Email this article

Green River and the Great Nuclear Debate

By Jen Jackson

"This isn't the first - nor would it likely be the last - nuclear reactor proposed for this area."

Main Street is quiet. Restaurants, service stations and hotels are shuttered. Ray's Tavern, a river-rat mecca, offers the only breath of life in downtown Green River. The town known as "Utah's Desert Treasure" doesn't have much shine these days. It's an exit town. The services available at the freeway interchanges thrive, but the town's heart offers a beat that's thready and broken.

"Downtown has died," says Emery County Economic Development Director Mike McCandless. "It's really hard to live through the boom-and-bust cycles. It's devastating."

Green River has always been a boom-and-bust settlement. Railroad headquarters blossomed and blew away. Oil exploration has repeatedly come and gone. Uranium thrived and crashed. And the Utah Launch Complex of the White Sands Missile Base brought the town's population to a high of 2,000 in the late '60s before closing up shop and busting the town anew. Now, the settlement of 1,000 gets by on tourism and agriculture, but it doesn't thrive. Empty buildings and struggling families await the next infusion of habitation and hope.

But McCandless thinks he has the answer. The road to salvation, five years in the making, is the development of a 3,300-acre industrial park west of town. This rural economic development strategy might have gone unnoticed beyond Emery County's borders except for one prominent potential tenant: a nuclear power plant. Now, McCandless finds Emery County at the center of a heated statewide debate about rural Utah's economic future and its tragic past.

"From the mining to the milling, we've seen the health effects," says Vanessa Pierce, executive director of Healthy Environment Alliance (HEAL) of Utah, an organization working to protect Utah citizens from nuclear and other toxic waste. "We've spent millions to clean up tailings piles, to clean up abandoned mines, to fight the storage of waste in this state. But now we're reinforcing the same abusive cycle we've been fighting to stop for the past 10 years. Why would we go back on all that work and allow this thing to go in when we could just help the county find a better revenue alternative?"

McCandless points out that he is looking at alternatives. Eleven other projects - from oil and gas, to manufacturing and distribution - have expressed interest in the park. It just turns out that the nuclear plant and an accompanying uranium mill are the biggest and highest profile projects - the ones with the most potential to shift the fates of Green River. As McCandless notes, the entire tax base in Green River today is $36 million, but the nuclear plant alone could have a taxable value of $1 billion. Those are difficult numbers for a depressed rural community to ignore.

However, the gleam of hope this provides for Emery County - and the shadow of fear it casts over other Utah residents - may yet be premature. Many obstacles stand between an empty industrial park and a fully functional nuclear reactor.

There's the lengthy permitting process, numerous regulatory hoops through which to jump, and a price tag that's been pegged at somewhere between $5 billion and $15 billion. Assuming the nuclear stars are aligned - amidst this economic downturn, no less - the plant could be 20 years away from completion.

And then there's the fact that the project developer, Utah-based Transition Power Development, has remained entirely mum on its plans. It won't even publicly admit that Green River is its preferred siting choice, though it has entered into a preliminary agreement with Emery County to have first right to refusal for 1,600 acres at the industrial park. Nor will Transition speak to its plans for financing and building the pricey plant.

The Moab Times-Independent deftly summed up the nebulous plans: "(The) company isn't working on a nuclear power plant, which may or may not be located near Green River - they are working on a nuclear power plant site, which may or may not be located near Green River."

"The more they can keep muddying the waters, the harder it is for groups like us to raise concerns about it," notes Pierce. "If you're a Green River resident and you hear this thing may happen, but it may not, you're not going to get fully invested in the fight."

What is known about the proposal is that Transition Power has contracted to lease enough water - 53,600 acre feet per year, or 60 million gallons a day - to operate two 1,500-megawatt reactors with the capacity to power four million homes. The company submitted a letter of intent to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission in January 2008, promising a formal reactor license application in 2010.

This isn't the first - nor would it likely be the last - nuclear reactor proposed for this area. It's actually the third time in 30 years that the nuclear industry has turned its gaze toward Green River's surrounding badlands. This track record is emblematic of the fact that, in U.S. history, more nuclear reactor orders have been cancelled than completed.

"If there's going to be nuclear power built somewhere, I guarantee you this is a location that will be looked at very seriously. It's such a perfect fit," says McCandless. "And that's not just me speaking. That's what I'm hearing from people in the industry who have been dealing with this for decades. When they look at the maps and see what's going on and see what we've got here - with the available land, available water, transportation, rail, and the western energy corridor that they're proposing - it stands out."

McCandless speaks with pride in his voice. Despite the project's uncertain future, Green River remains a stand-out site. If Transition Power's nuclear plant doesn't save the county, McCandless appears confident someone's will.

Despite the relative dearth of information, the lack of commitment from Transition Power, and the numerous hurdles the company must overcome, the mere possibility of a nuclear power plant in this small desert wayside has opened a dialog. It's one that many other communities will soon face as the scepter of climate change looms larger and coal power's economic feasibility wanes.

Utah is split on the issue. A recent Salt Lake Tribune poll revealed that 43 percent of residents support nuclear reactors in the state and 42 percent object. But in struggling Green River, the balance may lean in favor of nuclear power. McCandless claims that the vast majority of residents appear eager to explore the possibility. The mayor concurs with this assessment.

The reasons for this support, according to McCandless, are related to hope.

"What does this mean as far as building new schools, building new roads, having people have jobs? You can't even imagine the potential positive impact in terms of employment, in terms of kids being able to stay in town when they graduate from high school. Right now, that's just not feasible because there's not sufficient economic activity."

I have some understanding of Green River's predicament, their longing for something concrete in which to carry their hopes forward. I grew up in a timber community in southern Oregon. When the bottom dropped out on the industry in the early '90s, my dad's job disappeared. There were once 91 saw mills in my home county. Now there is only one. Though I was too young to understand it at the time, I watched downtown Medford wither under the harsh light of a new economic reality. Many Main Street businesses closed, buildings sat empty. And the ghosts of the past timber bust came back to haunt the town two years ago when federal timber subsidies - meant to help communities transition to a more sustainable economic base - dried up. County services were severely diminished, with some - like the library system - disappearing altogether.

I have some understanding of McCandless' fierce loyalty to home ground, his desire to save his community from a slow, isolated demise. My grandfather was a devoted resident of a tiny Oregon desert town for most of his adult life. As one of Nyssa's most prominent businessmen, he dedicated much of his professional life to bringing prosperity to the community that supported his family. He, too, tried to develop an industrial park, offering cheap land and free infrastructure to anyone who could promise jobs. Industry chose to locate in Idaho instead, where property taxes were far lower. After 50 years, the land still sits vacant. Nyssa's population is in decline.

Where would Nyssa be now had something like a nuclear power plant come along? Where will Green River be if its project never materializes? And when does the rejuvenation of a declining community become a larger population's concern? As my grandfather points out, there are thousands of Green Rivers and Nyssas across the country. These questions cannot be ignored.

I want Green River to thrive. I want McCandless to realize his dreams for a brighter, more stable, economic future. And I don't wish for Green River the same fate that Moab endured, losing its identity while securing stability.

However, the issue of nuclear power is one that stretches far beyond the borders of Emery County - and far beyond the generation engaged in the debate. The nuclear industry is more than just power production. It is mining, it is milling, it is tailings piles and nuclear waste storage. These steps of the process pose problems for which we haven't yet learned solutions - problems whose effects reach across the globe and thousands of years into the future. I want prosperity for Green River, but not at the expense of the health and safety of generations to come.

Sarah Fields is a Moab resident who has worked on nuclear industry issues for over a decade, largely without pay. She now heads up the nonprofit entity, Uranium Watch, which is closely watching developments in Green River. Fields and a devoted cadre of concerned friends in Moab are keeping tabs on uranium mining and milling projects all over the West. They are fixtures at the local library, keeping abreast of the industry's history and its future. Fields' dedication is humbling.

"I've been really moved by the impacts of uranium mining and milling on the people of the Navajo Nation where the health impacts have been tremendous," she explains. "When I hear the people speak about the kinds of problems that have been brought to their communities - here, and in Canada and India - you can't help but want to become involved."

Fields isn't the only one moved by the issue. One can't discuss nuclear anything in the state of Utah without treading emotional terrain. Ours is a heartrending history with the atom. From the disastrous effects of Nevada's nuclear testing on unsuspecting citizens, we have a legacy of downwinders and cancer. Uranium mines and mills have left their black marks on communities all over southern Utah, from the Navajo Nation where miners' exposure to radiation led to alarming rates of cancer, to Moab's infamous 16-million-ton tailings pile on the Colorado River. Monticello, south of Moab, also has higher than normal cancer rates, linked to a now-defunct Department of Energy uranium processing mill.

Despite nuclear power's clean track record - no direct fatalities in its history in the United States - people are understandably wary of the possibilities. Uranium and nuclear are not terms we take lightly here.

However, McCandless believes the concerns are overblown due to a lack of understanding on the part of most citizens.

"The nuclear industry has delivered the goods when it comes to safety," he argues. "I've personally known lots of people over my lifetime who've died in coal mines. Lots of them. Yet, what people want to talk about is the safety and concerns of nuclear power when we have absolutely no background in terms of actual incidents to say it is so dangerous.

"If you want to do a true apples-to-apples comparison, compare it to trucking. We lose 300 to 500 truckers in the United States every year. There's no outcry to ban trucking. What's the most dangerous job you can have in America? It's a convenience store clerk. Are we going to ban them as well?"

However, coal miners, truckers and convenience store clerks all have the choice to put their lives on the line without putting others in harm's way. Those who make their home amidst the toxic legacy of abandoned mines, open tailings piles, and nuclear waste awaiting a permanent repository - these people are put in harm's way without a choice. And like the residents of Monticello and the Navajo Nation who have died of cancer, they are the indirect and silent fatalities that the nuclear industry doesn't tally.

In recent years, some prominent environmentalists - from James Lovelock of the Gaia hypothesis and Stewart Brand of the Whole Earth Catalog, to Greenpeace founder Patrick Moore - have rallied in support of nuclear energy as the solution to our energy needs in a shifting world of climate change. It is a relatively clean-emissions energy source and offers consistent energy flow, unlike current wind and solar technology. It also has the ability to produce large amounts of energy at each plant - mimicking the output potential of coal plants - so nuclear can plug into the existing energy grid.

However, nuclear power has many strikes against it as well. Simply based on the global warming argument for its development, it falls flat. Global warming is an issue that needs to be addressed now, whereas nuclear plants take a decade or more to bring online. Furthermore, if we pin our hopes on nuclear power, that much less money is going toward the development of renewables - like solar and wind - and necessary efficiency measures. Capital-intensive nuclear power - the most heavily subsidized energy source in the country - blocks innovation elsewhere. Also, it is projected that the world's uranium reserves - which supply the nuclear plants - could be depleted within 50 years. Once we run out, we are back to square one, back to the development of true renewable energy.

"Renewables could come online much sooner than nuclear," adds Fields. "The time and money should go into energy efficiency, wind and solar, and other more reasonably achievable ways to generate electricity."

And there is the issue of waste. It lasts for up to a half-million years. The more we create, the greater likelihood that the waste won't remain contained, that it will enter the biosphere, that we will see more environmental and health impacts.

"You're essentially trading one poison for another," says Pierce. "I do not question the urgency of addressing global warming, but if you're trading CO2 for spent high-level nuclear fuel, I think that's incredibly short-sighted. Ultimately you might be creating more problems than you're solving."

The industrial park that McCandless is developing sits on School Institutional Trust Lands Administration (SITLA) property. SITLA lands are developed for the financial benefit of Utah's schoolchildren. Thus, the industrial park not only gives a boost to Emery County, but to Utah's education system, as well.

It's hard to argue against funding our children's education, but there is a certain irony in this equation. Ultimately, we're saddling the next generation with a dangerous and expensive legacy of waste. We're funding an education that will be used to solve the problems generated by its funding - a dangerous and defeating cycle.

Of course, the nuclear plant in Green River is still an idea, not yet a reality. Perhaps all the debate is premature. However, this is a project with the power to impact more than just the Emery County economy or the coming generation. It is a project that carries haunting echoes of a heavy history. A dialog is needed now, in the open space afforded by the unknown, if we are to break the cycles of boom and bust, progress and consequence - the cylces reinforcing the belief that the only solution is the one that we know.

Jen Jackson is a contributing editor of Inside/Outside Southwest magazine.

Monday, March 02, 2009
at 2:28:03 PM

Suggest removal

pcjones says:

Go to Goblin Valley, the San Raphel Swell, Arches, or Canyonlands. Green River is cheaper than Moab. And friendlier.