In the rolling hills of Prince William County, Virginia, a profound and increasingly contentious transformation is underway, turning this once-tranquil bedroom community for Washington, D.C., into the fastest-growing data center market in the nation. This explosive growth, fueled by the voracious data appetites of tech behemoths like Amazon, Google, Meta, and Microsoft, has ignited a fierce battle for the very character of the county. The sprawling, humming server farms that now dot the landscape represent more than just technological progress; they signify a deepening chasm between the immense financial power of a global industry and the fundamental rights of local citizens to health, peace, and political self-determination. As the machinery of big tech moves in, local governance is showing signs of strain, often bending under the immense pressure of sophisticated lobbying efforts, multi-million dollar land deals, and a steady stream of campaign contributions. The story unfolding in Prince William County is not merely a local dispute; it is a stark harbinger of the conflicts poised to erupt in communities across America as the digital economy’s insatiable demand for physical space and power collides with the finite resources and delicate political ecosystems of local life.
The Erosion of Local Democratic Process
At the heart of the residents’ struggle was the late Bob Weir, a former Prince William County supervisor who passionately represented Gainesville, the district most saturated with data centers. Weir was a formidable advocate for reining in the industry’s unchecked expansion and had successfully championed the formation of a citizen advisory panel dedicated to tackling the pervasive issues of data center noise and zoning. This panel, composed of committed residents and guided by the expertise of professional acoustical consultants, invested years of effort into crafting a comprehensive noise ordinance. Their proposal was meticulously designed to address the unique, low-frequency hum that emanates relentlessly from these industrial facilities—a sound that penetrates walls and disrupts the daily lives of thousands. The panel’s work represented a beacon of citizen-led governance, a tangible effort to hold an industry accountable and protect the quality of life that had drawn families to the county in the first place. Weir’s leadership gave residents a powerful voice in a debate that was increasingly being dominated by corporate interests.
Weir’s untimely death from cancer created a political void that was swiftly and decisively exploited. Before a successor could be elected to represent his 70,000 constituents, his former colleagues on the eight-member board of supervisors orchestrated a stunning maneuver. Led by Supervisor Victor Angry, the board called a surprise vote to completely disband the citizen advisory panel. The move was executed without any panel members present to defend their years of work, effectively erasing their contributions from the official record. Board Chair Deshundra Jefferson, a vocal critic of the industry’s unchecked influence, condemned the action as a “cowardly” act, accusing Supervisor Angry of deliberately timing the vote to preempt public scrutiny and neutralize opposition from the very group he was eliminating. This act was immediately followed by the introduction of a significantly weaker noise ordinance, personally drafted by Supervisor Kenny Boddye without consulting the county’s contracted acoustical experts. Despite widespread public outcry, the board approved Boddye’s developer-friendly proposal, a decision praised by industry groups as a “fair, workable and bipartisan solution” but viewed by residents as a profound political betrayal.
A Tangled Web of Financial Influence
The political machinations that dismantled the citizen-led effort did not occur in a vacuum; they were underpinned by a powerful current of financial influence. A thorough review of campaign finance disclosures revealed that Supervisors Victor Angry and Kenny Boddye, the two primary architects of the move to disband the citizen panel and pass a weaker noise ordinance, have been major beneficiaries of industry largesse. Since 2023, the pair has collectively accepted over $313,600 in campaign donations from a network of data center developers and local landowners who have contracted to sell their properties for lucrative data center projects. These substantial financial ties cast a heavy shadow over their pivotal votes, raising serious questions about whether their decisions were guided by the public interest or by the interests of their donors. Critics, including former advisory group member Bill Wright, pointed to the timing of large donations as potential “quid pro quo” for their advocacy on behalf of a “toothless” ordinance that ultimately serves the industry’s bottom line.
The influence of the data center industry in Prince William County extends far beyond direct campaign contributions, weaving a complex web of overlapping interests and potential conflicts that blurs the line between public service and private gain. The pattern of a “revolving door” is particularly pronounced. Peter Candland, a former supervisor, resigned his post in 2022 after the commonwealth’s attorney ruled he had a conflict of interest related to his efforts to organize neighbors, including himself, to sell a large tract of land for the massive “Digital Gateway” data center project. Shortly after his resignation, Candland joined a data center lobbying firm. Similarly, Corey Stewart, a former chair of the board of supervisors, now works as an attorney representing landowners seeking to rezone their properties for high-value data center deals. This network of influence even permeates the local education system; Erica Tredinnick, a current member of the county school board, is also employed by the same lobbying firm that hired Candland, a concerning connection as data centers are increasingly constructed in close proximity to schools, raising questions about the board’s silence on the matter.
The Human Cost of Unchecked Growth
For the residents of Prince William County, the consequences of these political decisions are not abstract; they are an intrusive and damaging part of daily life. Carlos Yanes, who lives in the Great Oak subdivision directly behind a three-building Amazon data center complex, described a constant, low-frequency hum that vibrates the walls of his home. The incessant noise forced his family to move their infant’s crib to the basement for a semblance of quiet, while his older child suffers from nightmares, imagining the sound is a UFO hovering over their house. Even after investing $20,000 in new windows, the drone persists. Residents like Arianne Govoni-Young find themselves in equally untenable situations, living just 100 feet from a massive Amazon facility. When she purchased her townhome nearly two decades ago, the adjacent land was zoned for a shopping center. During the pandemic, however, the land was quietly rezoned to industrial use with minimal public notification. The “tree buffer” promised as mitigation has materialized as a line of sparse saplings, offering no barrier to the sight, sound, or potential pollution from the facility next door.
Beyond the relentless noise, the proliferation of data centers poses significant environmental and health risks that are often overlooked in the rush for tax revenue. Each of these massive facilities relies on a fleet of industrial-sized diesel generators for backup power—some sites have over 90 generators, each the size of a school bus. The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency classifies diesel exhaust as “likely to be carcinogenic to humans” and has linked its pollutants to the cause and aggravation of serious respiratory and heart conditions. A recent study estimated that if these generators operate at just 10% of their permitted capacity, the resulting health costs in Virginia from conditions like asthma could soar to $50 million annually. This danger is amplified by recent policy changes at both the federal and state levels that have expanded the circumstances under which these highly polluting generators can be operated. A 2024 report from Virginia’s Joint Legislative Audit and Review Commission (JLARC) sharply criticized these development patterns, deeming data centers “largely incompatible with residential uses” and highlighting Prince William County’s poor planning as a key example of how inadequate zoning has allowed heavy industrial facilities to encroach upon homes and schools.
A Battle for The Soul of The County
The approval of the “Digital Gateway” project stands as the most dramatic illustration of how local governance in Prince William County has prioritized industrial development over established land-use principles and resident welfare. This proposed 2,000-acre campus, slated to become the largest data center corridor in the world, was planned for an area previously designated as a “rural crescent,” which was specifically zoned to prevent precisely this type of industrialization. The project’s location directly abuts the historic Manassas Battlefield National Park, threatening a site of national significance. The approval process was mired in controversy from the start. Shortly after the project’s proposal, then-Supervisor Peter Candland’s conflict of interest came to light, leading to his resignation. Just days later, the remaining board members voted to dismantle the rural crescent protections. During the final vote to approve the project, which took place over a marathon 27-hour meeting, three supervisors who voted in favor had received campaign donations from a political action committee funded by landowners, like Candland, who stood to profit enormously from the deal. The board’s approval directly contradicted the county planning staff’s own recommendation to reject the proposal, and the decision is now the subject of a lawsuit filed by residents alleging procedural violations.
The fight in Prince William County was not merely a case of “Not In My Back Yard” sentiment. It represented a fundamental battle against the placement of heavy industrial facilities in residential areas, a fight waged by citizens who saw their local government co-opted by a powerful and wealthy industry. The tireless advocacy of residents was systematically dismantled through political maneuvering fueled by campaign cash and pervasive conflicts of interest. As Nicol Turner Lee of the Brookings Institution noted, the situation served as a “cautionary tale” for the nation. While local officials were often lured by the significant tax revenue data centers provide, they frequently failed to secure meaningful community benefits or proactively engage the citizens who would bear the environmental and social costs. This led to a pervasive feeling of extraction, where the primary benefits flowed to multinational corporations while communities were left with the noise, pollution, and a diminished quality of life. The struggle in Prince William County revealed a community at its breaking point, where the very mechanisms of local democracy appeared to have been sold to the highest bidder.
