This story was produced with support from the Markham Nathan Fund for Social Justice.
By Naila Moreira
SHUTESBURY — At the base of an oak trunk too large to wrap my arms around, a russula mushroom’s scarlet cap sprouts like a fairy umbrella, perched above clubmoss on a milk-white stem.
Nearby, mountain laurels — slow growers at just a foot a year — arch over the footpath. Rivulets hurry downslope to coalesce and join larger Adam’s Brook below. Eventually, they’ll end up in the Atkins Reservoir.
As I hike this dripping green landscape in Shutesbury, Massachusetts, on a September afternoon, a torrential rain has only just stopped. As I drove here, signs punctuated the tree-lined roadside beside mailboxes: “Solar and Forests: We Need Both. No Clear Cutting Forestlands.”
The downpour, and the cataclysmic wetness of the preceding summer, feels appropriate to my purpose. I’m here because up to 360 acres of this forest are proposed to be clear-cut for five separate solar panel arrays totaling 45 megawatts of energy capacity. The land is owned by W.D. Cowls Land Company, Inc., the largest private landowner in Massachusetts. The sites, meanwhile, would be leased by PureSky Energy, a solar company co-owned by the multinational asset management firms Fiera Capital Corporation and Palisade Infrastructure Group.
The solar project could become the state’s largest. In return, Cowls has agreed to place 5,000 acres of nearby land within Shutesbury, Leverett and Pelham under conservation restriction. Although that land can’t be developed, Cowls is allowed to log those acres.
The solar installations would help, Cowls’ president Cinda Jones has said, in the fight against climate change, which experts say is fueling weather like this year’s excessive rain and flooding in New England.
Yet reflecting activism across Massachusetts, rural residents in Shutesbury have resisted solar development on the town’s forestlands, including through a new bylaw restricting land clearing for solar. In return, PureSky Energy filed a lawsuit against Shutesbury, and recently, the state attorney general’s office struck down the bylaw. Cowls was a plaintiff in the suit.
As Massachusetts tries to reach net-zero carbon emissions by 2050 — necessitating seven to 10 times its current solar capacity — contentious cases like Shutesbury illuminate a complex interplay of federal and state policy, grid infrastructure, and economics. Such factors can lead to seemingly counterintuitive proposals that threaten to pit activist against activist, like cutting down forestland to reduce the state’s carbon emissions.
At the same time, the state aims to protect 40% of Massachusetts forests by 2050 in recognition of forests’ ecosystem services, including but not limited to carbon sequestration. Currently, just 27% of the state’s forests are conserved.
Broad agreement exists that a balance needs to be found to minimize such conflicts and still allow for rapid green infrastructure development. But finding that balance is tricky. It will require wading through sticky questions about how we value our green space, and for what; what incentives or infrastructure will actually tip the economic scales in favor of developing solar on already built or disturbed land; and how best to work with profit-seeking corporations who, for the time being, are the parties best financially positioned to green the state’s energy grid.
This winter, a new state commission tasked with recommending reforms to hasten green energy development will encounter these questions head on. Created by executive order by Gov. Maura Healey and seated in October, the Commission on Clean Energy Infrastructure Siting and Permitting will “build consensus” (or “build serious consensus,” if you ask Lt. Gov. Kim Driscoll) “on how to tackle this challenge in a way that ensures environmental justice communities don’t bear a disproportionate burden, greenspace and other development priorities are protected, and we can all share in the benefits of clean energy.”
The commission is slated to issue recommendations on March 31. But to understand exactly where this committee might steer Massachusetts’s green energy future, it’s important to understand how we got where we are now.
Solar as forest threat
To Shutesbury resident Sharon Weizenbaum, the proposed solar installations and the attorney general’s recent decision are an affront to the town’s right to govern itself, a threat to the ecosystem, and a hazard to her property. She helps run Smart Solar Shutesbury, a seven-member activist group that helped create the town’s solar bylaw as well as the signs I spotted along the road.
A creek alongside Weizenbaum’s land is located below one proposed site. It could suffer development-related erosion, runoff, and flooding, she says, especially as climate change worsens.
The concept is only barely theoretical. In nearby Williamsburg, an 18.5-acre solar array owned by Dynamic Energy Solutions, LLC, illegally released stormwater “in extreme amounts,” according to a 2020 complaint by the state attorney general’s office. The sediment-laden water damaged about 100,000 square feet of surrounding wetlands, rivers, and forest, with the company paying $1.14 million to settle the case.
“I have horses here, and I ride every day, and I forage mushrooms in this forest,” Weizenbaum says. “What the forest has done for me, I feel I owe it to the forest — I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”
For Shutesbury, the attorney general’s decision to overturn the town’s solar bylaw focused largely on technical errors regarding appropriate public notification. However, the suit also cited the Dover Amendment, a state law that prevents “unreasonable” restrictions on solar development except in the case of threats to public health and safety. The move reflects similar decisions in neighboring Wendell and Pelham that invalidated local attempts to restrict solar development, including through limits on the construction of battery storage.
Some have suggested that such local resistance comes from a “not in my backyard” knee-jerk antipathy to necessary communal change. Further, some point out that activism against large-scale rural solar may be coming largely from those with the economic and cultural capital to fight back.
Caitlin Peale Sloan, Massachusetts vice president for the Conservation Law Foundation, identifies the “dynamics of people who don’t want something to get built in their backyard because it would be different from what’s already there,” which, she says, “blends with the ability of communities to have a say in what’s happening in their community.”
Sloan will sit on the state siting committee, where she plans to bring a focus on environmental justice and equity. Some communities, she notes, have more pervasive financial and historical barriers to resisting infrastructure construction, and may need more active state protection. “It blends with historic dynamics of which kind of communities usually play host to industrial development, and which get to avoid that,” she notes.
“There can be a fine line between, ‘I’m opposing this because I don’t want it in my backyard,’ and, ‘I’m opposing this because of deeply held beliefs that have nothing to do with my backyard,’” acknowledges Sloan. However, she said, “the good faith way to characterize the opposition I’ve seen to solar projects in rural areas is concerns about preserving that particular area of forest. There are many values that go beyond the cost of losing a tree or 10 acres of trees. The health of a forest is interconnected through the roots, it’s not just every tree for itself. It’s a state policy question, how we balance those interests and those values.”
Weizenbaum suggests that Shutesbury itself serves as an example of a smaller, less-resourced rural town being pushed around by wealthy for-profit entities.
“People try to accuse us of being NIMBY, but I really think that most of the work against huge industry is done by local people, it’s done by people who love the landscape,” she says. “Each community is fighting in isolation, but we’re connected by fighting for the environment.”
Since about 2010, solar has represented a growing threat to forestlands, according to the state’s 2020 Forest Action Plan. Statewide, the development of forested land has represented the largest threat to forests, with 13.5 acres being lost per day from 2012 to 2017. About a quarter of that loss has been due to solar development alone.
Sixty percent of the state’s 500 new ground-mounted solar arrays since 2010 have been built on previously forested land, according to the Massachusetts Audubon Society’s new Growing Solar, Protecting Nature report. And about 10 percent of all deforestation in Massachusetts has been due to solar development, state Energy and Environmental Affairs Undersecretary Katherine Antos said during a solar forum at the University of Massachusetts Amherst in September.
Given these statistics, a chorus of expert voices from conservationists to legislators and even climate activists are also saying that Massachusetts forests are not the best place for solar.
Stephen Long of The Nature Conservancy, an organization that supports both forest conservation and solar development, agrees that the state should stop converting forestland to solar. “There are buildings, there are parking lots, there are already disturbed lands, for efficient placement of solar. Definitively,” he said. Long is also serving on the state commission.
Long points to the MassAudubon report, which shows that 30 gigawatts of solar could fit on the state’s rooftops and parking lots with another 25 gigawatts on sites with low impact to nature and farms. State analyses have shown similar results, challenging prior claims that the built environment can’t accommodate enough solar to meet the state’s needs.
The state’s green spaces — including forests, wetlands, farmland, and park land — store more than 0.6 gigatons of carbon, or the last 25 years of the state’s greenhouse gas emissions, according to the state’s Clean Energy and Climate Plan. Each year, such lands also absorb 10% of the state’s new emissions, with forests alone responsible for 80% of that total.
Solar companies have been quick to point out that in terms of carbon, solar arrays provide better results than forests. “An acre of solar offsets about eight times more carbon per year than forest,” said Rayo Bhumgara of New York-based Syncarpha Community Solar, which operates ground-mounted solar arrays in Belchertown.
A calculator developed by Harvard Forest shows that after about eight years, solar panels “pay back” the carbon stored in the forest, then providing some 20 years of net emissions reduction.
However, forests provide far more than carbon sequestration, conservationists point out. Especially in their healthiest, unfragmented state, they provide ecosystem services from biodiversity to drinking water filtration to soil stability to clean air, as well as natural beauty.
“Some people are looking at a ledger of carbon. We’re encouraging people to look at a broader view,” Long says. “Forests aren’t just carbon. Forests have many, many more values than just carbon.”
This summer, in part to aid in protecting sensitive lands, a state analysis mapped out Massachusetts’ best sites for solar. The Technical Potential of Solar report, produced by Synapse Energy Economics, Inc. for the state’s Department of Energy Resources, relies in part on the state’s Biomap tool.
Biomap identifies sites of higher and lower ecological value. The tool classifies most of Shutesbury’s forest as either Core Habitat or Critical Natural Landscape, the two classifications of greatest ecological importance.
Despite the forest’s high value, however, the Technical Potential of Solar interactive map labels most of Shutesbury “mixed” in suitability for solar development. It gives the region a “C” grade for suitability in the categories of biodiversity and carbon sequestration. However, it’s marked grade “A” in categories like proximity to electric infrastructure, slope, agricultural potential, and “ecosystem services,” a category including drinking water protection.
The map’s conflation of values — some directly opposed to one another, like forest biodiversity versus agricultural potential — can confuse the issue.
“The state needs to dig more into the findings,” said the Conservation Law Foundation’s Sloan. “They apply a framework that we’ve been asking them to apply for many years, which is to assess parcels of land by their suitability, and then to be able to say statewide: Which parcels are the most suitable for solar development? Which parcels should be preserved for their ecosystem value or their high quality agricultural soil value?”
Weizenbaum says her experience “has woken me up to this assault on communities by this green-energy movement, and this contradiction between giving all this money to green energy and the downside of that on a community level.”
She says she, and possibly other members of Smart Solar Shutesbury, will stay active in the state’s solar discussion even once the Shutesbury situation is settled. The group’s website provides resources about resistance to solar development elsewhere in the state, and concatenates information about state regulatory proposals for solar siting.
Right now, though, their plans are local. They next aim to fix the technicalities on which Shutesbury’s solar bylaw was overturned. Without changes to the Dover Amendment, however, blocking the installations may remain elusive.
Why forests, anyway?
Siting solar on green lands like forests isn’t just about the availability of space.
Near one of the proposed Shutesbury solar sites, power poles punctuate a forest cut. Electrical lines vanish over the hills into the distance, carrying power to consumers far beyond view.
Alongside the poles hulks one big reason for the location of the proposed solar arrays: National Grid Substation #704, an agglomeration of concrete slabs, gleaming wiring, and electrical equipment.
Solar energy is intermittent, sometimes producing power in big surges and sometimes in trickles depending on time of day or cloud cover. It can therefore blow out existing infrastructure designed for the regular, even flow of fossil-fuel electricity.
Utilities like National Grid are required to install upgrades to accommodate any solar project. However, it’s up to the solar installer to pay for the upgrade, putting a burden on smaller-scale installers like municipalities or homeowners.
“We’re making it really, really hard for smaller solar,” says state Rep. Lindsay Sabadosa. The Northampton Democrat has proposed a bill that would provide additional subsidies for solar on canopies, rooftops, and disturbed lands. “We are incentivizing the large-scale solar, which is, you know, part of the equation, but we’re making it really difficult for people to put solar on their houses. The regulations are extraordinarily onerous.”
Big corporations can more easily pay for new transformers and utility improvements. However, it’s cheaper if they build near existing large-scale infrastructure.
Such companies are often straightforward about the importance of making money. The language of the Shutesbury lawsuit, for instance, makes it clear that profit is a primary driver.
“Ground-mounted solar systems are under extreme cost pressures and must reach a certain economy of scale in order to be profitable,” the lawsuit reads. “Primarily this is due to very high interconnection costs for these projects, which typically remain constant regardless of system size. A proposed solar project needs to be large enough to spread these costs out or the project will be uneconomic.”
Why can’t for-profit solar companies bundle multiple smaller, urban projects to take advantage of economies of scale, by building arrays on multiple parking lots or rooftops?
“It’s far cheaper to install on undeveloped land that’s flat, and they have clear access,” says Claire Chang, co-owner of Greenfield Solar, a commercial small-residential installer. “A parking lot, a roof, a building, those all require more infrastructure, more materials, more skilled labor, and sometimes more permitting is required, because you’re dealing with snow and wind loads.”
For big ground-mounted systems, labor and installation range around $2 per watt of solar power, Chang said. For residential solar, costs rise to $3.50 per watt, and up to $5 per watt for a parking lot canopy. Those costs cut into profits and discourage investors.
However, cost and available space aren’t the only reasons large-scale solar on green spaces has taken such a prominent place in the state’s solar capacity.
“If the financial incentive from the SMART program were not there for this project, would the developer be interested? I believe the answer is no,” says Ludlow’s Aaron Saunders, the state representative for the 7th Hamden District who has been vocal in his opposition to the Shutesbury project since running to represent the newly created district last year. “We should not be subsidizing the clear-cutting of forest with ratepayer, taxpayer money.”
Established by the state in 2018, the SMART program pays solar projects a fixed incentive per kilowatt produced over a period of 20 years, nearly as long as the lifespan of an average solar panel. That state money, alongside federal subsidies, has allowed solar power to become as profitable as fossil fuels, encouraging investment by for-profit entities.
The program offers greater incentives for projects on the built environment and other more favorable siting, but those have not been enough to push development off green lands.
Moreover, due to a loophole in the SMART program, state incentives are available for solar development even on high biodiversity lands, as long as they are classified as community solar, the MassAudubon report notes. And now, even without the SMART program, solar is reaching a point where it may be cheaper than natural gas without subsidies in some areas, encouraging for-profit development.
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A full 12 bills now coming down the pipe address solar siting. Almost half these bills are sponsored by state lawmakers from western Massachusetts, including Saunders, Sabadosa, Sen. Jo Comerford, Rep. Natalie Blais, and Sen. Jacob Oliveira. The lawmakers note that western Mass has larger swaths of undeveloped land, making it a locus for conflict.
“We’re kind of the canary in the coal mine,” Saunders says. “We see it. It’s happening here.”
Saunders, for instance, has proposed a bill that would adjust the Dover Amendment to allow communities to restrict solar for the purposes of preserving forests, farms, or wetlands, rather than only public health as now.
Despite greater installation costs for rooftop or parking-lot solar, Chang suggests it might not cost that much more for individual ratepayers to buy the energy. The electricity goes to a lot of homes, spreading out costs. Plus, she notes, over 50% of a Massachusetts customer’s electricity bill relates to distribution and transmission, not production. Any change to production costs only affects a portion of the bill, lowering the increase overall.
“Even if the PV to install it on rooftops and parking lots were a little bit more expensive, that’s a little less than half your electric bill that might go up by a penny or two,” she says.
Still, that relative cost will climb as more and more solar gets on the grid, affecting a growing segment of an individual’s electric bill. MassAudubon’s Building Solar, Protecting Nature report acknowledges that their mid-range forest conservation plan will cost $900 million more than a business-as-usual scenario, a cost that will ultimately be borne by taxpayers and utility customers.
What about farmland?
I’m in Joe Czajkowski’s battered red pickup truck, watching muddy farm fields slip by under cloud cover as he puts his cell phone on speaker. We’re driving to the half-megawatt solar array that Hypersion Systems, LLC of Belchertown has installed on two acres of Czajkowski’s farmland.
“Can I get some carrots?” comes the voice over the phone.
“Sure, you can get some carrots,” says Czajkowski. “How many do you need?”
“Can I get 160?”
There’s a pause. Then, voice mellow and calm, Czajkowski says, “Sure, I can do that.”
“How’s your crop of brussel sprouts looking?”
“You know, fair. Not perfect. There’s some black balls on the bottom because, you know, it rained so much, but we’ll just cut ‘em higher. We’re gonna start picking maybe Thursday. Ok?”
Czajkowski farms mixed vegetables on 400 acres of farmland in Hadley and surrounding towns. When I meet him, he’s just driven up with a truckload of butternut squash. His family “has always farmed,” he tells me. “We’ve farmed here since 1916. Before that, we farmed in Europe.”
This year has been tough. He lost 60 acres of crops due to the summer’s heavy rains, and, he says, “there’s been a diminishing of crops on other acres because some stuff is spoiled.”
The solar array helps defray his costs. He receives a 17.5% monthly reduction in his electricity bill, which he says can cost him $75,000 a year for needs like refrigeration and food cutting. He also receives a lease payment from the solar company. Below the panels, he has planted broccoli, which he says did well, and he’s considering planting blueberries around the poles next year.
“Climate change is making it increasingly risky and expensive to farm,” says Caro Roszell, the soil health program manager for the American Farmland Trust. “Putting some land into dual-use solar can be one of the tools in the toolbox that farmers use to keep farming, because it provides a steady source of income.”
Like with forests, however, siting solar on farmland has remained controversial. A project proposed for 76 acres of a farm owned by the L’Etoile family in Northfield, Massachusetts, for instance, received several years of community pushback, including a legal complaint that neighbor Chris Kalinowski filed with the town. The complaint argued that the project should be prohibited based on town zoning requirements, and stated that the Planning Board “failed to adequately consider the agricultural value of the project site and long-term impacts of the loss of viable farmland.” An appeal of the complaint was dismissed this September by agreement of all parties, and the project is set to move forward.
Nathan L’Etoile, who is also the national farm viability managing director for the American Farmland Trust, will sit on the state siting commission, bringing agricultural solar interests to the table.
Many climate advocates agree that solar on farmland should be approached with caution.
Greg Garrison, the president of small installer Northeast Solar in Hatfield, grew up on a farm in Illinois, farming corn and soybeans and raising chickens.
“I think that all large scale siting for solar should be carefully thought out, and we shouldn’t be using farmland unless it’s dual use,” Garrison says. His company has installed solar power on area farms, but focuses on land not in agricultural production.
“Farmland is scarce. It’s very scarce. You have to look at the long-term resiliency of communities,” Garrison says. “Most of our most productive farmland is right along the river. There’s only so much acreage that we have. The more acreage that we give up to solar, the less we’re able to produce our own foods locally.”
Working farmland offers a training ground for younger farmers, he notes, an opportunity lost even if land is returned to agricultural use once a solar array’s 20-year lifespan expires. Moreover, even dual-use solar limits farmers to shade-tolerant crops or livestock.
The debate over farmland points to the fact that good management is crucial to improved outcomes for solar on greenlands.
Farmlands and grasslands, for instance, currently sequester much less carbon than forests. In bulk, the state’s farmlands emit more carbon than they take up, according to the Massachusetts Clean Energy and Climate Plan.
However, good management can improve that equation, notes Roszell. Grasslands tend to store less carbon than forests, but for longer periods of time, because the carbon is typically bound to minerals instead of more easily disturbed surface organics. By maintaining good vegetation cover beneath solar arrays, some carbon storage can be maintained or rebuilt.
Ground-mounted solar arrays can also become pollinator havens if managed for the right plants, says Grace Shiffrin, a master’s student at Umass Amherst who studies pollinator ecology at solar sites.
“The conversation I feel is mostly about whether we should clear forest,” Shiffrin said, “and that is a valid conversation. However, I feel like there also should be [a conversation on] what is the environment’s health after the solar facilities are built?”
Who should profit? Who should decide?
Dwayne Breger, director of the Umass Clean Energy Extension, says he started in solar in the 70’s and early 80’s, before climate change became the household word it is now.
“Back then, it was really about grassroots, and local ownership, and cut the ties, and screw capitalism, and all that. It was really the motivation of all the hippies and others trying to move this forward,” he says.
“As the market has now unveiled itself in fury, in the 2000s and 2020s and so forth, not just in Massachusetts but around the country, once again capitalism has taken over and we’ve got the big players that are just crowding out everyone else.”
Breger’s program has developed a process to help municipalities decide their own trajectory when it comes to solar in their community. The Community Planning for Solar Toolkit ideally helps towns design a proactive plan before major conflicts like the Shutesbury lawsuit erupt.
In a world where we’re radically rethinking our energy production, might it not be time to rethink who profits — and who gets to decide how renewable energy looks?
“We live in America. And so, the capitalist system has brought us to where we are today,” acknowledges Breger. “We don’t want to delay solar development. We don’t necessarily want to put the brakes on this profit-motive system that’s working fairly well in getting solar out there.”
He notes that every megawatt of solar requires about $2.5 million in capital. Without substantial state assistance, that cost can put large-scale solar projects out of reach for anyone except investor-owned financial asset firms like the ones that own PureSky.
Greenbanks, which are capital accumulation programs often spearheaded by government agencies or nonprofits, offer one option to pool financial resources to allow such larger projects, including distributed solar across community members working as a group.
Unlike fossil fuels, Breger said, solar offers the opportunity to decentralize energy production across the homes and properties of individuals and municipalities. That also spreads the wealth.
When solar is owned by big, non-local corporations, the vast bulk of the economic benefits — 85% — go to the owner, according to analyses by Breger’s team. Just 15% remain local, such as through lease payments, net metering discounts, and payments in lieu of taxes.
That disparity in wealth can lead to disparities in power.
“Companies who are trying to get the government to allow them to do something, I think historically they’ve been given, like, preferred stakeholder status,” Sloan says. “Just by the way things shake out, agencies, regulators think a lot about how to solve for their problems.”
Underserved communities, like those with less wealth or affected by historical injustices like racism, should be at the forefront of our thoughts when considering solar siting, Sloan notes.
Changes to several state regulations and programs could improve the ability of individuals to take advantage of solar and its economic benefits, including in low-income communities.
First among these are net-metering regulations, or how much compensation residential owners get when their solar arrays produce more energy than they use.
Right now, homeowners are only compensated up to 15 kilowatts. Utilities receive any remaining energy for free, which returns to the grid for other customers to use. That limit decreases the financial ability and incentive for residents to put larger arrays on their roofs, which in turn shrinks the state’s solar capacity.
Valessa Souter-Kline, the Northeast regional director for the Solar Energy Industries Association, said in a statement that updating the net-metering rules could help “jumpstart” what she called Massachusetts’ “stalled” residential solar economy.
A state bill passed in 2022 would increase net-metering benefits to 25 kilowatts; however, the bill has not yet been promulgated or enacted. The bill must still go through several state agencies and public comment before it can be signed into law. It could take another year before benefits are available, Chang said.
Chang also points to the now-expired state solar loan program, which used to provide 30% loan support to applicants with no tax liability, like low-income residents, non-profits, or cities. That support helped defray the cost of installing solar, especially since solar energy’s financial benefits take time to accrue.
“I want the governor and the legislature to look at refunding the solar loan program, and increase that loan support from 30% to 100% for low-income communities, so that there is a means for truly low-income folks to participate,” says Chang. “If they have a great roof to put solar on, they should be able to take advantage of that.”
The new state commission — with the participation of Sloan, environmental justice organizations including Springfield’s Arise for Social Justice, and members like Amy Stitely, chief of programs for the Executive Office of Housing and Livable Communities — is likely to look into these environmental equity issues. The commission, however, also includes representatives who may have competing concerns, ranging from state agencies and municipalities to utilities, clean energy industries, and builders.
Meeting responsibilities
“A community should be able to make some kind of statement about what they want their community to be like,” says Patrick Donnelly, the Great Basin director at the Center for Biological Diversity based in Tucson, Arizona.
Despite supporting solar power generally, Donnelly has been active in resisting large-scale renewable projects on sensitive desert lands in the West. Out of about 150 projects, he notes, his team has fought only about a half-dozen on ecosystems identified as most important.
Donnelly points out that zoning ideally offers a method for communities to plan how development for decarbonization should look. Yet Illinois has a state override of local restrictions for solar and Michigan passed similar legislation this fall.
“Many of these communities are trying to enforce limits on solar and those things are being ruled unconstitutional on the state level,” he continued. “To what extent should communities be able to control their own environment?”
Donnelly emphasizes that insufficient planning to decarbonize the economy exists on the national or state level. In relying on free-market forces to fix the problem, he said, “we’re really gambling here” that a suitable solution can be found without threatening other important values.
“Is this just enabling the growth machine to continue growing and consuming,” he asked, “rather than turning us to a greener way of life?”
With the price of solar plummeting and different levels of government becoming more interested in incentivizing it, siting policy has become the latest locus of experimentation in making necessary changes to the process of energy production while still ensuring that private profit can be derived from it.
Massachusetts may be able to take a page from other playbooks. In Australia, permitting for residential solar takes only a day compared to up to six months in the United States, writes Saul Griffith, author of Electrify: An Optimist’s Playbook for Our Clean Energy Future — a major hurdle for residential uptake of the technology and its benefits. Furthermore, regulations including permitting and tariffs lead to rooftop solar costing twice as much in the United States as overseas, argued OpenSolar CEO Andrew Birch in 2018.
“The policy prescriptions for the United States are straightforward,” Griffith writes: “simplify regulations and promote fair access to the grid, allowing every generator, big or small, to connect as equals and supply electricity and battery storage without burdensome connection rules.”
Can a set of policies be written that will “jumpstart” the currently slow residential, municipal, and small-scale commercial solar economy and allow it to thrive? That will keep Weizenbaum’s forest pristine? That will allow Joe Czajkowski’s farm to weather difficult seasons? And that will keep incentive burdens on the state light enough that nobody eventually scratches their head and asks, “Should the state itself just build this?”
Only time will tell.
In the meantime, Massachusetts consumes 17 times more energy than it produces, according to the U.S. Energy Information Administration. Overall, New England relies on natural gas for 52% of its electricity, according to 2022 ISO New England data, with Massachusetts alone accounting for about half of that usage.
Solar versus green land therefore isn’t the only relevant comparison, points out Roszell.
“We should compare solar here in Massachusetts to electricity generated from burning natural gas derived from fracking in Appalachia, which is an environmental disaster that provides a large portion of the energy we consume here in Massachusetts,” she says.
“Because we can’t see the fracking happening in Appalachia from here, it’s too easy to ignore it, but I think we ought to include it in our thoughts when we consider the impact of scaling up solar here in Massachusetts.”
Naila Moreira is a science writing specialist at Smith College, where she directs the Journalism Concentration.
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