Wind farm near Alma, Michigan, in Gratiot County, Michigan. These turbines are operated by Invenergy & DTE Energy. (Corey Seeman, Flickr)
Last year, the Biden administration announced major climate goals: achieving a carbon pollution-free power sector by 2035 and a net zero emissions economy by no later than 2050. Twenty-nine states and the District of Columbia now require utilities to generate a significant share of power from solar, wind or other non-carbon sources.
Climate scientists say a rapid reduction in harmful emissions is urgently needed to address rising temperatures, extreme heat, and disruptions to agriculture and the economy caused by human-induced global warming. Changing how we produce electricity will require massive investment in new infrastructure—and large chunks of real estate.
Wind farm near Alma, Michigan, in Gratiot County, Michigan. These turbines are operated by Invenergy & DTE Energy. (Corey Seeman, Flickr)
The farms and fields of rural America can be a good fit for renewable projects, which create significant new income and tax revenue. But not everyone is thrilled to see utility-scale windmills and solar panels transforming their communities.
In this two-part series, Barn Raiser will explore how this conflict is playing out in rural Michigan communities. Some have embraced multi-million-dollar renewable projects, while others are strongly opposed—and the fight is not over.
Sandy Smiley loves her home in Michigan’s Keene Township, a rural community of some 680 households, half-an-hour east of Grand Rapids. Her house sits on a 10-acre lot, which she uses as pasture. “I’ve lived there for 30 years,” she says. “I wanted horses, I didn’t want to live in the city.”
Her friends and neighbors, Smiley, says, “would do anything to raise their kids outside of their cell phones, and have them outside, playing, learning to hunt, watching the wildlife.”
I met Smiley in mid-April at Oskar Scot’s, a family-owned diner tucked inside a strip mall in Caledonia, Michigan, a town of 1,700 just south of Grand Rapids. That evening, State Rep. Angela Rigas, a Republican who represents the area, was hosting an event on behalf of Citizens for Local Choice, activists who are pushing back against what they see as a threat to their way of life.
A massive land rush is underway in rural Michigan, fueled by utility and energy developers who are spending hundreds of millions of dollars to site large-scale, solar and wind farms. Modern windmills can stretch as high as 600 feet in the air, and scores of them are needed, stretching over hundreds or thousands of acres, to replace the megawatts generated by fossil-fueled power plants. Solar farms can also mean a significant change in rural land use.
Smiley, a vice president for sales at a local printing firm, has been campaigning for more than a year to stop a large-scale solar project proposed near her home. She’s canvassed her neighbors to recall local officials who voted to approve the solar farm, then worked to overturn a local ordinance that authorized the project. Earlier this month, she won a Republican primary for the position of Keene Township trustee; with no Democratic opposition, she’ll be elected in the fall.
Smiley got involved in local politics because she doesn’t want solar panels for neighbors—and she really doesn’t want to see any transmission lines crossing her property.
Such infrastructure is essential, however, if Michigan is to meet its upgraded Renewable Portfolio Standard, which require utilities to generate 60% of electricity from wind, solar or water sources by 2035—11 years from now.
These ambitious goals are part of a package of clean energy bills, approved by narrow Democratic majorities in both chambers of the state legislature and signed into law last November by Michigan’s Democratic governor, Gretchen Whitmer.
Smiley and her allies are convinced one part of the package is dirty pool: A provision that gives the state final authority to site large-scale renewable projects, with the ability to supersede zoning restrictions or other obstacles imposed by townships and other local units of government. Under the new legislation, developers still have the option of seeking approval from local authorities. But if a project runs into a roadblock, developers can appeal instead to the three members of Michigan’s statewide Public Service Commission (PSC), appointed by the sitting governor.
There’s precedent for using a central authority to handle energy infrastructure that crosses multiple local jurisdictions. The Michigan PSC has had siting authority over oil and gas pipelines, for example, for more than 100 years.
A rebellion against renewables
Whitmer and Michigan Democrats created last November’s statewide standards after a noisy, effective rebellion against renewable energy projects in multiple rural communities across the state. The pushback is remarkable given the economic benefits enjoyed by jurisdictions that have welcomed renewable projects, including tens of millions in local tax revenues and an even larger stream of lease payments to farmers and landowners.
Michigan Gov. Gretchen Whitmer signs Public Act 235, part of a package of clean energy bills passed into law in November 2023. (Whitmer office photo)
Opposition to renewable energy projects is by no means confined to Michigan. In February, USA Today found that more than 400 counties nationwide, including the entire state of Kentucky, have blocked solar and wind projects through bans, moratoriums and other impediments.
In Michigan, activists like Sandy Smiley are organizing to remove local officials who don’t sign on to the anti-renewables agenda. In 2022 and 2023, residents across 12 different townships in seven Michigan counties put recall elections on the ballot against 30 township supervisors, clerks, treasurers and trustees who had voted to approve large wind and solar projects.
In 26 of those races—including two in Smiley’s Keene Township—a majority of voters ousted local officials from their positions, and two others resigned rather than face recall. Voters in several jurisdictions also voted to repeal ordinances that would have permitted the new ventures, effectively stopping construction.
The former officials were removed from part-time administrative jobs where people who’ve known each other for years work through the steady rhythm of local governance: budgets, taxes, elections, zoning—and the occasional mega project.
“I lost by 20 votes,” says Colleen Stebbins, who had served for 30 years, first as treasurer, then as clerk, on the Winfield Township board in rural Montcalm County, an hour north of the state capital in Lansing. “It was only because we voted for wind and solar.” During the several years activists were trying to block energy developers from building in Montcalm, she says life at the township hall got a lot less neighborly.
“They cuss and swear at you, pour water on the floor,” says Stebbins. “I had one woman used the f-word to me. I said, ‘I don’t care who in the heck you are, get your butt out of this hall now.’ ” The f-bomber, Stebbins says, put her name forward during the recall campaign and is now a township trustee.
A booth set up by the Citizens for Local Choice in the spring to collect signatures for a statewide referendum to overturn the Michigan Public Service Commission’s final authority on siting utility-scale renewable energy projects. (Citizens for Local Choice)
I didn’t hear any f-bombs from the few dozen people clustered around tables to eat, chat—and sign petitions—at Oskar Scot’s. Citizens for Local Choice was aiming to gather 500,000 signatures, statewide, for a voter referendum. If passed, it would overturn the law that yanks authority over siting renewable projects away from local jurisdictions.
Rep. Rigas selected the venue, she told me, because the restaurant stayed open all during the Covid-19 pandemic, despite orders from Gov. Whitmer to close public dining during the most severe outbreaks of the illness. Rigas herself got into politics as an anti-shutdown activist, giving haircuts outside the state capitol in May 2020, although Whitmer had banned “non-essential” businesses from operating at the time.
The many hats of Kevon Martis
The evening’s headliner was Kevon Martis, a feisty, folksy, white-haired home remodeler from Lenawee County, a three-hour drive from Caledonia. Martis is also a Lenawee County commissioner, a zoning administrator for one of Lenawee’s townships—and an indefatigable campaigner against renewable energy projects.
Years later, Martis is sticking to his guns. In a follow-up phone conversation, he cited a London School of Economics study which suggests that “wind farm visibility reduces local house prices.” Closer to home, however, property values are increasing, not decreasing in Michigan’s Gratiot County, where a number of communities have welcomed wind farms during the past decade.
The experience of noise for those living near wind turbines can be subjective. In Michigan a wind turbine has to be set back from the nearest home by a distance just over twice the height of the windmill. The resulting sound reaching a nearby residence is in the 40 to 50 decibel range, not much louder than an average refrigerator. But there is no shortage of complaints from residents who say the whirring sound of a turbine disrupts their sleep and makes life unpleasant during waking hours.
According to a 2012 “review of global peer-reviewed scientific data and independent studies” cited by the U.S. Department of Energy, “sound from wind power plants does not pose a risk of hearing loss and has no direct impact on physical human health.”
Twelve years on, following anger at public health restrictions imposed by Gov. Whitmer during the pandemic and loud claims of a stolen election, many rural Michiganders don’t trust any “experts.” And they feel they’re being ignored about important decisions that affect their lives.
A show of force
With help from Martis, many of the tactics used in Riga Township back in 2009 have now surfaced in other communities. These include a forceful, sometimes angry presence at public meetings, followed up by recalls, referenda and threats of legal action.
Martis is a polarizing figure, welcomed by local activists who oppose wind and solar projects, reviled by those who support them. His critics are certain he is on the payroll of the fossil fuel industry, citing his position as a senior policy fellow at the Energy and Environment Legal Institute, a think tank that has received financial backing from Arch Coal and Peabody Energy.
Martis says the position is an honorary one, with no money attached. Environmentalists see any association with the institute as dishonorable, asserting the group has fueled climate denial by filing nuisance lawsuits against scientists who research the steady rise in temperature caused by global carbon emissions.
Kevon Martis speaks about wind turbines to WJBK’s Brett Dickie. (WJBK Fox 2 News)
During the April gathering at Oskar Scot’s Martis cheerfully refuted the charges against him.
“You can Google my name and see a lot of scandalous stories about how I’m funded by coal, gas, nuclear, tobacco,” he said as he started his presentation. “None of them are true. My wife would point to her wallet and say, ‘If only this were true.’ ”
Speaking on behalf of Citizens for Local Choice, Martis took off the hat he has worn for 15 years as an anti-renewable activist. The current campaign, he claims, is a fight for local democracy, one that enjoys broad bipartisan support.
“We don’t have a position on renewables as to whether they’re good or bad,” he said. “We’re focused on one narrow issue. It should be our township or county’s decision, not three unelected bureaucrats in Lansing.”
All politics are local—until they’re not
Sandy Smiley, Stephanie Rigas and Kevon Martis, working from the right side of the political spectrum, are focused on the issue of local control to push back against a Democratic governor they don’t like. A decade ago, the tables were turned: Voices on the left (including mine) focused on local control to push back against a Republican governor we didn’t like.
Shortly after he took office in 2011, Whitmer’s predecessor, Republican Gov. Rick Snyder, worked with GOP majorities in the state legislature to enact a tough “emergency manager” law, with authority to sideline elected officials in “financially distressed” local units of government. A majority of Michigan voters were not thrilled with this idea, and we overturned the statute in a 2012 referendum.
Snyder promptly pushed a new version through the legislature in a lame duck session and eventually took over 11 troubled municipalities and school districts. Most of them—like Detroit, Pontiac, Benton Harbor and Flint—were cities with a majority Black population, run by Democratic officeholders.
As the world knows, an epic disaster unfolded in Flint. The city’s water system was catastrophically mismanaged, with a dangerous dose of chlorine that corroded lead pipes, poisoning tens of thousands of city residents. What the world doesn’t know is that during this time, Flint had no functioning elected municipal government. Instead, it was under the thumb of an emergency manager appointed by the Snyder administration.
When Flint residents initially protested about brown, foul-smelling water, skin rashes and other problems, their outcries went nowhere. The appointed emergency manager wasn’t elected by them, didn’t work for them and was not accountable to them.
Both children and adults in Flint are still suffering well-documented health impacts from the high levels of lead that contaminated their drinking water. There is no evidence of comparable harm to people living near solar and wind farms. There’s also a distinction between curbing one specific power of local officials—siting authority over renewables—and taking away all their powers, as occurred under Snyder’s emergency manager regime.
Michigan Ds and Rs agree on cutting carbon
Nobody, right or left, likes “unelected bureaucrats.” What’s surprising in Michigan is that both Republicans and Democrats have developed an increasing affection for renewable energy—and the utility industry is going along for the ride. In 2008, then-Gov. Jennifer Granholm, a Democrat and current U.S. Secretary of Energy, worked with Republican majorities in the state legislature to put a 10% renewable standard in place in 2008. In 2015, Republican Gov. Snyder and GOP legislators bumped it to 15%.
Responding to public mandates, energy developers and utility companies began breaking ground on large-scale solar and wind projects in Michigan, and construction continued throughout the Obama and Trump administrations. The latest regulatory upgrade, to a 60% renewables portfolio by 2035, “is only going to increase pressure dramatically to site new large-scale wind and solar projects,” says John Freeman, a former Democratic state representative who now heads the Great Lakes Renewable Energy Association.
Michigan one of at least 13 states working to meet the demand for renewable energy by centralized siting decisions for major projects—an authority that now remains with the state’s Public Service Commission.
At the end of May, Citizens for Local Choice acknowledged they had not collected enough signatures to get on the ballot in 2024. “We were never stupid enough to believe it would be easy,” Martis told me when I reached him on the phone a week later. According to campaign finance filings, the organization raised just under $300,000, far short of the $7 to $10 million Martis estimates he needs to run a serious statewide campaign. He’s hoping to try again in 2026.
Citizens for Local Choice received donations of $50,000 or more—making up most of its not-big-enough budget—from the Michigan Townships Association, the Michigan Association of Counties, the Michigan Farm Bureau and a nonprofit called Our Home, Our Voice, which is not required to disclose its donors. Martis wears another hat as spokesperson for this last group. Critics have questioned the legality of transferring funds between the two organizations.
Where’s all that fossil fuel money?
Notably absent from the list of disclosed donations is any substantial funding from fossil fuel companies, with just one $10,000 donation from an executive retired from an Ohio company that makes natural gas compressors.
“I was surprised,” says renewables advocate John Freeman. “I would have thought that this would have been a great opportunity for the oil and gas industry to stop or slow down expansion of solar and wind in Michigan.”
“If there was ever a time for this imaginary fossil fuel money to show up, this would be it,” says Martis.
More than a few people I talked to wondered who pays Martis when he drives across Michigan, Ohio and elsewhere to campaign against renewables and “unelected bureaucrats.” Based on records he submitted for Citizens for Free Choice campaign filings, the answer seems to be Kevon Martis. He listed in-kind contributions for mileage and printing, as well as a $5,000 donation, for a total of over just over $9,200.
“Truth is, I’m probably out a couple of hundred thousand in lost business,” says Martis.
Another no-show in the effort to slow down Michigan’s move to renewables: the state’s utility industry.
Not long ago, in 2012, DTE and Consumers Energy—Michigan’s two largest power companies—spent millions to block a ballot proposal that would have spiked the state’s renewable requirement to 25%, substantially higher than the 10% required by state law at the time.
Twelve years later, the economics of the power industry have changed significantly. In most places, utilities can now generate electricity with solar and wind facilities at a lower cost than using coal, gas or oil.
Utilities were in favor of the law that moved final siting decisions to the state’s Public Service Commission, says Freeman, so they can proceed with the construction needed to meet the state’s new requirements.
DTE Energy “is transforming the way it generates power and is on the path achieve a carbon-neutral future,” says company spokesman Chris Lamphear. DTE will meet Michigan’s 60% renewable portfolio standard by 2035, he says.
“The reason they’re moving to renewables is not to address climate change, although that is a nice outcome for them,” says Laura Sherman, president of the Michigan Energy Innovation Business Council. “They’re moving to renewables because it’s the cheapest option.” Sherman’s organization represents businesses that develop renewable energy facilities, as well as Michigan manufacturers that make components for wind turbines and solar arrays.
By requiring a greater share of electric power from non-carbon sources, Michigan (and other states with renewable requirements) are operating a “cash-for-clunkers” program on a galactic scale. During the Obama administration, individual consumers could get up to $4,500 for trading in an old gas guzzler for a more fuel-efficient vehicle. Today in Michigan, a utility company can charge ratepayers hundreds of millions of dollars for the cost of retiring a still-functioning fossil fuel plant and replacing it with carbon-free energy from a solar or wind farm.
“The way they make most of their profit is not by selling electricity,” says Freeman. “It’s by building stuff.” The lower cost of operating renewable facilities, he points out, is not being passed on to consumers.
In effect, utility firms—along with the rest of the energy industry—are “green” companies in the same way they always were. They’re chasing the highest return on investment. Thanks to a mix of government regulation and private sector innovation, this path now leads to a push for renewables—and it winds straight through rural communities.
Sandy Smiley is not eager to go down that road. The campaign to curb global warming, she says, is “a money-making scam.” She doesn’t see any social benefit from the solar project that has been proposed near her home in Keene Township. But Smiley fears the state Public Service Commission could use its new authority to site the project anyway.
“My beautiful township and people I really care about, they’re going to have these things right next to them, over the top of them,” she told me back in April. “Why would we just completely run over rural America?”
“Michigan is going to look a lot different with 200,000 acres to meet the green initiatives our governor wants.”
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