Anarchists, Indians, NIMBY's—Oh My!
How strange bedfellows
are taking on big energy—and winning
by Lou
Blouin
MANISTEE—Fred LaPoint isn’t exactly what you’d call a textbook
radical. He’s always worn his hair short, considers himself a big
supporter of the armed forces, and at 49, had never attended a
demonstration in his life.
So when
he learned of a Houston developer’s plans to build a 425-megawatt
coal-fired power plant in his job-starved hometown, he actually
thought it might be a good thing. It didn’t even bother him that the
20-story facility and 400-foot smokestack would be installed right
across the street from the home he’d just spent thousands of dollars
remodeling.
But
within weeks of learning of the plan, LaPoint, who fights fires by
day, would find himself leading a coalition of diverse allies in an
effort to put an end to Houston’s coal-fired dreams. Angry,
“not-in-my-backyard,” mostly middle-class citizens (a.k.a. NIMBY’s)
were joining ranks with leaders from the Little River Band of Ottawa
Indians—whose successful gaming casino still sits uneasily with area
residents—and a wily crew of anti-privatization activists with a
penchant for direct action.
An
unlikely coalition—yes. But even more shocking—they’re actually
winning.
In
mid-April, city planners dealt the coal plan a fatal blow, denying a
required permit for the project over environmental, economic, and
public health concerns. And while the city’s vote on the project was
unanimous, a citizen victory over the state’s big energy interests
was hardly a foregone conclusion.
Many in
Manistee—including the city council and planning commission, which
endorsed the plan without hesitation, much less review—saw the
project as an economic boon for an area short on living wage jobs.
“We
were rocked really hard in the 1980s when three of the city’s major
employers packed up and left basically overnight,” LaPoint
explained.
“When
this plan came along, there was the mindset that ‘this is all we
deserve, we have no place to go, we have no way to change it, so
we’re going to stick it out and take whatever crumbs are given to
us.’”
And the
project may well have been fast-tracked if not for leaders from the
Little River Band of Ottawa Indians, according to LaPoint. Realizing
the need to move quickly, the local tribe organized a public meeting
on the issue in October 2003. When hundreds of citizens turned out
to voice their concerns about the plant’s potential environmental
and public health impacts, LaPoint began asking questions of his
own.
“I
consider myself a pretty informed guy,” he said, “but I just didn’t
know anything about coal-fired power plants.”
“The
more I learned, though, the more I realized I didn’t want this in my
community. I didn’t even want it in my state,” he said.
And
LaPoint wasn’t alone. Joining with other area residents to form
Manistee Citizens for Responsible Development or CFRD (pronounced
“See forward” or sometimes affectionately, “See Fred”), LaPoint and
company began digging up information to find out how the project
could be stopped.
Stonewalled by city officials, the group used the Freedom of
Information Act (FOIA) to uncover a series of illegal closed-door
sessions between Joe Tondu, the project’s developer, and city and
regional energy officials.
“We
were able to uncover all sorts of lies,” LaPoint said. “We found out
about secret negotiations between Tondu and the city, and Tondu and
the Michigan Public Power Agency (MPPA). We found out he was telling
his investors one thing, the city another, and the MPPA another.
This was crucial to undermining his credibility,” he said.
Encouraged by the success of their initial fishing expeditions, CFRD
members pounced next on the city’s planning commission, which they
discovered was required to review the project under the city’s
zoning ordinance.
With
the help of anarchist organizers from Sweetwater Alliance (who only
half-jokingly refer to themselves as “rent-a-riot”), CFRD went
door-to-door to rally area residents against the project. Given just
weeks to prepare, the coalition organized hundreds from around the
region to attend three crucial public hearings, giving over nine
hours of testimony, with all but a few speaking against the plan.
When
the dust settled, the commission had unanimously rejected the permit
and sent Tondu back to Houston licking his wounds—beaten badly by a
most unlikely set of allies.
“The
diversity of the coalition was so huge,” LaPoint said. “We had
doctors, PhD’s, psychologists, and attorneys. We had blue collar
workers, laborers, firefighters, and farmers. We had moms and dads,
grandpas and grandmas, and even young kids.”
“We cut
across all economic and ideological backgrounds,” he said. “It
became impossible to point the finger and say ‘you’re just a bunch
of radicals’. Without the participation of all the groups…this could
have turned out much differently.”
Tondu,
however, is probably not the last Manistee will see of Big Coal.
Given the city’s port access to Lake Michigan and Manistee County’s
“non-attainment” status (the EPA’s designation for counties where
greenhouse gases like the ones produced by coal-fired power plants
are not federally monitored), other players in the state’s energy
lobby are likely to push a coal-based future for Manistee.
Chief
among them is the Michigan Public Power Agency, the cooperative of
13 Michigan municipalities which backed the Tondu plan, and which is
still looking to build a sizable power plant, probably coal. MPPA
members have already looked at a 40-acre site in Stronach Township
on the east end of Manistee Lake as a possible location, though the
agency denies having purchased any land or having signed contracts
with new developers.
Given
how thoroughly citizens dispensed of the Tondu proposal, others may
not be anxious to try their luck—at least not yet. But if they do,
all indications suggest that LaPoint and company will be there to
meet them.
“We’ve
been motivated to continue something that we’ve started,” La Point
said, “to carry out a vision for a green—and I don’t just mean
dollar-wise—future for Manistee.”
“We can
be a showcase community, not just for Michigan, but the country,” he
said. “We can show them that we don’t just have to rely on city hall
or county or state government to illicit change and do things in a
responsible clean and green fashion. We can start it all from a
grassroots level.”
Lou Blouin is an organizer with Sweetwater Alliance. For more
information on this and other issues visit www.waterissweet.org.
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