There is a question beneath many of our arguments about growth that rarely gets a clear answer. When people oppose a new development, are they saying it belongs somewhere else? Or are they saying it should not exist at all? We spend a great deal of time arguing about the proposal without first settling that point.
Most people know the term NIMBY: “Not In My Back Yard.” Its less famous cousin is BANANA: “Build Absolutely Nothing, Anywhere, Near Anyone.” The names are amusing, at least until someone applies one to you. But the distinction behind them is worth more than the joke.
One position concerns where something belongs. The other concerns whether it belongs anywhere. These are not the same argument, and frankly, we should stop treating them as though they are.
A person who opposes an industrial plant near a neighborhood may have sound reasons. The road may be too narrow for trucks. The proposed buildings may be too close to homes. Noise may be a concern. None of this means the person opposes industry, jobs or the general idea of a working economy.
But “put it somewhere else” is only the start of an answer. Somewhere else should mean a place with features that make it better suited to the use. Otherwise, we have not solved the problem. We have simply nominated a different set of neighbors to have it and more than likely, fight against it.
The person who opposes the same plant at every possible location is making a broader claim. That person may also have a case. But it requires a broader explanation: Why should the use be ruled out, and what would follow from that choice?
There is nothing wrong with saying no. The trouble starts when we pretend that every no means the same thing, or that saying no removes the need to explain it.
It would also be a mistake to treat resistance to development as a habit found only among residents at a crowded council meeting. Indeed, a zoning code is a rather lengthy account of what may go where, under what conditions, and sometimes not at all.
That is not, by itself, a bug in the system. Few people would want a large industrial plant placed beside their home simply because the land was available. The point of good land use planning is to make choices before those choices become costly mistakes.
But an arbitrary line on a zoning map is not an argument. Officials should be able to explain why a use belongs in one area and not another. If they want to prohibit it across the whole community, they should explain what that ban would accomplish.
The same duty applies when officials favor a project. “We need growth” is no more a complete answer than “we don’t want change.” One names a goal. The other names a concern. Neither tells us whether the proposal has any tangible benefit for the community.
This brings us to data centers, where several different arguments can find themselves packed into the same public meeting. One resident may oppose the location. Another may question the demand on utilities. A third may object to a tax agreement. A fourth may believe the community should not allow data centers under any terms.
Those people might cast the same vote on one proposal. That does not mean they share a position on the next one. A different location might answer the first concern. A clear account of public costs might answer another. Neither would settle the question for someone who opposes the use itself.
We would gain something by asking each person to state the objection plainly. Is there a location where this use would be acceptable? Are there conditions that would make a difference? If the answer is no, what makes this a use the community should exclude?
These are fair questions, not traps. But they become traps if officials ask them only of residents while allowing developers to speak in promises.
A developer should explain why the site is suitable, what public services the project would require, and who would pay for them. If the case rests on jobs, tax revenue or other gains, those claims deserve close review. An opponent should not have to prove that a project would be a disaster merely to ask whether it is a good deal.
The purpose of a robust public review should not be to wear people down until they agree. Nor should it be to give a decision already made the appearance of public debate. A useful process must leave room for approval, rejection and meaningful change.
That means asking clear questions at each stage. Does the use fit the site? Can the roads and utilities serve it? What costs would fall on the public? What conditions are needed, and who would enforce them? Holding three meetings instead of one does little good if all three leave the same questions unanswered.
Residents have duties in that process, too. They should distinguish between a concern that can be addressed and a firm position that no change would satisfy. Both deserve a hearing. But they call for different responses.
Of course, Piqua foreclosed on an open and transparent process when discussing a potential data center for their community. There was not a clear and sober discussion of benefits and drawbacks of what this development means for the community now and into the future.
And in large part, the community’s failure to have such a discussion has largely created the acrimonious enviornment we have now. If there was no room for a nuanced debate back last November, there certainly isn’t room for one now and in that environment the entire community lost.
The data center debate will not end on Election Day. Whatever voters decide, communities will still face choices about land, growth, public costs and the rights of nearby residents. Those choices will not become easier because one side calls the other anti-growth, or because the reply is that City Hall has sold out.
Opening the door to every project is not a development policy. Closing it to every project is not much of one either. The real work lies in deciding what belongs where, under which terms, and for whose benefit.
Before the next argument begins, then, let us establish what the argument is about. Is this the wrong proposal for this place? Or is there no place where it would be right? The answer may not settle the dispute, but at least we would finally be talking about the same issue.
This is what it looks like when residents stay informed. If you find value in this work, share it with a neighbor, a colleague, or anyone who cares about this community. Paid subscriptions keep it going — $5 a month.
Civic Capacity runs on one thing: readers who believe local journalism matters. If you want to support this work without a subscription, you can now make a one-time contribution through Buy Me a Coffee — or in my case, Buy Me an Iced Tea. Click the button below. Every contribution goes directly into the work you read here every day.


