Washington eliminated the federal EV tax credit. California didn't waste much time replacing it.

Earlier this month, Gov. Gavin Newsom launched MyFirstEV, a new state program offering first-time zero-emission vehicle buyers $3,500 off a new vehicle or $1,750 off a used one, right at the point of sale.

Instead, somebody with no intention of buying an EV is helping pay for someone who does. And MyFirstEV doesn't even reserve that help for people who couldn't otherwise afford the car.

And Californians apparently noticed. Tesla's allocation of MyFirstEV money was exhausted almost immediately. According to Tesla, buyers had to place their orders between August 3 and August 7 to qualify, and the company now says its allocated funds have been depleted.

California split

The federal government spent years offering buyers a tax credit of up to $7,500 to encourage electric vehicle adoption. Congress eliminated the credit, ending it for vehicles acquired after September 30, 2025. California's response was essentially to build its own version.

The state has committed $135.5 million to MyFirstEV, with participating automakers matching California's contribution dollar for dollar. That creates a combined $271 million for first-time zero-emission vehicle buyers. On a new vehicle, California puts up $1,750 and the manufacturer contributes another $1,750. Used vehicles can receive $1,750, also split between the state and participating manufacturer.

Automaker participation is voluntary, but it's telling that manufacturers are willing to put up their own money to keep these incentives alive.

They have plenty invested in the EV transition. Automakers spent billions on battery plants, retooled production lines and new electric models in anticipation of a rapid shift toward EVs. Consumers haven't always moved as quickly as government planners and automakers expected. Now Washington has removed one of the financial incentives supporting that transition, while California is putting another one in its place.

Steven Gottlieb/Bloomberg/Getty Images

No cap

The rules get more interesting the closer you look.

MyFirstEV is limited to Californians buying or leasing their first zero-emission vehicle. If you already bought an EV, installed a Level 2 charger in your garage, loved the experience, and now want another one, you don't qualify.

But someone buying his first EV can qualify regardless of income.

New vehicles generally must have an MSRP of $50,000 or less, while used vehicles must sell for $25,000 or less through participating manufacturers' pre-owned programs. But CalMatters reports that automakers headquartered in California aren't subject to the same vehicle price cap.

So California has created an EV subsidy with rules that can favor California-based manufacturers.

Why subsidize?

And Sacramento isn't stopping with vehicle rebates. On August 18, Newsom announced another $95.2 million for electric charging and hydrogen-fueling infrastructure as California continues its push toward zero-emission transportation.

Which leaves me with a pretty basic question: If EVs are ready to compete on their own merits, why do taxpayers still need to subsidize their purchase?

I'm not anti-EV. If an electric vehicle fits your life, buy one. They're quiet, quick, increasingly capable, and inexpensive to operate in the right circumstances. If you want a hybrid, buy that. If a gasoline pickup works best for your family or business, buy that instead.

Give consumers choices and let them decide.

Instead, somebody with no intention of buying an EV is helping pay for someone who does. And MyFirstEV doesn't even reserve that help for people who couldn't otherwise afford the car.

Supporters can point to Tesla's experience and say the program is working. Buyers moved quickly enough to exhaust the company's allocation within days.

But I'd ask the obvious question: If buyers were lining up quickly enough to burn through the money in five days, why did they need the subsidy?

California has answered Washington's retreat from EV subsidies by spending state money to keep them going. Californians can decide whether that's what they want their government doing.

The federal EV subsidy may be gone, but in California, taxpayers are still picking up the tab.

The diesel Chevy Suburban makes too much sense to be this hard to find

My daughter recently went shopping for something that shouldn't have been particularly exotic: a big American SUV with three rows, room for a growing family, and a diesel engine.

She had been driving a Ford Expedition but wasn't happy with the fuel economy or some of the problems she had experienced. Her husband drives a diesel Ram, so she already understood the advantages of diesel torque and range. With two children and hopes for more, she still wanted the space of a true full-size SUV.

Our dealer told us that used diesel Suburbans don't tend to sit around for long. A quick look at owner forums suggests our experience wasn't unique.

A diesel Chevrolet Suburban seemed like the obvious answer.

Then she tried to find one.

Our local dealer didn't have one. Other dealers didn't seem to have them either. Rather than settle for what she could find on a lot, she ordered exactly what she wanted: a Suburban RST with GM's 3.0-liter Duramax turbo-diesel.

After driving it, I understand why people who own these things don't seem eager to give them up.

Econo-size

The Duramax produces 305 horsepower and 495 lb-ft of torque. Chevrolet rates the diesel Suburban at up to 21 mpg city and 26 highway, with as much as 728 miles of EPA-estimated highway range on a tank. My daughter's real-world experience has been about 24 mpg combined.

Think about that for a moment. This is a Suburban.

It's a huge, three-row, body-on-frame SUV capable of hauling a large family and all their stuff, yet she is seeing fuel economy that wouldn't have seemed unusual in a much smaller crossover not long ago.

Her RST came in at about $83,000 after options, and three months later she loves it. So does her husband, who keeps finding reasons to drive it.

The experience got me wondering why there aren't more vehicles like it.

Look around the full-size SUV market in 2026, and you'll find plenty of powerful engines. Ford's Expedition offers a twin-turbocharged 3.5-liter gasoline V6 making as much as 440 horsepower and 510 lb-ft of torque. Jeep's Grand Wagoneer uses a 3.0-liter twin-turbo gasoline inline-six producing 420 horsepower and 468 lb-ft.

What you mostly won't find is diesel.

General Motors is the notable exception. Chevrolet offers the Duramax in the Tahoe and Suburban, while GMC offers the same basic diesel powertrain in the Yukon and Yukon XL. Ford doesn't offer a diesel Expedition. Jeep doesn't offer one in the Grand Wagoneer.

Missing in action

That's strange because diesel makes an enormous amount of sense in exactly this kind of vehicle.

You don't buy a Suburban because you're looking for sports-car acceleration. You buy it because you need space, range, towing capability and the ability to move a lot of people and equipment without stopping constantly for fuel. Diesel's low-end torque and efficiency are particularly well suited to that job.

The numbers bear that out. Ford rates most four-wheel-drive Expeditions at 15 mpg city and 22 highway. Chevrolet's diesel Suburban can reach 21/26, depending on configuration.

Yet try finding one.

Our dealer told us that used diesel Suburbans don't tend to sit around for long. A quick look at owner forums suggests our experience wasn't unique. Buyers describe searching across multiple states, waiting months for orders, or traveling hundreds of miles when the diesel configuration they wanted finally appeared.

New ones haven't always been easy to find, either. For 2026, GM placed significant production constraints on the 3.0-liter Duramax used in the Tahoe and Suburban. According to GM Authority, the diesel was temporarily unavailable on LT and High Country trims, while RST, Z71 and Premier production was limited to 20% of planned volume.

Andy Cross/Getty Images

Right for the job

What's striking is that the Duramax makes such a compelling case for itself in a vehicle this large. Diesel Suburbans have offered dramatically better fuel economy than their V8 counterparts since the current generation arrived, while delivering the low-end torque that suits a big, heavy SUV.

I understand why owners might be reluctant to give them up.

I have my own version of this problem. I own a low-mileage 2016 Porsche Cayenne diesel that I custom-ordered. People regularly ask me to sell it.

I'm not selling it.

There was a period when American buyers could choose diesel versions of all kinds of SUVs and luxury vehicles. Many disappeared as emissions regulations tightened, Volkswagen's Dieselgate scandal poisoned the technology's reputation, and manufacturers shifted their investment toward electric vehicles and hybrids.

Still good

But the Suburban is a reminder that diesel didn't suddenly stop being good at what diesel engines do.

In a large, heavy vehicle that may carry a family, tow a trailer, and travel hundreds of highway miles at a time, the basic proposition remains compelling: lots of torque, long range, and surprisingly good fuel economy.

This isn't an argument that everyone should buy a diesel. Plenty of buyers will prefer gasoline engines, hybrids, or EVs, and they should buy whatever works best for them.

But my daughter's experience raises a different question.

If a diesel powertrain works this well in a vehicle as big as a Suburban — and buyers are apparently willing to search for one when dealers don't have them — why have so many manufacturers abandoned the choice?

The auto industry spends an enormous amount of time predicting what consumers will want next.

Sometimes it might be worth paying attention to what they're already trying to buy.

Your keyless car is broadcasting the signal thieves need to steal it — here's how to protect yourself

On a recent episode of "The Drive," my co-host, Karl Brauer, mentioned taking his 2018 Dodge Demon to the dealership and having his car's key-programming system permanently locked down. The trade-off was significant: If Karl lost his keys, the dealer couldn't simply program him another one. The car's Radio Frequency Hub would have to be replaced before new keys could be programmed.

Why would anyone deliberately make his own car that inconvenient?

Fortunately, one of the easiest precautions against relay theft specifically is remarkably low-tech.

Because Karl was worried somebody else might make a key first.

Fob job

Challengers and Chargers, particularly high-performance models such as the Hellcat and Demon, had become notorious theft targets after criminals discovered they could exploit the same electronic system dealers used to program replacement keys. After getting into the vehicle, thieves could access the RF Hub and program their own fob. The car would then recognize the thief's new key as legitimate.

Karl's solution turned out to anticipate Dodge's own. The company later introduced Key Programming Lockdown, which permanently disabled new key programming through the RF Hub. Dodge acknowledged the inconvenience: If an owner lost all existing keys, the RF Hub itself would have to be replaced.

While Dodge addressed this particular vulnerability, that was only one way thieves were learning to defeat modern vehicle security. Other attacks don't require programming a new key at all.

Relay race

Take the proximity key. You keep the fob in your pocket, walk up to the vehicle, open the door, and press a button to start. It works because the key and vehicle communicate wirelessly — and thieves have learned how to exploit that communication too.

One increasingly common method is known as a relay attack. Using electronic equipment, thieves can capture or extend the signal from a legitimate key fob inside a house to a vehicle parked outside. The car thinks the key is nearby, allowing the thief to unlock it, start it, and drive away.

This isn't the old image of somebody smashing a window and hot-wiring an ignition. As vehicles have become more technologically sophisticated, so have the people stealing them.

Bluetooth blues

And new vulnerabilities continue to emerge. In July 2026, University of California San Diego researchers disclosed a Bluetooth flaw affecting dealer-installed KARR/SWDS anti-theft systems in at least 2.2 million vehicles. Researchers found that a nearby attacker could potentially exploit the system to unlock doors and interfere with the immobilizer.

These aren't all the same attack. The Dodge thieves programmed a new key. Relay thieves fool the car into believing the owner's existing key is nearby. The KARR vulnerability involved Bluetooth. But they all demonstrate the security challenge created as vehicles become increasingly dependent on wireless electronics.

Your car may recognize you automatically. Your phone can become a digital key. Doors unlock as you approach. Apps can start vehicles remotely. Each feature offers convenience, but each wireless connection also creates something manufacturers have to secure.

Jeff Greenberg/Getty Images

Low-tech fix

Fortunately, one of the easiest precautions against relay theft specifically is remarkably low-tech: Put your keys in a Faraday pouch when you're home, particularly if your vehicle sits outside. A properly functioning Faraday enclosure blocks the signal thieves are trying to relay.

Also think about where you leave your keys. Tossing them on a table beside the front door or garage can make the signal easier to reach.

I know how miserable vehicle theft can be because it happened to me.

Years ago, my modified 1985 Mustang GT was stolen. Police eventually found it stripped and burned. Then came the insurance fight, and the theft even affected my insurance afterward.

People sometimes joke that if an insured car gets stolen, it's the insurance company's problem. It isn't. You're the one filing police reports, dealing with adjusters, finding replacement transportation, and potentially watching your insurance costs rise. If the vehicle is dismantled for parts, shipped overseas, or otherwise disappears into the criminal supply chain, there's a good chance you'll never see it again.

Automakers have spent years making it unnecessary to take a key out of your pocket. Thieves have spent those same years learning how to attack the technology that replaced it.

Sometimes the smartest way to protect a $50,000 vehicle is a $20 pouch that stops your expensive technology from talking to anybody.

Washington is finally trying to shut the door on Chinese cars. Europe shows why.

For years, Western automakers looked at China and saw the world's greatest growth opportunity.

China looked back and saw something else: teachers.

Semiconductor manufacturing offers the obvious lesson. The United States is now spending enormous sums trying to re-create domestic capacity that took decades to move overseas.

American, German, and Japanese automakers wanted access to more than a billion potential customers. China frequently required foreign companies to work with local partners, manufacture inside the country, and share the knowledge that comes with doing so.

The arrangement made enormous amounts of money for Western car companies.

It also helped China learn, very quickly, how to compete with them.

Now Chinese automakers are producing increasingly sophisticated vehicles at prices Western manufacturers struggle to match, and Europe is discovering what happens when those cars arrive in large numbers.

Washington appears determined not to repeat the experiment.

Saving our spot

A bipartisan proposal called the Connected Vehicle Security Act of 2026 advanced unanimously through the Senate Commerce Committee last month. Sponsored in the Senate by Bernie Moreno of Ohio and Elissa Slotkin of Michigan, it would dramatically strengthen restrictions on Chinese vehicles and connected automotive technology entering the United States.

For once, Democrats and Republicans seem to have found something they agree on.

The obvious fear is economic. China can build some astonishingly inexpensive vehicles, particularly EVs, and Chinese manufacturers including BYD, Geely, and others are already putting tremendous pressure on established brands overseas.

But Congress isn't framing this purely as a trade dispute. Modern automobiles are packed with cameras, microphones, GPS equipment, cellular connections, driver-assistance systems, and software capable of receiving remote updates.

That means a connected car is also a data-collection device.

Fast and firewalled

The Commerce Department reached the same conclusion under the Biden administration. In January 2025, it finalized rules restricting connected-vehicle software and hardware with sufficient ties to China or Russia, citing the possibility of espionage, data collection, sabotage, and remote manipulation.

The new congressional proposal would go farther and put many of those protections into statute, making them much harder for a future administration simply to reverse.

The Senate version would restrict vehicles, software, and components associated with designated foreign adversaries. Supporters specifically argue that Chinese-connected vehicles could funnel sensitive information collected on American roads back to Beijing.

That's not a crazy concern.

A new car can know where you live, where you work, where your children go to school, which military installation you enter every morning, and exactly where the vehicle travels every day.

The debate over Chinese cars therefore isn't really just about whether Americans should be allowed to buy a cheap BYD.

It's about who controls the computers rolling around American streets.

Training our replacement?

There is an uncomfortable part of this story that Western manufacturers don't always like discussing.

China did not learn modern automobile production from scratch. Foreign automakers spent decades helping.

As auto industry commentator Michael Harley recently pointed out in a conversation with Karl Brauer and me, intellectual property is only part of what China acquired.

Manufacturing itself is knowledge.

How do you coordinate thousands of suppliers? How do parts arrive at exactly the right moment? How do you engineer a production line? How do you control tolerances, automate assembly, manage quality, and move from prototype to millions of vehicles?

American manufacturers accumulated that knowledge over more than a century.

Chinese companies were able to compress much of that learning curve into a few decades while working alongside some of the world's best automotive companies.

Western executives didn't do this because they were stupid. China was simply too attractive to ignore.

For a long time, the bargain worked.

GM sold enormous numbers of Buicks there. Volkswagen became deeply embedded in the Chinese market. Mercedes-Benz and BMW treated China as essential to future growth.

The problem is that China eventually became very good at building its own cars.

Learning the hard way

The result is now visible in Europe.

Chinese manufacturers have entered European markets aggressively, particularly with EVs. European governments have responded with tariffs and investigations, but domestic manufacturers are still confronting lower-cost competitors at the same time their Chinese sales are under pressure.

That combination is painful.

For decades, German manufacturers could use strong sales in China to support enormous operations back home.

Now they're fighting Chinese companies in China and increasingly fighting them in Europe too.

That's exactly the scenario American lawmakers want to prevent.

The United States already keeps most Chinese-made EVs out through tariffs and national-security restrictions. The new bill would make the wall substantially higher.

There are complications. Reuters reported that the legislation's ownership provisions could even affect Mercedes-Benz because Chinese investors hold nearly 20% of the German company, although lawmakers may revise the language before final passage.

That illustrates how deeply Chinese capital and technology are already woven into the global car business. Untangling it will not be simple.

CFOTO/Getty Images

Expensive at any price

Consumers understandably care about price.

If somebody offers an attractive electric SUV for $25,000 while a comparable American vehicle costs $40,000, telling families to spend the extra $15,000 for geopolitical reasons is a difficult sales pitch.

That's precisely what makes China such a formidable competitor.

The Chinese auto industry has enormous manufacturing scale, substantial state support, a massive domestic supply chain, and leadership in battery production.

Americans would benefit in the short term from having access to inexpensive vehicles. The question is what happens afterward.

We've seen this pattern with electronics, consumer goods, pharmaceuticals, and industrial production. Once domestic capability disappears, rebuilding it is painfully slow and enormously expensive.

Semiconductor manufacturing offers the obvious lesson. The United States is now spending enormous sums trying to re-create domestic capacity that took decades to move overseas.

Automobile manufacturing is much harder to rebuild than it is to destroy.

Playing the same game

Free trade works best when everybody is playing something resembling the same game.

China never viewed its automobile industry purely as a collection of private companies competing for customers. It treated automotive manufacturing, batteries, raw materials, and increasingly vehicle software as strategic industries.

America is finally beginning to think strategically too.

There are legitimate questions about exactly how broad the Connected Vehicle Security Act should be, how it treats foreign companies with minority Chinese ownership, and whether some restrictions will increase prices for American consumers.

Congress should work through those problems carefully. But the larger principle is sound. The United States does not need to repeat Europe's mistake simply because a $20,000 Chinese EV looks irresistible today.

Sometimes the cheapest car is not the cheapest decision.

Keep your eyes on the road — your car is watching

Automotive safety technology was supposed to help you keep your eyes on the road. Increasingly, it is keeping its eyes on you.

More new vehicles are equipped with cameras pointed directly at the driver, tracking where you look, whether your eyes are open, and whether the computer thinks you're paying enough attention. Look down at the touch screen too long and you may hear a warning. Turn your head away from the windshield and the steering wheel may vibrate.

There is a major difference between a sensor detecting that you're drifting out of your lane and a camera continuously observing your face.

This technology is no longer simply an optional gadget dreamed up by automakers. In Europe, regulators now require new vehicles to include systems capable of detecting driver distraction.

On a recent episode of "The Drive," co-host Karl Brauer and I spoke with longtime automotive journalist Michael Harley of Forbes about where this technology is heading.

The stated purpose is safety, and there are good reasons for that. But once a camera is installed inside your car, watching you every second you're behind the wheel, another question becomes unavoidable: Who else eventually gets to watch?

Stay focused

Subaru provides a good example of how quickly driver monitoring has moved into ordinary cars.

Its DriverFocus system uses a near-infrared camera aimed at the driver's eyes and head. Subaru says the system can identify signs of distraction or drowsiness and warn the driver accordingly. Because the camera is infrared, it can continue monitoring the driver even when the cabin is dark.

The intention is easy to understand. Distracted driving kills people, and so does falling asleep behind the wheel.

There is also evidence that many drivers appreciate the technology. An Insurance Institute for Highway Safety study of nearly 3,500 Subaru owners found that 87% used DriverFocus most or every time they drove, while about 70% said they would want the system on their next vehicle.

But that same research identified the downside. Drivers reported false alarms, and some said the warnings came too frequently. Annoyance was one of the main reasons owners switched the system off.

Karl and I have each experienced this ourselves in new vehicles. Modern cars increasingly offer automatic emergency braking, adaptive cruise control, lane-centering systems, and other technology specifically designed to compensate when a driver makes a mistake. Yet some of those same cars are becoming more aggressive about policing exactly where the driver is looking.

Patrick T. Fallon/Getty Images

Nanny cam

This isn't only about automakers deciding what features customers might like.

Europe is turning driver monitoring into regulation.

Under the European Union's General Safety Regulation, all newly sold vehicles have been required since July 2024 to include technology warning drivers about drowsiness. Beginning in July 2026, additional rules require advanced systems designed to detect driver distraction as well.

The EU doesn't explicitly say every manufacturer must put an infrared camera in your face. The regulation is based on what the system must accomplish rather than specifying one particular piece of hardware.

In practice, however, camera-based systems are an obvious way to meet those requirements, and they're already becoming common.

Once these systems become mandatory in a market as enormous as Europe, automakers have another incentive to design them into vehicles everywhere rather than engineer completely different cars for different countries. That's why American drivers should pay attention.

Close quarters

Here is where I become uncomfortable.

There is a major difference between a sensor detecting that you're drifting out of your lane and a camera continuously observing your face.

Michael explained just how capable these systems already are:

“They’re [infrared] cameras ... watching every single thing in real time inside the car, and it's triggering verbal, audible and/or haptic alarms," he said.

“And you cannot defeat it. Some of them you can turn off, but the second you restart the car, it starts all over again. ... It's just a memory chip ... away from being able to record the telemetry."

Today's camera may simply analyze the information inside the vehicle and generate an alert. Technologically, however, there isn't an enormous distance between a camera that sees what you're doing and a system that stores or transmits what it sees.

Modern cars are already rolling computers connected to manufacturer servers through cellular networks. Automakers have collected driving data and shared information with third parties, while insurance companies increasingly offer policies based on telematics.

Cars can already record enormous amounts of information about speed, location, braking, acceleration, and crashes. Add an interior camera, and the vehicle potentially knows not only where you went and how you drove, but what you were doing while you drove there.

Were you looking at the road or at your phone? Were you yawning? Did you appear sleepy? Who else was inside the vehicle?

Manufacturers will tell us these systems have privacy safeguards, and many of them do. But privacy policies can change. So can software, regulations, and the circumstances under which information can be demanded by law enforcement or other third parties.

The hardware remains pointed at you.

Eyes have it

This is usually how intrusive technology arrives: not through some grand announcement that everybody will now be monitored, but through a series of individually reasonable steps.

It's there to detect drowsiness. It's there to make sure you're paying attention. It's there to prevent crashes.

Each argument has merit. I don't want a sleepy driver drifting across the center line any more than anyone else does. Consumers should nevertheless ask where the boundary lies.

A seatbelt protects me without needing to know where I'm looking. An airbag doesn't watch my face. Anti-lock brakes don't care who is sitting beside me.

Driver-monitoring cameras are different because they introduce something automobiles never historically required: a machine observing the occupants of the car in real time.

Governments are now beginning to require the systems capable of doing that.

New normal

There is one more irony.

Cars are becoming more capable of assisting the driver at precisely the moment manufacturers and regulators are becoming more insistent about monitoring the human being behind the wheel.

Your vehicle can steer, brake, maintain its distance from the car ahead, and in some cases even change lanes and navigate highway interchanges. But glance away for a little too long, and the same car starts scolding you.

Maybe these systems will save lives. I hope they do.

Before Americans normalize cameras watching drivers in every new automobile, however, we deserve clear answers about what those systems collect, whether any information leaves the vehicle, how long it can be retained, and who can obtain it.

Once the camera becomes standard equipment, the question is no longer whether the car can watch you. It's who gets access to what it sees.

Lucid makes one of the best EVs in America. That may not be enough to save it.

There are plenty of reasons for an electric car company to fail.

Maybe the car is badly engineered. Maybe the range disappoints. Maybe the software is a mess. Maybe buyers simply don't like the product.

There are only so many Americans willing and able to spend close to six figures on an electric vehicle.

Lucid has a more troubling problem: It makes an excellent car.

Driver's 'Dream'

I've driven Lucids, including the spectacular Air Dream Edition, and there is very little to complain about from behind the wheel. The Air is fast, beautifully finished, extraordinarily efficient, and capable of the kind of range that makes most other electric vehicles look dated.

Yet the company behind it is once again confronting the brutal economics of building cars.

Lucid announced this week that it is embarking on what management calls an "operational reset," with plans to cut costs by roughly $1.4 billion this year. The company is reducing spending and inventory while delaying the launch of its more affordable midsize vehicles until the second half of 2027.

That delay may be the most important part of the story.

Lucid desperately needs a vehicle ordinary luxury-car buyers can afford. Instead, it remains heavily dependent on expensive models at precisely the moment the upper end of the EV market is getting harder to crack.

Pulling a Tesla?

Lucid's problem isn't really its product. That's unusual among struggling EV start-ups.

Fisker had serious product and execution problems. Other newcomers have arrived with cars that felt unfinished, badly priced, or both.

The Lucid Air is different. It demonstrated from the beginning that a start-up could challenge Tesla on efficiency, range, performance, and luxury.

But engineering a great car and building a sustainable car company are very different skills.

Lucid entered the market primarily with expensive sedans, then followed with the Gravity SUV. That gives the company impressive halo vehicles, but it limits the pool of potential customers.

There are only so many Americans willing and able to spend close to six figures on an electric vehicle.

Tesla confronted this problem years ago by moving down-market after establishing itself with expensive cars. Lucid has been trying to do something similar, but the cheaper model it needs keeps getting pushed further into the future.

Lucid now says those midsize vehicles won't arrive until the latter half of 2027.

That's a long time when you're burning cash.

Changing market

Lucid isn't dealing only with its own growing pains.

The entire electric vehicle industry has gone through a reset.

Automakers that once talked about replacing nearly their entire gasoline-powered lineups with EVs have pulled back investments, delayed factories, canceled models, and rediscovered hybrids.

The problem isn't that Americans don't buy electric cars. Millions do.

The problem is that demand never followed the straight upward line many executives and government planners assumed it would.

The affluent early adopters were relatively easy to reach. The next group of buyers is much more price-sensitive and much less willing to change how they drive simply because an automaker wants to sell them something electric.

That matters enormously for Lucid because the company remains concentrated near the expensive end of the market. At some point, you saturate the group of buyers who can afford a six-figure vehicle.

That's precisely why a $40,000 or $50,000 Lucid could be transformative — if the company can survive long enough to build one.

VIEW Press/Getty Images

No second mover

Automotive executives love saying they want to "do what Tesla did."

That is much harder than it sounds.

Tesla had something no new EV company can recreate: years in which it essentially owned the premium electric car category.

The Model S arrived before almost anybody else had a credible answer. Tesla built an enormous base of customers, developed a charging network, became a cultural phenomenon, and had Elon Musk turning every product announcement into news.

Whether you love Tesla or hate it, that position cannot simply be duplicated by making another good EV.

Today's start-ups aren't entering an empty market. They're fighting Tesla, Hyundai, Kia, BMW, Mercedes-Benz, General Motors, Ford, Rivian, and an increasingly formidable group of Chinese companies around the world.

Lucid built a technically brilliant car. It didn't build it in a vacuum.

Deep pockets

Lucid does have one enormous advantage over many failed start-ups: financial backing from Saudi Arabia's Public Investment Fund.

That support has given the company a lifeline other manufacturers could only dream of.

But outside investment doesn't repeal economics.

A manufacturer eventually has to produce cars at a sustainable cost and sell enough of them at a sustainable price. Constant infusions of capital can buy time, but time has to lead somewhere.

Lucid's current plan involves cost reductions, the Gravity SUV, a future midsize platform, autonomous-vehicle partnerships, and increased manufacturing in Saudi Arabia. Reuters reported that the company still expects those initiatives to provide a path forward, despite continued losses and weaker-than-expected deliveries.

Holding the bag

Maybe they will.

I hope so, because the automotive industry is better when companies like Lucid force everybody else to improve.

But consumers should understand the risk when buying from a young automaker.

If the company disappears, the vehicle doesn't disappear with it. You still own the car. You still need replacement parts, software support, warranty work, body panels, service technicians, and somebody maintaining all those cloud-connected features.

Fisker owners already learned what happens when the company behind a highly computerized automobile suddenly isn't there anymore.

Grind behind the glamour

For years, Silicon Valley treated automobile manufacturing as though Detroit had simply failed to understand software.

Build a better battery. Hire good programmers. Raise enough venture capital. Disrupt the dinosaurs.

The reality has turned out to be far less glamorous.

Cars require factories, suppliers, repair networks, inventories, regulatory compliance, financing, parts distribution, warranty reserves, and enormous amounts of capital long before the manufacturer knows whether buyers will show up.

Lucid has already proved it can build a remarkable automobile.

Now it has to prove something harder: that it can build a viable company around it.

Think the EV mandate is over? One state has other plans.

You probably think the EV mandate is over. That's exactly what Washington wants you to believe.

Congress celebrated. The White House touted what it called one of the largest deregulatory efforts in modern history, highlighting the repeal of federal vehicle emissions rules as the centerpiece of more than $1 trillion in projected savings. Automakers began telling investors they were pivoting back toward the vehicles customers actually want. Dealers finally saw hope after years of trying to move electric vehicles that many buyers simply didn't want.

Gas-powered vehicles continued dominating large parts of the country because they remain practical, affordable, and easy to refuel.

'Not yet'

Then I started talking to people who follow automotive policy for a living.

I kept hearing the same answer: "Not yet."

The reason is California.

While Washington rolled back federal emissions rules, California's authority to set stricter vehicle emissions standards largely survived. Seventeen states and the District of Columbia now follow California's rules, representing roughly 40% of the nation's new-vehicle market. That means one state's policies can effectively shape what automakers build for the entire country.

The fight now centers on four California Clean Air Act waivers that allow the state to enforce stricter emissions standards, including requirements that automakers sell increasing numbers of electric vehicles and meet tougher tailpipe-emissions limits. The EPA sent those waivers to Congress for review under the Congressional Review Act. California immediately sued, arguing the waivers aren't subject to congressional repeal.

Congressional Republicans disagree.

California king

They're racing to overturn the waivers before the Congressional Review Act deadline expires. If they succeed, future administrations would face a much steeper legal hurdle before restoring California's authority. If they fail, the legal framework that has allowed California to shape the national auto market could remain in place for years.

To be fair, the Trump administration fundamentally changed federal auto policy. Repealing the EPA's greenhouse gas endangerment finding removed the legal foundation for nationwide greenhouse-gas regulations, marking one of the biggest deregulatory shifts in decades.

But Washington only dismantled part of the system.

Once enough states adopt California's standards, automakers face a simple business decision. They can engineer different vehicles for different parts of the country — or build to the toughest standard and sell it everywhere. Guess which option usually wins.

Bloomberg/Getty Images

Sunk costs

Now follow the money.

Over the last decade, automakers invested hundreds of billions of dollars preparing for an electric future regulators insisted was inevitable. Battery manufacturers expanded production. Charging companies attracted billions in public and private investment. Utilities planned for rising electricity demand. Entire business models were built around the assumption that government would continue pushing rapid electrification.

When that much money depends on one regulatory direction, nobody quietly accepts a change in course.

Businesses fight to protect their investments. Lobbyists fight to preserve the policies that created them. Investors fight to protect their returns. That's not a conspiracy. It's economics.

Consumers, however, had other ideas.

Real life over regulations

Electric vehicle sales in America never matched many of the industry's most ambitious forecasts. Hybrids surged because they offered better fuel economy without requiring people to change how they live. Gas-powered vehicles continued dominating large parts of the country because they remain practical, affordable, and easy to refuel. Dealers struggled with inventory that reflected regulatory priorities more than consumer demand, and manufacturers wrote off billions after investing ahead of the market.

None of this means electric vehicles are a bad option. Buy one if it fits your lifestyle. Buy a hybrid if that's the better option. Buy a gasoline-powered pickup if that's what your family or business needs.

That's what consumer choice looks like.

Looking back over the last decade, I don't see consumers driving this transition. I see regulations shaping investment, investment shaping production, and production shaping what buyers were offered in the showroom.

That's a very different sequence.

Washington may have dismantled the federal EV mandate. But unless Congress also closes California's regulatory back door, the pressure that reshaped the auto industry could return under a future administration.

The question isn't whether electric vehicles have a future. They do.

The question is whether consumers or regulators get to decide how quickly that future arrives.

BRONCO BUSTED: I caught Ford sneaking my data — and uncovered an even bigger threat

Last night my Ford Bronco installed an automatic software update. By the next morning, it had quietly opted me into sharing additional driving data without asking my permission.

Fortunately, I caught the change before heading out and turned it back off. But instead of simply being annoyed by another software update, I found myself asking some much bigger questions: Why does Ford need more information about how I drive? Who benefits from collecting it? And why can a vehicle I already own change my privacy settings without my approval?

Manufacturers can collect your vehicle's data, transmit it wirelessly, analyze it, and in many cases monetize it.

That update made me realize I'd been covering the same story under different headlines. Right to repair. Connected vehicles. Insurance companies buying driving data. Automatic license plate readers. Government mandates. Each seemed like a separate issue. They're not. They're all built on the same foundation: collecting more information about drivers while giving consumers less control over what happens to that information.

Hub cap

Every connected vehicle contains what's known as a telematics control unit. Most drivers have never heard of it, yet it's one of the most important pieces of technology in their vehicle. It's the communications hub that connects your car to apps, manufacturers, dealerships, and cloud services. It also records an enormous amount of information about both the vehicle and the person behind the wheel.

Automakers describe these systems as improving convenience, diagnostics, and customer service. That's certainly part of the story. But we've already seen the other side. General Motors was sued after driving information collected through OnStar was shared with data brokers and ultimately sold to insurance companies, raising serious questions about consumer consent.

Now connect that to the right to repair. Supporters believed the REPAIR Act would finally guarantee consumers and independent repair shops access to the data modern vehicles generate. Instead, the House committee stripped the telematics language before advancing the bill.

Manufacturers can collect your vehicle's data, transmit it wirelessly, analyze it, and in many cases monetize it. Yet when lawmakers had the opportunity to guarantee vehicle owners access to that same connected data, those protections disappeared. If the information belongs to the companies that build the vehicle — but not to the person who bought it — we should all be asking why.

Cabin fever

Then I started looking at what automakers are developing behind the scenes.

Ford has published patents describing biometric systems capable of reading lips, scanning irises, monitoring heart rate, tracking facial expressions, and using interior cameras to identify occupants. Some filings even describe comparing biometric information with external databases.

Patents don't guarantee products. Companies patent ideas that never reach production. But patents reveal where research dollars are flowing and what companies believe future regulators or markets may eventually demand. Ford isn't alone. Nearly every major automaker is pursuing similar technologies.

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Kill switch

Then there are the laws most Americans never hear about until after they've passed.

Illinois recently approved an Intelligent Speed Assistance Program requiring certain repeat speeding offenders to install electronic monitoring devices at their own expense. Drivers would pay roughly $30 per month for three years. Owners of older vehicles that cannot support the required technology could lose their driving privileges because their cars cannot comply.

At the federal level, Section 24220 of the 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act directs the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration to establish standards for advanced impaired-driving prevention technology in future passenger vehicles. Regulators have acknowledged the technology is not yet reliable enough for widespread deployment, but Congress has already set the process in motion, with implementation deadlines approaching.

Birds of a feather ...

Outside the vehicle, automated license plate reader networks continue expanding. Flock Safety may be the name most people recognize, but it's no longer just Flock. Axon and other companies are building similar systems. Each program has its own justification — reducing crime, improving traffic safety, lowering insurance costs, or diagnosing vehicle problems — but they all rely on the same ingredients: more cameras, more connected technology, and more data about ordinary drivers.

That's why the Bronco update bothered me. It wasn't one software update. It was the realization that every one of these debates — right to repair, telematics, biometric patents, surveillance cameras, insurance data, and connected vehicle mandates — depends on the same infrastructure: vehicles that continuously gather information about their owners.

Once that infrastructure exists, the debate changes. It is no longer about whether the data can be collected. It becomes about who controls it, who profits from it, and how it may be used in the future.

Every one of these policies can be defended on its own merits. Safer roads are a worthy goal. Better diagnostics benefit consumers. Catching criminals matters. But when nearly every solution depends on more monitoring, more connectivity, and more information flowing away from the driver, it's time to stop treating these as unrelated stories.

My Bronco didn't create this trend. It simply made it impossible for me to ignore it.

The question is no longer whether modern vehicles collect more information than ever before. They do.

The question is who ultimately controls that information — and whether drivers are slowly losing control over the very vehicles they thought they owned.

TATTLETALE EXPRESS: School buses may soon become America's largest mobile surveillance network

Parents accepted cameras on school buses for a simple reason: catching drivers who illegally pass a stopped bus and endanger children.

What they weren't told is that the same technology could eventually become something much bigger: a nationwide surveillance network.

Cities have explored mounting AI-powered cameras on garbage trucks to identify property-code violations.

Spy school

According to leaked internal documents obtained by 404 Media, BusPatrol — the nation's largest provider of school bus stop-arm camera systems — plans to transform those buses into a nationwide network of Automatic License Plate Readers. Instead of activating only when a stop-arm violation occurs, the cameras would reportedly record the license plate, location, date, and time of every vehicle they encounter before sharing that information with law enforcement databases.

If fully deployed, the system would operate on more than 40,000 school buses across 24 states, creating what could become the largest mobile license-plate reader network in the United States — a system capable of documenting the daily movements of millions of law-abiding drivers.

School buses are an obvious platform for expanding surveillance. They already travel nearly every neighborhood twice a day, five days a week. Building that kind of street-level network from scratch would cost billions and almost certainly provoke public opposition. But here, the buses, cameras, and routes already exist; only the mission changes.

Safety dance

The leaked documents also describe a data-sharing partnership between BusPatrol and Axon, the law enforcement technology company known for body cameras and digital evidence systems. Under the proposal, information collected by school buses could become part of a broader investigative network used by police agencies. Privacy advocates argue that transforms a child-safety program into a system capable of tracking the routine movements of people who aren't suspected of any crime.

Those concerns aren't hypothetical.

The Institute for Justice has documented multiple cases in which law enforcement officers allegedly misused license-plate reader databases for personal reasons. In Milwaukee, an officer reportedly searched the movements of a woman he was dating and her former partner nearly 180 times while claiming the searches were part of official investigations.

In Idaho, a sheriff searched his wife's vehicle more than 700 times in three months, describing the searches as "tests." In Georgia, a police chief was arrested after allegedly using ALPR systems to stalk private citizens. None of those incidents were automatically flagged by the systems themselves.

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Usual suspects

School buses also appear to be only one piece of a broader trend. Cities have explored mounting AI-powered cameras on garbage trucks to identify property-code violations because sanitation vehicles, like school buses, already drive every neighborhood on regular routes. Cape Coral, Florida, abandoned its proposal after public opposition, but similar ideas continue to surface elsewhere.

Private companies are expanding these networks as well.

Flock Safety has built a nationwide system of AI-powered cameras that identify license plates along with vehicle make, model, color, decals, and bumper stickers. According to Forbes, companies including FedEx, Lowe's, Simon Property Group, and Kaiser Permanente have participated in information-sharing arrangements involving Flock's network. Civil liberties advocates argue those partnerships expand vehicle tracking while operating outside many of the transparency rules that apply to government agencies.

Each program is introduced as a narrow solution to a specific problem — protecting schoolchildren, solving crimes, enforcing property codes, or improving security. Over time, however, they begin to overlap. School buses, garbage trucks, private security cameras, and commercial fleets become pieces of a much larger network that records where Americans travel and stores that information for future use.

Protecting children should never be controversial, and neither should giving police the tools they need to investigate legitimate crimes.

But turning 40,000 school buses into rolling surveillance platforms is a very different question.

Before that happens, Americans deserve an honest debate about where the line between public safety and routine government tracking should be drawn.

The Senate wants to lock the door on cheap Chinese cars — is 'security' the whole story?

If you've spent any time on YouTube, you've probably seen videos of Chinese electric vehicles loaded with giant touchscreens, premium interiors, advanced driver-assistance systems, and impressive range — all selling overseas for the price of an entry-level compact car.

This week, Washington made sure they're likely to stay that way.

History suggests consumers usually benefit when new competitors arrive.

The official explanation is national security. But that's only part of the story.

Unacceptable risks?

On July 15, the Senate Commerce Committee advanced the Connected Vehicle Security Act of 2026, bipartisan legislation introduced by Ohio Republican Sen. Bernie Moreno and Michigan Democrat Sen. Elissa Slotkin. The bill would permanently codify and strengthen Commerce Department restrictions on connected vehicles, software, and hardware from China and other designated foreign adversaries. It doesn't just target cars wearing Chinese badges; it targets the telematics units, cellular modems, GPS modules, and other connected technology that allows modern vehicles to constantly send and receive data.

Supporters argue that's necessary because today's vehicles collect enormous amounts of information, including location data, driving behavior, camera feeds, microphones, and wireless communications. Given China's national security laws, which require companies to cooperate with government intelligence requests, lawmakers say allowing Chinese-connected vehicles onto American roads creates unacceptable risks.

Those concerns deserve to be taken seriously.

But the legislation also blocks what could become the biggest source of price competition the American auto industry has faced in decades.

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Good for the goose ...

The average new vehicle now sells for close to record prices. Even compact crossovers routinely exceed $35,000, electric vehicles often cost much more before incentives, financing has become more expensive, insurance premiums continue climbing, and used-car prices remain stubbornly high. Americans can watch BYD, Geely, MG, Chery, XPeng, and other Chinese brands selling well-equipped vehicles overseas for thousands less than comparable models available here — sometimes for nearly half the price — and naturally wonder why they can't buy them.

Washington's answer is national security.

Fair enough — but if protecting Americans' data is the goal, why does the conversation stop with China?

Modern vehicles already collect extraordinary amounts of information about their owners. Domestic automakers know where many vehicles travel, how they're driven, and when they're serviced, while connected-car data has already found its way to insurers and third-party data brokers. Congress appears highly motivated to prevent China from collecting that information, but it has shown far less urgency about limiting who else can.

Competition wanted

There's also an economic reality. Keeping Chinese competitors out protects existing manufacturers from the kind of price competition they've largely avoided. Over the past decade, automakers have steadily abandoned affordable entry-level cars in favor of SUVs and pickups with much higher profit margins. Introducing dozens of lower-priced competitors would put pressure on those margins — which is exactly what competition is supposed to do.

History suggests consumers usually benefit when new competitors arrive. Japanese automakers forced Detroit to improve in the 1970s and 1980s, while Korean manufacturers evolved from budget brands into respected global competitors. Better quality, stronger reliability, and lower prices followed. Whether Chinese manufacturers would have had the same effect is now a question Americans may never get to answer.

Even if finished Chinese vehicles never reach U.S. dealerships, much of the global battery supply chain still runs through China. The country dominates battery mineral processing and many of the components used in electric vehicles assembled around the world, including those built in North America. America is trying to reduce its dependence on China while remaining heavily dependent on Chinese manufacturing for some of the industry's most important technologies — a contradiction that won't disappear simply because imported vehicles are banned.

The Connected Vehicle Security Act may ultimately prove to be good national-security policy. But Americans deserve an honest conversation about its economic cost as well.

Restricting Chinese vehicles limits competition, reduces consumer choice, and almost certainly helps keep vehicle prices higher than they otherwise might be. If lawmakers believe those trade-offs are necessary, they should make that case openly, because the people paying the price won't be members of Congress or auto executives.

They'll be the families walking into dealerships wondering why their next vehicle costs thousands more than they expected.

National security matters. Consumers deserve the full picture, including what those protections may cost them every time they shop for a new car.