A surging grassroots backlash against the rapid expansion of datacentres across the United States is transforming community organisers into political candidates, with dozens now contesting local elections on platforms that challenge corporate overreach and unchecked tech infrastructure development. What began as neighbourhood protests has evolved into a significant electoral movement, threatening to reshape governance in some of the country’s most fast-growing regions.
From Protest to the Ballot Box
What started as scattered community resistance has coalesced into a coordinated political force. In December, the Working Families Party began actively recruiting datacenter activists to stand for local office, and more than fifty candidates have since signed up — a number expected to double or triple in next year’s races, according to national press secretary Ravi Mangla.
The majority of applicants are first-time politicians drawn from Michigan, Texas, and Indiana, states where datacentre construction is most concentrated. Yet many others hail from swing states that could determine control of Congress, lending the movement outsized political significance.
Steven Kung’s campaign kickoff on 29 July 2026. Photograph: Yun Wang
Steven Kung exemplifies this trend. After four months of teach-ins and canvassing, he helped Monterey Park, just east of Los Angeles, become the first US city to impose a permanent ban on datacenter construction. Now he is mounting a challenge to an incumbent city councillor who backed the sprawling facility. “The datacenter coming to my neighbourhood turned my life upside down,” Kung said. “I saw that there’s a dismantling of democracy at a local level.” His campaign imagery — a red dragon dismantling a facility with its tail — has become a signature visual for the movement.
Amy Wong, co-founder of San Gabriel Valley Progressive Action, is also leveraging her activism into a bid for city council in nearby Alhambra.
A Movement Fueled by Corporate Overreach
Public anger against AI-powered infrastructure has reached a tipping point. In the first three months of 2026 alone, residents succeeded in delaying or cancelling projects worth $130 billion, according to research from Data Center Watch. A Gallup poll conducted in March found that seven in ten Americans oppose datacentre construction close to where they live.
Jackie McGuire, a cybersecurity professional in Arizona, had never considered standing for public office until late last year, when she learned that her hometown of Marana — a community of roughly 60,000 on the outskirts of Tucson — planned to build a facility across 600 acres of farmland at a cost exceeding $120 billion. Residents raised alarms over water consumption, noise pollution, and the potential impact on electricity bills, compounded by a perceived lack of transparency from local government.
In December, a clip of McGuire testifying against developer Beale Infrastructure at a public meeting went viral on Instagram, dramatically expanding her profile. After months of watching town officials repeatedly override the will of residents — including rejecting a datacentre referendum — she launched a town council campaign in July. Running alongside a slate of anti-datacenter organisers, she was the only candidate to secure a seat. “I got into the race pretty last minute because we needed a majority on the town council,” McGuire said. “Unfortunately, we were not able to secure that, but that doesn’t mean we’re dead in the water.” As an elected official, she intends to push for a referendum requiring voter approval of all future datacentre projects.
Candidates Poised to Reshape Local Governance
The anti-datacenter sentiment has already claimed a prominent political scalp. In July, Myrna Muñoz, an educator, upset incumbent Janeen Sollman in an Oregon senate primary — a direct result of Sollman’s support for a controversial bill trading farmland for industrial development. Muñoz, who is expected to prevail in the general election in a solid Democratic district, said she had not realised the scale of development in Hillsboro — regarded as the birthplace of the state’s tech industry — until she launched her campaign in March. The city had approved seventeen new projects on top of more than thirty existing sites just before enacting a moratorium in late July.
“These seventeen centres that got through have tax abatements until 2050,” Muñoz said. “They’re taking away money from my children and grandchildren.” She is now backing a three-year statewide moratorium on new datacentres, alongside tighter regulations on existing operations.
Saul Levin, program director at the Center for Nonviolent Conflict Research, said the movement has drawn in everyday people — farmers, teachers, beauty salon workers — who are “irate about what’s going on” in their communities. “AI companies are spending the equivalent of the US military budget on software and datacenters,” Levin said. “Instead of building these facilities to house data about people, they could fund hospitals, schools.”
In Monterey Park earlier this year, Kung mobilised a largely immigrant community against a proposed facility through multilingual discussion, petition drives, and door-to-door canvassing. His group, No Data Center Monterey Park, secured a moratorium on new developments in just six weeks, followed by a permanent ban months later. Now campaigning ahead of the November election, he is broadening his focus to related issues such as protecting immigrants from ICE enforcement and terminating the city’s contract with Flock cameras — AI-powered licence plate readers that have become a flashpoint for privacy concerns.
Why it Matters
The anti-datacenter movement represents one of the most significant challenges to corporate infrastructure expansion in recent American political history. With billions of dollars in projects at stake and voter sentiment decisively against unchecked development, the candidates emerging from this wave could fundamentally alter how local governments negotiate with technology firms. For investors and corporate boards, the message is clear: community consent is no longer a formality but a decisive political variable — and ignoring it carries electoral consequences.
