A coal plant located thousands of miles from Appalachia could close in two years. And when that happens, it won’t be white, working-class Americans who are devastated — but an entire Native American nation.

At the Navajo Generating Station (NGS) in Arizona, the majority of its workers are members of the Navajo Indian tribe, and the shut-down will crush its people, already faced with a grim economic situation on the reservation.

“Our unemployment rate already exceeds 47 percent,” said Russell Begaye, president of the Navajo Nation. “There will be over 900 direct plant jobs and an additional 2,300 indirect jobs lost with this closure.”

President Trump’s vow to bring back clean coal to America through deregulation won’t save the plant in time. Prior regulations mean the main owner of the plant, Salt River Project, can’t afford to deliver power to their half-million customers at a competitive price. It’s cheaper to produce electricity through other means.

The Navajo Indian Tribe is the largest reservation in the country, with almost 200,000 people living in an area spread across the states of Arizona, New Mexico and Utah. NGS, the largest coal-fired power plant in the western United States, comprises 20 percent of the Navajo Nation Annual General Fund’s revenue. “The money in that fund pays for our social services — education, emergency services and keeping our roads paved and safe,” Begaye says. “Any subtraction in our budget will have critical consequences for my people.”

The people who live on the reservation are close-knit. They work hard to keep their native traditions alive, to keep their families close — not unlike their white working-class cousins who are equally tight-knit, rooted in their homesteads and have clung to long-held practices for generations.

And, in a Native community where nearly 50 percent of the residents are unemployed, the ones working for the plant are likely the most valued members of the reservation. They are the investors in the community, and without them, the situation rapidly declines, leaving them to make hard decisions:

Do they move away? Do they try to string together three jobs to make up what they lost? Do their homes start to decay as disposable incomes evaporate? All these things are real and will happen — and weigh on President Begaye’s heart.

“My people have suffered so much,” he said. “We cannot lose one more thing.”

The first time Begaye stepped foot off this sovereign land was when he was 18 years old and a bus took him off to college at UCLA. “Wow, what a different world. There was an abundance of everything — cars, people, shops, noise, commerce. It was a sensory overload,” he said.

Do they move away? Do they try to string together three jobs to make up what they lost? Do their homes start to decay as disposable incomes evaporate?

He has lived elsewhere over the years but felt a strong lure to return. “I missed its majestic and extraordinary views, the people and the beauty and remoteness of it.”

Begaye, a former businessman, was elected president exactly two years ago. The job is difficult, he admits, and not just because of potential job losses. According to a January 2017 report issued by the US Department of Justice, violent-crime rates in Indian country are more than 2.5 times the national rate and some reservations face more than 20 times the national rate of violence.

Begaye is still fighting to save the plant, with appeals to both Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke and President Trump. His crusade to keep this industry going for the sake of his tribe has none of the support that environmentalists passionately give the pipeline protests on Native American land in North Dakota.

But he feels his fight is just as important. “We just want a seat at the table to decide where to go to next. An extension, if you will, until we can come up with an economic plan to replace what we may lose,” said Begaye, who has spent the past few weeks pleading his case in Washington.

“Ultimately, if it must close, we need guaranteed access to the power lines to develop wind and solar power on the reservation.”

Native Americans are just one more group of people in this country who have been left behind or forgotten — except that their story is longer-running, more tragic and more isolating than that of any other ethic group that migrated here over the centuries.

Back in Arizona, the plant glows in the evening sky, serving as a constant reminder that something must be done.

“It is about promise, the promise of my people and the chain of broken promises that we have been given in the past,” Begaye said. “President Trump said he was behind the coal people. I believe he will stand with us.”