By Elizabeth McGowan for Energy News Network.
Broadcast version by Edwin J. Viera for Virginia News Connection reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Virginia’s participation in an East Coast greenhouse gas emissions pact is pivotal to curbing the climate impact of its thriving data center industry.

Globally, northern Virginia has become one of the largest data center hubs over the last decade-plus. Offering generous tax incentives has attracted tech giants eager to construct massive server farms with proximity to crucial digital infrastructure. An estimated 70% of the world’s internet traffic moves through the suburbs of Washington, D.C., daily.

That burgeoning has propelled a surge in electricity use. In 2020, the sector consumed close to 12,000 gigawatt-hours in Dominion Energy’s territory — roughly one-sixth of the investor-owned utility’s total retail sales that same year.

And yet, the state’s carbon emissions from power plants have fallen 12% annually during the last two years.

William Shobe, an environmental policy professor at the University of Virginia, is among those crediting the 11-state Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative. Known as RGGI, the initiative is a voluntary carbon cap-and-invest venture designed to tamp down heat-trapping gases emitted by the utility sector. Virginia’s downward emissions trend will halt without that cap in place, Shobe said.

Even as electricity-hungry data centers multiply across the state, RGGI’s binding carbon cap keeps emissions in check. Basically, the amount of fossil fuels a utility is allowed to burn shrinks each year as the cap is lowered. 

It’s a crucial dynamic to understand, Shobe said, as Republican Gov. Glenn Youngkin has vowed to extract Virginia from the market-based climate initiative.

“As a planetary citizen, I’m happy with that [cap],” said Shobe, who directs the Energy Transition Initiative at the University of Virginia’s Weldon Cooper Center for Public Service. “If the state relaxes RGGI, then data centers have climate consequences that we need to worry about.”

He’s hopeful that legislators won’t follow Youngkin’s lead on RGGI during the session that opened last Wednesday. Republicans control the House of Delegates while Democrats have a majority in the Senate.

Shobe also argues that continuing to build data centers in Virginia can be a net positive for climate change — assuming data centers will be built somewhere and the state stays committed to the regional greenhouse gas program. That construction trend shows no signs of abating in Virginia for at least the next 10 years.

“As long as we are a member of RGGI, then we should encourage data centers here rather than Ohio, Indiana or someplace else without a cap on carbon dioxide emissions,” Shobe said. 

Shobe played a significant role in designing the mechanisms behind RGGI, which debuted in 2009. In a nutshell, each member state limits emissions from fossil fuel power plants, issues carbon dioxide allowances and sets up participation in auctions for those allowances.

In 2020, Virginia became the first Southern state to join RGGI, after ample back-and-forth bickering. Advocates have hailed the program for its climate benefits and the upward of $450 million the allowance auction has so far yielded for statewide flood resiliency projects, energy efficiency upgrades, and home repairs for low-income residents statewide.

Youngkin has been itching to extract Virginia from RGGI since he took office a year ago. In early December, the state’s Air Pollution Control Board voted 4-1 to accelerate that exit. 

Attorneys with environmental organizations maintain that the Youngkin administration lacks the authority to leave the compact. That decision, RGGI proponents say, is in the hands of the General Assembly. A legislative effort to derail RGGI failed last year.

The air board’s initial vote to leave RGGI will trigger a 60-day comment period this winter. Shobe and his colleagues are prepared to weigh in with insights that the board will review before voting again on the proposal.

Shobe published an electricity use forecast in April 2021 predicting that data centers will be the driving force behind a 38% increase in electricity sales between 2020 and 2035. That equals an average increase in electricity use of around 44,000 gigawatt-hours per year.

“Whether we think this is a good thing or not, data centers are growing very fast,” Shobe said. “Unfortunately, they use a lot of energy. How we provide that energy is what will make a difference.”

Shobe noted that residential electricity sales are close to flatlining due to slower population growth and improved energy efficiency. Likewise, commercial and industrial demand have fallen for several years.

For the most part, large technology companies have pledged to power their facilities with renewable energy. However, it’s unclear whether or how they are following through on those commitments.

Thus far, Virginia’s solar expansion is on pace with a legislative mandate to decarbonize the grid by 2050, Shobe said. But the state can’t afford a solar stumble if it’s going to feed the needs of voracious data centers.

Some in the environmental community doubt that server farms will be able to live up to their vows to harness 100% of their energy from clean sources. Rooftop solar can’t cover those needs because the average solar array on a data center would only offset about 2.2% of its annual electricity consumption, according to calculations by solar developers.

That means operators resort to power purchase agreements, which allow them to go solar even if the utility-scale arrays they invest in are located miles away or in other states and might not be generating when data centers are consuming power.

Some are leery of those pacts. But Shobe defends the agreements as “perfectly fine ways” to contain greenhouse gases.

“If a data center has a solar farm built somewhere else to cover emissions, why wouldn’t you want to credit them for that?” he said, adding that his university does just that with two off-campus arrays. “From the point of view of resolving global warming, it doesn’t matter where it is built.

“As long as it’s on the same planet, it has the same effect on emissions.”

Shobe suggested that in the big picture, a third-party monitoring organization — along the lines of a Good Housekeeping seal of approval — should be tasked with holding data centers accountable for clean energy pledges.

“Enforcement is a tricky problem,” he said. “What it boils down to is, are people holding true to their promises?”

Boosting in-state solar capacity is far preferable to importing electricity because that might be sourced from states without a carbon emissions cap, Shobe said. 

“The question is how fast we can add renewable energy,” especially over the next five or six years, he said. “We are going to have to be more aggressive and do it faster if we are going to be a center for data center construction.”

In the meantime, the air board’s vote and the start of Virginia’s new, two-month legislative session has ushered in fresh fears that the state’s progress could be stymied. Shobe said he and other RGGI champions will meet with lawmakers to tout the climate value of sticking with the cap-and-invest program.

Withdrawing from RGGI would halt the flow of auction allowances. Instead, in mid-December, Youngkin proposed replacing that with $200 million in taxpayer dollars dedicated to a Resilient Virginia Revolving Fund.

That shift away from the RGGI model signals a lack of commitment to tackling climate change, Shobe said, because it removes not only environmental certainty but also the incentive for utilities to pivot from high- to low-emitting generation.

In Virginia, he emphasized, the original reason for joining RGGI was about having a cost-effective tool for reducing emissions. Producing revenue was an afterthought. 

“If what the governor is hoping is that we will give up on achieving carbon dioxide reductions, that’s another matter,” Shobe said. “If we’re serious about reducing carbon emissions, we need to be thinking ahead and asking ourselves what our energy portfolio is going to look like.”

Elizabeth McGowan wrote this article for Energy News Network.


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A new study raised red flags about respiratory health in Pennsylvania, particularly for those living near oil and gas activity.

The study by GeoHealth said nationwide, oil and gas venting and flaring exacerbate asthma in 73,000 children, including nearly 12,000 in Pennsylvania.

Jackson Zeiler, public health analyst for the Environmental Health Project, said energy developers do flaring and venting on a regular basis to remove excess gas. He explained the study looked at the potential health risks associated with the practice.

"There's adverse birth outcomes, there's cancer outcomes," Zeiler pointed out. "Volatile Organic Compounds are a big part of these emissions, which have a whole host of health effects, including respiratory health issues, different neurological effects like headaches and dizziness for people who are working in those facilities, and people who live really close by."

Zeiler noted flaring also contributes to an increased risk of hospitalizations, emergency room visits, worsening asthma and even premature death. But the energy industry said flaring is needed to minimize pressure at well sites, for testing and other reasons.

The study used satellite images and gas-imaging techniques to visualize emissions. Zeiler added companies are required to report their emissions to regulatory authorities and the data is compiled into a National Emissions Inventory through various sensors.

"They looked at the National Emissions Inventory numbers and compared it to the actual imaging that they looked at," Zeiler emphasized. "They found that the imaging saw way more emissions than was accounted for in the National Emissions Inventory. They're able to conclude that companies are underreporting, essentially, what they're flaring and what they're emitting."

He suggested Pennsylvanians could work with lawmakers on stricter reporting guidelines and transparency requirements for oil and gas operators. He also recommended advocating for greater setback distances between well sites and residential areas to minimize exposure.


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Balancing the needs of the many with those who have traditionally reaped benefits from public lands is behind a new rule issued Thursday by the Bureau of Land Management.

A quarter-million acres of public lands, including 13 million in New Mexico, now fall under the Public Lands Rule. The BLM is charged with managing multiple uses but has historically prioritized extraction, such as oil and gas drilling, along with cattle grazing, over conservation and outdoor recreation.

Jesse Duebel, executive director of the New Mexico Wildlife Federation, believes the new rule is more fair-minded.

"I really feel like this new rule doesn't minimize those other things," Duebel asserted. "The other uses are still going to be allowed to continue but now, decisions are going to be made with conservation in the forefront. And of course, conservation by definition, is the 'wise use' of our natural resources."

The rule requires BLM managers to prioritize designating more "Areas of Critical Environmental Concern" in their land use planning. Right now the number is small, but they help protect cultural sites and wildlife habitat.

The rule also allows BLM managers to issue conservation leases to nonprofit and community organizations, including tribal communities, for landscape restoration work on public lands.

Keegan King, executive director of the Native Land Institute, believes in the face of climate change, the long-term health of public lands must be a priority.

"I'm a conservationist but I'm also a hunter, and it's important that we protect these places for a variety of different uses," King explained. "There are ranchers and other people that utilize federal lands and it's important that all of it is maintained for future generations."

According to the Commerce Department's 2022 Bureau of Economic Analysis data, outdoor recreation generated $2.4 billion in added value for New Mexico and created almost 28,000 jobs.

During the BLM's public process on the issue, more than 90% of comments were in favor of elevating conservation for a more balanced approach to public land management.

Support for this reporting was provided by The Pew Charitable Trusts.


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By Max Graham for Grist.
Broadcast version by Alex Gonzalez for Arizona News Connection reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Below the red-tile roofs of the Catalina Foothills, an affluent area on the north end of Tucson, Arizona, lies a blanket of desert green: spiky cacti, sword-shaped yucca leaves, and the spindly limbs of palo verde and mesquite trees. Head south into the city, and the vegetation thins. Trees are especially scarce on the south side of town, where shops and schools and housing complexes sprawl across a land encrusted in concrete. 

On hot summer days, you don’t just see but feel the difference. Tucson’s shadeless neighborhoods, which are predominantly low-income and Latino, soak up the heat. They swelter at summer temperatures that eclipse the city average by 8 degrees Fahrenheit and the Catalina Foothills by 12 degrees. That disparity can be deadly in a city that experienced 40 straight days above 100 degrees last year — heat that’s sure to get worse with climate change. 

The good news is there’s a simple way to cool things down: Plant trees. “You’re easily 10 degrees cooler stepping under the shade of a tree,” said Brad Lancaster, an urban forester in Tucson. “It’s dramatically cooler.”

A movement is underway to populate the city’s street corners and vacant lots with groves of trees. Tucson’s city government, which has pledged to plant 1 million trees by 2030, recently got $5 million from the Biden administration to spur the effort — a portion of the $1 billion that the U.S. Forest Service committed last fall to urban and small-scale forestry projects across the United States, aiming to make communities more resilient to climate change and extreme heat. 

But in Tucson and many other cities, tree-planting initiatives can tackle a lot more than scorching temperatures. What if Tucson’s million new trees — and the rest of the country’s — didn’t just keep sidewalks cool? What if they helped feed people, too?

That’s what Brandon Merchant hopes will happen on the shadeless south side of Tucson, a city where about one-fifth of the population lives more than a mile from a grocery store. He’s working on a project to plant velvet mesquite trees that thrive in the dry Sonoran Desert and have been used for centuries as a food source. The mesquite trees’ seed pods can be ground into a sweet, protein-rich flour used to make bread, cookies, and pancakes. Merchant, who works at the Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona, sees cultivating mesquite around the city and surrounding areas as an opportunity to ease both heat and hunger. The outcome could be a network of “food forests,” community spaces where volunteers tend fruit trees and other edible plants for neighbors to forage. 

“Thinking about the root causes of hunger and the root causes of health issues, there are all these things that tie together: lack of green spaces, lack of biodiversity,” Merchant said. (The food bank received half a million dollars from the Biden administration through the Inflation Reduction Act.)

Merchant’s initiative fits into a national trend of combining forestry — and Forest Service funding — with efforts to feed people. Volunteers, school teachers, and urban farmers in cities across the country are planting fruit and nut trees, berry bushes, and other edible plants in public spaces to create shade, provide access to green space, and supply neighbors with free and healthy food. These food forests, forest gardens, and edible parks have sprouted up at churches, schools, empty lots, and street corners in numerous cities, including Boston, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Seattle, and Miami. 

“It’s definitely growing in popularity,” said Cara Rockwell, who researches agroforestry and sustainable food systems at Florida International University. “Food security is one of the huge benefits.” 

There are also numerous environmental benefits: Trees improve air quality, suck carbon from the atmosphere, and create habitat for wildlife, said Mikaela Schmitt-Harsh, an urban forestry expert at James Madison University in Virginia. “I think food forests are gaining popularity alongside other urban green space efforts, community gardens, green rooftops,” she added. “All of those efforts, I think, are moving us in a positive direction.”

Researchers say food forests are unlikely to produce enough food to feed everyone in need of it. But Schmitt-Harsh said they could help supplement diets, especially in neighborhoods that are far from grocery stores. “A lot has to go into the planning of where the food forest is, when the fruits are harvestable, and whether the harvestable fruits are equitably distributed.”

She pointed to the Philadelphia Orchard Project as an emblem of success. That nonprofit has partnered with schools, churches, public recreation centers, and urban farms to oversee some 68 community orchards across the city. Their network of orchards and food forests generated more than 11,000 pounds of fresh produce last year, according to Phil Forsyth, co-executive director of the nonprofit.

Some of the sites in Philadelphia have only three or four trees. Others have over 100, said Kim Jordan, the organization’s other executive director. “We’re doing a variety of fruit and nut trees, berry bushes and vines, pollinator plants, ground cover, perennial vegetables — a whole range of things,” Jordan said. 

The community food bank in Tucson started its project in 2021, when it bought six shade huts to shelter saplings. Each hut can house dozens of baby trees, which are grown in bags and irrigated until they become sturdy enough to be planted in the ground. Over the past three years, Merchant has partnered with a high school, a community farm, and the Tohono O’odham tribal nation to nurse, plant, and maintain the trees. So far they’ve only put a few dozen saplings in the ground, and Merchant aims to ramp up efforts with a few hundred more plantings this year. His initial goal, which he described as “lofty and ambitious,” is to plant 20,000 trees by 2030.

The food bank is also organizing workshops on growing, pruning, and harvesting, as well as courses on cooking with mesquite flour. And they’ve hosted community events, where people bring seed pods to pound into flour — a process that requires a big hammer mill that isn’t easy to use on your own, Merchant said. Those events feature a mesquite-pancake cook-off, using the fresh flour.

Merchant is drawing on a model of tree-planting that Lancaster, the urban forester, has been pioneering for 30 years in a downtown neighborhood called Dunbar Spring. That area was once as barren as much of southern Tucson, but a group of volunteers led by Lancaster — who started planting velvet mesquite and other native trees in 1996 — has built up an impressive canopy. Over three decades, neighborhood foresters have transformed Dunbar Spring’s bald curbsides into lush forests of mesquite, hackberry, cholla and prickly pear cactus, and more — all plants that have edible parts.

“There are over 400 native food plants in the Sonoran Desert, so we tapped into that,” Lancaster said. “That’s what we focused our planting on.” 

The Dunbar Spring food forest is now what Lancaster calls a “living pantry.” He told Grist that up to a quarter of the food he eats — and half of what he feeds his Nigerian dwarf goats — is harvested from plants in the neighborhood’s forest. “Those percentages could be much more if I were putting more time into the harvests.” The more than 1,700 trees and shrubs planted by Lancaster’s group have also stored a ton of water — a precious commodity in the Sonoran Desert — by slurping up an estimated 1 million gallons of rainwater that otherwise would have flowed off the pavement into storm drains.

Another well-established food forest skirts the Old West Church in Boston, where volunteers have spent a decade transforming a city lawn into a grove of apple, pear, and cherry trees hovering over vegetable, pollinator, and herb gardens. Their produce — ranging from tomatoes and eggplants to winter melons — gets donated to Women’s Lunch Place, a local shelter for women without permanent housing, according to Karen Spiller, a professor of sustainable food systems at the University of New Hampshire and a member of Old West Church who helps with the project. 

“It’s open for harvest at any time,” Spiller said. “It’s not, ‘Leave a dollar, and pick an apple.’ You can pick your apple, and eat your apple.”

Merchant wants to apply the same ethic in Tucson: mesquite pods for all to pick — and free pancakes after a day staying cool in the shade.


Max Graham wrote this article for Grist.


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