[[link removed]]

THE CRYPTO RACKET  
[[link removed]]


 

Candice Bernd
May 9, 2025
The American Prospect
[[link removed]]


*
[[link removed]]
*
[[link removed]]
*
*
[[link removed]]

_ Public officials at all levels are propping up a Texas Bitcoin
mining boom that’s threatening water and energy systems while
afflicting locals with noise pollution. _

, Thomas Trutschel/picture-alliance/dpa/AP Images

 

_This story was cross-posted from the Texas Observer
[[link removed]], an investigative news organization
that covers Texas communities whose stories are often ignored. _

The five members of the Navarro County Commissioners Court had rarely
seen such a large audience for their Tuesday meeting as they saw in
October 2024, when they weighed a Colorado-based company’s
application for a multimillion-dollar tax abatement—an incentive to
expand its already-established cryptocurrency mine near the small
North Texas town of Corsicana. It was standing room only in the small
meeting room of the stately county courthouse. Roughly a dozen locals
occupied the first rows of seats, while more than 50 employees of Riot
Platforms—the company seeking the crypto handout—filled up the
rest, spilling out into the halls.

Commissioners called on Jackie Sawicky to speak. She wore a black
t-shirt with a crossed-out Bitcoin symbol below an acronym for the
Texas Coalition Against Cryptomining (TCAC), the organization she’d
founded in May 2022, days after Corsicana announced that Riot’s
265-acre, 400-megawatt (MW) mine—and 150 jobs with it—was coming
to a bucolic area southwest of town where ranches are strung along a
two-lane farm-to-market road.

“On April 27, the City of Corsicana announced [Riot was] building
the world’s largest Bitcoin mine. The people living off of 709,
these beautiful people, were not informed, nor did they consent,”
she told the commissioners. “This is a multibillion-dollar
corporation, and they are trying to wriggle out of paying their
fiduciary obligation to the county,” adding that a relatively poor
county like Navarro could use all the tax revenue it can get.

A little later, Riot Public Policy Director Samuel Lyman painted
Sawicky, a 45-year-old permaculturalist
[[link removed]]
who relocated to the 25,600-person Corsicana from the Dallas-Fort
Worth suburb of Garland in 2018 seeking more gardening acreage, as a
“professional activist,” even though her work with TCAC is
entirely unpaid. Lyman said his firm had already donated more than
$100,000 to community organizations and that the mine’s proposed
expansion, which will more than double its mining output, would
generate over a billion dollars in taxable sales to offset the tax
break.

Riot workers, many of whom had been bussed in that morning from the
mine—which lies in unincorporated territory beside the 400-person
hamlet of Oak Valley—wore gray work shirts with reflective yellow
safety stripes. Lyman asked them to raise their hands if they
supported the abatement. Hands shot up.

Riot Platforms is one of Texas’ biggest Bitcoin players, alongside
other cryptocurrency miners including the Nevada-based MARA Holdings
Inc., China-based Bitmain, and Houston-based Genesis Digital Assets.
Such firms “mine” Bitcoin by using advanced computers to,
essentially, make trillions of guesses at unique strings of numbers in
order to add to a collective digital ledger known as the blockchain
and earn new Bitcoin—something like a craps game where the challenge
is to see who can throw the most dice at once. By growing and
maintaining this blockchain, miners like Riot earn revenue in the form
of Bitcoin, the oldest and most valuable of the so-called
cryptocurrencies, that financial invention which has blurred the lines
between a currency and a speculative asset while bedeviling government
regulators.

While Bitcoin is designed as a decentralized payment system that
bypasses banks and credit cards, its consumption of Texans’ true
wealth—the state’s natural resources—is centralized in the hands
of a few companies, sucking up massive amounts of water and energy to
keep hardware running 24/7.

Around May 2021, cryptominers migrated _en masse_ to Texas for its
cheap power and deregulated power grid after China outlawed Bitcoin
mining. Governor Greg Abbott declared Texas “open for crypto
business [[link removed]]”
and promised to create
[[link removed]] a new Bitcoin
“Mecca [[link removed]].”
Since then, cryptomines like Riot’s—consisting of large warehouses
or arrays of Conex-style containers filled with stacks of what look
like 1980s-era stereo systems laboring day and night at crypto’s
contrived random numbers game—have proliferated mostly in remote,
unincorporated areas, where they benefit from largely unscrutinized,
sweetheart tax deals and sparse regulations.

The October commissioners’ meeting was Riot’s second shot at a tax
break in Navarro after the county took no action on the proposal in
March 2024. Sawicky had organized residents to oppose the giveaway.
Now, facing a surprise agenda item, the few residents able to make the
meeting reminded Commissioner David Brewer of a promise he’d made to
decline tax gifts for the cryptomine.

Weighing the company’s promise to nearly double its workforce to
290, Brewer and two other commissioners provided the bare majority
needed for an unprecedented Bitcoin mining expansion, clearing the way
for the world’s first 1-gigawatt cryptomine—expected to consume as
much energy as a brand new city with 250,000 homes.

The expansion is set to massively increase Navarro County’s energy
footprint in a state where an isolated Texas-centric electrical grid
already struggles to meet the demands of its growing population,
industry, and recent proliferation of artificial intelligence data
centers and other Bitcoin mines. Rising demand means Texas is on track
[[link removed]]
to nearly double its 2023 rate of energy consumption by 2030.

Increasing strain on the Texas grid worries Navarro locals, who have
not forgotten the winter storm of 2021, when at least 246 Texans died
after a polar vortex blasted all 254 counties. The storm caused
blackouts that affected millions from North Texas down to the Rio
Grande Valley.

“Texas’ grid is still very fragile. The improvements made so far
by the state are inadequate for what’s coming,” Corsicana resident
John Blewitt told commissioners. “[The crypto industry isn’t]
interested in investing in alternative energy. They want a lot of
energy, a lot of electricity, right now, which means burning fossil
fuels. The industry creates an enormous carbon footprint. Climate
change is real.”

Lee Bratcher, president of the Texas Blockchain Council, a
cryptocurrency industry group, told the _Texas Observer_ that
approximately 40 mines are operating in the state in 2025, together
consuming about 3,200 MWs, enough to power 800,000 homes. But the
biggest users are just 15 larger operations that each consume more
than 75 MWs of energy.

Texas is the national epicenter of Bitcoin mining, with only about 24
total mines operating outside the state’s borders as of 2023,
according to the_ New York Times_
[[link removed]].
Riot’s first Texas facility, 120 miles south of Corsicana in
Rockdale, currently holds the record for world’s largest
cryptomine—though only until the firm’s Navarro County expansion
is complete.

But Riot’s mines need more than electricity. The firm needs just
under 1.5 million gallons of water a day for its unexpanded mine,
according to 2022 documents obtained by TCAC and reviewed by the
_Observer_, since the lightning-fast number-crunching will quickly
overheat the hardware if it isn’t kept cool. The amount represents
roughly an eighth of the City of Corsicana’s current daily maximum
water usage.

Riot representatives told commissioners in October they’re drilling
two wells to tap water from the Woodbine Aquifer and will store
rainwater at the mine’s 18.5-acre retention pond for use, but
Corsicana is ceding at least part of its own water supply from local
reservoirs, records show, to keep Riot’s computerized “miners”
immersed in a thermally conductive liquid.

It’s energy and water that locals like Theresa Hibbitts say they
can’t afford to lose in a county that was under a burn ban due to
drought conditions at the time of the abatement decision, and in a
state whose grid operator regularly warns Texans to conserve energy
during winter storms and summer heat.

Hibbitts recalled how the county’s lakes were nearly depleted during
droughts in 2006 and 2011, when, she said, “It was cheaper for me to
go buy a new set of sheets than to wash .” While Navarro County is
no longer in drought, Hibbitts and others here know how quickly that
can change. “One minute we got a life preserver trying to stay
afloat, and the next minute, all the churches have ‘Pray for rain’
on them,” as she put it.

Riot’s tax abatement came after the company made an annexation deal
with the hamlet of Oak Valley. In exchange for adding the mine site,
the township will gain more than $1.2 million in electricity franchise
fees to repave bumpy roads and build a park. Oak Valley residents
including Dawn Horn, however, aren’t buying the firm’s PR. She
told the _Observer_ she would live with potholes over blackouts.

In recent visits to the existing Oak Valley facility, the Bitcoin
operation’s immersion cooling systems so far seem to be staving off
significant noise pollution—another issue locals fear.

Other cryptomines that avoid the expenses and resource consumption of
liquid immersion cooling typically use industrial fans that create a
steady thrum. Many Navarro residents worried Riot’s expansion could
bring the same maddening din generated by another cryptomining firm
that’s keeping their Hood County neighbors up at night.

MARA HOLDINGS INC. ACQUIRED its 300-megawatt cryptomine in
unincorporated Hood County just over 100 miles northwest of Navarro,
in January 2024. The mine looks something like the final stage of the
classic _Space Invaders_ arcade game come to life, resembling
primitive graphics of aliens descending in ships. The facility’s
giant trapezoidal cooling fans look like they’ve just landed atop
rows of containers housing thousands of mining computers. Instead of
fast-paced music, they emit a fluctuating drone.

The mine was first sunk here in 2022, on the same property as
Constellation Energy’s fracked gas plant, in the rolling hills near
Granbury, a fast-growing suburb outside Fort Worth. The whir of the
mine’s fans mixes with the churn of the gas plant, which supplies
the mine’s power. The gas plant, which leases roughly 50 of its 255
acres to the mine, received a seven-year tax abatement from Hood
County in 2018 that expired this year.

Constellation also hopes to use taxpayer funds to add eight new
gas-fired turbines to its plant that would generate 300 MWs—the
exact amount of electricity MARA’s mine uses. Citing financial
uncertainty related to the project’s permitting process, the company
withdrew an application for a taxpayer-funded loan under the Public
Utilities Commission (PUC) Texas Energy Fund program in March, but it
noted it will likely apply for a different taxpayer-backed loan under
the PUC’s Completion Bonus Grant Program.

Cheryl Shadden, a nurse anesthetist and TCAC member, and her eight
dogs live across the road. When she moved to this acreage west of the
Brazos River 27 years ago, this was an idyllic rural community. Now,
she endures relentless racket from the mine and plant combined. While
the background noise may not feel immediately jarring, it peaked at
about 86 decibels—around the same as a loud vacuum cleaner—on the
Sunday in September I visited, as measured by an app on my phone.

In the 1970s, the federal Noise Control Act tasked the U.S.
Environmental Protection Agency with setting and enforcing noise
standards to protect public health. In 1974, 70 decibels was
designated as the maximum limit
[[link removed]]
for 24-hour noise exposure to avoid hearing loss. But, by 1981,
Congress had stripped funding for the effort, forcing state and local
governments to address excessive noise. In Texas, that authority is
largely delegated
[[link removed]] to
municipalities in the form of noise or nuisance ordinances.
Unincorporated areas like Shadden’s community in Hood County lack
regulatory authority.

During my September visit to the area, I could sense the impact of the
mine’s din. While talking with Shadden for about 20 minutes, as she
built decorative wooden pumpkins on a workbench, a faint headache
began to creep in from my temples, a tiny fraction of the disquiet and
distress that she and her community describe living with for two years
now.

Shadden says the noise is worse at night. That’s when the mine runs
at full capacity, penetrating her walls with noise up to 106 decibels,
based on her own app readings, levels that leave her ears ringing. She
said she and some neighbors have suffered hearing loss, migraines, and
vertigo that they believe is directly related to their prolonged
exposure to the low-frequency resonance. (The World Health
Organization recommends no more than 30 decibels
[[link removed]] for
sleep quality.) MARA’s sound barrier, which purportedly helps
residents on another side of the mine, doesn’t do anything for those
elsewhere.

Last summer, Shadden put one of her dogs down after it developed
anxiety and began ripping out its fur. Locals believe other animals
and wildlife are affected by the unnatural din, though their hunches
are hard to prove.

During my visit, we went to see her retired neighbor, Tom Weeks. He
says he and his wife are both light sleepers and have spent countless
nights awake. He has hypertension and tinnitus, and he suffered a
pulmonary embolism and massive blood clot this past
summer—conditions he believes have been exacerbated by the noise. A
veterinarian has prescribed gabapentin to treat his dog’s anxiety.

In Texas, the state does virtually nothing to regulate cryptomines.
Although miners face up to $25,000 in fines
[[link removed]]
each day if they failed to register large mines consuming over 75 MWs
by the PUC’s February 1, 2025, deadline, no state agency places
strict rules on the mines’ noise levels or resource consumption.
Hood County residents can appeal to the Texas Commission on
Environmental Quality (TCEQ), but it regulates only the mine’s power
source: Constellation Energy’s Wolf Hollow II gas plant. “The
people have been left out of this thing since day one,” Weeks told
the _Observer_. “There has been no consideration or concern for
human beings at all. It’s just wrong.”

Next, we visited Virginia and Nick Browning, a couple who have lived
for over 30 years on property north of the plant and mine. While Nick
isn’t bothered by the cryptomine’s noise, given his deteriorating
hearing, Virginia is kept awake and suffers bouts of vertigo after
sleepless nights. “Some days, I look like I’m drunk. I mean,
that’s how I walk. I can’t walk and have my head up,” she said.

Shadden, Weeks, and others recently banded together with the
environmental law firm Earthjustice to file suit against MARA. The
lawsuit details myriad health problems residents have reported.

Residents are seeking an injunction to stop the mine’s noise,
arguing it constitutes a private nuisance. The lawsuit references
local citations issued under a Texas criminal law that outlines
penalties for excessive noise above 85 decibels. Residents are also
collecting data for potential personal injury lawsuits against both
MARA and Constellation, and have successfully pressured leaders in
Hood and neighboring Somervell County to pass resolutions opposing the
existing mine and proposed gas plant expansion.

In an email to the _Observer_, Adam Pollock, a spokesperson for MARA,
categorically rejected residents’ allegations about noise, writing
in a statement that the company’s mine is in an established
industrial zone, its sound measurements are below legal limits, and
that there’s no link between the company’s operations and the
alleged ailments. “MARA is committed to being a good neighbor and
has a track record of sustainable business practices and adding jobs
and tax revenues to the communities in which it invests,” he wrote.

For now, locals are celebrating a victory related to the gas plant,
not the mine: In February, the TCEQ granted
[[link removed]]
residents a contested case hearing process in response to their
challenge to the Wolf Hollow II expansion. If the residents prevail,
an administrative judge could submit a recommended proposal for TCEQ
to deny or modify the permit.

If approved, the plant’s new turbines, known as Wolf Hollow III,
will add hundreds of thousands of tons of toxic emissions to the area.
Those include climate-warming greenhouse gasses and volatile organic
compounds.

In August, Shadden and her neighbors traveled to the Texas Capitol to
testify against the Wolf Hollow III application for a taxpayer-funded
loan from the PUC. That’s where I met Danny Lakey, who lives on a
hill within a mile of the mine and gas plant. He showed me screenshots
of a sound-measuring app with a reading of 79.7 decibels.

Shadden told members of the Texas Senate Committee on Business and
Commerce that, since the cryptomine began operating in 2022, the gas
plant has been running at “99 percent” capacity, sometimes shaking
houses when it has to blow off pressurized steam through valves to
control compressor surges. While Houston was without power during
Hurricane Beryl in July, she said she saw valves blow regularly at the
Wolf Hollow as it strained to supply power to MARA’s round-the-clock
cryptomine.

Shadden and others also lobbied legislators in support of resurrecting
Senate Bill 1751
[[link removed]],
an ultimately unsuccessful bill introduced by GOP state Senator Lois
Kolkhorst in 2023, which would have limited cryptomining incentives,
including the “demand response” programs in which large crypto
firms can sell energy back to the Electric Reliability Council of
Texas, the state’s grid operator, during peak demand times. SB 1751
would have capped those incentives at 10 percent and withheld
abatements from miners consuming more than 75 MWs.

The efforts ended in disappointment: The PUC approved
Constellation’s Texas Energy Fund application in September—before
the company voluntarily withdrew its bid to likely reapply for a
different loan. Meanwhile, the Legislature has only moved in
crypto’s direction since the Capitol visit.

TEXAS’ FIRST LEGISLATIVE SESSION following the reelection of
President Donald Trump, who vowed to make the United States the
“crypto capital” of the world, has put Sawicky, Shadden, and other
environmental advocates on the defense.

This session, state Representative Giovanni Capriglione and state
Senator Charles Schwertner, both Republicans, introduced separate
bills to create a strategic Bitcoin reserve. As of early April, the
Senate had passed Senate Bill 21
[[link removed]],
which would allow the state to build a crypto stockpile, boosting the
industry. Trump signed an executive order
[[link removed]]
in March that would create a similar federal reserve.

In 2023, a _New York Times_ analysis found that 34 large U.S.
cryptomines combined to pump 16.4 million tons
[[link removed]]
of carbon pollution into the atmosphere per year. The rampant growth
of cryptomining in Texas and elsewhere pushed the Massachusetts-based
Quiet Communities Inc. to file a 2023 lawsuit
[[link removed]]
against the EPA to revive Noise Control Act regulations rolled back in
the 1980s.

In addition to the ongoing Hood County case, Earthjustice Deputy
Managing Attorney Mandy DeRoche told the _Observer_ that the
organization is litigating other cryptomine cases in New York and
Pennsylvania involving communities impacted by noise or indirectly
impacted by gas and coal ash plant pollution exacerbated by
cryptomining. The firm, she said, is considering petitioning the EPA
to implement federal noise statutes specifically for cryptomines.

Many analysts had expected the Bitcoin bubble to burst in 2023—after
the infamous 2022 collapse of the FTX crypto exchange, where customers
had exchanged cryptocoins for conventional currency or other
cryptocurrencies. Depositors withdrew assets shortly before FTX CEO
Sam Bankman-Fried’s 2022 arrest on charges of fraud, conspiracy, and
money laundering. But prices rebounded even after Bankman-Fried’s
2023 conviction. Miners began expanding while pouring $133 million
[[link removed]]
into the 2024 federal elections, primarily backing Trump and GOP
legislators including Senator Ted Cruz, who owns
[[link removed]] at least three
cryptomining machines in the West Texas town of Iraan. In 2023, Cruz
disclosed a purchase of between $50,000 and $100,000
[[link removed]]
in Bitcoin following an endorsement by the Texas Blockchain Council
(TBC).

Bitcoin prices have rallied, spurred by Trump’s executive order
[[link removed]]
supporting crypto growth and deregulation. But as cryptomining
expands, it is also becoming more cutthroat, requiring ever-increasing
computing power, more advanced hardware—and even more energy. A
BloombergNEF model [[link removed]] predicted
that if the 2023 cryptomining peak loads triple, Texans’ peak
electricity rates could soar by 30 percent. If the expansion is
sixfold, rates could increase by 80 percent. Right now, according to
TBC’s Bratcher, the industry is growing by 20 to 30 MWs a month.

The growth of Texas’ cryptomining industry massively increases
consumption of fossil fuels that cause climate change. And its
advocates actively promote a political agenda that includes climate
denial. TBC spent more than half of its $949,488 revenue
[[link removed]]
in 2023 on a lobbying firm.

A 2024 Greenpeace report
[[link removed]]
noted that TBC advisory board member Genevieve Collins also directs
Americans for Prosperity Texas, funded by the Kochs and the American
Petroleum Institute, which is among the most vocal opponents of energy
and environmental policies aimed at addressing the climate crisis.

Another TBC board member, Riot Platform’s Head of Public Policy
Brian Morgenstern, worked in the first Trump administration as deputy
press secretary at the White House, the same report said. He
collaborated with former Energy Secretary and Texas Governor Rick
Perry to form the America First Policy Institute, which has championed
“drill, baby, drill” policies.

In its years as a crypto leader, Riot has already rebranded twice: In
2017, the company changed its name from Bioptix to Riot Blockchain and
then to Riot Platforms in 2023, as part of an effort to pitch itself
as a data center operator.

Riot, like other cryptominers, thrives partly on public largesse. In
addition to tax breaks, roughly a quarter of its total 2023 revenue,
$33.7 million
[[link removed]],
came from energy subsidies for _not _executing its primary function:
mining Bitcoin, as part of its participation in ERCOT’s
demand-response program.

Chris Jones, an electrician who worked at the Navarro County Riot
facility for over a year troubleshooting the power system supplying
the facility’s hardware, alleged in March that Riot is attempting to
misclassify its facility near Corsicana as a data center in its
application for an exemption from state sales taxes
[[link removed]] even though he
claims it doesn’t meet the legal requirements.

In December 2024 and February 2025, Jones, a 27-year certified
electrician, filed multiple complaints to the Securities and Exchange
Commission, the Texas Attorney General’s Office, and ERCOT
describing alleged irregularities by Riot, including potential misuse
of public funds and misrepresentation in the firm’s financial
reporting. He also filed a complaint with the federal Occupational
Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) about what he described in the
complaint as “ungrounded current” running through the facility’s
electrical conduits. “That place is a death trap. I’m surprised
someone has not got killed up there yet,” Jones told the _Observer_.
“It’s the most dangerous place I ever worked, and I used to work
in coal mines.”

Records show OSHA moved to close Jones’ case in February after
receiving a response from Riot Platforms Vice President of Safety
Frank Durant, who said he’d investigated and corrected the issues
Jones described. Jones sent a rebuttal to the agency disputing
Durant’s claims on February 23. Jones was fired, he said, on March 3
after sharing his concerns on social media. The agency is now
investigating Jones’ termination as potential retaliation, according
to OSHA documents and emails Jones shared with the_ Observer._

In an email to the _Observer_, a Riot Platforms spokesperson called
Jones’ claims “categorically false,” writing: “While it is
disappointing that a disgruntled employee feels the need to make these
statements, our focus is on our business and continuing to be a
positive contributor to the Navarro County community.”

DURING THE NAVARRO COMMISSIONERS COURT hearing in October, Riot Senior
Vice President of Operations David Schatz told commissioners and
residents that the firm has already improved the land it bought in
2022. “We have about 80 acres that’s unused, that we planted 1,000
trees on, that is protected, that we do not touch. … Nobody told us
we had to do it—because we’re good stewards of the community,”
he said.

Citing two meetings the firm held for the public, Schatz said,
“Since Day 1, Riot has been transparent about what we’re doing
here, including what we’ve done in the past. This is a rinse repeat
of what we’ve done in Rockdale. We have a proven track record.”

Sawicky, however, told the _Observer_ that those public events were
only held after TCAC members and others demanded more accountability
with a week-of-action protest and petition campaign. She told the
_Observer_ she was forbidden from livestreaming the supposedly public
meet-and-greet with Riot representatives at the Corsicana Opry last
May and was monitored by a security guard. Police escorted her out of
a second event at the Opry the following month after she said she
pulled out her phone to film.

Trump’s reelection and the county’s abatement decision were the
last straw for Sawicky. She disbanded TCAC in November and began
packing her things to move to New York state. She plans to put her
Navarro County home on the market. “My time and energy and activism
is valuable, so I’m going to spend it where it’s going to have the
biggest impact and where it’s appreciated,” she said. “I don’t
have any hope for this state. It’s terrible. It’s getting
worse.”

She and Shadden vow to continue their advocacy against cryptocurrency
mining, but as members of the National Coalition Against Cryptomining
(NCAC). For now, Sawicky will help NCAC form a board and obtain its
501(c)(3) status. Shadden, meanwhile, is strategizing about how to
incorporate her Hood County community as a township. Maybe then
she’ll win the right to enact some modest regulations for the Wolf
Hollow gas plant and Marathon’s cryptomine.

“We’ve got to do something,” Shadden told the _Observer_. “I
mean, how long are all of these communities throughout Texas going to
tolerate this?”

_This story was supported by a grant from the Fund for Investigative
Journalism._

Candice Bernd is an independent journalist and senior editor at
Truthout whose work has also appeared in The Nation, In These Times,
and Salon.

THE AMERICAN PROSPECT IS FIERCELY INDEPENDENT and reader-funded. Your
support directly funds our team of investigative reporters,
fact-checkers, and editors who produce in-depth journalism that holds
the powerful accountable.

* cryptocurrency
[[link removed]]
* texas
[[link removed]]

*
[[link removed]]
*
[[link removed]]
*
*
[[link removed]]

 

 

 

INTERPRET THE WORLD AND CHANGE IT

 

 

Submit via web
[[link removed]]

Submit via email
Frequently asked questions
[[link removed]]
Manage subscription
[[link removed]]
Visit xxxxxx.org
[[link removed]]

Twitter [[link removed]]

Facebook [[link removed]]

 




[link removed]

To unsubscribe, click the following link:
[link removed]