NPR is dedicating a week to stories and conversations about how communities are moving forward on climate solutions despite significant political headwinds. As the federal government halts plans to address climate change, states, cities, regions, and even neighborhoods are trying to fill the gap by cutting climate pollution and adapting to extreme weather. 

COALVILLE, Utah — Since the first day of his second term, President Trump has targeted renewable power. He has signed executive orders aimed at reviving the coal industry. He’s pushed policies to halt new solar and wind development.

Despite this, a coalition of big cities and small towns in conservative Utah is charting a different path — one that will bring more renewable power to the electric grid. The effort could be a model for other U.S. cities to take climate action, even as the federal government pulls back on clean power.

Utah’s capital, Salt Lake City, is one of 19 communities that formed Utah Renewable Communities. Roughly three-quarters of Utah’s electricity comes from coal and natural gas. The coalition is aiming to bring new clean energy to the grid by 2030.

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Utah’s capital, Salt Lake City, is one of 19 communities that formed Utah Renewable Communities. The collaboration has a big goal: generate enough clean electricity to offset the power used in their nearly 300,000 homes and businesses.

To do this, the coalition plans to build renewable energy projects. Think solar arrays and wind farms.

It’s taken years to get to this point. They’ve had to get regulations updated to work directly with the regional utility to add clean energy to the grid. And they’ve had to figure out how to pay for projects.

Now the rules are in place. And the utility, Rocky Mountain Power, a division of PacifiCorp, is on board.

Coal mining history goes way back in Coalville, a small town in northern Utah’s Summit County. But adding more renewables to Utah’s energy mix is about looking to the future, Summit County Sustainability Director Emily Quinton said, improving reliability and costs for customers in the years to come. “Clean energy is not just here and now,” she said. “It absolutely is a long-term investment that I think leads to a stronger grid in the long run.” Here, a statue commemorating the town’s coal-mining history stands outside Coalville City Hall.

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Utah’s bond with coal runs deep

As the name suggests, coal was once the lifeblood of Coalville.

A life-size statue of a miner on Main Street serves as a reminder of the town’s roots. This small mountain town was one of Utah’s first coal communities. Coal was discovered in the area in the late 1850s.

“We do have a legacy here,” said Emily Quinton, sustainability director of Summit County, where Coalville is located. “Not just the coal that was mined here, but we’re in a state of Utah where the state rock is coal.”

Now, Summit County and Coalville are two of the Utah communities betting their future not on coal, but on renewables.

The coalition’s push for clean energy comes at a time when three-quarters of Utah’s electricity is generated from coal and natural gas. These fossil fuels produce planet-warming pollution that drives climate change. State leaders have taken recent action to keep Utah’s coal industry alive, including legislation extending the lifespan of coal-fired power plants that were set to be decommissioned.

But Utah’s energy mix is changing. Roughly 22% of its electricity comes from renewables, such as wind, solar and hydropower. The coalition of 19 cities, towns and counties — which also includes red rock tourism hotspots Moab and Springdale — is working together to expand that trajectory.

It’s a unique strategy, particularly at a time when the federal government has done a U-turn on supporting renewables.

With so many different types of communities in the collaboration, Summit County Sustainability Director Emily Quinton said it’s important to recognize and honor the various reasons people have for joining. “Some people are going to be motivated by pollution that can be avoided by clean energy,” she said. “Some people are going to be motivated by a core climate action goal of reducing greenhouse gas emissions.”

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“The fact that our efforts here have been happening over the course of multiple federal administrations already,” Quinton said, “it shows us that at the local level, you can continue to move on climate strategies regardless of the federal winds.”

That doesn’t mean it has been easy. The coalition has been working toward its goal for several years, driven by residents’ demand for more clean energy options, she said. But it’s taken longer than the communities expected.

“It’s obviously difficult to try to work with 19 different processes,” said Quinton, who is also the coalition’s board secretary. “But I’ve been so impressed this whole time that we have functioned, I would say, very well as a collaborative.”

The state Legislature first had to pass a law in 2019 to make this type of community-utility collaboration possible. The legislation created a framework for the state to regulate it.

That was no small feat, explained Steve Handy, the Republican state representative who championed the bill. In Utah, renewables have often been politicized. Handy said pushback came over what supporting solar and wind could mean for towns where coal is an economic driver.

But in Handy’s view, adding more sources to Utah’s energy mix just makes sense.

“Utah needs all of the power that it can get with the data centers, the advent of artificial intelligence, EVs,” he said. “We can’t get it just from coal-based, fossil fuel-based, because that is now one of the more expensive options.”

Many residents in Park City, Utah, feel the urgency to address climate change, especially this year. Record warm winter temperatures zapped the snow that’s the foundation of the economy and identity of this mountainous area.

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The urgency of climate change

The winter sports hub, Park City, is also part of the coalition. Residents feel an urgency to reduce planet-warming pollution, especially this year, said Luke Cartin, director of lands and sustainability for Park City.

He watched as a ski lift chair hovered over a grassy hill. This slope near where skiers and snowboarders raced during the 2002 Winter Olympics is typically blanketed in snow all spring.

This year, historically warm temperatures zapped the snow that’s the foundation of Park City’s economy and identity. Utah and other Western states had their warmest winter on record.

Utah’s snowpack levels typically peak in early April. A dry winter paired with a warm spring meant Utah’s meager snow cover melted away several weeks ahead of normal this year.

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Then came the early spring heat waves. Researchers with World Weather Attribution found those heat waves would have been virtually impossible without human-caused climate change.

“Instead of just saying, ‘Hey, we held up a sign, but nothing happened,’” Cartin said, “we made this change in one of the most conservative states in the country.” It’s something, he said, “the community can take pride in.”

The Utah coalition’s work is getting noticed. Cartin said he’s fielding questions from communities in other states about how they could do something similar.

“That’s been the really interesting part of being able to present in Montana and Idaho,” Cartin said, “being like, ‘Hey, we figured this out. You can figure it out, too.’”

Park City Director of Lands and Sustainability Luke Cartin said the Utah collaboration’s efforts have been fueled by residents’ demand for more clean energy options. “There’s this pent-up emotion and want and need for this,” he said. “This can make very strong economic sense, and it can also solve a lot of other larger existential threats as well.”

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Political headwinds 

Without the coalition, the projects it’s considering likely would not get built. PacifiCorp, which runs the regional utility Rocky Mountain Power, has rolled back its plans to build new renewable energy resources.

That’s been a response to the Trump administration’s moves that favor fossil fuels. Specifically, the 2025 One Big Beautiful Bill Act undid parts of the Biden-era Inflation Reduction Act that had offered tax incentives for wind and solar.

“This significantly changed the economic modeling of the company’s resource planning, changing the least-cost, least-risk portfolio of resource types that are in the best interests of customers,” PacifiCorp spokesperson David Eskelsen wrote in an email.

A gravel road leads to a group of homes in Castle Valley, Utah. People living in this small desert town have felt the impacts of a warming climate, said Town Council member Pamela Gibson, and they see the logic in pursuing renewables. “I think most people recognize that there is a thing called climate change, and it is man-made, and that we should be doing everything we can,” she said.

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Large solar and wind projects provide more cost-competitive energy than natural gas, nuclear and coal projects, according to financial services firm Lazard. Renewable energy is also proven to be reliable when it’s paired with large batteries and other types of grid management.

Politically, other red states could face challenges to pass legislation like Utah did in 2019, said Severin Borenstein, faculty director of the University of California, Berkeley’s Energy Institute at Haas.

A single initiative won’t do much to stop global climate change, he said. But even a small-scale program, such as Utah’s, could help change the narrative.

“That sort of leadership and setting an example, I think, is the real value of these sorts of efforts,” Borenstein said. “They can build momentum from towns to counties to states and ultimately to the federal government, if it can be shown to be cost-effective.”

Some communities in the Utah coalition have already taken small steps toward going renewable. Moab recently installed a rooftop solar array on City Hall to power its municipal offices. “Living in a rural place, a remote place, we have an attitude that if we want it, we’re going to have to go out and find it,” said Alexi Lamm, the town’s sustainability director. Now, the collaboration will allow Moab to offer clean power to all of its residents.

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The switch to renewables

Utah’s Public Service Commission officially approved the program earlier this year. Communities have until June 2 to pass local ordinances confirming their participation.

Once that happens, the program will have Rocky Mountain Power enroll every home in participating communities. They’ll add a $4 monthly fee to residents’ electric bills starting next year. Low-income residents can get the fee covered, and customers can still opt out.

For many rural communities, switching to all renewable power without this coalition would be next to impossible.

Take Castle Valley, population 347. This community along the Colorado River in southeast Utah is another program participant.

Castle Valley resident Alice Drogin checks on plants at her small business, Canyon Nursery. She’s hopeful her greenhouses will someday run on clean power because of the Utah program. “I have in-floor heating, so I do like my electricity,” she said, “and I would love to be able to have it sourced with renewable types of energy.”

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Town Council member Pamela Gibson said residents wouldn’t consider themselves “radical environmentalists.” But they’ve seen climate change impact the valley — like this year’s warm, dry winter — and they want to protect their home for the future.

“We can’t solve all the problems,” Gibson said. “But if we all get together, it’s drops of water in a big pond. And we can eventually fill it up.”

Utah Renewable Communities plans to announce its first clean energy project this summer and begin generating power by 2030.

Plans for a celebrity-backed “hyperscale” data center in rural Utah, so massive that it would consume more than double the state’s current electricity use, have generated an intense public and political backlash in a state where the motto is “industry” and a Republican supermajority tends to be deferential to development. 

The project, brought by “Shark Tank” TV personality Kevin O’Leary, would span 40,000 acres, demand 9 gigawatts of power once completed, and raise the state’s carbon emissions by 64 percent, according to estimates. While its water needs remain unknown, the sprawling data center would neighbor the northernmost tip of the shrinking Great Salt Lake, which will likely hit a record-low elevation this year following an unprecedented dry winter.

It could also create a massive heat island capable of devastating the area’s ecology, said Robert Davies, a physics professor at Utah State University. Davies estimated that the finished project would cover about as many square miles as Washington, D.C., making it the largest data center on the planet, and that it could produce enough heat to spike nighttime temperatures by as much as 28 degrees Fahrenheit in the high-desert valley. 

“I suspected it would not be good,” Davies said. “What I’ve found is, it’s so much worse than I even thought it would be.”

News of the proposed data complex, dubbed the Stratos Project, became public in April after the three commissioners of Box Elder County, the mostly agricultural community that would host it, approved the project. They pointed to the project’s approval by more powerful state agencies and asserted that stopping it was out of their hands, while refusing to hear comments from more than 1,000 people who showed up to share their concerns. Utah Governor Spencer Cox, a Republican, has since walked back some of his full-throated support.

“Many are asking questions about water, air quality, energy, land use, and the long-term impact on rural Utah,” Cox wrote in a thread on X earlier this month after intense public outcry over the project. “Those are real concerns, and all Utahns should expect clear standards and accountability.”

The controversy in Utah is a stark illustration of a wider trend. Across the United States, data centers are drawing bipartisan backlash as communities clash with tech giants and developers over strained water supplies and spiking energy costs.

At least two other massive data campus projects are proposed elsewhere in Utah, but they have not received anywhere near the pushback as the Stratos Project. Many opponents have pointed to efforts state leaders have made in recent years to support water conservation — Utah is among the driest states in the country — and the state legislature’s multi-million dollar investments to help the Great Salt Lake refill. The lake’s drying bed has already become a source of toxic dust threatening the health of millions of residents living on the Wasatch Front, Utah’s urban core. 

It seems contradictory, then, to build a potentially water-intensive and explosively hot industrial development right next door to such an endangered and iconic spot. 

“The greed behind this deal is clearly blinding the officials to just how much is at stake for the rest of us,” wrote Monika Norwid of Salt Lake City, one of the Utah residents who sent comments to the state’s Division of Water Rights protesting the project. “I refuse to let this greed imperil our already fragile wildlife, I refuse to allow some useless technology steal the rest of our insufficient water for a project that is way beyond the scale of this area.”

In an interview with CNN, O’Leary downplayed the environmental impact of his project, saying Stratos is “not going to destroy air quality” and “not going to drain the Great Salt Lake.”

Austin Pritchett, a cofounder of West GenCo, the developer partnering with O’Leary Digital Limited on the project, said that they plan to purchase roughly 3,000 acre‑feet of on‑site water rights and already have around 10,000 acre‑feet under contract from the nearby town of Snowville if needed. 

Added together, that’s enough water to supply the basic needs of more than 20,000 Utah households. Utah’s Division of Water Rights has only received one application for the project so far — to transfer 1,900 acre-feet currently used for irrigation by the Bar H Ranch. That application was pulled last week, but a representative with the ranch said it will refile and “fully intends to move forward with the project.” A division spokesperson said they anticipate more applications from the data center developers soon.

Some scientists worry the project’s power demands and resulting heat island effect will transform its high-desert climate into something more akin to the Sahara.

Stratos would build its own power plant, state supporters have said, and its fuel will likely come from a corridor carrying natural gas from Wyoming to Nevada, Oregon, and California called the Ruby Pipeline. O’Leary specifically chose Box Elder County’s Hansel Valley to build the complex because the pipeline spans it, state officials have said.

“It could generate power at a significant level,” said Paul Morris, executive director of Utah’s Military Installation Development Authority, a powerful quasi-governmental state agency that provides tax incentives for development, during a public meeting in April. “This location was picked because of the gas pipeline.”

Davies, the physics professor, has done some back-of-the-envelope calculations to better understand the sheer scale of the 9-gigawatt project. And what he’s penciled out so far has him alarmed.

“Nine gigawatts, that’s a number that’s really challenging to get your brain around,” the professor said. ”Communicating the scale has been a real problem.”

The entire project will actually produce roughly 16 gigawatts of thermal energy, according to Davies. It starts with the massive on-site power generation, which will generate 7 to 8 gigawatts of waste heat just producing the needed electricity for the data center, since gas plants are only about 57 percent efficient.

And once that electricity reaches the data center, every watt will turn into pure heat, because anytime a gadget consumes power, it converts it into heat, Davies explained, whether it’s a toaster, a car, or a sprawling rack of computer servers.

Typically, waste heat from end uses of electricity is dumped far from a power plant, in homes, businesses, or on roads where it dissipates. In this case, the Stratos project will release roughly 16 gigawatts of thermal energy into Hansel Valley, according to Davies. That trapped thermal load is the “equivalent of about 23 atom bombs worth of energy dumped into this local environment every single day,” Davies said.

That doesn’t mean the project would wipe out the landscape with an explosion or release dangerous nuclear radiation, but the heat it creates could devastate the local ecology.

“What happens if you deposit that much energy continuously into a topography like this?” Davies wondered. “Right at the north end of the Great Salt Lake, a watershed that’s in collapse. A high-desert environment? A valley?”

Davies thinks dumping that much heat into Hansel Valley will raise local temperatures by 5 degrees F during the day and up to 28 degrees at night.

“That’s the difference between Utah’s semi-arid climate and the Sahara Desert,” said Ben Abbott, an ecology professor at Brigham Young University who has reviewed Davies’ estimates. “This would absolutely change the landscape.”

Evaporation would spike. The dew point could collapse, with devastating consequences on wildlife, plants, and the fertility of land owned by other ranchers in the valley, Abbott and Davies said. Abbott suspects Hansel Valley would become another source of dust on the Wasatch Front, in addition to the exposed and drying lake bed of the shrinking Great Salt Lake.

“I’m happy to be further educated. Maybe I’m getting something wrong here,” Davies said. “But that is kind of the point, right? You literally have a hyperscale project that is getting no due diligence.”

Salt Lake Tribune reporter Samantha Moilanen contributed to this story.