BACK in the good old days in Arizona, in towns like Superior, copper was king and mining was the foundation of social and economic life. Bustling department stores and rowdy watering holes extended credit until miners' pay-days; people frolicked at labour union picnics, and burly rock-breakers answered to underground nicknames like Kool-Aid and Jackhammer. But many Arizona mines closed or were greatly scaled back in the last decades of the 20th century, as the richest deposits were tapped out and copper prices dropped. With little else to sustain them, small towns in the “Copper Triangle”, which stretches from just south of Phoenix to the Mexican border, crumbled away. Historic storefronts stood vacant or burned down. Many residents never found another steady job. Meanwhile, they became increasingly aware of the risks posed by the tailings ponds and waste-rock piles all around them. Now, with copper prices high and new technology making it easier to find and profitably extract much lower-concentration copper deposits, multinational mining companies are seeking to start new operations which, they say, would pump billions of dollars into the economy and provide thousands of jobs. Some locals are ecstatic. Others are wary, especially since they fear new mining could derail nascent efforts to peg their towns' fortunes to outdoors recreation, tourism and art—as in the Arizona hamlets of Bisbee and Jerome, which tumble picturesquely down the rocky hills. Residents who as children splashed in tailings ponds and played in gritty smoke below smelter stacks now worry about contamination of their drinking water, soil and air. After living through boom and bust cycles, they suspect towns will again be left in the dust after the mines close. Many people also resent the fact that the corporations planning new mines are foreign, based in Canada, Australia and Britain.

These companies are making lots of promises: they will deploy solar panels and electric vehicles, use cutting-edge pollution-control technology and special lights that cause no glare in the night sky. They will help towns attract tourists and develop economies to outlast mining—by offering mine tours, constructing hiking trails, opening land for rock-climbing and funding community development.

“Our grandfathers wouldn't recognise the mines of today,” says Jon Cherry, vice-president of the Resolution Copper Company (a subsidiary of the Anglo-Australian firm Rio Tinto), in his office in Superior. “You essentially design them backwards. We'll look first at the post-mine land use and how it will work, not only technically and economically but also socially.”

Resolution has helped extend regional footpath systems, cleaned up waste from the former Magma Mine and installed solar panels on-site. Opponents say these efforts pale beside the inherent environmental impact of removing billions of tons of rock and using vast amounts of water in a fragile desert ecosystem.

Resolution's proposed mine would involve drilling tunnels 7,000 feet deep to remove 1.6 billion metric tons of rock, causing the ground above to cave in. The project is dependent on Congress approving a land swap that would give Rio Tinto and its Anglo-Australian partner, BHP Billiton, public land, including a popular campsite, that was withdrawn from mining by President Eisenhower.

Arizona's economy has long been characterised by the “Five Cs”: copper, cattle, cotton, citrus and climate. While opponents say new mines will curb the visitors drawn by climate, mining companies proclaim their cross-investments in cattle and cotton. Curis Resources, a Canadian company, says the operation it plans near Florence would be environmentally friendly by tapping copper on site, dissolving the mineral underground, pumping it out as liquid and then recycling the water to grow alfalfa and cotton.

Another Canadian mining company, Augusta Resource Corporation, says the huge open pit mine it wants to develop in the Santa Rita mountains south of Tucson would use solar energy and run cattle to help grasses grow back, spreading native seeds through their manure. It has bought up local ranches and employs three full-time cowboys.

“I think we're walking the talk,” says Augusta's senior vice-president, James Sturgess. He adds that “as rodeos go, this is not the gentlest one I've been on”—thanks to vocal opponents, including top county officials, local mayors and Indian tribes, who see the company's claims as green-washing. They say the mine could devastate boutique wineries, a 5,000-acre pecan farm and bed-and-breakfast tourism, since it would spoil the mountain views, use a lot of groundwater and send heavy ore-laden trucks down a scenic two-lane highway. The Metropolitan Tucson Convention and Visitors Bureau reported last summer that the area brings in $2 billion annually in travel spending, which critics think would be jeopardised by the mine.

“The future of our region depends on a healthy and beautiful natural environment,” says Nan Stockholm Walden, co-owner of the Green Valley Pecan Company. “That's what attracts people to Arizona not only for retirement and vacation but to relocate here as skilled workers …These foreign companies come in and buy American mines, strip the resources, then abandon the community.”