In Michigan, secrecy leaves small towns to take heat for data centers

Residents packed the sunlit meeting hall surrounded by soccer fields to argue over a project that officially did not exist.

Amid cheers and applause, they blamed their township board for cozying up to a faceless developer.

“You work for the residents of this community. We elected you. We trusted you,” one resident said. “Your duty is not to ... roll out the red carpet for them.”

As union workers in ballcaps and boots looked on from the back wall, the crowd in Lenox Township, north of Detroit, hummed in unison, drowning out anyone with a good word to say about the sprawling server warehouses.

The outbursts captured a community increasingly fractured over an elusive data center proposal promoted by a dark money campaign. The hush-hush project has fueled paranoia and sparked recall campaigns without ever being formally proposed or announced.

The community feels something big is coming, and it might just sneak in through the back door.

Across the country, a team of reporters in five states examined the tactics being used by developers to win the day against the rising local opposition to massive hyperscale data centers. In Michigan, the extreme secrecy around these proposals has left small town officials to take the heat, battered by friends and neighbors.

“There were many times I would cry all day long at work,” said Lenox Township Clerk Michelle Gurley. “Like, what am I doing? This is not what we signed up for.”

In the absence of a public face for the behemoth project, they’re left isolated and unable to answer residents’ questions.

“I’m out there (at home) cutting the grass or pulling the weeds,” added Lenox Treasurer Jennifer Sutherland, “thinking that ‘Oh God, somebody hates me driving by now.’ It’s just horrible.”

In West Michigan and elsewhere in the state, local officials have even been required to sign nondisclosure agreements, gagging them from sharing details with voters.

And in Mason, a small city near Lansing, residents have also contended with a divisive data center project.

“They want to stay anonymous,” said former Mason city council member Rita Vogel, “but put the burden on communities to have to deal with the strife, the public pushback, the ruined relationships.”

In January, Lenox Township, already home to one of the state’s largest landfills and a prison, found itself preparing for a new kind of megaproject.

Home to about 13,000 residents in Macomb County, Lenox sits where Detroit’s suburban fringe gives way to the sugar beet fields of Michigan’s Thumb.

As data center proposals multiplied across the state, residents looked at the rural areas targeted by developers and worried their home could be next.

But in a January statement, township officials denied “rumors circulating on social media” about a data center, saying no development plans had been submitted.

“Any claim that a developer has ‘spoken with the Township’ in a manner suggesting approval, support, advance knowledge, or involvement in a data center project is false,” they wrote.

Days later, Lenox joined dozens of Michigan communities in passing a four-month ban on data centers, giving it time to update its local rules for the projects.

But when officials unveiled their first draft in March, it worried Brian Meissen, a General Motors quality manager who serves as elected village president in New Haven, a hamlet of subdivisions and mobile home parks on the township’s southern border. He found the three-page ordinance lacking.

It barely restricted data center projects, he said.

It also allowed data centers in a new development district the township had added to its master plan two months earlier, meant to attract industrial and commercial projects along I-94. The highway cuts through the southeast corner of the township, but growth there has been limited.

The new I-94 district spans a golf course, farm fields and homes across roughly 1,500 acres outside New Haven. A data center could fit there, Meissen worried.

“The more I dug into it, the more surprising it got,” he said.

Developers had long been interested in Lenox Township, Meissen learned.

A suburban Metro Detroit real estate broker, Paul Reschke, had first pitched Anthony Reeder Jr., the township supervisor, more than two years earlier, according to emails Meissen requested under Michigan’s public records law.

The broker first hoped to develop the golf course on 26 Mile Road and surrounding land into a manufacturing site or travel center, but the picture later morphed.

In February 2025, Reschke shared an article about tech giant Apple’s plans to invest in AI and manufacturing projects, writing, “Confidentially, this is something the team is pursuing for the 26 Mile project.”

Nearly a year later, in January 2026, the broker then emailed Reeder a draft letter. It stated the township was in “full favor” of a local data center. The letter included areas for Reeder to insert his name and township letterhead, though there was no indication it was ever returned.

In another email soon afterward, Reschke emailed comments on the township’s proposed data center ordinance, weeks before it got its first public reading.

For Meissen, the messages were “smoking guns” and showed Lenox leaders knew developers were pursuing a local data center project, even before the officials publicly denied it.

Digging into fellow officials wasn’t usually his style. But Meissen had first been appointed to public office in 2017 after another village trustee was charged in a bribery case involving a local trash-hauling magnate.

“I’ve always felt very, very strongly about trust and honesty and transparency,” he said.

Meissen published the emails on Facebook. They spread like wildfire.

Dark money and legal threats

At the same time, residents got other hints a developer was interested in Lenox, fueling greater suspicion.

Postcards appeared in mailboxes urging them to call their township leaders and tell them to support “American innovation, security and infrastructure.” The mailers compared the cloud storage capabilities of data centers to the roads, bridges, railways and utilities that power the U.S. economy.

Residents had no idea who was behind them.

In small type at the bottom, the postcards disclosed they were paid for by “Michigan Deserves Better,” a political nonprofit with an address in Lansing, the state capital.

As a so-called “dark money” group, it isn’t required to disclose its backers. In a text message to MLive, the consultant who runs it, Joe DiSano, said he was “really not inclined to talk about this” and declined to name who he worked with on the campaign.

At the same time, residents noticed an unsigned website, lenoxdatacenter.com, detailing a “proposed advanced technology and data center campus in Lenox Township’s I-94 corridor.”

The site claimed to be a “reference document for residents who want straight answers about what is being proposed.” The project would span 750 acres, 4% of the township’s land area, between the landfill and the prison, it said, dismissing concerns about water usage, electric rates and noise.

Emails sent to an address attached to the website bounced.

“There’s all this pressure on these people,” said Genevieve Rodzik, a longtime resident who serves on the planning commission in the township.

“I feel like there’s a reason why they’re targeting communities like Lenox and New Haven,” she said. “The resources for us to sue, for us to defend, for us to say no just don’t exist.”

Residents began lobbying township officials to extend the data center moratorium they had passed in February, ahead of its expiration on June 2.

They refused to do so. More records requests revealed one possible reason why.

A lawyer in Mount Clemens, James Andary, sent officials three letters in May, representing a company called Lenox & Chesterfield Economic Development Alliance, LLC. It was registered in January 2025 by Reschke, the real estate broker, at his office address.

The letters said the company had spent substantial time and money developing a large-scale “data center campus.”

They demanded officials let the moratorium expire, proceed quickly to pass data center rules and fix “onerously restrictive” terms that would make the project “economically and practically infeasible” — or face a lawsuit.

“Our Client will not accept indefinite delay, shifting standards, politically motivated obstruction, procedural gamesmanship, or continued efforts designed to prevent lawful development within Lenox Township,” one letter read.

Reschke, the broker, did not return requests for comment left by phone, text and email. Andary, the attorney, also did not respond to emails and messages left at his office.

Tempers flare

In the absence of information about the data center project, Lenox Township took the heat.

At the July meeting, residents cheered a parade of anti-data center speeches.

“If you’re here because you’re against the board, raise your hand or stand up,” said Tarra Samander, bringing much of the room to its feet.

“We are told there are no plans, all of this after we found communications where you guys are under duress legally by the developer to keep quiet and keep going,” said Justin Nolan.

The township’s data center rules weren’t on the agenda, but a separate ordinance establishing guidelines around the I-94 development district was. Many in Lenox connect the two, as the developers’ letters referenced the area as the proposed project site.

Trade union members lined the back of the room. Data centers are good employers and undergird technology we all use every day, they said.

Then, a handful of speakers took the podium, reading prepared speeches thanking the township board for its work preparing for “responsible growth” and data centers. They were each quickly drowned out by shouts from the audience.

Regular meeting attendees didn’t recognize the commenters, who didn’t give their full names, said Arianna Welsh. She owns property in Lenox and is involved in Citizens for a Better Macomb County, a local group calling for greater government transparency.

Ahead of the meeting, organizers found an online form recruiting people to attend the meeting and “be a neutral bystander” in exchange for $125. MLive reviewed screenshots of the notice but could not locate proof any commenters were paid to attend the meeting or speak.

Welsh called a phone number listed. The person who answered asked how she found out about the recruiting drive. Then, he hung up, she said, and the link went dead soon after.

Jim Martinez, a vice president of the Detroit Regional Chamber of Commerce, also fought through jeers from the crowd.

In an email to MLive, Martinez said he wasn’t “aware of any developer on this project.” But the chamber’s business members would have interest in any type of large-scale development in the region, including the township’s I-94 district.

“Residents are passionate about their community as they should be,” he said. “But due to the amount of misinformation, what’s most critical is that we have a fact-based conversation about economic development, including data centers and other industrial projects — that’s hard to do when one side tries to shout down the other.”

Officials become targets

For the elected officials being shouted at, the data center debate has taken its toll.

The five members of the Lenox Township board, all Republicans, have faced recall petitions, stemming from a range of votes they’ve taken in recent months, many unrelated to data centers.

For Clerk Gurley, who first moved to Lenox at age 7 and has served on the board for a decade, they’ve totaled 16 petitions in three months.

Gurley doesn’t want a data center. But she says Lenox Township can’t outright ban them without facing major legal risks. It reminds her of local pushback to the sprawling Pine Tree Acres landfill in the 1980s, which residents fought unsuccessfully.

She isn’t alone in her skepticism. Fewer than one in five Michigan local government officials believe big data centers are worth the costs, a recent University of Michigan survey found.

Gurley and other board members deny any inside knowledge of a data center project, despite residents’ accusations.

She blames data center opponents for spreading lies on social media, taking documents received by records request out of context.

“I’ve actually been told, ‘Pull them from their houses, tar and feather them, drag them from their feet, from their homes, and paint the streets red with their blood. We hope their houses are struck by lightning with their families in them, and they all burn in hell,’” she said.

Treasurer Sutherland also feels under siege. Meissen’s Facebook posts “blew up our lives,” she said. She’s been shouted at by other moms she knew from when their kids were in Cub Scouts and cross-country together.

One Macomb County Sheriff’s Office report details a threat against board members. The report doesn’t say whether police took further action.

The chair of the township planning commission, Eric Suddon, resigned in July, telling MLive he had also received threats.

As for the emails from developers, board members said they weren’t aware of them or saw them as a usual course of business when a company is considering a community for a project.

Trustee Joe Marino said he has not tried to determine who is behind them because no data center application is before the board, something local leaders have repeatedly emphasized.

“My job as a trustee is to watch the money flow,” he said. “It’s not my job to do it.”

Another township board member, Joe Rosseel, declined an interview when approached by a reporter. But at a May meeting, he acknowledged ownership interest in property within the broader development area.

Some residents asked him not to involve himself in any data center issues. But the township’s attorney advised him at the meeting he does not have a conflict of interest while voting on items like the data center moratorium or rules around the I-94 development district, which does not change his property’s zoning.

Supervisor ‘surprised’ by data center request

Reeder, the township supervisor first elected in 2020 at age 21, declined to conduct an interview with MLive, answering questions only in writing. Then, he did not respond to repeated voicemails, texts and emails.

“As of this response, the Township has not approved a data center. The Township has not received a formal site plan or development application for one. The Township has not signed an agreement for one. The Township has not agreed to one behind closed doors,” he wrote in mid-August.

Reeder met with Reschke before the data center issues arose, though development concepts then focused on the travel stop and potentially a small convention center, the supervisor said.

“Those were the subjects of my discussions with him until the Township was later surprised by a request for a letter of support for a data center,” he said.

The township never provided one, he said, adding that his communications with the real estate broker didn’t result in any township approval, endorsement, or commitment.

Reeder also said he doesn’t know who was behind the data center website and mailers.

But the episode has come at a personal cost. He said false accusations and personal attacks have followed him into his family life, relationships, work and private time.

“The divisiveness has been made worse by uncertainty. When there is no formal application, no filed site plan, and no complete project for the public to review, people naturally start filling in the blanks.”

It has also soured relations between village and township. Meissen, the village president, has barely spoken to Reeder in months. They used to be in touch almost daily, he said.

Lately, Meissen has been the subject of a series of attack ads sent to residents via text, even though he’s running unopposed for reelection in November. One labeled him “Meissen the Menace,” while another accused him of “wasting our taxpayer resources fighting with Lenox Township.”

Behind them is another Lansing dark money group, Michigan Vindicated. Its principal officer, attorney Jack Rucker, declined to comment.

Meissen views the ads as a response to his outspoken stance against data centers, though he has no definitive proof. “They sure seem to want to bully their way into the community,” he said.

Andrea McCabe lives across from a small lake on a dirt road lined with homes outside New Haven – near the area officials have designated as part of the I-94 development district.

“We have two young boys. We moved out here because we thought it was always going to be a rural area,” she told a reporter on her front porch over the hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower.

McCabe invested in replacing the windows and doors on her home, while also upgrading its heating and cooling equipment. “To have the rug pulled from under your feet just five years in…” she said.

She received mailers urging her to support a data center, raising suspicions about what could be built in her neighborhood. But all she knows about the potential project comes from her neighbors, and she blames local officials for a lack of transparency.

“People that live out here in this area, we’re not millionaires. We’re hardworking people,” said Jamie Schneider, pulling weeds in front of her one-story home down the road.

After living in her house for over 20 years, Schneider now worries a data center could affect her well or generate bothersome noise.

She and her husband, Alan, are accustomed to turkeys and deer walking through their backyard. Like their neighbors, they moved to Lenox Township to avoid the “hustle and bustle.”

“This is our little paradise out here,” Alan Schneider said.

The couple knows neighbors who have been approached by developers with offers to purchase their land. The Schneiders haven’t gotten an offer, and they wouldn’t want to move, anyway.

“We’re not here to get rich,” Jamie Schneider said. “We’re not out here to sell our land to a millionaire so they can disrupt everybody else around us.”

Still no application

Amid those fears, it’s unclear where the potential data center project stands.

Public records show no recent property purchases in the area under consideration. Among the largest of the parcels is the Oak Ridge Golf Course.

Standing in his bustling clubhouse on an August afternoon, owner Jim Amatangelo acknowledged interest in his 38-year-old course but nothing more.

“I hear all this talk about data centers. I hear talk, but I don’t — people are coming around, they’re trying to buy the place, but I don’t see any money,” he said. “I haven’t signed a thing.”

The area also includes two shooting ranges owned by local sportsmen’s associations. The president of one declined to comment, while another did not return calls and texts from MLive.

MLive obtained a purchase offer, signed by Reschke, the real estate broker, for a piece of land in the area. It offered more than $1 million for fewer than 10 acres.

“We are working on a large, long-term project nearby known as Project Honeycomb, which is focused on attracting advanced manufacturing and defense-related investment to the region. As part of that effort, we have begun acquiring property in the surrounding area,” it reads.

Residents aren’t waiting around. “No data center” signs have popped up by the dozens in New Haven and along the dirt roads leading out of town. Many are calling for new restrictions.

“It’s essentially the Wild Wild West out there, with billion-dollar companies calling the shots for their own interests,” said Daniel VanDeKerkhove, president of Citizens for a Better Macomb County.

In late August, the township’s planning commission voted to recommend modifying its master plan to remove the I-94 development district. The process may require a vote, but the board has not taken up the proposal. The commission wants to hire an attorney and engineer to continue drafting local data center rules, which have not yet been finalized.

Residents like VanDeKerkhove took it as a win. They continue to pack meetings and collect recall signatures.

Local officials say for their purposes, the data center doesn’t exist.

“Residents are frustrated because they want answers about something that has not yet been formally submitted to the Township,” Reeder said. “There is a difference between private parties exploring land, talking to property owners, creating websites or mailers, or sending legal correspondence, and an actual application being filed with the Township.”