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A renewables fight in Arizona turns ugly.

Autumn Johnson told me some days it feels like she’s shouting into a void.
Johnson is the executive director for the Arizona branch of the Solar Energy Industries Association, the nation’s pre-eminent solar power trade group. Lately, she told me, she’s seeing an increasing number of communities go after potential solar farms, many of them places with little or no previous solar development. There’s so many she’s had to start “tracking them on a spreadsheet,” she tells me, then proceeding to rattle off the names of counties and towns like battles in a war. Heatmap Pro data reveals how restricted Arizona is today, with six out of the state’s 15 counties showing a restrictive ordinance on solar and/or wind energy.
One of those battles: Chino Valley, a small town in northern Arizona. For two years, Johnson and others in the solar industry worked to try and massage the town into enacting restrictions on solar that wouldn’t all but ban the industry. But a town council meeting in mid-March turned ugly, as a debate over the restrictions ultimately devolved to heckling and hollering. “I’m surprised they didn’t throw things,” she recalled to me over the phone.
Playing back tape of that meeting, I watched as anyone who even spoke up in favor of solar was booed. When Johnson got up to speak and say SEIA recommended a smaller setback than drafted – 150 feet – audience members loudly laughed at her. Ultimately she was interrupted so many times that her time to speak expired before she finished her comments.
She asked the Chino Valley town council: “Could I finish my thought since I had to stop several times?” BOO! The audience wasn’t having it. And neither was the town council, who declined to let her continue.
After another hour-plus of testimony, the town council was swayed: Chino Valley dropped the regulation their staff spent years on and instead instructed them to draft a complete ban on all solar – as well as battery storage and wind farms.
If enacted, this regulation would all but doom Draconis, a large-scale utility solar farm proposed by bp in Chino Valley. A bp representative briefly testified at the town council meeting to say members of the public who’d previously spoken had mischaracterized the water usage required for the solar farm, but was booed off the microphone. The company did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
Johnson told me Arizonans in many pockets of the state are starting to turn on solar for two major reasons. One: There’s a partisan affiliation with renewables and climate change due to the Inflation Reduction Act and Joe Biden’s involvement in crafting the law. The other motivation? “Part of it is old school NIMBYism,” Johnson told me. “We’re acting like this is a new thing but NIMBYism is not new. Everybody wants electricity but nobody wants the infrastructure that is necessary to facilitate their use of electricity.”
She added: “The way things are moving, the number of cities and counties that have restrictions is going to be more and more.” While some communities may be accepting utility-scale development now, she is concerned they’ll hit a “saturation point where people start to build up some kind of resentment about the quantity of projects.”
“It’s domino-y,” Johnson confessed.
I’m no Arizonan. But to me, what’s happening in Arizona is essentially one big redux of an infamous prank TV segment from the show “Who Is America?” in which actor Sasha Baron Cohen plays a coastal liberal stereotype posing as an economic development entrepreneur.
Cohen’s character visits Kingman, Arizona, a town northwest of Chino Valley. In that prank, Cohen walked Kingman residents through a presentation about a promising new source of tax revenue and local employment, only to reveal… he’s talking about building a mosque in Kingman funded by the Clinton Foundation.
Kingman is in Mohave County, which happened to be the first county Johnson mentioned when we spoke. Mohave – represented in Congress by far-right Republican Paul Gosar – is one of the sunniest parts of the country, smack dab in the Mohave Desert. It’s also one of the counties with a restrictive ordinance that routinely rejects solar farms, despite a willingness among local officials to approve new fossil energy. Why? Well, in the view of some folks out there, you might as well be building a Hillary Clinton-branded mosque. Not to mention Mohave has quite a few telltale signs of being tough to develop, according to Heatmap Pro – it’s an extremely white county with an economy heavily dependent on tourism and agriculture, making land use and property value pronounced day-to-day concerns.
Stan Barnes, a lobbyist in Arizona who represents large-scale solar developers, told me that for “so long, renewable energy has been tightly embraced – even bearhugged – by the center-left side of the political spectrum.” Barnes said this fact alone has made it much harder to build in rural areas of Arizona that voted heavily for Donald Trump. “The center-right side of the political spectrum feels like it needs to resist.”
Developers are finding ways around this sticky wicket, Barnes said, but it requires being “wise” and “a certain degree of authenticity on the ground with local officials.” He noted the Palo Verde energy hub, a federally-designated energy and transmission project area in a mostly remote area that expands off of an existing power plant. Barnes also mentioned Mohave, where utility-scale solar is not banned outright but restricted to light industrial areas, as a place where development is still possible.
“There likely will not be that kind of development in Chino Valley and that’s the way it’s going to be in some jurisdictions," he said. “In other jurisdictions there’s going to be thoughtful ordinances that accommodate a variety of interests.”
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It’s aware of the problem. That doesn’t make it easier to solve.
The data center backlash has metastasized into a full-blown PR crisis, one the tech sector is trying to get out in front of. But it is unclear whether companies are responding effectively enough to avoid a cascading series of local bans and restrictions nationwide.
Our numbers don’t lie: At least 25 data center projects were canceled last year, and nearly 100 projects faced at least some form of opposition, according to Heatmap Pro data. We’ve also recorded more than 60 towns, cities and counties that have enacted some form of moratorium or restrictive ordinance against data center development. We expect these numbers to rise throughout the year, and it won’t be long before the data on data center opposition is rivaling the figures on total wind or solar projects fought in the United States.
I spent this week reviewing the primary motivations for conflict in these numerous data center fights and speaking with representatives of the data center sector and relevant connected enterprises, like electrical manufacturing. I am now convinced that the industry knows it has a profound challenge on its hands. Folks are doing a lot to address it, from good-neighbor promises to lobbying efforts at the state and federal level. But much more work will need to be done to avoid repeating mistakes that have bedeviled other industries that face similar land use backlash cycles, such as fossil fuel extraction, mining, and renewable energy infrastructure development.
Two primary issues undergird the data center mega-backlash we’re seeing today: energy use fears and water consumption confusion.
Starting with energy, it’s important to say that data center development currently correlates with higher electricity rates in areas where projects are being built, but the industry challenges the presumption that it is solely responsible for that phenomenon. In the eyes of opponents, utilities are scrambling to construct new power supplies to meet projected increases in energy demand, and this in turn is sending bills higher.
That’s because, as I’ve previously explained, data centers are getting power in two ways: off the existing regional electric grid or from on-site generation, either from larger new facilities (like new gas plants or solar farms) or diesel generators for baseload, backup purposes. But building new power infrastructure on site takes time, and speed is the name of the game right now in the AI race, so many simply attach to the existing grid.
Areas with rising electricity bills are more likely to ban or restrict data center development. Let’s just take one example: Aurora, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago and the second most-populous city in the state. Aurora instituted a 180-day moratorium on data center development last fall after receiving numerous complaints about data centers from residents, including a litany related to electricity bills. More than 1.5 gigawatts of data center capacity already operate in the surrounding Kane County, where residential electricity rates are at a three-year high and expected to increase over the near term – contributing to a high risk of opposition against new projects.
The second trouble spot is water, which data centers need to cool down their servers. Project developers have face a huge hurdle in the form of viral stories of households near data centers who suddenly lack a drop to drink. Prominent examples activists bring up include this tale of a family living next to a Meta facility in Newton County, Georgia, and this narrative of people living around an Amazon Web Services center in St. Joseph County, Indiana. Unsurprisingly, the St. Joseph County Council rejected a new data center in response to, among other things, very vocal water concerns. (It’s worth noting that the actual harm caused to water systems by data centers is at times both over- and under-stated, depending on the facility and location.)
“I think it’s very important for the industry as a whole to be honest that living next to [a data center] is not an ideal situation,” said Caleb Max, CEO of the National Artificial Intelligence Association, a new D.C.-based trade group launched last year that represents Oracle and myriad AI companies.
Polling shows that data centers are less popular than the use of artificial intelligence overall, Max told me, so more needs to be done to communicate the benefits that come from their development – including empowering AI. “The best thing the industry could start to do is, for the people in these zip codes with the data centers, those people need to more tangibly feel the benefits of it.”
Many in the data center development space are responding quickly to these concerns. Companies are clearly trying to get out ahead on energy, with the biggest example arriving this week from Microsoft, which pledged to pay more for the electricity it uses to power its data centers. “It’s about balancing that demand and market with these concerns. That’s why you're seeing the industry lean in on these issues and more proactively communicating with communities,” said Dan Diorio, state policy director for the Data Center Coalition.
There’s also an effort underway to develop national guidance for data centers led by the National Electrical Manufacturers Association, the American Society of Heating, Refrigerating, and Air-Conditioning Engineers, and the Pacific Northwest National Laboratory, expected to surface publicly by this summer. Some of the guidance has already been published, such as this document on energy storage best practices, which is intended to help data centers know how to properly use solutions that can avoid diesel generators, an environmental concern in communities. But the guidance will ultimately include discussions of cooling, too, which can be a water-intensive practice.
“It’s a great example of an instance where industry is coming together and realizing there’s a need for guidance. There’s a very rapidly developing sector here that uses electricity in a fundamentally different way, that’s almost unprecedented,” Patrick Hughes, senior vice president of strategy, technical, and industry affairs for NEMA, told me in an interview Monday.
Personally, I’m unsure whether these voluntary efforts will be enough to assuage the concerns of local officials. It certainly isn’t convincing folks like Jon Green, a member of the Board of Supervisors in Johnson County, Iowa. Johnson County is a populous area, home to the University of Iowa campus, and Green told me that to date it hasn’t really gotten any interest from data center developers. But that didn’t stop the county from instituting a one-year moratorium in 2025 to block projects and give time for them to develop regulations.
I asked Green if there’s a form of responsible data center development. “I don’t know if there is, at least where they’re going to be economically feasible,” he told me. “If we say they’ve got to erect 40 wind turbines and 160 acres of solar in order to power a data center, I don’t know if when they do their cost analysis that it’ll pencil out.”
Plus a storage success near Springfield, Massachusetts, and more of the week’s biggest renewables fights.
1. Sacramento County, California – A large solar farm might go belly-up thanks to a fickle utility and fears of damage to old growth trees.
2. Hampden County, Massachusetts – The small Commonwealth city of Agawam, just outside of Springfield, is the latest site of a Massachusetts uproar over battery storage…
3. Washtenaw County, Michigan – The city of Saline southwest of Detroit is now banning data centers for at least a year – and also drafting regulations around renewable energy.
4. Dane County, Wisconsin – Another city with a fresh data center moratorium this week: Madison, home of the Wisconsin Badgers.
5. Hood County, Texas – Last but not least, I bring you one final stop on the apparent data center damnation tour: Hood County, south of the Texas city of Fort Worth.
A conversation with San Jose State University researcher Ivano Aiello, who’s been studying the aftermath of the catastrophe at Moss Landing.
This week’s conversation is with Ivano Aiello, a geoscientist at San Jose State University in California. I interviewed Aiello a year ago, when I began investigating the potential harm caused by the battery fire at Vistra’s Moss Landing facility, perhaps the largest battery storage fire of all time. The now-closed battery plant is located near the university, and Aiello happened to be studying a nearby estuary and wildlife habitat when the fire took place. He was therefore able to closely track metals contamination from the site. When we last spoke, he told me that he was working on a comprehensive, peer-reviewed study of the impacts of the fire.
That research was recently published and has a crucial lesson: We might not be tracking the environmental impacts of battery storage fires properly.
The following conversation was lightly edited for clarity.
Alright let’s start from the top – please tell my readers what your study ultimately found.
The bottom line is that we detected deposition of fine airborne particles, cathode material – nickel, manganese, and cobalt – in the area surrounding the battery storage facility. We found those particles right after the fire, immediately detected them in the field, sampled the soils, and found visible presence of those particles using different techniques. We kept measuring the location in the field over several months after the fire.
The critical thing is, we had baseline data. We had been surveying those areas for much longer before the fire. Those metals were in much higher concentration than they were before, and they were clearly related to the batteries. You can see that. And we were able to see changes in surface concentrations in the soils over time, including from weather – once the rains started, there was a significant decrease in concentrations of the metals, potentially related to runoff. Some of them migrated to the soil.
What we also noticed is that the protocols that have been used to look at soil contamination call for a surface sample of 3 inches. If your sample thickness is that and the layer of metal deposit is 1 millimeter or 5 millimeter, you’re not going to see anything. If you use standard protocols, you’re not going to find anything.
What does that mean for testing areas around big battery storage fires?
That’s exactly what I hope this work helps with. Procedures designed in the past are for different types of disasters and incidents which are more like landslides than ash fallout from a fire. These metal particles are a few microns thick, so they slide easily away.
It means we have to rethink how we go about measuring contamination after industrial fires and, yes, battery fires. Because otherwise it’s just completely useless – you’re diluting everything.
The other thing we learned is that ashfall deposits are very patchy. You can get different samples between a few feet and find huge differences. You can’t just go out there and take three samples in three places, you have to sample at a much higher resolution because otherwise you’ll miss the whole story.
When it comes to the takeaways from this study, what exactly do you think the lessons should be for the battery companies and regulators involved?
There are a lot of lessons we learned from this fire. The first is that having baseline data around a potential fire site is important because then you can better understand the after.
Then, the main way to assess the potential hazards during the fire and after the fire are air quality measurements. That doesn’t tell you what’s in the air. You could have a high concentration of pollen, and then you know the quality of the air, but if you replace that with metal it is different. It’s not just how much you’re breathing, but what you are breathing.
Also, fast response. [Vistra] just released a report on soil saying there was nothing … but the sampling was done eight months after the fire. Our study shows after the fire you have this pulse of dust, and then it moves. Stuff moves to soil, across habitat. So if you don’t go out there right away, you might miss the whole thing.
Finally, what we found was that the fallout from the fire was not a bullseye pattern centered at the facility but rather offset kilometers away because of the wind.
We didn’t know much about this before because we didn’t have a real case study. This is the first real live event in which we can actually see the effects of a large battery burning.