Even Norway is facing an energy crunch. It is hunting for solutions.
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Mark Sappenfield Senior global correspondent
| Oslo and Skein, Norway
Somewhere between Porsgrunn harbor and the wooded uplands of Lannerheia lurks a problem Norway can no longer avoid.
Porsgrunn is the Norway no tourist guide ever shows. Yes, there is a fjord with its shining blue waters. But there are also smokestacks and men in neon jumpsuits milling among the clank and crash of industry as wisps of smoke and vapor drift overhead.
This is Norway鈥檚 industrial heartland, and these businesses came here for one big reason: cheap energy. For generations, they have sipped from what appeared to be a bottomless well. Norway had more clean hydropower than it knew what to do with. Residents benefited with some of the lowest energy prices in Europe. So did businesses. So more came.
Why We Wrote This
Norway鈥檚 money and hydropower have insulated it from the world鈥檚 energy pressures 鈥� until now. The way it solves these challenges could set a global example.
Now, a few miles up the river, Google is building a $700 million data center outside the city of Skien. The amount of energy needed to cool its high-performance servers will be immense. One media report raves: 鈥淭his decision highlights Norway鈥檚 growing attractiveness as a hub for data centers, driven by its robust infrastructure and abundant renewable energy resources.鈥�
The problem is, those abundant renewable energy resources don鈥檛 feel all that abundant anymore. Norway鈥檚 growing thirst for energy has tipped it from huge surpluses to growing deficits. There are no more hydropower sources left. Many experts suggest wind power is the best solution 鈥� with one proposed project above Porsgrunn in Lannerheia. But those efforts have been shut down by voters, deeply unpopular.聽
Norway has long had an enviable way out of tough problems: money. Lots of it. After the discovery of huge reserves of oil and gas under the North Sea in the 1970s, the government created what is now the world鈥檚 largest sovereign wealth fund, valued at $2.2 trillion, or about $390,000 for each Norwegian citizen.
The money has kick-started the world鈥檚 most successful transition to electric vehicles, for instance, with EVs now accounting for 98% of new car sales.聽
But there is a growing recognition that the country cannot buy itself out of the wrenching choices ahead, many of which the rest of the world has faced for decades. How Norway responds will be a test of whether it can keep to its pioneering course on clean energy. But it is also a test of Norway鈥檚 collective spirit. With the discovery of oil, the country took steps to make sure the energy benefited everyone. Today, the question is whether the country can move beyond rising political divisions to use its wealth not as a way to sidestep hard choices, but as a tool to incubate new solutions 鈥� for Norway, and for the rest of the world.聽
An EV transformation聽
If any country can figure this out, it might be Norway. And the way to a solution might look a lot like Erik Telle.聽
Bald, obliging, and on his way to training classes for his Irish setter, Mr. Telle is more the portrait of avuncular Norwegian affability than a would-be climate warrior. But sitting at a Circle K convenience store as the traffic of a nearby Oslo highway roars past, he admits he has shocked even himself.
He has bought an electric car.
As he talks, his voice is still tinged with shades of doubt and regret. The affection for his old diesel Volvo is apparent in the crinkled eyes that brighten when he mentions it. He says he cried when he sold it a week before 鈥� joking, but wistfully.
鈥淒o I really want to do this?鈥� he remembers thinking.
But in the end, there was no real reason not to. Electric cars are cheaper than gasoline-fueled cars in Norway. Charging stations are everywhere; a map on the dashboard display of his new electric 艩koda shows more than a dozen nearby. And, perhaps most important, 鈥淚 have been bullied by my daughter and son-in-law,鈥� he grins. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e on their second EV.鈥�
Norway鈥檚 oil wealth was crucial to the first steps of this EV transformation. Electric cars were exempt from import taxes and value-added taxes, and drivers could pay reduced tolls 鈥� a significant dent to revenue that the Norwegian government knew it could swallow to make the cars more affordable. When drivers complained of a lack of charging stations, the government stepped in to fund a starter network of charging points between and within Norway鈥檚 biggest cities.
The investments quickly started creating their own momentum.
As the roads filled with more electric cars, companies jumped in to fill the charging gap. 鈥淎fter 2015, almost all the fast-charging stations have been commercially funded,鈥� says Unni Berge, a spokesperson for the Norwegian EV Association. 鈥淲e created the market for the companies.鈥�
Norwegian auto buyers also began to see the economic logic.聽
As Dag Arne Ribe pauses to charge his vehicle at the Circle K along the E6 highway in Oslo, he notes that a Tesla in Norway is far less expensive than a Volkswagen or an Audi.聽
鈥淢ost people were negative in the beginning, but now, it鈥檚 shifting,鈥� he adds, standing among more than 30 fast chargers at the Circle K, with another six visible about 100 yards away in a McDonald鈥檚 parking lot. 鈥淭here鈥檚 not a single argument that you鈥檇 rather have a fossil-fuel car than an electric.鈥�
The Norwegian energy example
This is one key reason Norway鈥檚 energy experiment matters to the rest of the world.
When countries take the right steps, many experts say, more people choose sustainable options 鈥� not for moral reasons, but because they make economic sense.
鈥淭he most striking thing about Norway鈥檚 energy transition is how unremarkable it feels to the people living through it,鈥� says Jan Rosenow, leader of the Energy Program at Oxford University鈥檚 Environmental Change Institute, in an email interview. 鈥淣orwegians didn鈥檛 transition out of climate conviction, they transitioned because the math worked, and that quiet normality is precisely what makes it interesting.鈥�
When it comes to growing energy shortages, however, the math is definitely not working.
Marius Roheim Aarvold knows that perhaps better than anyone. As mayor of Skien, he appears trapped.
On one side are businesses, who leave no doubt about the top item on their agenda: energy.
鈥淚t鈥檚 the hottest topic,鈥� he says. 鈥淚ndustry is getting louder and louder about the need for more power.鈥�
On the other are voters who do not want wind turbines 鈥� the option Mayor Aarvold sees as the most practical solution.
Sitting beside him in Skien鈥檚 city hall is Stein Birger Johnsen, the city鈥檚 business manager. While Mayor Aarvold fits the image of a next-gen politician with his blue suit and neatly trimmed beard, Mr. Johnsen is the consummate technocrat, bespectacled and businesslike, always searching for solutions, at times waxing philosophical about society鈥檚 ability to evolve.聽
Skien鈥檚 next evolution includes new industries such as data centers, he says. Until recently, Norway had no hyperscale data centers. The one under construction nearby is Google鈥檚 first in the country.
鈥淲e need to have new ways of working,鈥� Mr. Johnsen says. 鈥淲e need data centers to set new goals.鈥�
That means more energy. 鈥淲e have the same amount of electricity鈥� as a decade ago, he adds. 鈥淚f we want to produce more, we need to use nature.鈥�
In some ways, Norway would appear the perfect place for wind development. A United Nations Population Division study found that only 0.7% of its land is urbanized, the lowest share in Europe apart from Iceland. From fjords to farms, forests roll over the rumpled coastal landscape south of Oslo, the deep green of pines peppered with the spring green of budding birches.聽
Many Norwegians argue that such undisturbed landscapes are not an economic opportunity, but a sacred trust. A study released last year shows that only 37% of Norwegians support wind power. When it comes to wind projects near one鈥檚 own home, support drops to 27%.
Voters worry that 鈥渨e are taking away the nature, taking away the look when you are on the mountain,鈥� Mayor Aarvold says.聽
Building the political unity to make such a controversial decision seems impossible today. But a decade ago, the country did something similar. Its EV revolution began with the 2015 National Transport Plan. Its goal: 100% of new passenger car sales would be zero emission by 2025.
There was support from all political parties, says Bendik聽Nybakk Tors忙ter, an EV expert at SINTEF, an independent research organization based in Trondheim, Norway. 鈥淎ll decided that this was a goal no one should move.鈥�
But the global forces of polarization have hit Norway, too, he says. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think you would get that through at the same level today.鈥�
Industries in Porsgrunn see the same shift.
Thirty years ago, 鈥渨hen labor unions would say, 鈥楾hese are our concerns,鈥� society would respect that. Now, everything is subject to a point of view,鈥� says 脜dne Naper, a project leader for Powered by Telemark, a collection of companies in Telemark County, which surrounds Porsgrunn.聽
He worries that the ability to find common ground is disappearing. 鈥淚t doesn鈥檛 matter what industry says or what the experts say, if you disagree with someone, or don鈥檛 like what they are saying, then they must be corrupted or just don鈥檛 know anything.鈥�
The Porsgrunn harbor at the head of Frierfjord could be a scene from Rust Belt America or the English Midlands. Cranes spread their rusting arms over the still harbor with timeworn warehouses, their brick shoulders hunched against the indignity of broken windows.
Yet cheap power has kept many industries alive here. In the near distance, the smokestacks and oil drums of Her酶ya Industrial Park rise above rooftops in stubborn protest. Its parking lot is full, its factories abuzz with activity. This is home to more than one-third of the 10,000 industrial jobs across Telemark, estimates Mr. Naper, suggesting that is no small number for a county of 178,000 people.
But without more energy to keep power cheap, Mr. Naper says, the equation collapses. The situation in Skien 鈥� adding a data center but no energy generation 鈥� 鈥渞eally sums up the paradoxical nature of the energy debate,鈥� he says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 been catastrophic because Skien is so typical of ways to respond.鈥�
Climbing from the five fountains of its hilly harbor, Skien is a collection of shops and tree-lined squares that lose no opportunity to pay homage to the city鈥檚 favorite son, playwright Henrik Ibsen, whose image is everywhere. The residents milling about decline to share their opinions about wind power 鈥� except Sonja Thorsen. Basking in the late spring sunshine at a caf茅 not far from city hall, she says she鈥檚 open to the idea. She even considers the windmills pleasant to look at, like little flowers on the hillsides.
But after the last local elections in 2023, Mr. Aarvold needed to make a deal. To build a governing coalition, he had to agree to put any proposed wind-power studies in the area on hold for four years.
Part of the problem, experts say, is that Norway鈥檚 oil wealth has spared voters from feeling the financial pinch of the growing competition for energy. A new scheme called 鈥淣orway鈥檚 Price鈥� locks in homeowners鈥� energy costs at 50 Norwegian cents per kilowatt-hour 鈥� about five American pennies. American consumers are paying about 17 U.S. cents per kilowatt-hour. In Germany, some customers are paying more than 40.
But that means voters are being insulated from making tough choices.聽
One of the most obvious ways to cut into the new power deficit would be to address energy efficiency, where Norway lags. But 鈥淣orway鈥檚 Price鈥� also creates a disincentive. The price of energy for homeowners will be the same whether they do something or not.
鈥淓nergy efficiency is an example of where Norway is not聽so good,鈥� says Sverre Alvik, an energy expert at DNV, a risk-management consulting firm near Oslo. Norway鈥檚 鈥渇ortune is disabling our ability to prioritize. It鈥檚 a challenge that we think this fortune can and should save us from everything else. We鈥檙e not willing to sacrifice.鈥�
Above the fjords in the hills of Lannerheia, Eivind Funnemark sees the situation differently. As an organizer for Motvind, an anti-wind power advocacy group, he knows business leaders and politicians see him as an impediment. But he sees himself as a caretaker of the Norwegian spirit.
鈥淭hey say we say 鈥榥o鈥� to everything, but [what they want to do] is not good for society,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e should live our values in a different way.鈥�
Mr. Funnemark鈥檚 grandfather built the family鈥檚 summer farm in the hills above Porsgrunn in 1924, laying down a log to mark the property line. It is still there today, weathered and mossy amid constellations of wood anemone and bare blueberry bushes eager for summer. Today, it marks the line between his property and the proposed wind park with its 800-foot-tall windmills.
He knows what the businesses are saying. He doesn鈥檛 agree with much of it, seeing windmills as a dangerous blight and data centers as having dubious economic value. But in any case, he asks, wouldn鈥檛 it be wise for Norway to put its money into promoting energy efficiency first instead of rushing to mar pristine forests? One SINTEF report suggests that, in a best-case scenario, Norway could save 42 terawatt hours between now and 2050 through efficiency alone 鈥� the equivalent of thousands of windmills.
As he walks through the area for the planned wind park, Mr. Funnemark is part determined activist, part David Attenborough. Through squelching bogs and along deer paths, past breeding grounds for wood grouse and stands of ancient oak half a millennium old, he ends at his tidy red cabin, where the water welling up from a nearby spring is so crisp and clear you can drink it by the ladle.
His fight is not just for his cabin, he says, but for countless areas like this across Norway 鈥� for Norway itself. 鈥淭his is how things look when you haven鈥檛 been there with humans.鈥�
Wind companies are trying to address those concerns. One of the reasons the site by Mr. Funnemark鈥檚 cabin is so appealing to them is that some of it is already being used as a rock-and-gravel dump for a nearby highway project. There鈥檚 also a small shooting range nearby, with the pops of rifles distantly audible from Mr. Funnemark鈥檚 cabin.
鈥淭he proximity to existing infrastructure means that the project can be realized with relatively small interventions,鈥� the project website says.
Mr. Funnemark disagrees, and voters across Norway seem to be siding with him. Since the federal government gave localities veto power over wind projects in 2021, development has stalled.
Nordic-style solutions
At least part of the solution might be up the coast in Oslo. There, data centers are being used as energy sources themselves.聽
In an unassuming building clad in dark pine, Ulven Energy Central uses four heat pumps and a steady stream of near-boiling water from the data center next door to heat surrounding neighborhoods. Water enters the data center at 120 degrees Fahrenheit and comes out at over 175 degrees. That makes it ideal for the local district heating system, which uses water heated at a central location for buildings in the area.
While many cities use some form of excess heat 鈥� like waste incineration 鈥� for district heat, data centers offer a relatively new option that could spread, says Truls Erling Aas Jemtland, a spokesperson for Hafslund Celsio, the renewable energy company that runs the facility. In Hamina, Finland, for example, a Google data center is expected to provide 80% of the city鈥檚 heating needs.
That would be impossible in Skien, with the data center located in a relatively rural area. But one idea is to build what Mr. Johnsen, the business manager, says would be the biggest greenhouse in the world, with the data center鈥檚 heat just the right temperature for growing tomatoes.聽
As former mayor of Skien, Hedda Foss Five has her own idea. She wants to get all the stakeholders in the community together and tour the wind parks to help address questions. 鈥淚鈥檒l put them on a bus where they can鈥檛 get out,鈥� she grins mischievously.
She understands the concerns around the issue. 鈥淧eople in Norway, we love nature. It鈥檚 the Norwegian soul, in a way.鈥�
But as managing director of the local Grenland Business Association, she thinks there must be a way forward, both by looking back and looking ahead.
鈥淧eople are afraid of what this is going to do to our nature. But we see that the industrial tradition in Telemark has always been to use nature,鈥� she says, referring to hydropower. 鈥淭he industrial culture is so natural to us. It鈥檚 part of who we are. This is what Norway was before the oil.鈥�
Perhaps Norway can recover that sense of finding solutions together, she says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e trying to get the political climate a little more positive.鈥澛�
