transitioning away from fossil fuels. It also affirms that nations must fulfill their climate obligations and that those countries harmed by others’ inaction are entitled to seek redress. Finally, the resolution calls on the United Nations’ secretary-general to submit a report next year on ways to comply with the international court’s findings. The resolution, like most U.N. resolutions, is not legally binding; rather, it’s intended to signal political priorities or views.

The U.N. vote comes as countries are cracking down on climate activism and litigation. In Aotearoa New Zealand, the government moved to amend climate laws to limit civil court proceedings against major greenhouse gas emitters for climate-related harm. 

Māori climate advocate Mike Smith is among those whose cases could be affected. Recent reports have found that land theft and colonization have exacerbated the effects of climate change on the Indigenous Māori people, who are more likely to be affected by extreme weather events. Smith is currently pursuing high court proceedings against six of Aotearoa New Zealand’s largest greenhouse gas emitters, and he describes the U.N. vote as a “major shift,” arguing it reflects a changing understanding of climate change not just as environmental damage, but as something with legal consequences. 

“We know as Māori that the islands are part of our journey across the Pacific that’s led us here to Aotearoa,” he said. “New Zealand has a responsibility to stand with Pacific countries like Vanuatu, Kiribati, Tonga, and Tokelau. Not just symbolically, but in supporting stronger legal and international action on climate harm.” 

Although the U.N. vote is a victory for Indigenous activists from the Pacific and beyond, they believe that many countries still must be pushed to uphold their climate obligations. 

“The law is clear that climate action cannot sit on the shelf, it must be turned into action,” Prasad said.

The Indigenous News Alliance contributed reporting to this story.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline In a rare show of global unity, countries adopt landmark climate ruling on May 22, 2026.

A new paper generated a fair amount of consternation and eye-rolling when the authors claimed that New Orleans, the largest city in Louisiana, is at risk of being surrounded by open water by the end of the century. 

As human-caused global warming continues to drive sea level rise, coastal Louisiana, the paper states, has likely “already crossed the point of no return.” Under the current warming trajectory, the projected loss of the remaining coastal wetlands in southern Louisiana puts over 1 million residents “in harm’s way,” according to the authors. Though that may sound shocking, it wasn’t the controversial part of the paper, which was published in Nature Sustainability this month — at least not to some outspoken critics. 

Instead, the authors were criticized for arguing that New Orleans should consider managed retreat, or relocating further inland to higher ground to avoid the worst climate impacts.

“[P]lease stop saying ‘relocate New Orleans.’ That’s not going to happen,” wrote Christopher Ard, an 11th-generation New Orleanian, in an opinion column in The Lens, a local nonprofit newsroom. Ard added, “If people want to move, they will,” and that researchers should instead use “words like ‘abandon’ or ‘give up on’ or maybe even ‘find somewhere new,’” to describe this out-migration. “Relocate just sounds silly,” he wrote. 

In their paper, the authors estimate coastal Louisiana could face 3 to 7 meters (about 10 to 23 feet) of sea level rise and further predict that parts of the state’s shoreline will move inward by 100 kilometers (62 miles), closer to Baton Rouge. And while they acknowledge that the timeline for these processes is unclear, they insist that the region has a matter of decades to plan for migration away from these dangers, not centuries. The paper does not propose how and when those living in the Mississippi River Delta should move, but rather urges that preparing for projected sea level rise “is a long process that cannot be put off.”

Left out of the paper’s scope is what happens to people whose jobs and livelihoods are tied to the coastline — like fisherpeople — in a managed retreat scenario. Louisiana is the second largest producer of seafood in the United States, after Alaska, and New Orleans is a central hub for fisheries that catch shrimp, crabs, and fin fish from the wild, as well as harvest oysters, catfish, crawfish, and alligators.

“For the fishermen in the state of Louisiana, the loss of, or not being able to use New Orleans as a hub, as a source of infrastructure, as a place to sell seafood — New Orleans consumes a lot of seafood as a market — would be devastating,” said Jeffrey Plumlee, an assistant professor at the School of Renewable Natural Resources at Louisiana State University. 

An abandoned boat sits in coastal waters in Venice, Louisiana.
Drew Angerer / Getty Images

It’s important to note that while the paper advocates for managed retreat from the coast, the authors caution against overstating the impacts of sea level rise. “Eventually, yes, this is not going to be a livable place anymore,” said Torbjörn Törnqvist, one of the paper’s co-authors. But “New Orleans is still going to be around by the end of the century,” he said — it just may look a lot more like Venice, Italy, a city completely surrounded by open water.

Such a process would undoubtedly impact the seafood industry in Louisiana, which has already been hit hard by worsening hurricanes — among other factors that have turned the fishing profession into precarious work. Severe storms have badly damaged critical infrastructure for fisheries, like ice houses and fuel docks. When those facilities are destroyed — or if they’re never repaired or replaced — the work becomes harder, and people start looking for opportunities elsewhere.

Additionally, young people see the challenges of the industry and start considering other lines of work. “It’s called ‘the graying of the fleet,’” a term that describes how the fishing workforce is aging, said Plumlee. 

This process is not dissimilar from what is happening in southern Louisiana more broadly, where the population has fallen four times in the last five years according to census data. That population decline is not only or specifically tied to extreme weather or environmental conditions.

“What you notice in coastal Louisiana is the aging of the population. Young people are leaving to go find jobs and places where they have more opportunities,” said Beth Fussell, a sociologist and demographer at Brown University, who peer-reviewed the managed retreat paper. This out-migration, she says, “most likely has nothing to do with their perception of environmental risk.” It’s true that it is difficult to say with certainty who qualifies as a climate migrant or climate refugee — and in the case of coastal Louisiana, Törnqvist and his co-authors acknowledge movement out of this area is “multi-causal.” But it’s undeniable that environmental factors also shape what jobs and economic opportunities are available — for example, insurance companies have been raising prices or even pulling out of Louisiana entirely. 

According to Lawrence Huang, a policy analyst at the Migration Policy Institute, the challenge of moving to a new place and finding new ways to make a living is exactly why people in low-lying communities like New Orleans should make plans sooner rather than later. 

“This is why starting early and planning now matters, because it takes such a long time to help people find new skills and new occupations,” said Huang. In a situation where a major U.S. city becomes unlivable due to sea level rise and decides to relocate, he added, “we’re going to have to re-skill people so that they can find jobs in their new location. That is the unfortunate reality.”

Read Next The world is getting too hot to feed itself Ayurella Horn-Muller

If the notion of picking up a whole community and moving it sounds far-fetched, one only needs to look at recent history — and particularly, the experiences of Indigenous peoples — to see that Huang is right. In southern Louisiana, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, a state-recognized Native American tribe, received nearly $50 million from the federal government in 2016 to relocate to higher ground after the island on which the tribe lived lost 98 percent of its landmass due to severe coastal erosion and subsidence. 

The tribal nation is considered the country’s first climate migrants. In a 2022 interview with StoryCorps, Albert Naquin, the chief of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, noted that members’ ways of sustaining themselves shifted along with the geography of the island. “Where we used to walk at, now we use boat to travel in,” said Naquin. “And where we used to trap and raise cattle, now we shrimp.” Nevertheless, according to many tribal members, the relocation was a bust. “It’s not worth it. I wouldn’t recommend it to anybody,” one tribal member who relocated told The New York Times.

The issues with relocating are myriad, and go beyond what job one will have after migrating. Huang emphasized that, “Planned relocation and managed retreat are not popular terms and it’s because people don’t want to move.” 

Any conversation around climate-driven human migration, therefore, should “start from that point,” he argued. Still, he admitted, “It’s a good conversation to be having.”

toolTips('.classtoolTips5','In scholarly research, a “peer-reviewed” study or article is one that has been independently evaluated by other experts in the field to assess scientific accuracy. Not all studies go through a peer-review process, so peer-reviewed studies and journals typically indicate a higher level of confidence in methodologies and results.');

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline As seas rise, where will Louisiana’s fishers go? on May 21, 2026.

Georgia is 1 of only 10 states that elects its utility commission — the board that has final say over how much nearly 3 million Georgians pay for electricity. The state’s public service commission, or PSC, also has substantial say over how that electricity is made and, because fossil fuel power plants are a leading producer of greenhouse gases, the PSC’s decisions directly influence Georgia’s climate future. 

From 2006 until last year, all five members of the PSC were Republicans. Democrats Peter Hubbard and Alicia Johnson won upset victories and have since made it more difficult for Georgia Power to have their decisions rubber-stamped. Those elections have had ripple effects in other utility commission races around the country: In Arizona, national activist groups on both sides of the aisle have gotten involved in the race; Alabama lawmakers overhauled their commission in an attempt to shield it from the chance that voters will oust its Republicans.

On Tuesday, Georgia held party primaries for two seats on the PSC. November’s elections, then, will be the Democrats’ next chance to win a majority presence on the commission, and could lead to more renewable energy in Georgia and more scrutiny of Georgia Power’s ongoing expansion plans.  

In the District 5 race, Democrat Shelia Edwards defeated opponents Craig Cupid and Angelia Pressley. Republicans Bobby Mehan and Josh Tolbert will square off in a runoff on June 16. Libertarian Thomas Blooming is also running for the seat.

“I’m running to be that third vote that’s going to help them change the trajectory of the PSC,” said Edwards in an interview before the primary. “And to bring some balance to something that’s been completely imbalanced for years.”

Edwards, Mehan, and Tolbert have all said they support clean energy, but the Republican candidates clarified they don’t support any sort of renewable energy mandate.

“I do not think there is a place on the commission for advocates,” said Tolbert. “It’s not a legislative body. It doesn’t set particular policies. Its job is to ensure that Georgians have reliable, affordable electricity.”

Tolbert’s main pitch to voters has been his technical expertise as an engineer with experience working in multiple types of power plants. Mehan, meanwhile, has said his business experience means he can find innovative solutions to problems. He described himself as a pro-gas, pro-nuclear, “all-the-above energy guy.”

Read Next The Iran war is destroying oil demand. Could it also spark a shift to clean energy? Kate Yoder

Control of the commission does not hinge only on Edwards’ race, however. It will also come down to whether Hubbard can retain his seat. The race for District 3 could come down to a rematch between Hubbard and Fitz Johnson. Last year’s election in District 3, which Hubbard won, was only for a one-year term. Hubbard ran unopposed in the Democratic primary, but the Republican race was too close to call as of Wednesday afternoon. Johnson leads his primary opponent, Brandon Martin, by less than 3,000 votes. The results fall within the margin for a recount should Martin request one. Martin did not reply to requests for comment on the result. The winner will serve a full six-year term.

Unlike most candidates from both parties in the primary, Johnson says the commission has done enough to protect ordinary ratepayers from the costs of serving data centers — a hot-button issue as more data centers flock to the state and Georgia Power spends billions of dollars on new resources to serve them.

The commission’s votes on that utility expansion help drive home the repercussions of this election.

In December, after the two Democrats’ resounding election victory but before the new commissioners took their seats, the five Republican commissioners voted unanimously to approve Georgia Power’s proposal to add 10 gigawatts of energy, most of it made with natural gas.

Earlier this year, advocates pushed the commission to reconsider some of the new energy, arguing that the plan would generate more electricity than the utility’s own forecast calls for. The commission, they argued, overstepped its legal authority. The new Democratic commissioners voted to reopen the issue, but the effort failed — with all three Republicans voting against it.

toolTips('.classtoolTips3','Carbon dioxide, methane, nitrous oxide, and other gases that prevent heat from escaping Earth’s atmosphere. Together, they act as a blanket to keep the planet at a liveable temperature in what is known as the “greenhouse effect.” Too many of these gases, however, can cause excessive warming, disrupting fragile climates and ecosystems.');

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Georgia’s PSC elections have become a referendum on energy prices on May 21, 2026.

With the average price of gasoline in the United States above $4.50 a gallon — about a 40 percent rise since the Iran war began in late February — Americans have been climbing into their cars less often, and stepping onto trains and buses instead. It’s been declared the largest oil supply disruption in history, with U.S. drivers paying $45 billion more for gasoline and diesel compared to last year. Some 44 percent of U.S. adults say they’ve cut back on driving because of high gas prices, according to a survey in late April from ABC News, The Washington Post, and Ipsos.

Cities across the country have seen rising numbers of people riding public transit, from Cincinnati to Los Angeles. Sales of used electric vehicles and hybrid cars have grown substantially over the past couple of months. People are replacing car trips with bikes and scooters; railroads like Amtrak have reported more riders than usual. Much of America is built around highways and suburbs, however, making alternative transportation difficult. So, many people are cutting down on driving without ditching their vehicles, by carpooling, consolidating errands, or working remotely more often.

It could be the start of a green, global shift, according to some experts — even if most Americans eventually end up hopping back in their cars. That’s because the crisis is hitting the hardest in Asia, which was projected to account for nearly all the increase in oil and gas use over the coming decades, but is now rethinking its reliance on fossil fuels. 

“If Asia turns around and says, ‘No, we’re not going to grow with fossil fuels, we are going to grow with electrotech,’ that means fossil fuels will peak, and will peak sooner than we think,” said Daan Walter, who leads strategy research on the future of energy for the think tank Ember. “It’s very likely that if this crisis continues to be as bad as it is, and we see this conversion happening, that we’re currently living in the peak year of oil, and that demand will just never come back to the level that it was just before Hormuz closed.”

With roughly 20 percent of the world’s oil shipments choked off in the Strait of Hormuz, households and industries have found ways to use less of it. This can create what economists call “demand destruction” for oil — meaning that the world simply won’t need as much as it used to. The phenomenon is already happening across the globe, according to the International Energy Agency. Last week, the agency reiterated that demand for oil is being destroyed, forecasting a contraction of 420,000 barrels a day this year. It’s a silver lining in an otherwise grim situation: Price shocks driven by conflict in the Middle East are nudging people away from fossil fuels.

While people sometimes use “demand destruction” as a dramatic way to refer to a short-term drop in demand, the phrase more accurately describes a deeper economic shift. “To me, the term ‘demand destruction’ really only makes sense if you’re talking about it as a longer-term thing. Like, it’s truly destroyed the source of demand,” said Kenneth Gillingham, a professor of environmental and energy economics at Yale University.

The destruction in global oil demand has been concentrated in Asia rather than in the U.S., where the country’s overall wealth enables people to pay more for fuel relative to much of the world, even as it strains the budgets of low- and middle-income Americans. Factories in Japan are producing fewer petrochemical products — demand for naphtha, used to make plastics and chemicals, fell by a quarter year-over-year — amplifying the country’s “long-term declining trend” in oil demand, according to the International Energy Agency. Its report notes that gasoline demand in South Korea fell by about 5 percent as prices rose at the pump, suggesting that behavioral changes are also contributing to demand destruction. As the crisis in the Middle East deepened, South Korean President Lee Jae Myung called for a sharp shift to renewable energy, saying, “Our future will be at serious risk if we continue to rely on fossil fuels.” 

Countries and companies are also decreasing their oil use in response to the crisis. Pakistan, the Philippines, and Sri Lanka have all introduced four-day work weeks to encourage fewer commutes.

To what extent these fuel-saving adjustments stick around is an open question. President Donald Trump has promised that oil prices will “drop like a rock” once the war in Iran ends. But even after shipping through the Strait of Hormuz resumes, oil supplies could remain tight for months as facilities are repaired and wells get restarted. The Iran war is also the second oil shock in recent years, following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, and experts say that this pattern of oil crises is more likely to lead to a prolonged fall in demand. 

Passengers on the D-line subway train in New York City on May 15.
Charly Triballeau / AFP via Getty Images

“If prices are low for a very, very long time, and then you have a shock, it’s easy to write it off as not a big deal, not going to happen again. But if you continue getting shocks, then you’re like, ‘Maybe I should really start thinking about making some changes,'” Gillingham said. 

A report from Ember, co-written by Walter, makes the case that the “twin fossil shock” of the 2020s opens up new political possibilities, just as the double oil shocks in the 1970s prompted investments in energy efficiency and nuclear power. “The parallels with the 1970s oil shocks are striking. But so too is the difference,” the authors write. “For the first time, there are scalable, cost-competitive alternatives. Solar, wind, batteries, EVs, and other electrotech offer a permanent route out of fossil dependence.” 

The report predicts that Asia, affected the most by the current oil crisis, will fast-track electrification, switching to EVs and pushing liquefied natural gas out of power generation. The first sign that may already be happening: In March, after the bombing of Iran had started, China’s exports of solar, batteries, and electric vehicles surged.

“It really shakes countries and companies around the world out of this complacency of thinking that there is a path back to a normal stable fossil system,” Walter said. “Import dependency is just incredibly risky at the moment, and the second crisis kind of confirms that.”

And some of the new routines people adopt during the oil crisis could endure. “A shock like the big increase in gas prices, or an earthquake that closes a freeway, is really helpful in getting people to change behavior,” said Susan Handy, a professor of environmental science and policy at the University of California, Davis. “It is really hard to get people to change behavior without those kinds of shocks — not that we want these things to happen, but it is what pushes behavior change.” When a bridge that collapsed reopens, for instance, most people will go back to driving, but some of them will keep their new biking routine, she said.

So what determines whether a habit sticks? It comes down to what people grow to like, Handy said. People might realize they enjoy riding a bike around town or reading on the bus, as opposed to sitting behind the wheel in traffic, once they have reason to try it. “I think there are probably more alternatives out there than people realize, or the alternatives may be better than they realize,” Handy said. Rising prices can also prompt people to adopt more energy-efficient vehicles or appliances, locking them into lower fuel usage going forward.

Of course, Americans are still driving a lot — and will probably continue to do so. “We’ve seen oil prices go up and down many, many times in our history, even in recent history,” Gillingham said. “Generally, those shorter-term behaviors tend to bounce back to where they were before.” 

But in the global picture, it’s looking more and more likely that the second oil crisis in half a decade, at a moment when alternatives to fossil fuels are becoming cheaper and widespread, may lead to more lasting changes, accelerating the decline of oil — and the rise of cleaner replacements. As the author Rebecca Solnit wrote in a recent newsletter: “What if in a decade or a century people remember this as the point when the world really turned away from this filthy, corrupting, unreliable, destructive resource?”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The Iran war is destroying oil demand. Could it also spark a shift to clean energy? on May 20, 2026.

The Trump administration has announced what it is calling “a major step forward” in the fight against a class of toxic chemicals called PFAS, or per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances. Extended exposure to PFAS, often referred to as “forever chemicals” because they can persist indefinitely in the environment, has been linked to various cancers, autoimmune diseases, and other harms.

On Monday, Secretary of Health and Human Services Robert F. Kennedy Jr. lauded Donald Trump as the first president who is “completely committed” to removing forever chemicals, which are found at unsafe levels in tap water in some 80 percent of congressional districts and lurk in the blood of 97 percent of Americans. 

But what Kennedy considers a step forward looks like a big step back to most of those who have long kept an eye on the issue. That’s because the Trump administration is unraveling key parts of the PFAS limits approved by Joe Biden’s administration in 2024, which are the first and only regulations to put limits on PFAS in drinking water in the nation’s history. Restrictions on four substances in the PFAS class would be rescinded entirely, while water utilities would be given two additional years to comply with limits for two other substances. The Environmental Protection Agency first signaled its intention to make these changes last year, just a few months after Trump took office. The changes will be finalized after a 60-day public comment period expires. 

Secretary Kennedy, who is known for his pledge to “Make America Healthy Again,” turned attention instead to the EPA’s recent announcement of $1 billion in grant funding for small and disadvantaged communities to detect and eliminate PFAS. “We have a president who has made a greater financial commitment than any president in U.S. history,” Kennedy said. But the commitment was not exactly Trump’s to make: The $1 billion comes from an appropriation made by Congress in 2021, when Joe Biden was president. 

PFAS has been used in a wide variety of products, including industrial firefighting foams, for decades. As evidence of health harms linked to these substances has mounted, many manufacturers have developed new types of PFAS that have comparatively shorter lifespans. But this new generation of chemicals, of which there are thousands of members, may also cause adverse health impacts.

“The Biden administration had at least set health protective limits for six of these chemicals out of the literally thousands that have been registered for use in the marketplace,” said John Rumpler, clean water director for the environmental advocacy nonprofit Environment America. “Now the EPA is walking back from even that small step toward protecting our drinking water.” 

On Monday, the administration tried to rationalize the proposed roll backs by saying that Biden-era PFAS limits were approved in a rush that would have made them vulnerable to ongoing legal challenges. Water utilities and chemical companies have sued the EPA over its PFAS rules, arguing that the regulations are procedurally flawed, financially onerous, and require compliance on timelines that are too tight. 

But the EPA has itself sought to undermine the limits since Trump took office last year, asking a federal appeals court to summarily vacate Biden-era restrictions on four types of PFAS last fall. The EPA has since stopped defending the standards in court. 

“This is about being realistic,” EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin said at an event alongside Kennedy on Monday. “A deadline you cannot physically meet is not a public health protection.” He pointed to the fact that technology capable of removing the chemicals is improving and may eventually bring costs down for utilities burdened by the price of removing PFAS from tap water. 

In a statement provided to Grist, the EPA said that “the previous administration’s rule set deadlines many water systems simply could not meet — risking costly violations that punish communities without removing a single part per trillion from anyone’s tap.”

So far, the EPA has offered little in the way of a regulatory substitute for the limits it is removing. “I don’t think there’s anything new here,” said Jared Thompson, an attorney for the Natural Resources Defense Council, an environmental protection group that is one of several groups defending the Biden-era limits in ongoing litigation brought by chemical companies.

“It seems like they have largely adopted the positions of the chemical industry challengers and the water industry challengers who are saying that these standards are not appropriate,” he added. 

Zeldin asserted that the EPA is going to “do it right” this time, and the EPA’s statement to Grist said that “it is entirely possible the result will be more stringent requirements” once the four PFAS substances whose limits are being rescinded are reviewed a second time.

But some outside experts think Zeldin is already doing it wrong. The Safe Drinking Water Act, which Congress passed in 1974, has a provision that states that the EPA can’t weaken drinking water standards once they’ve been set.

“There are going to be legal challenges,” said Richard L. Revesz, dean emeritus at the New York University School of Law and former administrator of the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs under Biden. “They’ll have to give reasons and those reasons are very likely to be inadequate.” 

Editor’s note: The Natural Resources Defense Council is an advertiser with Grist. Advertisers have no role in Grist’s editorial decisions.

toolTips('.classtoolTips12','An acronym for per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, PFAS are a class of chemicals used in everyday items like nonstick cookware, cosmetics, and food packaging that have proven to be dangerous to human health. Also called “forever chemicals” for their inability to break down over time, PFAS can be found lingering nearly everywhere — in water, soil, air, and the blood of people and animals.
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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Trump’s EPA vows to fight ‘forever chemicals’ by loosening regulations on May 20, 2026.

Before he became prime minister of Canada, Mark Carney was perhaps one of the world’s biggest supporters of the idea that climate action was good business. He led the clean energy investment fund for Brookfield, one of the world’s largest financial firms, and founded a global alliance of bankers and politicians who wanted to channel their resources toward green energy. When he took over from outgoing Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, many expected that he would follow the previous Liberal leader’s ambitious climate agenda, which included taxing fossil fuels and subsidizing clean technology. 

But just like in Carney’s beloved sport of hockey, momentum in the climate world can change fast. In the year since he took over, Carney has unveiled a suite of new policies to gut Canada’s ambitious climate regulations and support the country’s powerful fossil fuel industry. This reversal reached a climax last week when he struck a deal with the province of Alberta to prop up its tar sands oil industry and vowed to expand the country’s power grid through the use of natural gas.

Carney is pitching the reversal as a political and economic necessity. Canada is facing the prospect of a severe economic downturn as a result of President Donald Trump’s disruptive trade agenda, and a group of conservatives in Alberta are waging a campaign to secede from Canada altogether. He has claimed that the country can achieve economic security by investing in oil and gas production while still making progress toward reducing its own carbon emissions.

“It will be an opportunity to accelerate the energy transition across Canada, and it’s also an opportunity for Canada to be a reliable supplier for partners across the globe, and to do so in a manner that makes Canada more prosperous and independent,” said Carney in announcing the strategy. 

The reversal reveals a stark truth about the direction of global climate action: Despite the rapid deployment of clean energy, even countries and politicians once seen as climate leaders are turning to fossil fuels to protect against the turmoil of Trump’s trade disputes and the war in Iran. 

But Carney’s new strategy doesn’t seem to have pleased anyone. Major oil producers and conservatives in Alberta are still pressuring Carney for further concessions, and a broad spectrum of left-wing politicians and civil society groups have condemned it as short-sighted. The critics argue that doubling down on fossil fuel exports is the wrong move at a time when the rest of the world may be shifting away from them.

“The problem is we’re defaulting back to what Canada’s known how to do in the past, rather than what the world’s going to need in the future,” said Simon Donner, a climate scientist at the University of British Columbia who served as chair of the federal government’s climate policy advisory board until he resigned late last year. 

Carney has already rolled back several of Trudeau’s climate initiatives. He scrapped Canada’s federal electric vehicle mandate and eliminated the country’s unpopular consumer carbon tax, which added a surcharge on gas stations and power bills. The one major policy he left alone was the “industrial carbon price,” which charges polluters a fee for every ton of carbon dioxide they emit. The nation’s biggest emitters are multinational oil and gas companies, which produce sticky crude from the massive tar sands fields in Alberta; the oil sector produces about 30 percent of Canada’s emissions, more than buildings or cars.

Canada and Alberta have a mutual dependence. Oil makes up more than 15 percent of Canada’s export volume, and Alberta’s oil wealth makes it a net contributor to the federal budget. Under the Canadian constitution, provinces have control over natural resources, and Alberta leaders have long viewed the industrial carbon tax as a threat to their sovereignty. But the oil industry in Alberta needs help from the Liberal government, too. The inland province is producing more oil than it can sell, and the industry’s future growth depends on building another pipeline to the Pacific Ocean, which needs federal support. (The existing pipeline to the Pacific is nearing capacity. Oil producers are also seeking to build new pipelines to the United States.)

Last week, Carney and Alberta Premier Danielle Smith unveiled a “grand bargain” meant to resolve this conflict: Carney removed a proposed hard cap on carbon emissions from the oil sector, and in exchange Alberta agreed to support a long-term increase in carbon prices. The federal government will also expedite permitting for a new Pacific Coast pipeline, while oil producers agreed to build a massive carbon capture system that would offset emissions from oil drilling.

Climate advocates in Canada say the final deal is toothless, and makes major concessions to the oil and gas industry. The deal will lower the headline price of the industrial carbon tax and slow down the rate of the price increase by three-quarters, whereas Carney had at first proposed to tighten the price. The proposed carbon capture project has also shrunk to a fraction of its original size, and the oil industry hasn’t agreed to it yet.

“It would have been a big enough motivator to find those emissions cuts, but it wouldn’t have jeopardized the possibility of oil and gas companies making money,” said Julia Levin, the associate director for national climate policy at the nonprofit Environmental Defence. She noted that under the previous framework, the per-barrel cost of the carbon tax comes out to the price of a Timbit, the Canadian equivalent of a Munchkin donut hole: about 50 cents. Now, she says, “the companies don’t have to do anything at all for 15 years.” 

A Syncrude oil sands mining facility near Fort McKay, Alberta. Prime Minister Mark Carney is relying on oil produced in Alberta to help Canada weather the economic turbulence of President Trump’s trade war. Ed Jones / AFP via Getty Images

Even early news of a potential deal triggered a revolt within Carney’s own party, leading to the resignation of his climate minister, Steven Guilbeault, as well as two members of the government’s independent climate advisory panel. But the industry isn’t satisfied, either. The chief executive of the Canadian oil company Cernovus said last week he doesn’t think the country should have a carbon price at all, saying it “doesn’t incent us to decarbonize,” and some producers have said they still worry about making money even under the loose regulations. A leader of the Alberta separatist campaign said the deal only made him more convinced the province needs to leave Canada.

Richard Masson, a longtime oil sands executive who has worked for Shell and the government of Alberta, said that companies should see the carbon tax as the price of doing business in a country where most voters want some action on climate change.

“The producers will probably take a little bit less return, but in the world we’re in, there’s enough money to go around,” he said. “You’re saying, ‘I’m going to spend a premium on this to prevent having the world turn its back on me.’”

Masson also said that the ultimate climate impact of the deal depends on whether a pipeline to the Pacific actually comes together. Carney has already eased environmental permitting laws to make it easier, and last month he created a $25 billion development fund that could help pay for construction. But there is still no private company that has come forward to build it, and a number of First Nations tribes with treaty rights on the Pacific coast have rejected the idea. 

“No offer of equity or ownership will change our position, and no proponent is acceptable to us,” said Marilyn Slett, president of the Coastal First Nations, in response to the pipeline plan. First Nations have ironclad consultation rights under British Columbia provincial law, and securing a pipeline without tribal agreement will be impossible.

Even so, in what seemed to be a further embrace of fossil fuels for economic security, Carney also unveiled a “national electricity strategy” at the same time as the Alberta deal. This strategy seeks to double the size of Canada’s grid by 2050 through investments in renewable energy and a new network of transmission lines connecting the provinces. But it also calls for natural gas to have a major role on Canada’s future power grid, even though the country has made major investments in zero-carbon power and gets most of its electricity from hydropower dams and nuclear reactors. 

Here again, the Carney government framed the decision as a necessary step toward geopolitical resilience. The strategy claims that “Canada’s economic growth and long-term competitiveness will depend on its ability to attract and retain investment in high-growth, electricity-intensive sectors, including artificial intelligence … liquid natural gas export facilities, mining, and critical minerals.”

Underlying all these moves is the assumption that fossil fuels will provide protection against economic uncertainty. As long as Canada can extract and export natural resources, it will be able to balance its budgets and keep its citizens safe. But despite Carney’s reputation as a shrewd central banker, critics of his government view the prime minister’s new strategy as short-sighted — Carney is pinning his economic hopes on the sale of a commodity that the world is starting to abandon.

“This is the sort of decision that they’re probably happy about today, and we will look back in 10 years and think, ‘What the hell were we doing?’” said Donner, the former chair of the government’s climate advisory board.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Once a climate leader, Canada is now doubling down on oil on May 20, 2026.

For decades, the U.S. Agency for International Development, or USAID, worked across many of the world’s most food-insecure and climate-besieged regions, funding thousands of humanitarian, healthcare, food, and disaster relief programs. That all changed last year when, days after President Donald Trump’s inauguration, his administration issued a stop-work order that suspended nearly all of USAID’s overseas programs. Then, last July, the administration informally dissolved the agency — leading to the largest withdrawal of American international development aid in more than 60 years. 

A new study published May 14 in the journal Science suggests the sudden USAID shutdown could have been linked to an uptick in violent conflict across much of Africa, with some of the most politically fragile regions seeing the largest spikes. Outside experts, however, caution that the findings are preliminary and may not capture the bigger picture. 

Farming and agricultural markets are easily disrupted by conflict, and when conflict occurs food security worsens because it can limit communities’ access to food. At the same time, deepening food insecurity in fragile political states contributes to social unrest. Climate impacts then layer onto this fragility. Extreme weather is second only to conflict in having the greatest effect on global hunger, food insecurity, and malnutrition, according to a U.N. report. That’s in part because it increasingly causes people to migrate as they flee places destroyed by rising seas and cataclysmic storms, which, in turn, can fuel conflict. 

“It is undeniable that USAID programming around food aid, including emergency food kitchens, therapeutic foods, and health and water programming on which basic food and nutritional security is built, provided a critical lifeline to millions of women, children, and families in severe nutritional deficits,” said Zia Mehrabi, a food security and climate change researcher at the University of Colorado Boulder. “Who in their right mind would retract healthcare and food so abruptly, in so many places, when the direct result is people suffering and dying?”

In analyzing the impact of funding cuts on conflict across 870 subnational African regions that had been receiving different levels of USAID services, the Science paper’s authors found that in the roughly 10 months that followed the administration’s immediate withdrawal of aid, areas that had previously received more USAID support may have experienced more or different types of conflict. Using two global datasets that track funding disbursements and violent conflict, the study suggests that, in areas with high historical USAID funding, there was a 12.3 percent increase in conflict overall and a 7.3 percent surge in armed battles; protests and riots in these areas rose by 6.8 percent and battle-related fatalities by 9.3 percent after the shutdown. 

According to Austin Wright, a University of Chicago researcher who studies the political economy of conflict, and a co-author of the paper, the effects have been swift and destabilizing. “There is nothing that we’re aware of in recorded human history of the magnitude of that shutdown, in terms of ending a country’s commitment at a global scale,” said Wright. 

Read Next The world is getting too hot to feed itself Ayurella Horn-Muller

Established in 1961, USAID was created to encourage economic and social development in emerging nations while countering the Cold War influence of the Soviet Union. Building resilience in foreign political systems has, in recent decades, been “one of the main goals of the work of USAID,” said Chelsea Marcho, a senior director for research and policy at the Food Security Leadership Council and former USAID official under former President Joe Biden, who was not involved in the Science paper. The study showing that violence may have been less severe in places where USAID had helped build stronger institutions, she said, only underscores the value of those aid investments. One example is the largely discontinued work to develop more resilient food systems across sub-Saharan African nations facing higher rates of poverty, hunger, and malnutrition. 

But what many tend to forget, said Marcho, is that USAID also funded the bulk of pivotal data collection efforts across much of the world’s most food-insecure and climate-vulnerable regions. The dissolution of the agency has prompted widespread disruptions in everything from localized weather monitoring to one of the primary global famine early-warning systems. Although some of these systems have since been restored, the gaps in monitoring coupled with the decreased capacity across aid organizations means it is all the more difficult to understand what is happening on the ground. 

Indeed, the end of USAID has buckled our ability to measure the very outcomes of the end of USAID. “The visibility that we have around food security is potentially in decline at the same time that the risks to the system are increasing,” said Marcho. “How do we actually get the data we need?”

Mehrabi finds the new paper creates “more questions than answers.” He argues the mechanisms of measurement are unclear, the analysis period is too short, and the authors don’t adequately disentangle USAID’s specific effects from Trump’s simultaneous cuts to other U.S. international funding sources, such as the State Department. “The results are clearly early and tentative,” he said. “I think it is a leap to say this is all attributable to USAID.” 

Wright, for his part, acknowledged the study has limitations, including a short post-shock observation window of just 10 months, a disbursement baseline drawn from the first Trump administration rather than the period immediately before the cuts, and a geographic scope confined to Africa — leaving much open to future research. He says the team ran extensive robustness checks addressing these concerns, detailed in the paper’s appendix. 

After running his own reanalysis of their data, Mehrabi, however, remains unconvinced. What’s more, he warns against the possible takeaway that the presence of American developmental intervention equates to stability. The U.S., he argues, could more effectively help deter widespread conflict and hunger in nations like the Democratic Republic of the Congo, for example, through more equitable benefit-sharing of natural resource extraction from critical mineral supply chains. This would “far outweigh any benefits from foreign aid,” proposed Mehrabi. 

Nevertheless, with an annual budget of tens of billions and an institutional history spanning 64 years, USAID’s developmental footprint throughout the African continent was no small thing. “One cannot simply create USAID all over again, or give it a mandate and give it funding and assume that we have waved a wand and we can reverse the damage done,” said Wright.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Trump gutted USAID. Hunger and violence followed. on May 19, 2026.

In Aotearoa New Zealand, record-breaking storms and flooding are impacting Māori land, health, and culture. And, according to a new national climate report, colonization has intensified those risks. 

The 2026 National Climate Change Risk Assessment is composed of four reports, including a companion document focused on Māori communities. That report argues that climate change is likely to deepen existing inequities shaped by colonization, exclusion from decision-making, and chronic underinvestment. 

To mitigate the impacts of climate change, the assessment points to Māori-led adaptation as uniquely effective. It calls for policy grounded in Māori customs and knowledge, Indigenous data sovereignty, and stronger Māori authority in climate decision-making.

“For more than 150 years Māori have been pushed to the margins, literally, by an aggressive colonization process,” said Paora Tapsell, who is Ngāti Whakaue and Ngāti Raukawa, and the director of the Kāika Institute of Climate Resilience at Lincoln University. 

The assessment, released earlier this month, adds to a growing body of national reports that highlight the harmful impacts of colonial policies on Indigenous peoples and the environment. In 2023, the United States’ Fifth National Climate Assessment found that land theft and colonization had exacerbated climate change’s impact. The year before, Australia’s State of the Environment report was prepared with an Indigenous lead author for the first time; it found that Indigenous peoples were more likely to be impacted by extreme weather events like fires. It too called for incorporating Indigenous knowledge into climate policies. Despite these findings, Indigenous leaders around the world say national governments are still not listening to them.

Aotearoa New Zealand recently experienced one of its most active severe weather seasons on record, with multiple declared states of emergency across the nation’s two islands. It also found that the country’s Indigenous peoples are essential in responding to such disasters. “The report accurately acknowledges that many kāinga [Māori settlements], despite their relative impoverishment, are still willing first responders on the front line of increasingly severe climate events,” Shaun Awatere, who is Ngāti Porou and lead author of the companion report, said.

The assessment’s seven interconnected risk areas span environmental, cultural, and economic domains. It says the loss of protected endemic species is not only a biodiversity issue but also affects food gathering places, the Māori lunar calendar, traditional customs, and intergenerational knowledge systems. According to the report, some species could face near-irreversible decline in parts of the country under high-emissions scenarios by 2090.

Read Next Indigenous peoples bear the brunt of climate change — and get almost none of the money to fight it Anita Hofschneider

Across Māori lands, climate-driven extreme weather events have had a destructive impact on infrastructure. But the report outlines how flooding, erosion, storms, and wildfires also present cultural risks by threatening tribal meeting places, burial sites, and communal homes. It warns that repeated damage and displacement could lead to long-term cultural fragmentation and disconnection from ancestral land.

Climate impacts may also be felt economically. Māori-owned forestry, farming, aquaculture, and horticulture enterprises face rising pressure from climate hazards, costs, and underinvestment in adaptation. Without structural reform and targeted support, the assessment says that economic vulnerability will increase. 

Awatere said the findings confirm what tribes have been saying for years. “Climate events do not arrive one at a time,” he said. “A storm floods a road, damages a marae [tribal meeting place], erodes whenua [land], disrupts access to mahinga kai [food gathering places], and overwhelms health and welfare systems that were already stretched, all at once. Each of those harms compounds the next.”

The assessment also said climate-driven displacement and ecological degradation could disrupt the transmission of language, customary practices, lineage relationships, and Indigenous knowledge systems between generations.

Awatere highlighted ongoing structural exclusion of Māori from climate planning and adaptation systems, despite the government’s obligations under the Treaty of Waitangi, which is the country’s founding document. The report describes legal exclusion and governance failure as a major risk multiplier, compounding climate impacts across all domains.

Awatere said the central question is whether adaptation plans will reflect that evidence, or whether Māori communities will continue to carry a disproportionate risk of harm.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Māori climate risk worsened by colonization, report finds on May 19, 2026.

Plans for a celebrity-backed “hyperscale” data center in rural Utah, so massive that it would consume more than double the state’s current electricity use, have generated an intense public and political backlash in a state where the motto is “industry” and a Republican supermajority tends to be deferential to development. 

The project, brought by “Shark Tank” TV personality Kevin O’Leary, would span 40,000 acres, demand 9 gigawatts of power once completed, and raise the state’s carbon emissions by 64 percent, according to estimates. While its water needs remain unknown, the sprawling data center would neighbor the northernmost tip of the shrinking Great Salt Lake, which will likely hit a record-low elevation this year following an unprecedented dry winter.

It could also create a massive heat island capable of devastating the area’s ecology, said Robert Davies, a physics professor at Utah State University. Davies estimated that the finished project would cover about as many square miles as Washington, D.C., making it the largest data center on the planet, and that it could produce enough heat to spike nighttime temperatures by as much as 28 degrees Fahrenheit in the high-desert valley. 

“I suspected it would not be good,” Davies said. “What I’ve found is, it’s so much worse than I even thought it would be.”

News of the proposed data complex, dubbed the Stratos Project, became public in April after the three commissioners of Box Elder County, the mostly agricultural community that would host it, approved the project. They pointed to the project’s approval by more powerful state agencies and asserted that stopping it was out of their hands, while refusing to hear comments from more than 1,000 people who showed up to share their concerns. Utah Governor Spencer Cox, a Republican, has since walked back some of his full-throated support.

“Many are asking questions about water, air quality, energy, land use, and the long-term impact on rural Utah,” Cox wrote in a thread on X earlier this month after intense public outcry over the project. “Those are real concerns, and all Utahns should expect clear standards and accountability.”

The controversy in Utah is a stark illustration of a wider trend. Across the United States, data centers are drawing bipartisan backlash as communities clash with tech giants and developers over strained water supplies and spiking energy costs.

At least two other massive data campus projects are proposed elsewhere in Utah, but they have not received anywhere near the pushback as the Stratos Project. Many opponents have pointed to efforts state leaders have made in recent years to support water conservation — Utah is among the driest states in the country — and the state legislature’s multimillion dollar investments to help the Great Salt Lake refill. The lake’s drying bed has already become a source of toxic dust threatening the health of millions of residents living on the Wasatch Front, Utah’s urban core. 

It seems contradictory, then, to build a potentially water-intensive and explosively hot industrial development right next door to such an endangered and iconic spot. 

“The greed behind this deal is clearly blinding the officials to just how much is at stake for the rest of us,” wrote Monika Norwid of Salt Lake City, one of the Utah residents who sent comments to the state’s Division of Water Rights protesting the project. “I refuse to let this greed imperil our already fragile wildlife, I refuse to allow some useless technology steal the rest of our insufficient water for a project that is way beyond the scale of this area.”

In an interview with CNN, O’Leary downplayed the environmental impact of his project, saying Stratos is “not going to destroy air quality” and “not going to drain the Great Salt Lake.”

Kevin O’Leary attends Consensus Miami 2026 at Miami Beach Convention Center on May 6, 2026, in Florida.
Romain Maurice / Getty Images

Austin Pritchett, a cofounder of West GenCo, the developer partnering with O’Leary Digital Limited on the project, said that they plan to purchase roughly 3,000 acre‑feet of on‑site water rights and already have around 10,000 acre‑feet under contract from the nearby town of Snowville if needed. 

Added together, that’s enough water to supply the basic needs of more than 20,000 Utah households. Utah’s Division of Water Rights has only received one application for the project so far — to transfer 1,900 acre-feet currently used for irrigation by the Bar H Ranch. That application was pulled last week, but a representative with the ranch said it will refile and “fully intends to move forward with the project.” A division spokesperson said they anticipate more applications from the data center developers soon.

Some scientists worry the project’s power demands and resulting heat island effect will transform its high-desert climate into something more akin to the Sahara.

Stratos would build its own power plant, state supporters have said, and its fuel will likely come from a corridor carrying natural gas from Wyoming to Nevada, Oregon, and California called the Ruby Pipeline. O’Leary specifically chose Box Elder County’s Hansel Valley to build the complex because the pipeline spans it, state officials have said.

“It could generate power at a significant level,” said Paul Morris, executive director of Utah’s Military Installation Development Authority, a powerful quasi-governmental state agency that provides tax incentives for development, during a public meeting in April. “This location was picked because of the gas pipeline.”

Hansel Valley in Utah, where Stratos wants to build a power plant.
Rick Egan / The Salt Lake Tribune

Davies, the physics professor, has done some back-of-the-envelope calculations to better understand the sheer scale of the 9-gigawatt project. And what he’s penciled out so far has him alarmed.

“Nine gigawatts, that’s a number that’s really challenging to get your brain around,” the professor said. ”Communicating the scale has been a real problem.”

The entire project will actually produce roughly 16 gigawatts of thermal energy, according to Davies. It starts with the massive on-site power generation, which will generate 7 to 8 gigawatts of waste heat just producing the needed electricity for the data center, since gas plants are only about 57 percent efficient.

And once that electricity reaches the data center, every watt will turn into pure heat, because anytime a gadget consumes power, it converts it into heat, Davies explained, whether it’s a toaster, a car, or a sprawling rack of computer servers.

Typically, waste heat from end uses of electricity is dumped far from a power plant, in homes, businesses, or on roads where it dissipates. In this case, the Stratos project will release roughly 16 gigawatts of thermal energy into Hansel Valley, according to Davies. That trapped thermal load is the “equivalent of about 23 atom bombs’ worth of energy dumped into this local environment every single day,” Davies said.

That doesn’t mean the project would wipe out the landscape with an explosion or release dangerous nuclear radiation, but the heat it creates could devastate the local ecology.

“What happens if you deposit that much energy continuously into a topography like this?” Davies wondered. “Right at the north end of the Great Salt Lake, a watershed that’s in collapse. A high-desert environment? A valley?”

Davies thinks dumping that much heat into Hansel Valley will raise local temperatures by 5 degrees F during the day and up to 28 degrees at night.

“That’s the difference between Utah’s semi-arid climate and the Sahara Desert,” said Ben Abbott, an ecology professor at Brigham Young University who has reviewed Davies’ estimates. “This would absolutely change the landscape.”

Evaporation would spike. The dew point could collapse, with devastating consequences on wildlife, plants, and the fertility of land owned by other ranchers in the valley, Abbott and Davies said. Abbott suspects Hansel Valley would become another source of dust on the Wasatch Front, in addition to the exposed and drying lake bed of the shrinking Great Salt Lake.

“I’m happy to be further educated. Maybe I’m getting something wrong here,” Davies said. “But that is kind of the point, right? You literally have a hyperscale project that is getting no due diligence.”

Salt Lake Tribune reporter Samantha Moilanen contributed to this story.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Utah’s fragile desert could feel like the Sahara if America’s biggest data center gets built on May 18, 2026.

Higher gas prices are bringing some Americans back to public transit.

The increase in ridership comes as the war in Iran has disrupted oil shipments through the Strait of Hormuz, pushing the national average price of gasoline beyond $4.50 per gallon. In California, drivers are paying more than $6.15 per gallon on average. 

Rising fuel prices have historically pushed at least some Americans toward buses and trains, particularly commuter rail. But experts caution that decades of car-oriented development and inconsistent transit funding still leave most people with few practical alternatives to driving.

For those reasons, ridership is rising most sharply in places with robust transit systems and steep fuel prices.

California is a clear example. Transit agencies in San Diego, Los Angeles County, and the San Francisco Bay Area have seen ridership jump in recent weeks. The San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency –– which, like others in California, received an emergency loan from the state in February –– saw its highest ridership totals since the pandemic in March.

Mark Olson, a spokesman for the San Diego Metropolitan Transit System, said gas prices probably drove the 6.5 percent jump in ridership it experienced in March compared to the previous year. Until the agency surveys riders, however, that remains an educated guess. 

“A lot of our riders are low-income, and certainly gas prices can be much more sensitive to lower-income residents and riders,” Olson said. In an effort to court riders, the agency, which faces a $500 million budget deficit over the next four years, has launched a commute calculator that compares the cost of driving and public transit. 

Michael Roccaforte, a spokesman for the San Francisco MTA, said it is too early to link higher gas prices to ridership increases but called the return of riders to Muni — which has undergone speed and reliability upgrades in recent years — “a promising sign.”

“It’s a service that really matters to everyone here in San Francisco,” he said.

The ridership gains aren’t limited to California. The Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority in the Washington, D.C., region and Valley Metro in Texas also reported increases. Intercity passenger rail operators Amtrak and Brightline have seen a boost, too. 

The trend mirrors past research showing that sustained increases in fuel costs can push some people toward public transit. Hiroyuki Iseki, an urban studies and planning professor at the University of Maryland, co-authored a study on how gasoline prices affected public transit in 10 cities between 2002 and 2011. He found that when gas prices climbed 10 percent over the course of 13 months, light rail ridership increased by 1.2 percent and bus ridership by 0.8 percent. 

Iseki’s study also found psychological effects as gas prices passed different thresholds. For example, when gas prices rose by 10 percent and topped $3 per gallon, ridership of all forms of mass transit increased by about 1.2 percent. A 10 percent increase that pushed prices beyond $4 led to a 9.3 percent jump for light rail. 

“Usually the people who use commuter rail take rail only for commuting, just one round trip between home and their work location,” Iseki said. “Commuter rail, the travel distance is longer than other transit trips, so the longer the distance of travel the more pricey the gasoline cost.”

Some people are better positioned to leave their cars at home, said UCLA urban planning professor Michael Manville. Those with access to commuter rail, which tends to be time competitive with driving, might make a change. But the more likely outcome is people continue driving to work and make shorter or fewer trips or even cut back on other expenses, he said. That’s because of the cognitive hurdle often required to make a switch to mass transit. 

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“It’s one thing to say, ‘Look, I’m just not going to drive quite as much as I used to,’ in a discretionary way,” Manville said. “It’s quite another for the typical person to then say, ‘I’m not gonna drive to work. I’m gonna figure out how the bus works.’”

There is a societal challenge as well. The U.S. has since the end of World War II made cars the focal point of city planning. “We made a bunch of policy decisions that turned them into bad masters, but they are also good servants,” Manville said of automobiles. “You throw the family in them, and you don’t have to worry about the chaos of your kids and all their stuff.”

A fundamental shift from car travel to public transit would require better-funded systems that offer greater reliability and convenience. Transit has accounted for less than a third of federal transportation funding since 1956. As of 2017, 87 percent of trips in the U.S. were taken by car. 

Federal policy has an enormous impact on who does and does not have access to something like commuter rail. Elisa Ramirez, who works on policy for Transportation for America, would like to see the federal government treat mass transit as a core priority with consistent funding. Until that happens, car travel will likely continue to be the dominant mode of transport. 

“Time is money, and even though people can afford a $2 fare, they can’t afford to be late for work or miss doctors appointments,” she said. “For most Americans, driving is not optional, and that’s my big thing. How much does gas impact people moving to transit? First we need to have reliable transit.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Gas prices are rising. So is public transit ridership. on May 18, 2026.

A major oil company is seeking a state tax break in Texas worth hundreds of millions of dollars to build a massive power plant. The energy won’t be going to residential customers, though. Instead, the gas plant will be used to power a data center whose eventual tenant could be Microsoft.

Chevron subsidiary Energy Forge One has filed an application with the State Comptroller’s board to obtain a tax abatement for a power plant it’s building in West Texas. In late January, the comptroller’s office made a recommendation to support the application’s approval — the first such approval under the program for a power plant intended solely for data center use.

In March, following news reports that Microsoft was looking into purchasing power from the Energy Forge project, Chevron said that it had entered into an “exclusivity agreement” with Microsoft and Engine 1, an investment fund involved in the project. In January, Microsoft pledged to be a “good neighbor” in communities where it is building data centers, including promising to pay a “full and fair share of local property taxes.”

The potential tax abatement for the project comes as big tech companies are battling rising public fury about data centers and electricity costs. It also comes as lawmakers start to cast a more critical eye on ballooning incentives for data centers, some of which have cost some states — including Texas — $1 billion or more each year.

Read Next Texas is giving data centers more than $1 billion in tax breaks each year Paul Cobler, The Texas Tribune

Chevron spokesperson Paula Beasley told Wired in an email that all tax incentives under consideration for the Energy Forge project “apply solely to the power generation facility” to “support new energy infrastructure, and do not extend to any future data center facilities that may be served.” Beasley also said that there is currently “no definitive agreement” with Microsoft for this power plant.

“Microsoft is in discussions with Chevron,” Rima Alaily, Microsoft’s corporate vice president and general counsel for infrastructure, said in a statement to Wired. “No commercial terms have been finalized, and there is no definitive agreement at this time.”

Chevron is applying for a tax abatement for the project under Texas’ Jobs, Energy, Technology, and Innovation (JETI) Act. Passed in 2023, the program is intended to incentivize businesses to build large infrastructure projects in the state in exchange for guarantees to bring jobs and revenue. Accepted projects get a cap set on the amount of taxable property they can be charged through local school district taxes.

The Pecos-Barstow-Toyah school board approved the project’s application at a meeting in February. The state pays for the tax abatement, so the school district itself does not lose out on any money.

According to documents from the state, the Chevron project could net more than $227 million in savings for the company over a 10-year period, depending on the eventual size of the project and investment. The application says the plant will provide “over 25 permanent, full-time jobs,” though there’s no requirement to do so because it’s considered an electricity generation facility.

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The planned gas plant won’t connect to the grid, instead providing “electricity for direct consumption by a data center,” according to its application. So-called behind-the-meter gas plants have become increasingly popular for data center developers facing yearslong waits to connect to the grid. According to data from nonprofit Global Energy Monitor, the U.S. at the start of the year had nearly 100 gigawatts of gas-fired power in the development pipeline solely to power data centers, with several more massive gas projects announced since the data was published.

A Wired analysis of less than a dozen power plants being constructed to explicitly serve data centers, including the Chevron project, found that these power plants are permitted to emit more greenhouse gases than many small- to medium-size countries. The Energy Forge plant alone could emit more than 11.5 million tons of CO2 equivalent annually — more than the country of Jamaica emitted in 2024. Beasley told Wired that the plant “is being designed to comply with applicable environmental regulations, including all applicable federal and state air quality standards.”

West Texas is a major fossil fuel production hub, which has helped it emerge as a hot spot for both data centers and behind-the-meter gas development. However, Energy Forge’s JETI application notes that the site is one of six across the U.S. under consideration. Without tax incentives, the other sites would be “more attractive locations” to build a gas plant, according to its application, and “Texas would lose the opportunity to attract billions of dollars in new tax revenues.”

This type of claim on applications for tax abatements is pretty routine, says Nathan Jensen, a government professor at the University of Texas at Austin. An earlier version of the JETI program, originally created to draw more manufacturing jobs to Texas, handed out incentives to businesses with little oversight, often giving millions in tax breaks to companies already planning on building in the state. While the JETI program significantly curbs the problems and excesses of the old program, Jensen says that the guardrails for a project like Chevron’s are still relatively low.

The JETI tax incentive isn’t the only tax break the power plant could receive. According to county documents, the Energy Forge project could also be eligible for a local incentive that exempts all or part of a property’s value from taxes for up to a decade, under another part of the Texas tax code.

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Developers have taken advantage of other tax abatements across the U.S. A report released in April from Good Jobs First, a corporate watchdog group, found that at least three states — including Texas — are losing more than $1 billion in revenue each year from data center sales tax abatements.

A bipartisan group of politicians in Texas, including Republican lieutenant governor Dan Patrick, have expressed mounting concern about the impact tax breaks for data centers are having on state coffers. In March, Patrick ordered the legislature to “study the cost and consequences” of the sales tax exemption — which the state projects could balloon to $3 billion by 2029 — and “make recommendations providing safeguards to ensure that Texans benefit from data center investment.”

In January, Microsoft rolled out a series of pledges on its website, promising to “add to the tax base” in communities where it operates. “We won’t ask local municipalities to reduce their local property tax rates when we buy land or propose a data center presence,” the pledge states. The company did not respond to questions about whether this pledge extends to projects owned by other entities that the company intends to use to power its data centers, or to data center developers that may be building data centers in which Microsoft will be a tenant.

Greg LeRoy, the executive director of Good Jobs First, notes that Microsoft’s pledge doesn’t mention tax abatements (the amount of value a person or business’s property is assessed at), which are different from tax rates (the number used to calculate the amount of taxes owed for the property).

“If they don’t say, ‘We will refuse tax abatements,’ then they’ve got their fingers crossed behind their back,” LeRoy says of Microsoft’s pledge.

Tax breaks given to projects like data centers are difficult to track across states: The Good Jobs First report found that 14 states don’t disclose how much revenue they might be losing on data center abatements. As behind-the-meter power becomes an increasingly popular option for data center developers, though it’s not clear how widespread the practice of asking for tax abatements for these specific facilities is.

There are no other behind-the-meter power plants currently being funded by the Texas JETI program or in the application pipeline. Data centers are specifically excluded from being eligible for the JETI program.

Jane Flegal, a senior fellow at the Searchlight Institute and a climate official under President Biden, is the author of a recent report that suggests ways to use the AI boom to incentivize tech companies to help pay for needed upgrades to the grid. Tax abatements, the report says, should be restructured to make sure that data center builders connect power to the grid, making behind-the-meter gas options less attractive. Flegal also advocates for permitting reform to make sure that more clean energy can get added to the grid as quickly as possible.

“We should fix our tax code so it’s much more progressive, and we should tax the shit out of these people and use federal money to plan and build a grid that benefits all of us,” she says. “Alas, that is not where we are.”

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Chevron wants a school district tax break for a data center power plant on May 17, 2026.