California needs its agencies to do their jobs

In her Nov. 13 commentary, SLO County Supervisor Dawn Ortiz-Legg treats the California Coastal Commission’s statement that “energy policy is not within our purview” as a defect in state government (“California’s body politic is missing connective tissue”). I’d argue it’s a feature, not a bug.

The Coastal Commission exists for a particular reason: to protect California’s coast, ocean, and public access under the Coastal Act. That means focusing on coastal resources, not trying to become a shadow energy commission. Diablo Canyon’s broader role in the grid is already being debated at the California Public Utilities Commission (CPUC), the Energy Commission, the California Independent System Operator, and the Legislature under SB 846 and related proceedings. 

Far from lacking “connective tissue,” the state has already required a land conservation and economic development plan for Diablo Canyon Lands, overseen by the California Natural Resources Agency, and funded conservation planning through the Coastal Conservancy. The job now before the Coastal Commission is to make sure those promises are actually delivered—not to relitigate statewide energy policy in a land-use hearing.

That’s especially true because the environmental impacts at Diablo are not abstract. The commission’s own staff report notes that the plant’s once-through cooling system kills marine life equivalent to that produced in more than 14 square miles of nearshore waters every year. After decades of this damage, it is entirely appropriate—indeed, required—for the commission to insist on robust marine mitigation and permanent conservation of the surrounding 12,000 acres of largely undisturbed coastline, which host grasslands, bishop pine forests, and cultural lands of the yak titʸu titʸu yak tiłhini Northern Chumash. 

Supervisor Ortiz-Legg frames the proposed land deal as “permanent, forever access” and a “clear win.” But the current staff recommendation has, until now, contemplated conservation of as little as 1,100 acres—less than 10 percent of the Diablo Canyon Lands—even though the state has already given $5 million to the Coastal Conservancy to secure an easement over all 12,000 acres. That’s not nitpicking; it’s the core of what mitigation means.

Nor is there a single “local” view. Alongside the county Board of Supervisors majority she cites, other local leaders are urging the commission to strengthen, not weaken, its conditions: Sen. John Laird has pressed for more rigorous safety review and oversight; Assemblymember Dawn Addis has asked the commission to require full conservation easements, permanent public and tribal access, and a trail endowment; Mothers for Peace has reminded regulators that California can meet its needs with renewables and storage without relying on an aging nuclear plant. Local voices are diverse, and many of them are asking for exactly the kind of stringent coastal protections the commission is considering.

The equity argument also deserves closer scrutiny. Yes, energy affordability matters deeply. But calling Diablo a “ratepayer shield” glosses over the public risks and subsidies that make its extension possible. State law authorized a $1.4 billion loan to PG&E to keep the plant open, but federal funds could now fall hundreds of millions short. The CPUC has already approved a $722.6 million rate increase for 2025 tied to extended operations. Those are real costs borne by the same families and small businesses invoked in her piece, along with the long-term burden of managing spent fuel on a seismically complex coastline.

Of course, California needs integrated climate and energy planning. But we don’t achieve “whole-of-state” policy by asking a coastal watchdog to ignore its legal mandate in the name of grid reliability. The Coastal Commission’s job is not to decide whether Diablo Canyon should exist; that decision was effectively made when the Legislature rushed through SB 846 and when statewide agencies chose this extension path. The commission’s job now is to make sure that, if the plant is allowed to keep operating, Californians finally get what they were promised: permanent protection of all 12,000 acres, strong marine habitat mitigation, and enforceable public and tribal access.

Real “connective tissue” means each agency is doing its job well, then stitching those decisions together—not pressuring one commission to trade away irreplaceable coastline and marine life because others have failed to plan adequately. On Diablo Canyon, the Coastal Commission should keep its eyes exactly where the law tells it to look: on the coast, the ocean, and the public trust. ∆

Jill Stegman writes to New Times from Grover Beach. Send a response for publication by emailing it to letters@newtimesslo.com. 

This article appears in Nov 27 – Dec 7, 2025.