"To compare those wastes to high-level wastes," Leavitt said, "is like comparing a BB gun to a howitzer."

Leavitt isn't about to concede that Goshute tribal sovereignty could trump his effort to block the facility. But he may need the help of President George W. Bush, a friend and political ally.

"Utah picked up an important new tool in this fight," Leavitt said of Bush's presidential victory. And it will certainly help, he added, that Rep. Jim Hansen, R-Utah, is the chairman of the House Resources Committee, something that could foster congressional maneuvering that could block PFS.

If the spent nuclear fuel comes to Utah, Erickson said, "There will be no limit on the kinds of wastes that will go there. There will be no turning back."

Whom do you trust?

Supporters of the project, including Tooele County commissioners, dismiss the frenzy of opposition as political and emotional hysteria. Officials with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, a contingent of nuclear scientists and a proven safety record all support the industry mantra that nuclear wastes can be stored safely, they say.

But should we believe them?

"There are interests that cannot be trusted," Leavitt said. "There is a financial incentive for utilities to move that waste out of their backyards into ours, and there is a financial incentive for the Goshutes. And there is an incentive for the NRC and the Department of Energy to find a place for this stuff.

"We need to be highly suspicious."

For Utahns who have been victimized by repeated government deceit, suspicion comes easy.

Leavitt remembers his grandmother in Bunkerville in southern Nevada hanging out clothes to dry as pink clouds of radioactive dust passed overhead, and he points to family members who have had cancer he believes was caused by above-ground nuclear testing.

"I remember at the time the fear we had of leukemia," he said. "Everyone was aware of it."

Distrust of the government was a focal point of the 2000 campaign, not just by Leavitt but by Congressman-elect Jim Matheson, who maintained in no uncertain terms that the cancer death of his father, popular two-term Gov. Scott Matheson, was attributable to the same nuclear testing.

In fact, Utah's toxic legacy is as much a story about government and industry misdeeds as it is about environmental disasters. These were deliberate cover-ups brought to light decades after the carnage was inflicted on an unsuspecting population.