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Michael Dunne: I'm Michael Dunne. One could say that Hillsboro used to love data centers as much as Eugene loves microbreweries and food carts. For many years, the City Council of that community west of Portland routinely approved their construction on a grand scale. But things have changed. Recently, the Hillsboro City Council did something that shocked longtime observers: They voted for a moratorium on all new data center construction. Today on the show, you'll hear from a longtime business reporter at The Oregonian about this big shift, and how public sentiment against data centers has arrived in a once-obliging city. Then, in the second part of the show, our own Brian Bull will bring us the story of an Oregon Native-run farm in danger of losing federal funding. Mike Rogoway is a business reporter with The Oregonian. Mike, it's always great to talk to you. Thanks so much for coming on.
Mike Rogoway: Yeah, thanks for having me back.
Dunne: Yeah, it's interesting. You and I talked about data centers not that long ago, and we talked about how Oregon is such a data-center-friendly state. We talked about Eastern Oregon, too, because of cheap land prices, there was a lot of growth there. But we also talked about Hillsboro, a suburb of Portland. Talk about the recent story you wrote about a vote the Hillsboro City Council took that might surprise some people.
Rogoway: Yeah, it's kind of an extraordinary thing. What happened is, Sunday morning, the City Council posted notice of a meeting. They were going to have a meeting 24 hours later, they have to give a day's notice, and they said, “We're going to have a meeting on a moratorium on new data centers.” Why did they do it so quickly? Why the surprise meeting? Essentially, they were afraid that if the tech industry got advance notice of what they were planning, companies would submit a bunch of permits to get the process started and work their way around any moratorium. So they were trying to get ahead of the data center industry by moving quickly, and moving somewhat, if not secretly, because there are rules about how you have to conduct the public's business in public in Oregon, at least discreetly. It's a real reversal for the city. As you and I have talked about before, Hillsboro has one of the densest concentrations of data centers in the state, even though it's a suburban community. It's got a lot of people and a lot of industry. It's got about 440 acres of data centers, which has consumed a great deal of the city's remaining industrial land. And the tide has changed there. Residents are outraged. They're concerned about data center power use. They're concerned about pollution from backup generators. They're concerned about water consumption, although the data centers in Hillsboro don't use a lot of water. They're concerned about the loss of industrial land, and they're concerned about the tax incentives the city is giving. After nurturing this industry with tens of millions of dollars, and over the years, hundreds of millions of dollars in tax breaks, Hillsboro has taken a sudden, 180-degree reversal and said, “No, we don't want them at all, at least not in the way they've been.” They're going to take 120 days to consider next steps. But for now, they're not accepting new permits for new data centers.
Dunne: Well, that's what I wanted to ask you. It's a moratorium, not a line in the sand saying these will never happen here. Over 120 days, are they going to study data centers and, at the end of that period, maybe say, “Let's do a slow-growth approach”? Or could it be no more data centers whatsoever? What's the inkling there?
Rogoway: It could be either. Oregon land use law, as anyone who's spent any time in Oregon knows, is rather complex, and the state has a process you have to follow. If you say, “We're not going to allow this kind of use on this kind of land,” you have to follow a process, and these 120 days are the first step in that process, where they can evaluate what they want. They can extend it if the process isn't done within that period, about four months. It could be the full spectrum of outcomes. They could say, “No, we don't want them at all,” though they'd have to make some sort of case for that under Oregon land use law. Or they could say, as you've indicated, perhaps some sort of slow growth, we'll allow this many, or this kind, or something along those lines. At the very least, it's putting the brakes on an industry that has been growing very fast in Hillsboro, in Oregon, and all over the country. It's a big reversal for a city where the mayor, the City Council, economic development officials and residents all seemed content to let this industry grow until this past spring, when sentiment changed rather abruptly.
Dunne: OK, I'm wondering about the idea of grandfathering in. Let's say after 120 days they decide to really halt growth of data centers. There's already a lot there. Would they simply grandfather in the ones already moving in? There's no idea that they might ask data centers already there to leave Hillsboro, right?
Rogoway: No, I haven't heard any discussion of that, and I think the industry would want to be bought out. They have a profit motive, a financial interest, and under Oregon law, if you have a permit in process, or even a permit you haven't begun construction on, the city can't turn around and say, “No, we don't want you here after all.” It doesn't work that way. So projects already on the books, there's maybe 60 acres or so of new data centers on the drawing board, those can go ahead. But other projects are on hold, and perhaps indefinitely, perhaps permanently.
Dunne: Mike, is part of this that the political makeup of the Hillsboro City Council changed fairly recently, and that's one of the reasons? Or is this the same council that might have approved data centers five or 10 years ago, but has shifted its thinking because of public outcry?
Rogoway: I think the answer is both. The political makeup of the City Council has changed, but even within Hillsboro, even among the activist community, there wasn't much awareness or attention paid to this until very recently. Part of what's happened is the national discussion around data centers has changed. People are suspicious of artificial intelligence. They're suspicious of Big Tech, and they can see how rapidly this industry is moving and how it's physically changing the landscape of Hillsboro, parts of Eastern Oregon, and whole parts of the country. I think people are reacting to that. The specific trigger in this case was that the Legislature, which moves even more slowly than the Hillsboro City Council, passed a moratorium this past spring on one class of data center tax break. It happens to be the class of tax break Hillsboro uses for data centers. The data centers responded to the moratorium on that tax incentive, a one-year moratorium that took effect in June, with a flood of 17 applications for new tax breaks just ahead of the deadline. They did something else, too. The tax breaks are supposed to last five years, but they applied for a tax break that starts now, another that starts five years from now, and another five years after that, taking it out into the 2050s.
Dunne: Wow.
Rogoway: If you read how the program is conventionally understood, there's a five-year limit. The data centers argued there is no limit as long as they keep applying, that the city has to give them the tax breaks forever. Hillsboro agreed with that. Not every lawyer in the state reads the state law the way Hillsboro did, but the city awarded the tax breaks, and residents were furious. Dozens, or hundreds, of people turned out for City Council meetings and really let the council have it. Some council members were sympathetic from the start; others came around. When this process started, when the data centers first did this, Mayor Beach Pace posted an Instagram video saying it was all about economic development. Her tone was totally different when she opened the surprise meeting on the data center moratorium. She said, “We did this to get around the tech industry. This is unusual. It's extraordinary, but we feel it needs to happen.” I think the voice of the people has spoken, and it's something like a populist revolt, and the City Council is hearing it. To a large degree, the horse is already out of the barn. You can shut the door, but the city still has nearly 500 acres of data centers, in a city that's just about out of industrial land. The data centers don't employ very many people, just a few dozen in Hillsboro. Some of them have just a handful of employees. People are frustrated that this prized industrial land isn't producing tax revenue, because of the tax breaks, and isn't producing jobs, because they don't employ very many people.
Dunne: Interesting. I guess my last question, it's kind of a cliche, but I'll ask it anyway: If it can happen in Hillsboro, could it happen anywhere? Is this a canary in the coal mine for a council, a town, a city that used to welcome data centers and is now making a 180-degree turn? Is it a canary in the coal mine for the wealthy people who own these companies in Silicon Valley, the Silicon Forest, Silicon Alley, and even across the pond in Europe and Asia?
Rogoway: Yes. I think one thing is, this isn't new. Companies have been doing this in Forest Grove, another suburb southwest of Hillsboro. A startup built a data center there, right between a residential subdivision and a middle school, and the City Council said, “This is terrible. If we had updated our zoning code, this wouldn't have happened. We're so sorry we didn't.” But no other city took that lesson and said, “We better do something about this.” The current fight is in Salem, where another Silicon Valley startup wants to build a $5 billion data center, and residents are furious. The City Council is scratching its head, saying, “We better learn something about these data centers.” It may be too late for them to do anything about it. It's the last large piece of industrial land in Salem, and they figure to lose it to a data center that would employ 73 people. Residents are furious for all the reasons people in Hillsboro are, but the city just wasn't aware of it. In Salem's case, the company had signed a nondisclosure agreement with the city, so city planners knew about it, but the City Council didn't, and neither did the city's residents. Everyone's very upset about the secrecy.
Dunne: Well, this is a story that's not going away. Interesting stuff. Mike Rogoway, longtime business reporter for The Oregonian. It's always great to talk to you. Thank you for bringing us this story.
Rogoway: Yeah, thanks for having me back.
Dunne: Let's now check in with our own Brian Bull about his recent story on a Native-run farm in Oregon, KLCC reporter Brian Bull. Brian, it's always great to talk to you. Thanks so much for coming in.
Brian Bull: Hey, great to be here, Michael.
Dunne: I really enjoyed the feature piece you did recently. Let's start with this: What is Elderberry Wisdom Farm?
Bull: Elderberry Wisdom Farm is the brainchild of a woman from Alaska, an Alaska Native, named Rose High Bear. In 2017, I believe, she left Portland, moved to Salem, bought this 2-acre farm and named it Elderberry Wisdom Farm, and began anew.
Dunne: What do they do there?
Bull: It's like an experimental laboratory, classroom and studio all in one. When I last checked on Rose and her operation, she had nine interns, all young, college-age people, many of them from Central or South American backgrounds, who are there to learn what's called traditional ecological knowledge, or TEK for short. That's basically the application of long-held traditional environmental practices, such as prescribed or cultural burning, or using herbs and certain tree roots and materials to treat disease or illness. There's a lot of time-honored practices being taught to these interns at Elderberry Wisdom Farm.
Dunne: Talk a little about the importance of that kind of education for interns, for young people who, like you said, are in college now.
Bull: A number of them have been studying things like urban forestry, family medicine or environmental studies at standard universities, Oregon State University being one. One became an urban forest planner; he was at the University of Oregon. But outside of those programs, there's not a lot of room for these Indigenous practices and teachings that have been handed down through millennia. This is an opportunity for these people to come to this farm and learn how to put these into practice. It's filling in a cultural component they may not otherwise get.
Dunne: You've certainly done stories about prescribed or cultural burns, and it's really borne out how important that practice can become in the modern world.
Bull: Absolutely. More than a century ago, a lot of these practices, like prescribed or cultural burns, were outlawed. The USDA and U.S. Forest Service were very adamant about putting out fires the moment they were seen, which in theory looks sensible, and from a public relations standpoint, it also put a lot of people at risk because forest fires are usually demonized. But it also resulted in a lot of accumulated slash and a lot of stagnant ecosystems that naturally depend on fire to replenish themselves. There are species of trees whose pine cones only drop seedlings when they're exposed to fire. There are huckleberry stands I believe the Klamath would burn every three to four years to replenish and rejuvenate the soil and the bushes, so the berries stay ripe and flavorful. There's been a lot of suppression through history, but now we've got agencies bringing prescribed burns back. We see it right now with these huge wildfires happening. Crews arrive early and, to protect surrounding communities, they'll do a prescribed burn to deplete the fuel.
Dunne: You interviewed some of the young people who attend this program at the farm. What were some of the things they told you that showcase how important this kind of learning is to them?
Bull: One young woman I talked to, Claudia Vega, was delighted to show me a small plot of yew trees they'd received from a donor. She had taken traditional medicine studies from the Tohono O'odham and Yaqui people of Arizona when she was studying there, and the yew tree is being studied extensively as a treatment for cancer. She was delighted to hold and handle these small trees, which will grow and develop and could help produce medicines that alleviate the suffering of cancer patients. There's another intern, Joaquin Ocana, I believe, who walked me through the farm, showing all the different types of plants they're developing without pesticides, trying to develop more resilient, nature-friendly ways to raise things in the wild, without introducing chemicals into the soil and water.
Dunne: You also write about the fact that this farm received some funding to get started. Talk about how it was funded before, say, 2024 and the change in the presidential administration.
Bull: The year that was so important to note in the story was 2018. That's when Elderberry Wisdom Farm launched, and at that time, there was a lot of support in Congress and at the federal level for things like urban forestry studies and environmental stewardship, through the USDA and related agencies. The farm bill even had a provision that bumped up funding. What we've seen since is a political shift, a change in climate, where the current administration under President Trump, starting last year when he began his second term, slashed a lot of programs and budgets for DEI and environmentally focused programs. That, in turn, meant Rose had expected $749,000 from the USDA to put in tree canopies, simply planting trees to help provide shade, oxygen and improve property values in lower-income areas around Salem, and that funding had to be suspended because it looked like it was frozen. Then U.S. Rep. Andrea Salinas stepped in and was able to unfreeze it, although another $350,000 for a BIPOC, Black, Indigenous and people of color, grant remained stuck, and there's nothing she can do about it.
Dunne: Is there a path forward for Wisdom Farm?
Bull: There is hope that perhaps the state Bureau of Labor and Industries will take them up on an apprenticeship program Rose is designing and will introduce shortly, as a way to get continued funding. Rose High Bear is a very dedicated, passionate person about the environment and preserving these traditional practices, so I think if there's a way, she'll find it. She's determined to keep pressing on.
Dunne: He's Brian Bull, longtime reporter for us. Really appreciate your story. Thanks so much for coming in and talking to us.
Bull: Thanks for having me back, Michael.
Dunne: That's the show for today. All episodes of Oregon on the Record are available as a podcast at klcc.org. Right now, raw milk is having a moment, and that might not be a good thing for many people's health, especially children. Tomorrow on the show, a ProPublica reporter brings us the story of one of the largest raw milk producers in the nation, his rags-to-riches story, and the fact that people keep getting sick from his products. I'm Michael Dunne, host of Oregon on the Record. Thanks for listening.
