This as-told-to narrative is drawn from an extensive conversation with Kay Richards, a woman in her sixties who resides in the city of Manassas, Virginia. The dialogue has been carefully edited and refined for both clarity and conciseness. Business Insider sought comment from Amazon in response to these accounts; however, no statement was received before publication.
When my husband and I first settled into what we proudly called our forever home more than ten years ago, the landscape looked dramatically different from what it is today. At that time, there were absolutely no data centers dotting the horizon — not a single one within sight or sound. Our modest neighborhood felt like a picture-perfect retreat, a rare enclave of serenity surrounded by tall, mature trees whose branches formed a lush, natural canopy. It was everything we had dreamed of: peaceful, green, and secluded. We genuinely believed we had found the ideal setting in which to spend the rest of our lives.
Now, more than a decade later, the transformation has been staggering. Within a radius of barely one mile from our property, there now stand no fewer than fourteen massive data centers operated by various corporations. The arrival of this extensive industrial development has reshaped the atmosphere of our community. The incessant low-frequency buzzing that emanates from these facilities pierces through the air, while a faint but persistent diesel odor drifts across our yard. What was once the simple joy of stepping outside to enjoy nature has become an exercise in tolerance. I often find it difficult even to linger in my own backyard, overwhelmed by the mechanical sounds and acrid scent. Seeing our cherished neighborhood altered so dramatically, its tranquil charm replaced by sprawling concrete structures, is deeply disheartening. Yet despite the frustration and loss, my husband and I have no intention of leaving. We remain resolute; this is our home, and it will stay that way. We will continue resisting the plans of developers who aim to expand even further. My conviction is so strong that I often say, only half-jokingly, that I would rather die defending this ground than surrender it.
One of Amazon’s data centers sits only a few blocks from our property, a constant and literal presence in our daily lives. Amazon was among the earliest companies to initiate large-scale data center construction in our area several years ago, and its nearest facility has remained the most visually and audibly dominant. To make room for their buildings, they cleared a breathtaking number of old-growth trees, transforming what had been dense woodland into an expanse of gray — long rows of single-story warehouses made of stark concrete, functional but utterly devoid of aesthetic warmth. The entire operation resembles an industrial park more than anything else, and from where I stand, it is an eyesore in every sense.
Between our backyard and the Amazon facility lies a narrow strip of greenery, perhaps two city blocks in width — a remnant of what once surrounded us entirely. Even so, our home sits directly in what feels like the line of fire. When night falls, the building’s bright, artificial lights penetrate straight through our windows and illuminate our rooms, intruding upon what used to be calm darkness. The rear view from our house was once filled with towering trees, providing shade, privacy, and a sense of natural harmony. Although some green remains, it cannot recreate the serenity that once defined our small haven. As I walk or drive through the neighborhood, I find myself confronted by yet another massive data center at nearly every turn. Alarmingly, there is even an elementary school located just a few blocks away from one of Amazon’s installations, leaving many of us worried about how this environment will affect our children’s daily lives.
The environmental disruptions caused by these structures — the noise, light pollution, and odor — are by far the most distressing elements of our new reality. I noticed the noise immediately when the first facility became operational. It is not an intermittent sound but rather a constant, electrical hum that resonates through the air. At times, it feels less like a noise and more like a vibration pressing against the temples, a sensation you cannot quite escape. Some neighbors seem almost impervious to it, while others, like me, find the disturbance nearly impossible to ignore. Inside my home, the experience depends on where I am. On the first floor, the sound is somewhat dulled, absorbed by walls and soft furnishings, but once I move upstairs, the vibration becomes unmistakable — a low, pulsating reminder of the machines at work nearby. We have a beautifully constructed deck and a once-inviting backyard where we loved hosting friends or savoring a quiet morning coffee, yet now I rarely linger there. The discomfort intensifies whenever the diesel generators switch on, filling the air with an acrid stench that clings to everything.
Light pollution poses an additional, persistent invasion. During the day, the brightness is less noticeable, but when night descends, it transforms the ambiance completely. The glow from the Amazon data center bathes our neighborhood in an unnatural radiance, and from my kitchen window, it sometimes appears as though a powerful spotlight has been trained directly on our home. In summer months, foliage softens the glare a little, but during the winter — when trees are bare — the effect is nearly unbearable, as if the night sky itself has been replaced by the gleam of floodlights.
Despite these challenges, what encourages me is the strength our community has discovered in unity. Residents from every corner of the neighborhood have begun to organize, attending county supervisor meetings, speaking passionately in public forums, and taking every possible action to voice their concerns about unchecked data center developments. We are determined to assert our right to a livable environment, to stand up for the health and harmony of our surroundings. If there is a silver lining amid all this disruption, it is the sense of solidarity that has blossomed among neighbors who had barely known one another before the controversy began. This struggle has, somewhat paradoxically, brought us together.
Our advocacy, however, has encountered frustrating obstacles. Meaningful policy change has proved elusive, and thus far, our collective efforts have yielded few tangible victories. At the moment, one of our priorities is to urge the county to amend its noise ordinance so that it explicitly accounts for the continuous buzzing generated by data centers. Whether our petition will succeed remains uncertain. Still, this neighborhood remains the home of our hearts — not just because of the walls and garden that belong to us, but because of the people who share this space and the memories that live here. Leaving would mean abandoning more than property; it would mean giving up a part of our identity. And that is something we’re simply not prepared to do. Our house, our street, and our community are worth fighting for, and we intend to continue that fight as long as it takes.
For anyone discovering that a data center might soon be built near their residence, I offer this advice drawn from experience: begin by familiarizing yourself thoroughly with your local ordinances and zoning codes. Ensure that developers have completed all necessary environmental impact assessments long before construction begins, because once the ground is broken and the structures start to rise, your ability to influence outcomes diminishes drastically. Vigilance is everything. Stay in constant contact with your elected officials and local governing bodies, such as county supervisors. Voice your concerns, ask questions, and refuse to be silent. As the saying goes, the squeaky wheel gets the grease — it is often the persistent, unwavering citizen who compels leaders to take action. My sincere hope is that more people will recognize the importance of local involvement and lend their voices to these critical issues. Only through collective effort can communities safeguard their character, their environment, and ultimately, their peace of mind.
If you have a story of your own — about living near a data center or witnessing your neighborhood change under similar circumstances — the reporter would welcome hearing from you at tmartinelli@businessinsider.com.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/living-next-to-data-centers-terrible-wont-leave-dream-home-2025-10
