OPB4%
How we reported the story about emissions from data center generators 6%
By April Ehrlich20%
7/22/2026, 1:00:01 PM
BS Summary: This article contains 28 faulty reasoning types, including Negativity Bias, Hasty Generalization, and Self-Serving Bias, with Biased Writer Voice as the most egregious example at 14.7% saturation with 173 hits. Analysis detected 1,083 faulty-reasoning hits from 1,175 analyzed words, generating a BS Score of 21.5% and a BS Rank of 6% (19,305 of 20,363 articles). This article is better (less manipulative) than 94.80% of the article peer group.
My investigation into air pollution around data centers started with a tip.
I got a call from somebody concerned about data centers’ cooling towers, which release steam into the air that can stay in the sky for hours.
They wondered if there was more to the steam than just water.
I pulled public records and analyzed the chemicals that data centers were permitted to use.
I wasn’t able to discern anything out of the ordinary for industrial cooling towers.
But there was something else in these environmental disclosure records that did stand out to me: Lots of diesel fuel storage.
I learned that tech companies rely on fleets of industrial diesel generators — dozens, sometimes hundreds, of them — to power their data centers through blackouts.
These train car-sized generators guarantee data centers have nonstop electricity, even when the communities around them go dark.
During electrical outages, data center operators across the country have fired up dozens, sometimes hundreds, of these diesel generators.
Burning that diesel can fill the air with toxic chemicals linked to cancers, respiratory illnesses and heart disease.
I wondered: What would that mean for Oregon communities with large numbers of massive data centers?
What will these areas look like during blackouts, particularly as the state struggles with an aging power grid — one that is increasingly strained by data centers?
How we got our numbers
I focused my investigation on the Lower Umatilla Basin, where there are 14 large data centers within a 30-mile stretch along the Columbia River, all owned by Amazon.
I picked this region because it has Oregon’s largest concentration of massive “hyperscale” data centers, which dwarf most other data centers in the state.
Data centers need to run their generators about 12 hours a year for maintenance.
Each needs an air pollution permit from the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality that regulates their air pollution, including nitrogen oxide, carbon monoxide, particulate matter and greenhouse gases.
These permits set pollution limits for regular maintenance, but they don’t list how much a data center could pollute over the course of an outage.
They also don’t consider the cumulative pollution that could come from neighboring data centers during a region-wide blackout.
I set out to find that number based on technical information about Amazon’s diesel generators.
Using DEQ’s pollution permits, I built a database of every generator at each data center in the region and calculated their overall power capacity.
Four of Amazon’s data centers are partly equipped with pollution-controlled generators, called Tier 4 generators.
Since they emit much less than highly polluting Tier 2 generators, I removed them from the equation.
Next was figuring out how much Tier 2 diesel generators could pollute, based on their power capacity.
I shared my early calculations with Amazon.
They responded, saying they had their own numbers that were significantly lower than mine.
They did not provide further explanation about why my numbers were off.
Through my own vetting, I discovered an error in my initial calculations.
Amazon also disputed the premise of my calculations, saying they did not believe a large-scale blackout was likely, despite growing concern from energy experts about the strain on the electrical grid.
I continued sharing calculations with Amazon as I refined my data and consulted with other experts.
When I shared the final calculations used in this story with Amazon, they did not challenge my math, but emphasized that during routine operations generators are only used for 12 hours per year and in an emailed statement said, “These systems exist solely to protect continuity of essential services during rare power interruptions.”
The experts I consulted with on these calculations the Better Data Center Project, a group advocating for safer data centers, and Uptime Institute, a consultancy business for data center operators.
Using my data, they outlined a range of logical scenarios in the event of a region-wide power outage.
They looked at multiple technical variables, including the data centers’ actual power needs, how much power each generator would likely provide, and the number of generators needed to meet the center’s actual power demands.
I took an average of their projections, which included both low-end and high-end possibilities for emissions.
We’re reporting the more conservative low-end estimate.
Our analysis determined that a power outage that cut power to all 14 data centers could result in about 9 tons of nitrogen oxide released into the atmosphere per hour.
That’s equivalent to the emissions from 38,000 semi-trucks driving at mid speed — between 25 to 50 miles per hour — for an hour.
It’s also about twice as much pollution as Oregon sees from vehicle emissions on all of its roads in an hour.
This projection was only possible because Amazon included technical information about its generators in its permits.
Not all tech companies have made that information publicly available.
Google, for instance, requested DEQ keep its list of diesel generators and their power capacity from public view, calling that information a trade secret.
The state agency complied, even while other companies, like Amazon, had no issue making their generator information publicly known.
Without that information, the public has no way of knowing how much pollution could come from Google’s data centers in The Dalles.
How we reported the story
As I was starting to understand the scale of the risk, OPB photojournalist Saskia Hatvany and I visited Boardman, Hermiston and Umatilla.
We drove around neighborhoods and knocked on doors.
We stepped into diners and local shops.
We stayed up late at a local bar and chatted with people throwing darts.
We sat down with city leaders in Hermiston and Umatilla.
Boardman city officials didn’t respond to OPB’s requests for interviews.
Through that process, we learned how much Amazon has woven into people’s everyday lives.
We ran into people who worked as security guards at its data centers, or applied for security guard jobs, or were related to a security guard.
Some people hoped that entry-level jobs would lead to higher-paying prospects.
We also ran across people who contracted with the company for construction work or maintenance.
None of them wanted to talk to us on the record.
They worried about getting on the wrong side of what’s become one of the region’s major employers.
We spent three 12-hour days trying to find anyone who was willing to talk on the record about how data centers have affected their lives.
On the last day of our trip, it was starting to look like we would return empty-handed.
Then we drove up the gravel driveway of a home directly behind a data center in Umatilla hoping to ask the homeowner if we could take a photo from their backyard.
That’s where we met Josh Walton, who was kneeling beside a utility box with his two teenage sons, trying to get the irrigation running before summer.
We asked if he was up for an interview.
He shielded his eyes from the sun and thought about it.
“Sure,” he said.
“Why not.”
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