Recognizing nuclear as renewable, and saving Diablo Canyon, would

In the words of Michael Shellenberger: “Recognizing nuclear as renewable, and saving Diablo Canyon, would be a bold move for Governor Newsom. It would upset his traditional anti-nuclear environmental allies.” These words speak of courage, of the tension between loyalty to long-held allies and loyalty to truth. They remind us that leadership is not the art of pleasing the crowd, but of discerning the higher path—even when it defies expectation and provokes anger. To call nuclear energy renewable is to challenge decades of orthodoxy, and to preserve Diablo Canyon is to stand against those who see its closure as a victory, not a loss.

The ancients understood that boldness often isolates the leader. Pericles of Athens chose to fortify his city and pursue empire, even though many decried his vision. Marcus Aurelius upheld reason in the face of superstition. So too would Newsom, if he chose to save Diablo Canyon, stand against the voices of tradition. His allies may scorn him, but history does not honor the one who bows to every wind; it honors the one who dares to plant his feet when the storm rages.

For the truth is this: nuclear energy, though feared, is a source more constant and less destructive than the burning of coal and gas. Its power is dense, its footprint small, its reliability unmatched by the fickleness of sun and wind. To call it renewable is not deception but recognition that the atom, like the sun itself, offers humanity a fire that can endure for generations. And yet fear—of radiation, of waste, of accidents long past—has painted it as unclean. To challenge that fear requires not only reason, but bravery.

Consider the story of France in the 1970s. In the wake of the oil crisis, France embraced nuclear power, building dozens of reactors and securing energy independence while reducing carbon emissions. The decision was controversial, resisted by many, yet it gave France one of the cleanest and most stable grids in the world. In contrast, Germany turned away from nuclear after Fukushima, choosing instead to burn more coal and import more gas. The lesson is clear: fear-driven choices may please in the moment, but they often betray the earth in the long run.

Diablo Canyon, perched on California’s coast, is the last nuclear power plant in the state, providing vast amounts of clean electricity. To close it, as many wish, would mean burning more fossil fuels and increasing emissions in the name of purity. This is the paradox Shellenberger unveils: that those who call themselves defenders of the environment may, by clinging to old hatreds, deepen the wounds of the earth. To save Diablo Canyon would indeed upset environmental allies, but it would also save untold tons of carbon from entering the sky.

The deeper meaning of the quote is that true leadership demands sacrifice: the sacrifice of popularity, of alliances, even of comfort. To do what is right is often to stand alone. Shellenberger calls upon Newsom to rise above the chorus of tradition and to see the larger horizon, where the fight against climate change demands not symbolic gestures but enduring solutions. To preserve nuclear power is not betrayal of the earth, but fidelity to it.

So let this teaching endure: when faced with the choice between loyalty to allies and loyalty to truth, choose truth. In your own life, do not cling to the familiar simply because it is cherished by those around you. Examine it. Question it. And if it proves false, have the courage to stand against it, even at the cost of scorn. For as Shellenberger reminds us, the path of progress is rarely the path of comfort, and the bold are remembered not for pleasing their friends, but for preserving the future.