Post by blackcrowheart on Mar 16, 2006 10:11:25 GMT -5
Power plant shutdown fuels fight between tribes, utility
By John Ritter, USA TODAY
BLACK MESA, Ariz. -- On the last day of 2005, the West's dirtiest
power
plant shut down, forcing the coal mine that supplied it to close.
That
was keenly felt by the nation's most populous Indian tribe, which
lost
jobs and millions of dollars in royalties from the world's largest
coal company.
Those elements now frame a sticky debate in Indian country about one
of
the USA's thorniest policy issues: reliance on traditional energy
sources such as oil, gas and coal, vs. developing renewable
alternatives
such as wind and solar power.
A key to the debate is an arcane regulatory mechanism called
pollution
credits. Polluters, such as coal-fired power plants, buy and sell
credits in a commodities-style market designed to help clean up the
nation's smokestacks. A plant that closes and stops polluting earns
credits, based on a federal formula, for its owners.
In this dispute, an outside coalition of environmental groups for
the
first time is demanding tens of millions of dollars worth of the
plant
owner's credits as restitution for decades of pollution and, the
groups
say, undervalued coal royalties.
The strategy reflects the growing interest across the country in
claiming credits as compensation.
"Environmental groups are saying, 'These are really valuable. Why
don't
we allocate them beyond the plants?' " says Thaddeus Huetteman, vice
chairman of Power & Energy Analytic Resources in Atlanta, a trading
and consulting firm.
Tribal leaders are in talks aimed at reopening the mine and the
Mohave
Generating Station in Laughlin, Nev. But the demand by the grass-
roots
coalition for the plant's credits could sabotage those efforts and
upend
a decades-old status quo on the sprawling Navajo and Hopi
reservations.
Meanwhile, miners who lost the highest-paying reservation jobs are
suffering. "This was my dream ever since I was small, to live on the
reservation, live on my homeland where my grandparents set a site
for
me," says K.J. Clitso, who's trying to support his wife, six
children
and a $400-a-month mortgage on $240 a week in unemployment.
"I'm settled. I'd hate to leave."
The coalition says credits that the power plant owners will amass by
keeping their facility closed could finance solar and wind energy
development and create jobs.
In January, the Indian groups Black Mesa Trust, Indigenous
Environmental
Network and other coalition members took their proposal to the
California Public Utilities Commission, which regulates the
1,585-megawatt power plant. Southern California Edison is the
majority owner of the plant.
"The (coal) mine's negative impacts are now far greater than the
positive, but the tribe is doing everything it can to keep it open,"
says Nicole Horseherder, co-director of the coalition group To'
Nizhoni
Ani' -- Navajo for "beautiful water speaks."
"That's not self-determination. That's continuing this unhealthy
relationship where we're totally dependent."
The credits are crucial to the coalition's proposal. If the credits
are
put on the market, another plant probably would buy them to offset
its
own pollution and stay within federal limits. For every ton of
sulfur
dioxide that isn't released into the air, a plant gets one credit
worth
$1,000. Mohave belched 53,000 tons of sulfur dioxide a year, or
about
$53 million worth of credits in the current market.
The coalition, backed with consulting help from the Sierra Club and
the
Grand Canyon Trust, argues that Mohave has fouled Western skies
since
1971, and it's pay-back time. With Mohave's credits, the coalition
envisions a "just transition" to a clean-energy economy.
"I'm personally sympathetic to the plight of these Indians," says
Michael Peevey, the California PUC president. "But should California
rate-payers be paying for the investments and job training they
want?
You could argue either side."
An administrative law judge will hear the case before the PUC makes
a
decision. That could take months, Peevey says.
Southern California Edison, Mohave's main owner, says in a PUC
filing
that some "ill-defined group" of Hopis and Navajos has no legal
claim to
a "windfall" of credits.
Black Mesa mine's operator, Peabody Western Coal Co., labels the
coalition a "vocal minority." The Navajo government opposes the
coalition plan. The Hopi government's priority is to reopen the mine
but, in case it doesn't, wants the PUC to account for Mohave's
credits.
In pollution-trading markets, sulfur dioxide credits hit a high of
$1,630 a ton in late December before falling to around $1,000 a ton
today. In 2003, they were trading at $220.
As prices rose, owners of some coal-fired power plants found it
economical to clean up polluting plants because they could pay for
it by
selling newly earned credits.
Tribes face hardships
Peabody has no way to transport Black Mesa coal other than a 273-
mile
slurry line from the mine to Mohave. Navajos who held most of the
200
mine and slurry positions have few job options. Peabody estimates
Black
Mesa's annual economic benefit to the tribes at $90 million in
royalties, wages, benefits, taxes, fees and supplier payments.
Clitso made nearly $60,000 as a control room operator on the slurry
line
but now must make cutbacks in his own life. A new GMC pickup had to
go
back to the dealer. Leased solar panels that supplied electricity at
$95
a month were turned off. Satellite TV became an unaffordable luxury.
Contributions to the kids' college fund were put on hold. With
health
insurance terminated, the family relies on a free clinic. They take
fewer trips to town.
Clitso, 39, had been at the mine five years since moving from Salt
Lake
City, where he worked in a slaughterhouse. Like many Indians living
in
remote areas, the Clitsos have no access to plumbing, and they heat
and
cook with wood and coal. His 50 acres is 10 miles of bumpy dirt road
from the nearest pavement.
"I thought I had a good job going," Clitso says. "If I move to
another
job, and that means losing my homeland, everything will be turned
around."
Strong opinions on both sides
Andy Blackwater, 64, a diesel mechanic at Black Mesa, wasn't ready
to
retire when he found himself out of a job on New Year's Day with no
severance after 32 years. He hopes to be rehired if the mine reopens
but
realizes that's a long shot. For years, Blackwater says, tribal
officials knew the mine might close but did nothing. "The tribe
should
have its own economy and not depend on Peabody," he says.
The coalition is lobbying tribal councils and far-flung chapters,
but
critics point out that it offers little more than a proposal on
paper.
"Who's going to buy this power? How will they get it to market?
There're
very few transmission lines out there," says Harris Sherman, a
lawyer for the Hopis.
Both tribes' governments have federally funded projects to measure
wind
and solar energy potential on the reservations. But for now, they're
intent on getting Black Mesa and Mohave running again.
Whether that happens is tied up with why they closed in the first
place.
A lawsuit forced Edison to agree in 1998 either to install equipment
to
clean up sulfur dioxide emissions or shut Mohave down by the end of
2005.
The deadline passed with no cleanup, closing the plant and mine. The
tribes, Edison and Peabody hope to resume operations as before while
cleanup equipment is installed, Sherman says. That could take three
years. The lawsuit's plaintiffs, people living around Mohave who
complained of respiratory illnesses from the plant's pollution,
would have to agree.
For now, miners remain idle. Which is OK with sheepherders such as
Dan
Herder, 53, who have to haul water to their livestock because
springs
and ponds are dry. Herder isn't eager for the mine to reopen.
"We've seen a lot of changes in the land, especially in the last 20
years," he says. "Nature's out of balance, is how we look at it. We
were
here before the mine." [emphasis added]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Water key to dispute over economic future
By John Ritter, USA TODAY
BLACK MESA, Ariz. --A new spin on an old topic -- the ability of
Native
Americans to create self-sufficient economies -- is resonating
across the
high desert and table-top mesas of ancient Navajo and Hopi lands.
A grass-roots coalition is promoting ideas about economic
development on
reservations where more than half the adults are unemployed. The
coalition urges not reopening a coal mine that provided a few
high-paying jobs but creating a bigger job base in wind and solar
energy.
At the heart of the dispute is water, the arid region's scarcest
resource. Water's role is particularly contentious because, to Hopis
and
Navajos, it's more than a necessity. It's sacred -- Earth's first
living spirit.
Coal from Black Mesa mine -- 5 million tons a year -- was piped 273
miles
to a Nevada power plant in a slurry line with 1.3 billion gallons of
Indians' drinking water. Years of pumping groundwater for the slurry
depleted an aquifer that is the reservations' sole supply, the
coalition says.
Beth Sutton, a spokeswoman for mine owner Peabody Western Coal, says
many studies have found no harm to the aquifer. The barren springs
and
creeks that Navajo sheepherders and farmers complain about are due
to a
prolonged drought, not pumping, she says. A Natural Resources
Defense
Council study, however, found damage to the aquifer.
If the mine reopens, pumping would resume, at least temporarily.
Both
the Hopi tribe and the Navajo Council, under pressure from their
people,
have voted to bar more pumping from the aquifer.
Peabody and the power plant owners propose using a larger aquifer
that
is already being used to provide water to three other power plants,
the
cities of Flagstaff and Winslow and hundreds of small communities.
[THE C-AQUIFER, which lies above the N-aquifer.]
Federal agencies including the Office of Surface Mining, EPA and the
Bureau of Land Management, are studying whether a pipeline from the
second aquifer would harm it, the environment or endangered species.
A
decision isn't expected before next year. Without a water deal, the
power plant owners can't commit to an estimated $1.2 billion
investment
to clean up pollution and build a new slurry line. And miners can't
go back to work.
Jobs are the priority on both sides. On the reservations, 44% of
Navajos
and 42% of Hopis live below the federal poverty line, according to
the
2000 Census. A quarter of Navajo families had incomes under $10,000,
and
46% of Navajo adults had no high school diploma, the Census found.
No polls have measured public opinion among the 170,000 Navajos and
7,000 Hopis on the reservations. But to some, losing the mine's
revenue
and payroll would be devastating. "A lot of people want to continue
with
the mine," Navajo Nation President Joe Shirley says. "And I want to
continue with it, because of employment, because of revenues."
Others say the mine's economic impact is overstated. "It troubles me
that we have a leader who would put coal ahead of people's
livelihoods,
which is water," says Amos Johnson, a tribal council delegate. He
would
keep Black Mesa closed unless coal can be transported without using
water.
The council could be decisive, because on reservations today, power
has
shifted from traditionally dominant tribal presidents to the tribes'
legislative bodies, says Manley Begay, a Navajo and director of the
University of Arizona's Native Nations Institute. "Tribal councils
have
authority now. It's not just the president anymore," he says.
www.usatoday.com/money/industries/energy/2006-03-14-arizona2-
cover
By John Ritter, USA TODAY
BLACK MESA, Ariz. -- On the last day of 2005, the West's dirtiest
power
plant shut down, forcing the coal mine that supplied it to close.
That
was keenly felt by the nation's most populous Indian tribe, which
lost
jobs and millions of dollars in royalties from the world's largest
coal company.
Those elements now frame a sticky debate in Indian country about one
of
the USA's thorniest policy issues: reliance on traditional energy
sources such as oil, gas and coal, vs. developing renewable
alternatives
such as wind and solar power.
A key to the debate is an arcane regulatory mechanism called
pollution
credits. Polluters, such as coal-fired power plants, buy and sell
credits in a commodities-style market designed to help clean up the
nation's smokestacks. A plant that closes and stops polluting earns
credits, based on a federal formula, for its owners.
In this dispute, an outside coalition of environmental groups for
the
first time is demanding tens of millions of dollars worth of the
plant
owner's credits as restitution for decades of pollution and, the
groups
say, undervalued coal royalties.
The strategy reflects the growing interest across the country in
claiming credits as compensation.
"Environmental groups are saying, 'These are really valuable. Why
don't
we allocate them beyond the plants?' " says Thaddeus Huetteman, vice
chairman of Power & Energy Analytic Resources in Atlanta, a trading
and consulting firm.
Tribal leaders are in talks aimed at reopening the mine and the
Mohave
Generating Station in Laughlin, Nev. But the demand by the grass-
roots
coalition for the plant's credits could sabotage those efforts and
upend
a decades-old status quo on the sprawling Navajo and Hopi
reservations.
Meanwhile, miners who lost the highest-paying reservation jobs are
suffering. "This was my dream ever since I was small, to live on the
reservation, live on my homeland where my grandparents set a site
for
me," says K.J. Clitso, who's trying to support his wife, six
children
and a $400-a-month mortgage on $240 a week in unemployment.
"I'm settled. I'd hate to leave."
The coalition says credits that the power plant owners will amass by
keeping their facility closed could finance solar and wind energy
development and create jobs.
In January, the Indian groups Black Mesa Trust, Indigenous
Environmental
Network and other coalition members took their proposal to the
California Public Utilities Commission, which regulates the
1,585-megawatt power plant. Southern California Edison is the
majority owner of the plant.
"The (coal) mine's negative impacts are now far greater than the
positive, but the tribe is doing everything it can to keep it open,"
says Nicole Horseherder, co-director of the coalition group To'
Nizhoni
Ani' -- Navajo for "beautiful water speaks."
"That's not self-determination. That's continuing this unhealthy
relationship where we're totally dependent."
The credits are crucial to the coalition's proposal. If the credits
are
put on the market, another plant probably would buy them to offset
its
own pollution and stay within federal limits. For every ton of
sulfur
dioxide that isn't released into the air, a plant gets one credit
worth
$1,000. Mohave belched 53,000 tons of sulfur dioxide a year, or
about
$53 million worth of credits in the current market.
The coalition, backed with consulting help from the Sierra Club and
the
Grand Canyon Trust, argues that Mohave has fouled Western skies
since
1971, and it's pay-back time. With Mohave's credits, the coalition
envisions a "just transition" to a clean-energy economy.
"I'm personally sympathetic to the plight of these Indians," says
Michael Peevey, the California PUC president. "But should California
rate-payers be paying for the investments and job training they
want?
You could argue either side."
An administrative law judge will hear the case before the PUC makes
a
decision. That could take months, Peevey says.
Southern California Edison, Mohave's main owner, says in a PUC
filing
that some "ill-defined group" of Hopis and Navajos has no legal
claim to
a "windfall" of credits.
Black Mesa mine's operator, Peabody Western Coal Co., labels the
coalition a "vocal minority." The Navajo government opposes the
coalition plan. The Hopi government's priority is to reopen the mine
but, in case it doesn't, wants the PUC to account for Mohave's
credits.
In pollution-trading markets, sulfur dioxide credits hit a high of
$1,630 a ton in late December before falling to around $1,000 a ton
today. In 2003, they were trading at $220.
As prices rose, owners of some coal-fired power plants found it
economical to clean up polluting plants because they could pay for
it by
selling newly earned credits.
Tribes face hardships
Peabody has no way to transport Black Mesa coal other than a 273-
mile
slurry line from the mine to Mohave. Navajos who held most of the
200
mine and slurry positions have few job options. Peabody estimates
Black
Mesa's annual economic benefit to the tribes at $90 million in
royalties, wages, benefits, taxes, fees and supplier payments.
Clitso made nearly $60,000 as a control room operator on the slurry
line
but now must make cutbacks in his own life. A new GMC pickup had to
go
back to the dealer. Leased solar panels that supplied electricity at
$95
a month were turned off. Satellite TV became an unaffordable luxury.
Contributions to the kids' college fund were put on hold. With
health
insurance terminated, the family relies on a free clinic. They take
fewer trips to town.
Clitso, 39, had been at the mine five years since moving from Salt
Lake
City, where he worked in a slaughterhouse. Like many Indians living
in
remote areas, the Clitsos have no access to plumbing, and they heat
and
cook with wood and coal. His 50 acres is 10 miles of bumpy dirt road
from the nearest pavement.
"I thought I had a good job going," Clitso says. "If I move to
another
job, and that means losing my homeland, everything will be turned
around."
Strong opinions on both sides
Andy Blackwater, 64, a diesel mechanic at Black Mesa, wasn't ready
to
retire when he found himself out of a job on New Year's Day with no
severance after 32 years. He hopes to be rehired if the mine reopens
but
realizes that's a long shot. For years, Blackwater says, tribal
officials knew the mine might close but did nothing. "The tribe
should
have its own economy and not depend on Peabody," he says.
The coalition is lobbying tribal councils and far-flung chapters,
but
critics point out that it offers little more than a proposal on
paper.
"Who's going to buy this power? How will they get it to market?
There're
very few transmission lines out there," says Harris Sherman, a
lawyer for the Hopis.
Both tribes' governments have federally funded projects to measure
wind
and solar energy potential on the reservations. But for now, they're
intent on getting Black Mesa and Mohave running again.
Whether that happens is tied up with why they closed in the first
place.
A lawsuit forced Edison to agree in 1998 either to install equipment
to
clean up sulfur dioxide emissions or shut Mohave down by the end of
2005.
The deadline passed with no cleanup, closing the plant and mine. The
tribes, Edison and Peabody hope to resume operations as before while
cleanup equipment is installed, Sherman says. That could take three
years. The lawsuit's plaintiffs, people living around Mohave who
complained of respiratory illnesses from the plant's pollution,
would have to agree.
For now, miners remain idle. Which is OK with sheepherders such as
Dan
Herder, 53, who have to haul water to their livestock because
springs
and ponds are dry. Herder isn't eager for the mine to reopen.
"We've seen a lot of changes in the land, especially in the last 20
years," he says. "Nature's out of balance, is how we look at it. We
were
here before the mine." [emphasis added]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Water key to dispute over economic future
By John Ritter, USA TODAY
BLACK MESA, Ariz. --A new spin on an old topic -- the ability of
Native
Americans to create self-sufficient economies -- is resonating
across the
high desert and table-top mesas of ancient Navajo and Hopi lands.
A grass-roots coalition is promoting ideas about economic
development on
reservations where more than half the adults are unemployed. The
coalition urges not reopening a coal mine that provided a few
high-paying jobs but creating a bigger job base in wind and solar
energy.
At the heart of the dispute is water, the arid region's scarcest
resource. Water's role is particularly contentious because, to Hopis
and
Navajos, it's more than a necessity. It's sacred -- Earth's first
living spirit.
Coal from Black Mesa mine -- 5 million tons a year -- was piped 273
miles
to a Nevada power plant in a slurry line with 1.3 billion gallons of
Indians' drinking water. Years of pumping groundwater for the slurry
depleted an aquifer that is the reservations' sole supply, the
coalition says.
Beth Sutton, a spokeswoman for mine owner Peabody Western Coal, says
many studies have found no harm to the aquifer. The barren springs
and
creeks that Navajo sheepherders and farmers complain about are due
to a
prolonged drought, not pumping, she says. A Natural Resources
Defense
Council study, however, found damage to the aquifer.
If the mine reopens, pumping would resume, at least temporarily.
Both
the Hopi tribe and the Navajo Council, under pressure from their
people,
have voted to bar more pumping from the aquifer.
Peabody and the power plant owners propose using a larger aquifer
that
is already being used to provide water to three other power plants,
the
cities of Flagstaff and Winslow and hundreds of small communities.
[THE C-AQUIFER, which lies above the N-aquifer.]
Federal agencies including the Office of Surface Mining, EPA and the
Bureau of Land Management, are studying whether a pipeline from the
second aquifer would harm it, the environment or endangered species.
A
decision isn't expected before next year. Without a water deal, the
power plant owners can't commit to an estimated $1.2 billion
investment
to clean up pollution and build a new slurry line. And miners can't
go back to work.
Jobs are the priority on both sides. On the reservations, 44% of
Navajos
and 42% of Hopis live below the federal poverty line, according to
the
2000 Census. A quarter of Navajo families had incomes under $10,000,
and
46% of Navajo adults had no high school diploma, the Census found.
No polls have measured public opinion among the 170,000 Navajos and
7,000 Hopis on the reservations. But to some, losing the mine's
revenue
and payroll would be devastating. "A lot of people want to continue
with
the mine," Navajo Nation President Joe Shirley says. "And I want to
continue with it, because of employment, because of revenues."
Others say the mine's economic impact is overstated. "It troubles me
that we have a leader who would put coal ahead of people's
livelihoods,
which is water," says Amos Johnson, a tribal council delegate. He
would
keep Black Mesa closed unless coal can be transported without using
water.
The council could be decisive, because on reservations today, power
has
shifted from traditionally dominant tribal presidents to the tribes'
legislative bodies, says Manley Begay, a Navajo and director of the
University of Arizona's Native Nations Institute. "Tribal councils
have
authority now. It's not just the president anymore," he says.
www.usatoday.com/money/industries/energy/2006-03-14-arizona2-
cover