Somewhere in Box Elder County, Utah. Photo: Jeffrey St. Clair.

I first camped out in Hansel Valley at age twelve.  That was over sixty years ago.  On a fly that I had tied myself, I hooked and lost a huge, perhaps four-pound, Rainbow Trout from one of the many oasis springs collectively known as the Salt Wells complex or Locomotive Springs.[1]  I have never forgotten the moment when that powerful creature leaped from the water and its sky-born form, like Moses’ burning bush, flashed a reflection of the fiery desert sunset. Nor how it fell, snapped my line and regained its freedom.  That evening, over a Greasewood fire and an ocean of stars, I fell asleep enchanted and completely in love with this magical place.  That romance has continued my entire life.  I shared my love for the place with friends and took my family camping there often.  I shared the valley with scout troops and school groups of children. I delighted in how they felt the same wonder of place that I did.

Decades of degradation; dewatering of the oases from deep-well pivot alfalfa irrigation, ill-advised BLM Sagebrush/Juniper removal, the utter disappearance of the once ubiquitous Blacktail Jackrabbits, the increase of cows and subsequent overgrazing, militia groups who used the open landscape for well-armed, semi-automatic fueled, weekend war play, legions of land eating four wheelers, tight four strand barb wire fences and new, shiny “No Trespass” signs.  The open space, the great lake, the stars, wonder and peace and hope the place offered me never left.  Despite the increasing scars, the Hansel Valley landscape and what remained of its waters brought forth in me a feeling that I call love.

Now, the final blow for this beloved landscape came with news of a fast-tracked 40,000-acre industrial AI park to be built in the very heart of a place that had become a part of me.  The Boxelder County Commission had been given but two weeks by the State of Utah to give final approval.  Our good governor assured us that we were no longer safe in our own land and this was good for our military preparedness. It would also bring hundreds of millions of dollars to the state and use twice as much power as the entire state’s current use.  We would be in the industrial, Make America Great Again, big leagues.  Hurry was necessary.  Time is money. No time to lose.  A non-elected paramilitary/governmental shell agency called MIDA was brokering the deal.  No mention was made of the effort to protect the Great Salt Lake from drying up and perhaps making northern Utah uninhabitable.  Pathetic an effort as it might be, it seemed that I owed the land at least the presence of one more body in protest of this very insidious plan.

So last week, I journeyed with several colleagues to the Hansel Valley data center hearing at the Tremonton fairgrounds. We arrived early and the grounds were already packed with people.  The news reported six hundred souls, but I would put the number at well over one thousand.  An outdoor bandstand was set up and a young man led the throngs in anti-data center chants. Hundreds of signs were held aloft. A full spectrum of ages was represented.  A sense of comfort that so many people were of a like mind mingled with the foreboding question, “Will it make any difference to those in charge?”  There was hope that it would.  That the people, in such numbers, would be heard. The sun was hot.  The clouds, heralding an incoming storm, were powerful and beautiful against an azure Utah sky.

Eventually, the doors to the large, sheet metal “art” building were opened and we began to file in.  An official announced, “Box Elder County residents only!”  We waited.  Eventually, the line began to move again and the huge shed filled with people.  A bandstand and microphone were set up, and the three Boxelder County Commissioners took their seats.  Beneath them was a table where a lawyer and an official from the water district sat.  People continued to file in.  After a time, when it was obvious that fire codes were being totally ignored, the doors were shut.  Many people stood outside.  No more room.

The meeting started off badly as the county commissioner’s spokesman assured us that they had received much input, had considered foremost only the input from Boxelder County residents and that many residents were in favor of the project. Their views needed to be considered as well.  No breakdown of pro and con views was offered, just the statement of how important it was to consider those in favor.  This statement was followed by an announcement that no public comment was allowed at the meeting.  The chairman then began to read a PR statement from the developer about how safe, economically lucrative and wonderful the data center would be.  It was immediately obvious that it was a done deal.  Public input was inconsequential.  We had all gathered for nothing.  A dark cloud that smelled of anger, betrayal and even incipient violence filled the stadium.

This was how the meeting began.  The building rang with loud “boos”.  If there was any question of the gathering’s prevailing sentiment, the roar of disapproval left no doubt that folks were there to denounce the project.  The county chairman banged his gavel, and as if he were the angry father of misbehaving children, chastised the crowd.  The mood grew angrier.  The catcalls grew louder.  The chair called for police to contain and remove the hecklers.  The chair threatened to move the meeting to a private room.  The catcalls were so loud and frequent that the meeting could no longer progress.  A commissioner shouted angrily at the crowd to”Grow the hell up.”  The chair, once again, made clear that there were us, the good, polite and compliant citizens of Box Elder County, and them, the unruly outsiders. Every statement from the podium was met with jeers from the crowd.

The commissioners then adjourned to a private room where the proceedings were Zoomed onto a large screen.  In the room were the commissioners, their lawyer and a spokesperson for the developer. No opposition, no scientists, no Devil’s Advocate or mention of far-reaching consequences.   Predictably, the project was unanimously approved.  A ten-minute press conference was then conducted where the commissioner, developer and lawyer answered some rather softball questions regarding the data center.  The Box Elder County Commission made it clear that they no longer had any responsibility or particular oversight, but that everything was now in the hands of MIDA, Mr. Wonderful, the billionaire developer, and the State of Utah.  Everything was well seen to, and they had washed their hands of any further responsibility.

To their credit, the law enforcement present seemed in no mood to escalate or create physical confrontation with a sad, angry and completely disenfranchised crowd.  The commissioners showed no sympathy that the people were very much against such a rushed process and such a threat to a state and land that they loved.  This was not how any of us envisioned democracy but rather a view into an oligarch-led, authoritarian society moving rapidly towards an industrial dark age.  I left feeling at once sad and angry but also buoyed by the love that so many of us would disrupt our lives to speak out, not against, but for a landscape that we all loved.  The data center will be the end of Hansel Valley, its peaceful quiet, oases, open spaces, wildlife and wonder.  The spirits of place will withdraw, as I have seen them withdraw from so many beloved landscapes. They will wait.  In geologic time they will return and there will be nothing left of the AI Data center but the rubble of a civilization that worshipped, like the mythical Midas, only gold and whose touch froze everything loving and loveable with that very same, ignorant, horrible touch.

Notes.

[1] Go to Google Earth to view photos of the area by typing in Salt Wells or Locomotive Springs.