Valparaiso Redevelopment Commission terminates data center project option
Director of Development George Douglas opened the meeting delivering a public statement to review the process and timeline of events that involved the possible date center development.
'On Tuesday Mayor Jon Costas announced the city would cease all efforts to explore a potential data center project and this decision was unanimously supported by the council,' Douglas said.
'This decision has been communicated with Agincourt and they've agreed to withdraw and release the option on the land. I would like to state this was never a done deal and the city had never approved the project, because a project had yet to be presented to the Redevelopment Commission or the city.
'Additionally, many of you have questions and concerns that have been expressed by the community and the citizens and were mutually shared by the city as well. This commission had not approved nor endorsed a data center, and all were in favor of starting a process through a request for public offering back in December of last year, with the full knowledge that a data center might be the potential use. The commission unanimously approved an option agreement at the January meeting. To be clear, this was not approval of the project but an affirmation to start a process to determine the feasibility of a potential project with conditions that had to be satisfied in public approvals.'
In his statement address to the Redevelopment Commission and to the public, Douglas explained the non-disclosure agreement connected with the agreement option could be viewed 'as confusing' but is a common aspect of such large projects.
Resident Chris Pupillo was one of the opening speakers among the residents who engaged in the public comment segment, which was moved to the start of the meeting's agenda.
'Whether it was a daycare center or a proposed data center, you the commission had an obligation to engage and inform the public before you started any process,' Pupillo said.
'That property was bought with taxpayer money and ARPA money from a result of the COVID pandemic, money that was intended for the health and well-being of the community. After the land wasn't going to be used as a sports complex, you should have engaged the community to get ideas for the best possible use of that land.'
Duane Davison said the resulting dialogue and discontent among residents provides an opportunity for city leaders to 'regain lost trust.'
'It would be an understatement to say the community's trust has been undermined with the ill-advised proposed data center,' Davidson said.
'It's now a chance for this body to do some healing. I think the city should consider a donation of the land of question to the fine folks at the Shirley Heinze Land Trust.'
Jeannine Hornback, owner of Little U Academy daycare center at 751 Eastporte Drive in Valparaiso, spoke at the March 10 Valparaiso City Council meeting and explained she wanted to address her further concerns by voicing her stance to the Valparaiso RDC.
'It's hard to swallow to know that there's a board of people in front of me that voted five to zero for a data center project,' Hornback said.
'Shame on you. You should have tabled it and let the community talk about it. You should listen to what the people want. It's scary to know you five people voted unanimously for this.'
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CBS News
16 minutes ago
- CBS News
Sacramento city leaders to consider sending letter of opposition over Natomas development plans
A Sacramento housing clash is pitting the city council against the board of supervisors over a massive Natomas development. A city hall formal letter of opposition could stop supervisors from approving the plans. "So it's unusual for the city of Sacramento to oppose a county of Sacramento project," Sacramento Councilmember Karina Talamantes said. Talamantes supports the unusual move to send the letter to the county to stop a massive housing development called the Upper Westside Plan. "Housing is not the issue for me, for me it's the communication, or lack thereof, communication to the residents in Natomas," Talamantes said. Talamantes said the county is breaking a Natomas joint vision agreement with the city that called on the county to preserve the space and leave the city to develop it. The Upper Westside Plan between El Centro Road and the Sacramento River would include more than 9,000 housing units, three elementary schools and a high school, and be home to 25,000 new residents. Josh Harmatz lives along the Garden Highway and is concerned that all the new homes and businesses will triple the traffic on this narrow two-lane levee road. "There's just no room and there's no shoulder for this amount of traffic," Harmatz said. Project supporters say the development will create much-needed housing for the Sacramento region. Now, the city of Sacramento, awarded a pro-housing designation from the state, is preparing a formal opposition to this housing plan. "That will be to be determined," Talamantes said when asked what impact the letter of opposition would have. "But the city and county working together is the best thing that can happen for the residents of Sacramento." The city council will vote on sending that letter of opposition this week. The board of supervisors is set to vote on that development on Aug. 20.
The Hill
an hour ago
- The Hill
Migrants returning to Venezuela face debt and harsh living conditions
MARACAIBO, Venezuela (AP) — The hands of Yosbelin Pérez have made tens of thousands of the aluminum round gridles that Venezuelan families heat every day to cook arepas. She takes deep pride in making the revered 'budare,' the common denominator among rural tin-roofed homes and city apartments, but she owns nothing to her name despite the years selling cookware. Pérez, in fact, owes about $5,000 because she and her family never made it to the United States, where they had hoped to escape Venezuela's entrenched political, social and economic crisis. Now, like thousands of Venezuelans who have voluntarily or otherwise returned to their country this year, they are starting over as the crisis worsens. 'When I decided to leave in August, I sold everything: house, belongings, car, everything from my factory — molds, sand. I was left with nothing,' Pérez, 30, said at her in-laws' home in western Venezuela. 'We arrived in Mexico, stayed there for seven months, and when President (Donald Trump) came to power in January, I said, 'Let's go!'' She, her husband and five children returned to their South American country in March. COVID-19 pandemic pushed migrants to the U.S. More than 7.7 million Venezuelans have migrated since 2013, when their country's oil-dependent economy unraveled. Most settled in Latin America and the Caribbean, but after the COVID-19 pandemic, migrants saw the U.S. as their best chance to improve their living conditions. Many Venezuelans entered the U.S. under programs that allowed them to obtain work permits and shielded them from deportation. But since January, the White House has ended immigrants' protections and aggressively sought their deportations as U.S. President Donald Trump fulfills his campaign promise to limit immigration to the U.S. Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro had long refused to take back deported Venezuelans but changed course earlier this year under pressure from the White House. Immigrants now arrive regularly at the airport outside the capital, Caracas, on flights operated by either a U.S. government contractor or Venezuela's state-owned airline. The U.S. government has defended its bold moves, including sending more than 200 Venezuelans to a prison in El Salvador for four months, arguing that many of the immigrants belonged to the violent Tren de Aragua street gang. The administration did not provide evidence to back up the blanket accusation. However, several recently deported immigrants have said U.S. authorities wrongly judged their tattoos and used them as an excuse to deport them. Maduro declared 'economic emergency' Many of those returning home, like Pérez and her family, are finding harsher living conditions than when they left as a currency crisis, triple-digit inflation and meager wages have made food and other necessities unaffordable, let alone the vehicle, home and electronics they sold before migrating. The monthly minimum wage of 130 bolivars, or $1.02 as of Monday, has not increased in Venezuela since 2022. People typically have two, three or more jobs to cobble together money. This latest chapter in the 12-year crisis even prompted Maduro to declare an 'economic emergency' in April. David Rodriguez migrated twice each to Colombia and Peru before he decided to try to get to the U.S. He left Venezuela last year, crossed the treacherous Darien Gap on foot, made it across Central America and walked, hopped on a train and took buses all over Mexico. He then turned himself in to U.S. immigration authorities in December, but he was detained for 15 days and deported to Mexico. Broke, the 33-year-old Rodriguez worked as a mototaxi driver in Mexico City until he saved enough money to buy his airplane ticket back to Venezuela in March. 'Going to the United States … was a total setback,' he said while sitting at a relative's home in Caracas. 'Right now, I don't know what to do except get out of debt first.' He must pay $50 a week for a motorcycle he bought to work as a mototaxi driver. In a good week, he said, he can earn $150, but there are others when he only makes enough to meet the $50 payment. Migrants seek loan sharks Some migrants enrolled in beauty and pastry schools or became food delivery drivers after being deported. Others already immigrated to Spain. Many sought loan sharks. Pérez's brother-in-law, who also made aluminum cookware before migrating last year, is allowing her to use the oven and other equipment he left at his home in Maracaibo so that the family can make a living. But most of her earnings go to cover the 40% monthly interest fee of a $1,000 loan. If the debt was not enough of a concern, Pérez is also having to worry about the exact reason that drove her away: extortion. Pérez said she and her family fled Maracaibo after she spent several hours in police custody in June 2024 for refusing to pay an officer $1,000. The officer, Pérez said, knocked on her door and demanded the money in exchange for letting her keep operating her unpermitted cookware business in her backyard. She said officers tracked her down upon her return and already demanded money. 'I work to make a living from one day to the next … Last week, some guardsmen came. 'Look, you must support me,'' Pérez said she was told in early July. 'So, if I don't give them any (money), others show up, too. I transferred him $5. It has to be more than $5 because otherwise, they'll fight you.'
San Francisco Chronicle
an hour ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Migrants returning to Venezuela face debt and harsh living conditions
MARACAIBO, Venezuela (AP) — The hands of Yosbelin Pérez have made tens of thousands of the aluminum round gridles that Venezuelan families heat every day to cook arepas. She takes deep pride in making the revered 'budare,' the common denominator among rural tin-roofed homes and city apartments, but she owns nothing to her name despite the years selling cookware. Pérez, in fact, owes about $5,000 because she and her family never made it to the United States, where they had hoped to escape Venezuela's entrenched political, social and economic crisis. Now, like thousands of Venezuelans who have voluntarily or otherwise returned to their country this year, they are starting over as the crisis worsens. 'When I decided to leave in August, I sold everything: house, belongings, car, everything from my factory — molds, sand. I was left with nothing,' Pérez, 30, said at her in-laws' home in western Venezuela. 'We arrived in Mexico, stayed there for seven months, and when President (Donald Trump) came to power in January, I said, 'Let's go!'' She, her husband and five children returned to their South American country in March. COVID-19 pandemic pushed migrants to the U.S. More than 7.7 million Venezuelans have migrated since 2013, when their country's oil-dependent economy unraveled. Most settled in Latin America and the Caribbean, but after the COVID-19 pandemic, migrants saw the U.S. as their best chance to improve their living conditions. Many Venezuelans entered the U.S. under programs that allowed them to obtain work permits and shielded them from deportation. But since January, the White House has ended immigrants' protections and aggressively sought their deportations as U.S. President Donald Trump fulfills his campaign promise to limit immigration to the U.S. Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro had long refused to take back deported Venezuelans but changed course earlier this year under pressure from the White House. Immigrants now arrive regularly at the airport outside the capital, Caracas, on flights operated by either a U.S. government contractor or Venezuela's state-owned airline. The U.S. government has defended its bold moves, including sending more than 200 Venezuelans to a prison in El Salvador for four months, arguing that many of the immigrants belonged to the violent Tren de Aragua street gang. The administration did not provide evidence to back up the blanket accusation. However, several recently deported immigrants have said U.S. authorities wrongly judged their tattoos and used them as an excuse to deport them. Maduro declared 'economic emergency' Many of those returning home, like Pérez and her family, are finding harsher living conditions than when they left as a currency crisis, triple-digit inflation and meager wages have made food and other necessities unaffordable, let alone the vehicle, home and electronics they sold before migrating. The monthly minimum wage of 130 bolivars, or $1.02 as of Monday, has not increased in Venezuela since 2022. People typically have two, three or more jobs to cobble together money. This latest chapter in the 12-year crisis even prompted Maduro to declare an 'economic emergency' in April. David Rodriguez migrated twice each to Colombia and Peru before he decided to try to get to the U.S. He left Venezuela last year, crossed the treacherous Darien Gap on foot, made it across Central America and walked, hopped on a train and took buses all over Mexico. He then turned himself in to U.S. immigration authorities in December, but he was detained for 15 days and deported to Mexico. Broke, the 33-year-old Rodriguez worked as a mototaxi driver in Mexico City until he saved enough money to buy his airplane ticket back to Venezuela in March. 'Going to the United States ... was a total setback,' he said while sitting at a relative's home in Caracas. 'Right now, I don't know what to do except get out of debt first.' He must pay $50 a week for a motorcycle he bought to work as a mototaxi driver. In a good week, he said, he can earn $150, but there are others when he only makes enough to meet the $50 payment. Migrants seek loan sharks Some migrants enrolled in beauty and pastry schools or became food delivery drivers after being deported. Others already immigrated to Spain. Many sought loan sharks. Pérez's brother-in-law, who also made aluminum cookware before migrating last year, is allowing her to use the oven and other equipment he left at his home in Maracaibo so that the family can make a living. But most of her earnings go to cover the 40% monthly interest fee of a $1,000 loan. If the debt was not enough of a concern, Pérez is also having to worry about the exact reason that drove her away: extortion. Pérez said she and her family fled Maracaibo after she spent several hours in police custody in June 2024 for refusing to pay an officer $1,000. The officer, Pérez said, knocked on her door and demanded the money in exchange for letting her keep operating her unpermitted cookware business in her backyard. She said officers tracked her down upon her return and already demanded money. 'I work to make a living from one day to the next ... Last week, some guardsmen came. 'Look, you must support me,'' Pérez said she was told in early July. 'So, if I don't give them any (money), others show up, too. I transferred him $5. It has to be more than $5 because otherwise, they'll fight you.'
