It is not unreasonable to ask how the alternatives movement, led by solar and wind, went from being the darling of the nation, the face of our energy future and something deemed worthy of billions of tax dollars in subsidies, to, within just a few years, being significantly impeded or outright banned by local governments in about a quarter of the country.
Rural communities were most impacted by the projects. Some farmers were upset that their neighbors were selling or leasing their land to solar companies. They didn’t want to walk out their door and see hundreds of acres of neighboring land filled with shiny solar panels instead of corn, soybeans and wheat.
Many states, including my home state of Ohio, passed solar-related laws that provided no avenue for local government to stop or even review the projects. Even if such authority existed, it was easy to empathize with farmers who were selling to solar entities. For many farmers, the solar deals were a way to get out of debt and start anew.
As I wrote in a Washington Post article in 2019, “At recent public hearings I attended, some among the roughly 30 landowners who are selling or leasing their land for the projects extolled the benefits of solar, but most offered the frank explanation that the deals they were offered were a financial lifeline not only for them, but for their children and grandchildren.”
But just two years later, I noted in a follow-up Post article that, locally and across much of Ohio, the tide had turned strongly against the growth of solar. “Questions are growing about neighboring property values and environmental issues,” I wrote. “What about responsible land practices such as plant maintenance, erosion protection and water runoff? When the solar fields are dismantled someday, will the soil be safe for reuse? Solar companies are providing answers, but trust is not always evident.”
In addition to those concerns, it became clear that the solar (and to a lesser extent, wind) projects were tearing communities apart. Plus, suspicions grew even more when developers who built the projects sometimes sold them to someone else – raising questions of responsibility and accountability. Who was profiting from all the tax subsidies?
In response to the growing antipathy toward solar, the Ohio legislature passed a bill giving local officials more power to reject, restrict or ban solar and wind projects. Similar authority exists in other states, and across the nation local governments are stopping, or at least pausing, the expansion of solar and/or wind.
In February, a USA Today analysis “found by the end of 2025, 24% of counties nationwide had some impediment to new utility-scale wind and solar energy ‒ up from as few as 15% two years earlier. That calculation of local rules included outright bans, zoning restrictions, land-use rules or political stonewalls.”
Similar actions have continued into 2026. Just a few days ago in Minnesota, the Morrison County Planning Commission “voted to move forward with the revised language to impose a temporary one-year moratorium on community solar energy, solar farms and wind energy conversion systems,” the Morrison County Record reported. “If enacted, the Morrison County Board of Commissioners will appoint a working group to study and evaluate the county’s existing policies and regulars regarding community solar energy, solar farms and wind energy conversion systems.
Back in Ohio, at least 27 (out of 88) counties have banned utility-scale solar and/or wind projects in at least parts of their counties. (In Richland County, Ohio, residents were voting Tuesday on whether to reverse a ban on large-scale wind and solar enacted by commissioners, with tens of thousands of dollars coming from out-of-state interests seeking to reverse the ban.)
The fierce backlash in many parts of the country against solar and wind farms has been an example of the idea of something seeming less alarming than the actualization of it. In other words, it’s one thing to talk about solar fields that will someday spring up. It’s another thing to witness it happening, to drive past what was once field after field of crops and suddenly see those same hundreds of acres covered by row after row of metal and glass solar panels. It can leave a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, especially for rural residents who for generations have loved and cherished their farmland.
The rapid expansion of “alternatives” has happened at warp speed, long before many members of the public and their local governments were properly informed or prepared. Now, private citizens and public officials are pumping the brakes, trying to slow a movement in which momentum exceeded readiness, politics outweighed planning, and taxpayers were left holding the bag yet again.
