When retirees and activists in Citrus County, Florida, started to organize against a nearby data center proposal, they weren’t sure how many of their neighbors would show up.
They had been trying to gin up support on Facebook and Nextdoor. They had explained the harms of data centers to confused residents. They set up a flea market booth and sent residents into neighborhoods bearing clipboards.
When the date rolled around for their May town hall, the strength of their coalition became clear. About 200 people packed into a historic schoolhouse in the town of Hernando, ready to listen to hours of presentations about how they could fight back against the data center industrial park proposed in Holder, half an hour inland from Crystal River.
The turnout was a triumph for a rural area whose entire county has less than half the population of Tampa. It’s also representative of the momentum building in opposition of data centers throughout Florida’s sleepier pockets. Floridians of all political stripes are getting organized, many of whom have never led any kind of grassroots campaign before.
“As a matter of fact, I was almost what you’d consider a shut-in,” said Raul Alfonso, 53, one of the organizers behind an anti-data center group in Fort Meade, about 40 minutes south of Lakeland.
He started rallying his neighbors when they learned their small town could become the site of Florida’s first hyperscale data center, slated to stretch 4.4 million square feet.
Farther south, near the banks of Lake Okeechobee, a state college pursued a plan for a data center campus. But after fierce backlash from residents and state politicians, it abandoned the idea.
Wyatt Deihl, 29, led much of the opposition campaign.
“Ultimately, what it comes down to is who gets to make the decisions and who doesn’t — the decisions that affect our health, our environment and our community,” he said. “It’s very clear with data centers who stands to gain and who stands to lose.”
In these David-versus-Goliath battles, no political party has a monopoly on the anger locals feel. It’s common at anti-data center events for the speakers to not even mention political parties.
“I am a very progressive, openly and unapologetically gay man, and I was able to run this movement in a very conservative county Trump won by 61 points,” Deihl said.
At the old schoolhouse in Citrus County, attendees listened intensely, jotting notes and holding up iPads to record video. One woman clipped a handwritten “No Data Center Citrus” sign to her walker. Others slipped T-shirts with a similar slogan over their Saturday attire, after buying one from the lady in the back for $15.
Each speaker delved into ways a data center could warp their community, from polluting the air to drying up wells to disrupting their sleep with its constant, low-frequency sound.
One of the organizers, Cheryl Curtiss, was busy making sure everything ran smoothly, from the sign-in sheet to the sound equipment.
A 72-year-old retired teacher and marriage counselor, Curtiss has been politically active before, primarily against the Iraq War in the early 2000s. She was also “very active with 9/11 truth stuff,” she added in an interview, saying that she believes the government lied about what happened during the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001.
She views data centers with similar distrust.
“I think they’re really going to be using them against us for surveillance and control,” Curtiss said.
A pivotal moment for Citrus County
In the small town of Holder, a developer called the Deltona Corporation wants to more than double the size of an existing industrial park to 1,356 acres to attract data centers. The expanded area would share a property line with a neighborhood.
At a recent meeting of the Citrus County Planning and Development Commission, consultants for Deltona promised jobs and a “generational” opportunity to join the future of heavy industry. So many residents came to oppose the plan that the county ran out of space in the overflow room.
The planning board ultimately punted, saying that Deltona needed to provide more information about its plans. Another hearing on the proposal is scheduled for June 18, with county commissioners expected to vote July 14.
Data center proposals have brought heightened scrutiny on local governments, as several Floridians said that these clashes revealed how important their county commissions can be. One decision on zoning can determine whether these projects have a future. Some officials have said they’ve received threats over their votes approving data centers.
At the Citrus County event, Holly Herndon, a candidate for County Commission, took the opportunity to try to earn some supporters. After making a speech on stage, she unbuttoned her blazer to reveal a “No Data Center!” T-shirt.
The crowd erupted.
It had taken time for concerned residents to spread the word. They read about Data Center Alley in Virginia, where residents say the humming of the warehouses has driven away all the birds. They read research papers about the fine particulate matter emitted from data centers’ diesel generators and how they can penetrate deep into the lungs. The first time Curtiss and her future co-organizers met to talk about data centers, about 12 people showed.
Now, they have a following of roughly 7,000, Curtiss said, including those engaging with them on social media and people who’ve signed petitions.
Like many parts of rural Florida, Citrus County is a place where Old Florida meets the pressures of the new. Recently constructed gated communities glint in the sun, blocks away from humble produce stands and rolling cattle pastures.
Candace Nichols, a 68-year-old retiree, said she moved here from Tampa years ago when she craved a return to the slower pace of her upbringing. From the lakefront dock at her Dunnellon house, she can hop onto a pontoon with her grandkids and glide up the Withlacoochee River.
“I’m mad as hell,” she said, carrying an armful of yard signs to deliver to her neighbors. “This is the Old Florida we grew up in. And now they’re trying to destroy it.”
A ‘last hope’ in Fort Meade
By the time residents started learning about the proposed large-scale data center in Fort Meade, it had already passed significant government hurdles, including receiving tax breaks.
Alfonso said he kept seeing cryptic signs around town about a data center, so he decided to look into it. Soon, he and his neighbors had started a petition. To sign it, you’d go to a specific pizza joint and “ask for the green binder,” according to online instructions.
They’ve since grown more organized. Nearly 1,000 people follow their Facebook group, called the Watchdogs of Fort Meade. They’ve hired a public relations firm to help with media requests and organizing events.
Alfonso has since been a guest on several podcasts, including the “War Room,” hosted by President Donald Trump’s former adviser Steve Bannon, which he said was surreal.
The proposal appeared to be a done deal after the Fort Meade City Council voted in April to approve a 20-year agreement with the developer.
But an under-the-radar rule change by the Southwest Florida Water Management District last year means that the district must first approve the data center’s water usage at a public meeting. The board’s members are appointed by Gov. Ron DeSantis, whose administration has been critical of this project and data centers more broadly.
Alfonso called this latest twist one of their “last hopes.”
He moved inland from Clearwater, seeking peace and quiet after a career spent in highway construction. His house is about 3 miles from the proposed site.
Last month, Lakeland residents learned of a data center proposal in their city, dubbed “Project Swan.” Opposition has quickly mounted.
Alfonso said concerned residents reached out to him for advice, and he drove up to speak at a local meeting. He’s tired of seeing wealthy companies try to take advantage of rural towns that need money.
And he worries about residents who don’t have the free time to protest.
“I’m afraid the people who are most needy and aren’t able to pay attention because they’re busy just trying to survive aren’t going to be able to stand up,” Alfonso said. “I didn’t grow up believing you let somebody pick on someone weaker than you.
“This just feels so predatory,” he added. “I just have to smack the bully in the nose.”
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