Though this meeting included seven of us, this exchange was approaching ten minutes. As Martine drew a breath to respond, Dr. Jane Tufariello gratefully interrupted: “Would you mind if we returned to the pricing mechanism? That’s all we’re debating right now.”
As you know, when she is reconfirmed, Tufariello will be the longest-serving undersecretary of Commerce for Oceans and Atmosphere and administrator of NOAA. In addition to being a key mentor during my time at MIT and encouraging me to join the committee staff so that I might work on this legislation, we sometimes watch WNBA basketball together. Dr. Tufariello is one of the most competent and dedicated scientists working in the government, and I wish she’d interrupt more.
“Christ, Jane, how do you not get that the pricing mechanism is a bait and switch?” Martine pointed to Martin Rathbone, the Harvard economist, expected to head the president’s National Economic Council. “The scientists and economists keep telling us we don’t understand the science or the economics. But eat shit, because you don’t understand the politics. None of this matters if the bill can’t pass.”
“And the way we do that is we broaden the appeal body,” said Otero.
“I love that term,” Dr. Rathbone mused, slouching so far back he appeared to be close to napping. “An ‘appealing body’ has nothing to do with this. This bill is a paper hangover. But I do love an appealing body.”
Rathbone scanned Kaye Martine when he said this, and Martine gave a perfunctory roll of her eyes, though this appeared to be a routine long worked out between them. That the highest levels of government seem to spend so much time behaving like it’s seventh grade never fails to astonish me. I wrote all this down because I found it as fascinating as I did obnoxious.
Dr. Tufariello, who loathes Rathbone, once remarked to me that it never pays to lose your temper at a white man in Washington, as they would find a way to weaponize it against you. Instead of acknowledging his comment, she focused on Otero: “Yes, but the legislation has to actually work.” The last word snapped out of her mouth, and I pictured it crackling above her head like a dissipating spark.
No offense, Senator Fitzpatrick and Congresswoman LaFray, but of the 535 members of the US Congress, those who have a sophisticated understanding of climate and energy policy would not fill an NBA roster. People luxuriate in the comforts bestowed by science without any interest in the empirical mechanisms that make those comforts possible. This leaves much of the lobbying to the likes of Tom Levine, representing the gadfly climate organization A Fierce Blue Fire, who felt entitled to interrupt next:
“Question is, who are you negotiating for here, Joe? If this is just about pleasing the literal pig-fuckers from rural Missouri who think the earth is six thousand years old, then why waste the time?”
Laughter ensued, and Alice McCowen slapped the table to cut it off:
“Enough. The Republican Study Committee can wag its limp QAnon dick all it wants; it doesn’t mean they have the votes to block anything.”
A new entrant to these meetings from the White House Office of Legislative Affairs, McCowen became a household name during the 2028 campaign as Mary Randall’s Svengali in the mode of other political pseudo-celebrities (with each administration comes a new one: Carville, Rove, Axelrod, Bannon). She seems to me a master of self-styling. On the campaign trail, she received criticism for referring to herself as a “hard-charging Texas bull dyke” and seems to be performing that character at all times. The media called it a gaffe, but it seemed much more a calculated move to demonstrate her candidate’s moderate social views. McCowen is taller and larger than most of the men in the room and swings the White House bat with ferocity.
“Now, my boss sent me here because, frankly, she heard the first meetings were coming up with fuck-all. From now on, the administration will have its hands deep in this cow, delivering this thing, so hear me: Speed is of the essence. We want a bill ready for Leg Counsel by the time Congress convenes.”
An argument erupted, with enough cross-talk that I lost the ability to record it all. Levine demanded the FBF’s “shock collar” while Martine argued the Democrats wanted Republican buy-in for any kind of pricing mechanism, and Otero interrupted to push the Republicans’ preferred policy of an extremely weak cap-and-trade scheme. This led to Dr. Tufariello saying what was obvious but politically intolerable:
“The primary thing the bill has to do immediately is shut down coal forever.”
Leading Ms. McCowen to bark at her: “Jesus Christ, Jane, don’t say that outside of this room ever. The Sinclair Broadcast–Jennifer Braden–Renaissance Media kook machine will come for Madam President before she even puts her hand on the Bible.”
Perhaps it was the volatile cul-de-sac in which the discussion had bottomed out or just the brittle sound of all those voices fighting to be heard that created a sensation on my skin like someone pelting me with rocks. My frustration neared a tipping point, so I chose this moment to speak up:
“It seems rather idiotic to begin this discussion by trying to form a consensus about what has the most political viability.” This quieted everyone, so I continued. “Any policy designed to achieve the goal of lowering emissions will necessarily inflict some economic pain, and therefore the policy must also alleviate that pain. We can simply run those numbers and decide what’s best, empirically speaking. To spend our time dawdling about political constituencies seems to me rather fruitless.”
I left my pen poised over my notepad in case anyone had an interesting response.
Ms. McCowen stared at me as silence took hold: “Who in the sweet brandy fuck is this guy?”
Dr. Tufariello volunteered that information: “This is Dr. Ashir al-Hasan.”
I added: “Chief of Staff for the Senate Select Committee on the Climate Crisis and advisor to Senator Cyrus Fitzpatrick of Pennsylvania,” while also favoring Ms. McCowen with what my brother-in-law, Peter, calls a fuck you gaze. Mostly I was just happy they all stopped speaking over one another.
Dr. Tufariello said: “Ash was also one of NOAA’s top Earth System modelers. We listen when he talks.”
Ms. McCowen glared at me. “Yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Doctor Dicksucker: On my daddy’s farm we used to do rectal palpitations on cows, and if you call me an idiot again, I’ll come for you with two fists.”
Hopefully this example gives you some idea of the tenor of these meetings. They are also too often catered with the same bland turkey and portobello wraps.
In college, I discovered that running was an excellent way of alleviating anxiety. When I moved to Georgetown, I found a running club online, the project of a man named Seth Young, who was “a recovering political operative.”
Young had worked in the Obama administration and quit politics after burnout from Hillary Clinton’s 2016 race. Instead, he formed a fitness and wellness business, one aspect of which was taking moribund, desk-shackled Washingtonians on runs around the capital. I found the experience enjoyable, and it eased my transition from Tennessee, where my home was proximate to many excellent paths. As you may recall, I took the Senate Select Committee’s offer with a bit of trepidation. After my years consulting with the New England Complex Systems Institute, I moved on to NOAA’s Oak Ridge facility. This was powerful, cutting-edge modeling. Working under Dr. Tufariello, I helped pioneer an integrated assessment model (IAM) that broke new ground with its accounting of biospheric inputs, population, economic activity, national and international policies, and technological options available on decadal and century timescales. That’s largely why I’m here: because Dr. Tufariello wants to put each draft of the PRIRA legislation through our IAM to show how it might affect the climate under ideal circumstances of implementation.