“Minidoka’s Painful Past Faces a New Threat in the Form of a Wind Farm”

In the scorching July heat of 1943, a young boy named Paul Tomita stood behind barbed wire, his ink-covered finger pressing onto a mint-green exit card. It was Independence Day, a day of celebration in the United States, but for Paul and over 13,000 Japanese Americans at Minidoka camp in the vast Idaho desert, it marked the end of 11 months of incarceration during World War II due to their ancestry.

Paul Tomita, now 84, still vividly recalls that moment. The wallet-sized exit card granted him and his family the freedom to leave the confines of the cramped barracks they had called home. It was a stark reminder of the past, a past that some are determined to preserve.

Fast forward eight decades, and Paul Tomita returns to Minidoka with fellow pilgrims who believe that the injustices suffered here must never be forgotten. However, a new threat looms over this historic site — the proposed Lava Ridge Wind Farm.

The Lava Ridge Wind Farm, if approved by the Bureau of Land Management, would consist of 400 wind turbines sprawling across 118 square miles near Minidoka. For survivors and descendants, this project represents another attempt to overshadow the painful history of Japanese American incarceration.

Paul Tomita, reflecting on the situation, raises a poignant question: “If Minidoka was a white memorial to white soldiers who died in whatever war it is, do you think that they would offer free land to Lava Ridge to develop their windmills there?”

As the wind project seeks approval, it presents a challenge to the commitment of the Biden Administration to combat climate change through renewable energy. Magic Valley, the company behind the project, aims to create the second-largest wind farm in the U.S., producing up to 1,000 megawatts and doubling Idaho’s wind energy production. Proponents argue that such projects are essential for clean energy and reducing dependence on fossil fuels.

However, opposition to the Lava Ridge Wind Farm is nearly unanimous among those who hold Minidoka dear. Concerns include the potential permanent scars on the isolated landscape, damage to the aquifer from construction explosives, and the overshadowing of the desert landscape where survivors come to heal and remember.

Minidoka survivors and descendants emphasize the importance of preserving the site as a place of healing and remembrance, acknowledging the traumas their families endured. The struggle to ensure that history is not repeated remains a powerful motivation.

In the midst of this debate stands Paul Tomita, the little boy with the ink-stained finger, who, after leaving Minidoka, went on to build a life of resilience and success. He carries a copy of his exit card as a symbol of the past and a reminder that Minidoka, despite its painful history, is sacred land that must be preserved for future generations.

The battle between clean energy goals and the preservation of a painful past continues, raising complex questions about how we remember and honor history in a changing world.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) about Minidoka Wind Farm Controversy

More about Minidoka Wind Farm Controversy

• Japanese American Incarceration during WWII
• Bureau of Land Management
• Renewable Energy and Climate Change
• Minidoka National Historic Site
• Biden Administration’s Clean Energy Goals
• Paul Tomita’s Story