What happens when a data center moratorium passes?

BROCKWAY TWP. — When Brockway Township’s moratorium on data centers expires in November, business as usual resumes.

It may not mean much and — if the township’s past lack of solar, wind or battery development is any indication — it’s possible no developer with plans for a data center ever approaches the municipality.

But like townships and villages across Michigan, Brockway could tout a new ordinance regulating data center development upon the moratorium’s expiration in case a developer, who owns or will soon procure land, approaches the township.

Brockway planning commissioners largely solidified language within that ordinance at a September workshop, and the public is invited to comment at a hearing later this month.

The township, via Facebook, rescheduled the public hearing to Oct. 27 at 5 p.m. at the township hall.

If the township hadn’t issued a moratorium last November, how different might its situation be now? It completely changes how the township interacts with developers.

“If a local government does not have a zoning ordinance, then any lawful land use is allowed in that local government,” Catherine Mullhaupt, staff attorney at the Michigan Townships Association, explained over email.

For other townships within St. Clair County that do not have regulatory ordinances for data center development, county rules would apply. No such county ordinance exists as of October, though the county health department has hosted public workshops discussing data center use and implications. If the county implements an ordinance in the future, Brockway’s ordinance would still apply to any local development.

The way that development occurs can, to an extent, be guided by a township’s ordinance.

No local government may outright prohibit data center development, but it can lay out rules restricting noise, tree coverage and light pollution, as well as require developers to provide studies on workforce impacts and traffic.

Brockway’s draft ordinance as viewed in September included provisions limiting interested developers to closed-loop or zero-loop water cooling systems, and a provision requiring proof of sufficient electrical capacity to power the development. If not, the applicant would cover the infrastructure improvement costs.

As reported previously, Brockway’s ordinance limits data centers to land between M-19 to the west, Cork Road to the east, M-136 to the south and Wilkes Road to the north. It’s the same section reserved for wind and solar energy systems.

These types of provisions are the extent of a township’s power in limiting development due to state laws against exclusionary zoning.

A township can, Mullhaupt explained, examine its own “character” and consider how developments may fit without creating nuisances. Moratoriums, in theory, give townships time to work that language out.

“If you don’t have appropriate land area, you could say — in theory — ‘We don’t have appropriate land area,’” Mullhaupt said generally about zoning rules over the summer. “But you’d probably be arguing it in court.”

Lawsuits ongoing across the state

Across Michigan, the rapid rush to build data centers to power the modern internet and artificial intelligence boom has collided head-on with local communities, igniting a wave of high-stakes legal warfare in courtrooms across the state.

At the center of the conflict is a tense tug-of-war between property developers and small-town governments attempting to pump the brakes. 

In Wayne County’s Gibraltar, developer Raeden LLC took the city to court after local officials enacted a 12-month temporary moratorium on data center approvals, halting plans in their tracks. 

Raeden’s lawsuit alleges the emergency pause unlawfully strips away pre-existing development rights and violates state zoning standards — an argument drawing heavily on Michigan’s prohibition against exclusionary zoning, which prevents municipalities from outright banning lawful land uses.

Where local governments try to resist, the financial pressure of drawn-out litigation often forces their hand. 

In Washtenaw County’s Saline Township, board members initially rejected a massive data center rezoning proposal, only to face a major lawsuit from the developer and participating landowners. 

Facing potentially crippling legal bills, the township chose to settle, establishing a scaled-back framework for the site.

That surrender, however, simply shifted the legal battleground from municipal offices to grassroots court filings. 

Local resident coalitions, supported by advocacy groups such as the Rural Michigan Defense Fund and Stop the Saline Data Center, filed follow-up lawsuits to block the settlement. Their actions allege procedural missteps and improper rezoning while raising urgent warnings over public infrastructure strain, noise pollution and heavy water consumption.

Where data centers are already up and running, legal battles over quality of life have taken root.

In Cass County’s Dowagiac, residents filed a federal class-action lawsuit against Alliance Cloud Services LLC, claiming the near-constant, low-frequency hum of industrial cooling fans has shattered the peace of their neighborhood and dragged down property values.

Together, these cases reflect a growing statewide tension: While tech infrastructure firms push for swift expansion, Michigan’s small towns and residents are increasingly using the courts to demand a say in how — or if — the digital grid moves into their backyard.

— Max Kappel is a Report for America Corps member, covering underreported issues for local news deserts. Tax-deductible donations to support his work are matched dollar for dollar by Report for America at tinyurl.com/2s372ebu.