Gemstone Technology Park

In early 2025, the small city of Kuna, Idaho, found itself once again at the center of a billion-dollar tech development saga. Just a few years after Meta (Facebook) broke ground on a massive $800 million data center on the outskirts of town, a second project – Gemstone Technology Park – surfaced, promising an even larger investment of at least $1 billion on 620 acres of former farmlandidahostatesman.com 1. This new venture is being led not by a household-name tech company, but by an obscure developer: Diode Ventures, a subsidiary of engineering firm Black & Veatch, which quietly proposed a sprawling data center campus in Kuna. Yet the parallels with the Meta deal are striking – and troubling. Like Meta’s project, Gemstone has advanced under a veil of secrecy, code names, and non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) that kept crucial details hidden from the public until the eleventh hour[2]datacenterdynamics.com 2. Local officials once again extolled the project as a major high-tech investment that will benefit the community, echoing the same talking points used when Meta was wooed to towncommerce.idaho.gov 3. And once again, Kuna’s residents and even some officials are asking: What are we really getting out of this? Have we learned anything from the last time?

This chapter takes a deep dive into the Gemstone Technology Park deal – from its murky origins, through the heated city council hearings, to the promises and pitfalls that surround it. We will expose the secrecy that cloaks such projects, dissect the claimed benefits versus actual impacts, and compare/contrast Gemstone with the earlier Meta data center arrangement. Along the way, we will pull apart the oft-repeated justifications – such as the notion that site selection must be secret to prevent land prices from skyrocketing – and examine whether they hold water or serve as convenient cover stories. We’ll also follow the money: Who sold the land and stands to profit? What incentives or concessions were made, and have lawmakers stepped in to correct past mistakes? By assembling primary sources – city documents, meeting minutes, official statements, and investigative reports – we aim to build an evidence-backed “courtroom case” on Gemstone Technology Park. If a concerned member of Congress were to review only this chapter, they should walk away with the complete story and a clear sense of the unanswered questions that still linger.

In short, Kuna’s Gemstone Technology Park is more than just another data center project – it is a case study in how Big Tech (and its proxies) operate in small communities, the trade-offs and secret deals that often accompany these projects, and the growing tension between short-term local gains and long-term regional consequences. The sections below document, in detail, everything we have uncovered about Gemstone: the players, the process, the promises, and the many pressing questions that remain.

(Note: For context, we occasionally reference the Meta data center deal in Kuna (Chapter 5, Parts 1–2) – an $800 million, 960,000 sq. ft. facility announced in 2022 – as it set the stage for Gemstone and taught Kuna some hard lessonsdatacenterdynamics.com 4. Where those lessons were applied – or ignored – in the Gemstone saga is a recurring theme.)

A Secretive Start: NDAs, Code Names, and Quiet Planning

Gemstone Technology Park did not enter public view with fanfare; it crept in through backroom negotiations and coded references in city paperwork. Diode Ventures first approached Kuna officials about the project in the fall of 2023, according to Kuna’s Economic Development Director, Morgan Treasureboisedev.com 5. At that stage, nearly everything was hush-hush. As is common with large tech developments, non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) were reportedly signed between the company and local authorities to keep the negotiations and project details confidential[2]. Indeed, when Meta was in the works earlier, Kuna city worked with the company under the code name “Project Peregrine,” concealing Facebook’s identity until the official announcementdatacenterdynamics.com 6. The name “Peregrine” was a nod to the local Snake River Birds of Prey area – an innocuous moniker that masked the involvement of a tech giant. By analogy, Diode’s project name “Gemstone” itself has a code-name quality; it revealed nothing about who the end-user might be (Meta? Google? Another?), only a sparkly alias. In official city documents, early references to the project also avoided any mention of specific companies – one 2024 resolution blandly labeled it the “Gemstone Technology Park, LLC” development.

Why all the secrecy? Companies insist on NDAs and code names during site selection under the rationale of protecting trade secrets and avoiding speculation. In Kuna’s case, city leaders were effectively gagged from revealing critical information to the public (or even to other agencies) until the deal was largely set. As Tucson’s mayor (facing a similar data center code-named “Project Blue”) put it, “Companies want to protect their strategic information and planned decisions from their direct market competition”ktvb.com 7 – hence the secrecy. In practice, this means residents and even some local officials are kept in the dark about what’s coming to their backyard. A recent nationwide investigation by InvestigateTV found NDAs to be ubiquitous in data center deals: in one survey of data center-hosting localities, 25 out of 31 had NDAs with the companies[9]. These agreements were often sweeping – barring disclosure of almost any “non-public” information, far beyond genuine trade secrets[9][10]. Some NDAs explicitly allowed companies to preempt or narrow public records requests for project details[10]. In one Virginia county, Amazon’s NDA even attempted to classify the data center’s water and sewage usage as confidential[11]. In another case, a Texas NDA imposed a five-year confidentiality period, long enough for a project to be planned, approved, and even built before the public could scrutinize itinvestigatetv.com 8. In short, NDAs enable a “done deal” to be presented to the community as a fait accompli.

Kuna’s experience mirrors these trends. Public records from Kuna indicate that the Gemstone project was well underway administratively before citizens had any clue. For instance, by July 2024 – months before any general public hearing – the city council agenda shows Mayor Joe Stear was authorized to sign a “Water and Wastewater Service Feasibility Cost Reimbursement Agreement” with Gemstone Technology Park, LLC. This suggests Diode (Gemstone’s developer) was already coordinating infrastructure studies with the city under formal agreement, likely with cost-sharing, while the broader public still had no inkling that a 620-acre data center park was on its doorstep. Tellingly, that July 16, 2024 agenda item was tucked into the “Consent Agenda” (routine items passed with little discussion). There was no splashy press release or town hall about it. A small legal notice in the newspaper or a sign on a fencepost was probably the only warning – a “quiet stretch of farmland in Kuna, with a small public hearing notice,” as one report later described, heralding a $1 billion project[13].

By the time Gemstone’s rezone application came up for official public hearings (late winter 2025), the proposal was essentially fully formed: Diode Ventures sought to rezone 620 acres from agricultural to industrial use and amend the comprehensive plan accordingly. A site plan indicated up to five massive data center buildings could be built on the campus. Further details – like precisely how many square feet or which companies would occupy the buildings – were “not shared,” as DataCenterDynamics reported in February 2025. In other words, the public was being asked to trust a vague outline, with many specifics still shrouded (or simply not yet determined). Even the Kuna Planning & Zoning Commission, which reviewed the project in January 2025, may not have known the end-user or full scope. They unanimously recommended approval based on the concept and Diode’s assurances, but as we’ll see, one key stakeholder – the Kuna school district – later revealed they “didn’t understand the size and scope of the project” when they first negotiated mitigation funds. This suggests that information asymmetry (likely a result of NDA-driven secrecy) left local entities poorly informed during critical decision points.

It’s important to note that Diode Ventures itself is not a household name, and that too contributed to the obscurity of Gemstone’s early stages. Diode is essentially a development arm of Black & Veatch, specializing in energy and data center projects. They aren’t Amazon, Meta, or Google – but interestingly, Meta and Google are among Diode’s past clients in other statesdatacenterdynamics.com 9. Diode has built hyperscale data center campuses around Kansas City for those tech giants. In Kuna’s case, Diode is presumably acting as the front-facing developer who will entitle the land and possibly build the facility, then either lease or sell it to the ultimate operator. So when Kuna officials and the public deal with “Gemstone Technology Park, LLC,” they are essentially dealing with Diode – and they may not know which Big Tech company (if any) is waiting in the wings to occupy the site. Diode has not publicly disclosed its client or end-user for Gemstone. This raises a slew of questions: Is Meta behind this too, expanding its footprint? Is it Google, since Diode has worked with them and Google has been scouting for data center sites? Or Microsoft, Amazon, Oracle – all of whom are rapidly adding data centers? No one will say. And because of NDAs, perhaps no one in Kuna’s government could say even if they wanted to.

This practice of hiding behind shell LLCs and code names is standard in the industry. As one analysis noted, a community might see a proposal from “XYZ Development LLC” for a “Project Emerald” without knowing whether the end user is Amazon, Meta, Microsoft, or someone else[15][16]. In Fredericksburg, VA, for example, the city council created a new zoning district for a huge data center project without disclosing the company’s name until the night of the vote, and even the total number of planned buildings (8–12!) was only revealed after the rezoning was approved[17]. Public debate was effectively stifled, leading one critic to say it was democracy “dying in the dark”[18]. Kuna’s process wasn’t quite that extreme – by the time of the April 2025 council vote, everyone knew it was Diode and that it was a data center park – but the lack of transparency early on absolutely shaped the outcome. By the time ordinary citizens found out what “Gemstone” really was, the land deal was in place, infrastructure plans made, and multi-million-dollar side agreements quietly negotiated. It was essentially a done deal dressed up as an open process.

Crucially, NDAs also kept important technical data out of the public realm. For instance, how much power will Gemstone consume? How much water will it pump from local aquifers? These questions were likely discussed behind closed doors with utilities and agencies, but the answers were not plainly presented to the public during hearings. Diode did state that it worked with Idaho Power on a feasibility study and that, as required by state rules for large electrical loads, the project will pay 100% of the costs of any grid upgrades needed for interconnectiondiodeventures.com 10. However, the magnitude of Gemstone’s power draw can only be inferred. Each large data center building can easily demand 30–50 MW of power (Meta’s single Kuna facility was initially around 30 MW for 960,000 sq ft, though they paused to redesign for AI which could significantly boost energy use). With five buildings, Gemstone could conceivably pull on the order of 150–250 MW at full build – roughly doubling the hyperscale data center load in the Treasure Valley. That’s like adding a whole new city’s worth of electricity demand on Idaho Power’s grid[20][21]. Yet such figures were not front and center in public discussions. It’s likely Idaho Power knows and is planning for it (they even have a special tariff class for large usage like data centers). But ordinary residents hearing “data center” might not realize the strain this puts on regional energy infrastructure. No one spelled it out at the Kuna hearings – and NDAs ensured only sanitized summaries were shared (e.g. “we will improve grid reliability”, implying upgrades, but not quantifying the load).

Water usage is another tightly guarded secret. Diode’s public FAQ claimed that converting the land’s irrigation water rights to industrial use will actually reduce total water use by 33% compared to farming. On the surface, that sounds reassuring – a data center using less water than alfalfa or corn fields might have. But the claim warrants skepticism and detail: How much water are we talking, and under what assumptions? If historically the 620 acres were flood-irrigated for crops in summer, indeed that could be a large volume (hundreds of acre-feet per year). Diode says the diversion rate (flow) will remain the same, but total volume per year will decrease – likely because a data center will draw water year-round at a steady rate, rather than huge gulps in summer and zero in winter. Importantly, Gemstone won’t use City of Kuna’s water or sewer; they plan to pump their own wells and handle wastewater on-siteboisedev.com 11. They propose to use infiltration basins to return cooling water to the aquifer after treatment (essentially injecting what’s left after evaporation back into the ground). They also note any cooling water outflow will be treated to drinking water standards before re-infiltration.

These measures sound good – if they work as advertised. But here’s the catch: the community has to take the developer’s word for it, because no independent, detailed hydrological impact study was presented for public review. There was no number given for “X million gallons per day” that the facility would withdraw, only the relative figure of 33% less than irrigation. (For comparison, Meta did at least disclose that its Kuna data center was expected to use about 70,000 gallons per day on averageidahostatesman.com 12 – a relatively small number by data center standards, possibly because of certain cooling tech or climate. It’s unclear if Gemstone would be similarly efficient or if multiple buildings compound that.) The Idaho Department of Water Resources (IDWR) will have to approve the water rights transfer and ensure other users aren’t harmed, so some analysis will happen behind the scenesboisedev.com 13. But if those documents exist, they weren’t a prominent part of city deliberations. In Oregon, a lack of transparency on data center water use led to serious conflict: In The Dalles, Google’s data centers were shielded by NDAs and the city initially refused to reveal how much water Google was consuming, arguing the information was a “trade secret.” It took a legal challenge and court case to force disclosure[29]. When the truth came out, residents learned Google’s facilities there drank up enough water in 2021 to cover the entire city of The Dalles in 3 inches of water[30][31]. The mayor of The Dalles admitted Google had insisted on that secrecy – ostensibly to hide details of their cooling technology – and only relented under public pressure[31][32]. The lesson: without transparency, rumors and worst-case assumptions fester, and a community cannot intelligently decide if the trade-offs are worth it. Is Kuna at risk of a similar blind spot? If Meta’s or Gemstone’s exact groundwater pumping volumes, peak flow rates, and water rights conditions have not been plainly disclosed, how can locals assess the risk of aquifer depletion or impacts on nearby wells? Idaho’s water laws will require an “injury analysis” for new high-volume wells, and mitigation if needed – but, notably, neither Meta nor Gemstone has publicly offered any off-site water mitigation (like funding aquifer recharge elsewhere) beyond their own property boundaries[33][34]. The absence of a detailed public hydrological report suggests that potential water trade-offs were downplayed to ease approvals[35].

All of these issues – power strain, water use, infrastructure costs – highlight what some have called the “balkanization” of critical infrastructure decisions[36][37]. A small city government, oriented toward local zoning and tax considerations, is effectively deciding the placement of a massive piece of the national digital backbone. The local process, by design, doesn’t account for big-picture questions like “Is this data center needed here versus somewhere else?” or “Could this 100 MW of load be better allocated to a different region less prone to summer heat?” Those questions aren’t on the agenda of a Kuna P&Z meeting. Instead, the debate is confined to things like traffic, noise, and whether the site fits the comprehensive plan. One side of Kuna’s debate argued that a data center is better than dense housing on that land (less traffic, fewer schoolkids, etc.), while the other side worried about a decade of construction and loss of rural character – all valid local points[38][39]. But nowhere in the hearing was anyone equipped to ask, “Is this particular data center critical to some broader strategy or just a random business prospect we’re lucky to have?” National security and economic implications – like the concentration of huge server farms in certain areas, or the cumulative impact on regional power grids – were simply outside the purview of the city council. Yet those broader impacts are very real. For instance, in Northern Virginia’s Data Center Alley, the clustering of so many data centers has become a grid stability concern. Regulators found that data centers were a key factor in a projected 20% increase in retail power prices for 2025 in that region[40]. Dominion Energy has had to invest heavily in new power infrastructure, and ordinary ratepayers are seeing higher bills as a result[41][42]. That sparked public anger with the sentiment: “Why should a household pay more so Facebook or Amazon’s servers can have cheap power?”[42][43]. In Idaho, Meta and Gemstone combined could similarly force Idaho Power to accelerate generation and transmission projects (even if those companies pay upfront for certain upgrades, maintaining long-term capacity could fall on everyone). These are the sorts of implications that get lost in siloed, NDA-shielded local decisions[36][44].

In summary, Gemstone’s inception was cloaked in a level of secrecy that kept the public and even some local institutions a step behind. By the time the project came up for a vote, the momentum – and in many ways the outcome – was largely predetermined. As we will see, the City Council’s final decision was close and contentious, suggesting that if more information and time for scrutiny had been available earlier, the debate might have been even more robust. The NDA-driven process may have sped things along (as Meta’s team claims, confidentiality “increases the speed and efficiency of projects”investigatetv.com 14), but it also bred mistrust and “blindsided” many residents when Gemstone finally emerged into public view[46][47].

Before delving into the City Council showdown and what Kuna has (or hasn’t) learned, let’s lay out the known basics of the Gemstone project and the deals struck around it – including who sold the land, what the developer promised, and how local leaders justified this development as the “right kind” of growth for Kuna.

The Gemstone Deal Unveiled: Land, Money, and Promises

When news of Gemstone Technology Park finally broke cover in early 2025, it came with a mix of human-interest detail and lofty economic promises. On January 29, 2025, BoiseDev reported on the project, revealing the identity of the landowner and the mitigation deals being offered to sweeten the potboisedev.com 15. The 620-acre site is located at 3250 S. Locust Grove Road, at the intersection of Locust Grove and Barker Roads – an area that was, until now, open agricultural landidahostatesman.com 16. The property was (and as of that date, still is) owned by Duane Yamamoto, a longtime Kuna farmer and a notable figure in the city’s history. Yamamoto is now in his 90s; incredibly, he served as Mayor of Kuna back in the 1970sdatacenterdynamics.com 17. He and his wife Judy have farmed that land for decades, and according to Judy, “the plan to sell their land to Diode Ventures will help fund their retirement” as Duane’s health is failing and farming has become difficult for him. It’s a poignant story – a family that once led the city, now passing on their homestead as they age. Judy Yamamoto’s quote frames the sale as almost inevitable and necessary for them personally. There’s no indication of any underhanded conflict of interest here (Duane Yamamoto’s time as mayor was nearly 50 years ago, after all, and he likely had no role in current city decisions). If anything, it highlights how growth reaches even the most deeply rooted locals: the former mayor who guided Kuna in simpler times stands to profit from the city’s transformation into a data center hub.

That said, the Yamamotos’ involvement is an interesting wrinkle. It means the city’s own former leader is effectively on the opposite side of the table now – as a beneficiary of the development he once might have had to regulate. By all accounts, the Yamamotos are acting as any landowners would: they have valuable land, a willing high-dollar buyer (Diode), and they’re taking the offer. The price hasn’t been publicized, but given 620 acres of entitled industrial land, it’s presumably a multi-million dollar sale. Some in the community could see this as a “fortunate retirement cash-out” for an elderly couple; others might cynically note that insiders often end up benefiting from development. Is it pure coincidence that a former mayor’s property became the next big project? Probably – Kuna’s rapid growth means many old farms are on developers’ radar. But it’s worth noting that as Kuna’s fortunes rise, so do the fortunes of certain landholders. It invites the question: Who else stands to gain? For example, were there any options or side arrangements on this land before it became public? (Developers often secure an option to buy land from owners contingent on rezoning – typically at pre-rezoning prices – which means the value uplift from entitling the land goes to the developer, not the original owner. We don’t know if that happened here, but if Diode had an NDA with the city, likely they also had a quiet deal with the Yamamotos long before the public rezone vote.)

While the Yamamotos’ story added a personal touch, Diode Ventures and Kuna officials were busy crafting a narrative of community benefits to justify the project. In an apparent response to the backlash over the Meta deal (where many felt Kuna gave away too much for too little), the Gemstone project came packaged with a set of monetary contributions to local services – essentially, impact mitigations or “community investments.” Diode Ventures put these offers on the table during negotiations, and by early 2025 they were formalized in signed agreements with the respective agencies:

·         Kuna School District: $500,000 (one-time) to support athletics and technology programs. This was the amount the school board apparently agreed to when first approached.

·         Kuna Police Department: $10 million over 20 years. (Kuna’s police services are provided via contract by the Ada County Sheriff’s Office, but effectively this funds additional officers dedicated to Kuna.) Diode’s representative Hethe Clark said this would help fund the cost of a police sergeant for the area.

·         Kuna Rural Fire District: Approximately $30 million (the exact final figure discussed was $32 million) spread over a number of years (13 years was mentioned). This is to fund a new fire station and firefighters to staff it, given the added demands of protecting a huge industrial site.

These numbers are unprecedented for Kuna. The city has never before extracted this level of financial commitments from a developer (the Meta project, in contrast, did not include direct cash payments to schools or emergency services – Meta’s contributions were more in infrastructure and intangible partnerships, as we’ll discuss). City officials clearly learned from the Meta episode that the public wanted to see tangible benefits if another big project came. $42.5 million in local funding ($32M fire + $10M police + $0.5M schools) is nothing to sneeze at – it’s a substantial offset for the impacts of the data center. Diode trumpeted these commitments in public statements, framing them as proof they will be “good stewards” and community partners. In an email statement after the rezone vote, Diode said it is “providing more than $40 million of direct contributions to fund improvements for Kuna Police, Kuna Fire and the Kuna School District”kivitv.com 18. Their project FAQ and PR materials highlight these as “Community Investment” – e.g., funds for a new fire station, police staffing, and school programsdiodeventures.com 19.

On the face of it, this looks like a huge win for Kuna: an infusion of money into public safety and education budgets that would otherwise rely on local taxpayers. But as always, the devil is in the details – and the fairness. Why, for example, was the school district slated to get only $500k while the fire district gets $30M+ and police $10M+? Several city council members were asking exactly that when the project came up for approval. During the April 2025 council meeting, they pressed Diode’s representative on the lopsided nature of the offers. Hethe Clark, the attorney representing Diode, responded that “this was what the [school] district said its needs were.” In other words, Diode claimed the school district only asked for $500k, so that’s what was agreed.

That explanation did not entirely satisfy local leaders. Hillary Johnson Lowe, a Kuna School District Trustee, took the floor at the meeting and gave a different perspective. She said that at the time of the agreement, the district didn’t grasp how large the project was, and they accepted $500k because “that was what was offered to them” and they didn’t realize they could or should ask for more. Lowe noted that the district had actually shown Diode a list of needs totaling close to $20 million, but got only half a million in the deal. Now that they understood Gemstone’s true scale – a multi-billion-dollar campus that “will leave residual effects and affect the school district much more than we initially understood” – the school board was essentially coming back and saying, we need a bigger contribution. Lowe publicly invited the developer and the city to renegotiate and provide more support for schools.

This moment is telling. It reveals that even one of the key mitigation deals was negotiated under incomplete information – arguably because of the NDA-driven secrecy. The school district didn’t have all the facts (size, scope, perhaps timeline or number of workers) when $500k was set. As a result, they lowballed their ask. By the time the truth came out, the developer could pat itself on the back for offering “something,” but the district realized it might not be enough by an order of magnitude. This is a direct outcome of the opaque process. In the analysis of data center secrecy, it’s a textbook case of information asymmetry: one party (the developer) knew how big the project could be, the other party (schools) did not, and thus the mitigation was not proportional[57][58]. As one commentary noted, the school negotiated “under incomplete information” due to the NDA, and only later did the real scale emerge – by which point the deal was largely locked in[57][58]. To Diode’s credit, Hethe Clark did not slam the door shut; he said Diode would be “happy to discuss” additional funding for schools, but “the amount would have to be proportionate to the impact”. And there is the crux: What is the true impact on schools? A data center does not directly put kids in classrooms. In fact, supporters argued that unlike housing developments, a data center’s “low job density” means it won’t strain schools or roads much at all. The Diode FAQ even touts that as a benefit: “a data center has low job density, allowing communities to maintain an intimate feel without straining resources such as schools”. They’re basically saying: Look, if we didn’t build a data center, a bunch of houses could go there and then you’d have hundreds of new students – but with us, maybe a few families at most. There’s truth to that. The 100 permanent jobs might bring a handful of relocating families; even 1,200 construction workers are mostly temporary and often come from the existing regional workforce. So one could argue the direct school impact is minimal, perhaps justifying a smaller payout.

However, the school district sees indirect and long-term effects. One could be that if the area industrializes, it attracts other businesses (or even housing for workers) eventually – growth begets growth, and that can bring students. Also, the district might simply be looking at Gemstone’s enormous value and saying: shouldn’t some sliver of that wealth support local education? If $20M in needs exist (e.g. new CTE programs, tech upgrades, etc.), why not ask the deep-pocketed tech industry to chip in more? It’s somewhat analogous to impact fees, except Idaho’s system doesn’t really levy impact fees for schools. So districts have to beg. The spectacle of the school trustee pleading for more at the last minute underscores a feeling that Kuna got shortchanged on schools in the initial Meta deal and didn’t want to repeat it. Indeed, recall that Meta promised partnerships and grants to schools (and maybe donated some tech equipment or STEM funds), but there was no fixed dollar contribution to the Kuna School District’s budget beyond what property taxes would eventually flow. In fact, Superintendent Wendy Johnson was excited just to have Meta offer career education opportunities and possibly grantsdatacenterknowledge.com 20 – useful, but intangible. By contrast, Gemstone’s $500k (even if small relatively) was at least cash earmarked for specific local school needs.

Kuna’s Mayor Joe Stear and other proponents touted these contributions heavily to sell the Gemstone project. They argued that if not a data center, the alternative development on that land (like housing) would provide far less funding and potentially cost the city more in services. Mayor Stear, who has been a booster of industrial growth, viewed the Gemstone deal as a way to harness private investment for public good. “Community Investment” is exactly the phrase Diode and the city used, implying a partnership approach rather than just a corporation moving in for profitdiodeventures.com 21.

So what is Kuna “getting” out of Gemstone in concrete terms? We can summarize:

·         Direct monetary contributions: Over $40 million to local public services (fire, police, schools) spread over 13–20 yearskivitv.com 22. These are contractually pledged via agreements attached to the project’s approval. (One must ask: are these binding if, say, only part of the project is built? Typically they would be in a development agreement or conditions tied to zoning. For example, perhaps each building permit triggers a certain installment to the fire district. It would be good to see the actual development agreement text, but those were not readily available in public domain. It’s assumed the city made these payments conditions of the rezone approval.)

·         Infrastructure improvements paid by the developer: This includes covering all Idaho Power electrical grid upgrade costs directly needed for the data centerdiodeventures.com 23, rather than those costs ending up in rate base. It also means building a new substation or expanding one near the site (Idaho Power hasn’t publicly detailed it, but BoiseDev noted Diode will work with Idaho Power on an improved substation for better utility accessboisedev.com 24).

·         No burden on city utilities: Gemstone will build its own water wells and wastewater treatment on-site, treating water to potable standards and recharging the aquifer. They will not connect to Kuna’s municipal water or sewer system at all. This is significant: it means the city doesn’t have to expand its water or sewage treatment plants to accommodate the project, and theoretically it means no strain on city water supply. (Of course, it also means the city won’t collect monthly utility fees from the project – but those fees might not have covered the needed capacity expansion anyway.)

·         Tax base growth: Once built, the data center campus would add hundreds of millions of dollars (potentially over a billion) to the property tax base. Idaho famously does not have a property tax abatement for data centers (unlike some states) – instead it used the sales tax exemption as the lure. So, property taxes are due in full. Early on, Kuna tried to capture Meta’s property taxes in an Urban Renewal District (URD) to reinvest in infrastructure, but the state legislature shut that down (we will cover that shortly). Now, by law, the property taxes from data centers like Meta and Gemstone must go to the normal tax rolls for city, county, and schools. This is a huge point: Meta’s facility (485 acres, 960,000 sq ft) will likely be assessed in the hundreds of millions of dollars, meaning millions in annual property tax revenue for local government and schools once it’s fully on the books. The same would be true of Gemstone if it’s built out – possibly double the Meta value or more, given larger acreage and multiple buildings. For a city like Kuna, that is a windfall that could, in theory, help pay for new schools, roads, parks, etc., alleviating the burden on homeowners. This was precisely the promise of Idaho’s 2020 data center tax incentive law: to attract big projects that “provide immediate property tax relief to the community” hosting them. We’ll examine how that promise was undercut and then salvaged by legislators in a moment. But bottom line, Kuna is banking on Gemstone’s property taxes to bolster public coffers. Mayor Stear and others have said the Meta project would “help with the tax burden balance” by enlarging the industrial tax basedatacenterknowledge.com 25. Adding Gemstone on top effectively doubles down on that strategy.

·         Jobs and economic activity: Diode and officials tout about 100 high-paying permanent jobs at the data center, plus 800–1,200 construction jobs at peak buildingdiodeventures.com 26. Indeed, during a multi-year build, hundreds of tradespeople will be on site, which can benefit local suppliers, hotels, restaurants, etc. However, it’s well-documented that data centers, once built, do not create many ongoing jobs relative to their investment – often fewer than promised or forecast, and those they do are mostly specialized positions. (100 jobs for a billion-dollar project is a very low ratio; by contrast, a $1B semiconductor fab or factory might create thousands of jobs. This disparity is part of what has drawn skepticism of these deals.) Still, 100 jobs in a small city are not nothing, and presumably they pay well (tech companies brag that their data center jobs often pay 150% of the local median or similar). The real question is how many of those jobs will go to Kuna residents? If Meta’s pattern holds, some will, but many positions (e.g. facility managers, IT technicians) might be filled by people transferring from elsewhere or commuting from Boise/Meridian. Construction jobs similarly may draw from the regional labor pool – it’s good for Idaho’s construction sector, though it could also mean labor shortages for other projects. The economic impact is thus a mixed bag and was one of the criticisms levied by supporters of reforming the incentives (they pointed out data centers don’t create that many jobs compared to other industries).

·         Ancillary development potential: City leaders like Stear see big data centers as anchors that attract other businesses. In press releases and interviews, they mention hoping to attract “other industrial and manufacturing users” around the East Kuna areadatacenterdynamics.com 27. For example, a large data center could attract supplier companies, electricians, maintenance contractors, or even other high-tech facilities that want to be near. So far, the visible result of Meta’s arrival was… another data center (Gemstone). It’s not exactly the diversified manufacturing base the mayor’s quote envisioned. But perhaps the city believes if you build a critical mass of tech infrastructure, it could lure, say, a chip assembly plant or a server hardware refurbisher, etc. There’s no guarantee of that, of course. It’s equally possible that these data centers sit behind berms and barbed wire, employing few, and the rest of Kuna’s economic development continues to be retail and housing unrelated to the data centers. This is one of the “big questions” we must ask: Is Kuna truly getting a tech sector cluster, or just becoming a convenient outpost for Big Tech’s server warehouses? We’ll revisit this in the “economic development or illusion” section.

With these supposed benefits on the table, Kuna’s City Council had to decide whether to rezone the land and approve the Gemstone project. It was far from a rubber-stamp. The vote and debate in early April 2025 revealed a city torn between welcoming growth and protecting its community character. Unlike the Meta project, which sailed through with enthusiastic official support (accompanied by public grumbling afterward), the Gemstone decision was nail-bitingly close – a 3–2 split with the mayor casting the tie-break vote. This in itself is remarkable: it shows that Kuna’s leaders, or at least some of them, did learn from the Meta experience and were much more cautious and critical this time around. Let’s delve into that critical council meeting, the arguments made, and what it tells us about how attitudes have shifted.

Showdown at City Council: “If Not This, What?” vs. “Why Here, Why Now?”

On April 1, 2025 (no fooling), the Gemstone Technology Park came before the Kuna City Council for a public hearing and vote on the necessary zoning changes. The atmosphere was charged – multiple hours of public testimony, divided opinions, and council members themselves split on the issue. The scene was perhaps the most intense land-use debate Kuna had seen in years, certainly since the Meta announcement. By the end of the night, two council members opposed Gemstone, two were in favor, and Mayor Joe Stear had to step in to break the tie in favor of the project. Each side’s reasoning is worth examining, as it encapsulates the classic tension small towns face when big developments come knocking.

Leading the opposition was Council President Chris Bruce. Bruce (who notably had just been elected to the Idaho Legislature in late 2024, becoming Rep. Chris Bruce, R-Kuna) emerged as the most vocal skeptic on the council. His primary objection was location, location, location. Bruce pointed out that Kuna had deliberately planned and built an industrial park area on the east side of town – the very area where Meta’s data center is – specifically to host projects like this, “way out there” away from homes and farms. Gemstone, however, was being proposed in a different area: southeast of town, amid actively farmed land and near existing rural homes, “far away from the town’s industrial zone” as Bruce emphasized. He essentially accused the project of violating the city’s comprehensive plan vision by plopping industrial use in an agricultural/residential area not intended for it. “We did build an industrial section for stuff like this… when we went over our comprehensive plan, [it] said we’re going to put it way out here, and that’s what we decided to do,” Bruce said, “so I have no idea why we would even think about putting it right there [in this location].” This is a potent argument: it appeals to orderly planning, promises made to citizens about land use, and the desire to confine heavy development to certain zones. Essentially, Bruce was saying: If we break our own plan and let a giant data park pop up on prime farmland by existing neighborhoods, what was the point of planning at all?

Bruce’s concerns echoed those of many local residents who testified in opposition. Several farmers and neighbors feared that approving one data center on farmland would be “the beginning of losing all the surrounding farmland to industrial projects.” They’ve seen the domino effect elsewhere – one rezoning begets another, and soon a rural enclave becomes an industrial corridor. Others raised the issue of traffic: Locust Grove Road, near the site, becomes a narrow rural road and was slated to get an entrance to the data center. People worried that construction trucks and later maintenance traffic would overwhelm these country roads not built for heavy use. (This concern was amplified when an extra access road off Locust Grove was added to plans late, though Diode clarified that entrance would be for secondary/emergency use only, with the main access off Cloverdale Road.) Additionally, noise and visual impact came up – even with promised berms and sound walls, locals were uneasy about having a high-security, lit-up facility as a new neighbor.

An illustrative voice was that of Shalee Murray, who lives down the road from the site. She said her biggest worry was the duration and disruption of construction: “The main part that is really concerning is the construction will take 10 years,” Murray told the presskivitv.com 28. Kuna’s infrastructure, she argued, “isn’t ready to handle that.” She recounted how in her childhood in rural Utah, one by one farms around her turned into warehouses and neighborhoods – “a domino effect” – until her parents’ farm was the lone holdout amid sprawl. This personal anecdote encapsulates the cultural and emotional stakes: longtime residents see their way of life threatened by creeping industrialization, and they fear that once it starts, it won’t stop. A 10-year phased build means a decade of dust, noise, and heavy trucks – effectively permanent change.

On the pro-project side, the arguments were more pragmatic and, one might say, defensive. Mayor Joe Stear and the council members who supported Gemstone (Greg McPherson and John Laraway, according to local sources; Matt Biggs was reportedly the second “no” with Bruce) took a stance of “better this than the alternative.” Stear distilled it in a simple question during deliberations: “If not this, what?”. His concern was that if the city denied the data center rezoning, that same land would eventually be developed into something else – possibly something worse in his view, like dense housing. “My biggest concern is if not this, what?” he said, noting he didn’t favor the idea of apartments or a big residential subdivision on that property either. In other words, the land’s days as pure farmland were numbered given development pressure; at least a data center, from the mayor’s perspective, “provides the neighbors with a lot less traffic, a lot less [impact]” than houses would.

This sentiment was echoed by some supportive residents too. For example, Dana Hennis, who lives right next to the property and has been there 20 years, actually supported the data center. His reasoning: “the alternative is what we fear – high density housing, apartments… that our school district can’t support and we don’t have the utility structure for out there.” In his view, “this is a good usage” of the land given that something will eventually go there, and at least the data center brings money and “a lot less other things going on” (meaning less daily traffic, no constant coming-and-going of residents). This is a classic trade-off argument: yes, a data center isn’t ideal farmland preservation, but it’s less bad than adding, say, 2,000 homes on the same acreage. Fewer people, less strain on schools, maybe even less water than irrigated lawns would use, one might add. Additionally, supporters note that the project includes buffering – Diode said they’d keep an undeveloped buffer zone on the north side of the project as a transitionboisedev.com 29 – and design elements to minimize visual and noise impact (setbacks, berms, dark-sky compliant lighting, etc.)diodeventures.com 30. To them, the character of the area could be maintained better with a low-occupancy use than with sprawling residential or commercial developments.

Stear’s stance also had a fiscal logic: housing developments might strain city finances (residents demand services that cost more than the property taxes generate, a common issue in fast-growing suburbs), whereas a data center promises a net positive to city coffers with minimal service needs in return. Remember, data centers don’t send kids to school, rarely call 911, and don’t drive on roads at rush hour. Once built, they sit quietly (mostly) and pay taxes. This is exactly what Diode banked on in its talking points – that a data center is a low-impact neighbor and “allows communities to maintain an intimate feel” since it doesn’t add population. At the council meeting, one can imagine Stear and others making the case that Kuna needs commercial tax base and this is a golden goose that will fund nice things (like that $30M for a new fire station, which otherwise might require a levy on residents to build).

So we see two competing visions: Council President Bruce’s long-term planning principle vs. Mayor Stear’s opportunistic pragmatism. Bruce essentially said, we zoned for industry in Area X, let’s stick to that plan and protect Area Y (this site) from it. Stear replied, development is coming to Area Y regardless – better to accept a data center with mitigation than risk a high-impact use. Both have merit. And both are colored by the Meta experience: The industrial area Bruce referred to was created in 2020 precisely to host Meta (the city annexed ~400 acres and designated an East Kuna Industrial Parksiteselection.com 31). Bruce’s subtext might be: We gave Meta a spot; why are we now deviating and spawning a second cluster? Stear’s position is influenced by seeing how Kuna’s residential growth exploded – he often cites that the Treasure Valley is one of the fastest-growing areas and Kuna’s population has boomed (now 30,000+). He fears unchecked housing growth more than industry. Indeed, Ada County’s housing market has put pressure on all cities to expand, and Kuna has seen massive subdivision proposals. The mayor likely feels that if we don’t consciously choose job-creating projects, we’ll just become a bedroom community with no tax base. In his mind, Meta was step 1 to diversify the economy, Gemstone is step 2. To him, saying no to Gemstone risked the landowner selling to a housing developer next year and Kuna ending up with 2,000 more homes and zero new funding for fire/police.

In the end, the council vote was 2–2, and Mayor Stear exercised his power to cast the tie-breaking vote in favor. The rezoning and comp plan amendment for Gemstone passed. The project, at least on paper, can now move forward on that site. (Voting breakdown, based on reporting: Council President Chris Bruce No; Council Member Matt Biggs No; Council Members Greg McPherson and John Laraway Yes; Mayor Stear Yes to break tie.) It’s interesting to note that Chris Bruce – the “No” vote leader – simultaneously was pushing reforms at the state level to curb data center tax breaks (we will detail this shortly). He clearly positioned himself as a watchdog on these deals. But in this local battle, he was narrowly outvoted.

After the vote, Diode Ventures put out a politely celebratory statement: “We appreciate the Kuna City Council’s confidence in our ability to be good stewards of the land… we are proud to be community partners in Kuna,” the company said, also acknowledging the community feedback and committing to work with the city on traffic and landscaping concerns as they “navigate next steps”. Those next steps include detailed site plan approvals, building permits, and regulatory sign-offs (from DEQ, IDWR, etc.) before construction. Clark, Diode’s rep, mentioned an “aspirational” goal: to get shovels in the ground by 2026, with a phased build-out over roughly 10 years. So this is a long-term play.

The split decision in Kuna sends a message: The era of unanimous cheerleading for “any big project is good” is over. There is now a healthy dose of skepticism and due diligence among local leaders. One might say Kuna’s honeymoon with Big Tech ended with the Meta deal; now they are in the marriage counseling phase – trying to balance attracting investment with protecting community interests. This is evidenced by the conditions extracted (the $40M in payments) and the pushback seen.

Still, critics would argue that despite the tougher questions, the outcome was the same: secrecy up front, minimal public input until late, and ultimately the city yielding to the allure of tech money. Indeed, one could question whether the council truly had a fair choice. By the time of the hearing, the city staff had recommended approval, P&Z unanimously recommended it, and deals with fire/police/schools were pre-baked. Imagine if the council had voted “No” – the Yamamotos would be unable to sell, Diode would walk away (possibly to a different Idaho town or another state), and Kuna would likely lose a promised $1B investment and those millions in mitigation. The pressure to say “Yes” was immense, and NDA-driven timing ensured that pressure came to bear all at once at the hearing, rather than being debated gradually in the open. As Tyson Slocum of Public Citizen observed generally, by the time NDAs lift and a project is public, “99% of all of the details have been negotiated in private... And by the time you’ve got a public hearing the presentation is, ‘Here is the deal on the table. Take it or leave it.’”investigatetv.com 32 That scenario essentially played out in Kuna. The council and community could either take the carefully packaged Gemstone deal (with its benefits and drawbacks) or reject it and get nothing. There was no option to, say, open the process to competing offers (perhaps another company might offer more? impossible with NDA), or to slow down and study impacts further (the company could threaten to bail, plus Idaho law limits how long cities can drag out rezones). This take-it-or-leave-it dynamic is inherently problematic for democratic decision-making.

Before moving on, it’s worth highlighting a striking contrast: When Meta’s data center was approved (annexation and zoning in 2021), there was far less open dissent on the council. Mayor Stear and most officials were fully on board, and the project was hailed as a big win. The backlash came mostly from some citizens after the fact (concerns about transparency, water, etc., which even led to angry emails as media reported)ktvb.com 33. With Gemstone, the skepticism reached the dais itself. This indicates that local elected officials like Chris Bruce had indeed learned from the Meta experience and changed stance from cheerleader to interrogator. Bruce took that mindset to the State Capitol as well – which brings us to the important developments at the Idaho Legislature reacting to data center deals.

Learning from Mistakes: Idaho’s Legislative Corrections on Data Center Incentives

While Kuna’s city council was wrestling with Gemstone, lawmakers in Boise were simultaneously revisiting the generous incentives and loopholes that surrounded the first data center deal with Meta. It turns out Meta’s project revealed some “mistakes,” or at least oversights, in Idaho’s incentive structure – and both state and local officials scrambled to fix them in the aftermath. These corrections are crucial to understanding the context of Gemstone: they show a recognition that maybe Idaho “gave away the farm” a bit too eagerly to lure Meta, and now there’s an effort to reclaim some of that value for taxpayers or prevent repeats of certain maneuvers. Let’s break down the two big legislative actions:

1. Closing the Urban Renewal Loophole (House Bill 328, 2023): This was a direct response to Kuna and Meta. Recall that back in 2020, Idaho created the Idaho Information Technology Equipment Sales Tax Exemption – a special incentive for data centers meeting certain criteria (investment > $250M, 30+ jobs, etc.). Meta qualified, meaning they get a refund/exemption on all sales taxes for servers and construction materials, potentially saving tens of millions. The selling point of that law, as repeated by Sen. Lori Den Hartog (R-Meridian), was that big data centers would still pay full property taxes, thus providing “immediate property tax relief” to the community. In other words, the state would eat some sales tax revenue, but the local city/county would gain property tax base to offset homeowners’ tax burdens.

However, Kuna’s city leaders (perhaps too clever for their own good) set up an Urban Renewal District (URD) over the Meta site to capture those new property taxes and reinvest them in infrastructure in that area. Under Idaho law, a URD freezes the base property value and any increase (the “increment”) from new development is diverted to the URD agency instead of going to general funds. Kuna likely did this to fund roads, water, etc., in the East Kuna industrial area using Meta’s tax dollars – essentially self-financing the improvements needed for Meta and future businesses. But from the state’s perspective, this move violated the spirit of the incentive. Instead of Meta’s taxes providing broad relief (lowering the levy rate for everyone countywide, for example), they’d be siloed into that URD for potentially 20 years, benefiting mainly the development. Lawmakers cried foul: “The whole purpose of that [sales tax] exemption was to provide immediate tax relief in the community,” Sen. Den Hartog said on the Senate floor. By creating a URD, Kuna was “overreaching” in lawmakers’ eyes – double-dipping incentives (state sales tax break + local tax increment financing). So in 2023, the Legislature passed HB 328, which forbids this combination going forward. Specifically, if a data center gets the state sales tax exemption and is in a new URD that hadn’t issued bonds by May 2023, then any property value increase from the data center must go on the regular tax rolls, not to the URD. This law was aimed squarely at Kuna’s situation (Kuna’s URD for Meta was brand new and no bonds had been issued yet, so it forced Kuna to abandon capturing Meta’s taxes). It passed overwhelmingly (Senate 24–10, went to Governor’s desk) and was signed. The result: Meta’s property value will contribute to Ada County and Kuna’s general funds immediately, not be squirreled away for infrastructure[86][87]. And likewise, Gemstone cannot be shielded by a URD if it also takes the state tax exemption[88][89]. Essentially, Idaho lawmakers said: we’ll give you one big tax break (sales tax), but we insist you pay your property taxes like everyone else so the community benefits sooner rather than later. One could view this as Idaho realizing it bent over backwards for Meta and trying to restore some balance. Ada County commissioners and local taxing districts no doubt supported this change, because now they’ll see tax revenue from these projects much sooner. Kuna’s city leaders probably grumbled (they lost a tool to fund roads for the industrial park), but at the statehouse their voice is smaller than the aggregate of counties and taxpayers.

2. Limiting the Duration of the Sales Tax Exemption (House Bill 315, 2025): The next issue lawmakers tackled was the open-ended nature of that sales tax exemption. As initially passed in 2020, once a data center met the investment and job thresholds (within 5 years of start) and got its “final” exemption status, that exemption was permanent – for the life of the facility, any servers and construction materials would be sales tax free. That’s extraordinarily generous; it basically writes a forever tax loophole for one company’s ongoing operations. By 2025, only Meta’s Kuna data center had qualified for this deal (it was noted to be the only one large enough so far). Some legislators began to worry: if more data centers come, do we really want to be giving perpetual tax breaks that could add up to tens of millions each year, indefinitely? Also, Idaho’s economy was booming and some felt the incentive might no longer be needed to attract interest.

Enter HB 315 in the 2025 session, co-sponsored by none other than Rep. Chris Bruce (R-Kuna) – yes, the same Chris Bruce who fought Gemstone on the city council. The bill proposed to cap the number of years a company can enjoy the sales tax exemption. Instead of “graduate to final exemption and keep it forever,” any new data center after March 1, 2025 would have its exemption sunset after 7 years of final status. In practice, that means they still get perhaps ~5 years of construction + initial operation tax-free (the provisional period), plus 7 more years of “final” exemption – roughly a 12-year holiday in total – but then they start paying sales tax like normal businesses. Importantly, lawmakers amended the bill to grandfather Meta’s project so that Idaho wouldn’t be seen as reneging on an already-promised deal. Meta thus keeps its permanent exemption (lucky them), but Gemstone would fall under the new rule if it doesn’t get its application in before the cutoff (which it couldn’t have, since it wasn’t even approved yet by March 1, 2025)[90][91]. So Gemstone, when it qualifies in a few years, would get at most a 7-year break and then have to pay state sales taxes on new equipment purchases thereafter. Those taxes, according to the bill, would then funnel into Idaho’s general tax relief fund for citizens (a bit of fiscal theater, but it earmarks the money for “tax relief”).

This measure, HB 315, had wide support in the House committee with many testifiers favoring shortening the exemption. People cited concerns familiar to us now: rural areas facing big developments, energy and water use worries, and whether the jobs created justify the breaks. In the House Revenue & Taxation Committee, some members were concerned about scaring off business by changing the rules, hence the grandfather clause for Meta was added. The amended bill sailed through the House (with Bruce championing that it still gives companies incentive to come, but “sets a clear end point” so they eventually contribute like others) and passed the Senate as well, ultimately becoming law (it was reported in April that it passed; given Idaho’s legislature timeline, we can assume by end of session it did).

The Idaho Association of Commerce and Industry (IACI), the big business lobby, opposed HB 315, arguing it sends a message that Idaho “offered an incentive and now is pulling it away”, likening it to Lucy pulling the football from Charlie Brown. They worried it could tarnish Idaho’s reputation for stable policy and possibly even discourage Meta from further phases (though Meta got grandfathered, so they were more generally worried for future clients). But the majority of lawmakers evidently felt Idaho had been a bit too generous. As Rep. Bruce said, Idaho didn’t want to “give away the farm forever” – a telling phrase – for relatively few jobs. By limiting the exemption to 7 years, Idaho still fronts a big incentive (saving a data center operator tens of millions in the early years) but ensures that if the facility operates for decades, it will eventually pay taxes like any mature business, contributing to state revenues[90][91]. This reflects a maturation in Idaho’s approach: a recognition that the initial allure of landing Facebook perhaps clouded a full accounting of costs and benefits.

From Kuna’s perspective, these legislative tweaks mean that:

·         Meta’s data center (operational around 2025) will pay full property taxes (thanks to HB 328) and will never pay sales tax on its equipment (grandfathered permanent exemption). So the community does get the property tax base benefit, which is significant, but the state will lose out on sales tax revenue indefinitely.

·         Gemstone’s data center park, if built, likewise will pay full property taxes from day one (no URD diversion), and will only enjoy sales tax breaks for at most ~12 years (depending on timing) instead of forever[86][92]. After that, Gemstone’s tenants would have to pay sales tax on server upgrades, etc., which means the state and its citizens eventually see tax income from these enormous facilities. This also perhaps makes local businesses feel better – eventually a data center will be on a more level playing field tax-wise with others (though honestly, after 12 years, the advantage is already reaped).

One can’t help but see Rep. Chris Bruce’s fingerprints on these reforms. It is quite remarkable: Bruce, as a city official, saw what happened with Meta (tax breaks, URD, minimal school contribution) and clearly thought it needed fixing. He then got elected to the legislature and co-sponsored the very bill (HB 315) to tighten the incentive. BoiseDev quoted him explaining the reasoning, emphasizing returning funds to constituents after giving companies an initial benefit. He also likely supported HB 328 in 2023 (though he wasn’t in legislature then, he surely agreed with its intent for Kuna). So Bruce effectively became the voice of “let’s not get fleeced by Big Tech twice.” In contrast, Mayor Stear and others remained more in the “play to win” mentality – focusing on landing deals and worrying less about the fine print until public pushback forces their hand.

These legislative changes are primary, authoritative evidence of government recognizing problems in the first deal and attempting to correct course. They show that some secrecy and overly generous terms had indeed been “mistakes” in the eyes of policymakers. For example, Sen. Den Hartog’s comment makes clear they felt misled that property tax relief might have been delayed by the URD, hence they outlawed that scenario. And Rep. Bruce’s sponsorship of limiting the exemption indicates a belief that the cost-benefit needed rebalance for future projects.

Now, one might ask: Do these changes address the core transparency issues or community concerns? Not directly. They mostly deal with money flows – ensuring the tax benefits of data centers actually accrue to the public. They don’t tackle NDA use, environmental impact, or process transparency. Those remain issues to be hashed out at local levels or in other policy arenas. However, indirectly, by reducing the perpetual freebies to companies, Idaho lawmakers signaled that companies will have to play a bit more fair long-term. Perhaps that slightly shifts the leverage. If a Meta knows it won’t get forever tax-free status next time, maybe it invests a little more in community goodwill upfront to make the case. In Gemstone’s case, Diode likely was aware of the shifting winds and thus offered the $40M community investment to bolster local support – a form of self-imposed PILOT (Payment In Lieu of Taxes), you could say, since they can’t offer to do a URD now.

Finally, one legislative footnote: At the federal level and other states, there’s growing scrutiny on how data centers strain resources. The Congressional hearings referenced in InvestigateTV show even Congress is looking at whether communities are unfairly subsidizing Big Tech infrastructureinvestigatetv.com 34. Tyson Slocum’s testimony in D.C. and others highlight that if not properly managed, regular people end up subsidizing wealthy tech companies’ power needs. That sort of talk might inspire members of Congress (like the one this chapter may land on the desk of) to think about requiring more transparency or federal guidelines for these projects, especially if NDAs hide critical info like power grid risks.

In summary, Idaho’s legislature plugged two major holes exposed by the Meta deal: they stopped the stacking of state and local tax breaks (ensuring property taxes benefit locals immediately)[86][88], and they decided future data centers shouldn’t get an endless holiday from taxes, only a multi-year one[90][91]. These are positive steps for taxpayers. They don’t stop projects like Gemstone – indeed Diode forged ahead knowing these rules – but they mean Kuna and Ada County will see real tax revenue from Gemstone sooner and the state won’t forego all revenue forever.

What these laws don’t solve is the transparency and public engagement deficit. NDAs are still legal and widely used (Idaho didn’t ban or limit them). Companies still hide identities (Gemstone being a case in point – we still don’t know the eventual tenant(s)). And local communities are still often reacting rather than proactively steering such developments. That said, Kuna’s own handling did evolve: by extracting those voluntary contributions and by council members actively debating and questioning, there was more accountability.

Now that we’ve examined the process, deal, and policy context, let’s step back and ask the uncomfortable questions that remain unanswered – the ones that should be asked, even if we don’t have full answers, and the ones that might only be answered with time (or further investigation, perhaps by that Congressman or others).

Unanswered Questions and Potential Conflicts: What We Still Don’t Know

Despite the trove of information we’ve compiled, many crucial details about Gemstone Technology Park remain murky or undisclosed. These gaps in knowledge are not trivial – they can be the difference between a project being a boon or a boondoggle for the community. Here we enumerate the key questions and issues that deserve answers, but so far have been elusive:

• Who is the ultimate client or operator behind Gemstone? Diode Ventures is the developer, but for whom are they developing this campus? The company’s coyness and use of an LLC suggest they may have one or more big tech clients lined up (Meta? Google? Microsoft?), or they could be building “on spec” to attract such a client. Knowing the end-user matters: different companies have different track records in community engagement, environmental footprint, and expansion plans. For example, if Meta intended to occupy Gemstone, it might indicate a doubling of their presence (and perhaps they’d integrate it with their existing operations) – but Meta’s own build was paused, making that less likely. If Google is the intended tenant, why the secrecy given Google’s name could excite locals? Perhaps Google learned from The Dalles backlash that staying under wraps is easier. If Amazon or Microsoft are involved, that might raise distinct concerns (Microsoft had recent issues with generator emissions in Arizona, Amazon has been voracious in Virginia with little local engagement, etc.). Kuna officials either do not know or cannot say due to NDAs. This leaves the public unable to research the potential operator’s impact. It’s a shell game: by the time we find out (when the first data hall opens and maybe a logo appears), the project will be built. Shouldn’t Kuna demand to know who it’s truly dealing with? Even if legally an LLC, behind closed doors the knowledge might be there. If it’s truly speculative, that’s a different risk – what if they build infrastructure and no tenant comes for a while? (Unlikely given demand, but not impossible). Transparency here would allow better public vetting – for instance, if Google, one could ask about their water usage track record; if Amazon, about their power deals and diesel generators. Right now, citizens are asked to trust a faceless “Gemstone LLC.”
• What exactly are the terms of the City’s Development Agreement with Diode/Gemstone? Typically, when a rezone is granted, especially amid controversy, the city and developer sign a Development Agreement (DA) that stipulates conditions: e.g., the developer will adhere to certain site plan features, provide X dollars in contributions as promised, limit certain impacts, etc. We know the broad strokes (the dollars for fire/police/schools). But the devil is in the details: Are those payments indexed for inflation (a 20-year payout of $10M to police averages $500k/yr – will that retain value over time)? Are they contingent on phases (e.g., if only half the campus is built, do they still pay full amount or prorate)? What enforcement if the company reneges or sells the project to another entity – do obligations transfer? Also, what about timing and scope limits: Is Diode obligated to start construction by a certain date (to prevent them from land-banking the zoning for long)? Is there a clause that if no building occurs in X years, the zoning reverts or they must reapply? And importantly, any clauses about confidentiality or NDAs baked into the DA? Sometimes, even development agreements can reference confidentiality of certain info (though they themselves are public record once executed). It would be illuminating to read the actual signed agreement (Resolution R33-2025 was to authorize the Mayor to execute itkunacity.id.gov 35). As of now, that document hasn’t been spotlighted publicly. Without seeing it, we’re taking the summary on faith. For instance, Diode’s public statements said $12M to police, $32M to fire, whereas earlier it was $10M and $30M – was there an upward adjustment by the time of signing? Possibly the council’s pressure on school funding also means they might amend the DA later to increase the school contribution (if Diode agrees). So this is a fluid part of the deal that merits monitoring.
• How will the City of Kuna and its taxpayers be protected if things go wrong? This includes: what if Diode starts the project, builds some infrastructure, then pulls out or sells to another developer? (We’ve seen Diode withdraw in other places when opposition rose – e.g., Diode dropped a 500-acre data center plan in Charles City County, Virginia after community pushback over noise and rural impact. That shows they are not infallible in execution.) If Diode flips the entitled site to, say, Amazon directly, will the agreements with Kuna still hold with the new owner? Usually yes, but one hopes the DA is written to bind successors. Another scenario: what if Gemstone demands more from Kuna later? For example, “We need the city to expedite a road or utility improvement beyond what we planned – can we form a new URD or get a tax abatement?” The city should stand firm (and by law can’t do URD for it now), but stranger things have happened under pressure. Or consider Idaho Power: if the power company needs to build a new transmission line or even a small gas peaker plant to support Gemstone’s load (in case of renewable shortfalls), might those costs indirectly hit ratepayers? Idaho Power says large loads must pay interconnection costsdiodeventures.com 36, but beyond the substation, if new generation is built, that goes into the general rate base often. The Idaho Public Utilities Commission (PUC) will need to scrutinize how adding potentially 200+ MW in Kuna affects long-term resource planning. Will they allow costs to spread or force exclusive tariffs? Meta participated in a special “Clean Energy Your Way” tariff where they pay for green energy; presumably Gemstone’s clients would do similarly to claim 100% renewable usage. If they don't, could others effectively subsidize their energy? Meta’s statement to InvestigateTV insisted “we cover the costs utilities incur to serve our data centers”investigatetv.com 37, implying no cost-shifting. Let’s hope that holds true universally – but oversight is key. No one at the local level is tasked with these questions, which again underscores the balkanization problem: it might be up to the PUC or legislature to ensure ordinary Idahoans’ power bills don’t rise because of Gemstone’s huge appetite.
• How much water will Gemstone really use, and who monitors the impact? We touched on this, but to frame as a question: The developer claims net water use will be less than before, but we lack hard numbers. Will IDWR publish the transfer permit details? If the irrigation right was, say, 1000 acre-feet/year and they will only use 670 acre-feet (a 33% reduction), that’s still 670 af – about 218 million gallons per year. For context, 70,000 gallons/day (Meta’s figure) is ~78 af/year. So if Gemstone uses 670 af/yr, that’s over 8 times Meta’s usage (which might make sense with multiple buildings). These back-of-envelope numbers need confirmation. And if their cooling technology or tenant needs evolve (say AI servers needing more cooling), water use could increase. Who ensures they stay within their limits? If wells start to affect neighbors, what recourse do those well owners have? The company says they’ll monitor and recharge on-site, but is there any public reporting of water withdrawn vs. returned? The Idaho Department of Environmental Quality (DEQ) will approve their wastewater system – will those permits or reports be accessible? In The Dalles, Google insisted on secrecy around water data, labeling it proprietary[31]. Will Diode or its tenants try the same in Idaho? Given Idaho’s track record of favoring transparency in water rights (water rights are public record in theory), perhaps not – but NDAs could muzzle city officials from commenting on water volume. The community might only find out if something goes awry or a watchdog group digs into IDWR records. Proactive disclosure would be better: e.g., Diode could say “we plan to pump up to X gallons per day and return Y%.” Without it, trust is hard to build. As one local stakeholder might ask, “If you’re so confident it’s a low impact, why not openly share the data?”
• Is the “site selection secrecy” actually saving money for the public, or for the company? This is a philosophical but important question. Companies often claim that if negotiations weren’t secret, land prices would soar or competitors would interfere, thus costing the community the project or making it pricier. Yet consider Kuna’s case: The Yamamotos likely negotiated a sale price with Diode quietly. If it was a free-for-all, perhaps another buyer might’ve bid more for that land (maybe for a subdivision or another data center). In secrecy, Diode perhaps got the land under contract without a bidding war. That benefits Diode, which maybe paid less than open market would dictate if everyone knew a $1B project was planned (the owners, being elderly and content with a good retirement sum, might not have squeezed every last dollar). There’s an argument that NDAs can actually suppress the land cost to the company’s advantage. From the community perspective, does it matter? The community isn’t buying the land; but if the company saved money on land, one could argue they had more capacity to contribute to community funds (which they did, to an extent). However, no evidence shows that being secret resulted in more community benefit. It mostly resulted in a late scramble to adjust the school contribution when the truth came out. The theory that openness would “raise land prices” is hard to prove. Land prices around Meta’s site likely went up after the announcement (adjacent owners expecting future demand). Is that bad? It’s bad for a company wanting to expand cheaply, but it could be good for those landowners and tax base. The real reason for site secrecy is often to avoid a public relations battle and keep leverage over the locality. If word leaks early and citizens mobilize, the company loses control of the narrative. If multiple locations know they are finalists, they might not “race to the bottom” as hard on incentives because they can call the bluff of the company playing them off each other. NDAs keep cities in the dark about who else is competing and what deal is being offered where – thus the company holds the cards. In short, the secrecy is about power imbalance: it ensures the community doesn’t have full knowledge or time to organize opposition, and it ensures the seller of land isn’t empowered to demand Meta-level prices. So when local officials parrot the line “we had to sign NDAs or we’d lose the project,” one must ask: Lose it to whom? And why is a project only viable if done behind closed doors? If a project truly brings mutual benefit, a company should be willing to pitch it publicly and win support on its merits. As Public Citizen’s Slocum put it, “Someone wants to come build something, they should be proud and come at the first opportunity in front of your community.” The fact that so many NDAs are used suggests these deals aren’t confident sells – they rely on low-profile maneuvering. This question may remain rhetorical, but it’s worth lawmakers considering. Perhaps requiring certain info be made public even during negotiations (like at least disclosing the industry or general scale) could balance things.
• Are there any conflicts of interest or ethical concerns among local decision-makers? We’ve largely given Kuna officials the benefit of doubt – and indeed there’s no indication of improper personal gain. But it’s always healthy to ask: did anyone on the city council or staff stand to benefit from Gemstone aside from the general community benefits? For example, does any council member own property nearby that could increase in value with new infrastructure? (Sometimes officials have development interests.) There’s no public suggestion of that here, and normally they’d have to disclose and recuse if so. One potential indirect conflict: Council President Chris Bruce was a harsh critic and he’s also a state legislator. Could his stance be influenced by political ambitions or alignments? He is a Republican in a state that’s very pro-development typically, but maybe his local roots guided him more. He did what his constituents likely wanted (many Kuna folks were uneasy about more big projects). If anything, Bruce’s stance put him at odds with some business interests, which is a bold move for a Republican freshman – suggesting it was principle-driven, not opportunism. On the other side, Mayor Stear was term-limited out (Kuna has since elected a new mayor in late 2023, but Stear was still in office during this vote). Did Stear have any ties to Black & Veatch or Diode? None known. He’s been mayor since mid-2010s, and his consistent philosophy has been pro-growth. Sometimes local chambers of commerce or associations nudge officials toward these projects. It might be worth noting if any campaign donations came from construction firms, etc., but Kuna’s elections are small-scale, likely not influenced by big corporate money. The land sale to a former mayor (Yamamoto) could raise eyebrows to an outsider – “the city approved a project making a former mayor rich.” But given the timeline (he served 50 years ago), it’s more coincidence and the natural course of development. In Idaho’s many small towns, prominent families often own a lot of land; when growth comes, they profit – not necessarily due to nepotism but due to historical happenstance. So while we remain vigilant, we haven’t uncovered a smoking gun of conflict. Nonetheless, full transparency on all dealings (e.g., making public the minutes of any executive sessions or disclosing which officials signed NDAs when) would help maintain trust. For instance, was the entire city council briefed under NDA about Gemstone months before the public, or just select staff and the Mayor? Did any official push back on signing the NDA? These are things the public might want to know in evaluating their leaders’ performance. In Arizona’s Pima County, after public outrage over a code-named data center, some officials said they’d rethink agreeing to NDAs in the future. Perhaps Kuna’s leaders will too – though by the time the public knew of Gemstone, the NDA had done its job.
• What oversight exists to ensure Diode/DigitalBridge (Black & Veatch) keeps its promises over a decade? Building out over 10 years means local officials and company reps may change. Mayor Stear is gone (his term ended in January 2024, succeeded by a new mayor). Council members can turn over in elections. Diode’s project manager John Handley who spoke to BoiseDevboisedev.com 38 might move to the next project in another state once initial phases are done. So who will be the institutional memory keeper ensuring “Hey, Year 7, are we paying the police their annual installment? Year 5, did we build that berm we said we would by Phase 2?” The Development Agreement and conditional use permits are enforceable by the city. But cities aren’t always great at long-term enforcement, especially if staff changes or budgets for monitoring are slim. The community must remain vigilant. Perhaps the fire and police districts will hold the developer accountable for payments (they’ll notice if checks stop coming). But softer promises like “maintain dark-sky lighting” or “limit generator noise with custom enclosures” can slip through cracks unless neighbors complain and city enforces code. One suggestion: Kuna could form a citizen advisory committee that meets annually with Gemstone reps and city staff to review compliance with all conditions and discuss any emerging issues (traffic, noise, etc.). This would build transparency and trust. It shouldn’t all be left to a short-staffed planning department to track. Given how the Meta project was initially greeted with open arms and then soured a bit in public opinion, one hopes the city learned to keep lines of communication open going forward. For instance, as Meta constructed, some locals expressed surprise at how big it was or the constant truck traffic on certain routes. Regular updates might have mitigated that surprise. For Gemstone, perhaps Diode will do community meetings or newsletters; their FAQ page is one attempt at outreachdiodeventures.com 39. But ongoing dialogue is crucial, and that’s something that often falls off once approvals are in hand.
• What does Kuna’s future look like if it becomes a data center hub? This is a broader question beyond one project’s scope, but Gemstone solidifies a path: Kuna is positioning itself as a regional data center cluster. With Meta and Gemstone, there could be 6–10 giant server warehouses around town in a decade. Proponents might say that’s great – it puts Kuna on the map in the tech infrastructure world, diversifies the tax base, and maybe leads to related high-tech businesses. But is it really diversifying the economy in a meaningful way? The jobs directly created are relatively few and specialized (electricians, HVAC techs, security, some IT admins). It’s not creating a local ecosystem of tech innovation – no software developers, no R&D labs, etc., are inherently tied to a data center’s presence. Those data centers primarily serve users and operations elsewhere (Kuna’s data could be serving Facebook users globally or cloud customers worldwide, who bring no direct economic activity to Kuna aside from those facility jobs). One could argue it’s more akin to heavy infrastructure or utilities than to a “tech industry” in the sense of spurring start-ups or attracting educated millennials to move here. In fact, once built, a data center is a rather quiet neighbor – it won’t patronize local businesses much (the workers might get lunch, yes, but there are only 100 of them). During construction there’s a short-term boom for contractors/hotels, but then that fades. The city needs to be realistic about this. Are these projects stepping stones to something bigger, or end games themselves? BoiseDev’s reporting paraphrased that local agencies “undertook concerted efforts to attract data centers… to help grow the state’s technology sector and stimulate tech-related jobs”. That’s the official line Diode repeated. Yet critics might say this is taking the easy route – courting big capital expenditures (that look good in press releases: “$1B investment!”) but not actually building a diverse economy. The opportunity cost merits mention: had Kuna not focused on data centers, could it have attracted a different type of employer to that industrial land – say a manufacturing facility or a distribution center that might employ a thousand people? Possibly, though those also have drawbacks (manufacturing might have more pollution; distribution centers pay low wages and cause truck traffic). Idaho’s economic development strategy clearly pivoted to data centers because they fit a profile: high capital, low people impact, leverage Idaho’s cheap power and cool climate. But the next level would be translating that into something like, for example, attracting a data analytics company or a software campus because the data center is nearby. However, that typically doesn’t happen just because servers are nearby (latency isn’t a huge issue for office workers). If anything, the presence of big data centers might draw more data centers (as we already see). It can also affect the region’s power capacity, which might deter other energy-intensive industries from locating because so much of the grid pie is claimed. Also consider land use: 620 acres for at most a couple hundred jobs is a poor jobs-per-acre ratio. If Kuna’s goal is local employment for its residents (so fewer have to commute to Boise), data centers won’t solve that much. They will soak up large swaths of land that, if used for a business park or mixed-use development, could have hosted far more workers or amenities.

            To put it provocatively: Is Kuna becoming the Treasure Valley’s “battery pack” rather than its brain? By that I mean, providing land and power for Big Tech’s remote compute needs, rather than fostering home-grown tech companies or higher education spin-offs. There’s no immediate answer, but it’s a question the community should ask as it markets itself. Already, Boise’s tech scene is known more for Micron and HP (manufacturing and offices) than for data centers – data centers usually don’t confer a “tech hub” reputation in the innovative sense. They are often out of sight, out of mind (until tax time or when a controversy like water arises).

            Kuna’s officials did mention wanting to attract “other industrial and manufacturing” with Meta as an anchordatacenterdynamics.com 40. Two years on, the major new “industrial” prospect is again a data center campus, not a factory or logistics hub or startup incubator. It could be that the availability of big power and water systems (thanks to Meta building them) naturally made another data center the path of least resistance. But will the next prospect be something different? Or will Kuna double-down further and try to lure, say, Amazon’s cloud division or Microsoft to build yet more data centers on adjacent land? If so, the Valley could end up like Prineville, Oregon or Douglas County, Georgia – places with multiple giant data centers and little else from those companies. It’s stable tax base, yes, but some communities have found it a bit of a dead end – not many spin-off jobs, while having to contend with large power and land consumption.

            This isn’t to say data centers are “bad” – but Kuna must be careful not to hang its entire economic identity on them. They should integrate these facilities into a broader plan. Perhaps push for the companies involved to also fund digital skills programs in local schools (Meta talked about supporting STEM educationdatacenterknowledge.com 41; did that materialize? If Gemstone’s clients could sponsor tech training at Kuna High, that’s a soft benefit that yields local human capital). Or possibly use some of that tax revenue windfall in the future to establish a tech incubator or incentives for offices that do create more jobs. Otherwise, Kuna risks being the utility zone while Boise and Meridian attract the higher-wage office jobs.

In raising these questions, we underline that many answers “don’t exist but could.” They “could” exist if the parties involved chose to be more transparent or if officials demanded them. For instance, NDA agreements themselves could be released (perhaps redacted for any truly sensitive info) after the project is announced – showing the public what was promised or restricted. Why not disclose the NDA now that Gemstone is approved? Did it really contain anything beyond what we now know? If it, for example, said “City shall not reveal the identity of Company X,” that’s moot if Company X remains unknown anyway. Knowing the terms could help the community evaluate whether their officials gave away too much confidentiality.

Another area where answers are scarce: the exact square footage and layout of Gemstone’s build-out. We know up to five buildings, but will they be like Meta’s (nearly 1 million sq ft each)? Or smaller multiple halls? One third-party source (JobWalk) claimed 8 buildings of 250k sq ft, but that conflicts with local sources that say five buildings. If each of five is similar to Meta’s 960k sq ft, that’s ~5 million sq ft total – over five times the size of Boise’s largest mall for comparison. That would be a colossal campus and one of the largest in the West. If they are smaller, say 500k each, that’s 2.5 million sq ft – still huge. The city hasn’t publicly shared a detailed master plan (aside from a map shown to P&Z with blocks). Usually, a DA or conditional use permit might cap the total square footage or height, etc. The community might be interested: Will these buildings be single-story spread-outs like Meta’s, or multi-story? Multi-story (like some newer designs) could concentrate more servers in less land but might look more imposing. Did Kuna restrict building height or cooling tower placement to mitigate sight lines? If not, they might find later that a 50-foot-tall structure is visible from far away. Those kinds of specifics are often glossed over in rezones and come up in site plan approvals where fewer people pay attention.

In closing this section, it’s clear that while a lot has been learned since the Meta project – and Kuna did a better job negotiating some benefits and the state corrected some policy issues – there is still information imbalance and unanswered “whys.” NDAs led to a scenario where a school district under-asked by $19.5 million, and only later realized it. Secrecy around site selection is still defended by some, but as we’ve discussed, much of that is “bullshit we’re fed,” to use the blunt phrase requested. The rationale that openness would inflate costs or derail deals is flimsy when weighed against the democratic deficit it creates. It’s essentially a tactic to keep public scrutiny at bay until momentum favors approval, which might save companies some money or hassle, but at the cost of public trust.

Kuna’s citizens and Idaho’s leaders should continue to peel back these layers. For example, there’s talk in some places of requiring at least disclosure of water usage or environmental impacts early, NDA or not. Some states might consider limiting NDAs for public officials (like saying you can’t sign one that hides critical public resource data – an interesting policy angle, as Virginia found NDAs that barred revealing even water/sewer needs, which should be public[9][11]). If a small city in Arizona (Tucson) can reconsider the NDA process after backlash, maybe Kuna and others can too. Public officials could insist: “We’ll negotiate, but certain things must be public from the start.” And if a company balks at that, one has to wonder why.

Now, as Gemstone moves from paper to reality, all eyes should be on accountability. Will Kuna hold Diode and any eventual operators to every pledge (on noise, light, traffic mitigation, community donations)? The council’s split vote shows that about half of the city leadership had serious reservations. That half (and their constituents) will likely be quick to call out any missteps. For instance, if heavy construction traffic starts at 3 AM in year one and wasn’t supposed to – expect fireworks. The city must enforce the “conditions for safe conditions during construction” that Diode said they’d work out with ACHDdiodeventures.com 42. It’s good that ACHD (the highway district) said no permanent traffic mitigation was required (meaning roads might handle it). But temporary snarls can still anger people.

In summary of the unanswered:

·         We still don’t know the “who” (end-user company or companies).

·         We don’t have exact what/where details (site layout, phasing specifics publicly shared).

·         We don’t know precisely what was agreed behind closed doors (NDA contents, negotiation records).

·         We aren’t 100% sure how “promised” benefits will be delivered (the mechanics of payments and enforcement).

·         We don’t know the full community opportunity cost – would another use have been better or worse – because that public debate was short-circuited by the binary choice presented.

·         And finally, we don’t know how the emergence of these data centers will shape Kuna’s identity and economy long-term – that will only reveal itself in the years to come.

All these unknowns underscore a final point: transparency is not the enemy of good development; it’s a prerequisite for community buy-in and optimal outcomes. The more information the public has, the better the questions they can ask, and the better solutions or conditions can be devised. When information is withheld or delayed until decisions are nearly made, it breeds exactly what we saw: suspicion, correction after the fact, and a feeling of being “railroaded” even if the project might truly hold benefits.

Conclusion: A “Gemstone” or a Glass Bead? Weighing the Deal and Next Steps

In the end, the Gemstone Technology Park saga is a microcosm of the modern economic development playbook – one where massive capital investment meets small-town governance under conditions of secrecy and imbalance. Kuna, Idaho, has now approved two of the largest private investments in state history within a few years: first Meta’s data center, now an even larger multi-data center campus by Diode Ventures. These projects bring undeniable opportunities – infusions of cash into public services, expanded infrastructure, a broader tax base – yet they also carry significant costs and risks that are often underplayed until citizens and skeptical officials drag them into the light.

We’ve peeled back many layers:

• Secrecy and NDAs: We saw how NDAs cloaked the planning stages, how code names like “Project Peregrine” and a bland “Gemstone LLC” label obscured the actors involveddatacenterdynamics.com 43[2]. This secrecy was justified to prevent speculation or competition, but in truth it primarily served to control the narrative and timeline in the companies’ favorinvestigatetv.com 44. The result: the public’s first look at Gemstone was almost at the finish line, with limited ability to influence fundamentals. Democracy was constrained. As one investigative report concluded, NDAs often mean “communities don’t know what’s being planned until it’s a fait accompli.”[108][109] Kuna’s own school district’s experience – accepting a token $500k unaware a billion-dollar behemoth was coming – is a cautionary tale of that asymmetry.
• Community Benefits vs. Costs: Thanks to lessons from the Meta deal, Kuna did secure substantial monetary concessions from Gemstone – over $40 million for fire, police, and schoolskivitv.com 45. Those will certainly help a rapidly growing community. Additionally, Meta’s investment in water infrastructure and Gemstone’s commitment to fund grid upgrades mean the broader community indirectly gains improved capacitysiteselection.com 46boisedev.com 47. However, these benefits must be weighed against costs:

·         The opportunity cost of using so much land for so few jobs.

·         The potential strain on natural resources (water, power) which, if underestimated, could impose costs on others – e.g., if new power plants or wells are needed down the line.

·         The erosion of Kuna’s rural character, which some residents deeply lament. Once farmland is rezoned and built upon, it’s gone forever. As Shalee Murray observed, it can be a “domino effect” – today 620 acres, tomorrow morekivitv.com 48.

• The precedent of secrecy and minimal accountability – if this is seen as successful, will future deals try to bypass public scrutiny similarly?
• Local Leadership Evolution: We saw a split in Kuna’s leadership – a sign of healthy debate returning to a process that was perhaps too acquiescent during Meta’s deal. Council President (now Rep.) Chris Bruce emerged as a principled voice demanding that Kuna stick to its plans and not sacrifice farmland and transparency for nebulous promises. Mayor Stear, while acting in what he felt was the city’s pragmatic interest (“if not this, something worse”), perhaps underestimates the long-term planning vision that communities need to hold on to. That Gemstone passed by a mayor’s tiebreaker shows it was far from a community consensus. Moving forward, this means continued oversight is likely – those who voted “no” (or their successors of like mind) will be watching like hawks for any divergence from promises. This tension can be healthy if it ensures the developer doesn’t cut corners.
• Legislative Oversight and Policy Adjustments: Idaho’s legislature stepped in to adjust the rules of the game, essentially admitting that the initial data center incentive framework was too one-sided. By forcing data center property value into the tax rolls immediately[88][89], they made sure that Kuna’s police, fire, schools, and county get the benefit of Meta’s and Gemstone’s taxes now, not decades later. By sunsetting the sales tax exemption at 7 years for future projects, they signaled that Idaho expects these companies to contribute to state revenues eventually, not operate tax-free forever. These moves are significant and commendable – they show government can correct course in response to community concerns. However, they are reactive. Perhaps next on the agenda should be formal guidelines around NDAs and transparency. For instance, a state law could require local governments to disclose whenever they sign an NDA regarding public business and to provide a summary of what it covers (if not the content) at a public meeting. Even that small step would alert citizens that something is brewing behind closed doors. It might also impose a standard that NDAs cannot prohibit disclosure of certain critical public safety information (like water use, as we discussed). While Idaho values being business-friendly, it can do so without sacrificing open government.
• Environmental and Infrastructure Safeguards: The proof will be in the pudding on whether Gemstone truly “minimizes” impact. The developer’s FAQ and statements provide a rosy picture: reduced water usage, state-of-the-art noise muffling, minimal traffic disruptions, all renewable power, etc. If all that holds true, Gemstone could indeed be a fairly benign neighbor – a quiet fortress of servers behind berms, hardly noticeable except for the substation and power lines connecting it. If that’s the case, many opponents’ fears may not materialize. On the other hand, if any of those mitigation measures fall short, the community must hold them accountable. For example, generator noise: Diode says there will be custom enclosures and they’re rarely used except testing. But Northern Virginia learned that with dozens of data centers, even testing generators (usually diesel) can degrade air quality and produce low-frequency noise that annoys neighbors. Will Kuna require any air quality permits for dozens of backup generators on 620 acres? (Currently, it might fall under state DEQ oversight if large enough). These are the nitty-gritty details that might not have been fully hashed out in public. It’s imperative that as Gemstone’s building permits come up, agencies rigorously review those environmental aspects – no rubber stamps just because “it’s already approved generally.” Idaho’s relatively lax regulatory environment puts onus on local diligence.
• Bigger Picture – Strategizing Kuna’s Growth: Perhaps the most vital question for Kuna now: How does this fit into our vision for the community in 10, 20, 50 years? The comprehensive plan said “put industrial way out east” – that was amended now for this south site. Will that open floodgates for more spot rezones? One council fear was exactly that – a lonely industrial site could attract more around it to fill in (there’s already speculation some land between Meta’s site and Gemstone’s might become attractive for yet another project). If Kuna ends up with a “data center corridor” spanning east and south, is that desirable? Some might say yes – concentrate them and leave other areas untouched. Others might say it’s spoiling too much of the valley’s agrarian land. Public input should guide this; maybe it’s time for Kuna to update its comp plan again in light of these developments. New zoning tools like overlay districts could be considered – for instance, a Data Center Overlay Zone that explicitly sets where data centers can go and what special requirements they have (setbacks, resource use limits, community contributions formula, etc.). This would take some of the case-by-case guesswork out and set clear expectations for any future proposals. It could also prevent the scenario of a data center trying to site in an truly incompatible area by giving them a “go-here” map.
• Transparency and Trust Rebuilding: The City of Kuna, and government in general, have some trust to rebuild. Some residents clearly felt blindsided by Meta and now again wary with Gemstone, though at least this time they had a chance to voice concerns. The way to rebuild trust is through open communication going forward. The city could publish quarterly progress reports on Gemstone (“this quarter: X permits issued, company fulfilled Y obligation, no issues reported with Z”). Town hall meetings specifically about the data center could continue, inviting residents to ask questions of both the city and Gemstone reps. Given the Congressman interest mentioned, perhaps a congressional field hearing or listening session could even occur, to put federal attention on how these deals play out locally. That could spur discussion on whether federal guidelines for critical infrastructure (like data centers) are needed – ensuring they aren’t overriding local capacity or perhaps conditioning federal tax treatment on community engagement. That’s speculative, but the interest of a Congressman suggests this story has grown beyond just Kuna’s borders. It taps into national themes: Big Tech’s footprint, rural communities’ agency, and resource allocation for AI and cloud computing.

In weighing Gemstone in total: Is it a “gem” for Kuna or just glass beads given in exchange for something more valuable? The metaphor here refers to historical transactions where shiny trinkets were given to locals in exchange for land or resources, often viewed later as exploitative. On one hand, $1+ billion investment and $40M to community – those aren’t mere trinkets; they’re substantial. From a fiscal perspective, Kuna could end up a big winner: property tax revenues from these data centers can fund new schools, parks, and roads that otherwise a town of 30k might struggle to afford. Ada County, too, gets more base to spread costs over. If all goes well, homeowners might see slower tax levy growth thanks to Meta and Gemstone shouldering a chunk. The fire district will be able to build that second station and hire firefighters – improving safety. These are real and positive outcomes.

On the other hand, Kuna is giving up intangible but important assets: a measure of its autonomy (by binding itself with NDAs and tailored deals), a piece of its heritage and landscape, and a possibly false notion of diversifying into “tech.” The deals, while improved, still show a bit of naïveté initially (e.g., school undervaluation). One hopes that naivete is now gone.

What’s clear is that Kuna’s data center strategy has entered a new phase: no longer a one-off with Meta, but a pattern. The Gemstone project “takes the data center strategy to the next level,” as was astutely said in the outset of this analysis. It’s bigger, potentially more secretive (since at least Meta came with a big name attached at announcement; Gemstone has none yet), and in some ways bolder by being outside the originally planned zone. Some Idaho economic developers might hail this as proof Idaho is the new tech infrastructure hotspot – “look, we attracted Facebook, now a billion-dollar tech park, hurrah!” But as we’ve dissected, the presence of servers does not equal the presence of broad “innovation economy” activity. If leaders want Kuna and Idaho to truly benefit long-term, they should leverage these projects as means to an end, not the end itself. For example: use some tax revenue to improve local education (so perhaps one day Kuna produces the engineers who design those data centers, not just host them). Or encourage the data center companies to procure locally – e.g., if there’s a local firm that can do maintenance, hire them, etc. Ensure that when these companies talk about “partnering with schools”commerce.idaho.gov 49, it’s not just PR fluff but results in, say, new STEM labs or internships for students at the data center (why not let high schoolers tour or intern to spark interest in IT careers?).

The Congressman’s perspective: If indeed a member of Congress is reviewing this, likely their interest could be in oversight – perhaps questioning if federal incentives (like accelerated depreciation or energy credits) for data centers are warranted when local benefits are so contested. Or they might be concerned with how critical infrastructure is being planned (e.g., large AI computing facilities might be considered in national strategic terms – and leaving all siting to local decisions could be risky if, say, too many congregate in one region and strain the grid, which could become an interstate issue). Already, NERC (the grid regulator) flagged Northern Virginia’s data centers as a stability issue that got federal attentioninvestigatetv.com 50. Could something similar happen if Idaho’s Treasure Valley suddenly had, say, 500 MW of data centers and a substation event? Possibly. So a Congressman might contemplate whether federal agencies (DOE, FERC) need to review large clusters for resilience planning. Additionally, on the topic of NDAs, a Congressman might consider whether federal transparency laws could be encouraged when federal funds or interstate commerce is involved. These are broad strokes, but it shows how a local case can feed into national policy debates on infrastructure and corporate transparency.

Final assessment: Gemstone Technology Park is a double-edged sword. Handled diligently, it can provide a net benefit to Kuna – a source of funding for community needs, proof that the city can play on a big stage, and perhaps even a catalyst for ancillary businesses (for instance, data centers need fiber optics: maybe a fiber network expansion to serve Gemstone will also enable better internet service for residents – a quiet plus). Mishandled, however, it could become a “white elephant” – a hulking development that delivers less than promised, while locking up land and water, and leaving citizens wondering why they didn’t demand more. The difference will lie in execution and oversight over the coming years.

Kuna’s citizens and their representatives have every right to keep asking tough questions – the kind we’ve enumerated – and to demand answers as things progress. It’s not “anti-growth” to do so; it’s ensuring sustainable growth. The goal should be to turn those unanswered questions into answered ones: - Who’s the tenant? (Announce it when known, and hold them to community engagement.) - How much water/power? (Publicize actual usage data and mitigation efforts regularly.) - Are promises being kept? (Audit and report on the development agreement conditions.) - What do we want our city to look like in 20 years? (Engage the public continuously in that vision, adjust plans accordingly.)

If Kuna can integrate Gemstone transparently and responsibly, then maybe the moniker “Gemstone” will feel apt – a valuable addition set in the community’s crown. If not, it risks being seen as a raw deal – shiny on the surface but not truly enriching the locals.

One thing is for sure: the era of blind trust in “big projects” is over in this town. As one council member, reacting to the uproar over Meta, put it: “I don’t understand why that should be a secret.” The people of Kuna, and Idahoans broadly, have awakened to the fine print. They will no longer accept secrecy for secrecy’s sake, nor incentives without accountability. That cultural shift bodes well for the future. It means that any company coming to the Gem State with grand plans should be prepared to answer questions – lots of them – and with facts, not fluff.

In closing, Gemstone Technology Park stands at a crossroads of promise and pitfall. It will be up to Kuna’s elected officials, watchdogs, and residents to ensure it heads down the right path. The story doesn’t end with the 3–2 vote; it begins a new chapter of implementation and vigilance. Will Gemstone truly be a “gem” that sparkles for the community’s future, or just a shiny corporate enclave? The answer will depend on continuing to shine the light of public scrutiny on every step of this journey – because as we’ve learned, left in the dark, things are rarely what they seem.