Frustrated, she began networking with moms in other cities, and last summer, they organized several local grassroots groups into the Colorado chapter of the Mothers Project, a national anti-fracking movement. Instead of taking her kids swimming last July 4, Brekke dragged them to Longmont to collect signatures to get a fracking ban initiative on the November ballot. “We’re not working for companies,” she says. “The only thing we’re looking out for is our kids.”
The Mothers Project and others have pushed local governments to hit the “pause” or even “stop” buttons on fracking through moratoriums and bans. Allies, including Wes Wilson and Phil Doe, both former government scientists and whistleblowers, have served as technical experts, updating activists on new research linking fracking and health risks. The Pennsylvania-based Community Environmental Legal Defense Fund has worked with people in Colorado, New Mexico and elsewhere to draft local bans and ordinances rooted in recognizing the legal rights of communities and nature.
In the growing bedroom community of Erie, between Denver and Boulder, concerned parents formed Erie Rising in late 2011 after fracking began just a few hundred feet from two elementary schools. Several families claim the activity has increased cases of asthma, migraines, rashes and nosebleeds. Although the link between illness and fracking is elusive, a federal study has found that the town’s air quality, including levels of propane, butane and volatile organic compounds from oil and gas drilling, is as much as 10 times worse than that of notoriously polluted Pasadena, Calif. In response, town trustees passed an emergency six-month drilling moratorium last March, and surrounding Boulder County enacted a yearlong moratorium.
Longmont, also in Boulder County, went even further. In July 2012, the city council passed oil and gas rules stricter than the state’s, and prohibited residential-area drilling. The state promptly sued Longmont for trespassing on its regulatory territory.
Hickenlooper has called the Longmont lawsuits the “last resort” in asserting state authority over drilling. Ginny Brannon, the assistant director for water and energy in the state’s Department of Natural Resources, says the state discussed other options with city officials more than a dozen times, noting that after its moratorium, the town of Erie chose to broker individual agreements with operators, setting voluntary standards beyond state requirements.
“We don’t like bans at all,” says Brannon. “If you ban hydraulic fracturing, you ban drilling. We’d lose our mineral development that provides energy we all use, and it would cause us to lose a lot of jobs, and millions of dollars in severance tax payments, royalty payments, and grants that come indirectly through those dollars.”
Sixty percent of Longmont voters passed a citywide fracking ban in November 2012, spawning a second lawsuit from industry, which has brought in the state as a co-plaintiff. In December, advocates for an outright ban in Boulder County became so rowdy at a county hearing that officials accused them of “mob harassment” and filed a police report.
The intense opposition has spread beyond Colorado. In Idaho, where 2012 legislation outlawed local prohibitions of oil and gas development, fracking on state lands triggered protests this June in Boise and other cities. More than 100 California groups recently banded together to push for a statewide fracking moratorium and other drilling controls. The coalition formed in response to mounting pressure to expand development of the 1,700-plus-square-mile Monterey Shale formation. After several New Mexico cities and counties enacted tougher rules and fracking moratoriums, this spring Mora County in northern New Mexico became the first U.S. county to fully ban fracking.
The groundswell of local fracking bans is often based on unjustified concerns, says Tisha Schuller, CEO of the Colorado Oil and Gas Association, an industry trade group. “The discrepancy is between towns with experience and those without,” she says. “It’s very different what people are afraid of,” adding that communities with a history of energy development tend to recognize that regulated drilling can coexist with towns.
That’s generally the case in Weld County, the heart of the Niobrara shale boom. Weld has over 18,000 wells, far more than any other Colorado county. It also leads the state agricultural production and is among the nation’s fastest-growing counties. In Fort Lupton and Firestone, pumpjacks and drilling pads sit next to new homes. But their proximity has triggered little outrage in the county, where “conventional” drilling has occurred for decades.
Fracking bans are “further exacerbating unwarranted fears,” says Barbara Kirkmeyer, a Weld County commissioner. Kirkmeyer claims the state oil and gas commission, by caving in to activists and increasing regulation, impedes responsible development. The new expanded setbacks could force companies to put equipment in irrigated farm fields, disrupting watering and cropping patterns, in order to keep it away from homes. Weld’s own land-use setback rules are more lenient, Kirkmeyer adds, creating a dilemma: The energy industry has to keep 500 feet from houses, but new residential development can still build within 150 feet of existing energy infrastructure. Kirkmeyer and other Weld officials are so frustrated with the new oil and gas rules, recent state gun-control laws and renewable-energy goals that they’re leading a secession movement.
But even in Weld County there’s an anti-fracking groundswell. This spring, a citizens group, Greeley Communities United, appealed plans for 16 or more new wells, some just 350 feet from homes that were approved before the new state rules go into effect.
Meanwhile, 100 municipal and county leaders from across Colorado signed a letter to Hickenlooper this June, urging him to consider more local input in setting rules to recognize the massive gap between the state’s efforts and its citizens’ concerns.
Longmont’s pending court cases will also test whether the state holds sole authority over energy planning. If the judge interprets the impacts as a “purely local” concern, communities may be able to win. A New York state court decided in favor of two towns’ bans in early May, citing local governments’ zoning and land-use powers.
In Fort Collins, a few months after enacting its fracking ban, the city council failed to renew a more sweeping drilling moratorium after the city’s lone existing operator — exempted from the restrictions — threatened legal action if he couldn’t drill new wells. Irate activists collected 8,000 signatures to force a citywide vote on a five-year fracking moratorium this November. The city of Boulder will likely vote on a three-year moratorium, while the surrounding county recently extended its existing one for another 18 months. Citizens in nearby Lafayette are going even further, pressing for a city charter amendment to outlaw all new oil and gas development. In staunchly conservative Colorado Springs, a grassroots group, Colorado Springs Citizens for Community Rights, has filed its own lawsuit to allow it to bring a fracking ban before voters. Even a statewide fracking ban initiative is afoot.
The campaigns indicate activists aren’t relenting — or waiting for a judicial victory or for local or state politicians to get involved. Besides, says Brekke, “What’s [the governor] going to do? Sue us all?”
— This is the second part of a two-part story on the showdown between supporters and opponents of oil and gas drilling and its regulation on Colorado’s Front Range. The first half of this story was featured in Sunday’s Post Independent.
“We’re not working for companies. The only thing we’re looking out for is our kids.” Jodee Brekke, Colorado Chapter of the Mothers Project