I’ve lived in Northern Virginia my whole life, but no one told us we would soon be living alongside one of the largest concentrations of data centers in the world.
No one asked our community whether we wanted them. No one explained what they would mean for our neighborhoods, our landscape, or our monthly bills. Then, almost overnight, they were everywhere. Massive industrial buildings rose where open space once stood. The constant hum became part of daily life. And one month, our electricity bill didn't gradually creep upward, it nearly doubled.
We were told these projects would bring jobs, innovation, and economic growth. What we weren't told was what residents would be expected to give up in return.
Now, as I watch Maryland debate whether to accelerate data center development, I can't help but feel like I've seen this story before.
As someone living with the consequences of Virginia's choices, my advice is simple: Don't wait until the bills arrive, the forests are gone, and the data centers are already built to ask whether they were worth it.
For years, Virginia has been held up as the nation's data center success story. But if Maryland leaders only see Virginia's balance sheet, they're missing the growing backlash from the people who live here.
I have watched forests disappear, industrial buildings replace open land, electricity demand surge, and communities be transformed by sprawling server farms. Everyone I know is asking whether the promised economic benefits outweigh the environmental and financial costs.
Maryland has a choice. You can rush to replicate Virginia's model, or you can learn from our mistakes before it's too late.
The conversation surrounding data centers has largely centered on artificial intelligence and economic development. But too often, what gets left out are the communities expected to absorb the costs.
Supporters frequently describe data centers as major job creators, but the reality is more complicated. Construction creates temporary employment, yet once operational, many hyperscale facilities require relatively few permanent workers. Communities are often asked to trade farmland, forests, neighborhoods, and increased pressure on utilities for projects that may never deliver the long-term economic engine they were promised.
That trade-off deserves far more scrutiny than it has received.
The race to build data centers is being driven largely by the explosive growth of artificial intelligence. Every major technology company wants more computing power, faster infrastructure, and greater capacity. But history teaches us that economic booms rarely continue unchecked. America has seen speculative waves in office construction, shopping malls, and commercial real estate that far exceeded demand before markets eventually corrected.
No one can say with certainty whether today's data center boom will follow the same path. But uncertainty itself is reason for caution, not acceleration.
Maryland should pause before repeating Virginia's mistakes. A statewide moratorium would give policymakers time to complete a comprehensive assessment of the environmental, economic, and energy impacts of these facilities; strengthen safeguards for communities; ensure developers bear the costs of new infrastructure; and give the public a meaningful voice in decisions that will shape their neighborhoods for generations.
Virginia spent years asking how quickly it could build data centers.
Maryland has an opportunity to ask a better question: How do we embrace innovation without sacrificing the affordability, environment, and quality of life that make our communities worth living in?
As someone living with the consequences of Virginia's choices, my advice is simple: Don't wait until the bills arrive, the forests are gone, and the data centers are already built to ask whether they were worth it.
By then, the answer may come too late.
