Montgomery Township Bans Data Centers as Former J&J Site Faces Redevelopment Fight

Montgomery Township reached Google News after officials banned data centers, despite a pending industrial application tied to a 382.72-acre former Johnson & Johnson campus. The June vote transformed a difficult redevelopment dispute into a test of local control over AI infrastructure. It also created a legal fault line between the township and E. Kahn Development.

The developer says the Skillman property already has the power, fiber, cooling, and industrial zoning needed for a modern data center. Township leaders and residents see a different reality. They fear constant noise, greater electricity demand, environmental pressure, and an industrial use that offers relatively few permanent jobs.

That conflict is sharper because Montgomery previously considered hundreds of homes for the same property. Residents resisted that plan, and the township later removed the site from its affordable housing strategy. Now an outright data center ban threatens the industrial alternative that remained.

This is not simply another fight over an unpopular building. Montgomery must defend a townshipwide prohibition while reviewing an application that its own officials reportedly deemed complete. The outcome will show how much leverage a municipality retains once AI infrastructure reaches the formal land-use process.

Montgomery Banned Data Centers After an Application Entered the Pipeline

Montgomery changed the rules while a major industrial redevelopment was already moving through local review.

On June 18, 2026, the Montgomery Township Committee unanimously adopted Ordinance 26-1779. The measure added data centers and detention centers to the uses prohibited throughout the township, according to the township’s official ordinance and meeting record.

The vote followed a Planning Board review on June 8. The board found the proposed prohibition consistent with Montgomery’s master plan, according to the township’s published public-notice record.

The municipal code now states that data centers are specifically prohibited throughout Montgomery. Its definition covers facilities primarily used to store, manage, or process digital data through computer and network systems.

The timing matters more than the language alone. E. Kahn Development’s attorney, Craig Gianetti, told township officials that a site plan application was already pending for 199 Grandview Road. He said the application had been deemed complete.

That procedural status does not equal project approval. It usually means officials have received enough required material to begin substantive review. Engineers, planners, environmental consultants, and the public can still challenge the plan.

Gianetti also said the new ban would not govern the pending application. However, he warned that it could turn any resulting approval into a pre-existing nonconforming use.

Such a use remains lawful because it predates a zoning change, but later expansion or modification becomes harder. That distinction could shape the site’s financing, phasing, and future operations.

The property itself is unusually large. A May 2026 Somerset County Land Development Committee report identified 382.72 acres at the intersection of Grandview Road and County Route 601.

The former J&J Skillman campus contains two large buildings, parking, a childcare center, solar panels, stormwater infrastructure, and a wastewater treatment facility. Agricultural fields, woods, meadows, and a tributary surround portions of the site.

The county report identifies the project as Grandview Industrial Center. It describes an existing corporate campus rather than untouched farmland awaiting its first development.

That history gives both sides a plausible argument. E. Kahn can say it wants to reuse a long-standing industrial property. Residents can answer that a server campus operates very differently from laboratories and offices.

The township’s vote therefore did more than establish a future policy. It placed a new prohibition beside an active proposal with substantial existing infrastructure. That collision pushed an obscure land-use matter into Google News and a wider debate about AI development.

The Former J&J Campus Was Built for Industry, but Not Necessarily AI

The site’s industrial history strengthens the developer’s case without settling whether a data center belongs there.

Johnson & Johnson used the Skillman campus for consumer-product operations, including disposable diaper manufacturing. Kenvue later occupied the property after its separation from J&J.

The campus has carried limited-manufacturing zoning for decades. Permitted uses include offices, farms, research laboratories, and enclosed light manufacturing that avoids significant off-site impacts.

E. Kahn presented an industrial redevelopment concept in August 2024. Developer Eli Kahn has said his company pursued the property because of its existing zoning and long industrial history.

Township officials then explored a residential alternative connected to New Jersey’s affordable housing obligations. That plan called for 417 homes, including 70 affordable units, according to local reporting.

Opposition emerged quickly. Residents questioned traffic, school enrollment, emergency services, water, environmental effects, and the loss of rural character near the Sourland region.

At a September 2025 Planning Board meeting, Sourland Conservancy board member Steve Bales opposed placing dense housing in the area. The developer countered that its plan would dedicate 210 acres as open space.

The exchange showed that Montgomery had no easy redevelopment option. Housing brought one set of costs, while conventional industrial construction brought another.

E. Kahn says it spent roughly $500,000 developing the residential concept before Montgomery changed course. That figure comes from the developer and has not been independently audited.

The township eventually amended its housing plan without relying on the Kenvue property. E. Kahn then returned to an industrial approach allowed under the existing zoning.

The relationship had already entered litigation before the data center ban. In November 2025, the Planning Board dismissed E. Kahn’s general development plan submission for lack of jurisdiction.

A general development plan outlines the sequence and broad design of a large, multiphase project. It can provide a developer with longer-term protection against later zoning changes.

Montgomery said it had never adopted an ordinance authorizing that procedure. The board therefore concluded that it could not hear the submission.

E. Kahn challenged that position in court. Township representatives maintained that the developer remained free to submit an ordinary site plan using established local procedures.

That history explains why the current dispute feels less like a first disagreement than another turn in a continuing contest. Each side accuses the other of changing the practical path forward.

The data center plan also capitalizes on infrastructure left by the former corporate campus. E. Kahn construction director Peter Kilty cited dual 69-kilovolt transmission lines and an on-site substation.

He also described redundant electrical feeds and access to fiber running near rail infrastructure. Those claims have not yet received public, independent engineering validation.

Kilty said the campus has room for large setbacks, landscaped berms, and noise barriers. He argued that those features could separate equipment from neighboring properties.

The developer also points to the site’s existing closed-loop cooling system. This system recirculates fluid rather than continuously consuming fresh water through evaporation.

Closed-loop cooling can reduce operational water demand. It does not remove electricity requirements, backup generation, construction effects, or every form of water use.

That nuance is central to the dispute. Montgomery is not deciding whether the land has ever supported industry. It is deciding whether data processing fits the intensity and impacts allowed there.

Why the Google News Data Center Story Is Really About Local Control

The primary fight pits municipal land-use authority against a property owner’s claim to a permitted industrial use.

Data centers occupy a complicated place in zoning law. They resemble warehouses from outside, yet their operating profile depends on electrical equipment, cooling, networking, and backup power.

Older zoning codes rarely name them. Developers can therefore argue that data processing resembles offices, research facilities, telecommunications, or enclosed manufacturing.

Municipalities face the opposite risk. A code that excludes every location for a legitimate land use can invite claims that its zoning is unlawfully exclusionary.

Montgomery tried to remove that ambiguity through a complete ban. Officials linked the measure to the township’s rural-suburban character and limited capacity for intensive infrastructure.

Gianetti argued that prohibition was too blunt. He asked the committee to evaluate whether strict operating conditions could control the use instead.

His position presents regulation as a middle path. A tailored ordinance might address noise, setbacks, water sourcing, power capacity, generator testing, fire safety, and environmental monitoring.

Township supporters rejected that approach. They argued that Montgomery should not accept a use whose basic operating demands conflict with its development pattern.

Mary Reece, chair of the Montgomery Environmental Commission, focused on resources and quality of life. She also questioned the number of local jobs created relative to a data center’s footprint.

Mike Pisauro, policy director at The Watershed Institute, supported the prohibition. He argued that the use could create significant energy, water, noise, and environmental concerns.

The committee sided with that preventive view. Its members voted unanimously after hearing from the developer, residents, and environmental advocates.

The ban’s legal strength will depend partly on how courts classify the pending application. Filing dates, completeness determinations, and vested rights can matter when zoning changes during review.

New Jersey’s “time of application” statute, N.J.S.A. 40:55D-10.5, generally provides that the development regulations in effect when an application is submitted govern its review, subject to an exception for later ordinances concerning health and public safety. However, the scope of that protection and whether a submission qualifies as an application require fact-specific legal analysis, as New Jersey courts have emphasized in litigation over the rule’s triggering requirements, including *Jai Sai Ram, LLC v. Planning/Zoning Board of the Borough of South Toms River*.

The public record does not yet resolve those questions. It also does not establish that the application has secured an operator, utility commitment, or final project design.

That gap should temper both sides’ rhetoric. A data center application is not an operating campus, while a township vote is not necessarily the final legal word.

The former J&J site makes the conflict especially difficult. It is not a speculative greenfield with no utilities or industrial history.

It is also not a blank industrial park isolated from ecological and residential concerns. The property sits beside open land and waterways near the Sourland region.

The dispute is therefore about who gets to define continuity. E. Kahn sees a transition from one enclosed industrial use to another.

The township sees a qualitative change in energy demand, machinery, noise, and community benefit. Its ordinance treats that difference as large enough to justify prohibition.

Google News readers may recognize the same argument from other communities. Local governments increasingly face projects whose economic value is regional or national, while their impacts remain intensely local.

Electric grids cross municipal boundaries. AI companies can serve customers worldwide. Yet the access roads, generators, substations, waterways, and neighboring homes remain tied to one place.

That mismatch creates the political pressure. Montgomery carries the immediate land-use risk while receiving only part of the broader economic benefit.

Power, Water, and Noise Claims Still Need Independent Testing

Neither a blanket warning nor a developer presentation can substitute for project-specific engineering evidence.

Data centers require steady electricity for servers, networking, cooling, security, and related systems. Backup generators preserve service when the grid fails or equipment undergoes maintenance.

However, no verified public figure establishes this proposed facility’s expected megawatt demand. The application’s ultimate scale and computing density remain unclear.

That missing number matters. A low-density reuse of existing buildings would create different effects from a hyperscale campus filled with AI accelerators.

The same caution applies to water. E. Kahn says the existing closed-loop system would avoid the heavy consumption associated with evaporative cooling.

That description is technically plausible, but it does not answer every question. Officials still need projected annual use, peak demand, maintenance losses, and emergency operating scenarios.

They also need to know whether future expansions would retain the same cooling design. An approval based on one configuration should not silently authorize a more intensive replacement.

Noise requires similar scrutiny. Cooling fans, transformers, electrical equipment, and generator tests can produce low-frequency sound that travels beyond property lines.

Kilty says setbacks, equipment placement, berms, acoustical walls, and vibration controls can manage those effects. Those tools are common, but their performance depends on design and enforcement.

A credible review would model sound at property boundaries during normal and emergency operations. It would also establish enforceable nighttime limits and independent monitoring.

Air quality depends largely on backup power. Diesel generators can emit nitrogen oxides and particulate pollution during testing or outages.

The public record does not identify the planned number, capacity, fuel, or testing schedule of generators. It also does not describe any alternative on-site generation.

Fire protection creates another technical issue. Data centers combine dense electrical equipment, batteries, fuel systems, and specialized suppression requirements.

The developer should disclose battery chemistry, separation distances, emergency plans, and coordination with local fire services. Montgomery would then need trained reviewers capable of testing those plans.

Tax revenue and employment also deserve closer examination. Data centers can expand a municipality’s commercial tax base, especially when the underlying property already holds substantial assessed value.

Yet permanent staffing is usually lower than the workforce associated with a major office or research campus. Construction employment is substantial but temporary.

Neither side has published a complete fiscal impact comparison for the current proposal. A fair analysis would compare taxes, municipal services, school effects, infrastructure, and long-term employment.

That comparison should include the realistic alternatives. Leaving a large campus partially vacant also carries financial, security, and maintenance consequences.

A residential development would add residents, traffic, and service demands. A conventional industrial project could add truck movements and new buildings.

Preservation or institutional reuse might reduce operating intensity, but it would require a credible buyer and financing. Communities cannot evaluate tradeoffs against an imaginary zero-impact option.

The township’s outright ban bypasses much of that site-level analysis. Supporters see that as prudent because some impacts are inherent to the use.

Critics see it as evidence that officials decided the result before testing the design. That argument will likely influence the legal and political fight.

Readers encountering the story through Google News should separate verified facts from projections. The site has significant electrical infrastructure, but its available capacity has not been publicly certified.

The campus has closed-loop cooling, but the final project’s water profile remains unverified. The property offers extensive space, but scale alone does not guarantee adequate protection.

The most responsible position is conditional. Montgomery has legitimate reasons for scrutiny, and E. Kahn has legitimate grounds to request a project-specific hearing.

Montgomery’s Ban Reflects a Wider AI Infrastructure Backlash

AI demand has turned data centers from obscure utilities into visible political projects.

Generative AI systems require large computing clusters for training and everyday inference. Inference is the process that produces an answer when someone uses an AI service.

Those workloads have increased demand for specialized chips, network capacity, electricity, and cooling. Developers now search for properties that combine land, power access, fiber, and favorable permitting.

Former corporate campuses can meet several of those requirements. They often contain substations, redundant utilities, security infrastructure, parking, and large buildings.

That makes the Skillman property attractive even without confirmed public details about a future operator. Its existing systems reduce some barriers associated with starting on undeveloped land.

The same features can make residents uneasy. A large, flexible industrial property can support uses never contemplated when its zoning was written.

Montgomery is not alone in responding through legislation. New Jersey municipalities have considered bans, moratoriums, or detailed operating standards as proposed facilities spread.

Some communities favor conditional approval. They require utility capacity letters, water analyses, noise controls, generator restrictions, and fire-safety plans.

Others conclude that local conditions cannot support the use. Montgomery placed itself in that second group through a townshipwide prohibition.

The decision resembles a broader shift in data center politics. Once welcomed as quiet commercial development, these facilities now face organized questions about who pays for energy infrastructure.

Residents also ask whether utility expansion affects their bills. State regulators and grid operators must address those concerns across larger service territories.

Local zoning cannot solve regional electricity planning. It can decide where buildings sit, how they operate, and what conditions protect neighboring land.

That division creates an imperfect policy system. A town can reject a facility without reducing the underlying demand for computing.

The project may simply move to another municipality with available power and more permissive rules. Regional environmental effects can continue even when local effects disappear.

Conversely, accepting every project because demand exists would leave host communities with little bargaining power. Developers would face incentives to seek the easiest approval process.

The useful policy question is not whether AI infrastructure should exist. It is what evidence and safeguards should precede a particular approval.

Montgomery’s ordinance gives a categorical answer. Its committee decided the township should host no data center, regardless of individual design.

That position now faces a hard test at the former J&J campus. The location has a stronger industrial history and infrastructure case than many proposed sites.

If the ban survives there, other municipalities may view complete prohibition as a viable planning tool. If it fails, towns may shift toward detailed performance standards.

The case also exposes a difficult contradiction in local development politics. Residents opposed dense housing, while officials ultimately rejected data centers as well.

Each objection has substantive grounds. Together, however, they narrow the owner’s practical reuse options for a vast corporate property.

A community can reasonably reject harmful plans. It must still explain what compliant redevelopment remains economically and legally possible.

That is why this Google News story extends beyond one ordinance. It asks whether local planning can preserve community character while giving obsolete corporate campuses a realistic second life.

Three Signals Will Decide What Happens at the Kenvue Site

The next phase depends on legal status, technical disclosure, and a credible alternative for the property.

The first signal is the Planning Board’s treatment of the pending site plan. Its formal record should clarify the application date, completeness status, proposed use, and applicable zoning rules.

If the board reviews the application under the earlier ordinance, the developer’s position strengthens. The township would then need to evaluate the plan on technical and planning grounds.

If officials apply the new prohibition, litigation becomes more likely. A court could then examine filing protections, municipal authority, and the reasonableness of the ban.

That dispute would build upon the earlier lawsuit over Montgomery’s refusal to hear a general development plan. It would also deepen mistrust already visible during the housing debate.

The second signal is independent infrastructure evidence. E. Kahn needs to document how much power the project requires and whether the utility can reliably supply it.

The public also needs detailed water, noise, air, traffic, fire, and fiscal analyses. General claims about modern cooling or AI demand are not enough.

Verified data might weaken the township’s case if impacts remain well below common thresholds. It might strengthen the ban if the proposal requires major new generation or creates persistent off-site effects.

Project scale is especially important. The current public discussion lacks a verified server capacity, megawatt figure, construction schedule, and identified operating tenant.

Without those details, residents are debating the category rather than the final facility. That makes political mobilization easier but informed comparison harder.

The third signal is whether any alternative reuse becomes financially credible. E. Kahn has discussed industrial, residential, mixed-use, preservation, and open-space components at different stages.

The township once sought 417 housing units before amending its affordable housing plan. Residents objected to density, traffic, and environmental effects.

An industrial alternative now confronts the data center prohibition. Traditional offices face uncertain demand, while laboratory or research reuse requires a specialized occupant.

The existing South Building reportedly remains leased to Kenvue through the end of 2026. That deadline could increase pressure to secure a buyer, tenant, or development approval.

A negotiated plan remains possible. The parties could consider limited reuse of existing buildings, enforceable power limits, substantial buffers, and permanent open-space preservation.

Such a compromise would require trust that appears scarce. It would also require the township to revise or create an exception to its categorical policy.

Alternatively, another buyer could pursue life sciences, research, education, or conventional light manufacturing. The campus’s infrastructure and location offer value beyond data processing.

However, officials cannot assume such a buyer will emerge on acceptable terms. Earlier municipal efforts reportedly involved state, county, and economic development organizations without producing a corporate replacement.

Readers following the battle through Google News should watch formal filings rather than political slogans. Planning documents will reveal whether the project has moved beyond a conceptual industrial option.

Utility correspondence will show whether the electrical case is realistic. Environmental submissions will show whether existing infrastructure meaningfully reduces the proposed facility’s impact.

The conflict ultimately asks Montgomery to reconcile three objectives. It wants to protect residents, control intensive development, and avoid leaving a major corporate campus without a workable future.

An outright ban advances the first two goals. It does not, by itself, solve the third.

Montgomery’s choice will influence more than one property. Municipalities across New Jersey are confronting similar gaps between old zoning language and new computing infrastructure.

The former J&J site offers an unusually clear test. It already has industrial zoning, substantial utilities, ecological constraints, nearby residents, and a developer prepared to litigate.

The next decision should therefore rest on a complete record. Residents deserve enforceable protections, while the owner deserves a transparent explanation of what existing zoning permits.

For developers, enterprise buyers, and AI users, the lesson is direct. Computing capacity depends on local consent as much as chips, capital, and electricity.

Tracking that consent requires more than a passing Google News alert. Follow the Planning Board docket, the pending lawsuits, and the project’s engineering disclosures.

Those records will reveal whether Montgomery’s ban becomes a durable model or the opening move in a longer legal negotiation.