In 2020, only 4.7% of US energy consumption came from wind, solar, or geothermal sources, which means that we need a lot more renewable energy capacity (alongside electrification, demand reduction, and shutting down fossil fuel production). This will require more land use than our current energy system. Estimates vary on exactly how much, which will depend on variables like the amount of energy we end up deciding to produce, grid integration, technology, and how we deploy the generation infrastructure.
Right now, one of the most significant barriers to installing more renewable energy capacity is siting. Myriad federal, state, and local laws dictate where renewables can be placed. A recent National Renewable Energy Laboratory (NREL) study concluded that setback requirements—how far turbines must be from certain structures—are “the largest siting barrier to wind deployment.” Local opposition has stalled or stopped many proposed projects and has often been backed by fossil fuel interests. Residents’ stated concerns vary widely from place to place, including ecological damage, unsightly views, lowered property values, noise, and health and safety. Some of these concerns are more valid than others, to put it mildly; corporate astroturf campaigns and Facebook-driven misinformation often muddy the waters.
Transitioning to a sustainable energy system will also require upgrading our aging and decrepit energy infrastructure and building out more electricity transmission capacity to both connect renewables to our grids and connect our grids to each other. Another NREL study found that creating a national “supergrid” via modernization and interconnection would accelerate solar and wind adoption, eliminate 35 megatons of carbon dioxide emissions per year, and save consumers $3.6 billion per year. This would prevent situations like last year’s deadly winter power outages in Texas and mitigate the intermittency issues with renewable energy. Unfortunately, attempts to build much-needed new transmission lines have also been seriously hindered by local opposition, especially by the wealthy.
Many technocratic liberals have grown frustrated at the ways in which environmental conservation laws like the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) have been used to block or stall new renewable energy infrastructure. But in a country that generally allows businesses to do what they want with impunity—particularly with regards to the environment—NEPA has been one of the few legal bulwarks against persistent ecological degradation. It is important to not overemphasize the most notorious examples and throw the baby out with the bathwater. Ignoring or minimizing biodiversity and other ecological considerations in the name of the climate crisis would be carbon reductionism, which we should seek to avoid.
There are many legitimate physical trade-offs to consider with regards to where we place infrastructure for the energy transition. The amount of wind, sunshine, or geothermal heat available to harness varies a great deal geographically. Solar farms can go on already developed or degraded land, or they can be placed on land with more intact ecosystems. Wind farm siting must consider bird migratory paths. And sometimes land can have multiple uses. For example, solar panels can go on rooftops or be combined with food production (known as agrivoltaics).
But what happens if we determine the best physical site, all things considered, for a solar farm or transmission line and local residents or elected officials oppose it? Free, prior, and informed consent for affected communities is important—especially for Indigenous communities—but is often just aspirational. It is also difficult to define or measure what local consent means outside of permission from private property owners. There could be regulatory capture with elected officials or small but loud and well-funded opposition.
There is significant evidence that local or cooperative ownership, transparency and inclusion, and payments improve acceptance of renewable energy projects. These are great and important tools that should be standard policy. But in cases of opposition from wealthy property owners, like in the Hamptons, carrots may not move the needle much. That is where sticks like eminent domain, a favored tool of the fossil fuel industry, can be used. Balancing and remedying inequalities like this along with all the physical and ecological considerations in a just and sustainable manner requires a deft hand, which market-based profit motives combined with legal and political economic regimes that favor private property rights struggle to provide.
Coordinated central planning by different levels of government could do this, particularly when combined with pressure from radical social movements. This is hard to imagine in the present condition of the US; we are trying to make history in unfavorable circumstances to say the least, with moribund institutions, hostile policies, and entrenched wealthy interests in opposition. While national coordination and action will ultimately be necessary for a just energy transition, right now the best opportunities can be found at the state and local level where we can actually effect change as we build power and experiment with different ways of relating to each other and the land.
Renewable energy and transmission siting is a complex issue that is currently dealt with in a sort of hodgepodge way that varies from place to place. In the face of a rapidly unfolding climate catastrophe and deadly air pollution that demand swift and sweeping action to stop burning fossil fuels, such important decisions require deliberate consideration of all the real trade-offs involved that get to the very core of what we value as a society. Like anything else, energy infrastructure should be owned collectively and democratically, with both its benefits and drawbacks shared as equally as possible.